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drowninginblox · 7 months

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Between a Rock and Moss Place

TW: Fighting in general, accusations of being suicidal, Zoro dealing with the actions of his consequences

"I will never understand you," I confessed while a numbness I knew too well branched up my arm. We've been at this for hours, painstakingly redressing his wounds while a thick silence entangled with tightly loomed thoughts. He ceased his struggle just a few minutes ago when he finally realized there was no way out of there until he was fully healed. "Join the club sister." He snickered under a sinister growl. I rolled my eyes. "You know, I've seen far scarier than you."

"I highly doubt that." He countered through a doubt-filled glance. But rather than give in to his curiosity, I continued in my work. He eventually noticed my lack of an explanation while I reached over for a new roll of bandages. It's been- god- not even a day? "And you're already itching for a fight," The thought slipped through a huff I thought was quiet enough. "Not a fight. I know my limits-" Again, he tried to defend his bruised pride from the slab but all I could do was fail in holding back my bitter laughter. Whether it be out of rage or fear, the bandages and scissors I held were slammed onto a nearby table. "Do you now? Was that before or after you got your ass handed to you what was his title again? Oh right, the strongest swordsman in the world, Zoro. Honestly." The moss head tried to get up, the searing pain that coursed through his chest kept him down though. "Y/n, It is my dream-"

"I know! To be the world's greatest swordsman! I know that Zoro. But, god damn it. You have to be alive to do it." A crass laugh swept through the heavy air. "Tell that to Gold Rodger," I glared daggers at him, getting up from my station to grab a bottle of alcohol spared for disinfecting. At least, that was what it was supposed to be for. Opening it was easier with all the rage. "Gold Redger's dream was to have a legacy. To be king of the pirates. You don't need to live long enough to see it happen. You just need to make an impression." With that, I dared to down whatever was in the bottle. Its rancid taste reminded me of nail polish remover and the smell made my eyes water as soon as it wafted through my nostrils. But that didn't stop me from dedicating myself. This conversation isn't something I planned on having, but Zoro can die. Especially not by biting off more than he can chew. Regardless of how big that stupid mouth can be. "So I haven't left an impression on you?" Speaking off.

Zoro's voice barely made it, but the ghost of his intention was obvious regardless of how quiet he meant to be. A tired sigh broke through my bitterness. "Zoro, I couldn't forget you even if I tried." He scoffs. His rebuttal slithered up his throat, bathing itself in something I hadn't heard out of him yet. At least, not directed at me. "Nice acting. You should go professional." I take another sip, this time staring into his eyes. Something was building behind them at the fact that I wouldn't share with him while he was in this state. I couldn't tell what it was though. He didn't give me enough time to properly ponder what it was before he turned over to stare out that small port window. "Are you done yet?"

When I made my way back to him, I leaned over his slab of bed just to see for myself if it was a struggle to look at me. I like to think it was. It looks like it was a battle to focus on those ever-changing waves. "That depends. Are you?" His eyes narrowed while his Adam's apple swallowed down what could only be assumed to be a bark for me to back off. "What put that stick up your ass y/n?" I bit the inside of my mouth at that. But that sweltering pain didn't stop you from banging a fist against his bed, making the damn thing almost capsize in the process. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"You! You asshat!" I didn't mean to shout as loud as I did. "Ever since you decided that you'd die to a master swordsman than to admit that you're not all you're chalked up to be!" The silence that followed was telling enough. I didn't need to see that stupid, blank face Zoro puts on when tensions are high. But he still bothered to egg me on. "What's that supposed to mean?" And he knew I always took the bait too. "You heard me, just before we picked up Sanji, you heard me talking to Luffy about what I think of y'all. And I was honest. Even after I realized that someone was eavesdropping on us, I was honest."

"Oi y/n! Why don't you join us when we dock this time?" It was dark. I like to think that I was reacquainting myself with the ship after years of only seeing it from my apartment and in my dreams of running around with Usopp when we were children. Knowing him, he probably knew this ship front to back. I didn't expect to see Luffy up this late. Considering his child-like demeanor, I'd thought that he'd comedically pass out at 8:30 on the berry like any other child. "Oh hey, Captain! After everything that happened over on 'Syrup? Consider it a no. 'Sides, someone has to watch the ship while y'all are dinkin' around. Rev the engines to ready our escape ykno?" I say, mimicking a motorcycle in the process. He keeps quiet, cocking his head to prove that he has no idea what I was talking about. "Eh, never mind. But seriously though, I'd rather stay here. Get some alone time from..." I didn't know what to call them yet. Crewmates would be the best answer but being official isn't Luffy's style. So what would've been good enough to call these guys? Not-

"Our friends? Why'd you want that?" Beat to the brunt. Even though Luffy didn't seem like the type to, he can rip the band-aid off pretty well without even knowing it. "Well, Luffy, it's nothing against you or them. I just, I don't see them as friends yet." Even in the dark, I could see him slouch at that disappointing truth bomb. "It's not that I don't like y'all. I just, don't know you that well." Luffy huffed like a child, making me smile. "Well, then why did you join the crew?" I sighed. Part of it was Ussop, Kaya and I knew too well he needed a grounder and Kaya was in no state to leave her home. Not even for him when her health was so poor. Another was Luffy. The genuineness, the optimism, it screamed like a bad idea but when he asked both Usopp and me, god damn it. But, if I were being really honest with myself, "Regardless of what everyone else says, Luffy, you're a really good judge of character. And you read me." He smiles slightly at that. "But, even though I don't what you see in me to offer up a place, I wanna make it worthwhile." I leaned up against the railing of the ship. "I never liked disappointing people. 'Especially not the ones who matter."

"How am I one?" I smiled. "You just... I don't know how to describe it other than... You're like raw hope Luffy. I haven't even known you a week and I can see that." I straightened slightly. "I've met and seen a lot of sailors and pirates, you're unlike any other I've experienced." I could feel his smile. Even in the cool darkness, the air seemed to warm with it. "Okay, but what about them? What do you think of the others?" I don't remember what was going through my mind initially but my immediate reaction was to sigh. "Okay, well, going off the top of my head... Usopp may be a coward and prophetic liar, but he's good. Like, good good. The type of good that everyone is born with but not everyone actively chooses to be. And yes, he does bad things. He's a liar," my right-hand grazes over the railing of The 'Merry, momentarily admiring the polish of the painted wood. "..but he always tries to do what's right. Even when he's scared out of his mind." I smiled. "He's one of the realist people I know." Luffy took after me and leaned against the rail, but rather than face the sea, he positioned himself to face the deck. But his eyes remain on me. "Now Nami, I want to know her. But I just don't. And you and I both know that she can be scary-" out of habit, Luffy tensed as if bracing for a blow to the head. "You don't need to tell me twice." I laughed for a moment before regaining myself. "I think she's hiding something Luffy. Granted, It's not my place to pry," He nodded in agreement. "but I'm worried for her. She seems strong on her own, but there's always strength in numbers y'know?" He shrugged, his posture returning to being loose. "Do you think she's made a deal with someone or something? Like a monster?" At that point I didn't think I knew what he was saying so I just laughed at it and went along with the joke. "Yeah. Totally sold her soul to the devil." I concluded intermixed with a chuckle. Luffy's gaze turned back to the door leading below deck for a few moments before he returned to me. "What about Zoro?"

I didn't mean to tense up when he asked. There wasn't a reason to, it was just Zoro after all. We were amicable both on and offshore. "I... I don't know what to say about him." I didn't notice Luffy was leaning over my shoulder until I could feel his cheek squished into mine. "What do you mean?" he whispered just before I shoved him away with a hearty laugh. "Look, I just... I don't know what to say okay?" Luffy steadies himself on the railing again before properly standing. "Do you think he's boring or something?" I will admit, I took some time to consider it. But that didn't change my answer. "Yeah? I think so. I mean, swords can only be so much of someone's personality though so I may be just missing something or-" Luffy's laughter interrupted me before I could properly explain myself. "Hey! C'mon, man!" From the corner of my eye, I could've sworn I saw a light. Not a lantern or anything, probably a candle with how dim it was, but just as soon I saw it, it was gone. It wasn't until Luffy called out for me to get to bed, that I noticed the door leading to the upper floor from the mast was slightly ajar. I didn't think about it much at the time but,

"But you keep on putting up this 'Master Swordsman' front but you aren't there!" I continued. The anger from before kept building and building from my feet to my chest. "Of course, I'm not!" Only grew hotter and harder to control with every acknowledgment I gave him. "Then why did you walk in front of one of the deadliest people in the world and tell him to make you into a pincushion?! What is wrong with you Zoro? Are you suicidal?" For some fucking reason, this time he managed to get up, using his elbows to prop himself up rather than relying on his core muscles. "Of course not!" My throat tightened just as I screamed the loudest I had ever been in my entire life. "Then what is it? Why are you so careless with your life?!"

"Because I have to be strong enough!" He screams, tears threatening to spill from his face. "Because I have to! I was the first person Luffy asked for, that makes me the first person he looks to! If I'm not strong enough for him, for this crew," He opened his mouth but closed it just as soon as he realized. Instead, he took the moment to breathe and level out his voice. "Y/n, I have to be strong enough to achieve both my dream, and to be the person Luffy can rely on when he achieves his." Through his defense, I realized just how emotional I got and whipped the tears I had away. "You wouldn't understand." He eventually concluded before he turned back to his damned window.

"No! Of course, I wouldn't understand. How could I? How could I- the "weakest bitch" on the crew, not understand about getting stronger? Rather, how could I understand the complexities around being relied on?" He turned back to me. "No, don't bother Zoro. Clearly, I wouldn't understand your constant and tedious struggle. Absolutely none of us can!" I declared while I motioned my arms above my head to the main deck above us. "y/n-" I don't bother to hear him out. I was on a roll anyway. "Not me, not Sanji, not Ussop, not Nami, no! None of us know the struggles of the master swordsman Roronora Zoro!"

Part 2

#opla zoro x reader #zoro x reader #live action zoro x reader #opla #one piece zoro #one piece #x reader #haha angst #roronoa zoro #i love #putting men in their place #<3

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starsarefire824 · 1 year

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Two shots ring out! BAM!-then a pause-BAM! Mike’s head snaps towards the sound, squinting his eyes to orient himself to the darkness. A guttural, pained wail echoes through the trees as if some forsaken wraith howls at him in this lonely forest, it’s voice sounding all too familiar. Then, a loud screeching roar follows close behind it. Another shot! Mike sucks in a wretched, frightened breath, his heart thrashing in his chest so hard that it feels as if it might shatter his ribs. Dread settles sickeningly in his belly.

Will.

Mike bolts towards the clearing where he had left Will, tripping and falling on the raised root of a tree. He hisses as he scrapes his hands on the rocky ground covered with leaves, hitting his left knee hard . He grunts and pants at the pain, but recovers quickly enough, his mind racing with no other thoughts than getting to his best friend. They’d been assigned patrolling the small gates in the woods near Hopper’s cabin that have opened up, a new one everyday, since the crack in the earth split Hawkins in two nearly four months ago. People have been disappearing for weeks, and while the mayor and the police have been brushing it off as people taking off for safety or straggling missing persons from the ‘earthquake’, Mike and the Party know that it's something much more sinister. Vecna is opening up these little gates for a reason. He is wounded and weak, and so he’s letting his foot soldiers do his dirty work for him, absorbing his victims into the vines and stealing their souls until he has enough strength to see his vision through.

Will has told him as much; at two am when Mike found him sitting on the porch, gazing out at the woods with a shadowy blankness to them that sent a shiver up his spine. He would stare off in the direction of the center of town hidden behind the trees, wearing a blanket, even in the sticky heat, and resting his chin on his knees tucked tight to his chest. He’d be so far away and tense that when Mike would rest a gentle hand on his shoulder he’d shudder so violently he’d almost fall off his chair, fingers clawing viciously at his forearm. It reminded Mike too much of Halloween night all those years ago, when he’d found him cowering and shaking with terror in some random neighbor’s yard, looking up at him like he’d just come out of a nightmare, when the shadow monster was still trapped inside a nightmare, before it took hold of his mind, his very being, and bit down. And now, Will can feel every new soul taken, can feel every single mind stolen away, as if it was his own. Will feels every ounce of strength One gains and Mike feels how it chips away at his best friend, how a little piece of him dies every time. Sometimes the feeling that builds up in Mike's chest so tightly he can't stand it: his frustration, his helplessness, his rage. It tears right out of his chest and he screams into his pillow.

Sweat drips into Mike’s brow and he wipes it away roughly with his forearm. The air is hot and thick with humidity and the ground, the leaves, the air itself, is wet. His hair, curled up and falling out of the half tie he has sloppily pulled it into, sticks to his forehead and his cheeks and along the back of his neck.

“Will!” he calls out wretchedly, almost unable to catch his breath and the injury to his knee sending a sharp surge of throbbing pain through his whole leg. He can feel the warm ripple of blood fall down his knee and the irritating wetness as it saturates the thick sock tucked in the old boot Hopper had given him.

There is no answer. Panic boils through his chest again and then turns to ice as it shoots down his spine. This was such a stupid fucking idea. He told him they shouldn’t split up. That it wasn’t safe.

But things have been quiet the last couple of days, and when things are quiet, you get comfortable. You get cocky. And so he had agreed. Mike hurtles through the thick vegetation, swiping it away forcefully with his arms and ignoring the prickers that claw at his bare arms and the rough bark that bites at his sides through his tank top. His ears ring and he can barely hear the trees as they rustle in the wind. Like someone’s hot cloying breath, it rushes through the forest. He shoves through the last of the small canopy of ferns, vines, and roots, rushing over a lichen covered stump, rotting and slowly being claimed back by the Earth. He steps up onto it, and it breaks. Another scrape drags cruelly down his shin. He grits his teeth and ignores it, having spotted moonlight gleaming on grass ahead. Sucking in ragged breaths, he grabs onto the last, smooth trunk of a thin tree, pulling himself with all his might out into the open.

Mike stumbles into the moon soaked glade to find…Will. His back is to him and his shoulders are rising and falling in heavy waves, rifle loosely held at his side. He can already see the blood. There are two demodogs sprawled at his feet, bleeding out and limp. Mike feels as if his heart stops, and he’s having trouble catching his breath.

“Will?” he asks, and it comes out as a heaving breath of air.

Will’s shaking shoulders turn and he shifts on his feet towards Mike. A rush of happy relief floods through Mike as he sees him, standing and breathing and demodogs dead at his feet.

“Come Away With Me”- read the rest here!!

#byler #writing snippets #stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #apocalypse byler #mike pov #byler fanfic #ao3

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austajunk · 2 months

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7, 14, and 50 with Yuma, Yomi and Makoto... you can pick how they're doing it but there's a lot of different ways they could end up doing this

Funny enough, the best place for Yomi and Makoto to both have Yuma felt like during Chapter Four, but if Yuma got captured at a point and turned over to Amaterasu Corporation and big bad Yomi himself.

Trigger Warning: Non-con (explicitly, sorry nothing with Yomi will ever feel consensual), spit-roasting, bondage, humiliation, mind break, and orgasm denial/edging.

The damp chill of the room swept across Yuma's naked form. A line of drool had formed at his lips where a gag had been placed. Beaten and bruised, he couldn't bring himself to move under the swinging, fluorescent lights above his head. He shifted, trying to feel just a sense of something in his limbs, but a bitter numbness was the only response his body gave him.

Thick belts strapped him down to the leather contraption with his head drooping over the edge. Tight straps wound around his waist forced Yuma's naked ass into the air. His hands and knees were locked in place, secured to latches above his head. He felt like he was compressed to the spot, nearly unable to breathe.

Finally, to cap it off, a Hitachi wand shoved against his half-erect cock, buzzing at a low vibration. Every time he moved or jerked his hips, the poor detective (or former detective) ran the risk of the wand sliding somewhere else along his shaft, sending a new sensation along his tip.

“Oh please,” Yomi Hellsmile sneered above him as Yuma had been strapped down against his will. He tightly grasped the detective's chin and forced the young man to gaze into his sinister eyes. “Don't look so somber, you wretched, little shit! I'm gonna fuck you until you don't remember who you are.”

He let go of Yuma's chin and flashed a grin to the man settled against the wall. From behind his mask, who knew how Makoto Kagutsuchi felt about this situation Yuma was trapped in? Infiltrating Amaterasu Corporation had seen to the detective's arrest, along with the round up of his friends and associates. It was a pitiful sight to behold for Makoto, but he could already tell it was time to cut his losses when it came to his “other self”.

Makoto's mask seemed to give off a blinding shimmer under the lights as he approached Yomi's captive. “Hm… Well, you did catch him fair and square, I suppose. He is yours to dispose of as you wish, Yomi.” His voice barely changed its tone as he eyed Yuma. Did he feel remorseful? No… not particularly. Rather, he was curious as he watched his true self strain his eyes.

The breath quickened from Yuma's lips and his eyes watered from the treatment against his cock. Did… he hear that right? Makoto was betraying him to Yomi Hellsmile?!

Yomi snorted and gripped Yuma's hair, beckoning a choked grunt from the boy behind his gag. “Fuck off, you masked freak! I don't need your permission to exercise my power over this goddamn nuisance,” he hissed at Makoto, who folded his arms in turn. He knelt down to Yuma's height, adjusting the chair to raise Yuma over onto his back. “Besides, I am much more of a benevolent director than that! I believe in recycling this little piece of filth into a successful toy…”

Gritting his teeth against the rough material of the ball gag, Yuma winced as Yomi tugged his head up. He ripped the gag from his lips and let Yuma cry out for air. But his respite wouldn't last for long. The sound of a buckle being undone and dropping to the floor made the detective shudder. His cock shamefully twitched against the vibrating toy, giving Yomi a cruel chuckle.

“Oh? Is that what gets you excited, you little shit?” Yomi gave Yuma's face a small slap before taking a handful of his violet locks again.

Makoto approached quietly, looking over Yuma as his cock stood up from the attention. Pain was always a strange gateway to pleasure for some. It amused the masked homonculus to see his original self react to something so merciless with a burst of arousal. He peered closer, letting his hand glide over Yuma's cock. He gently took it between his fingers and massaged Yuma, watching the boy fight the moans that formed at his lips.

“Ah…angh…please…” Yuma mouthed as Yomi tightened his grip in his hair. He couldn't help himself. His body wanted to react, wanted to roll his hips so he could feel more. After being strapped down for so long, the numbness faded and the heat and hunger swiftly took its place. Drool smeared down his chin and his eyes watered. “Please… don't!”

“Hm?” Makoto glanced up. His loving strokes up and down Yuma's girth did not stop. His thumb pressed the sensitive vein beneath the tip, earning him another wince from his victim. “Surely, you're enjoying this, aren't you? Don't lie to yourself, Yuma…”

He drank in the way Yuma's chest rose up and down, how his hips fought to undulate more and more into his grasp. Humans couldn't help such things like being slaves to their needs. Yuma's mind could scream at his body to stop, but his body would always want and need so much more.

“No!” Yuma cried out in protest, trying to raise his head away from Yomi. “I-I don't want this-! I don't-!”

But Yomi held firm. His pants had trailed to the floor, revealing his cock that he had been stroking to full erection as Yuma struggled. Without hesitation, Yomi’s fingers wrenched Yuma's mouth wide open and forced his cock between his lips until the detective choked. His knuckles dug into Yuma's locks, dragging his head along his cock until he smirked at that merciless gagging noise he longed for.

“That's better,” said Yomi, moving his hips to fuck Yuma's throat. “Better breathe through your nose, slave.”

Yuma could barely see with the salty tears in his eyes, let alone find the time to breathe. It was suffocating and hectic. His head throbbed as the cock hollowed into his throat, then his cheeks. Resigned to the brutality, Yuma had no choice but to run his tongue along his captor’s shaft, tasting his bittersweet precum. He lapped and licked until Yomi found a solid pace and filled the room with the sounds of his thrusts and Yuma's groans.

With his cock twitching from Makoto’s ministrations, Yuma felt the pleasure travel throughout his lower body. Being so roughly manhandled felt… it took him over. There was no other way to describe it. Just as he reached the point of seeing stars behind his eyes, ready to give himself over to a climax, Makoto suddenly tightened his grip around Yuma’s shaft.

“Mhn!!” Yuma squealed, his sobs stifled by Yomi’s torment. The redhead’s balls slapped his chin, painting the boy’s pitiful face in precum and spittle.

“Not yet, Yuma…let’s share this together,” said Makoto in an eerily calm voice. He tugged his zipper down and let his pants drop to the floor. Moments later, as he kept hold of Yuma’s cock until his orgasm climbed back down, Makoto was rubbing his own six-inch erection to Yuma’s puckered backside. Yuma groaned low in his throat, sending the vibrations down Yomi’s own cock.

Yomi hissed. “That's it, you filth…keep it up like that and I may actually let you come. Would you like that?” With a satisfied chortle, he changed his pace by holding Yuma’s head down his crotch until the boy’s nose pressed to his red pubic hair. “That's right…hold it…nhh…fuck… hold it…” His face twisted, contorting with ecstasy.

From behind, Makoto’s hand was slicked with spittle and some of Yuma’s salty precum. He worked his fingers into Yuma’s hole and made rough scissoring motions against his walls. In and out, in and out… until Yuma was loosened and ready for him.

