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bitsandbobsandstuff · 3 years

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The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons. Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie.

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth.

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders.

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink.

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list.

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.”

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter.

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart.

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly?

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist.

Bliss.

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip.

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare.

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.”

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens.

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers.

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine.

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut.

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon?

It’s worth the mess.

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener.

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display.

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor.

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department.

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down.

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally.

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.”

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace.

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.

It always does the trick.

***

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine

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moonlit-reveriee · 3 years

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Baby Blue

technoblade x fem!reader

concept: techno is scared of ‘corrupting’ the reader, but the reader’s kinda into it...

content warning // NSFW, virgin!reader, very minor angst?, small argument that gets resolved

listen to this while you read: BBBlue (Single) by Olivver the Kid

(this fic was heavily inspired by the lyrics of this song, so i highly recommended giving it a listen!)

───※ ·❆· ※───

When Techno found out you were a virgin, he was terrified. Not necessarily of the thought itself, but of the implications.

He’d never forget the look on your face when you told him. You tried to be casual about it, but he knew you well enough to spot the dusting of pink across your cheeks. You nuzzled yourself closer into his side. Whether out of embarrassment or something else entirely, he couldn’t tell. All he could feel was his heart dropping as the voices chanted at him to “ruin her”

Of course you, his pure sweet angel, would be a virgin. He once again crumbled under the idea that you had chosen him. How on earth could a person like you even think of being with a beast like him. Yet alone, giving up your virginity to him.

He hated how horribly turned on he was by the thought of taking it.

The voices had been relentless about it ever since. They were hyper focused on your every move, twisting every thought of his into something promiscuous. When you rolled out of bed in the morning and stretched, a small sigh escaping your lips, it was endless cries of “make her do that again” “you should fuck those moans out of her” “make her scream”

While making breakfast together in the morning, they wouldn’t stop telling him to “bend her over the counter” “take it right here”

Even at times where he was alone, the voices preoccupied him with endless thoughts of you. He was fairly certain they had forced him to imagine every possible way in which he could have you. “imagine fucking her against the wall” “you can be gentle for the first time y’know” “she’d feel so good writhing underneath us” “press her face into the mattress instead” “make her get on her knees and suck you off” “she’ll be such a pretty little slut for us”

He tried to take care of himself as often as he could, but it was becoming impossible to keep up with. There were only so many times a day he could jerk himself off alone behind locked doors. He was desperate, and sexually frustrated to say the least.

He felt disgusting for it.

After a week of this torment, he could barely even look at you yet alone touch you without the voices and his own guilt pounding against his skull. You couldn’t even think about broaching the subject again, because he was avoiding physical contact like the plague. He wouldn’t come to bed until he knew you were asleep, and would leave long before you woke.

As much as he tried to hide it, you could tell he was tired. Something was wrong, but you knew that he’d never just tell you about his problems unprompted. Techno was insufferably stubborn in that way. After several days of avoiding your gaze and leaning away from your touch, you chose to confront him.

“Techno”, you called for his attention quietly, trying to sound stern while remaining gentle with him. He didn’t turn to fully face you, but he glanced at the spot on the wall just above your head.

You struggled to find the words you wanted to say, so you settled on telling him, “Techno, you look tired.”

He turned his attention away from you. “Just a lot of work around the house this week. I’ll be fine after I rest.”

“Then come to bed with me.” You saw the way his body tensed and tilted away from you at that simple suggestion.

“I just need to write a couple letters first. You can go ahead of me.”

“Techno...”, you whined, daring to take a step closer to him. He gave you an almost panicked look, “why does it feel like you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you”, he responded quickly, trying to look through you instead of at you.

“Yes you have”, you responded firmly. A flash of guilt washed over his face at your tone. “You haven’t kissed or touched me for nearly a week now. I don’t even know for sure if you sleep in the same bed as me anymore. Fuck, you barely even talk to me.”

Angry tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, but you wanted to hold them in. Techno felt his chest tighten at the sight of it. He instinctively turned and reached out to comfort you, but forced himself to freeze.

“There”, you said, gesturing towards him, “just like that. You’re stopping yourself. Why are you doing that?”

He repeatedly opened and closed his fists at his side, wanting to have any conversation other than this one.

“[y/n], there’s just a lot going on in my mind right now”, he said. It wasn’t a complete lie. “I just need to work though it.”

“Then let me help you.”

“No”, he responded a little too quickly, “I- I mean, I just don’t want to talk about it with you yet...”

“Why not?”, you retorted, trying to squeeze any information you could out of him.

“I just don’t, okay? It’s uncomfortable, I don’t want to talk about it yet.”

“... is this about me being a virgin?”

“I never said that”, he replied, but the tension in his shoulders was enough to tip you off.

“Ah geez Technoblade, if it was that much of a problem for ya, you should have just told me”, you said sarcastically, “instead of avoiding all physical contact for a like week straight!”

“It’s not a problem, [y/n].”

“Certainly doesn’t feel that way.”

Techno huffed in frustration, grabbing a fistful of his hair at the root. He wasn’t sure if he was more upset with himself, or the fact that a few of the voices were still begging him to “please fuck her already”

“Love, I wasn’t avoiding you because I didn’t want it. They”, he tapped a finger against the side of his skull, “they want it so badly. It’s driving me insane.”

He breathed in and out shakily, trying to gauge your expression in the brief moments before he continued.

“I’m a monster. I’ve spilt more blood than anyone every should in a single lifetime. My appearance is more beast than man.”

He looked up briefly to find you staring right at him, a tight-lipped frown upon your face.

“What does that have to do with any of this?”

“I- ... I don’t want to corrupt your innocence”, he admitted.

“What on earth do you mean by that?”

“[y/n], you’re so perfect”, he answered almost breathlessly, “you’re so kind and so pure. Just living with me does enough to taint your reputation, I don’t wanna-“

He cut himself off to swallow thickly. He almost seemed scared of the words he was going to say next.

“I don’t want to ruin this part of you either...”

A heavy silence filled the tiny sitting room of techno’s cottage. In those few seconds, your eyes widened ever so slightly as his words suddenly clicked in your mind. This hulking boar of a man, an undisputed war criminal, was scared. He was scared of damaging you, your reputation, or your recently revealed ‘innocence’. Compared to himself, he saw you as a pure being who could be tainted by unwholesome thoughts.

If what he said about the voices was true, then his actions of the past few days would’ve made sense for him.

“Oh techno...”, you muttered softly, tentatively placing a hand on his jaw. His posture was curled inward, making him look small despite his size. He was stiff at first, but allowed you to lift his gaze to meet yours. He searched your eyes desperately for an indication of your reaction. You gave him a reassuring smile.

“Do you remember when we first met?”

A small wave of confusion washed over his face, but he nodded anyways. “It was at the festival...”

“That’s right”, you said, moving the hand on his face down to rest over his shoulder, “and do you remember what I did that day?”

“You threw an axe into Schlatt’s shoulder”, he answered, watching as the scene played out in his memory.

You lived with Niki in her bakery at the time, and witnessed firsthand the injustice she faced during Schlatt’s presidency. As the chaos after Tubbo’s execution occurred, you took the opportunity to hurl your axe where Schlatt stood upon his podium. The blow wasn’t fatal, but that wasn’t necessarily your goal. You just wanted to see the man in pain.

“It was a lucky shot really”, you admitted, “I wasn’t even aiming properly.” That managed to draw a small smile onto Techno’s lips.

“And do you remember”, you continued, “when I tried to confront the Butcher Army by myself?”

He grimaced at the thought. You had told him you just needed to make a quick trip to L’manburg for some supplies, leaving him at home alone to recover from the previous day’s events. You returned that evening with a sprained wrist and a couple large bruises forming on your body. None of them were trying to kill you, but you took a pretty good beating from Quackity just for trying to confront them.

“Why are you bringing all of this up now?”, he asked.

“Because”, you said, “this is the evidence that will support my next point.”

He looked bewildered by that statement, but continued to listen.

“I’m not a perfect person”, you resumed, “I have blood on my hands just like you do. I know it’s hard to compare to you, but I’m not devoid of my own sins. I can be mean, I’ve hurt people. I’m not a pure, angelic being who would quiver at a single inappropriate thought. I think you forget that sometimes.”

He let your words swirl around in his head; he couldn’t deny the logic in them. The evidence prevented him from denying the truth of your statement. He could almost be mad that you’d talked him into a corner, but he was more overjoyed at the fact that you knew him well enough to do so.

“And you know...”, you spoke quietly, letting your hand fall down to rest on his chest, “if you did somehow ‘corrupt my innocence’ as you say... I really wouldn’t mind that.”

Techno’s breath hitched in his throat. There were a brief few moments, maybe minutes, where he just stared at you. Then his lips were on yours; sudden and clumsy, but passionate. You gripped the fabric of his shirt as he grabbed at your waist, desperate to have you in his arms again.

“I’m sorry, I had to”, he muttered, his lips left hovering a hair’s breadth away from yours.

“You’re so silly sometimes”, you sighed affectionately, rubbing small circles into his collarbone. He gave you a gentle smirk before pressing another kiss into your lips.

“I’m sorry darling, I really am”, he said as he drew you into a tight hug. He took in your scent and the feel of your skin for the first time in days. It felt like he could survive off the feeling of your arms wrapped around his body alone. He wondered why he ever let himself be depraved of this.

“You know I trust you, right?”, you spoke with your face pressed into his chest.

“I’m not sure why, but yes.”

You decided not to reprimand him for saying that. You could help him unpack all that later. Instead, you brought your head up to whisper in his ear.

“You have my full and unconditional consent to take my virginity whenever you’re ready.”

Techno inhaled and held his breath, though for what, he wasn’t sure. It took a while for the full weight of those words to sink in. He leaned back to stare at your face, bringing one of his large and shaky hands up to cup your cheek.

“Are you sure?”, his eyes were wide with trepidation, practically pleading with you to tell him the truth. You leaned into his palm, indulging in the feeling of his skin on yours.

“I want you, techno. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Techno was lost in your words. The sudden absence of guilt left his heart light and airy in his chest. For the first time in days, the voices were only a gentle murmur.

“she’s so beautiful” “she wants you” “make her feel good” “show her how special she is” “make her smile” “she’ll be so pretty” “she’s always pretty” “be gentle, no need to rush”

“make love to her”

“... I think I’m ready now.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

ayyyy guess who finally finished writing something!!!

parts of this feel a little rushed but ehhhhhh i was just excited to finally post it. i looove writing techno as an extremely self-conscious character who’s too caught up in their own head to see how ridiculous they’re being. so, this was a treat for me to write

i hope you enjoyed :D

-moonlight

#c!techno #red:moon #mcyt x reader #techno x reader #technoblade x reader #mcyt smut #techno smut

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mianavs · 3 years

Text

the assault

In Lima with You part 4

a/n: this marks the beginning of the end for this story. like previous parts in this story and it’s predecessor, there’s some messed up stuff going on in this part.

tw: non-con, dark content, nsfw, violence

wc: 1.7k+

In Lima with You

You had been scrubbing for a good thirty minutes, yet the bright red from the tomato sauce you’d spilled on your living room carpet was still there.

Glaring at you

Mocking you

Wiping off the beads of sweat that trickled down your brow with the back of your hand, you ran the scrubby through the bucket of soapy water that was now a milky salmon color. After wringing the scrubby of the excess liquid, you went back to scrubbing that spot while ignoring the growing ache in your fingers and the knot in your neck.

It’d been a careless mistake, spilling your spaghetti while your mind had been elsewhere—a common occurrence since the night your fragile world fell apart when Dabi walked out on you.

Almost as careless as the mistake of letting your captor into your heart where he left a mark that spread until it encompassed the entire thing.

A mistake you were now paying the price for, on your hands and knees trying to scrub the mark stain away only to realize it had spread in spite of your efforts.

You fell back on your haunches and threw the scrubby into the bucket. It had been five days since you’d last seen Dabi, and you were starting to lose it.

Every time you heard footsteps outside of your front door, you would rush over and swing it open only to face nothing or a bewildered stranger. The room that had once suffocated you with warmth was now frigid and made it difficult for you to fall asleep in. Your mornings started with you waking from a nightmare that almost always involved Dabi’s death. While at the beginning of his absence you could still go about your day cooking, cleaning, or engaging in a hobby, you eventually spiraled into a depression that made it hard for you to even get out of bed.

Not only was Dabi the death-sentenced protagonist of your nightmares but he was also on your mind all day. His face during your last argument was one that had been burned into your memory. You could still see the blank look that flashed in his cerulean eyes, the twitch of his mutilated mouth, and then the shock that seeped from every pore in his body as he staggered away from your enraged form.

You’d been the one wronged that day, yet Dabi was the one that fled, leaving you with an all-consuming guilt. It didn’t make sense but then again neither did the overwhelming pain festering away in your heart the more time passed without seeing him, touching him, loving him.

Love. It was a ridiculous notion when you thought about it.

Dabi had been the monster that kidnapped you. He’d broken you down physically and mentally to mold you into the obedient darling you now were, but even with the plethora of scars all over your body, you couldn’t help but feel empty without him. Even with the door unlocked and nothing chaining you down to your shared condo, you would leave only to roam around the city for a couple of minutes before a panic seized your entire body; It was that suffocating panic that forced you back home to the comfort of your bed that still smelled of Dabi’s musk and smoke.

You loved Dabi.

You needed Dabi.

So as you dumped the soapy water down the kitchen sink and washed out the bucket, you mulled over your options in tracking Dabi down to tell him how you felt. Then just as you were putting the bucket away, the muffled sound of footsteps captured your attention and you dashed to the front door on impulse.

Where a scarred face with a wicked grin should have greeted you, there was only a red winged man with astonished eyes.

“Y/N,” Keigo breathed. “You’re really here.”

You looked behind him, searching for the man you actually wanted to see. When it was clear he wasn’t there, you turned to your former friend.

“Where else would I be?” You asked before stepping aside to let him in.

“I assumed you’d be with the League,” He answered amusedly, walking in while you shut the door behind him. “But I guess this was a no ex-heroes type of mission.”

“Where’s Dabi?” The question burst from your lips before you could think it through.

Keigo’s smile faltered at your desperate inquiry, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Last I heard they were two cities away wreaking havoc in true League fashion.”

You raised an eyebrow at his mocking tone. “Sounds like you don’t approve of the mission.”

Keigo laughed at that and it left a bitter taste in your mouth. “How about we drop the act, Y/N. It’s just you and me. Dabi isn’t here to punish you.”

His eyes traveled to a fading scar on your forearm before returning to your face. “We both know that what they’re doing is wrong.”

A bitter laugh tore from your throat as you approached him. “So the HPSC selling me for some intel is right? Them drugging me and sending me off to an orphanage is right? How about them trying to sabotage my career? Does all of that seem right to you, Keigo?!”

You were now in front of him, and he had the decency to appear sheepish after your rant. He averted his gaze and said nothing while you let out an exasperated sigh and ran your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t give me that right or wrong crap.” You retorted when your anger simmered. “Hero society deemed me a villain before giving me a chance to prove myself. I won’t stand in the League’s way if they want to bring it down.”

Keigo’s hand shot out and wrapped around your elbow, fingers pressing into one of your scars. You tried shaking him off but Keigo didn’t relent.

“What about the thousands of innocent civilian lives that will be ruined because of them? Will you also stand aside when they’re screaming for their lives?”

His golden eyes bore into yours and memories of a certain mission hit you like a ton of bricks. You remembered the room full of children that you’d saved with Keigo, and for the first time in weeks, you hesitated in defending Dabi and the League’s actions.

“We’re targeting the heroes and the HPSC, not civilians.” You reasoned, wrenching your arm from his grasp.

“We’re?” Keigo sneered, backing you against a wall. “Are you serious?”

At his aggressiveness, the alarms in your head went off but indignation muffled them. You jutted out your chin defiantly. “Yeah, I am. As long as Dabi remains in the League, I will too because... I-I love him and tha—”

Keigo smashed his lips against yours and took hold of your hands before pinning them above your head. Unlike the first kiss he stole from you, this one was harsh and meant to punish. He claimed your mouth with his invading tongue while you wrestled against his bruising grip. It wasn’t until you realized he wouldn’t let up that you bit down on his tongue until he hissed in pain and released you with a curse.

With the metallic taste of Keigo’s blood in your mouth, you tried recovering your breath only to hear a harsh thump that was immediately followed by pulsating pain on the side of your head. You doubled over from the sheer force of Keigo’s blow that left you debilitated and vulnerable.

And that was exactly what Keigo wanted.

In your stupor, you were picked up like a ragdoll and thrown onto your bed, landing face down on a pillow. The sudden motion only worsened what you assumed was a concussion. As a sharp ringing assaulted your ears, all you could do was grip the sheets beneath you in a weak attempt to stop the room from turning.

So when rough hands pulled off your shorts and ripped off your flimsy lace panties, you were too busy burrowing your spinning head in a pillow and swallowing bile to put up a fight. The severity of the situation finally registered with you when you felt the bed dip and rough hands lift your waist until you were on your knees.

By the time your body reacted, it was too late. Keigo pressed you into the mattress with your hands pinned behind your back as he settled between your legs and spread them open with his body.

His cockhead prodded at your entrance a couple of times before he forced it into your dry cunt in one harsh thrust. Horrified and unprepared, you screamed into the pillow that still smelled of Dabi while Keigo violently took you from behind like an animal.

Pain was all you knew throughout Keigo’s assault. It pulsated in your head until it felt like your skull was being split in half. It coursed through your arms that were pushed together and pressed into your back. It ripped through your cunt as Keigo’s cock rammed into you without mercy.

Concussed, restrained, and without your quirk and voice, all you could do was lie there and wait for your body to produce the slick you oh-so desperately needed to ease the ache in your cunt.

Without changing the pace of his hips, Keigo leaned over you and grunted into your ear.

“Don’t you get it, Y/N? I’m doing this because I love you and right now you’re sick. That so-called love you feel for that bastard is a disease. You have Stockholm Syndrome and I’m gonna cure you with each load I shoot up your womb.”

He let out a chuckle and licked the shell of your earlobe, causing bile to surge up your throat. Unable to swallow it down any longer, you used all the strength you could muster to jerk your head over the bed’s edge.

As you regurgitated that day’s lunch, Keigo’s thrusts ceased and he released you with a disgusted grunt.

“Rude bitch,” he growled, pulling you by your hair and pressing his torso against your body. “I tell you I love you and that’s how you react?”

Keigo shoved your face into the mattress and you writhed beneath his weight and grip as your lungs were depleted of oxygen. When your limbs went limp against the bed and black specks stained your vision, the last thing you heard was Keigo’s honeyed words delivering your sentence for falling for your captor.

“Guess I’ll have to take you away from him for you to be cured.”

#hawks x reader #dabi x reader #hawks smut #mha smut #yandere hawks #yandere mha #dabi x reader x hawks #dabi fanfic #mha fanfic #tw noncon #tw dark content #tw violence #navs.mha #navs.ilwy

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ghostdrew22 · 3 years

Text

Angel || Draco Malfoy

Requested: No. Pairing: post-war Draco Malfoy x fem!reader Warnings: Lots of angst in the beginning, mentions of self-harm/self-destructive behavior, mentions of blood, quite a few mentions of the devil, ptsd, just a lot of dark themes ig (let me know if i need to add another warning) Summary: You’ve always been an angel in Draco’s eyes and now, years after the war, he’s reminded why once again.

WORDS: 3440

I’ve been wanting to write about the ‘devil on the shoulder’ trope for a while and I felt like @anchoeritic‘s 3K WRITING CHALLENGE was the perfect opportunity though i think i lost the plot a bit at some point and this probably isn’t what you had in mind.

i had to do so much research for this, probably the most research i’ve ever done for a fic. It’s a lot heavier than I’d intended for it to be (i almost cried at certain points) but I still really love it.

anyway this fic is inspired by ‘Angel’ by FINNEAS (which is a great song that I recommend listening to) and i hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

~~~

Anger.

So much anger that he doesn’t know what to do with it. Red, hot, fury just begging to be unleashed.

He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes. When he opens them again his fist collides with the wall. “Fuck!”

The miniature Mephistopheles that’s made home on his shoulder tells him to keep going, that this is the only rational response. Draco heeds the advice until his knuckles are bleeding and there’s a dent in the wall.

He lets out a frustrated sigh as he thinks about you returning in a few hours, then he punches the spot one last time out of frustration. Draco’s own love for destruction lies parallel to the myths surrounding Beelzebub, his own virtues bringing him to peril instead of an unseen force of evil. But it’s much easier to believe that the voice always telling him to do wrong, is not his own.

Maybe this is who he is, a fucked up kid with anger issues. Maybe this is all he’ll ever be, knuckles spotted in crimson and harmful thoughts being shoved down as to not raise alarm.

He feels violated by the mark on his arm. Sobs stacking up in his lungs at the very thought, but all he can express is anger- all he can understand is the resent that crawls beneath his skin and settles into his bones like calcium.

Was it his choice? No. Did it matter? No. Choice means nothing in a world run by circumstance. Intention holds no value when there’s no action to follow through. In another world, a better world perhaps, he would’ve had the right to choose and he hopes that he would’ve chosen the right side- the good side.

Forgiveness, they say, is often practiced by the strong willed. He’d tried to forgive, he really had, but Iblis had told him that it didn’t matter who he forgave because they’d still done this to him anyway- they’d still sold his soul to the Devil.

“Draco, when will you forgive me?” She pleads and he shrugs with a thin smile.

“I don’t know mother. I don’t know.”

“It’s been years.” He turns a steal glaze toward her.

“And yet I still can’t get the mark off.”

“What am I meant to do?”

“There’s nothing you can do. It’s too late to do the right thing.”

“What would the right thing have been back then? Huh?”

“The right thing to do would’ve been to protect me.”

“I did protect you. I took the Vow for you!” She yells as she stands out of her chair and points an accusatory finger toward him. He’s seen this scene so many times before that it’s permanently imprinted in his mind, but this time he’s not a scared teenager being scolded by his mother.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” He stands as well, “I just asked you to save me. Why didn’t you save me?”

“What?” She’s taken aback,

“Summer before fifth. You told me that you’d had enough of him, you told me that we were going to leave and run away so that you could save me from him, from all of them.”

“So now you hate me because I couldn’t leave your bigoted father?”

“No, mother. I hate myself because you couldn’t leave my bigoted father.” He tucks his chair back into the table and pulls out his wand, “Thank you for dinner mother, it was lovely.”

Then he’s gone, and he doesn’t come back.

Draco had shut himself out from the world, hoping that his loathing would dissipate with time but it hadn’t. He still wakes up every morning with that tiny voice reminding him that he’s worthless, and he still believes it.

Why had he done it? Why had he allowed them to put the mark on his arm in the first place? Why had he put his own morals, his own principles, on the line to save a family who might not have done the same for him? Why had he allowed himself to succumb to the many ministrations of Diabolous, which dragged him further and further down the dark side?

Weakness. That’s the only answer he can conceive. Or maybe that’s the sound of Lucifer on his shoulder, consistently reminding him that he’s no match for the evil that resides deep within his soul. He can’t fight it, it’s who he is. He’s weak and he’s unholy. Bathed so often in sin that it’s sunk into his DNA. Does that even make sense?

Draco shakes his head and runs his hands down his face in an attempt to ground himself. But it doesn’t work, all he can see is red and all he can hear is his own conscience belittling him for continuously making the wrong choices. Why does he always make the wrong choices?

His throat so dry it feels as though he’s swallowed sand. His palms sweaty like he’s dipped them in oil. He paces around the room in a desperate effort to remember where you’d placed the box last time this happened. He can feel himself disconnecting from the world, feel himself sinking further and further into the dredges of his mind that torment him most.

That part of his brain that holds the memories, the shame, the anguish, is his biggest obstacle in recovery. It’s always on good days, days when… He blinks when he realizes that no fond memories come to mind. Does he even have good days? Or does this always happen, is this what’s become normal for him?

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and steps back in shock, completely forgetting about his mission to find the box. The man in front of him looks clean, taken care of. When had he become this man and stopped being the terrified teenager that never ate and wore bags beneath his eyelids like name tags.

There is muscle on his arms, taut beneath the dress shirt that he must’ve put on that morning before going to classes… or work? When had he earned the right to stop looking the way he felt? Which of his actions had merited his beauty returning, when the dark mark still lays clear beneath the dress shirt that he’s got on? There are hickeys along his chest- one, two, three, littered around his torso like a map to his heart- and he can only assume that they’d been left in the wake of your last meeting, because he can’t seem to piece together the memory of them being made.

You. Where are you? Why can’t he remember where you are or what you look like? Did you finally leave? Did you finally realise that he wasn’t worth any of the pain and anguish that he’d put you through? Had you ultimately decided that Draco and the dark mark could not be separated, both physically and mentally? Maybe he never managed to redeem himself in your eyes, and it hurt so much to lose you that he made himself forget.

Redemption, he’d searched far and wide for it. He’d spent the months after the war trying to find some spiritual cleanse for the ailment in his essence, had dabbled in every muggle religion he came across in hopes of finding something that would provide him freedom from guilt. The Bible, the Qur’an, the Gita, the Torah, the Guru Granth Sahib, the Tripitaka- none of the holy books he’d read had promised him enough solace to feel deserving of love from a higher entity. They had all just reminded him of the purity and innocence that muggles embodied, the same qualities he came so close to erasing.

Redemption wasn’t in the cards for him. If it had been a game of Poker, Draco would’ve been the first fold with the knowledge that he didn’t stand a chance against the better players at the table. Who were the better players? He didn’t really know, he just knew that he wasn’t one of them.

His eyes drift toward his reflection once more and he feels disgust crawl through his anatomy. Nausea, a familiar friend in times like these, making itself comfortable in the barrel of his gut. Why had he even eaten today anyway? Sustenance won’t fill the emptiness that’s making domicile in his chest, it won’t make him less of a habitat to repulsive regret and desolation.

He walks toward the dresser and picks up a pocket knife that’s sitting in-between some make up and a music box. Then like deja vu he can already feel the weapon pinching, digging beneath his skin as if it’s trying to excavate bone. He recalls blood pouring out, drowning his pale skin in spills of vermillion and carmine, and dropping to the floor. The floor, chalky tile with tiny chards of black glass engrained in it, something that he hadn’t come up with himself but liked anyway. Who had come up with that again?

Screams, familiar but unrecognizable, had filled his ears soon after. He remembers his arm being wrapped in a bandage, him being carried off the bathroom floor and taken to the Hogwarts infirmary, no, it was actually St Mungo’s. He remembers being treated and loud cries settling down into comforting whispers beside him. He remembers feather light touches being placed on his face and kisses settling onto the skin of his palm.

He remembers something good, but he doesn’t know what.

He remembers the injury, and knows that it didn’t work.

Draco takes a deep breath and puts the knife back down. Staring at his reflection once more he sees that the man standing before him is not the same child that had stepped into battle way back when. When was that? Months? Years? He can’t tell.

The box. The box will tell him. But he doesn’t know where it is, he doesn’t even know where he is anymore. This room is definitely not his Hogwarts dorm room, it’s not in Hogwarts at all, and it’s not his room in the Manor either. Where is he?

His eyes shoot up when he hears a door shutting, and soon after voices follow suit. The voices are coming toward him, in this strange room that he’s in, and Draco struggles to identify them. His dorm mates potentially? No, this clearly isn’t Hogwarts. Friends? His mother? You?

Then there’s a laugh, from a child, from two children, and suddenly none of it makes sense any more. He knows those voices, he knows those laughs, so well that they might as well be his own, but he can’t seem to attach faces or names to them.

A few of the voices drift off, further down the hall, and one gets louder as the door to the bedroom opens. Draco holds his breath as the person walks in, not knowing what to expect, and feels a confused sense of relief wash over him when he sees you standing there.

You laugh as you enter the room, “If you can get an outstanding in Transfiguration then we’ll get you whatever your heart desires.” You respond to your daughter as you recall how both you and Draco had struggled with the subject during your Hogwarts years.

You furrow your eyebrows at the state of your bedroom- documents scattered across the bed, clothes in tiny piles all over the floor, and a tiny dent in the wall beside the bathroom door. A sigh escapes your lips as you process the mess and prepare yourself for what’s about to come. You turn and your eyes land on your husband, and your heart breaks at the sight of him. He’d promised this morning that he’d be fine, it was the only reason that you’d left him alone, but clearly he wasn’t.

“Love? Are you okay?” You ask softly as you take the shoes off of your feet and close your bedroom door behind you. He tilts his head to the side momentarily in confusion, but then realisation flashes across his eyes and he takes quick strides toward you.

“Oof.” You breathe out when he pulls you into his chest and rests his forehead on your shoulder.

“Y/N.” He muffles into your shoulder and you feel your heart swell with love for him- this man who recognizes you instantly, even when the entire world is nothing more than a distant memory.

“Miss me?” You ask with a small laugh as you bring your hands up to wrap around him tightly. He mumbles an agreement and you smile, “I missed you too.”

“Bad day.” He whispers and you nod, rubbing his back in an effort to soothe him.

“I know baby, wanna talk about it?”

“No. Can’t remember.”

“Okay, that’s fine.” You pull him away from you and kiss his forehead with a warm smile, “We can just lie down for a while.”

He obliges as you pull him toward the bed and shuffle the papers off of it, climbing on after you and setting his head in your chest. You run your fingers through his hair and hum, trying to your best to make him feel calm and prevent another breakdown.

But your efforts are futile, within the hours that Draco had been alone he’d thought every terrible thought that he possibly could, Al-Shaitan had already tormented your husband through a series of painful misconceptions. Draco had never really subscribed to religion or faith but after the war he’d identified quite quickly with the concept of the Devil- confessing that he believed he had an evil conspirator sitting on his shoulder- and felt that his own soul deserved to be damned. You’d tried to rid him of that notion, many times, but it never worked, he was in too deep.

You tense up when you feel a cry escape his lips and his fingers tighten into the space of your torso. “I’m sorry.”

He feels terrible, terrible for ruining all of your hard work. All the effort you’d put into rebuilding him now disintegrating in the blink of an eye. But you’re here now, you’re going to fix him again, he knows it.

You try to level your breathing so that you don’t cry too, so that you don’t fall into this pit of despair with him, because Merlin knows that any pain Draco feels takes as rough a toll on you. You pull him off of you and sit up, bringing him to sit as well, so that you can look him in the eyes.

“Sorry for what Bub?”

“For being broken. I-“ He feels another sob rock through him and you pull him into your chest. “Please fix me Y/N.” He pleads, a whimper following suit.

His fingers are digging into you again, he’s clinging so tightly to you like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t stay close enough, and it hurts you to know that even after all these years he’s scared that you’ll leave.

“You’re not broken Draco, there’s nothing to fix.”

“But I’m- I’m-“ Cries start to escape rapidly and interrupt him. He can’t see clearly anymore as tears form in his waterline and obstruct his view of you. It hurts, everything just hurts.

“You’re not broken, my love.” You whisper as you cup his face, “You’re not evil, you’re not bad. You’re good. You’re my husband, I love you. Did you open the box?”

He shakes his head, “Couldn’t find it.”

“Okay, let me get i-“ You’re cut off by your bedroom door opening and your children marching in.

“Dad, you’ll never guess what happened at school today- Oh, is this a bad time?” Ariel, your daughter, stops in her tracks as she raises her eyebrows at you.

You shake your head and gesture for them to come in. “I think it just got a little much for him this year. Please get me the box, love.”

Ariel goes to the headboard and pulls out the aforementioned box from the first drawer, before her and Cael, your son, get comfortable on the bed beside you and Draco. But Draco doesn’t need it anymore, he can already sense himself coming back down to earth. He knows where he is- with you, in your house, with your children, in your bed. He’s home, he’s safe.

He takes the box anyway and begins to unload its contents in silence, the three of you observing him with admiration. It’s a small circular box that your children made a few years back after witnessing one of his episodes for the first time, containing momentos from the last 18 years of you and Draco’s lives together. Pictures, notes, a few school projects.

“Tell him about what happened at school today, it’ll probably make him laugh.” Cael encourages his older sister Ariel, and she does as told.

Draco pays a significant amount of attention to the story, piecing together facts that he’s slowly starting to understand and recognize as a part of his normal life. He intertwines his fingers with Cael’s as Ariel continues telling the story from her spot on your lap.

Love.

So much love that he doesn’t know what to do with it. Bursts of it just choking him out.

Draco remembers everything now. He remembers this house of yours, the one he’d bought straight out of Hogwarts and begged you to live in with him because “It’s nothing without you in it”. These children that you’d had 14 years ago, that’d he’d been so scared to raise because he thought they’d resent him, and that made everything in the world just seem brighter. This life that he modeled with you on the embers of his haunting past, this life that reminds him he’s good.

Before you, he would’ve been terrified to show any one his vulnerable side, especially his children, but you’d taught him that loving someone means loving all the good bits and the bad bits, all the happy moments and the sad moments. Now he knows that when days like this happen, when he gets so lost inside the mental maze of his own construction, the three of you will always be waiting to help him out.

Ariel finishes her story and Draco bellows out a laugh, feeling thankful to have you three around in his moments of weakness.

His three guardian angels- the only people who can always lead him away from the shadow in his mind and toward the luminescence that he carries within him. “All the good within us is split in the middle, half from you and half from mum, just as it should be. I hope you remember that we wouldn’t be who we are without you both.” Cael suddenly speaks up and you smile pridefully at him.

“They wouldn’t.” You add once he’s done and smile, “I couldn’t have done such a bad job without you.”

“Hey!” Ariel accuses and you all laugh.

“She’s right though, I am the one who taught you hexes at age 7.” Draco grins bashfully and you roll your eyes.

“And look at us now, acing Charms!”

“See love,” Draco turns to you, “There is a method to my madness.”

“Mhmm.” You hum with a small smile. “Go do your homework, dinner soon.”

“Yes, I’m making pizza tonight.” Draco adds as he kisses both of your children on their foreheads.

They excitedly hop off the bed and run out of the room. “I can’t belie-“

“Harry called.” Draco interrupts you and your eyes go wide at his statement but you nod for him to continue, “He wanted to know how I was doing, you know with it having been 18 years since the war and all. Offered to come spend the day with me and make sure I’d be alright while you were gone.”

“And you said no?” You raise your eyebrows and he shakes his head.

“No, I told him that I’d come by his office instead. Then when I was getting ready… I just started having flashbacks again, and my mark hurt. I felt horrible all of a sudden, like there was huge weight on my chest and this fog obscuring my vision.”

There are few things that Draco has faith in, but you, you he never runs short on trust for. You’re a constant in his life, a shoulder that he can always rely on when he needs it, and as he sits here and tells you about his day, he feels love for you hit him tenfold.

You, this beautiful, kind, ethereal being that has no place on earth. You, the one who’s managed to convince him that saints are real. You, who has given him your entire life, along with all the love that you have to offer. You, Y/N, the love of his life.

You.

An angel.