“You can have him for yourself, Yomi,” said Makoto quietly as he watched his “colleague” assault the human he was born from. He stroked Yuma’s inner thighs before gripping his hips. “I'll be taking his first time however.”

Even Makoto was surprised by how cold he could be to his former self. Something about Yuma going from being Number One to just a mere plaything within a few months was truly staggering. In this dark and depraved hell underneath the Amaterasu Corporation’s labs, he realized… he could simply let Yuma disappear.

And so, he drove his cock inside of Yuma’s asshole, taking him for himself. Makoto let out groan, thankfully cut off by his mask, then bucked and regained his composure to start fucking Yuma. His strokes were considerably more benevolent than Yomi’s, who fucked Yuma’s throat until he was sure the detective couldn't form words anymore. His tight walls caressed him until Makoto himself was letting out a gentle groan.

Yuma cries ebbed away into mere groans for more, the sensation running down Yomi's mast until the nightmarish director shuddered. He began to pant and speed up, thrusting into Yuma's mouth like a greedy animal. Finally, he pulled back, letting two hot spurts of cum paint Yuma's cheeks, nose, and hair. He let out a pleased grunt, letting go of Yuma's head and then brushing his cock against the boy's lips.

“Go on. Get a taste, won't you?” Yomi ordered. The bittersweet cum trickled between Yuma's lips and obediently, he lapped it up then moved his head to lick Yomi’s balls. “...Heh, fast learner, are we?”

Indeed, Yuma was utterly broken. He didn't want anymore. The rest of his body numbed out the onslaught, but his ass burned with Makoto inside of him–that was, until Makoto found a special spot. The drive of his cock against Yuma's button seared white hot pleasure through him, forcing his head back.

The former detective shattered. Ecstasy worked through his cock, climbing until Yuma couldn't see straight. All he wanted was release and finally, he had it. His animalistic cries and moans saw him coming against the seat he was strapped to, leaving a small puddle of white between his own thighs.

Moments after, Makoto had reached his ending as well and came, filling his insides with warmth. For a second, it was almost comforting to lie there and not move, to pant and accept Makoto’s cum inside of him. Defiled and debased as he was, Yuma was too far gone to care. His cock still twitched from his climax. Yomi's cum dried on his lips.

Makoto pulled out of him with a small pop and smeared his cock against Yuma's backside to clean up. He nodded to Yomi, who had retrieved Yuma’s gag.

“Just keep him alive,” said Makoto. And he turned away from his ruined self to fix his trousers.

#mdarc #master detective archives: rain code #rain code #yuma kokohead #makoto kagutsuchi #yomi hellsmile #helltsuchi #yomikoto #makoyuma #kokosmile #whatever these ships are called lol #nsft prompts #nsft #writing prompts #thanks for the request

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tmnt-obsessed-ace · 2 years

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When the World Crumbles: Chapter Six, Animatronic Anarchy

If Donatello had to describe how the past week had progressed, he would say that it was a perfect textbook example of Murphy's Law.

Everything that could've possibly gone wrong had in fact gone wrong.

The Kraang had moved the portal, and were overwhelming the four turtles while they had searched the city. The looming invasion drew closer and closer and once they finally found the portal their problems were supposed to end!

They didn't.

Instead of ending up in Dimension X, somehow the four ended up in a different dimension. One filled with neon colors that made the purple clad turtle's eyes hurt just looking at it.

With no food or medical supplies, Michelangelo volunteered to go scavenging. That was an idiotic idea since all four of their T-phones were back in the lair.

Now Donatello, Raphael, and Leonardo had split up to search for their youngest. Again incredibly idiotic. They should've stayed together, yes they wouldn't be able to search a wider area but at least they wouldn't be alone in this strange city.

And Donatello wouldn't be running for his life.

He had found a large warehouse when searching for Michelangelo. Normally the purple clad turtle wouldn't have even spared a second glance towards the building, as it was highly unlikely that his brother went there.

He jumped over a dumpster, the metal lid snagged on him, tearing some of the stitches on his leg apart. That didn't stop him though, he just kept running.

However there was something odd about that warehouse. Something that set off all the alarm bells in Donatello's mind. He just had to investigate! Because whatever was contained in that warehouse felt almost…sinister.

"Keep running! Don't stop! It can't follow me forever!" Donatello told himself, one arm tightly wrapped around his side. Hot blood oozed around the limb from the wounds underneath. The blood loss made the turtle shiver as he sprinted, vision blurring with every step.

So he snuck inside, the warning bells ringing louder and louder in his head with every step. Somehow the bells had switched from 'Something is seriously wrong, go investigate!' to 'Something is seriously wrong, get the hell out of here!'

He had turned a corner, ignoring a pile of scrap metal lying nearby, and saw two men loading supplies into a large van. Both of them had a strange purplish tint to their skin and what looked like flames flickering over their heads. However that was all Donatello could see as not only were their backs turned to him but they were leaving as well.

"Where's the birthday boy?" A cruel robotic voice yelled. It sounded distorted and garbled, like two voices were speaking at once. It was followed by the ear splitting shrieking of metal dragging against the ground.

As he was about to confront the purple guys, metal claws tore deep into his right side, throwing him out of the warehouse. It turns out the pile of scrap metal was not in fact scrap metal. He hand landed on the concrete, dazed and gasping in pain before laughter filled his ears. The hooded turtle looked up to see an animatronic bear wearing a top hat looming over him, laughing like a mad man.

And that's when he ran.

Donatello turned a corner, hiding behind the support pillar of a nearby building. He held his breath as the monstrosity approached, searching for the purple clad turtle.

"Come on out! We gotta sing the birthday song!" The creature said in that horrifying voice. Donatello didn't dare to even breathe, hoping that his racing heart was not audible to the robotic horrorshow.

After a few moments he was starting to get light headed, his lungs pleading for air.

"Where are you…It's always a fun time at Albearto's!" The strange thing cooed menacingly, slamming its razor sharp claws into a trash can, practically shredding the unfortunate plastic.

Donatello's face was starting to turn from bright red like his older brother's signature mask, his lungs straining. Carbon dioxide was building inside his chest, desperately needing to be expelled so fresh oxygen could be brought in.

He dared to glance beyond the safety of the large pillar, watching the nightmarish amalgamation of scrap metal search for him, getting closer and closer to the pillar.

The beast looked like an animatronic bear of some kind with a top hat. Its entire body was a disfigured endoskeleton, with sharp clawed hands. Perfect for vivisecting a lonesome turtle.

This thing looked like it crawled straight out of a Five Nights At Freddy's game, and was probably possessed by the poor souls of a few dead children to boot.

Well ok maybe that last bit was Donatello being sleep deprived and in too much pain to focus.

Two glowing red eyes locked on the russet brown one peeking over the edge of the pillar. Donatello moved his head behind the pillar, his heart skipping several beats.

"I've found you…come on out birthday boy!" The robot shouted, approaching the pillar. The hooded turtle's face was starting to resemble Leonardo's mask as his lungs screamed for air. His head was getting heavy.

Claws tore through the pillar like it was made of paper, debris crumbling down on Donatello's head and shoulders. He gave up, gasping for air as the dust from the pillar filled his lungs. Maybe now wasn't the best time to breathe.

The metal hand grabbed the turtle by the head, chucking him into the nearby wall of the building.

Before he had a chance to react the claws were around his throat, threatening to dig in and rupture his jugular veins. He would bleed out in seconds if that happened.

Donatello shut his eyes, not wanting to look directly into the animatronic's crimson glare. He could feel the metal claws constricting around his throat.

He could vaguely hear the beast talking at him but all the words were drowned out by the ringing of his ears. The wounds on his right side throbbed with hot pain, they were most likely starting to get infected by now. The animatronic's claws were caked with god only knows what.

A metal hand slammed against his face, knocking him from his own thoughts. Donatello whined, that was going to be a big bruise. He looked up, brown eyes meeting artificial red ones.

"You stupid turtles ruined everything!" The animatronic yelled, shaking Donatello like a rag doll. "Did you think I would just forget? Of course not you silly willy!" Donatello glared at this stupid thing, fear fading to anger. As the animatronic continued to babble, eventually the purple clad turtle had enough!

"I don't even fucking know who you are!" The hooded turtle shrieked, kicking this Freddy Fazbear wannabe in the jaw.

That left the robotic abomination disorientated enough for Donatello to scramble free of the metal grip, grab his enhanced bō staff and swing it into the animatronic's neck. Full Power. Electricity pulsed through the rusted metal, causing the evil bear to sputter and scream as its circuits were fried.

For the second time that night, Donatello ran for his life, wanting to put as much distance between him and the Great Value Freddy Fazbear as possible.

Eventually his legs gave out, buckling underneath him. He had to rest, just for a minute.

Donatello leaned against a wall, removing his wrappings. He frantically tied them over the claw marks and held them in place, slowing the bleeding. It didn't matter if the wrappings were dirty, the wounds were probably already getting infected. Stop the bleeding first, deal with infection later.

His breath came out in ragged huffs as he tried to calm his pounding heart.

'Just gotta keep breathing…' He thought to himself. The sky was starting to get lighter, the sunrise was getting closer and closer. The sun rises in New York City at about six thirty am.

And sunrise means that people will start opening their blinds.

If Donatello had to guess he'd say that it's about two thirty am. So four more hours before dawn. All he has to do is survive the night.

This really is like a game of Five Nights At Freddy's.

A voice called out, making Donatello go rigid. He racked his brain trying to place a name to the voice but his mind was too scrambled to focus. Although it did sound familiar.

"Donnie!" The voice called out, a figure dropping down into the alley way. The purple clad turtle grabbed his bō staff, holding it defensively at the figure.

The figure came out of the shadows. It was Raphael, sporting many new bleeding bite marks all over his body and a gash on the side of his face, like he'd been dragged across the pavement.

"Raphie?" Donatello asked, wondering if this was real or just a hallucination. Raphael held up his hands, anger and worry filling those bright green eyes.

"Shit man what the fuck happened to you?" The red clad turtle yelled, instantly at his younger brother's side once his weapon was dropped.

"I could ask you the same question." Donatello joked, looking over every single bite mark. Raphael pushed his hands off his side, examining the wounds.

Though the red clad turtle was not the medic of the family, as that was Donatello's role or occasionally Leonardo's. But he did know the most basic things, like how to stitch wounds.

He pulled out the fishing wire and the needle, quickly sewing the gashes shut while Donatello grit his teeth. The end result was not at all pretty to look at and would most likely leave very visible scars but it was not about making the wounds look nice. It was about closing the wounds. The wrappings were wrapped tightly over the fragile stitching as an extra layer of protection.

"Did you find Mikey?" Donatello asked, quickly giving his older brother an exam of his own. Raphael shook his head, fury growing in his eyes. Behind the fury was something else, waiting to combust and fuel the fires. It was fear.

"Have you seen Leo?" Donatello frowned at the question, he had tried to at least keep Leonardo in his peripheral vision while they searched, as there was no way the leader in blue was gonna end up alone again. But somehow he did. Hopefully he was just gliding over another part of the city.

"How did you even get so many bite marks?" Raphael pulled something out of his shell. It was completely charred and lay limp in the red clad turtle's hand, obviously dead. It looked like an overgrown silverfish.

"Really, this little guy gave you so much grief?" Donatello asked, sarcasm poisoning his words. Raphael growled, rolling his eyes.

"No! He and all his hundreds of friends did. What happened to you? Lose a fight to a mutant raccoon?"

"More like if Freddy Fazbear was bought off of Wish."

"...How much blood did you lose?"

"Raph I'm serious!"

"So am I!"

Donatello sighed, clambering to his feet. They didn't have time to sit here and bicker, they now have two brothers to find.

Hopefully Leonardo and Michelangelo were together in one place and would stay that way until the two middle brothers found them.

Although they both knew that realistically, given their shitty luck, that scenario was extremely unlikely.

"Come on out, birthday boy!" The animatronic shouted, looking down the alleyway. Raphael's eyes went wide at the sight of the mangled animatronic.

"Damn you weren't kidding! Wish Freddy Fazbear looking ass!" Twin sais were drawn, ready to defend the younger brother from this robotic nightmare.

The monster roared in a buzzing metallic way, crackling electricity from its short circuits filling the air.

Raphael let out a battle cry, pouncing on the robot. Every blow and every kick seemed to be nothing more than an annoyance while the red clad turtle narrowly avoided the razor sharp claws just to stay alive.

Donatello kept shocking the animatronic every time Raphael was out of range, hoping to wear it down.

Eventually Raphael turned to his taller sibling and shouted.

"Hey Donnie, how do the FNAF games end?"

"What?"

"Answer the question brainiac! How does Springtrap's ugly old ass get beaten every time?"

Donatello thought for a moment, dodging the claws that wanted to tear his organs apart.

"He gets set on fire a lot!" Donatello yelled back after a beat. Raphael nodded with a devilish smirk. He already knew that, bastard.

The flamethrowers on his hands glowed brightly before the flames erupted. The bright orange attacked the rusted metal of the monster, making it howl in agony. Raphael grabbed his brother, letting him lean against him.

"Suck on that you hunk of scrap!" The red clad turtle yelled.

However the Albearto animatronic did not go down. It kept coming towards them, flames covering its body.

"It's still going?" Donatello shouted as Raphael practically dragged him away in a full on sprint. The robot gave chase, not fazed by the flames.

"Nice job Raph, now it's on fire!" The purple clad turtle hissed, ignoring the angry glare on his brother's face.

"God damn why can't you just die!" Raphael barked before turning a corner, spotting someone about to enter their car. Perfect.

"Springtrap didn't die after getting set on fire either! And he got burned alive multiple times!"

"We can argue about that later!" Before the person, a man in his mid to late thirties wearing some kind of store uniform, could enter the car, Raphael snatched the keys from his hand and shoved the man to the ground.

"Get in!" Donatello nodded, climbing into the shotgun seat while Raphael took the driver's seat. He started the car and raced off, leaving the man to angrily yell at them. In the rear view mirror a woman and child wearing similar uniforms came out of the house. However the two turtles couldnt give less of a fuck as they raced off, the flaming animatronic hot on their tail.

April looked down at her phone for perhaps the thousandth time tonight. All her calls and messages were unanswered, the turtles' weren't even online! Worry and anger filled her uneasy stomach.

She was worried that her best friends, her brothers for so long, were in deep trouble. Something must've happened if they are going so long without answering their phones.

And all April wanted was to pummel whatever was hurting her family into the dirt, tear it about and scatter the remains.

However, if the boys were just screwing off, then their remains will be scattered all over the country instead, for making her worry so much.

That usually wasn't the case, even when the boys were out on long patrols or in stealth missions they at least sent a message stating that beforehand!

"Ugh come on guys answer your phones!" April pleaded with the piece of metal and plastic in her hand. Sadly it did nothing. No new notifications or anything!

So she kept searching the city, waiting to see the signature blue, purple, red and orange colors of her brothers. If she did she would make sure they were ok.

And then yell at them.

Suddenly a car sped down the road at top speed, causing several more to honk their horns as the car skidded over a corner before zooming off again. Now bad drivers in New York City are incredibly common, in fact they outnumber the decent drivers!

However, a car being chased by a broken down mangled version of Albearto that is also on fire is not a common occurrence in the slightest, just strange. Weird but it's New York City, weirder things have happened.

What caught April's attention was the flash of green and red in the driver's seat. And standing here waiting for the dum dum quadruplets to answer their phones was a waste of time at best.

April pocketed her phone and booked it after the car, dodging the early morning city folks in her path.

She jumped over a pretzel stand that was being set up, following the smoke from the flaming Albearto.

From what April could tell the car started to skid, the brakes locking. She could faintly hear screams as the car slammed into a lamp post, nearly knocking it over!

She sprinted over, just in time for two mutants to run out of the car and book it into a nearby parking garage.

"Hey wait! I need to talk to you fools!" April called out, her heart suddenly hammering in her chest like a jackhammer. The two mutants were both turtles…

One wearing a red mask and the other wearing a purple one. She could see two sais and a bō staff in their hands, respectively.

Just like Raph and Donnie.

There is no fucking way in hell that that is a coicidence.

One of the turtles, the one in purple, looked back at her before chucking several shurikens in April's direction. But she's April O'Neil! She pulled out her bat, the glowing green flames sparking to life at her touch. She smacked the throwing stars away like baseballs. Two went off, but one stayed embedded in the wooden bat.

The two strange turtles ducked inside the parking garage. Flaming Albearto chasing after them. April was about to follow them when her eyes landed on a crane. This parking garage was still under construction after all. Two metal girders were hanging from the crane's arm. April smirked, time to put her crane operating license to use.

Raphael has never hated the universe as much as he has at this moment in time. Was it too much to ask for things to go right for once? Everything has gone wrong and it keeps happening! Like the universe is purposefully screwing with them just to watch in amusement as the red clad turtle tries to protect his family and stay alive!

He blocked deadly claws with his sais, one flamethrower shooting out more bright flames onto the animatronic. Maybe if he burns it enough it will stop working!

Donatello kept shocking it with his enhanced bō staff, although a lot of his hits did not land with how woozy the younger turtle was. Raphael kept his brother in his peripherals, focusing on this stupid robot!

The sharp claws snatched him and flung him into a pile of cinder blocks. Raphael let out a strangled yelp as his left ankle twisted under his weight. Thankfully it wasn't broken. He stood, swearing under his breath at the fiery agony coursing through his leg. The animatronic laughed, its claws narrowly missing Donatello's head.

"Over here Don!" The red clad turtle yelled from behind the cinder blocks. Donatello staggered over, nearly falling to the ground before his older brother caught him. "I got you, I got you…" Raphael pulled the younger turtle close to him, watching in horror as the still flaming robot started charging towards them.

How the fuck was it still kicking?

"Stay here and if it comes for you hide in your shell!" Raphael whispered, not even giving Donatello a chance to argue before he hopped over the cinder blocks, ready to tear this beast apart with his bare hands.

Or die trying.

"Raph no what are you doing! Raph!" Donatello yelled, apparently being self-sacrificial runs in the family. "Stop taking after Leo you idiot!"

Raphael's green eyes locked with the red animatronic's. His eyes seemed to glow as the fires grew hotter and hotter. Fueled by rage and the desire to keep his younger brother safe, Raphael dashed forward.

It didn't matter how much Donatello yelled, there was no stopping it. All he could do was look away, as not to watch the incoming bloodbath.

Raphael grabbed his brother's bō staff, electricity sparking off the weapon and he jumped onto the monster.

"Raph no!" Donatello yelled, trying to run over despite the wounds.

In a flash he brought the staff down on the animatronic's head, electricity zapping the metal monster. Unfortunately Raphael got electrocuted as well. He screamed as the electricity coursed through his veins but still managed to fight it enough to activate a flamethrower and set it alight, burning the animatronic at close range.

He could hear Donatello screaming but it was starting to get muffled. Hopefully this would be enough to take the stupid robot down.

It must've been only a couple of seconds before something slammed into the animatronic, sending the red clad turtle flying across the ground. He bounced a bit before landing, steam coming off his body. He tried to catch his breath, lungs refusing to cooperate while Donatello rushed to his side.

Raphael looked up, unfocused green eyes locking with terrified russet brown ones.

"Hey Dee…" Raphael said weakly, one of the plus sides of being a mutant turtle is that he survives things most humans would not. Donatello pulled him into a hug, holding him as tightly as he could.

"Next time Leo goes self-sacrificial you have no room to say a goddamn thing."

"That's fair." A horrible metallic shriek echoed through the parking garage, making both turtles cover their ears. They looked over, the animatronic's head had gotten knocked clean off by two metal girders on a crane and now it was laying in the ground, smoldering.

The driver of the crane got out, it was that girl who was chasing them before. Donatello picked up the bō staff, swinging the electrified weapon at the girl when she approached.

She dodged, pulling out a bat. It lit up with green flames in her hand. The two weapons collided, both the turtle and the girl baring their teeth.

She dodged another and jumped away, grabbing a piece of debris and batting it at Donatello's head like a baseball.

"I don't want to fight you!" She yelled, eyes burning with the same worried angry fire that had been in Raphael's eyes the entire week.

"Oh yeah that was obvious!" Donatello retorted sarcastically as Raphael finally managed to get back on his feet. His legs felt like they were made of jelly but he didn't care.

The purple clad turtle and girl were exchanging blows once again, though Donatello was struggling to keep up.

"Donnie duck!" Rapahel shouted, causing the younger turtle to duck as flames shot just over his shell aiming for the girl. She fell backwards just in time for only her hair to get a little singed.

The girl was staring wide eyed at the two turtles, mouth agape as she tried to process. Although it didn't seem like she was processing nearly being set on fire.

She pointed at Donatello "Your name is Donnie?" She asked, disbelief in her voice.

"Uh yeah…"

The girl looked at Raphael, who only gave her a scowl in response.

"And your name is Raph, right?"

"Yeah it is, what the fuck does that mean to you?" Donatello lightly smacked him over the head for the rude response.

"What's your name exactly?"

"April O'Neil." She said, standing up and running her fingers through her hair. Just a little bit of burn damage.

Before any of them had a chance to say anything else, a metallic scraping sound echoed through the parking garage. The trio turned in horror, watching the charred mangled head of the animatronic reattach to its body before letting out a bone chilling laugh.