~~~

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vixenpen · 4 years

Text

To Resist Temptation pt. 1

(THIS FIC IS RIDDLED WITH BLASPHEMY!! I, myself, am not religious (actually an atheist) but this idea has been on my mind for a while. It is never my intention to mock or disrespect anyone’s personal beliefs. With that said, if you are a person of faith this fic may not appeal to you. It’s not to be taken as a serious representation of the faith it portrays! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNEDDDD!!!!)

(Trigger warnings: religious themes, succubus, authority kink, degradation, god complex/kink)

(Art by: @kadeart )

You chanted your prayers of protection under your breath quietly.

Every nervous thud of your heart seemed to pound in your ears as you ascended the steps to the large white brick chapel.

“Keep yourself safe. Seek salvation, and temptation won’t overtake you.”

The temptation won’t overtake me.

The mantra echoed in your mind over and over.

You smoothed your dress, hoping you looked appropriate. The clingy Sunday sundress fell just above your knees and didn’t expose too much of your cleavage. Of course it was impossible for you not to look tempting. Even just a bit. It was in the switch of your hips. The gleam in your eyes. The natural scent you gave off. It was, quite literally, in your blood. Not that any of this was your choice...

You shook the thoughts away, opened the heavy door of the church, and slipped inside.

“To walk without God is to wander without a true purpose.”

The congregation responded accordingly with hums of approval and agreement. Keigo continued.

“To stray from god’s path is to—“

His amber eyes fell on the late comer. A woman who stood out against the mostly somberly dressed masses in her pastel church dress. She kept her head ducked as she found a seat in the front row. Once she faced him, a soft content smile settled on her beautiful face.

Oh...she was stunning...

Soft, smooth looking skin, eyes that smoldered, lush lips, hard nipple-

What? No. Not here. Not now.

Everybody was watching him. Waiting. Keigo hadn’t even realize that he’d stalled for so long. Reluctantly he dragged his gaze away from the beautiful new comer and continued his sermon.

“T-to stray from God’s path, is to invite unrest into your soul.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Keigo enjoyed these times best. The dark, contemplative silence of the confession booth. Just a holy man and God. The times between members coming to make their confessions felt peaceful and sacred.

He liked to stay behind a couple hours after service and a couple hours beforehand for his congregation. But it was just as much for himself as it was for them.

He rested against the wooden back, eyes closed in an almost meditative manner. Although his mind was far from clear. His thoughts kept wandering back to the mystery member who had slipped in late and gazed at him so enraptured. How her lips remained parted slightly, and everytime she crossed and uncrossed her legs, the hem of her dress rose a little more...

He shook his head mussing his tousled blonde hair even more. Those thoughts weren’t appropriate for a holy man. A man in such a sacred place. He couldn’t allow his mind to wander to such places.

The scuffling of someone entering the booth roused Keigo out of his thoughts.

“Um...hello?”

He held back a chuckle.

“Yes?”

“Oh! Uh, yes, hi! I’m sorry father I’ve never done this before.”

The disembodied female voice stammered nervously. Keigo squinted as he tried and failed to place the voice, and then he realized; it was you.

“Th-this is my first confession, and I’m not sure what to do. Can you help me?”

“O-of course,” he stammered back. He coached you through what to say, biting back a moan when you said: “Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

He pressed a hand to his stirring member. Sensing your hesitation. Your innocence despite the wicked beauty you possessed. How cute. How naive.

“This is a safe place, you can tell me what is troubling you.”

“Well...I have these urges..”

“What sort of urges?”

“It’s like...this hunger,” you replied, voice taking on a slight rasp that shot straight to the handsome priests dick. “I want,” your voice dropped into a soft whisper, “I want sex all the time. Day and night. Sometimes I see strangers and I want to give myself to them right then and there.”

Oh god...

Keigo’s mind was reeling from the salacious words dripping from your pretty mouth. He had known it. He knew someone that angelically beautiful couldn’t truly be innocent. It wasn’t natural. The magnetism you possessed in your swaying hips and the way it juxtaposed your soft expressions.

“F-father?”

Keigo coughed. “Um, yes. Go on,” he urged, “what do you envision yourself doing with these strangers?”

“Anything that could make them cum. The most depraved things. It’s as if I can see what people most desire sexually and it-it frightens me.”

You are a holy man, Keigo. A good man of faith.

The young priest told himself as his hard on strained.

“Father, what should I do? I don’t want to give in to the temptation. I don’t want to be corrupted or currupt others.”

“You must remember, that temptation is not sin itself.“ he replied.

Be strong. Don’t give in to temptation. He stroked his painful erection gently. This woman needs you. This poor lost soul...

“You still have a chance to turn away from temptation and turn to Jesus as your answer.”

“How though, father? When temptation is all around me. Even today I—“

His throat went dry.

“Today?” He pressed. “What do you mean today?”

“It’s shameful, father.” You replied rubbing your thighs together.

The desire pooling between your legs massaged the lips of your womanhood, sending pleasure through out your body.

You had chosen this new church home at random at the behest of your mother. The older you got, the stronger your succubus side became. Soon it might overtake you completely. Until you were a sex driven demon. Like your incubus father. The no good demon who had impregnated your mother.

It was your greatest fear whenever you looked in the faces of strangers who attracted you, whether it was physically or mentally. That you would infect them with your own curse and bear more cursed children.

But it was also so achingly tempting that it hurt sometimes. The toys you had bought didn’t help. The other incubus/succubus men and women you secretly convened with didn’t help.

You knew that you needed humans. Pure, untainted humans...

But you hadn’t expected a priest so handsome. So strong and self assured in his word. Hadn’t expected the hooded golden eyes that smoldered with intelligence and the desire of a young man who had repressed himself for so long that he ached for release. The burden of all the marriages he had severed at former churches because of his affairs with the men and women of his congregation and how it weighed heavy on his mind. Best of all, you knew he would do it all again just to feel that sweet release.

And God, as if regular humans weren’t tempting enough, fallen holy ones were the embodiment of desire.

“I know what you want the most, father,” you practically moaned. The honeyed cadence of your voice like a siren song to a mortal. You tried so hard to fight it, but you could no longer help it with the stench of his desire and lust filling your nose. “You want someone to run their fingers through that beautiful golden hair of yours while they lock you between their thighs. You want someone to beg you for their release. You want this so much that it frightens you too, doesn’t it? It almost aches. I could see it watching you today.

The priest was stunned silent. Afraid that if he did dare say anything it would be to ask the stranger to tell him more. More of his sinful thoughts. More of her own sinful thoughts. More about why the urges he had successfully kept at bay for five years now had come back to the forefront of his mind at full force when he looked at her.

Mindlessly, he pulled out his throbbing dick and rubbed the viscous spill of desire leaking from the head around the top before spreading it along the thick shaft.

You can’t, Keigo! You shouldn’t! Remember your prayers. Your promise to god!

Oh but what was it again? What were those prayers? The words had twisted in his mind. What was that promise to god? Something about repentance and regret?

The thrum of pleasure that coursed through him with every stroke only made him forget those vows more.

“I-I’m sorry father,” you continued. Your voice smothered the man’s senses like a warm blanket. So soft and inviting. Just like the rest of you. “I need your help...please.”

A prayer. A promise. You will resist temptation.

“I,” he choked on the words. His mind cloudy from the warring thoughts swirling about it. “I can help you. We can beat this temptation together.”

“Thank you, father.” You sighed. “Or I believe you prefer to be called: daddy.”

(Pt.2)//(Pt.3)

#succubi #sucubus #incubi #incubus #bnha imagines #my hero academia #bnha #hawks x reader #hawks simp #bnha scenarios #mha smut #my hero fanfic #bnha smut #n/s/f/w #hawks smut

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systlinsideblog · 3 years

Text

Part 2

The Lady walked, unseen and unheard, through the grass.

She looked out from the eyes of animals, felt through the grass, through the soil. She was, after all, a goddess of soil and fertility and life, and all life was her domain.

She followed her child, as Systlin walked.

It was cruel, sometimes, the uses to which she must put her chosen champion. The Lady regretted it, on occasion. But it was necessary, and her champion had the fortitude and skill to accept such hard tasks, to stand her ground though the whole world be against her. Her champion had the power to change worlds.

There was much on this world that needed changing. The cries of pain had reached the Lady, though she was not the native goddess of these people.

But the gods here were silent. The Lady was, among other things, a goddess of mercy, and she’d not been able to bear it.

Justice was what was needed, but there was none of it to be found in this place. Justice was not one of the Lady’s domains. But there was one for whom it was, even if that one still railed against what she’d become when she’d taken the soul of a slain mad god into herself.

She watched, as her champion killed, and though it was not her domain she could taste the justice of it. She’d brought justice and protection to a world with none, and granted mercy to the millions who cried for it. It was honey in her mouth.

A breaker, to break a whole world. The Lady thought, and smiled.

The leader of these...people...would not been pleased with her. She knew this, because she would not be pleased with anyone who came before her in her court and challenged her as she planned to challenge him. She would probably have had them seized, had they tried such a thing, and likely killed.

But then, Systlin was fully ready to burn this entire camp down, and quite honestly the only reason she hadn't yet was because there were helpless innocents in among the monsters who called themselves men.

Every step she took led her past women collared like dogs. Some wore nothing but bells, and Systlin was no fool; she guessed the purpose of such things. Some were chained to wagons. The ones allowed clothing wore little of it. To a one, the women gave way to men. On some of them, Systlin could see whip wheals and healed scars from beatings.

Her power curled within her, and oh but the lure of it was a powerful thing, as her blood ran hot and the red rage misted her vision.

But that was a dangerous path, and for now she kept her power under tight rein.

The women she passed looked at her with something like wonder; they had never seen, she supposed, a woman armed like she.

One woman, a chained girl wearing little but scraps of leather, had in fascination reached out to touch the hilt of Ice. Systlin paused to let her, and smiled.

"Warrior caste?" The girl's voice was wondering. "But..."

"Women," Systlin said, her voice gentle. "Make excellent fighters. It was a woman who trained me."

The girl smiled, and then all at once a man angrily grabbed for the back of the collar around the girl's neck, and moved to cuff her. The girl yelped and cowered, apologizing, begging forgiveness, and it was enough.

Ice was in her hand without conscious thought as she moved, and then she was standing over the cowering woman, legs planted, the point of her sword at the man's throat. The Power-bound blade, sharp as a razor, drew a drop of blood where it dug into skin.

"If you touch her." Systlin's voice was a snarl. "I will kill you."

She let, at last, the tiniest curl of her curse rise. It came cold and eager, and she reached out, feeling, feeling the million tiny flaws in everything around her, in her bones, in the bones of those around her, in the girl's collar...

"How dare you!" The man was furious. "She is mine! I will do with her as I like, I am her master!"

Systlin pushed, a thin little thread of Power, delicate as a needle.

The girl's collar cracked with a sound of over-stressed metal, and fell from her neck in two halves.

"She," Systlin hissed, "Is a woman, and a person, and not to be owned. What the bloody fuck is wrong with you people?"

"She is a woman!" The man hissed right back at her, heedless of the sword at his throat. "Her place is as a sla..."

It was the last thing he said. Systlin ran Ice through his throat, out the back of his neck. The sudden gurgle as his windpipe was severed was as sweet as music.

There was a roar of outrage, and she felt rather than saw the lance shoved for her back. She bent away, and it went past. She whipped her sword around, getting her back to the wagon, and looked down the length of ice-blue steel at the snarling faces of hundreds of furious warriors.

“Eighteen.” She said, coldly. “Whoever wants to be nineteen, step forward first.”

“Give me one reason, woman.” Kamchak was deadly serious. “Why I should not order you slain where you stand.”

“Because you said that you would take me to this Kutaituchik.” Systlin shrugged one shoulder. “And go on and do it. I would be delighted to kill some more of you.”

“You’re mad.”

“I fear that I am the only sane one present.”

“I should kill you.”

Systlin’s patience snapped. She called again on her curse, and with a terrible cracking of wood fifty lances snapped in a moment, dissolving into splinters in their owner’s hands. There was a cry of astonishment and…ah, yes, there it was…fear.

Several warriors…didn’t quite step back, but leaned back a bit, and looked uneasy.

“Try.” She said, very softly. “Please try. I’ll make a soup bowl of your skull.”

Kamchak regarded her for a long moment. “So you are a sorceress.”

“The next thing I break will be you, and the twenty men closest to you, unless you take me to this man as you promised.”

There was a long, tense moment, and finally Kamchak turned and jerked his chin at her to follow. Systlin did, warily. She did not tamp her power down and lock it away; she kept it to hand, a constant itch under her skin, a temptation to crack the femur of the man ahead of her just to hear him scream.

She did not. She’d long ago mastered her power, as perhaps no other Breaker had. She ruled it, not the other way around. She felt the temptation, but discarded it, and kept the terrible boon of her power close at hand.

She would need it. She knew it in her bones already. The sun was dipping towards evening. She’d been a warrior for decades. She was a warrior, a conqueror, a queen who’d fought two wars against people and one against a god. She’d won all three.

She knew, in her bones, that tonight she’d be spilling blood. A lot of it.

The girl rushed to stay near her, trembling. Systlin let her; the poor thing was terrified, traumatized, and clinging to perhaps the one thing that had ever offered her a helping hand. She had never been particularly good at comfort, but she tried; she patted the woman on the shoulder, somewhat awkwardly. The girl flinched, but then looked at her with wide frightened eyes.

“It’s all right.” Systlin tried to keep her voice gentle, for all murder was singing under her skin and gleefully anticipating a slaughter. “It’s all right. To touch you again, they’d have to go over my dead body.”

This seemed small comfort to the woman. “They’ll like that.” She said, in a very small voice.

“They won’t. I can and will kill every man in this camp if I must.”

A wide-eyed look. “No one can do that. No one but a god.”

“And I killed a god once.” Systlin shrugged. “Men die easier.”

The look she got was skeptical, but the girl clearly remembered the shattered lances. The trembling faded perhaps a little.

She was led to an open area before a wagon of exceptional size and make. Jewels and gold glinted and glittered everywhere. Systlin waited as men ducked into the wagon and hurried conversation were had. She waited as rugs and cushions were brought out, and finally with ceremony an old gray robe was spread over them. She waited as an older man was escorted with great deference from the wagon. He assumed the seat, still chewing a string of some substance. Systlin noted the somewhat sleepy detatchment in his eyes.

The lines of his face were familiar. She looked from him to Kamchak, and back. Kamchak was just turning, and took up a position very close to the older man.

Ahhh. She remembered the deference shown Kamchak by the other warriors, and noted how they looked to him even now. Ahhh. I see.

The old man… Kutaituchik …looked her up and down. She looked back, with all the self-assurance she had, which was enough to break an army against.

“I am told,” The old man said at last. “That you killed eighteen of my warriors.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because they offered me insult and implied that they would put me in chains and enslave me.”

“You are a woman, are you not?” The old man said mildly.

The rage boiled again, and Systlin forced it from red hot into ice. “Slavery is abomination.” She said sharply. “It is among the greatest crimes, to hold another person in bondage. Those who would break another person to their will are monsters, and killing them cleanly is too good for them. Enslaving another for the purpose of sex is beyond abomination, for rape is another of the greatest of crimes. To even suggest such a thing is vile, and I sincerely wonder what in the name of all the gods and spirits is wrong with the men of this camp.”

A short laugh. “Ahhh. Another sent by the Priest-Kings then, new to Gor?”

Gor. The name of this world, then? And Priest-Kings; gods of some sort? “I am not from this place, no, and thank the Lady’s mercy for that.”

“You’ll find,” said Kutaituchik, “That the ways of Gor are different. You may as well get used to them, woman; you’ll find that the Tuchuk are quite fair masters, all in all. As you are new, I shall not have you killed. The male kin of those you have slain will draw lots, and the winner may put his collar on you and claim your sword as recompense. If he is charitable, he will loan you to the other men seeking recompense.”

There was a general murmur of approval from the surrounding men. Systlin felt the itch under her skin grow more insistent. The girl clinging to her side sobbed. “I told you,” she said. “I told you!”

“I have a counter offer.” Systlin said. She was drawing up power now, and readying it, because she knew with absolute certainty that she was nearing the point where it would turn to blood. She looked Kutaituchik dead in the eyes. “You acknowledge me as your new chieftain and acknowledge my word as the new law. You remove the collars from every slave in this camp. You renounce your crimes, and abase yourself for forgiveness before those you have wronged. You pay recompense and escort every newly freed woman wherever she wishes to be taken, and leave her there with funds and supplies enough to piece a life back together.”

She smiled horribly, a smile that held no mirth. “Since you are new to this new law, I will not kill you for your crimes.”

There was utter silence. And then a great roar of laughter all about.

“Kamchak.” Kutaituchik said. “Kill her.”

Kamchak nodded, and the men who’d been creeping up behind her moved. Systlin had been tracking them for some time; she’d felt the disturbances in the air and the patches of too-silent space behind her. They intended, she guessed, to strike her without warning. It was wise. It was what she would have done to kill a sorceress, were she without power.

Systlin reached into that yawning pit of coldly eager power within her, and she broke the men trying to kill her. Bones shattered into splinters. It was utterly soundless, save for the sudden screams of agony as men collapsed into piles of bloody meat.

It was easy. It was terribly easy. Her blood sang with the last agonized gurgling screams.

“Good effort.” She said, and she could not keep the smile from her face. “You should have taken my offer. Now I extend you my second; you submit to me, here and now, and I make your death painless.”

“Kill her!” The words were roared in utter furious rage. “Tuchuks! KILL HER!” A thousand voices roared, and a forest of lances rose.

Systlin drew her sword, and her dagger, and smiled, and in that smile was ruin. And as the first warriors rushed forward, she began to kill.

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diavolosthots · 3 years

Text

DARK DECEPTION CHAPTER 15

READ CHAPTER 14 HERE

Warnings: choking, threats

Pairing(s): no pairs, Diavolo, Barbatos, Beelzebub, Lucifer

“Where is she?!” To say he was angry is an understatement. Two hours. He was gone for two hours and you were left in Barbatos’ care with all the doors locked. He didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to jump off the balcony, either, but apparently he was wrong, considering the doors to the balcony were open and you were gone. You couldn’t have done it alone, though, but Barbatos swore that, although Beelzebub was there, he was with him the whole time. Hell, even if Beelzebub wasn’t, he doesn’t know his way around the castle like that. It just doesn’t make sense to him. You shouldn’t have survived the fall but there was no blood anywhere so someone must have taken you. Maybe one of the guards betrayed him? Possible. Right now, Diavolo is just seething with anger though and every time he thinks someone might know something, he’s met with empty answers and another dead body lying in front of him. If Michael hadn’t distracted him… “Angels?” No… no he would sense if an angel was in the Devildom. They stand out and Michael was the only one with him.

“Damnit!” “You know, anger won’t help you think.” Beel. God, he’s such a buffoon, still eating his crab cakes as if his Queen didn’t just get kidnapped. “No offense, but you’re not helping my case, Beelzebub. Tell me again what you were doing here.” This is probably the sixteenth time Beel had to tell his story, forced to follow Barbatos and Diavolo around the Devildom in search for you, but at least he had his crab cakes. “I told you. I couldn’t stop thinking about those crab cakes from the wedding… I took all of them home the day of the wedding but I ate them all and Lucifer told me not to bother you for more.” Honestly, none of that is actually a lie. Those crab cakes were heavenly and he did inhale pretty much all of them in a matter of seconds. “I just figured since it’s been a while since then, Barbatos may have time.” And he did. Barbatos had way too much time but that was on Diavolo. He knows he can’t blame the Butler. All he told him was to keep anyone away from you and to bring food at the required meal times. That’s it. Diavolo didn’t like Barbatos to be with you for too long because although the demon never betrayed him, he just doesn’t want you to smell like anyone other than him.

A deep growl escaped Diavolo, his wings twitching behind him. It was a natural instinct to switch into his demon form the minute he was notified of your disappearance and sadly, a lot of people had to suffer because of it. “Can I go home now?” “No!” Why was he taking Beel along again? The guy was of no use. He seemed innocent and he was with Barbatos the whole time, too, “unless…. Tell me where your brothers were, Beel.” Beel stiffened slightly but kept a poker face; no way was he going to rat them out. “Probably at the house? Asmo might have gone to the spa.” Seems believable, right? “Are you sure?” Beel nodded. Of course he knew better, but not even he knew where Lucifer took you. The guy didn’t say anything, but if he had to guess, maybe back to earth? “I doubt Belphie ever left his room and you know that just as well as I do.” Diavolo knew, yes. If Belphegor ever willingly moved, everyone needed to find shelter because something is wrong. “Okay. So you were with my servant, Asmo may have been at the spa, and Belphegor was sleeping. What about the other four?”

“I’m assuming Levi was in his room, he’s just like Belphie after all.” Makes sense. Diavolo nodded, crossing his arms and motioning toward Beel to go on. “Mammon…. I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since yesterday, if I’m being honest.” So Mammon is a suspect. The thought of that demon gambling you off or something may seem ridiculous but it makes Diavolo angry and he’s digging his fingers into his skin, “next. Satan?” Beelzebub shrugged. Has he ever really known anything about Satan? “We don’t hang out a lot…. But he does make some mean ice coffee! He always puts extra whipped cream on mine and sometimes he drizzles me a heart with some choco---” “Beelzebub.” embarrassment rushed through the glutton when Barbatos called him out on his rambling and Diavolo was glaring daggers at him, putting Satan on the suspect list too. “And Lucifer.” Beel looked up, right at Diavolo, although his face was just as stern as the King’s. “I’m guessing he was in his office.” “guessing?” Beel nods, starting to glare because if it wasn’t for Diavolo, none of this would be happening in the first place, “I don’t know if you noticed but you took something from him.”

A laugh escaped the Demon Lord, but it wasn’t a laugh felt in the heart, no. It was just… insensitive. Emotionless. It was merely a sound. “He got over it.” Beel narrowed his eyes because he knew better than that, “He has been holed up, drowning himself in paperwork more than usual.” Because of you, is what Beel meant to add. Lucifer meant a lot to the guy. Lucifer helped Beel a lot and he always believed in him; he always found a way to cheer for Beel. The least Beelzebub can do is acknowledge his brother’s feelings. “He literally never leaves his office anymore, and if he does, it’s to eat a few crumbs of food. I have to finish his plate for him.” “I’m sure that’s not a real issue to you, Beelzebub.” Never. Never has Beel wanted to commit violence like he does right now. Diavolo calls Lucifer his best friend and yet he backstabbed him. He lied to him. And now he’s making fun of the guy. What a great friend he is.

But Beel knew better than to talk back. He won’t say anymore in fear of spilling something. “So Mammon and Satan are suspects, Barbatos. Remember that.” What? Beel’s eyes grew wide momentarily and he stepped up, almost getting in Diavolo’s face until Barbatos stopped him, “what? You don’t think they’d have anything to do with this?!” Diavolo looked at him, almost unimpressed, and brushed Barbatos’ hand away from between them, stepping up too until he almost bumped his horns against Beel’s head, “no one is not a suspect, Beelzebub. But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and admit that Satan was more likely it than Mammon. The latter doesn’t really have the brains to plan this out, has he?” A growl escaped Beel. Although Mammon could be stupid, and all of his brothers knew that, Beel didn’t like that Diavolo talked to him like that. His fists clenched, as did his teeth, but he’s trying to hold back. “Mammon might not be as smart as Satan, but he isn’t completely dumb, either.” “So you think he could have done it? Interesting. Didn’t think you’d rat your own brother.” What? Beel blinked in confusion, leaning back a bit. “Maybe they worked together….” Diavolo went on and that’s when Beel started to realize that the guy is stalling; he’s playing a game.