"It's still alive? After getting its fucking head whacked off!" Raphael yelled before Donatello pushed him and April out of the parking garage.

The three of them screamed as the Albearto animatronic gave chase once again, what will it take to kill this fucker? A nuke?

The trio got in another car, this one didn't have the keys but Donatello was quickly working on starting it.

April grabbed her bat, charging at the animatronic.

"Apriiiil O'Neiiil!" She shouted, smacking the beast with the enchanted bat. Every time she dodged Raphael attacked with the flamethrowers because apparently this bitch can't fucking die!

"I got it! Let's go!" Donatello yelled. Raphael grabbed April by the arm and dragged her into the car. The doors were locked once the two were in the back seats and Donatello quickly sped off, putting as much distance between them and the evil immortal bear as possible.

"Jesus fucking christ! First an invasion and now an immortal death machine? What next Santa becomes evil!" Raphael groaned. April looked horrified.

"An invasion? What do you mean an invasion! What's invading!" She shouted, grabbing Raphael by the shoulders.

Donatello narrowly avoided a mailbox. The car's jerking and skidding was making Raphael nauseous.

"Look, we'll explain later, right now we have to find our brothers." He said, trying not to puke. He glanced at the time on the car's dashboard. 3:15 am it read.

April gave him a surprisingly sympathetic look. "I'm looking for my brothers too, maybe we can help each other?" She asked and Raphael nodded right before the car ran over something small, jolting the two passengers around a little.

"What did you hit?" April shouted.

"I don't know!" The car was stopped and the trio got out looking at what had gotten run over. Raphael and Donatello shared looks of pure horror as they stared at the object and dots of drying blood surrounding it.

It was Michelangelo's grappling hook.

What had happened to their little brother?

#rottmnt #tmnt 2012 #crossover #tmnt crossover #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #teeange mutant ninaj turtles

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bensolosbluesaber · 3 years

Text

Returning a Favor (Zemo x Reader fic)

TFATWS Ep. 4 Spoilers!!

Summary: When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn't expect to bond with the villain. (AKA: I thought getting hit in the face by the Shield would at least leave a bruise. Here's how that would go down with a fourth person.)

CW: Blood, wounds, some creepy behavior (not from Zemo), a few Y/N inserts

No smut yet, just cute cuddles and taking care of each other. Maybe smut in the future though! Let me know if you want a Part 2 or added to a tag list for potential future fics! I think the reader can be any gender; I tried to write it that way and be inclusive, but please tell me if I messed up!

If you know me in real life, no you don't:) I write most of my fics on @aurora521 and write on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the same name. Please don't come for me about finding Zemo attractive.

Hope you enjoy!

---

Returning a Favor

Meet me in Riga. -S

That was the text you received from Sam Wilson, your old military friend, yesterday. And now here you are, outside the Riga airport walking toward Sam in traditional undercover superhero attire- a baseball hat and sunglasses.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted. “We have a little problem.”

“Is his name Baron Helmut Zemo by chance?” You asked, following him to a jet black sports car.

You were very aware of just what type of trouble Sam was getting himself into since you, a SWORD agent, still had access to all kinds of classified information.

“See for yourself,” Sam muttered, gesturing to the back door of the car and climbing in the driver's seat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.

“And I you,” you respond.

Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.

The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.

“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.

The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.

“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.

Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.

“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”

“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.

“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”

Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.

“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”

You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.

The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.

“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.

“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.

You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.

You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.

“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.

His voice is calm, accent thick.

“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”

You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.

“Let me.”

Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.

When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.

“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”

“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”

“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”

Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.

“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”

“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.

He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.

“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”

Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.

___

When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.

“What happened?”

“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.

You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.

“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”

“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.

Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.

“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.

There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.

“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”

You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.

“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.

You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.

“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.

He was sitting next to Sam now.

“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.

You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.

Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.

You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.

“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.

“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”

You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.

“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.

You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.

“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.

You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.

“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.

When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.

Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.

“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”

“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,” Zemo shot back.

He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”

“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.

He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.

Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.

“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”

Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.

“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.

Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.

“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.

“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.

Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.

“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”

He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.

He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.

“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”

Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.

“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”

“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”

You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.

His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.

“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”

Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.

“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”

Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.

“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”

He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.

“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.

For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.

“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”

Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.

Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.

Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.

“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.

“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.

“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”

You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.

“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.

He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.

Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.

It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.

“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.

Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.

“One of you better start talking.”

#tfatws spoilers #tfatws #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #zemo fic #zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #spoilers #soft zemo #self insert fic #zemo x you #baron zemo x you #helmut zemo x you #zemo x reader fic #daniel brühl

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skipps-writes-for-gojo-satoru · 3 years

Note

Can you pretty please write a HC for Gojo where his S/O gets hurt protecting him? It’s my fave trope EVER and I feel like I cannot find anything to satisfy this need. TY SM 💛

A little break from all the smut I've been writing 😂 it's also my favorite trope! reader dying too hopefully I can satisfy your need 🥺👉👈

I hope you like it! 💙

Oh boy, this could go three ways depending on the situation and how bad his S/O's wound is.

Gojo Satoru is a strong you knew this by heart, that he was basically untouchable. However, when you see an incoming attack towards him that he doesn't notice. You felt your heart drop, you didn't have to think. Your body moved on it's own, moving towards him as fast as you can, shielding him from the attack.

When Satoru notices your presence and what you've done, it will seem as if time slowed down. He could see you slowly starting to collapse from the damage you've taken. He'll instantly reach out to catch you before you fall to the ground. His eyes growing wide behind his blindfold, his breathing stops as an immeasurable amount of fear and pain consumes his heart.

He catches you and quickly examines the state of your wound.

If you're still conscious and the wound doesn't seem fatal, he'll visibly relax telling you to wait a moment as he slowly and painfully exorcise the cursed spirit that dared to harm you. Then teleporting you to Shoko.

"You're an idiot." Gojo flicks a finger to your forehead lightly as he frowns. You yelp from the pain clenching your forehead as Shoko treats you. "Don't you dare ever do that again." He'll be by your side the whole time scolding you but also taking care of you despite your efforts of telling him that you're fine. He'll be extra clingy afterwards, you gave him the scare of his life.

If the wound seems fatal, as blood continuously pours out from your wound. He'll internally panic, eyes full of worry. "(Y/N), stay with me!" "It's going to be okay...!"

Nothing would matter to him, his priority would be bringing you to Shoko. As he waits with bated breath, hoping, wishing that you'll be okay. The world has already taken so many people from him he couldn't lose you too.

Always by your bedside. The only time where he let's out his true emotions, on the brink of tears as he sits in the dark room clenching your hand tightly. His heart full of regret and pain, that he wasn't strong enough to protect you.

He won't leave your side until you regain consciousness. Missions be damned he couldn't care less until he knows he could see your smiling face again.

If you have been killed. Gojo holds your lifeless body tightly as he shouts out your name repeatedly, hoping you'll wake up and tell him that it was all a joke that you're still alive and breathing. "(Y/N)!" "No no no...!" "Don't leave me..!" "....Please!"

In that moment if the cursed spirit decides to attack him, something within Gojo snaps as he gently lays your body down. His aura so palpable and deadly that if anyone or anything tries to get close to you they'll be instantly obliterated.

The usual light in his eyes disappearing, darkening turning into something more sinister than anything you could ever imagine. The mere sight of his current state would instill fear to allies and foes alike.

He couldn't imagine living in a world without you. The cruel world that has taken you from him. The only light and love of his life...

"(Y/N), I'll be by your side soon. After I rid the world of it's existence. "

Note: well that turned out darker than I expected 😃

Taglist: @the-fandoms-georgie @crapimahuman @annie-acadia @iwanttobefuckedbysatorugojo @spicyyren @asmaeackerman1 @clearlynotellie @your-waifuuuuu @dokiwoki

#gojou satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #jjk imagines #skipps writes #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk x reader

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thekillingjoke-haha · 3 years

Text

We’re Batshit Crazy

@spnquotebingo Word count:1,609

Summary: Love isn't all that perfect sometimes love is crazy especially when the Hero is in love with said crazy.

Gotham AU

Jason Todd(Jensen Ackles) x Villan!Reader

Enemies and Lovers (none of that "to" bs)

Gotham Recasting: Batman=John, Dick Grayson(second Robin not first) =Sam ,Tim Drake=Adam, Joker(ledger style)=Lucifer, Harley Quinn=Lilith,ect.

Warnings: Mention of death, blood, guns, and violence

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The mad laughter rung out into the night sky as the purple Lamborghini hit corners with violently sharp turns. "Oh puddin I just love family night!~" The pale platinum blonde giggled as the man with green dyed hair licked his smiling lips. A bubble of laughter came from the back seat he turned around to see his princess looking out the small back window. "Batsy batsy batsy" Her low/high pitched giggle caused a crazy chain reaction as the bat mobile hurried to catch up. "Always ruining our fun,huh,princess?" The clown king shifted his gray-ish blue order into the mirror grinning making the scars on his face raise into a sinister smile at the look of pure chaos in his daughter's e/c eyes. "Not tonight! Not on my birthday!!" She said as she smiled reaching under the seat to pull out a Tommy gun. Climbing to the front seat sitting on her mothers lap she leaned out the passenger window. "Go back to the Rat cave your not gonna put a downer on my weekend!" Y/n yelled shooting off round towards the tires,windshield,and headlights.

The mobile didn't seem to have a scratch as as a motorcycle pulled up beside it. Slipping back in the car the younger women pouted looking at get parents. "He called his little birdie no doubt the replacements in the car." Y/n huffed as she dug around for more fire power. "Puddin we have a visitor.~" The red mask gazed at us as he lifted a forearm pistol. Shots were fired and Joker took a hard right almost like tron the motorcycle quickly turned into a ally to avoid being hit. "Sorry Princess might have to cut tonight shot." He said licking his lips as a thump came from the roof making the youngest clown snarl her eye crazed as she shot above her as the purple car swerved wildly. "YOU'RE RUINING MY BIRTHDAY,BATS!!!" Y/n cackled madly a mixture of her parents laughed till the magazine ran out.

They got to one of their warehouses where Jokers men were armed to the teeth. The clown mask had black soulless eyes and immediately fired the moment the batmobile entered. Y/n skipped out of the purple Lamborghini she got on her tippy toes and kissed her dad on the cheek. "I got the hooded punk. Can you clip the bats wings for me...a little present?!" He laughed as he armed himself with a shotgun. "Anything for my princess." The f/c sf/c female clown skipped away knowing that the motorcycle riding vigilante was hot on her tail. That's how she found herself on the roof tops jumping the gaps as heavy footfalls followed. Her loud laugh echoed as she leaped to a smaller building hiding behind a vent the moment the brown leather jacket came into view she tackled the tall man. They were both panting as a grin pulled on the clowns lips.

Y/n POV

"Caught ya,Jay bird." I giggled pulling of the helmet his apple green eyes covered by a second mask stared at me he chuckled as his hand slipped above his head in mock surrender. "Yeah you caught me,beautiful." Leaning down I kiss him my hands pushed into his cheeks my thumb running over the scarred J. We've been dating for awhile now ever since dad kidnapped the second Robin at seventeen. I was fifteen at the time and dad had me at his side as he tortured him.I was always there to stitched him up and put burn cream after shock therapy I didn't know how we got attached maybe because he wanted to rebel a little by talking to me or someone around his age saw the same if not worse shit.

Six years ago(Y/n 15 Jason 17)

"Why are you helping me?" Looking up his head was strapped down along with his arms and legs. I shrugged my shoulders I knew who he was if I wiped off the make up and temp dyed my hair I was the honor student in the same class as him. Jason Todd anyone with eyes had a thing for him,but after removing his mask it wasn't hard to piece together who the bat fam is. "I know what my dad has planned for you Jay. This is just a band-aid on a gunshot wound and might I say that's very unhelpful." This was the first I spoke to him and it wasn't long before Dad beat him to death.

Two years later.

I sat in the back of the car as Frost drove. We just left the cemetery. "Why are we doing this,n/n." He asked looking in the rear view mirror at me. I'm seventeen now my thoughts screamed at me. Why was I trying to bring him back? "Because I crazy that why!" I giggled as we grew closer to the lazapit. He was dressed in a black suit with red tie his body sunk into the water as I waited. A loud gasp drew my attention as he shot up a white streak in his hair. "Heya sleeping beauty." Looking over in shock he lowly made his way looking like a baby deer. "I'm alive,but h-how?" His green eyes looked at me. "A Ghoul owed me a few favors I just asked to use his fountain of youth." Handing him a towel and some clothes. "Sorry about the outfit,but Arkham does have one size fits all." Jason chuckled as he started to dry off.I realized why I brought him back. I was crazy about him.

Two more years later(two years ago)

Jason wanted to stay dead he didn't go back to His dad and brother after he realized that neither of them tried and save him. It was sad to see,but it brought Jason closer to me and he started to trust me and I gave trust in return. Blood coated my hands while some was on my face. Looking at Jay some was speckled on his cheeks taking the pockets square out of the mobsters coat I wiped it off he looked down at me his arm slipped around my waist pulling me closer my breath hicked. "Will you be my girlfriend,my little jester?" A large smile grew on my face as my arms went around his neck pulling him down further. "Gladly,Jay bird." I kissed him not caring if my lipstick stained his lips and he didn't seem to care either as the kiss grew more intense. We shared our first kiss at nineteen surrounded by dead bodies as sirens and the unmistakable sound of the armed batmobile. At least he's as crazy about me as I am about him.

One year ago. (Jason POV for a sec)

I came to Bruce I hate to admit it but I needed advice about the one think he knew best. Women. It was just a couple of months ago he found out I was alive and shocker he managed to drive Dicky boy to Blüdhaven to get away from him to get his own image and not just Robin. Oh and surprise surprise when out of robins he had a spare like a tire and it's name was Tim. Nevermind that I stood across from Bruce in his home main office he had a frown on his face. "You're dating someone and its serious and I didn't know about it?" He asked trying to deduct everything. "I've been dating her ever since I came back. As strange as it might sound,but I want us to be something more." That's when the billionaire playboy stood up standing just a inch shorter then myself.

"Life is short Jason and you've experienced that first hand if you feel that both of you are perfect enough to be more then go for it." Perfect wasn't realistic nothing was ever perfect my life isn't perfect her life sure as hell isn't she's the clown princess I'm a bat son. Maybe that what makes us so good together the fact that it would have never really happened any other way life is just crazy like that.

Present

Staring into those vexing green eyes always brought me back. We're both twenty-one him being older only by a couple of months. "Happy birthday,gorgeous." His voice brought me back as my smile grew. We were standing up now he held a box wrapped in my two favorite colors. "Awe you shouldn't have." I grab it and opened it a gun was inside it was red and gold revolver it looked like my moms love/hate gun,but it said King/Queen. Looking at Jay I reached to hug him when suddenly he dropped to one knee pulling out a box with a beautiful f/c ring and ruby gem. "This feels over due. You took care of me when I was considered enemy number one. You brought me back from the grave when my own family didn't try. And this might sound stupid,but I had a crush on you in middle school you were one of the only people that didn't give me pity after Bruce adopted a street kid." He licked his lips as he gave of a small smile. "Together we are far from perfect, but we are good. You complete me...Y/n M/n Napier become my queen?" My eyes glossed over with tears my make up running down the pale foundation. "Oh my god of course!!!" I jumped into his arms hugging him tightly before letting him slip on the ring. "I love you." "I love you more crazy." I chuckle it sounded watery in my throat. "If I'm crazy then that makes two of us. You wanted to marry me." Yep we're both batshit crazy.

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A/n: Quote= We are far from perfect, but we are good. ~Supernatural

Is it just me or does Jensen look fucking hot as Red Hood?! I'm mean he's definitely a reason to move to Gotham

Well first crossover AU in my bingo card

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macnevercries · 3 years

Text

Goodnight (Shinsou x F!reader)

Warnings- somnophilia, non-con, penetration, loss of virginity, yandere tendencies, praise, creampie

Word count- 2360

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

You were so nice to him. You smelled so good. You smiled so brightly, looked so pretty, so genuine. These things about you were what started his obsession. Watching you and keeping tabs on you became a hobby, then a need.

He found his brain constantly occupied with thoughts of you, your small habits, things you said to him, things he wished you said to him. Everything about you was perfect. You were the object of his affection, his darling.

But you didn’t know any of this, you were clueless to Shinsou’s infatuation with you. To you he was just a friend, an awfully clingy friend but in an endearing way. He had been this way since year one and you two were now close to the end of year three. You two weren’t in the same class like last year, but Shinsou made every effort to see you whenever he was free. Walking you to class, sitting next to you during lunch, walking you to the dorms and asking to hang out on the weekend.

You kind of guessed that he liked you, you had thought so for years but you didn’t say anything in case you were wrong. You weren’t against the thought of dating him, he was insanely handsome, his lavender fluffy hair framing his sharp jaw perfectly. His dark circles perfectly balanced his lazy smirk. To top that off he was kind and he always treated you with respect even if he got in your space a lot. You just assumed he was touchy, thought nothing of it.

One day when he was walking you to the dorms he kept brushing his hand against yours. You didn’t bother moving, you were tired and his presence was comforting.

“You need help studying right?” He asks, looking deep into your eyes as if it was the last time. This was an interesting thing about Shinsou. He always lingered, even when he wasn’t with you, you never felt like he left.

“Yeah I do, I’m struggling a little bit in English and History. Do you wanna study with me?” His face lit up at your offer, nodding eagerly. He started in the direction of the 3C building, excited to have you in his room. How would you act around him in private? Would you like his room? He needed to record your every action and memorize it. You stopped walking and Shinsou turned around, tiring his head to the side to convey his confusion. He wanted you in his room already, why were you slowing him down?

“Hold on, I’m sorry” you mumbled. You shuffled through your school bag looking for something. Shinsou couldn’t help but peek over your shoulder, he had never seen the inside of your bag before. His eyes darted between the contents of your bag and your newly exposed skin, your skirt drifted up your leg where you knelt on the sidewalk. You looked back up at him, an embarrassed smile gracing your face.

“I left my books at the dorms, can we study in my room instead?” You asked meekly. Shinsou’s face flushed all shades of red. He had already been in love with the thought you in his room, but him in yours? Enchanting. He smiled and nodded.

With his approval the two of you headed towards your dorm. You walked through the common room, nodding at your classmates and getting in the elevator. Your room was on the third floor, twelve meters down the hallway on the right. Shinsou engraved this path into his brain, he would have to come back. You unlocked your door, walking in and closing in behind the purple-haired boy.

He glanced around the room, taking in as much as he could before his gaze was drawn back to you, opening the balcony doors to let in the soft spring breeze. The wind fluttered your skirt and blew your hair. You looked like a goddess. Shinsou wished he could take a picture of you, he wanted to remember this moment forever.

You sat down at your desk, pulling a chair up for Shinsou to sit in. You got out your books, flipping it open and getting to work. After a few minutes you laughed and looked over to Shinsou,

“Are you ever going to come sit?” You giggled. Shinsou smiled apologetically, pulling his chair out and making sure to scoot close to you. The hours flew by, you studying and Shinsou watching.

He had his book open and he answered all of your questions, teaching you what you didn’t understand. He just couldn’t focus on his own studies, not like this. Not when you were sitting next to him, looking like that.

The clock hit 6:30 and the dinner bell rang. You closed your books, thanking Shinsou for his help. You walked him out of the building before heading back in for dinner. Thoughts of you ran through his head as he walked back to his own room, he would definitely be returning to your room later. Now that he had a taste, he wouldn’t let it go.

He had been watching the clock for hours. He ate dinner in his room and barely did any of his homework. Thoughts of you flooded his consciousness and it took everything he had not to go right back to your dorm. No he had to wait until everyone was asleep.

When the clock struck 2am he silently slipped out of his room. He wasn’t careful walking down the hall, his foot steps were never heard. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, heading down swiftly. When he got outside it was pitch black. There were no street lamps on at Heights Alliance at three in the morning. It didn’t matter to him though. Shinsou had memorized the path from his room to yours the moment you took his hand and dragged him there.

Despite how flustered he seemed at the moment he was taking everything in. The cracks in the concrete, how certain movements squeaked the door, where your room was in relativness to your classmates and of course, the feeling of your soft hand against his.

He slides the dorm door open noiselessly. Rapidly, he walks to the stairway, taking two at a time. The slow climb to the third floor went by in seconds. He had been waiting years for this moment.

He glides down the hall, eager and giddy. Stopping at your down he gets down on his knees and starts to work on the lock.

Two minutes later and he has it pop open. Slinking inside and closing the door softly behind him, he walks over to your bed. He takes a moment to look around the room again and breath in your scent. You’re his safe haven and he can’t imagine being happier than he is now.

He puts his large hands on your shoulders, lightly shaking you awake.

“Hey kitten, can you hear me?”

“Hmm? Shinsou?” you mumble, still half asleep.

Your response was enough to for him to get ahold of you. Now that you were under the power of his quirk there was no way he would let you go. At least not anytime soon.

“I want you to stay still for me okay? I’ll do everything, I’ll make you feel so good baby I promise” His words are sincere but they make you shiver with fear. This wasn’t this Shinsou you knew.