“It’s not just a coincidence that you were there during that time, Beelzebub, is it?” More confusion rushed through him and he gave Diavolo exactly that face. “What do you mean?” “Fine. I’ll play your game. You were a distraction, weren’t you?” A cold shiver ran down his spine but he kept his face of confusion as best as he could. How could Diavolo possibly know? No. He couldn’t. “You see, I thought it was odd that Michael wanted to talk to me. Granted, I needed to talk to the guy anyway and I rather not have the celestial realm on my back all the time about keeping a human. It was a conversation long overdue and desperately needed. It seemed normal enough, although I deemed his timing off. But then…. Then I come home and find my wife gone, which I’m sure you know is not just treason against myself, but also kidnapping and potential murder of the Queen, depending on what happened, and maybe an heir.” Heir? No. No way you’re pregnant. Just the thought is disgusting to him and he hopes it’s not true. “It’s too soon to tell, so maybe that charge will be off the criminal’s back.” Thank father; Beel let out a sigh of relief. Maybe stress caused you to never fall pregnant, let's hope.

“Then, you happen to be oh so conveniently there at a time that I’m not, and you’re thinking that I believe this is all a coincidence? Beelzebub, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I know everything.” Barbatos. Beel’s eyes glanced at the butler before glancing back at Diavolo, who’s smirking now. “That’s right. Truthfully, I am hurt that my dearest friend would betray me like that, but I suppose it is payback. I don’t think he would hurt her, either. After all, he does hold a soft spot for her. However, there’s still one problem.” His smirk dropped and he grabbed Beelzebub by the throat, anger radiating through him again as he spoke through clenched teeth, “Barbatos can’t see where she is. He can’t see Lucifer either, which means he protected himself. You, Beelzebub, are going to tell me exactly where they are and in return, I’ll drop all charges against you and force you to only watch one of your beloved brothers die. If you don’t, I won’t hesitate to snap your neck, but not before I rip your brothers to shreds, starting with your favorite, Belphegor.” “Drop him, Diavolo. He doesn’t know anything.” Lucifer. Beel’s eyes landed behind Diavolo to watch the guy. Black. Gold. So that’s where he went. The smirk returned to Diavolo’s lips as he dropped Beelzebub back down, turning to face his dearest friend.

“Welcome home, friend.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #lucifer x mc #lucifer obey me #lucifer avatar of pride #obey me beelzebub #beelzebub obey me #beelzebub avatar of gluttony #swd lord diavolo #obey me lord diavolo #shall we date diavolo #obey me diavolo #barbatos obey me #shall we date barbatos #dark deception

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legendaryoikawa · 3 years

Text

ares / suna rintarou / masterlist

pairing: suna x female reader

word count: 2k

synopsis: your stalker must’ve adore you so so much, he intends to kill for you.

quote: “If you're that obsessed with someone, why would you kill her? Humans are full of contradictions.” - Ai Yazawa

genre: stalker!au, caters mature themes such as manipulation, voyeurism, public masturbation, murder, violence coercion, borderline obsession.

note: i do not condone these behavior in real life. this is just a work of fiction.

minors dni

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Truly an ace of all fools.

Ares, the god of war. As Homer called him, murderous, bloodstained, the incarnate curse of mortals.

Name it, Suna knows every possible if not, unique ways to kill. He prefers the crowbar as it’s efficient and easy enough to send a person to their graves. For his very own pleasure. It fuels him especially when he sees those eyes that were once full of life drown down to darkness of death.

Suna is known as one of the notorious lads at school. He never fails to leave an astonished look to every person he has passed by at school. People are stunned whenever he walks down the hallway with his school shirt unbuttoned and crumpled. His overall appearance is unruly with the noticeable scars that lingered on his face like ches. His disheveled jet black hair. Eyes that bore nothing but darkness. Chains dangling from each of his ears. His aura that is explainable and unassailable that could even strike the thunderbolt of the great god Zeus.

Suna is handsome. He looks like bad news. Wild.

He wielded an enormous influence among girls. Some swoon at the mere sight of him; others even resorted to some chase yet ended up a crying mess. Boys even fall for his charms, but one sharp glance is enough to wave them off like flies.

However, you on the other hand are not fazed by him nor his silhouette. Which made him to be drained by a pure soul like you.

Suna is so private and closed like an abandoned establishment and that could be the sole reason why people want to pry into his life. He had everyone controlled on the palm of his hand but he can’t seem to play with you like he initially plans to.

Suna has the patience of a boar. He shows signs of violence that it’s alarming. But people seem to be in love at his bad boy facade, no one dares to report him.

He is a living contradiction. Suna is a ride, a deadly one.

He comes to school with his boisterous friends that look exactly like how he presents himself. You can always hear their uproarious banters about their lives, endless wolf-whistling. They are the group of boys you wouldn’t want to mess with. Especially the mysterious Suna.

You made a promise to get the shit out of the tracks that had traces of the boisterous boy that is Suna.

Not just the boys that have brought out the never ending fiasco circulating around your highschool. There have been a high number of mysterious disappearances of students that you may have never heard of or slightly familiar to you that you cannot recall. Their skulls are cracked open with a brute force or a bullet to the head. Some are strangled, some are mutilated, and what makes it terrifying is that most of the victims are leading down to you.

You can still remember how Kang Hana spent her afternoon with you in the library for a philosophy project. You admit it yourself that Hana isn’t the preferable company. She’s too nosy, noisy and quite violent towards you as she keeps on hitting you on the arm whenever you spill something stupid. Nevertheless, you held no grudge towards the girl. And you were really stunned at the news of her sudden death.

Oh, you didn’t know someone was watching from the windows of the library outside. Irritability bubbles inside his body like a brook. He allows no one to go near you, let alone to hit you like a ragged doll. He always had a thing for you, he didn’t know when it started but by the way you looked at him like you are almost something to be disregarded. He is drawn to you like a moth to the flame.

It is always in Suna’s system. His mind is a bully, gushing him to do things that would make him thrilled, something that could awaken his fantasies.

He wants to kill. And he did.

He stood in all his glory, wearing his uninterested look while scrutinizing the other students walking along the hall. There at the lockers he spots Kang Hana awkwardly fumbling with the entangled bag straps.

His dark eyes bore into Hana’s figure. Eyeing her from head to toe. At this moment he is thinking of what he can possibly do with those limbs. Break it? Smash it? Mutilate it like how they do in the slaughterhouse? Suna approaches her figure, his switchblade ready in his windbreaker’s pockets.

He breaths, trying to muster his oh-so-charming smile. “Hey.”

Hana raises up her gaze and she is surprised that the notorious Suna is approaching her. Only if she knew his real intentions. “Oh my god. Hey.”

Suna is charming. Quite egocentric. It doesn’t take him long to persuade someone to sp with him or to go out on a date with him. If there is something you should be afraid about Suna, it is his ability to deceive people without them knowing his real motives. He has a calm demeanor but sometimes his arrogance fuels him to be so wild-driven.

He leads Hana to the abandoned establishment at the rundown part of the town. He made sure to give her a signal to meet him outside where no witnesses could see them. It’s always a step when considering crime, get rid of witnesses.

At this moment, Hana starts to get excited because she has foreseen what could happen. For her it’s sex. For him, it’s blood. Suna draws his switchblade near her carotid artery. She widens her eyes but laughter resonates in the eerie place.

She purrs. “I am a kinky person but I can try knife play.”

Suna doesn’t play. He draws the knife deeper to her neck until she realizes he is not joking at all. Kang Hana’s heart made a beeline for her throat and tried to make a f for her life but Suna had his strong hand gripping her hair.

She struggles but after every move she dares, the knife further penetrates her neck. Beads of sweat are dropping down to her cheeks. A hot sticky liquid from where the knife is trickling down her neck, dampening her collarbones down to her bra. She cries loud. “What do you want?!”

Suna smirks. He misses the familiar scent of blood flooding in his nostrils. “Your life.”

Her eyes widened in pure horror as the charming prince transformed quickly as a ruthless psychopath in just the blink of her eye. Hana tries to fight against his hold once again but Suna wants to finish off and not to take care of a wailing woman.

He repeatedly lash out the knife through her neck. The impact of his pounds set out her blood gushing out, splashing his pale cheeks. His right hand is dripping with her hot blood. Suna’s chest rose as his breathing became ragged but overall he felt so alive and content. He stares at Hana’s figure sprawled on the floor bathing with the pool of her own blood. Suna felt so driven with just crimson clouding his vision. He runs his tongue on the rows of his pearly teeth, a sinister smile tugging the corners of his lips. He did it for you.

The following days have been hell for you. No, you weren’t killed but you faced a frightening number of police interrogations for the victims were always drawing down to you. Like Hana, you were the last person she was with before her neck was slashed out like a cow in the slaughterhouse. The pulse of a blue and red strobe from the police mace being parked in the circular driveway. You stare at the officer's badge, his holstered Glock. The night air settles the eerie night, still, gauzy full of humidity.

The interview lasts about a good hour but you are deemed innocent as Hana’s whereabouts where the crime took place didn’t match your activity. Her clothes are missing on the spot but the investigators found it drenched in this liquid they believed was an oxygen producing detergent didn’t match. Since the laboratory personnel couldn’t get any fingerprints from her body, it has been declared useless for the crime.

It has been weeks since you find yourself able to breathe again but it didn’t last long when you were bombarded with unknown and creepy messages that you couldn’t withstand at all.

I know you. From everything you do, I know it all.

You belong to me, your full name.

I find it romantic to see how excited you look whenever I send these messages. Shall I start sending my pictures as well? Or the throne I made for you?

From morning you go to your mother’s flower shop to gather primrose to deliver to your grandfather that lives in the twenty second street downtown.

Your favorite thing to do is to draw, my sweet. I am right, am I? I’m always right.

I saw you talk to that small loser from class D. Now don’t ever talk to him again or you will see his head delivered right at your doorstep. I love you and I’m being the nice guy here.

Do you perhaps like the idea of your friend's limbs personally delivered to you? Your pick.

I am always watching you, your name.

Oh, you had a museum date with your friends? Don’t go, I am at your grandmother’s restaurant, she serves the ultimate broth soup. Too bad I can stop her from serving these delicacies.

I know deep down, you love me too. Don’t you ever try to date behind my back without telling me. I did kill for you.

Your parents aren’t home. Do you want me to visit?

So much love for you. Your long secret admirer :)

I love you. I will kill for you.

He isn’t joking. He knows everything about you. All the meticulous details no one knows but your family. Whenever you receive a message from him, your heart would pound against your rib cage. It terrifies you to the core that he exactly knows the precise details of your whereabouts.

You immediately reported this matter to the police, to your parents but it didn’t settle the problem. The number isn’t traceable. They keep on insisting that the number used is from an unregistered sim. You fear for your life, your personal space, everything.

You weren’t just experiencing the never ending terror of your stalker’s messages. But some of your things are now starting to disappear, from your bracelets, your baby pictures now, now, your white lacy underwear.

You are blissfully unaware of the pair of eyes that follows every movement as you exit the school grounds. He looks down on his hand, gripping his favorite underwear of you. He had a picture when you wore the garment, and it was his favorite among all.

He makes his way to his heavily tinted car, a smile never leaving Suna's face as he clutches the garment tightly on his hands. His soulless eyes stared back at him the moment he stared at the rear view mirror. And drives to the nearest convenience store.

He keeps on fantasizing about you. The way your name rolls out of his tongue while jerking out never fails to send himself to ecstasy. He can’t wait to meet you, but one thing he is sure of, he will be watching you tonight.

Suna is always a step ahead of his plans. He is meticulous and calculative. His plans never backfire for he knew what methods to use. For the days he has been killing he already knows how to get rid of evidence that could lead to him. The boy’s got a sharp tongue as well, a serpent’s, he uses lies to cover up the real Suna that hides behind the charming facade he puts front.

He wore black. Black that is a mystery. Eerie. He wears a black bucket hat that covers his beautiful features that compliments his youth. Despite the dusk ebbing its way, his moles are always as alive as the constellation. He secures his mask tighter on both ears, as appealing as it sounds, he cannot show his face to you, just not yet. He had a thing to do, he had something to accomplish.

“Just in time” he breathed into the shadows. His eyes follow your figure marching down the dim lit streets. A smirk paints his lips as you still try to swat everything and thinking to yourself everything is still normal. But no, not until he is dead. He could have easily needle out your background from Kita but you were his and it gives him satisfaction whenever he discovers something about you. Things that aren’t open for others but just for him.

He immediately hid behind a large tree, once you entered your home. He makes sure to secure a great and measurable distance from him to you, not so far yet so near. He clenches his fist, the idea of watching you undress from your windows sends him a big wave of pleasure.

He begins to scramble up trying to get a hold of the strongest branch his forearm could manage. Some twigs tried to interrupt him midway but nothing can stop a hungry predator from lurking on his prey. He finds the perfect spot just parallel to your window.

“Fuck” he hiss as he felt his phone vibrate from his pocket. “What it is now fucking Atsumu?”

“Lover boy, I forgot to place your camera in your bag, bye.”

The camera is not his top most concern. He has his phone that is full of you.

You were humming quietly. He follows your hands, removing your school blouse that left the boy’s mouth agape. His cock immediately hardens at the sight, and he cannot risk himself to jerk while on the tree. He scrambles immediately, carelessly fishing out for his phone to take a picture of you naked.

Suna is always not satisfied with the bare minimum. He records you, doing your private thing in your room. He is biting hard on his lips, his erection sticking out painfully against his pants. He has to endure much longer till you have finished your routine applying lotion to your shiny long legs. Those legs that he can’t wait to touch.

Suna left the place shortly. He’s astounded. You drive him wild and wild he is. You fuel the monster more.

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yandere-wishes · 4 years

Text

🖤💔Yandere!Demon Slayers As Demons💔🖤

Dear readers for the first time in two weeks I offer you something that isn't a random post or a rant. This is an AU that I’ve been working on for a while, and seeing how this turns out I might continue it in terms of one shots and a mini series. Please enjoy!!

👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺

Demon Tanjiro is much more complex than his human counterpart. His mood fluctuates too much, alternating between a loving docile young demon desperate for his lover's warm embrace, to a rabid beast who's willing to tear your stomach open with his claws and feast on your entrails while you're still breathing. He's just too unpredictable, what makes him praise you and litter your body with toothy kisses, might just get your arm dislocated the next day. There's just no telling, he just isn't Tanjiro anymore, he's some wild, savage, murderous monster wearing Tanjiro's face.

He's always watching...