With you frozen in place for him, he turns you over so you’re facing up and pulls down the covers. He flicks on the lamp on your bedside table, taking a moment to appreciate the way you look in the soft light.

You can’t move and you’re stuck in a post-sleep daze, barely aware of what’s going on. Your soft lips are slightly parted and cheeks pink from the warmth of your bed. You look so inviting.

Shinsou leans down and places a gentle kiss on your lips, savoring the sweet taste. It was everything he imagined and more.

“My god you taste amazing, mind if I taste something else?”

He snickers at the panic in your eyes. You try to scream ‘no this isn’t how I want this to happen’ but no words leave your mouth. It doesn’t even open at your will.

He plays with the straps of your tank top, tugging and pulling them. He glides them down your arms, bring the whole shirt with it. He tosses the shirt to the side, out of view. His hands run over your chest, worshipping the skin you live in.

“You’re so gorgeous you know that? Such a pretty girl.” He breathes the words onto your skin.

His calloused fingers trace your breasts, thumbing your sensitive buds. The way they perk and pebble at his touch gets him going.

“You like that? I can do more of that” He latches his mouth onto your nipple, pinching and pulling the other one. His tongue glides across the delicate skin beneath him.

His mouth detaches with a lewd pop, switching to the other side to give you a matching mark. As he removes his face from your chest, he plants kisses across your collarbone and travels down your stomach. When his tender touches reach your lower stomach, your hips thrust forward against your will.

He chuckles darkly at your reaction.

“Patience kitten, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this. Let’s take our time, yeah?” he soothes his words into your skin. Despite his actions they calm you.

He pulls your loose shorts below your hips and down your thighs, taking a moment to trace the soft skin. He settles himself between your plush legs, facing your core.

Tracing the elastic of your panties, he licks a large stripe up your clothed cunt. A shiver runs through your entire body, hips jumping towards his face when he pulls away to watch your face.

He grins wildly “I knew you wanted me too, I knew it.”

He takes your panties off before you realize what he’s doing, burying his head in your sex. He inhaled deeply, somehow managing to creep you out more than you already are.

He eats you out like a starved man, his previously gentle touches greedy and hungry. Slurping you up, swallowing you. He latches his mouth out your clit, giving kitten licks where your body wants him most.

He slips in two slender fingers with ease. Scissoring and twisting them to open you wider. He rotates his digits, pumping them in and out, looking for your special spot. One move he makes has you clamping around him, body jolting.

A sinister smile covers his face. “Here? I can do it here” He curls them deeply into you, continuing his attack. You thrash around, your stomach tightly wound with pleasure. He sucks a little harder on your clit and that’s all it takes for you to unravel beneath him. He guides you through it, letting you down gently.

He retracts his fingers and face from your glistening cunt. He slides his fingers into your open lips, forcing them down your throat. You choke on his digits, tasting your slick on his skin.

“Yeah, you sound so pretty. I wish you could moan but if I let you go even a little bit you might manage to get out of my hold. You have always been a strong woman, it’s why I love you. But alas we can’t have you escaping from me now, we’re having so much fun and I haven’t gotten my turn yet.”

He slides his swears and boxers down his legs in one swift motion, causing his heavy cock to slap against his stomach. The tip was a deep reddish purple from waiting, pre-cum dripping from the it. It was pretty, a few prominent veins running across the bottom, average girth and impressive length.

Looking at it made your mouth water. It also made you wish you had time to develop a relationship with him on your own, made you wish it didn’t have to happen this way.

He doesn’t hesitate to run it through your folds, mixing your excitement with his. He pushes into your tight hole slowly, cherishing the way that you grip him tightly, sucking him into you.

“Oh god is this your first time? You’re so tight for me, just for me” He groans. You would nod if possible. It was your first time. The stretch was painful.

Shinsou didn’t wait long for you to adjust, after a few seconds he couldn’t take it. He wrapped your thighs around his waist and started pounding into you. The way his head kissed your cervix, the bumps and ridges hitting all the right places.

He just started and you could already feel yourself close to your second orgasm. Thankfully he was too. Going quicker, he rammed you into the mattress, moving his thumb to your clit. He rubs hard, almost too hard. You clench around him tightly, releasing with him.

He spills into you, painting your walls and fucking you through it. He groans and his voice cracks.

“Oh fuck, good girl good girl good girl good girl. Yeah you’re so fucking good for me” he rambles his words into your ear, sucking on your jaw as he slows down and pulls out. He grabs his phone and starts snapping photos, your fucked out face, his hands on your breast, the hickeys and marks trailing your body, and last but not least, his pale fingers pushing his cum back inside of you as it threatens to spill out.

Content with his job, he pulls his pants back up, and tucks you back into bed. He switches off the lamp, kissing your forehead.

“Let’s keep this a secret yeah? At least until you’re ready to accept my feelings.”

Picking your panties off of the floor and sliding them into his pocket he exits the room just as quietly as he entered. Even when his quirk deactivates, you lay there silently, the remains of his presence leaking down your thigh again. You feel so used. And yet somehow, so loved.

#shinsou x you #shinsou hitoshi #bnha smut #mha smut #bnha #mha #x reader #shinsō hitoshi #yandere #bnha shinso hitoshi #yandere hitoshi shinso

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wanderingpages · 3 years

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All Human, Dark AU (Part 9). You don’t name your livestock; they’re easier to kill that way. Cardan has a job, getting information out of young college student, Jude. But getting information means getting close but how close can he get if at any given moment, he can be given the order to kill her?

Trigger Warnings: Crude language, Drugs, Sex, Murder/Talks of murder, Sexual/Physical Assault.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8 ∞ Part 10

∞

Jude’s POV

“I don’t feel so good,” I admit, as if the scream of terror and the projectile vomiting hadn’t been proof enough. I press my head into Cardan’s shirt, clutching the material tightly between my fingers. His heart beat hard against my skin and I can’t understand why. He holds me tighter, and I want to tell him that he shouldn’t. Doesn’t he know the more he treats me like he actually cares, the more that I want him?

He rubs his palm up and down my spine, and I hear the rumble in his chest when he speaks low. “Not your first dead body, Jude.” If he’s going for tough love, it doesn’t really match the way he’s holding me. Of course, he’s right, though. I press my nose into his shirt, the pain in my arm when he holds me this tight is rivaling with the scent of death still in my nose. “Come on,” He tells me suddenly. I pull away to glance up at him. He looks more tired than disturbed. Wary even, like this is a huge inconvenience. He make a face, lips tilted down, forehead wrinkled. Not looking at me, but behind me. Lost in thought somewhere in the distance as he gets up and takes me with him.

I sway and he grabs hold of my arms, causing me to wince when he catches me by my wound. I bite back a groan and turn my face, not wanting him to see me cry yet again, despite his shirt already streaked with my tears and snot and even vomit. I’m facing the bathroom door, seemingly miles away from where I stand just outside the bedroom, but the light illuminates the cracks in the door like a beacon. Headless and all, there was something off about the body in there.

“Why…” I trail off, shutting my eyes, only to find myself back in that bathroom. I bed over, dry heaving this time, as I’ve got nothing left but the lining in my stomach to upchuck. I think I’ve seen worse, but why is this causing my body to react so violently? Is it because, differences aside, I knew Locke for a while? Is it because part of me can recall when he wasn’t so bad – when he had been nice to me? “Why was… he wearing that jacket?”

“The jacket?” Cardan questions, hand to my cheek, gently forcing my gaze back to him. I peer down where the scales of his snake tattoo is uncovered by his neck. Without really thinking, I reach to tug the collar if his shirt aside, ready to stare at the sinister looking head than Cardan’s pretty angelic face.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like an angel?” What was the angel of death called? “Azrael,” I mumble, peering into Alice’s snake eyes. His tattoo grounds me more than his eyes ever could. “He brought God the materials to make man.”

“Why do you remember the stupidest shit?” My eyes cut to his, wondering if there’s more weight in his words, if he’s recalling what I had told him before I had entered the bathroom. My lips part to protest but he gives me a shake, “Jude,” he says, “The jacket.”

There’s a pool of blood in the tub, but otherwise no splatter marks among the tiles. Locke had been murdered elsewhere and dumped in my bathroom, but how had anyone known we’d be back after that morning before class? And that jacket…why was he wearing that jacket? To be easily identifiable? Had they dressed him like that or was he already wearing something he hadn’t even touched since graduation day. “The pockets,” I say. I shrug him off of me and surprisingly, he lets me, only following when I make the decision to go back to the bathroom.

I pull my shirt up to my nose and kneel beside the tub. I feel dizzy looking at the severed body and my hands shake as I reach for his way too familiar jacket. Had that been the same Jacket I had kept in my closet for months that junior year of high school? “He… he made it to college on a football scholarship,” I explain. “He was on academic probation within the first semester, and then he just dropped out, really. Hung around old teammates and frats, but – just… it doesn’t make sense, that he’d be wearing that if he’d never worn it after high school.”

“You think it was put on post-mortem,” Cardan guesses with a sigh.

“There’s more blood on his shirt than the jacket,” I manage, one hand coming to rest at my queasy stomach. “Holy fuck.”

“God, even in death he’s giving me a fucking headache.” Cardan mutters, batting my hand away and slipping his hand into the pocket. I wince at his words and he eyes me, even partially perturbed at my reaction. “Don’t tell me you actually fucking care that he’s dead, Jude. Wasn’t it not a few weeks ago you almost had me put a bullet in his mouth?” I don’t respond because I don’t understand the way I feel; I can’t even explain it to Cardan – why that stupid jacket is giving me something short of a panic attack. Why despite how disturbed I am now, I would have changed my answer that night, I would have let Cardan pull the trigger if I had a chance to go back. Is it because I am my father’s daughter, after all, and it would have been on my terms instead of this trap?

He pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, but before he can unfold it, there’s a small series of buzzes that startles me. He sighs and pockets the paper, switching it out with his phone to answer the call. It’s a short conversation but he’s hauling me by my unmarred arm for once, as he cuts off whoever is on the other line.

“Come on, Ghost is downstairs.” When we’re out the door, I glance up at the sky. It’s gotten much darker, and colder, devoid of the sun but not quite night yet – it couldn’t be no later than five in the afternoon, but in this season, the days are much shorter. Everything feels far more ominous when not even the stars are visible.

Cardan ushers me into the backseat of Ghost’s car, and says, “Stay here,” like I have a choice. Valerian exits out of the passenger side, only sparing me a curious glance. When the door shuts, their voices are muffled, but I see Cardan hand Valerian the set of keys he had given me earlier in the day, then they walk off, disappearing back into my house.

I turn to Ghost who’d been assessing my composure from the reflection on the rear-view mirror. I lean forward and rest my head against the back of passenger side’s seat, eyes shutting on impact. Ghost lets out a long sigh. “if it helps, your sister is fine? Nothing unusual. In fact, she’s pretty boring. I watched her paint her toenails for an hour. She kept changing the color.” He makes a face when I peek my eyes at him. How had I already forgotten he had been watching her.

“She’s indecisive,” I tell him when I find my voice. Even down to Locke, she had always been the one to do the breaking up and the making up. “Can you wind the window down, please?” I don’t exactly feel nauseous anymore, so I can’t help but wonder if earlier that had been because of the scent of old blood and decaying corpse rather than the shock of knowing Locke is dead – but I do feel unbearably warm despite the chill in the atmosphere, like I could pass out at any given moment.

“So, you’ve got walking amnesia and she’s got OCD, huh?” He cracks the window for me, but it doesn’t help as much as I thought it would.

My lips twitch and I watch his fingers tap against the steering wheel. He has no visible tattoos, but he dons on a lot of jewelry. Silver Cuban links around his neck, ball chain bracelet, and rings on nearly every finger. One ring is a wide band with the letter G and cross bone skulls. Just how much money does he make being Cardan’s lackey? “Why are you called Ghost?”

“Because I’m dead, baby girl.”

His words make me shiver – or maybe it’s the shock settling in. “Like Mayor Eldred dead?”

“Deader,” he responds after thinking about it for a moment. I want to ask how that’s even possible, but I don’t think I should. He looks away, a look in his eyes that’s so familiar, something angry and sad all at once – the same look I see in Cardan when Sophie is mentioned. I hold my tongue, chewing on my bottom lip, but the silence between us starting to get stifling until I’m not just recalling Locke’s decapitated body but those animals in Jarel’s meat locker too. I rub my palm against the leather of the seat, feeling some sort of phantom itch where a scar runs through my palm.

“You can talk, Jude. I may not answer all your questions, but if you need to fill the space, I’m all ears.”

I nearly cry again. “Did you know about Jarel?”

“Not really. He’s got…history with King.” And my dad too, apparently.

“Do you think its him?” I don’t elaborate. I let him give me his answer and take that as it is. Did Jarel kill Sophie? Did he kill Locke? Is he going to kill me? “Do you think it’s my dad?”

“You know… hmm, the Biggie, Tupac, Sug Knight, and Diddy thing?” he says ‘thing’ like it isn’t one of the most prevalent conspiracies in the history of all things music. I can’t help but to laugh at how ridiculous this sounds. I lace my fingers together between my knees, trying in vain to mimic the way Cardan had made me feel back in Jarel’s lair. My nails dig into my skin but my mind is still lost.

“Ghost…those scars on Cardan’s hands – they’re from cigarettes, aren’t they?”

He doesn’t confirm, but instead his body shifts completely to properly look at me. He asks, quietly, “You’ve noticed them?” noticed them along with the silvery skin mixed in with his pretty ink running up his arms. I nod once and turn away from him.

I shut my eyes. “You know that flask Cardan had this morning?” Ghost turns the dial on the radio, playing the most recent hits at a low volume, answering me in the affirmative. “Is there anymore?”

“Absolutely not,” I don’t even realize when the door to the side of me opens and Cardan slides in. He tosses a bag in the front seat, probably with the clothes he had packed earlier for me.

Ghost chuckles, mood shifting easily for him, “I’ll get you some green juice later, Ms. Everdeen. Maybe some electrolytes too.”

Cardan pulls me back, guiding my head to his lap. He places a cool hand to my temple, palm mostly covering my ears. Their words are muffled now, and I scowl, fingers coming to pry at his arm but it doesn’t budge. Whatever he’s keeping from me is stupidly null, considering I have no one to fucking tell anyways. I huff and swipe at my eyes. When had I started crying again? It’s frustration, I tell myself, because I can’t be so torn over the death of Locke. Maybe once, when he’d first met me, he had been nice, kind even, but that’s nothing to annul the bullshit he’s done months and even years following. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s the reason the schism between Taryn and I had only ever widened. But there’s a small inkling that maybe, it wasn’t all him. I am the product of copious conditioning, after all. Maybe I’m not the only one with a switch.

Cardan’s hands move to cover my eyes now. Blindly I place my hand over his, finger finding and indent in his skin where I know it’d be. He’s stiff for a long while, and I think he realizes then I hadn’t been lying when I told him I remember everything about him, stuff I shouldn’t have even noticed.

I'm drifting off, barely able to catch Ghost whistling low, “You’re well and fucked, aren’t you?” I don’t get to agree with him, that yes, I am. But I walked into this more willingly than they’d give me credit for. Haven’t they figured that I’ve always been pretty compliant with them? Don’t they know that death doesn’t scare me?

I‘m pulled under far quicker than I’d like. I know it’s a memory the moment it takes form, and not at all a dream. The truth is, I was starting to recall this the moment my eyes found the stitches in Locke’s jacket.

Had it only been just over a year ago when he had caught me by my self? “Hey, are you walking home by yourself?” I turn abruptly, slowing my pace, letting Locke jog up to me. He’s got a boyish grin on his face when his eyes meet mine. I smile back at him, but I don’t get to respond, don’t get to tell him Taryn stayed back for some after school club – even though, being her boyfriend, he probably already knows this. “Shit,” he mutters, glancing up when a droplet of rain splashes his cheek. “You don’t have an umbrella, do you?”

I glance down at my empty hands then back to him with a raised brow. He looks bashful but shrugs off his letterman jacket and pulls it over my shoulders instead of a rebuttal. “At least wear this.”

“Won’t you be cold?”

Locke waves me off, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, guiding me a little off of the path I had begun to take. “My car is a few blocks down, let me at least give you a ride. Doubt you sister would want me to leave you out here like this.” I roll my eyes because though he’s only known Taryn and by extension, me, for a few months, he’s got to have picked up on the vast space between us. I’m more in tune with my baby brother who’s only half my blood and can hardly talk than my own twin sister these days.

I think, out of spite for my sister, it only takes me a second to mull over his request and respond in the affirmative. Later, I’ll tell myself it’s because in that second, the light drizzle quickly erupted into a downpour. I let out as shriek and Locke laughs, taking hold of my hand to drag me towards his car. By the time we’ve reached, both of us are soaked, his extra layer of jacket had done little to nothing. He opens the passenger side door for me and steers me in, then jogs off to the driver’s side. He puts the heat on full blast and I gently take off the jacket and hold it to my lap. I trace at the letters in the back, matching the ones just on the pocket – Locke’s last name.

“It’s a little too rough to drive just as yet,” he tells me, eyeing the rain coming down in sheets. “We can warm up and wait it out for a bit.” He twists in his seat, eyebrows furrowing, “Actually, wait, I think I might have some gym clothes in the back that might help.” I watch, resting my head on the window, as he rummages around for a duffel bag.

“They better be clean,” I mumble when he tosses me a worn shirt, identical to one I already own for gym class, but his is in a size much larger.

He rolls his eyes and finds another shirt for himself. “I mean, it’s better than nothing?” Still, I sniff at the material, satisfied that it smells like soap and not body odor. He laughs, catching this and before I can even comprehend what he’s doing, he’s peeled off the wet t-shirt he’d had on and tosses it to the back, leaving his chest bare. I’d seen Locke before, even shirtless like this, during practice or inopportune moments of me walking in on him and my sister, but for some reason, my cheeks flame bright, my eyes are hard to tear from the way water drips down his toned torso.

I swallow and avert my gaze, and if he caught me, he’s nice enough not to tease me about it. “Aren’t you going to change?” when I look at him, he’s donned on his new shirt and is running a hand through his wet curls. They look much darker, more rust colored than the ginger I’m used to.

“Um,” I swallow, eyes darting around at the barren streets. “Will you… close your eyes?”

His brows crease for a moment. “Close my – oh – ah, yeah, wow for a moment, I almost forgot you weren’t Taryn,” he confesses, implying that maybe he’s seen this movie before. He dutifully closes his eyes and I switch out my shirt. Still, the bra I have on transfers water on to the white cotton. It’s not too bad, but still embarrassing. I turn to face him, feeling a bit at a loss now that we’re alone in a confined space. To my surprise, he reaches over and pulls a piece of my hair from my face, tucking it behind my ears before letting his fingertips flitter back to my damp cheeks, “You’re flushed,” he murmurs, thumb tracing my lower lips almost absently.

My heart races and I clutch the jacket on my lap that much tighter. “Locke,” I whisper against his touch.

He smiles lazily, almost warily, retracting his hand to fumble with the dials on the radio. “What kind of music are you into?” he asks this like that moment hadn’t just happened, like my sister’s boyfriend hadn’t just rocked my world with a single touch. Had this been the start of it? The start of the secret glances and stolen smiles? The inside jokes and teasing? Had I always been disgusted by the way he treated Taryn and I, or had there been a point where I used to crave it? Where I hadn’t minded the attention Locke had given me?

That night at the party, when he was drunk and touching me – had he been right about me – “I’ve seen how you look at me. Seen how jealous you were of Taryn. Known you’ve wanted me since the day we met …”

My eyes shoot open when I feel the shift in positions. I watch through bleary eyes now as Cardan walks me towards a motel. I nestle closer to him, hardly catching the motions of the exchange of money for a keycard. I’m still mulling over that moment I had blocked out. It’s different to me, because, I think for once, I did it on my own free will, not by instruction from Dad – no reason for that to even take place. I did it out of my own guilt, hadn’t I?

Suddenly, Taryn’s disdain doesn’t seem all that inconceivable. Maybe I’m just as bad as she is.

“Are you going to leave me here,” I ask groggily, words slurred. Cardans sets me down on the lone bed in the room. He carefully takes the sweater I'm wearing off, then goes to my feet, unlacing my sneakers one at a time, strangely domestic, but when I blink the sleep away, Cardan isn’t even looking at me. He’s somewhere else in his head, performing tasks absently, tasks that the twinge in my chest tells me he’s done before to someone he’s loved.

He stands before me, bending his body enough to be eyelevel with me. He takes hold of my face and my hands come to rest atop his. “I need you to stay with Ghost for a little bit, okay?”

I try to push his hand away but it’s a weak attempt. “What was in Locke’s pocket?”

He hesitates before answering. “A photo.” My lips turn down in a frown, wondering why he looks so angry and torn over that little revelation.

“Of what?”

“When I come back, we’ll talk about it.”

“Where are you going?” I swallow, trying not to find the answers in his eyes. Locke’s body had been a detour, but I did count an ungodly amount of bills just this afternoon, a down payment to the man in front of me for my father’s life. “Don’t,” I can’t help but ask, voice cracking. He doesn’t answer me, and my hand comes to my mouth to stop the sob from escaping. How could I feel this enormous dread over my father who’d happily kill me himself? Why do I love this man who’s treated me like an insurance since the day I was born? Why would I rather myself die instead of him – after all, that was what I thought the plan had always been.

“I told you not to ask me that,” he tells me quietly. My vision blurs with tears I couldn’t possibly have produced more of.

“I’ll never forgive you,” I tell him.

He smiles grimly, “I don’t need your forgiveness, Jude.” I fist at his shirt, but its more to feel something than to threaten him. He’s unwavering and my heart sinks impossibly. “How’d you get that scar on your hand, Jude?” I shake my head, not wanting to tell him. I think, maybe he’s gotten the gist, but that only seems to solidify his resolve. “You think begging is going to change my mind? What happens when my knife is at your throat, baby? You think your little Bambi eyes and a couple of tears will make me stop?”

I recoil and turn away from him, yet my palm flattens against his chest, startled to feel the race of his heart. He turns my face, “Look at me.”

“Fuck you,” I mutter, shutting my eyes so I don’t give him the satisfactory of watching him. He lets out a short laugh. My lips tremble, and I try one last time. “A grace period.” I peek one eye open then the next. He’s looking at me intently. “Let me… let me get over Locke first…and Nore – god, how had I not known Aunt Nore was dead and…” I trail off, grimacing, stomach churning at what Jarel had implied earlier, about skinning her alive. I grasp at my stomach and Cardan steps back, enough for me to bolt out of the bed and into the bathroom, heaving up bile at this point.

I wipe at my mouth and lean back against the cool ceramic of the tub, staring up at the buzzing florescent light, eyes hurting at the way it flickers subtly. “Cardan?”

He’s beside the door in an instant, a bottle of water in his hand. “Okay,” he finally says, quiet, resigned. He walks towards me, squatting down to hand me the bottle.

“Okay?” I take a sip of the water then cap it and touch the bottle to my forehead, a minor throbbing starting to form.

“A grace period.” He brushes away a strand of hair then rises.

“Just like that?” I question but he doesn’t respond.

He doesn’t get far when I grab hold of his arm. “What is it?”

“Stay for a moment,” I request. The lightbulb buzzing above us seems louder than usual. I turn my cheek, pressing it to the tub, but it makes my body flinch. I feel so filthy in my clothes, but I feel even cagier to get into the tub. “I… I’d like to shower.” He waits for me to say more, but after glancing behind me to the tub, he nods and helps me up.

He closes the lid of the toilet and takes a seat, shutting his eyes and burying his face in his hands. He lets out a sigh but says nothing more. I set the bottle on the floor and hurry to undress, feeling a weight has been lifted by removing garments laced with the scent of blood and gore and maybe maraschino cherries that I had upchucked from this morning.

I rush to pull the curtain and turn the water on, but as soon as that stream hits me, I cant hold it in anymore. I’m a sobbing and there’s nothing quiet about it. How had I managed to keep it subdued before. “Shit,” I hear.

“I – ” the curtain is pulled and I don’t have time to even gather my thoughts when Cardan steps in, fully clothed, grabbing me to him as he stands under stream with me. I sob even harder when he pulls me to his chest, and buries my face in his shirt. I can’t help but think of how unfair it is for him to be in here, holding me like this, when he’d no sooner get rid of me given the chance. He doesn’t give me soothing words or quiet affirmations, but he does hold me even after my cries lessen. “Why is this happening to me?” he only holds me tighter.

I pull away, rubbing at my tender eyes. “You’re all wet, now,” I say meekly.

His lips twitch, “That’s my line.”

He places a palm to the side of my jaw, the other hand brushes hair back, fingers working over my scalp despite the lack of soap yet used. My nose twitches and he suddenly asks me, “Have you ever seen Bewitched?” I shake my head and he mumbles something that’s sounds like, “What a shame.”

I swallow thickly, pulling my lip into my mouth, “Is… is this the part where you distract me?” his eyes flash to mine, dark irises burning sharply for a moment too hot. The hand by my jaw moves slowly down to my neck, “this the part where you wrap your hand around my throat and get me off?”

“Fuck, Jude,” he sighs out, eyes darting warily between mine, all strained red and puffy from the events of today.

He bends down, resting his head against mine and I place a hand to his chest, my other hand hanging on to his wrist. “Please,” I ask, desperately.

“You get my heart racing,” he tells me, “And that’s fucking terrifying, you know? What do you want from me, Jude? You know that I’m bad, don’t you – you understand that I'm the villain here too, right?”

“You don’t want me?”

His voice is low, his hand running down to my chest, my breathing picks up. He backs me against the wall, finger slowly rubbing around a nipple, and I gasp when he parts my legs and nestles into me, the hardness of his jeans, wet and rubbing against all too sensitive parts of my body. His eyes never leave mine throughout this. “You know damn well how much I want you, Jude.” He tangles his hand into my hair and pulls me back. His thumb presses down on my hardened nipple, then he pinches it.

My eyes widen, “Cardan…”

His lips tickle my ears, “I want you on your knees, your back, your stomach, standing up, sitting down. I want your lips, your pussy and your ass. I want everything you have to offer and even more, Jude.” He pushes deeper against me, water pouring between us but it is nothing to mend the throb between my legs and the ache in the tightening of my breasts. “I want you on my cock, screaming so loud I have to cover your mouth. Those pretty little tears you weep over some shithead for? I want them spilling from your eyes when I drive into you so deep that, fuck stars, you see galaxies collide – you get me? I want you, fucking delirious, your nails scratching down my back, unable to think clearly at all. I want the scars you give me over the ugly ones I’ve already got. So, yes, Jude, I want you.”

“Then take me,” I whisper. Do all of that to me, fuck I don’t care, just let me forget that you’re going to kill my dad and later me, even if it’s for a few hours.

“I may want your mind and your body, baby, but know by the end of it, if I fuck you or not, its your soul I’m leaving with.” He huffs out a humorless laugh. “And it’s going to take me straight to hell.” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond, no matter that I’m speechless anyways. He pulls away from me and steps out of the shower, tugging his shirt off and unbuttoning his pants as he goes. I have full view of him from the mirror now. The semi he’s sporting makes me cross my legs and cover my chest. He pauses, glancing at me in the reflection, smirk on his lips, mask in place. “How about you get yourself off and I just watch?”

I scowl and pull the curtains shut. He sticks by his word though, because when I wrap a towel over myself and step out of the shower, he’s sitting on top of the counter, naked save a towel wrapping around his hips and a green smoothie cup beside him. “Ghost dropped this off,” he explains and I do try my hardest not to stare at him so brazenly, as if that small tryst in the shower was just something I had conjured up. I nod and take the juice when I walk by him. He lets me, watching me with something in his eyes I can’t quite decipher.

I’m dressed and under covers, juice half finished before his shower is done. He sits on the arm chair, pulling it to face my bed, not unlike the situation we had previously been in when I had been zip-tied at Dain’s estate.

Maybe hours pass, then - “She was pregnant,” he tells me quietly, almost abruptly with how silent the room had been. I keep my mouth shut, feigning sleep, maybe, but we both know I’m up. “I didn’t know until after her death. That’s what Jarel had meant by Little Prince. I never wanted to be a dad, but to have that taken away from me before I even knew?” He sounds defeated. “Sophie… I didn’t know she knew you until recently. I didn’t know she worked for your father, at some point. A summer quite some time ago. Maybe you’ll remember now. But anyways,” he says in a breath, “that’s what was in Locke’s pocket. An ultrasound.” I sink further into the bed, into myself. There’s no doubt that we’re more connected than either of us had initially thought. “Maybe I do want you,” he says, more quietly. I have to strain to hear his words, “But I can’t -” he cuts himself off. “We were just fucked from the start.”

I don’t say anything, don’t know how I can. When I wake up the following morning, Cardan isn’t beside me. Ghost enters the room with a bag and bottled coffee, and somehow, I know Cardan won’t be back for a long time. I know, that there is no grace period.

∞

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anyoneseenadam · 3 years

Text

The Moon Spirit - three

Dorian x reader, Fenrys x reader (throne of glass)

Description: When you’re taught to be a queen from such a young age, nothing could go wrong. But when the king starts to fear your growing power you find yourself thrust into a world of faeries, evil magic and powerful men, learning to stand on your own can be harder than it seems.

warnings: Fenrys being cute, badass reader but like a shit ton of angst, allusions to sexual assualt (Fenrys canon stuff), mentions of weapons? idk if that counts

word count: 4.4k

a/n: so this took a while but it’s finally done, please comment it genuienly keeps me going cause it’s super easy to get unmotivated, hope you enjoy <3

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After he left you, Fenrys begrudgingly found himself back at the palace, bowed on one knee in front of Maeve. She looked cruelly beautiful as always but there was something more sinister sparkling in her eyes today, remaining quiet as he stood back to his full height, meeting her gaze with wavering confidence.

“Who have you been with?” she finally broke the silence and he cursed himself for thinking he could ever get away with that.

“I just walked a young girl home, she was new, and I was afraid someone may take advantage of her if she was alone,” he spoke truthfully, allowing Maeve to push into his mind as she searched for a hidden lie.

He watched as she drew in a sharp breath, something like fear flickering across her face before her tightly drawn lips spread into a wide smile.

“Come here,” she commanded, and he went to stand in front of her, close enough to smell her sickening perfume and to see the flawless texture of her skin. “Do you love this girl?”

He shook his head, no, and she ran a hand down his face in a motherlike way. “Good, you will be recruiting her.” His eyes widened and he had to put his energy into not flinching away.

“What?” he spoke with an incredulous tone and Maeve glared at his lack of respect making him bow his head. “Sorry your majesty, I’m just slightly confused. She was just a young girl and didn’t seem to have any former training.”

“And that’s why I’m in charge, you men are too foolish. That was a powerful girl, and I would rather she remained on my side than any other.” He frowned, powerful? She had seemed kind, lost and strong enough to hold her own – but not powerful.

“I need you to see her again, convince her to join.” Fenrys physically felt the command go through him and he stood taller again, nodding gruffly as she waved her hand in dismissal.

Your first few days of work had been harder than expected, and you had gone home with aching muscles from lifting books and sore cheeks from plastering on smiles. Albert had made your days easier, drinking hot tea with you as you slowly revealed more and more about your past to him, his kind, old eyes lulling you into a comforting state.

But you didn’t receive rest when you got home. Ploughing through books on spirits and practicing using the limited magic you had found until the early hours of the morning, getting barely two hours of sleep a night unplagued by nightmares. By your fifth day Albert had handed you a pot of cosmetic product to hide the circles forming, commenting on scaring the customers away as you stuck your tongue out at him but smearing some on regardless.

On the second Saturday after your arrival you had a day off and used it to venture into the market, your empty shelves no longer sustaining you, let alone Amaris. Your basket soon filled with colourful fruits and vegetables, and you were browsing the fish section when a shadow fell over you.

“Let me take that for you,” you turned to see Fenrys standing over you with that same easy smile, his head tilted slightly. You rolled your eyes, trying to block out the feelings expanding in your chest at just the sight of him.

“And here I thought I had lost you,” you muttered, and he laughed, taking your basket from you, and paying for the wrapped salmon you had just been passed. “You don’t need to do stuff like that,” you told him, and he took your arm as he led you out of the market.

“Can’t help myself, I see a pretty girl in need and boom, I have to help.” He joked and you laughed lightly.

“Oh yeah, the damsel in distress disease, I’ve heard that’s a nasty one to cure,” he smiled down at you with a sparkle in his eyes.

“Not really, all I need is a kiss,” he tugged you closer and you squealed, shoving him away as he laughed.

“As I said, nasty.” He dramatically put a hand to his heart, throwing his head back in distress.

“You wound me darling,” he complained, and you laughed, hating how much you genuinely enjoyed his company. You reached your apartment in no time, and he stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to your door.

“So no invitation of tea, a glass of wine, a home cooked meal?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes,

“I’m afraid I reserve that for people I like,” he raised his eyebrows, hopping up the steps two at a time.

“Even if I have genuine cause to talk to you?” he asked and the sincerity in his eyes made a shot of fear run through you. He couldn’t know, could he?

“What is it?” you asked, and he smiled softly, a little pain shining through his loving eyes.

“The queen has a proposition to make.” His voice quietened and you straightened your posture, your entire demeanour switching in a second.

“Come in.” you opened the door and stepped in, allowing him to duck as he followed.

The first thing he noticed was how barren your apartment was, a simple kitchen, connected to a room with a pale blue sofa and worn coffee table. Your shelves were bare, and he sneaked a look into your room as he passed the open door, your mattress on the floor covered by only a thin blanket and a few cushions, one incredibly expensive looking gold dress on the floor, stained dark red. But before he could venture further in he heard you cooing in an impossibly soft voice.

He turned the corner and blanched at the sight he saw, “What the?”

You turned from were you were feeding small bits of salmon to a pure white bundle of fluff that hissed as soon as it saw him. “Amaris, be polite!” you scalded, and he surveyed the cat with a wary look, untrusting of the small creature.

“You have a cat.” He stated, suddenly completely unsure of his taste in women.

“No he’s actually a spider,” you deadpanned and Fenrys pouted.

“But I thought you’d be a dog person,” he complained, and you laughed, moving to throw open the curtains in the room before you started putting away the food you had bought, boiling a pot of water over your stove.

“I just like animals, why does it matter?” you asked, and he threw his arms up before transforming into his wolf form. You gasped and Amaris meowed loudly, scampering to hide behind your legs.

“You’re a wolf.” You stated and he turned back with a smile.

“No I’m a spider,” you flipped him off as you turned to put the rest of your food away.

“I prefer you as a wolf, they’re one of my favourite animals,” you told him and he smiled, sticking his tongue out childishly at Amaris who just sauntered of to doze on a pillow.

“So, what does the queen want?” you asked, pouring the hot water into a pot you had prepared, and he sat down on your worn-down sofa, cringing as it creaked under his weight. You followed suit soon after putting the pot and two mugs down, curling your feet underneath yourself as you looked at him.

“Well, she has told me that you’re actually extremely powerful and because of this she wants to recruit you. She wants you to join the Cadre.” He spoke surely and confidently but his eyes shone with wariness.

“Okay first of all, I’m not at all powerful, secondly how would she even know if I was, which I’m not! And third, what is The Cadre?” he laughed slightly and moved forward to pour himself a cup of tea.

“Well you clearly are because she recognised you and always knows these things, trust me. She’s never wrong about this. And The Cadre is a group I’m in, elite soldiers sworn to protect Maeve.” He explained and you shook your head.

“Fenrys I barely know basic self-defence, I’m not a soldier. And I don’t want to be sworn to royalty.” Your hands were shaking slightly at the thought of being sworn to another tyrant, “Plus in all honesty I only found out I was Fae on Monday, so I’m not exactly well versed in this shit.”

“How did you not know before?” he asked – frowning.

“The country I… come from, there was no magic. The king wiped all magic out years ago.”

“Why?” It was an understandable question but still made you panic, he couldn’t know.

“I don’t know, all I know is he did, so those alike me – with magic but born into a magicless world – never got to know.” You were good at concealing emotions, that much Fenrys could see. You seemed to have iron walls built into the clouds around your heart, protecting it as fiercely as you would Amaris.

“Well, Maeve wants to meet with you soon, so let me know when you decide gorgeous,” he stood, and you smiled at him gratefully for not prying further.

“I’m really sorry Fenrys I just don’t think it’s a good idea. As I said I’m not a soldier.” He nodded but his eyes still conveyed a sense of worry.

“Well keep in mind you would get to train with me, probably shirtless.” He joked as you opened the door for him, grinning when you laughed loudly, shoving him through the door.

“Bye Fenrys,” you said, eyes sparkling as he waved, whistling his way down the street comically.

You closed the door as your smile fell, a weight settling on your chest as you already knew why he looked so wary – Kings and Queens didn’t understand the word no.

You practically ran to the library the next day, opting to bring Amaris with you as he peeked out of the small handbag you had found stuffed into the back of your closet. When you flew into the library you instantly sought out Albert, who took one look at your flushed, shining appearance and abandoned the pile of books he was putting away, motioning for you to sit down.

You sat quickly, huffing out a breath as Amaris crawled out of his makeshift home and started exploring the new territory of the small backroom reserved for staff only.

“What bothers you child?” Albert’s voice was steady as always and his dry, warm hands grasped yours gently as your eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I just – I needed to talk to someone,” you stuttered out, your breath coming in harsher pants as he shushed you.

“Take a minute and allow yourself to breathe first dear,” he commanded, and you pressed a hand to your heart as you tried to slow its pounding. “Start from the beginning, tell me what’s wrong.”

“The man I loved, his- his name was Dorian, Dorian Havilliard.” You said quietly and Albert let out a small chuckle.

“I presumed as much, I visited Adarlan once, and an old man never forgets the face of a princess.” You looked at him through blurry eyes, confused.

“You knew?” he smiled sadly at you.

“I was 90% certain, but I would never have pressured you to reveal secrets like that.” He passed you a tissue, “But I sense that’s not all that weighs heavy on you?”

You shook your head, “Queen Maeve has made clear that she wishes me to join the Cadre.”

Albert’s face changed with the clear shock, and you bowed your head, shamefully.

“And what did you say?” he asked slowly.

“No, of course! I don’t have any desire to be another monarch’s puppet.” You stated and he shushed you again.

“You need to remember that people always listen.” He scolded, repeating one of the first things he had told you when you started working. “I agree that you should be cautious, but perhaps gaining the queens protection would be beneficial. Plus you would become an extremely skilled swordsman.”

“I am not a man, nor do I wish to be.” You said through gritted teeth, “And I vowed that I would become skilled on my own and go back to Dorian.”

“Yes but if you join, you will be more skilled than ever before,” Albert reasoned and you shook your head, tears welling up again.

“I thought you’d be on my side for this, you are the one who told me to be careful around powerful people.” You felt unjustly betrayed as he spoke and his shoulders slumped slightly, sighing before grasping your hands lightly again.

“I am dear, and I urge you to do what you think is best. But I am simply reminding you that if you truly want to beat this king you are being offered power on a silver platter right now, and perhaps it would be foolish to deny yourself it.” You let his words run around your head as you worked overtime trying to figure out a plan.

“Say I joined – what do I need to do to ensure I don’t become another puppet?” you asked, and he smiled at you.

“First of all, she will offer a blood oath and you must refuse it with everything you have in you – she came to you remember you hold the power. On that note you must summon all those queenly powers of yours and ensure when you speak to her, she is meeting you and she is trying to win you over. Never the other way around.” You nodded, pocketing the information in your head. “When in the palace you are always being watched, always being listened to, so keep your wits about you. But I’m sure you’re used to that by now.”

You laughed under your breath, “It’ll be just like going home,” you commented, and he smiled.

“Sadly yes, now take this money. Go but a new dress and tomorrow you will take a carriage, you can’t walk there.” You thanked him softly, placing the gold in the purse you held, “You’re a kind girl, that is what makes you strong and that’s what will make you a good queen. Don’t let them take your heart.”

Your throat tightened and you nodded due to the lack of trust you held for your voice, standing, and collecting your bag in one hand and Amaris in the other. Albert stood to take you to the door with a smile, and a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“You can have tomorrow off work as well, however I feel our work together is already coming to an end.” You smiled softly, allowing him to pet Amaris’ head softly before he kissed your cheek gently, ushering you out the door.

“Have a good night Albert,” you said, turning to see him watching you with sorrowful eyes.

“Remember what I told you dear, don’t let them take your heart.” Your smile was sad as you spoke,

“I won’t.” You both heard the lie but, neither of you decided to correct it. Not tonight.

Of all the things Fenrys expected to see the next morning, you were the one he hoped for. But as he looked around at the powerful men surrounding the room he felt white-hot panic seize him as he realised what you were about to do. You hadn’t even looked at him when you walked in, keeping your eyes trained solely on Maeve, not even dropping them as you dropped in a low curtsy.

He was even more shocked by the blood red dress you adorned, the v-neck deep and skirts long with a slit up either leg, high enough to reveal the halter you wore with a silver dagger and a ruby encrusted hilt secured into place. Every man, woman and mouse watched as you walked through the room – head high and shoulders back, revealing enough to entrance everyone in the room but covering enough to keep them wanting more and he felt his anger grow as he watched you.

You waited with a soft, but condescending, smile on your face, allowing Maeve to regrasp some power by speaking first – every movement so calculated and precise. As he watched you he saw the power and understood the fear and lust building in the room.

“So I guess you heard my offer.” Maeve finally said, drawling low with relaxed posture.

“I did.” Your statement was short, to the point but you saw it grate Maeve’s nerves and smiled as sweet as spun sugar, “Your majesty.”

“And?” he watched as Maeve grew more agitated and was surprised she hadn’t killed you yet, usually not standing for even an ounce of insubordination.

“I am willing to accept on one condition – I’m not taking a blood oath.” He had to fight jumping in the air with glee as you spoke, so afraid you were going to get tangled in the mess he was in. Maeve’s face grew dark, but you held your ground, never letting your eyes stray lest she see your weakness.

“Well that’s simply not viable,” she stated, glaring you into the ground but you just smiled again, nodding with a polite laugh.

“I see, well this was a lovely meeting, gentlemen.” You raised your hand politely as you moved to leave, your eyes finally flittering over him and the rest of the cadre. You bowed once again to Maeve, making to leave when Maeve raised her hand.

“We are not finished.” She stated.