His mere gaze isn't enough to turn you into a motionless rag doll. Slumped in the corner like a forgotten toy. No, but his silence is. The way his eyes are locked on you as if your some sort of little bunny that waltzed into his territory, the way his mouth is sewn shut by some invisible thread, the way his head is tilted to the side like he was trying to calculate your next move...it's all too tranquil, too clam, just like the eye of a hurricane.

Languidly Tanjiro begins to crouch down, his moves are rapid and glitchy as if he isn't in control of his own body. Somewhere you hear something cracking, it's a dreadful noise like hammers pounding at your skull. It's only when you lift your eyes to the Oni in front of you, do you realize the noise is coming from him. It's like he's deforming in some way, dying and regenerating all in a single breath...and yet he still looks so...so beautiful.

Even while he's stalking towards you on hands and knees, you can't deny how stunning he looks. Mouth molded into a small smile, long rust-colored locks pooling on the ground around him and his eyes... they're red one second and brown the next, changing ever so quickly just like his moods.

He's much more passive like this, you note as if you've made some sort of groundbreaking discovery. So docile and calm...almost like a storm before it strikes. No, Tanjiro is not a storm you remind your self. He's a lion stalking its prey, relishing in the taunting silence it radiates by its mere presence.

Tanjiro's eyes have lost all hope, all passion. They're nothing more than empty spheres resting in his sockets.

You vaguely remember -or at least you think you do- a time when every action coming from the rust haired boy was entangled in a blanket of passion, every move had a clear purpose, every word was laced with an unyielding fire that had been beaten into his spirit. But now....well you didn't know what he was now, what Mozen and his sadistic "creations" had turned him into. What had they stolen from him? Was it his soul, his hope, or maybe something far worst.

Your amazement only shatters when you notice just how close he's gotten. His icy cold breath tickling the side of your neck. You squirm, pressing your palms flat against his chest. Tangiro doesn't flinch, his head cocks back to the side, his broken stare, vaguely reminds you of a discarded doll. Maybe that's what he is, not a slayer or a demon, just some broken doll that keeps you locked up in his room so that he can get a sense of being needed.

A wave of empathy crashed over you. Wearily you dropped your arms to your side, in a flash Tangiro wraps his long gauntly arms around you, squashing your bones as he pulled you ever so closer to him, nuzzling his visage in the crock of your neck.

Tanjiro Kamado may have once been a remarkable demon slayer on his way to becoming the next water piller of the demon slayer corps...but now he was nothing more than a pitiful broken demon, seeking the feeling of humanity inside a breaking, mortified girl.

👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹

Zenitsu is a lot bolder, a lot pushier with his affection now that he's been turned into a demon. He wants you to love him the way he loves you, only this time he isn't afraid to break a leg or two, so you'll have no choice but to stay with him.

His child-like tendencies are still there, albeit demented, yet ever-present. The tantrums and endless crying are as frequent as ever...except now, well now he breaks a bone for every tear YOU make him spill and leaves a scar for every time YOU couldn't satisfy him. Just remember that none of this is poor Zenitsu's fault, oh no, how could it be his fault? He's given you everything you could ever dream of! Even though you're nothing more than a pathetic useless human, Zenitsu still took you as his beloved wife! You should be grateful to him, dedicate your every living second to him, play the role of the loving, caring wife! Not some ungrateful brat, who is always trying to run away!

And yet, you've become oddly accustomed to it. No longer do you mind the screams and beatings. They've grown to be a part of you, a sick and twisted thing that resides within you, infecting your every thought. Much like how Zenitsu's become a heartsick, defective shell of his former self.

"STOP IT"

something shattered against the wall, breaking into a million flying shards. The noise echoed through the light less room. Weary, your eyes flashed from the broken remains of what may have been an antique vase, to the crying monster in front of you. The tips of his long curved horns were turning a stark blood red, an indication that his blood was starting to boil. Although you didn't need the mood indicating head tusks to know just how upset the blond crybaby had gotten, they were still a nice little warning to remind you of just how far you could push him.

"Stop trying to escape!"

Had his voice amplified since your last "screaming contest"?

Did Muzen really think that Zenitsu's voice needed to get any louder, anymore irritating?

"I wasn't" you deadpanned, your arms crossed in front of your chest. "How can I, did you forget what you did to my leg this morning?" the bones inside your left leg had been deformed, causing your entire leg to point sideways. It was a detestable sight, yet it seemed to fill your rotting heart with a sense akin to a school girl's crush.

'Zenitsu-chan still loves me! See, see, he went out of his way to touch me!'

'No you idiot, he went out of his way to hurt you.'

Your mind had seemingly been slashed in half since your arrival at the former demon slayer's hideout. One tiny voice acted like a deranged lovesick little girl. Whist the other pertained some form of logic and common sense. This typically led to many interior arguments, all bordering on the exact same premise.

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

"Quit your whining!" the voice that escaped your lips, was flat and commanding, for a second it vaguely reminded you of Giyu Tomioka before the memory of your former lover shattered. Zenitsu's crying continued but his angry shouts slowly died down, his golden eyes shifted to stare directly at you. wearily you lifted your hands towards him, like an infant begging to be picked up.

"I'm hungry Zenitsu! Take me into the kitchen, after all, it's your fault I'm like this!"

Sure Zenitsu was much more powerful than you, sure he could snap your neck, ending your pitiful life at any moment. But his desperate need for approval -something else that had transcended from his human life to his current one- gave you the upper hand in this muddle of a relationship.

As a demon Inosuke is more...feral, for lack of a better word. He is all so keen on seeing just how far he can push his darlings limits, both mentally or physically.

He's always hovering around you, trailing his clawed fingers over patches of exposed skin. Smirking all so curly as you shiver and shrink back. His knife-like fangs seen to be permanently impaling your neck. Draining you of your life force. He's just so damn heartless!

🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️

Although he may be a ruthless monster, a creature of the night that fed on the innocent, there was no denying that Inosuke was resourceful, resourceful, and strong. He knew just where to hide you, so you would neither be found nor have a chance to escape. There was also the way he routinely cracked your fibula and tibia as a “preprecaution”.

Your arm wasn't meant to bend that way, neither was your leg when you thought about it. Yet despite the odd angle there had yet to be any cracking or popping to indicate the limp had been, once again, broken. The only real evidence to suggest that the limps were in fact being abused was the white scorching pain coursing through them. A feeling that you had almost grown entirely familiar with.

Inosuke's green eyes shifted lazily between your scrunched up face and the twisting limps. One of his "normal" arms was occupied mangling your left arm, the other two appendages that sprouted from his back were pulling your leg upwards at the knee joint. Inosuke's head leaned over his remaining arm, he looked bored, like your pain was so mundane that it couldn't even grant him a mere chuckle.

"I like it better when you scream" his voice was laced with a demanding malice, something bitter and rotting. "It's boring when you try to act all strong and mighty".

You weren't acting, acting required skills, and an audience who wanted to believe in the performer. No, your lack of response wasn't a show of strength or iron will, it was merely because your vocal cords had been shrieked raw, preventing them from making a single peep.

Your tear-filled eyes shot up to stare into his depraved orbs. Had there ever been a time when his eyes didn't strike fear into those who peered into them? You highly doubted it, heck the idea of Inosuke ever being anything less than terrifying was a laughable thought.

An eerie familiar noise filled the room, the cracking noise happened in three instances, like three swipes of a blade. First, it was your talus followed by your patella, and then to finish the spin chilling symphony was the crescendo of your breaking humerus for the hundredth time.

Tears began to flow rapidly from your eyes, staining your thin layer of clothes. You could feel Inosuke's presence shifting about, leaning ever so closer to nuzzle into the side of your neck. His teeth grazing the already punctured skin.

Inosuke use to be a demon slayer right? A passionate young man who wanted nothing more than to destroy the very same monsters that he himself became? What a laughable story, a fictional tale if ever you'd heard one!

This man was and would always be nothing more than a cruel demon!

#demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer x you #yandere demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x you #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba tanjiro kamado #kimetsu no yaiba tanjiro kamado x reader #kimetsu no yaiba tanjiro kamado x you #tanjiro kamado x reader #tanjiro kamado x you #yandere tanjiro kamado #yandere tanjiro kamado x reader #yandere tanjiro kamado x you #demon slayer tanjiro kamado #demon slayer tanjiro kamado x reader #demon slayer tanjiro kamado x you #demon slayer zenitsu agatsuma #demon slayer zenitsu agatsuma x reader #demon slayer zenitsu agatsuma x you #zenitsu agatsuma #zenitsu agatsuma x reader #zenitsu agatsuma x you #yandere zenitsu agatsuma #yandere zenitsu agatsuma x reader #yandere zenitsu agatsuma x you #demon slayer inosuke hashibira #demon slayer inosuke hashibira x reader

483 notes · View notes

attackonmango · 3 years

Text

|Teasing| Porco Galliard x Fem!Reader x Zeke x Reiner|💦|

|Throat fucking, oral(m receiving), teasing and mentions of daddy in the form of a nickname, praise, dirty talk|

|Song recommendation: Ordinary Life - The weeknd|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It happened just as you planned, though it took a bit longer than expected, Porco endured this torture as you taunted his friends like a champ. Teasing Porco in a short and frilly black skirt as you paraded around was a perfect way to calm the pattering inside your core. Your thighs deliciously plush and rubbing together due to the lack of your usual tights. The black skirt was paired with a yellow top that went well with the skirt. A sliver of cleavage peeking from the neckline. Just enough to piss Porco off. Because Reiner, Zeke and Colt’s peering and hungry eyes.

You relish in the glory of the pissed look at was plastered on Porco’s face as he grumbled out his replies, pouting every time attention was on you. You smile at the jealous expression appointed on his beautiful features.

His fingers curling into fists as his mates complimented you. Ones that you took as you were utterly unbashful, your smile never faltering.

“I love your hair, Y/N.” Colt gushes, his eyes flickering from yours to your tits, hair delicately framing them in soft tendrils, a faint blush on his cheeks as you smiled softly at him.

Reiner watched as your thighs jiggle as you swing your legs, feet hovering because they didn't reach the floor. He peered from a side glance as your clothes hugged your marvelous body. He couldn't help but eye what chub you have, thinking about how soft your tummy would feel against him chest. “Your outfit looks amazing.”

“Yea, what is there, looks pretty. Porco let you in here like that?” Zeke teased, peering down at you over his glasses. His eyes eating you up when you weren’t paying attention or when he though Porco wasn’t. “Porco doesn't control what I wear,” you'd roll your eyes, knowing it would rile him up. You smirk when he scoffs, rolling his eyes as his arms crossed around his chest.

“I compliment her enough so watch it,” Porco seethed each time, replying for you. You’d just laugh, and shake your head before giving a smile in reply.

He could’ve sworn he hid that outfit. How did you find it? Guess it didn’t matter now, not when this could end in something fun.

You were driving his friend nuts as they watched the fabric of your skirt flow around your thighs. Zeke sucked down his cigarette a bit fast, and Reiner couldn’t keep his hands off the collar of his shirt as their eyes trail after your every move, clearing his throat every time he looks at you. It didn’t help that Colt had his hands in his lap, his eyes following you shamelessly, a stupid grin on his face. And Porco couldn't stand it. He wasn't one for sharing and he didn't like your flaunting. To put shortly, he wasn't amused by your action.

The way your tits squeezed together as you jotted down the battle plans and essentially Zeke’s every word. Porco hated the way you stared at Zeke, the amusement of evident on your face as the war chief stumbled over his words, swallowing thickly as his eyes lingered on your plentiful breasts.

Rolling his eyes, Porco jumped out of his seat, not flinching as the chair scraped against the floor. His jaw clenched as he glared down upon you. “Bring your ass.” His harsh words fill you with anticipation as he stalked off after grabbing his.

“Can we come too?” Colt called after his friend, his expression dead serious, “cuz I mean..” he trailed off as he railed you with his eyes.

“Damn,” Zeke and Reiner muttered in sync, finishing for Colt. You blush at their reaction, cringing at the thought. Porco didn’t miss the way their eyes fucked you as you stood up and trailed after him like a lost puppy, not wasting much time to keep up with him.

They shut up due to the glare that Porco shot in their direction, over his shoulder. “Fuck no,” his words laced with the deadliest venom he could muster.

As you stood, you used your hand to cover your ass, but it didn’t stop your skirt from flipping up a bit, revealing a sliver of your ass cheek. They relished in the fact that your panties matched your laced yellow shirt. The wet spot on your chair bringing blood to their aching cocks. How Porco’s bitch ass got someone like you was beyond them.

But what could you say? You loved how aggressive he could get. He was the only one who got your rocks off the way you love. He fucked you into submission and it made you want more.

You had to jog to keep up with Porco’s long strides. As you walked behind him, you could feel the heat radiating off him. You slam into his back as he suddenly stills.

He says nothing to you as he pulls open an empty extra closet. It had enough room for you both to fit comfortably in the room, an entire wall clear, so he wastes no time shoving you inside. But Porco didn’t want you comfortable; he wanted you stuck, not worrying about having you any space to do anything other than sit on your knees for him. He had you in the corner, facing him while his back was inches from the door. “You think you are fucking slick?” he'd breath down at you, his eyes peering down at you, while his mind wandered over the things he could do to you, even in this small room. He shook his head at the thought. All that could wait, for now. His finger nipping at the nude buds under your shirt brings a high pitched sigh from your lip. Of course you didn't have a bra on. Such a fucking tease.

“Such a bad girl,” he growled as his hand harshly patted your head. You try not to cry out as his hand-knotted up in your hair. The other hand gripped your jaw, forcing your mouth to part. Once he got it to open, his finger prodded your tongue, making your jaw ache. “Teasing me,” you savoured the fire that burned intensely in his honey eyes that made you shudder under his touch, as you hollowed your cheeks around his fingers a few times, teasingly. “By teasing my friends.” His hand dug into his pants, fishing out his hard cock.

“Shit,” you wince as his dick hits the side of your face, springing outward. You can’t help but recoil back, Porco’s fingers falling from your lips, connected still with a string of spit. “I-I just thought the outfit was cute; I wasn’t trying to tease anyone.” You lied through your teeth, almost convincingly, feigning a plea for mercy. You made this bed, and you wanted to enjoy it.

The shocked look painted on your features and the glint in your eyes mocking innocence. The way you slowed thickly around his hand travelled to your neck. The exhale you gave when his grip tightened softly. Too bad Porco didn’t care. He had you right where he wanted you. Your lying didn’t fool him, for he knew better. He made a mental note to bring that up later.

“Tough shit, open up.” He brought you closer to his hips. His dick dangling by your moist lips that you licked with yearning.

But you don’t open your mouth until a soft smack lands on your cheek. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to sting, mouth dropping at his words. “Be a good girl, come on, don’t be dumb, you know how this goes.” He commanded, his eyes stoic and cold while a sly smirk played on his lips. The harshness was paired with a loving stroke on your head.