“Well I’m terribly sorry your majesty but I’ve made my terms extremely clear, and since you refuse to budge - I believe we are done.” Your voice was still sweet, but he watched your face change slightly, every bit a queen looking down upon her people. He couldn’t help but wonder were you learned to speak this way, but Maeve simply laughed.

“Yet here you are,” she spoke with a mocking tone, and you smiled with your teeth this time.

“Need I remind you that you sought me out, if I have terms it should be in your best interest to meet them if you wish me to join your miniature army.” Fenrys heard Lorcan snarl lowly next to him but gripped his arm in warning.

“Oh your training is impressive princess, but I’m afraid it will be of no use.” Your face didn’t budge as Maeve spoke, but Fenrys watched as something flickered through your eyes, “You see, I learn of misdemeanours in other courts very easily and I wish to show you what I learned of Adarlan.”

“There’s nothing you could show me that I won’t have seen before,” you said, and he watched the two of you laugh like you were mingling at a party instead of standing of in a court.

“Oh I’m afraid this is relatively new, you might reconsider your terms after this,” you stood straight as Maeve walked down the steps and moved to whisper something the rest of them couldn’t hear in your ear, her hand pressed lightly to the base of your neck.

She pulled away after a few minutes and he took in your now shaking hands, eyes filled with tears you clearly refused to let fall. You took in a steadying breath before speaking, “You’re lying.”

“Oh I wish I was princess, but I can only show the truth and it appears your prince had moved on rather quickly, what use is there going back to a country where you can no longer rule.” She stroked your hair condescendingly and you chewed the inside of your lip as it quivered. “But here, here – under my control – you have power of your own. Men will no longer hold onto you like a prized pony, you will become something they fear, you will be my perfect princess, the daughter I never got to have.”

Fenrys inhaled sharply, he knew Maeve never planned to relent the throne, especially not to a woman from another country. She looked at you like you were a doll, something for her to reshape and change. You must have seen it to, but through your blurry eyes everything had changed.

“Okay,” your voice was smaller than before, and he wanted to tear Maeve limb from limb for having broken you down so harshly with just a few words. She smiled cruelly at you as she cut a small line along her forearm and you bowed your head in pain, before falling to your knees – graceful even as pain consumed your entire being. You brought your lips to her wound and drank as she repeated the words that he remembered all too well.

When you rose your lips were sparkling red, and your eyes were glistening with tears still unshed – but you raised your head like a queen and Maeve smiled.

“I believe you have already met Fenrys, he will be training you as the training you have received is not proficient, I’ll have all your belongings brought to a room here.” Maeve waved her hand to some guards, but you stopped her.

“I only need Amaris brought here; the rest can burn.” You muttered.

“And for your new wardrobe?” She asked and you smiled looking down, wiping your mouth slowly.

“Make it red.” You finally met Fenrys eyes, and he stepped forward, desperate to drag you far, far away.

“Shall I escort her to her new room?” he asked Maeve and she flitted her eyes to him, then to the hand he had pressed to your back.

“Yes and then afterword’s come find me,” she smiled cruelly at him, and he felt you stiffen under his hand, but he just nodded and began to lead you out of the room.

He led you through the corridors and up the stairs in silence, angry at you for accepting and at himself for not putting up more of a fight. When he reached the room he presumed would be yours he opened the door for you, following you in as you sat on the bed, your usual lightness replaced by the weight on your shoulders.

He watched you bow your head and came to sit beside you, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise; this was my choice.” You said and he reached an arm around your shoulders, but you quickly shrugged him off.

“I shouldn’t, we shouldn’t, if you and the queen are…” you trailed off and Fenrys bowed his head in shame.

“It’s not like that, she, she makes me,” he muttered, and you inhaled sharply, turning to him with those watery eyes.

“I had no idea, I’m sorry,” you whispered, instantly looping your arms around him neck and holding him tight. “She’s a monster.”

Fenrys huffed a laugh, pulling away, “You’re telling me.”

He reached a hand for your face slowly, wiping under your eyes where a tear had escaped, “how did she change your mind?” he asked, dark eyes searching your face for clues as your bottom lip quivered in pain.

“She showed me home,” was all you said, and his shoulders dropped. He would leave it for now, you were young and clearly not ready to speak – and now, they had all the time in the world to speak.

“Sleep tight, training starts at seven tomorrow,” he stood and kissed your head lightly and you nodded, words getting caught in your throat. He left quietly, walking away as quickly as he could to avoid hearing the soft sobs that erupted as soon as he closed the door.

You could barely contain your tears until you got to your room, repeating rule thirteen over and over in your head, crying in public is only appropriate at funerals and weddings. But as soon as Fenrys left your room you sobbed into your hands, wailing, and crying like a child throwing a tantrum as you let out the emotions, the screams that have been locked inside of you for so long.

You had done everything for Dorian, changed every part of yourself and become the perfect princess, girlfriend, fiancé – and he, mere weeks after you had to run, was already moving onto a new girl.

As hard as you tried you couldn’t get rid of the image of him and the blonde girl out of your head. How he kissed her softly, his hand on her lower back where it always used to rest on yours. The smile when he pulled away, the way he laughed with her, the way Chaol smiled at his brother when he was happy. You had been forgotten, replaced, almost instantly, the warmth you used to feel when you thought of home, of your princes’ arms replaced by a tight chest and a cold feeling encompassing your heart.

“I’m sorry Albert,” you whispered into the air as you stood looking out on your balcony, gripping tightly to the rail as you feared your legs would give out, “She already took it.”

You were interrupted by a quiet knock on your door, wiping your eyes as you opened it – taking Amaris from the tall guards’ hands as a flurry of women pushed in, filling your drawers with clothes and cosmetics, candles and hair pins, books and plants, a million supplies for Amaris and then some. You smiled politely at them as they left without saying a word, in and out extremely quickly as you stared at a knot in the floor.

Another knock sounded soon after and you turned your head to see one of the Cadre staring in with piercing green eyes. You motioned for him to come in and stood, tilting your head up to meet his gaze as he took in your messy, tear-stained expression.

“You’re the first female member of the Cadre, ever.” He stated and you blinked slowly.

“Lucky me,” your tone was sarcastic, voice rough from the crying but the man smiled.

“I’m Rowan, it’s good to meet you.” He reached out a hand and you met it, allowing him to kiss the back gently.

“(Y/n)” you returned, with a slight curtsey.

“I look forward to fighting with you (y/n),” he stated, releasing your hand and turning to leave, stopping right before he reached the door, “Oh, and don’t lose that dagger, you’ll find a shocking number of men dislike powerful women.”

“First I’m hearing of this,” you deadpanned, and he chuckled.

“Goodluck kid.”

#fenrys moonbeam x reader #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys x reader #dorian havilliard x reader #dorian x reader #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #tog #rowan whitethorn

91 notes · View notes

barberzbunny · 3 years

Text

Lights. Camera. Action. - Prof. Barber x Reader

Word count: 3.7k (also on wattpad)

Warnings: Affairs/Infidelity, Massive Age-gap, Teacher/student relations, the Reader is a nymphet— and Charlie glamorizes the fuck out of it, Sexually explicit thoughts, Innocence Kink, Size difference, Filthy talk, Daddy Kink, Fingering, Sex in the photography darkroom, Heavy cheating kink, seriously, it's crazy, Homewrecker Kink (yes, It's a thing)

Mr. Barber's hands were splintered with a magic that only he possessed. Capable of eliciting the most pain— and applying the most pliantest of touches.

They were tasked with many things; writing in his signature, sloven cursive, slashing markings with the pen his hand dwarfed, gesturing ardently as he lectured.

But they were better at touching you.

Caressing you, inflicting an elating pain out of you, rousing bliss from the center that anchored you down.

Your thighs were his favorite to explore... winding up that supple, jiggly, stretch-marked flesh... kneading, venturing, slithering up the backs, sneaking under the flowy breadth of your skirt. The skirt that tested his craving for a curious, innocent little girl like yourself.

He loved a curious little kitten, so eager to pounce and gnaw and play....

His fingertips ghosting the curve of your ass, fondling gently, but with sinister intent. Nails embellishing tenderly into the flesh, as his teeth embark on a quest that involves exploring your throat, brushing, but never fully nipping.

Like that one evening on a picnic blanket somewhere, with the suns scorning summer rays and the breezes humidity— where that short, chastily white, bohemian dress clung onto your skin where the sweat harvested, accentuating your curves, glistening your features with perspiration.

Wind tousling your hair, billowing through those locks that his fingers skimmed and tangled through, roughly, because it always evoked a primal, stunned squeak from your mouth.

The wind would jostle with the flowing hem of your pure, docile, nearly transparent dress, and reveal just enough of your cotton baby pink panties that had that silky little bow he loved embedded into the top.

The way your sweat-slicken features were painted golden under the suns evening hue, as you straddled his lap and only slightly gyrated your hips, cupping his cheek, grinning that pearly, glowing smile at him as he only basked in your glory. Watching you with a stoic ripple of his brow and a faint curl of his lip.

"Mr. Barber," a boyish voice chides.

Charlie blinks profusely, bewildered. His nose skewers up, chest swelling with his deep breath, when dozens of pairs of concerned, inquisitive eyes gape back at him.

"Yes?" He appoints gruffly, clearing his throat. Scratching at the sweat beading on his brow.

The boy swallows nervously. "Uh, you... were just saying how we need to improve for... next weeks show." He states heedfully.

Charlie's throat bobs as he gulps, eyes flickering around the plethora of intrigued students— darting to you. Doing a thorough, calculated survey of your persona, that radiated prudence.

Your cheeks were famished red with timidity, smile feigning innocent, false purity. Short skirt riding tumultuously up your thick fucking thighs, that he would love to just be smothered by right now.

Your fingers twiddle, fidget with the fringe hem. Toying with the small, tethered strand that unroots from it. Your doe eyes blink back at him coyly.

"Yes," he felt as if the simple word punched through his lungs, hoarse and uncertain. He shakes his head vehemently, "Yes." He confirms assertively, gesturing towards the curious student with his ink pen. "You know how much I appreciate your compliance, and dedication to my class— but there is much altering on my and your behalves to be done before we premiere next Thursday."

Considering his meticulousness; it should've wounded him to mandate modifications at a time so close to curtain call, but it didn't. Maybe because something, or someone else, was torpedoing throughout his easily tantalized mind instead. That somebody gleamed at him with poisonous, candied eyes, making it hard to relish in the task at hand, as being the director of one of broadways most critically-acclaimed stage adaptations of Don Quixote.

His eyes flicker to the standard clock mounted to the wall— the tedious ticks taunting him with each, beating chime.

"I've wasted your time today," he apologizes haphazardly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, pen still stuffed between two slender, thick fingers. "We'll be reconvening in the East auditorium this evening, as preparation for tomorrow's rehearsal. It's not mandatory— but if you ever want to see a stage with me behind those stage-lights ever again; I suggest you attend."

The clock strikes noon as he affirms his potently delivered speech. The bell rings boisterously, dismissing the cluster of students as they file out of the dome-constructed classroom giddily, yapping murmurs.

He eyes you as you flounder charily through the group, sandwiched between the congested crowd, your shoulders high-strung, binder embraced tightly to your chest. Scrambling out of the room in those tiny, polished black clogs you always paired with those chivalrously pastel skirts.

He saddles up his tawny, worn-leather bag, cramping it full of overflowing portfolios, scripting logs, and the canister of beefy-vegetable soup he prepared for himself yet refused to touch, slinging it over his broad shoulder once the class was cleansed of students.

He glanced around the lecture hall, glimpsing the pristine face of his watch, sloppily shoving up his sleeve with his index finger, narrowing his eyes to squint out the digits articulating on his watch. 12:02. Two more hours, and he could have his hands of expertise exploring your body.

That imperfectly-flawless body that belongs to him, belongs to the curves and crevices and callouses of his palms. Belongs to the breadth of his body that was a slab of pure formidability and muscle, triple the size of yours, brittle and brisk with natural goddess-like curvature.

The fantasies that vanquished his mind just moments before would shift to reality in just a couple more hours of leisure lectures and diligent planning for next weeks substantial events.

***

A neon, scarlet, beaming red illuminates your frame, tainting your skin with its scandalous sheen. The darkroom was secluded, a dominion for you, and you alone, as you horizontally dip one of your freshly curated photographs into the tank of polyvinyl fluid registered before you.

It was quaint— the distant clank of the air conditionings robust blast rattled the darkroom, that was small enough to encompass just a cranny of the campuses main Art colony.

It was your safe place.

The diabolical shading of the compact rooms blinding, cherry red lights was enough to submerge you in an essence of something purely pacifying, and yours to tranquilly bask in. The majority of the academy turned a blind eye to the entire photography region of your school, so the darkroom remained rather vacant and desolately lonely at times.

You hum a mellow tune, fingers coated in the creamy, transparent substance glossifying the photographs you snapped at your local German-villiage (with Mr. Barber by your side, big hand engulfing yours) only a couple days before.

Wispy baby-hairs scraggle into your face, shielding your eyes, as you work gently at the pictures you perfected. Allowing them to absorb the liquid, and the enhancing nutrients from the frivolous red LED's.

You were at peace, content just bathing in the artificial lights automatic warmth, singing off-key under your breath, swirling about the darkroom as you maneuvered from station to station; smothering the photographs in the liquid, swiveling around to clip them up to dry.

That was before the corridor screeched open, broadcasting the white, fluorescent lights from the classroom just outside the darkroom. You hiss, using your body to shield the progressing photographs as best as you can before they got exposed to the shift in brightness.

"Darling," Mr. Barber leers, voice low and mystifying, as if his tone was accommodating to the silence filtering the space. The corridor emits one final string of creaks as he cautiously latched it shut behind him.

"Mr. Barber." You whisper through the smile you start to suppress, shimmying away from him to check on the progress of your photos.

His hands clasp your hips, kneading pliantly, thumbs rolling tenderly into the dips. "Mm." He hums, a husky growl of appreciation, as his chest expands to swell into your back. The way his hulking figure towered over you was tactile; his shadow looming over you in the pool of red-tainted polyvinyl.

His wedding band chafes on the fabric of your plaited, demurring skirt, as his hands slither from the curves of your hips, up to your waist, brushing the breadth of your underboobs, then trailing back down.

His hands escape your frame, sliding beneath your underarms, bracing the edge of the scuffed-up counter. Barbing you in with his bulky arms. His colossal frame moves ethically to pin you, softly, into the counter. He slovenly kisses across your shoulder, pecking sweetly, purposely distracting you from your objective.

He suckles pliantly into the seam of your neck, groaning, teeth navigating your skin as you whimper at the graze of his teeth and subconsciously arch your back. Fingers now clammy, quivering, as you move to release them from the frigid liquid and hang them dry.

You stand on your tiptoes, to retrieve the previous batch of dried photos— Charlie's mouth follows your movements, lips delving into your neck, higher up, tongue flicking at that tender spot encompassing your earlobe. This elicits a primal squeak from you, as you wrack forward, hanging the freshly waxed photos up to dry with trembling digits.

You deliberately resume the cycle you had accustomed yourself to, starting a fifth batch. He huffs through his nostrils, as you quiver with each subtle movement, the air ghosting your pulse— creating a ripple of goosebumps that flake across your skin, a shudder surging up your arched spine.

He snickers, finger lazily brushing at a tendril of your hair, "Is my little girl happy to see me?" He murmurs gravely, a hint of amusement clinging to his dark tone.

You nod skittishly, stifling a whine, as his face lowers vehemently to your ear. He observes you from this angle, head stoically tilted, hands aimlessly peeling the drenched photographs out of your grasp.

"That was a silly question of me to ask, huh?" He croons, lips lowering to your jaw, passionately etching in a kiss on the brim. One hand abandons the counter to snake down your leg, cold wedding-ring indenting into your thigh as he gives it a pliable squeeze. "These legs are already shaking, and you haven't even looked at me yet."

At that, he whips you around, pivoting your body to face him. His hands plant back to the counter, his face hovering over yours, gaze captivating an intensity that made inclination stir and harvest in your core. He smirks, eyes penetrating through your lips.

He was doused in a devious red hue, every contour of his brooding face was blanketed in a neon-scarlet. Even the quirk of his plump lips as he smirks down at you dauntingly was painted a devilish red.

"You've been my distraction all day." He accuses sinisterly, jaw clenching, fingers ascending to level with your face. His wedding-ring ricochets the red glow, mimicking the wicked gleam in Charlie's eyes when the symbol of his infidelity reflects off of your enthralled pupils. "Now suck."

His long, stout, strong fingers wriggle in your face— without reluctance you dive for his ring and middle finger, taking them rigorously into your mouth. Your lips seal brashly around his knuckles, sucking, tongue swiping brazenly at the ring garnering his finger.

You ogle at him with wide, obliging, submissive eyes, staring him straight in the eye, as he guides his fingers through your lips.

Your tongue laps at the ring, ravenously flicking across it, easing it off of his finger leisurely. When it reaches his fingertip, you apply a final lick to the calloused pad of his finger, as his wedding ring loops around the tip of your tongue.

"Show me." He commands monotonously, sneering at you from the length of his long nose, pinching your jaw to quirk your mouth open. Your tongue shoots out to broadcast his ring, shimmering with saliva at the edge of your tongue. "Good. Now show me where it belongs."

Bewitchingly, your fingers wind up to your bottom lip, propping it open with the bare ring finger of your left hand. You tweak the ring with your tongue, using the drool that laps in the back of your throat to ease the ring down your finger, tunneling it all the way down to the ridge of your knuckle. It dangled, slick with spit, as it rests multiple sizes too large and wet around your ring finger.

"That's right." He purrs, corruptly satisfied, damp finger resting on your chin and tipping it upwards. His thumb untucks to caress your jaw bleakly. "That's a good girl..." the words rumble huskily from the depths of his chest.

You mewl, protruding into his touch that was like silk— coercing and soft— when a flicker of dull light emerged from the corner of the darkroom.

You squint your eyes to adjust to the salaciously red lighting, surveying the object that conveys a small, appending flash.

It was one of the Cameras that one of the photography students potentially misplaced or disregarded the idea of storing.

And it was recording.

He follows your bewildered gaze, a smirk instantly toying with his placated expression.

He uses his mouth to retrieve his ring back from your finger, tongue working skillfully, methodically, calmly to gather it. His hazel eyes boring through yours, deadpan, as he removes it from your finger and sucks it into his mouth. Placing it delicately back on his finger.

"Spread those legs." He orders, pointing with his saliva-slicken digits. He glances ominously at the camera, smirking. "We're gonna show my wife the way this pussy cums for me."

He scoops you off of the ground, settling your ass at the ledge of the counter, urging your legs open, spreading them for his own lecherous, greedy access. The proof of your libido was visible, even beneath the red glow, the puddle of your arousal seeping through those little cotton panties Charlie adored.

"Did you wear these for me, baby?" He husks sinisterly, caressing your wet folds through your panties, evoking a shaky whimper out of you. He fidgets with the tiny, sleek ribbon at the top of your dainty little panties, smirking. "You know how much Daddy loves these..."

"Y-yes," you admit bashfully, breathily. Nodding friskily to confirm.

His fingers twirl around the hem of your panties, securely looping them around his digits. Tediously, he pulls them down, unraveling your glistening pussy— to his gloriously smug eyes, and to the camera.

He situates them in the pocket of his crisp, suave blazer. "Show her how wet you get for me... a married man." He snarls, gripping both of your thighs, expanding them to broadcast the juices that leak from your core and drizzle shamefully upon the counter. "Let her know that nothing compares to this pretty little pussy. Let her know it belongs to me."

The tips of his ring and middle finger swirl at your entrance, teasing, easing in, and then out, lashing you with a leisure torment.

"You want me to fuck you with my fingers... hm." He coos, voice raspy and sweetly amatory, as he slides the tips in belligerently. "Tell Daddy what you want."

You clamor, bucking your hips up out of dire desperation for his touch, "I w-want you to fuck me with your f-fingers." The words squeal pathetically from your lips.

He hums gruffly, chest huffing. "What ever happened to please, daddy?" He feigns a pout, antagonizing you.

"Please, daddy!" You whine enthusiastically.

He rewards you by wisping his thumb over your needy clit, sheathing your entrance with two long, rough fingers.

You gasp, air forcefully smothering your lungs, nails clawing fraughtly at the counter as his fingers fill you to the hilt, wedding ring grating your slick walls.

He grunts, pounding his fingers into you, the squelch of his digits slamming into your dripping pussy reverberating around the room. Your moans hitch with the force of his ravenous pumps, one of your hands escaping the counter to fist his blazer raunchily.

His ring persistently catches on your folds, grazing your walls, that clench lewdly at the thought of the cold titanium being wedged into your cunt— his betrayal was the catalyst of your craving, that sent ripples of wreathing desire through every crevice of your being— for you know that despite these illicit affairs, and his disposition being owned by another woman; you were the downfall of his fidelity... and there was something empowering in revoking ones loyalty to another.

"That's right," he rasps, curling his fingers, plucking that tender spot that extorts a guttural, wanton moan out of you, your legs spasming vigorously. "My ring feels good, doesn't it. It feels good to know that even a married man would play with this tight little cunt."

The tub of polyvinyl-liquid rattles and splurges around, as you jiggle the table with the rocks of your hips, meeting the deep, ravenous thrusts of his fingers.

"Yes, fuck, yes." You groan croakily, nearly frothing at his words, fluttering eyes reeling to the back of your head— ascending to your peak, brinking on the edge of ecstasy.

He shreds his fingers from your blazing core; you choke on a cracked sob of defeat, jaw slacking as you mewl meekly. His digits glisten with your juices, as he takes them into his mouth, sucking them dry of your creamy slick.

"Now. Let's show her how well you take Daddy's big cock, hm?"

He lurches you off of the counter, briskly wreathing you off, hauling you to the opposite side of the room— slamming your face into the rigidity table, squished only a couple of feet away from the still-rolling camera. The little red light blinking haphazardly to indicate it was catching every moan, and cry, and whimper that crawls up your throat. Your eyes bore through the lens with a quiver of desperation.

His fingers thread through your hair, wrenching your head back, molding your back into a subsequent arch. Ass grinding back into the bulge that tints through the dress-pants he was cladding.

"You're not the only one who loves this..." he murmurs gravelly, "Do you feel what you do to me, little girl?"

He prods his bulge into your ass, stroking it against your wet cunt, his belt-buckle dragging across your tingling slit. You stifle a whine.

His free hand works methodically at his belt, flawlessly unclasping the buckle, tearing it off of his waist. He unzips his pants, and caresses your back with the leather, trailing all the way up to the back of your neck. You stiffen, when he loops the belt around your throat— cinching it in the back, clasping it, keeping it loose enough to not restrict your airflow.

He fists the end, giving you a sharp, aggressive jerk backwards. Your chin cranes automatically, a scraggly little moan fleeing your lips, hands planting to the cold surface of the random desk.

Every muscle in your body strains when his cock sheathes your cunt, stuffing you full with his dangerous length, easing in through the slick that coats your already clenching walls.

Both of you emit salacious, breathy groans, your features scrunching together in pure pleasure at the elating pain of his big cock expanding your walls, stretching to take every inch of his girth.

"Fuck," he hisses, pumping his hips into your ass savagely, cock plunging into your pussy, railing you into the table. "This pussy's so wet."

His tip nearly reached your cervix, dick thrusting ravenously, as if the whole objective was to plow you through the creaky desk.

"Oh my god, Charlie," you gurgle pleadingly, gasping, eyes rolling back, cheeks famished with your appending high, lips parted.

He prominently strokes your sweet spots with his cock, constantly hitting you in all the most rigorous places. The fap of his dick spearing through you resounds; loud, slushy, delicious.

"I-I'm gonna cum, Mr. Barber!" You squeal, voice hoarse and strained, as you harbor your breath in your lungs, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Do it... show her how you cum for me baby, come on." He heaves, hand slithering down your front to spread your folds, fingers rubbing swiftly at your clit. "Cum on this cock."

The humidity surfacing around the compact space flushes your cheeks, whipping them with a ferocious heat, breaths wheezing out and moans hiccuping purely from your stomach. Your body convulses as you milk his cock, squeezing his dick, wringing out every last drop of his cum.

His chest slams into your back, hands pinning to the table around your frame, pants ricocheting into your ear. You were completely spent beneath him; drool tumbling from your lips, lapping your cheek to the desk. Mascara clumping all over your cheeks, smudged and streaked. Sweat greasing your forehead.

He slips out of you, tucking himself away quaintly, both of you recovering from your climaxes. He examines the indentations that the belt had embed into your neck, before securing the belt around your throat, leaving it gripping your pulse tightly.

"I want you to walk out of this room just... like... this..." he murmurs haphazardly, adjusting the belt on you, eyeing every disheveled part of you; from your dripping, bare, ransacked pussy, that the hem of your short skirt barely concealed, to your bunched up knee socks, to the leather that garners your throat.

His eyes flicker to the camera, and he smiles a wicked, pearly grin. "Come here, little one." He directs, hoisting you from the table, bending you over the crook of his elbow like you were a ragdoll easy to be mobilized. He flashes the camera your ass, spreading your cheeks, to showcase the creamy mess he had made of your pussy— still leaking his seed, drizzling it down your thighs.

He aids you in ascending fully to your feet, rubbing your arms in alleviation, helping you stand as your knees threaten to buckle. He strokes your chin with his thumb, smiling at you, radiating a riveting pride.

"I'll take care of all of this," his eyes rake over the pictures you were in the midst of soaking before he interrupted, "All you need to do is leave this room just like this... and let everyone know who you belong to."

#adam driver #charlie barber #charlie barber x reader #kylo ren smut #marriage story #daddy charlie

267 notes · View notes

mediocre-writerr · 3 years

Text

bruises [jennifer jareau]

jennifer jareau x reader

requested: I loved the JJ one shot so much! Could I request one where JJ x fem reader are kindapped for information and the reader sacrifices herself when they want to hurt her to get information out of Jennifer. Jennifer loses it when she hears reader screaming but reader tells her not to give them anything HEAVY ANGST

WARNING! : blood, torture, and kidnapping

*not my gif*

“I love you so much,” you said.

The two of you were hanging from small chains that dangled above the ceiling. Your feet lifted slight above the ground as your arms were extended upwards. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

A simple protocol mission that you’ve ran thousand times before turned deadly. But they wanted us, correction they needed us. They were only supposed to have one of us, but you tried to stop the unsubs from dragging JJ’s once unconscious body into their van. And it was working for a little bit until the one unsub turned into two.

You were surrounded with no one to lean on. Nowhere to go, you couldn’t leave your girlfriend behind.

“Alright ladies, listen up!” the bigger, older unsub stated. He was much stronger than the younger one, a bigger built. The classic two unsub scenario, “We need information about the BAU and you’re gonna give it us.”

JJ shook her head, “You’re not getting anything out of either of us!”

The unsub just smiled, evily, “See I figured you were gonna say that. We’ve done a lot of research Agent Jareau about your lives and everyone else’s lives in the BAU. So getting the both of you was our plan all along. You wouldn’t have let Agent Y/L/N get kidnapped and vice versa.”

Well, maybe not the classic two unsub scenario. He was a lot smarter than most of the older, stronger of the pair. He looked like the brain and the brawn and somehow this younger guy was dragged into it,

“The question is: who’s the bigger hero? And who’s gonna sit by idley and watch them die?” he asked and another deeper sinister smile formed onto his face.

Fear shot through your veins and you immediately looked at JJ. She had her hero face on and she was ready to sacrifice it all.

“We’re gonna be here all day if I have the two of you choose, so I’ll just choose for you.” he started pointing his finger, moving it left and right and left and right, “Catch a tiger by the toe, if it hollers let it go,” he continued on with the childish game.

Until his finger finally landed on the blonde beauty next to you.

But you immediately spoke up, “No! No! Beat me please!” you begged.

A small pout formed on his face, “I knew you were gonna say that too!”

Blam!

His knuckle hit you square in the stomach. You let out a soft groan.

“Y/N! No!” JJ yelled.

“Alright Jareau, this is what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna ask you the questions I need answers to and if you don’t answer them Y/N here gets a little punishment. Each time you don’t answer the worse the punishment gets. Me and my friend here will demonstrate,” he said, gesturing towards the younger boy, “Where do you live?”

“I’m not telling you!” the boy said, trying to sound confident, but you could hear the shakiness in his voice.

And then there was a fist to your nose. You could hear a small crack and a puddle of blood began flowing out like a waterfall.

“Just like that!” he said, excitedly, “So first question Agent Jareau, what is BAU director Strauss’s address?”

She looked towards you and you shook your head. He wanted to pick all of you off one by one, “Y/N, if I don’t answer-“

“JJ, no,” you said, sternly.

She let out a deep sigh, “‘No. I-I can’t.”

“First denied question of the night. You know what that means! Time to play: what punishment does Agent Y/L/N get today?!”

He looks behind him on a folded table full of things that could hurt you. JJ looks at you with worry in her eyes and you just shook your head.

“You don’t give anything, okay? Hotch and the rest of the team, they’ll find us.” you whispered.

Her eyes started to fill with tears, “But what if-what if you die in the process?”

“They’ll come, love. I can take it.”

The unsub turned back around with a brass knuckle hanging tightly around his. He stepped closer to to you and you could feel the metal piercing through your cheek as your head snapped.

Blood was still dripping down at your broken nose and the new gash on your face matched your nose. He just laughed softly at the sight of you.

“Okay Jareau, next question: what’s the security code to get into the Quantico office?” she looked at your bloody face, yet to her you still looked absolutely beautiful. You gave her another stern head shake, the loss of blood starting to affect you more.

“I don’t know.” she just managed to get out.

He let out a sigh, “You know, I really thought you’d cooperate more. With you being in love with her and everything, but I guess that means you really don’t.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” she yelled, letting his words get under her skin. One of the biggest rules in any force is to never let the enemy under your skin. Don’t give them that satisfaction. But as JJ watched as blood dripped down your face, she couldn’t thinking of anything more, “I love Y/N with every bone, every ounce of my body.”

“Well that’s obviously not enough is it?” he shrugged, “Well more fun for me then. And speaking of bones.”

He breaks you out of your chains. The younger boy holding your hands behind his back as he curb-stomped your shin multiple times. Until there was a non-appealing crunch coming from your leg. You let out a little squeak at the feeling as they dropped you onto another chair.

JJ whimpered at the sound of your squeak. Tears falling onto her cheeks. And you gave her a stern nod trying to convince her that you’re okay, but you didn’t even believe that.

“A broken nose, broken leg, and a gashed cheek. It can and will get worse from here. All you got to do is answer one of my questions. Let’s repeat the first one, shall we? Strauss’s address?” she gave you another look and you shook your head again.

You can’t risk someone else getting hurt. Not again. The team and everyone at Quantico doesn’t deserve that. And there was a still little glimmers of hope that they were on their way to rescue you.

“I have no idea.” she winced at her words, but you gave her a soft nod.

It looked like they already picked out what torturing device they wanted to use next. An iron was already heated up on a extension cord from the wall in front of you. The basement turning into one of those twisted rooms from a horror flick.

You braced for the impact, the iron hovering over your skin. The heat feeling like cooking in a pan of oil and having it splash on you, “Are you sure you don’t have another answer JJ? This is a fairly hot iron.”

You give her another look and she nods, “I’m sure.”

The hot iron was pressed onto your arm as you let out an ear piercing scream. You could feel your arm start to blister and he lifts up the iron after God knows how long. Your arm looking like you got bit by a zombie at the third degree burn that was now forming on your arm.

But the burns didn’t stop. The younger boy continued placing the iron on my skin for at least 2 minutes each. My screams echoing throughout the basement. JJ started sobbing at the sounds of you groaning in pain.

“The last and final question Jareau and if you don’t answer it we’re just going to keep repeating the same questions, torturing her more until you finally do.” the unsub said, “Jack Hotchner, what school does he go to? Or better yet, your son Henry? Actually just give me the address to all of your homes. We can have loads of fun together then.”

And despite all of the pain you were inducing, this was really something that couldn’t get out. You shook your head and she bit on her bottom lip.

“Come on Agent Jareau, what’s it gonna be?” he asked.

“If I tell you this will you let us go?” she asked and your eyes went wide.

“Yeah sure. I’ll find you guys eventually. I’ll have your address and all of that.” he said, nonchalantly.

You shook your head, “JJ don’t listen to him. He’s a liar. He’s not gonna let us go. We can’t put everyone else we love in risk.”

“But Y/N-“ she began to say.

“No ‘but’s’ Jay! I’ll be okay!” you snapped and your eyes were watering at how much pain you were in. You know she wasn’t thinking straight. She wasn’t gonna give out any of the addresses, but seeing you in pain was all it take for her brain to go haywire.

She turned back to the unsub, who was waiting expectantly at the answer, before she spat, “Go to hell.”

He pulled out a gun from his gun holster. And aimed it right at your chest. Three shots rang out each one of them hitting your chest.

“No!” JJ screamed, pulling on her chains to try to break free, to try and get to you.

You let out a gasped breath, struggling to breath. Hotch and Morgan burst into the basement.

“Kaleb O’Connell and Mikey O’Connell, you are under arrest. Put your weapons down and your hands in the air.” Hotch ordered and the younger boy immediately fell onto the ground.

But of course the older one didn’t go down without a fight. He turned around shooting you again as a shot rang through your stomach. You let out another gasp of pain.

“No please! Stop!” JJ cried out and her sobs were causing her whole body to shake.

Morgan didn’t hesitate to shoot him multiple times. The unsub falling onto the ground in front of you. He immediately went to your aide, pressing pressure to your wounds. Hotch unchained Jareau and she immediately ran to your side.

Morgan pressed the walkie-talkie that was on his vest, “We need a medic in here!” he tried to stop the shakiness in his voice.

JJ cradled you in her arms. You gave her a small smile to reassure her, but you couldn’t feel anymore pain. Her hands still pressing pressure on four of the bullet wounds.

“Did you know that I-I love you Jay?” you managed to get out.

She whimpered a little, “Yeah I know. I love you so much,”

“Can you promise me something?” you asked her and you could feel your energy slowly start to slip away from your body.

“And what’s that?”

Your hands were shaky as you reached up to touch her face. Your fingers lightly gazing over your skin, “I want you to move on at one point. You can’t hold onto the loss of me forever, my love.”

She shook her head, “What do you mean? You’re not going anywhere. No one is going anywehere,” but she could see it. The light was starting to fade from your eyes and your skin was growing cold, “Where’s a medic?!” she ordered.

“They’re not gonna get here in time. It’s too late.” you whispered.

But she was in denial, continuing to shake her head, “No. That’s not, that’s not true! You can’t be dying. We’re supposed to have a family Y/N, we were supposed to get married and you were gonna help Henry have siblings. Please you can’t go. Don’t go.”

You filled her cheek softly, “I don’t want to go. All I want is to be with you. But you have your whole life ahead of you JJ. And you’re gonna meet someone new and have an epic love. You’ll become madly in love before you even realize it. And then at the end, I’ll be waiting for you with open arms.” The pool of blood leaving your body was growing bigger and bigger, “I love you Jennifer Jareau.”

And your breathing stopped, “Y/N?!” she shook you softly, “No please! Hotch! Where’s the medics?! Hotch!” JJ cried out, your eyes still open as she looked into your lifeless eyes.

Morgan lifted JJ up from off the ground as Hotch picked up your body. Hotch carried you up the stares and he wanted to stay strong, but his eyes were filled to the brim. Morgan pulled her into his chest, playing with her hair as he held her tight. Both of their bodies shaking at JJ’s sobs. A few tears slipping down his cheeks.

He guided her up towards the front of the house where the paramedics finally were, “Where were you?!” JJ yelled. The rest of the team watching as they just arrived onto the scene, “If you would’ve gotten here sooner! She wouldn’t be gone!”

“What?” Spencer asked. You were like a sister to him, a slightly older sister he always looked up to. Ever since he got into the BAU, “JJ, what’s going on?”

“Y/N is dead! She’s gone! Because, they weren’t here on time! The paramedics, they should’ve been here on time. But they weren’t! They weren’t here!” she cried out, repeating the same things over and over again. Garcia and Prentiss has silent tears slipping doesnt their cheeks as they watched their best friend break down right in front of them.

The paramedics covered your body with a sheet, before placing you in a body bag as gently as possible. JJ tried running towards you, but Morgan held her back.

“Y/N please! No come back!” she sobbed out and fell onto her knees on the ground.

Yeah that’s the thing about love...it’s never guaranteed.

#criminal minds imagines #criminal minds #jj criminal minds imagines #jj criminal minds #jj x reader #jennifer jareau imagines #jennifer jareau x reader

248 notes · View notes

samstree · 3 years

Note

hi dear!! what about 37 for the pining prompts?? only if you feel like it 💞💞

37. "Characters cannot touch for plot reasons." Thanks for the prompt Chrysa!! Here's more empath!Jaskier!

Unfinished Story

Empath!Jaskier, 2.4k, soft geraskier, ciri has a nightmare, hurt/comfort, mentions of past violence

Part of the Empath AU

Read on AO3

Ciri’s scream pulls Geralt out of his doze.

He springs up immediately, knocking Jaskier’s arm out of the way. The bard grumbles something incoherent on the bedroll before fully waking. “G’ralt, what is… Oh, shit.”

The scream continues, Geralt’s medallion thrumming because of the chaos carried by the sound. The ember is dying but the moon provides enough light for him to see Cir in a fetal position, her face buried in the crook of her elbow. Her ashen-colored curls obscure the view.

Geralt half-scrambles to her side, familiar panic seizing his heart. It’s been so long since she had a nightmare this bad, so long that it’s taking him a second to react.

“Ciri.” He shakes her shoulder gently, but she flinches away. The smell of fear rolls off of her in waves. “Ciri, wake up. You are dreaming.”

The sharp wail trails off to a quieter one, but her eyes stay shut, her brows agonizingly knitted tight. Geralt tries to soothe her by stroking her hair, only to have her snatch his hand and holding onto it for dear life. He squeezes, hoping it’s a comforting gesture.

Each of Ciri’s cries sends a pang of regret in Geralt’s chest. If only he could go back in time. If only he had found her earlier, before the horrors of Nilfgaard—

“Hey, let me help.”

A hand falls to Geralt’s shoulder, and Jaskier meets his gaze in the dim light, the bleariness in his eyes completely gone.

Please, he wants to say. The word gets interrupted by the girl’s writhing.

Jaskier takes over Ciri’s hand, despite her reluctance to let go of Geralt. She clings to him during bad dreams, even when she can’t properly wake up, but the witcher knows it’s important not to touch either of them right now. The wolf medallion vibrates more as the empath works, calming her through the touch.

“It’s okay…” Geralt murmurs helplessly to the girl still asleep. “It’s okay, cub. We are here.”

The empty space around Geralt is excruciating. Under the clear night sky, his witcher senses allow him to see the two of them basked in the silver moonlight—Jaskier kneeling at Ciri’s side, one hand clasped around her wrist and the other carding through her curls. The girl’s pained expression eases slowly.

“Oh… Don’t be afraid, sweet girl,” Jaskier shushes her, the flow of chaos buzzing in the air. “Let me take your fear away, all right? Don’t fight me. Let me in, so you won’t be scared anymore…”

The bard continues to murmur sweet nothings to the girl, easing her resistance to his empathetic powers. At this point, Jaskier’s magic is like a second layer of skin to Geralt, gentle and warm and weaving around their hearts. Even when it’s not directly used on him, he feels somehow pulled to their connection.

To Jaskier and Ciri.

His empath bard and his child surprise.

Two halves of his world.

Jaskier’s eyes are closed to concentration, taming the waves of Ciri’s distress. The action exerts him, Geralt can tell from his elevated heartbeat and the slight slump in his shoulders. The witcher catches himself before he reaches out subconsciously. The gnawing urge to help almost makes him scowl in frustration.

Inaction has never been Geralt’s strong suit.

Finally, finally, Ciri’s eyes flutter open. She’s holding back the tears, as always, even when she’s confused from these dreams, even when she’s reliving her past and desperately searching for her family in the present.

“Geralt?”

Her voice is so small and he has to lean in to hear.

A relieved sigh escapes Jaskier’s lips as he lets go of the girl’s hand. With the magic dissipating, so does the stench of fear. The air settles. As soon as the medallion stills, Geralt surges forward to put a hand on her arm, so she knows he’s here.

On Geralt’s periphery, he senses bard stand and walk to the other side of the campfire—the empath usually needs a moment to collect himself after absorbing someone’s emotions—but right now Geralt’s focus is on his child.

“It’s okay. You are safe, Ciri,” Geralt whispers.

“I dreamed—”

“You are not there anymore.”

“It was burning…I—there was fire… and the man.” She sniffles, stubbornly refusing to cry. His child is tough, probably too tough for her own good.

“It wasn’t real.”

“Because you found me?” There’s a sliver of doubt in her voice that Geralt wishes more than anything to remove.

“Because I found you, Ciri,” he reassures. She’ll need reminding tonight. “You are my destiny and more. I’m here so you’ll never have to be lost again.”

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Geralt tucks away a strand of hair on her face and watches her eyelids droop heavily.

“I’m not. Not now that I’m awake.”

He returns the smile, although she can’t see it that well in the shadows. “That’s because of Jaskier.”

“Oh.” She searches for the bard. When Geralt looks back at the empath’s silhouette, he’s leaning against a tree, a few paces away from camp. “Thank you, Jaskier. Again,” she says.

“Of course, princess,” Jaskier says softly, “I know how scary nightmares can be, no matter how long it’s been. Those things may have happened a long time ago, but sometimes…they come back and haunt when you least expect it.” He pauses, looking to the distance for a moment. “I’d chase them away for you any time.”

She murmurs another thanks before her eyes close with exhaustion.

“Go back to sleep,” Geralt tucks Ciri’s blanket in, before taking her hand again, his thumb tracing a little circle on her skin. “Sleep, cub. We’ll be here. Both of us.”

It doesn’t take long for her to fall into a deep slumber, peacefully this time. Geralt sits next to her for a while longer just to be sure. When he finally leaves Ciri’s side to see to his bard, Jaskier is still standing with his back against the tree. He seems to be miles away, his expression hidden in the shadows, distant and inscrutable.

“Jask?” They are far enough from the girl but Geralt keeps his voice low.