Drool pooled in your mouth as Porco placed his cock on your wet muscle. A growl crawling up his throat as your spit coated his thick cock as it stretched your mouth, almost unpleasantly.

You hummed delightfully as his pre-cum filled your taste buds. “Come on, baby. Suck.” His hand in your hair tightening, causing you to cry around Porco’s cock. Obeying him, you resume prodding him with a sliding tongue. Cheeks hollowing around him.

His hand left your throat as his hips rocked into your mouth, as you ran your tongue around his tip before it trailed down his shaft. He revelled in how he fucked you into the corner, hand blocking your head from hitting the wall too hard, though you bounced around a bit. Slurping erupt from your mouth as your tongue rested at the base of his cock.

Massaging his balls with your tongue coaxed soft groans from Porco’s chest, the back of your throat greeting his sensitive tip. “Fuck, your mouth feels fucking amazing.” He rutted into your mouth, holding you all the way down on his cock as his free hand disheveling his habitual slick back hair style, curtaining his forehead. “You look perfect sucking Daddy’s cock.” He praised, loud enough for Reiner and Zeke to hear, he made sure. You were his, after all; he had you wrapped around his finger and your lips around his cock.

Shame and arousal were piling in your chest at the nickname he gave himself while you gagged on his throbbing length as it skimmed your uvula, repeatedly. You couldn’t help but groan as the ache in your jaw grew while you bob your head up in down. “Remember who you belong to, Y/N,” Porco muttered possessively, losing himself in your throat. Confidence surged through you, feeling how he throbbed against your sopping tongue. You pull your mouth back far enough to wrap both of your hands on the base of his dick, pumping away.

Throat squelching as Porco jackhammered into it, chasing the high that he felt like he deserved. He stared into your fucked out eyes, chuckling at the tears that muddled in them, falling silently and freely on to his thighs; Man, how pathetic and pretty you looked while you sucked him off. “Fuck..dammit, swallow it all!” Porco shouted his command as his cock spazzing inside her throat as it spilled from his cock. The thick bodily fluid salty as it coats the back of your tongue. Spurting down your throat as Porco held you still, not giving you a choice to let off, while he holds you with both hands, fucking so deep into your throat that he could feel a heartbeat in your neck. Guzzling him up like the lady you were, you weren't going to be rude and spit out what he worked so hard to make for you.

His dick pokes around in your mouth as you are forced to swallow every last drop. You gasp as he pulls from your mouth, hand massaging your head in praise, signal a job well done. Not caring about the line of drool that trailed from your bruised lips to his softening cock, Porco tucked it away anyways. You smile as Porco uses his shirt to gently wipe your lips while he stood above you, smirking at your panting figure. His breathing matching yours.

“We aren’t done yet, but at least the guys know what’s up,” Porco murmured as he pulled you to your feet. “You belong to me, right,” he reminded you, not caring to ask, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You loved his possessive nature and the way he brought you to your knees to pleasure himself.

#porco brainrot #porco galliard smut #porco galliard #porco smut #porco imagines #attack on titan smut #attack on titan #snk fanart #snk x y/n

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artzychic27 · 4 years

Text

Pure Knight/Blood Knight

As he put his books in his locker, Nathaniel kept staring lovingly at the photo of Marc he kept inside. A few months after the Reverser incident, he and the writer started dating, and Nathaniel couldn’t be happier.

Marc was so sweet, cute, and just thinking about him always left Nathaniel a blushing mess. Especially when he saw that beautiful smile.

And hopefully, he’d be seeing that smile today. Nathaniel had been noticing something off about Marc- he’s more quiet than usual, he’s been wearing his hood over his head more often, and whenever Nathaniel asked if he wanted to hang out with his friends from class, Marc would either change the subject or say he had plans that day.

—

“Hey, Rainbow-“

He pauses when he sees his boyfriend, clearly upset. Marc was just lying on his bed, and looking up at the ceiling while listening to music on his headphones- Now Nathaniel was concerned. Marc would only do this whenever he was upset.

He walks over to Marc, pauses the music, and Marc turns his attention to him “Marc? Is something wrong?”

“... No, I just...” He sits up “... It’s just something that someone said.” Nathaniel sits down next to him and kisses him on the cheek.

“C’mon, tell me what happened.” He urges “I’m really worried about you.”

Marc smiled at his boyfriend’s concern, “Well, you know Lila?” Nathaniel frowns at the mention of the She-Demon’s name. She’s wronged the redhead too many times to count. Marc notices his expression “Nath?”

Snapped out of his thoughts, Nathaniel focuses back on Marc “Sorry. What about her?”

“I posted a story on Tumblr that I was proud of, but I guess Lila copied and pasted it on her Tumblr, then she told everyone she wrote it.” A few tears stream down his face “And they all believed her!”

“Oh, Rainbow.” Nathaniel cooed, then kissed him on his forehead “It’ll be okay.”

“No, it won’t. When I tried to tell everyone, they didn’t believe me, and Alya said I was jealous!” He wipes a few tears away. “Only Mari, Alix, Rose, and Juleka believe me.”

“And so do I.” He reminded, then wipes a tear off of Marc’s cheek using his thumb “It’ll get better, okay?”

Marc smiles “Okay.”

“Come on. Let’s work on the comic.”

After three hours of coming up with a storyline and character designs, Nathaniel went home, glad that his boyfriend is happy now. But he wasn’t. That lying fox had wronged him so many times, all because he doesn’t believe her damn lies!

“Accidentally” spilling drinks on his sketchbook, claiming to know a writer who could help improve the Ladybug comics, trying to frame him for stealing art she claimed was hers.

He could forget all of that, all of it, but making Marc cry was something he would not tolerate. He wanted Rossi to perish, not just her though, all of her followers. He just wanted them all to...

Nathaniel remembers he’s in Paris right now. A place where having negative emotions would turn you into a monster. So, he breathed in and out a few times and thought about positive things.

Being with Marc

People loving their comics

Mari having people on her side

Alix, Rose, and Juleka

...

From where he’s standing, Nathaniel glared at the sausage-haired girl sitting on the bench as she told more stories to her clueless followers flocking around her. He almost pitied them... Almost.

Alix sees what he’s looking at, and rolls her eyes “Just let it go, Nath. They’re all lost causes.”

“Yeah, I’ve done everything I could to help them, but they won’t listen.” Marinette says “If they wanna believe that I’m a jealous bully, let them. No more free clothes and food for them.” She folds her arms

He groans “Fine. But if she says one more thing about Marc again, I’m gonna-“ Rose interrupts him and asks “What’d she say about Marc?”

Answering her question, the Akuma class made comments such as:

“I still can’t believe he tried to steal my story!” The Italian whined

“He’s a fake!”

“He wishes he could write like you!”

“As if you could even call that writing!”

Marinette, Juleka, and Rose stared with their mouths hung open.

“Oh. My. Fucking- Ugh!” Alix exasperated “What the hell is wrong with them? That bitch doesn’t even write!”

Nathaniel continued to glare at the Italian, still trying to think about positive things so he won’t get Akumatized again

Being with Marc

People loving their comics

Mari having people on her side

Alix, Rose, and Juleka

“You should give that fake some lessons.”

... Lila getting what she deserves

“I bet that’s not even his work.”

Alya’s tabloid blog getting blacklisted

That lying bitch getting killed by an Akuma.

Those assholes falling off a big cliff!

His anger diminished when he saw Marc, halfway down the stairs. He was visibly crying, meaning he had heard everything they said. Nathaniel wanted to be angry right now, he did, but seeing Marc like that just made the redhead want to comfort him and tell him he loves him

His anger returned once again when Marc ran upstairs in tears.

It was probably enough to attract an Akuma, but he didn’t care. Those idiots deserved what was coming to them... But he didn’t want Marc to get akumatized...

Before Alix, Juleka, Rose, or Marinette could go over and tell them off, Nathaniel grabbed an apple out of Marinette’s lunch bag, silently thanked his parents for making him participate in two years of baseball, and chucked it at Lila while she wasn’t looking, hitting her right in her fat forehead, and ran out the courtyard while his classmates looked for the culprit.

—

Nathaniel could hear the wings flapping as he ran, and knew an Akuma was after him. The flapping got louder, and Nathaniel prepared to get akumatized once again, but the butterfly flew right past him... Marc!

He picked up more speed and ran right past the Akuma. After about a minute of running, Nathaniel found Marc crying in the art room and ran in to comfort him.

“Don’t cry, Marc, please don’t cry.” He whispers to Marc, hoping to calm him down before the Akuma would sense his negativity. “They’re wrong! You’re an amazing writer! I love you, Rainbow.”

The sound of the flapping of butterfly wings got closer. Nathaniel and Marc saw that the Akuma was in the room with them, and trying to pick which out of the two it would Akumatize. It was so hard for it to choose. Nathaniel’s anger and frustration were tempting, but it has originally been sent to go after Marc.

Being with Marc

People loving their comics

Mari having people on her side

Alix, Rose, and Juleka

“You should give that fake some lessons.”

“I know a way better writer.”

“As if you could even call that writing!”

Nathaniel pushed those thoughts in the back of his mind, got up, and stood between his boyfriend and the Akuma.

“Stay away from him!”

He couldn’t let Marc get akumatized again, he just couldn’t! He tried to keep his negative emotions down, but they were too strong. He kept thinking about his classmates. How they’ve hurt his friends, his boyfriend. How Lie-La made Marinette and Marc’s lives a living hell. The rage consumed him, that was enough for the Akuma to finally chose its target, and go in Nathaniel’s yin-yang necklace.

“Nath!” Marc cried as he saw Hawkmoth’s symbol appear on the face of his boyfriend. “Don’t listen to him, please!”

“What you did for the one you love was very noble of you. Almost like a Knight. I’m giving you the power to protect your love at all costs from those who dare try to hurt him.”

“Get out of my head!”

“You will go by two names. Blood Knight, a rage-filled seeker of vengeance. An unstoppable force to be reckoned with. The other, Pure Knight, protector of the innocent, and the defenseless.”

Nathaniel thought about Lila and Alya. Their smug faces whenever Marinette looked miserable, and the lies they spread about his friends. They would all pay...

“You yearn for justice, and to protect the one you love. In return for this power, you must give me Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous’. Do we have a deal?”

“I will protect him with my life.” He swore as the black and purple mist bubbles up from his necklace and surrounded him. When it lifted, Nathaniel was replaced by an armored figure, about a foot taller than him. The armor he was wearing was pure white with blue highlights. The helmet’s visor has a blue butterfly-shaped mark, and the helmet’s comb is a light blue. In his hand is a golden shield with a red and white yin-yang symbol. And around his neck was a necklace with a light blue orb.

Pure Knight heard shuffling from behind him and turned to see Marc has backed himself into a corner. He walks over to the crying boy and kneels before him as if he were royalty.

“Nath?” Marc whispered in horror.

He shook his head “I am Pure Knight. Your protector. I vow to be your shield, and smite those who have wronged you.” He takes Marc’s hand in his armored one

“They all will pay for their transgressions. No one shall ever harm you again, my prince.”

—

Marinette, Rose, and Juleka were trying to hold Alix back from knocking some sense into their idiot classmates.

“Alix, you said it yourself! They’re lost causes!” Marinette said as she pulled Alix by her arms

“Fuck that! They can mess with us all they want, but when they talk trash about Marc, I get crazy!” She argued, still trying to pull her limbs free, but stumbled when the sound of something metallic rang through the air.

Everyone looked to the middle of the courtyard and saw a large broadsword drop down, the point embedding itself on the floor. Holding the sword was Blood Knight. Unlike Pure Knight, his armor was black with blood-red highlights. The orb on the necklace was black. The same yin-yang symbol that was on the shield is now in the middle of the cross-guard of the sword.

Everyone took a step back as Blood Knight pulled his sword out from the floor. He looked at the Akuma class before his eyes settled on Lila. Then, something overcame him, and he surged forwards, pushing away the others to grab Lila by the front of her shirt and hold her up

“Put me down” She wailed “I didn’t do anything!”

“LIES!” He yelled, “Every word you say is nothing but a lie!”

“Nath?” Alix asked as she slowly walked over to the red knight “O-okay. Look, just put Lila down-“

“I have no quarrels with you, Alix. And unless you wish to meet the business end of my sword, you will let me do what should have been done long ago.”

CLANG!

“OW!” Everyone turned their heads to see Kim, clutching his fist in pain, possibly caused by trying to punch the Akuma.

Blood Knight throws Lila to the floor, then faces Kim. The athlete tries to look intimidating, but fails due to the height difference “...You weak, disposable maggot.” He said as he pointed the broadsword to Kim’s neck “You claim to be a defender of the bullied, and yet you aid one.”

Kim frowned “Lila’s not a-!”

In a split second, Blood Knight’s broadsword cleaved right through Kim. Everyone watched in horror as Kim’s figure disappeared in a puff of red smoke. Many students fled the courtyard, not wanting to be next.

“One down...” He turns to the rest of the class, who are still in shock “So many more to go.” He points his sword to Lila, who’s being held protectively by Alya “You are a danger to my Prince!”

Lila once again brought out the crocodile tears “But he’s the one bullying me!” She added a lip quiver for effect “He steals my stories and claim they’re his!”

Blood Knight growled under his helmet “Speak the truth now, or I will show you no mercy!” He pulled Lila out of Alya’s hold

Bring her reign to an end!

“I’m not lying!” She insists

“... Fine.” Thinking she’s won, Lila sighs with relief “Then your dark soul shall perish!” He raises his sword, the metal gleams in the light. Lila pales, knowing she, for once, won’t be able to lie her way out of danger.

Students look away, not wanting to see this again.

A second before he could bring this lying fox to justice, he felt something wrap around his armored wrist. ‘Who dares to defend this lying witch?’, he thought

“Nath, please!”

Hearing the cry of his prince, he turns his head to see that he’s the one holding onto his wrist. He takes a look at Marc’s face and sees the look of distress.

Kill her. Do it now!

He’s upset. Protect Marc! Keep him safe!

Blood Knight’s armor fades from red to white, and a bright light consumes the sword. When it dims, the shield is in its place.

“I know you’re still in there, Nath. You’d never want to hurt anyone...”

“My prince... I... I...”

Marc smiles, believing he’s getting through to him.

“I should’ve known!” Lila wailed, “You got Nathaniel akumatized so he could hurt me!”

The Akuma class, sans Alix, Rose, and Juleka, start hurling insults at the boy.

Kill them! All of them!

They hurt the prince!

Do you want to protect the prince? Kill them!