With a surprised gasp, the bard notices him approaching and almost flinches. “Don’t—”

“Don’t touch you, I know.”

Jaskier rests his head on the tree bark. “Just for now.”

Geralt’s fists clench and unclench at his sides. Using those powers takes a lot out of Jaskier, and it leaves him unbalanced. The empath is so wary of hurting him by accident when he’s like this, with raw energy still rippling under his skin.

But in truth, Geralt doesn’t care. He wishes Jaskier could let him in, let him share the burden. Right now, with the space between them, he’ll have to rely on words instead of action.

It really isn’t his strong suit.

“Another nightmare… ” he decides to distract the bard while he recovers. “It’s been too long since Ciri had an episode. I thought it was all over.”

“Time doesn’t heal all wounds, Geralt,” Jaskier breathes. “We should all know better.”

Geralt frowns at the haunted look on his bard’s face. The tips of his fingers reach forward again, but he quickly hides the movement by crossing his arms before his chest.

“You sound like you are speaking from experience, Jask.”

“Do I?”

“Hmm.” Geralt’s stomach turns at the way Jaskier speaks about the girl’s trauma. “You know if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Jaskier squirms, chewing on his lower lip. Now he’s truly nervous, tense even. The witcher sees the way his posture stiffens and quickly adds, “Or not. Uh—it’s okay if you don’t—"

“No,” Jaskier interrupts him, shaking his head, “No, I want to tell you. I should tell you everything, at this point.”

Silence hangs between them as the bard adjusts his breathing. In and out, like he would before a performance.

“Years ago, when you first identified my powers” Jaskier chooses his words cautiously, the moon shining in his eyes. “I asked if you would use silver on me.”

Geralt’s heart sinks. “I would never, Jaskier. I—How could you ever think that?”

“Oh, relax, my love. I know.” the bard chuckles tightly. “Even back then, I knew you to be a decent man under all the gruffness. You wouldn’t even harm those confused monsters who drifted to human territory on accident, remember? You claimed that your life was just coin and contracts, but to me, it was clear that you were so much more.”

“You are not a monster,” Geralt argues.

“No, but someone else might think differently.”

The leaves rustle in the breeze, the air cooling as the night stretches on. Without the blanket, Jaskier shivers with only a thin chemise on his back. Geralt’s body gravitates toward him of its own volition. Fuck it, if he can just hold Jaskier right now…

“I was thirteen.” The bard is lost in memory. “This man, a magic user, came to our door. It was just me and my mother. He somehow knew about our identities and asked for her help. You see, she had been keeping it a secret for so long, so she couldn’t trust this man, this mage, who somehow just knew that we were empaths.”

He lets out a shuddering breath before continuing.

“His request was… weird. Something about a king or a royal court. I remember thinking that whatever he said sounded so sinister, it couldn’t have been any good. Mum sent him away on the spot, but afterwards she got so scared, like he’d come back again or something. That night, she barred the door and told me to hide in a storage chest. I refused, so she made me. She kept me obedient the entire time.”

Geralt frowns. “Her powers were the same as yours?”

“Stronger.” Jaskier starts pacing, a few twigs snapping under his feet. “She didn’t need contact to manipulate someone’s emotions like me, and she could influence many at the same time. I’m not as powerful—my father was human.”

“What happened next?” Somehow, Geralt knows the story will not end well. A mage usually means trouble. Or in this case, the shadow hidden behind Jaskier’s bright smiles and chirpy songs.

“She kept me calm the whole night, even when she wasn’t with me, but I could feel her fear. It’s was like an undercurrent beneath my skin. I could feel her emotions change. Then I heard the sound of fighting, but I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t go and help her…”

The salty tang of tears assaults Geralt’s nose, but they don’t fall. Jaskier looks up to the sky to hold back the grief that makes his hands tremble.

“Everything got fuzzy after that, but I still remember the pain and the despair. It was like a part of me was hurting with her. Part of me still does, during some nights.” Jaskier closes his eyes in agony. “When I got out the next morning, no one was there. Our home was wrecked, ruined. There was… There was so much blood, Geralt. I—I couldn’t…”

“Oh, Jaskier.” Geralt watches as Jaskier’s shoulders shake, whimpers choking in his throat. Under the night sky, the bard retreats into himself, making his frame look so much smaller. He sways a little and Geralt extends his hands again, hovering by his elbow. “Can I please touch you now?” he pleads.

With a sniffle, the bard composes himself. He flexes his hands to see if his magic is in check. “I think so, yes—oh.”

Geralt pulls Jaskier in for the tightest hug, his arms wrapping around the bard’s frame protectively. Through the thin fabric of the shirt, he can feel another shiver running down Jaskier’s spine, so he rubs small circles into his back to get some heat back in.

He breathes in Jaskier’s scent, not knowing if the lingering stench of fear is from Ciri or the bard.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jask…” Geralt keeps murmuring into the soft hair by Jaskier’s temple. Gradually, the bard sags against his shoulder, letting himself be soothed and supported. Geralt then places his lips to the skin under Jaskier’s ear, and then his cheek, his chin, all the while holding him impossibly close. He’s ready to help the empath restore his energy with all the brimming love in his chest. “Do you want me to…”

“No,” the bard shakes his head. “I’m good. For now.”

They stand there for so long, swaying gently while the world sleeps, before the bard speaks up again.

“I looked for her, and him, at so many courts.” Jaskier’s slightly colder fingers rest on the nape of Geralt’s neck, buried into the hair there. “No mage fit his description. No trace of her either. I think that deep down, I already knew that she was gone, even back then. Otherwise, I would have felt her in there somehow. No matter how far away she was, but all I had was just this emptiness. I was alone since then.”

“You are not. Not anymore.”

“No,” Jaskier pulls away, the tears have dried. Geralt brings the pad of his thumb to trace those streaks anyway. Under his touch, Jaskier smiles. “You see, back in Posada, I met this witcher, a dashing and heroic one. He fell for me so hard that he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without me, so he begged me to become his travel companion.”

“And you agreed?” Geralt chuckles.

“Not at first, but he wore me down eventually.”

The bard is the most ridiculous man Geralt knows, and yet here they are. Shaking his head in amusement, the witcher steers his bard back to their bedrolls. As they settle back into their usual position, Geralt can’t help but pull him closer, making sure they are touching from head to toe.

The cover sets heavily over Jaskier's body, slowly warming up his skin. His heart beats against Geralt’s ribcage steadily, showing with solid proof that the empath has survived those horrors.

“I found you too, Jask,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss between Jaskier’s brows.

“Good.” The bard's reply is muffled by Geralt's skin. Not far from them, Ciri is still breathing evenly, sound asleep. Geralt has everyone he needs to protect right here with him, tucked away from their separate demons.

And yet, his mind drifts to Jaskier's story. It’s a tragedy with no end and no closure. There was never a body to bury, no vengeance to seek either.

Somehow, he doubts that an unfinished story will stay unfinished.

---

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @theultimatenerdd @percy-jackson-is-sexy-

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #empath!jaskier #empath au #witcher fic #soft geralt #soft jaskier #hurt/comfort #hurt jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ciri has a nightmare #cw: past violence

78 notes · View notes

contorted-curruptions · 3 years

Text

*~Hello, Rabbit~*~Yandere Mirio X Tamaki.~*~Part 1~*

Note: Hello, hello it’s Sunday and time for my post, this week was a little hectic for me so there will be another post on Monday because yet again I got carried away with how long the story is, so first part no smut, second part more than likely smut, but in the mean time feel free to enjoy the story~

This is a yandere naga god Mirio Togata X Elven priest Tamaki Amajiki and a request by my bestie~

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Warning: Mentions of death, Yandere behavior, and almost dead inside Tamaki ahead my dudes, so proceed with caution.

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Tamaki lays here in the forest shrine cave on some warm and comfortable animal pelts, those pelts lay on top of some heavy foliage and luscious plant life he’s curling up tightly in that spot. Tamaki is laying there almost lifeless in this place he’s been confined to for quite a long time now. The sun is peeking into the cave from the opening above and shining down on him keeping him very warm. The sun feels nice despite how depressed he’s feeling currently numb and lifeless, lacking in much hope or happiness. Tamaki isn’t too far into the cave shrine’s depths, he’s laying not so far from the entrance of the cave waiting for the snake god who he now resides with to return. The cave shine in this forest is very deep and like a maze, with so many entrances and traps within. Tamaki didn’t use to get trusted to remain in this part of the cave while Mirio was away, but ever since Mirio realized that Tamaki wasn’t going to run he always wants him to wait for his return here. Mirio will leave Tamaki in this lovely little area to get the sun he needs to stay healthy, and the plus side for him is Tamaki will be there to greet him right away when he comes through the entrance. Not to mention The area has berries nearby and a small pond in the cave so if Tamaki ever is hungry or thirsty while Mirio is away he can partake in those little luxuries. Mirio thinks this is the best place for Tamaki to rest while he’s away and he only wants the best for his rabbit or that is what Tamaki will constantly hear from Mirio when he explains why he is there and Tamaki’s been here for quite some time now. It seems that he’ll never know another home again besides this shrine. Tamaki will never know the comfort of his old village or the pleasure of being with others of his kind. No, Not after everything that has happened and is currently happening, all he’ll get to know is Mirio now. Tamaki will only ever get to have the company of the snake god, he’s not allowed to see anyone else. Though Tamaki so badly misses his village and those who he knew from it, Tamaki never had many connections there but even so, there are a few that he is missing now. Tamaki’s family and one or two other Elven friends from the village, even with how shy he is, there were a few people who had always been nice to him, a few people he desperately wanted to see again. Tamaki wonders how they are doing back home, wonders if they even miss him or if they are happy he is gone since the village is safer with him not being there. Tears well up in his dull eyes for a moment as he thinks back to how things used to be. Even with the luxuries of this shine, even with the affection and protection from the God that lives here, even with the solitude, he thought he had wanted he feels so alone, scared, and desperately misses his life back home. Sill finds it hard to believe that his fellow villagers sacrificed him to Mirio, then again he can guess it isn’t that surprising either, it is his fault. Tamaki invited the newly formed Snake god into his company a long time ago when he was a mere child, and it’s too late to turn back now.

Tamaki shivers but it’s not because he is cold, with the sun he, of course, is very warm but in thinking of the past, he is remembering a few rather unpleasant things from it which in turn makes him shiver in slight fear and repulsion. Really Tamaki never fathomed the thought that his affections for the naga Mirio would lead to something like this. From the very start, Mirio had seemed so innocent. For a great amount of time, there were no problems with Mirio and nothing terrible happened, nothing seemed like it would happen either. However that all changed quite a number of months ago, or had it been a year now? He can’t remember as he mostly hasn’t had much sense of time being he for long portions of his time here had been stuck in the darkness of the deeper parts of the cave, that is until just recently. But regardless here he is now living away from his village never to see his loved ones again, he is here stuck with the powerful naga god that is Mirio. Honestly, How could he have known that things would lead to him here kidnapped and being forced to live with Mirio as his lover. Though can you really call it a kidnapping with how things transpired? The fact of the matter is he was given to Mirio in hopes no more destruction would come to the village in which he resided. Tamaki was a sacrificial lamb to the god in question. A mere Elven priest who would save the lives of the many by simply appealing to the naga god who had caused quite the uproar over something so simple.

Nonetheless Even with all the terrible things Mirio has done and might even continue to do Tamaki does still find he has a care for Mirio but his feelings are confusing and quite a mess, they are always fluctuating back and forth. One day he’s terrified and wishes he never met Mirio and other days he is in love with him and happy to have at least one person who will keep him by their side. Mirio will never betray him, not like his fellow villagers, that left him to possibly die with Mirio. Did he always feel that way? Tamaki can swear there had been a time where he thought that the villagers had no other choice and understood why they did this. However, with all of Mirio’s talk about how vile those he used to live with are, well it really starts to mess with his way of thinking, it’s hard to keep focused when Mirio is smothering him with affection and those sweet words of praise, those words that leave him to believe that Mirio is the only one who will ever love him truly. With all that talk lines and thoughts begin to blur, Tamaki doesn’t remember the last time things actually have made sense to him or were all too clear for him either. All Tamaki really knows is currently he’s been here for too long in a constant battle with his emotions.

Tamaki’s days now are spent merely laying here seemingly completely dead inside, he doesn’t talk, he doesn’t move, he barely reacts to anything. Sometimes it’s better not to react to Mirio, it can lead to things he doesn’t like, then again laying here like a lifeless doll does seem to have its negative effects too. It’s a game of roulette when it comes to Mirio and how he will react on a day-to-day basis. Tamaki though, for this long time has been trying his best to keep Mirio content and happy for his old village, the village he had to leave behind because of the naga he used to call a friend. Tamaki’s and Mirio’s friendship started so innocently, Tamaki was only about five years old when Mirio found him. Back then he didn’t know he was a new god, and of course, he didn’t know the damage Mirio could cause. It hadn’t been till many years into his relationship with Mirio that Tamaki would come to find just how sinister the naga actually can be. Tamaki realized not but perhaps a year ago that Mirio is in fact an obsessive murdering monster. Though sometimes it is hard to see him for just what he is. Sometimes Tamaki felt harsh for calling him a monster, sometimes he will wonder if he is just misunderstood, another conflict in his head.

Back before he’d even met Mirio others in his village told him from the start that there are monsters and horrifying creatures in the forest and almost all of them were not to be trusted. He was always advised not to play or linger too long in the forest. That was how his village saw things, only wander into the forest when necessary and be careful when you do. Children really weren’t supposed to play in there, however Tamaki as a child had been allowed into the forest but only when the village would perform their rituals to appease the gods, they would have festivals in the forest on occasion, even with the danger the village was very respectful of the gods and even the creatures in the wild there. Tamaki supposes why back then with the way of thinking he was less warry of the warnings those from the village had given him. Besides the forest had always been the place he called home when he needed a place to escape, which happened to happen quite a lot when growing up. He just wanted to relax and get away from everyone sometimes and the forest was the place he went to. Being his family ran the shrine and live close to the forest made things easier.

Tamaki can remember clearly when he met Mirio in the forest, back then he couldn’t have pictured him being evil, he was so sweet. From the very start Mirio has always been so sweet to him, so understanding, even now he can be. Even Now Mirio makes his heart flutter when he knows that he should hate the naga after everything he’s done. Tamaki just can’t bring himself to hate Mirio, not fully anyway. Tamaki Loves Mirio, yet Tamaki is scared of Mirio, and wishes he never met Mirio, then at the same time he can never hope to live without him now. They are stuck together, he is here so Mirio is kept under watch, so Mirio doesn’t hurt anyone else.

Continuing on his thinking back before he wound up here as the others in the village would when little Tamaki’s parents would always tell him not to wander into the forest alone, well at least his father would. Tamaki’s mother would encourage Tamaki to enjoy the splendors of the forest. While his father would tell him not to consort with the monsters that call the wilds their home, his mother would tell him the opposite. Tamaki’s mother would tell him the forest and it’s creatures were magical and wondrous not to be feared. Tamaki’s mother was the priests of the forest Shrine before his father came into the picture and before his father would also spend nearly all her time in the forest. With his mother’s words and his own desires he could never bring himself to stay away from the forest. Tamaki never had been the most social and honestly he still wasn’t, but back then he really needed to get away from the pressures and the kids who bullied him for not moving forward fast enough with his Elven magics. Out of all the other kids in his village, Tamaki struggled so hard to not only to socialize but to hone his magical skill. It was tough for him, So every evening just before the sunset he would run to the forest where it was quiet and tranquil, he was so young so naïve, and never realized he was watched every time until he came face to face with that boy.

“Hello Rabbit~”

Those were the first words Mirio would bestow upon him, and back then it had startled him. Tamaki had been so damn scared he was shaking but when turning to meet the gaze of the other his fear had wavered, a bright and overly warming smile on a boy who seemed to be his age who he didn’t recognize, he would blink curiously at the boy who had stood in the bushes and among the heavy brush, well back then he thought he was stood, his tail was covered by the bushes and brush so he had originally thought he was a normal Elven boy like himself.

“W-Who A-ar-”

Tamaki would stutter out but not get to finish his sentence for the other was answering him right away before he could get the full question out of his mouth, Tamaki felt like a mess before the new face he was never good at meeting new people, and alone no less, he much preferred when he had friends or his family with him when meeting new people.

“A friend. My name is Mirio. What’s yours?”

Tamaki of course still hadn’t been at ease even after he had heard what the boy said and most of that hand been the fact that he really wasn’t good at talking to people, he would shuffle in place and hide behind his hair his hands clutched at the hem of the bottom of his shirt, he pulled it slightly down. Tamaki would kick at the dirt before replying.

“T-Tamaki…”

Tamaki only managed to get his name out from his mouth, but even then him giving Mirio his name only earned a smile from Mirio and a loud laugh. That had been their first meeting when he was only five and from there he would come to find out that Mirio wasn’t just another Elf as he had assumed at first but a naga. Tamaki only realized that after Mirio would come out from the bushes to hug him. He had wrapped around Tamaki and coiled around his lower half. Mirio has always had problem respecting boundaries, even still he does. Regardless of all that their first meeting would start their friendship even if Tamaki had found it terrifying back then. Over time Tamaki came to no longer fear Mirio with prolonged exposure. Mirio quickly became Tamaki’s first friend and they even grew up together, they did almost everything together when in the forest. Mirio was his open ear and comfort from those who live in his village. Even if Tamaki had originally went to the forest to escape and be alone, over time he wouldn’t mind sharing that time with Mirio.

For many years things went smoothly between the two, things were normal, they were nothing but happy awkward unexpected friends. Tamaki, Mirio’s little rabbit. Things change though, things had changed after the villagers and his family found out that Tamaki made friends with Mirio. When the villagers had found out they were all very warry for Tamaki at this point had come into his magic and was much better with it, Tamaki was also now the aspiring priest to care for the shrine in the forest and be the mediator between the gods and their village like his mother had been for so many years. They didn’t want to lose Tamaki for they saw him as an important part of their village. At this time the villagers had no idea that Mirio was the new god of the shrine taking over for the old one, they thought he was just a random naga. For who would have suspected that the new god would already show himself to the aspiring priest he was. The village would vote to keep Tamaki under constant watch and to not let him leave the village and go into the forest, even with Tamaki’s slight protest they wouldn’t listen to him. His mother would be the only one to speak up for him however even though she was the current holy priestess they would still be uncertain, she did have quite the sway with the villagers however so did his father and he was highly against it which lead to the decision staying in place and Tamaki would be kept from wandering in and even too close to the forest. It was almost like being under house arrest. It only took two short weeks for people to start going missing after that, anyone who would wander into the forest after that two weeks usually wouldn’t return. The village had gone into a panic and fear over those incidents, people were prohibited from leaving the village for a while but that would take a toll on everything for you needed to leave the village and enter the forest for certain things. Not to mention the crops would start to suffer along with beasts of the forest starting to invade the village from time to time, people would continue to die.

It wouldn’t be until a full two months after that Tamaki’s own mother would go missing, she wouldn’t be missing for a whole day but she was nowhere to be found for hours, it wasn’t until later someone would mention that it had been coming around the time the priestess would need to go clean the shrine, they hope she hadn’t left to do so with the danger. Tamaki’s father was worried so he led a team into the forest to find her. When they returned only half of them were left and his father walked forward weekly carrying his mother’s body into the village. Her body was covered in snake bites and scratches, her clothes tattered and torn. Clearly, she didn’t move nor did she seem to breathe, Tamaki remembers that he broke free of the other villagers to run to his father who had a bite in his shoulder. He sweated profusely and his breath was haggard. Tamaki cried so hard that day, his father would collapse and Tamaki would try to heal him with his own magic but he would still die. Though the others would inform the rest of the village what happened and the worst part was it had all been Mirio’s doing, it was that day they discovered he was in fact the new god. Mirio made his demands of the village clear, he wanted Tamaki to be his and live with him in the shrine in the forest. He would demand once they gave him over they would leave them alone but still make offerings to the shrine, and only if these demands were met would the killings stop and everything would go back to normal. Though at this point Tamaki didn’t want to go back, he didn’t want to go to Mirio who had killed his parents and fellow villagers even if he was upset over him. Even with Tamaki not wanting to go back the Village almost unanimously decided to hand Tamaki over, he was the priest of the shrine now with his parents gone. His friends had protested, and certain others but it didn’t matter enough of them wanted to do what needed to be done and Tamaki was sent into the forest to be with Mirio.

“Hello rabbit, I’m home Tama-chan~ Did you miss me~?”

Tamaki’s Flashbacks to the past break off with Mirio’s entrance That chirp leads to the slithering and Mirio coming back to the cave, he is here to once more curl around him and talk about his day. Mirio is here to cuddle up with him and tell him of all the things he is missing out on while being in this cave but Tamaki really didn’t want to hear about any of it. Mirio can talk about the birds, the bees, and the flowers filling to the brim with pollen and nectar but Tamaki a long time ago gave up on wanting anything to do with anything. Honestly, right now all he wants is to lay there and try to forget about his own existence. Mirio ever since coming into possession of him has been trying to get that life back in his eyes but nothing seems to be changing the dull lifeless look in them. Tamaki Though will wonder what Mirio will come to tell him to try and get him to perk up this time, he can only imagine.

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