Rage consumes Pure Knight, and he becomes Blood Knight once again. Instead of the liar and her posse, he turns to Alix, Juleka, and Rose. In a flash, the blade sliced through them. But instead of them disappearing into smoke, their clothing transformed into pure white and gold armor, and in their hands were gold shields with yin-yang symbols

“Shieldmaidens, dispose of this lying fox!” Blood Knight commanded

“Yes, Blood Knight.” Alix, Juleka, and Rose responded in emotionless voices, then turned to the Akuma class. Before they could strike, Ladybug’s yoyo wraps around Lila’s waist and pulls her towards the spotted and leather-clad heroes, who are at the top of the steps

“I didn’t need your help! I could’ve taken them on myself!” Lila complains

Instead of Ladybug rolling her eyes, she just says, “You know, maybe I’ll just let Blood Knight take care of you, make our jobs a whole lot easier.”

Chat Noir plays along “Yeah, you get akumatized a lot, so this would be a win.”

“Okay! Just get rid of them!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ladybug says as she retracts her yoyo. Then she and Chat jump down in front of Blood Knight. Ladybug addresses the rest of the students still in the courtyard “Everyone, get out of here!” The students either took cover in the classrooms or run out of the school.

Marc is about to run but he was suddenly pushed into Blood Knight’s chest, his arm around him in a protective hold

He sighs, “And here I was thinking you two defended the weak!” He turned to the shieldmaidens “Don’t let them leave!” He hoisted Marc in his arms and jumped to the roof of the school as the writer screamed for dear life.

“FOR THE PRINCE!” The three shieldmaidens let out battle cries and surged forward to duel Ladybug and Chat Noir.

One short battle later, and the shieldmaidens are trapped in the lockers with no way of getting out, thanks to Chat Noir put a broomstick through the handles.

They make their way outside where many students and teachers are gathered

“Is everyone alright?” They all nod and say that they’re okay.

Aurore walks up to the two heroes

“Two more students were turned into shieldmaidens, and kidnapped Alya and Lila!” She explained frantically

“This is their fault!” One male student yelled as he pointed to the Akuma class. “If it weren’t for that lying bitch and that damn tabloid writer, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“She’s right.” A blonde girl agreed “I heard the shit you guys said about Marc, that’s why Nathaniel got akumatized! All because you believed some lying skeeze!”

“You’re all idiots!”

“Why don’t we just let Nath kill you right here, right now?!”

The students of the Akuma class who were on Lila’s side got into a verbal brawl with the other students over if Lila is a liar or not, and whose fault this was. As the commotion gets louder, a loud whistle sounds out. Everyone turns to see Chat Noir with his thumb and pointer finger in his mouth.

“You can all this discuss this later! Right now, does anyone have an idea where Nathaniel took Marc, Alya, and Lila?”

“Alya might be live-streaming for the Ladyblog.” A boy calls out “You can see where they’re going.”

“Of course! Someone bring up the Ladyblog!” Ladybug ordered

Aurore did so, and the live-stream was running, showing Alya in the clutches of one of the shieldmaidens jumping on the rooftops

“Hey, viewers! Once again, I’ve been kidnapped by a supervillain!” She said while blowing out some of her hair that was getting in her face “At least this one is less handsy!”

“She’s not the best journalist, but you gotta admire this girl’s commitment.” Chat Noir commented, to which Aurore rolled her eyes.

Alya then panned her phone around to show Marc, now in Pure Knight’s arms, looking terrified from being up so high and flinching every time Pure Knight landed on a roof.

“If this faker hadn’t stolen Lila’s story, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

She phone pans to show Lila, also terrified as she’s hoisted over a shieldmaiden’s shoulder

“Lila, care to comment?”

“Ladybug and Chat Noir, get off your fat lazy butts and HELP ME, YOU IDIOTS!” Lila screamed in response

Alta pointed the camera back to her. Confusion is visible on her face. The superheroes scowled. That girl had some nerve. The Akuma class also looks confused. Wasn’t Lila supposed to be Ladybug’s best friend?

“It looks like he’s heading for the Tower. And before he left, I think I heard him say something about the perfect kingdom for his prince.” Aurore says

—

We’ll have our kingdom, my prince.

It will be perfect like you.

What about our revenge?!

Justice will be brought shortly.

Pure Knight turned his attention to Marc, still cradled in his arms with his eyes shut tight. Ever since he became Reverser and almost plummeted to his death, Marc had a terrible fear of heights. Pure Knight gently put Marc down, and when he opened his eyes, he found that they were at the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Noticing his uneasiness, Pure Knight pulls Marc closer to his chest “It will all be over soon, my prince.” He turns to the shield maidens and gives a small nod. At that, they drop Lila and Alya with an audible thunk

“You clumsy idiots!” Lila screeched

“I’ve had just about enough of you.” His armor becomes blood-red, and the broadsword returns, much to the two girls’ horror

“S-so, Blood Knight. Any reason you brought us to the Eiffel Tower?” Alya asked, pointing her phone to the Akuma

“So all of Paris can witness the downfall of this liar! She’s going to tell everyone who she really is!”

Alya was becoming frustrated “Lila is not a liar! Why does everyone-“

“SILENCE!” He is about to silence the reporter with his sword but froze when he felt Marc hold onto his arm. He looked into the boy’s pleading eyes and sighed in defeat, “You should be grateful my Prince is merciful, otherwise, I would not hesitate to slice both your necks open.”

The sword starts to glow a bright red

“It is time for you to tell the truth once and for all, Rossi!” He yelled

Lila was about to get up and run, but the two shieldmaidens held her by her wrists. Blood Knight approached her with his sword still aglow. He points the tip of it to her forehead, and Lila began to glow red.

The light dimmed, and the shieldmaidens released her. Lila fell to her knees, clutching her head in pain. Alya was about to help her, but she was met with the sharp tip of Blood Knight’s sword and went back to recording.

“Now tell all of Paris, Rossi. What have you lied about?”

“I... I... I HATE LADYBUG! I WANT HER DEAD! I CAN'T STAND HER!” Lila screamed against her will

Blood Knight nearly dropped his sword out of shock, clearly not expecting that.

“When Adrien’s friend got akumatized into Oni-Chan, I tricked Chat Noir into leaving Ladybug so she would face the Akuma alone. That sword should’ve killed her!” Lila snarled “And I’ve been working with Hawkmoth ever since so I could finally get rid of her!”

Alya and Marc’s jaws hung open. Seeing just how dangerous this girl really was, Blood Knight transformed into Pure Knight and held his shield in front of Marc

“Continue.” He ordered

“That bitch ruined my chance with Adrien! So what if I lied about being some stupid fox hero? She should’ve minded her own fucking business!”

Alya scowled and watched as the comments rolled in on the Ladyblog. A few were jabs at her, but almost all of them were aimed towards the Italian

“Then there’s Maribrat! She’s just as worse as Ladybug! I tried to get her expelled, but look how that turned out! God, I just want those two idiots dead!”

Alya shuddered at that statement. She was now starting to regret how she treated Marinette for so long.

“All she had to do was fall in line like the rest of that dumbasses! But she decided to start a war, same for that skater girl, the pink idiot, the freak, that loser artist, and that f*g!” She pointed to Marc, whose eyes widened in shock at what he had just been called

Pure Knight’s armor began to fade from white to red “What. Else?” He growled

“I’ve never been to Achu! Jagged Stone never wrote a song about me, Clara Nightingale didn’t steal my dance moves, I never saved Jagged Stone’s cat!” She yelled

Alya’s confusion and horror morphed into rage. If her grip around her phone got any tighter, the screen would probably crack.

Back at the school, everyone is watching the live stream on their phones. Every student gives the Akuma class smug looks while they just look away, embarrassed and ashamed for believing the Italian’s lies

“And Adrien’s dad hired me to spy on him in exchange for a modeling contract! He wanted me to keep Adrien away from bad influences, and I was trying to isolate him away from those losers so he’d only have me!”

Chat Noir, who was vaulting from rooftop to rooftop scowled as he heard the live-streams from people’s phones. He knew his father was an ass, but this was just sick.

“Then I stole that sissy’s story and claimed it was mine!” She glared at Marc, who was still in Pure Knight’s protective hold “He had the nerve to call me out when I said I wrote his dumb Ladybug fanfiction! If I could, I’d push him off the railing right now!”

MURDER HER!

Pure Knight let out a yell, and Blood Knight was back in his place, somehow appearing more menacing than before. He’d gotten what he wanted- For all of Paris to know the truth about this wretched girl. Now to do everyone a favor, and deliver a final blow, then his prince would be safe from her lies.

The sound of Ladybug’s yo-yo whizzing by is heard. Before Blood Knight could react, the end of the spotted hero’s weapon wrapped around his wrist, refraining him from using his sword. The heroes land between him and Marc. In Ladybug’s other hand is a tube of lipstick

“You dare to stand in the way of justice?!”

“Nathaniel, this isn’t justice! It’s revenge! Ladybug tried to reason, but to no avail

“Don’t call me that! I am Blood Knight! And as long as I’m here, no one will harm my prince ever again!”

Blood Knight pulls on his sword and flings Ladybug over the railing. She manages to hold on by one hand

“Shieldmaidens, advance!”

The two shieldmaidens surge towards Chat Noir who uses his staff like a sword against their shields. Alya rushes towards Ladybug, making sure to keep an eye on Lila in case she tries anything, and pulls her up

“Thanks, Alya.” Ladybug looks around for any way to use her Lucky Charm

Chat Noir Cataclysms the sword so Blood Knight will be forced to be defensive

Have Marc distract Pure Knight

Take the necklace while Pure Knight is distracted

“That’s it! Chat, cataclysm his sword!” She ordered

“On it, m’lady!” Chat nodded and called out “CATACLYSM!” He maneuvered past the shieldmaidens, knocking them down with his staff along the way, then ran over to Blood Knight and touched his sword just before he could swing it at the hero. The sword disappeared in his hands into black ash.

Ladybug looked over at Marc, yelled, “Heads up!” then threw her yoyo at him. Pure Knight rushed in front of him with his shield up and deflected the weapon. Repeatedly, Ladybug threw the yoyo at the shield, making Pure Knight keep it up.

While Ladybug does this, she tosses the lipstick over to Marc. He looks confused for a moment until Ladybug winks. He gets the message.

Protect him!

They won’t take him away!

“Pure Knight?”

Is the Prince okay?

Help him!

Pure Knight kept his shield steady as he turned his head towards his prince. Marc couldn’t see it, but he was blushing under that helmet. How could he not when his prince looked so... So innocent. He was clinging to his arm for safety, he had dough eyes, and... Were his lips always that shade of pink? He looked so beautiful...

Pure Knight felt the writer’s hand reach up to the visor of his helmet, and lift it to reveal his red face. Marc smiles, relieved to see Nathaniel under the cold armor. He tenderly strokes his cheek and stood on his toes so he could reach his lips.

Pure Knight’s grip on his shield loosened as he kissed the soft lips of his prince. The shield fell to the floor with a thunk as he wrapped his arms around his Prince’s waist, and lifted him to his face so Marc wouldn’t have to crane his neck up.

They were so oblivious to the world around them. They didn’t notice Alya was still live streaming, Chat Noir trying not to squeal, and Ladybug, sneaking up behind Pure Knight, grabbing the necklace, and throwing it to the floor.

The Akuma flew out, only to be caught by Ladybug’s yo-yo.

“No more evil-doing for you little Akuma. Time to de-evilize!”

The purified butterfly fluttered out of the yoyo

“Bye-bye, little butterfly.” Ladybug told it, then threw the lipstick into the air “MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!”

The thousands of ladybugs flew around the town, fixing any damage caused by the Akuma. Alix, Juleka, and Rose returned to normal and were standing outside with the other students. Kim was brought back. The other two shieldmaidens reverted back to their former selves. And the truth curse on Lila was lifted.

Black and purple mist engulfed Pure Knight, then lifted to reveal Nathaniel, his head resting on Marc’s shoulder. He looks around, confused

“Rainbow? Where am I?” He asked, but then noticed his yin-yang necklace on the floor, Ladybug and Chat Noir, and realized what happened “Oh my God.“ he looked to Marc, concerned “I didn’t hurt you, did-“ He didn’t finish as Marc hugged him tightly

“Don’t you ever do that again.” He whispered

“I... I didn’t want you to get akumatized again.” Nathaniel said as he ran his fingers through Marc’s hair “I love you, Rainbow.”

”I love you too, Nath.”

“You could’ve gotten here sooner, you know!” Lila screeched “I HATE YOU LADYBUG! HATE YOU!”

“WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LITTLE FUCKING CUNT?!” Ladybug cursed, much to everyone’s shock “I AM SO FUCKING DONE WITH YOU! I can live with you getting akumatized five dame times, hurting an innocent student, but I will not tolerate homophobia! Don’t think I didn’t hear what you said about Marc on the live-stream!”

Lila backed away, actually afraid, but bumped into Chat Noir who was snarling

“I should’ve cataclysmed you instead.”

Lila scoffed “Like you’d hurt me! Imagine everyone’s reactions when they see Ladybug and Chat Noir hurting an innocent civilian!”

“You’re just a little dumbass, aren’t you?” Ladybug asked coldly “Did you seriously forget that Alya has been live-streaming this whole time?” Lila paled as she saw the phone in Alya’s hands, and the news-choppers recording the scene “All of Paris heard every. Fucking. Thing.”

Chat Noir places a hand on her shoulder, and dug his claws in “And I’m sure the feds would love to hear how you’ve been working with a terrorist for the past three months.”

Lila tries to lie her way out of this once again “Th-they were all lies!” She claimed as she brought out the crocodile tears “The Akuma made me say them! He was just doing what Marc told him to because he’s jealous-“ She’s finally silence when a fist collided with her face. She falls to the floor with a thud.

Everyone looked at Alya, shocked.

“That’s for turning me against my best friend!” She yelled. No one noticed the touched look on Ladybug’s face

—

The police arrested Lila, and she was sent to life in prison for working with a terrorist, forging signatures, stealing money from students that were meant for charities, and many more. She went to a prison in Italy, because she was still kinda pissed about being exposed, and Hawkmoth could easily send an Akuma and allow her to break out.

Alya was the first to apologize to Marinette. The bluenette accepted her apology, but it would be a while before she could forgive Alya and the rest of her classmates. Adrien also apologized for giving her such stupid advice. It would also be a while before Marinette could forgive him.

Nevertheless, she still hung out with them, and their friendship slowly rekindled.

Marc and Nathaniel also received apologies, same for Alix, Rose, and Juleka for being treated as outcasts and badmouthed for months. Like Marinette, it would take time for them to forgive the Akuma class.

And Marc made Nathaniel swear to never be stupid and take an Akuma like that again. If the redhead weren’t so cute, Marc would gladly knock some sense into him.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #marc x nathaniel #Pure Knight & Blood Knight #lila rossi exposed #lila rossi bashing #alya salt #alya redemption #class salt #class redemption #lila salt #ml salt fanfic #alix sugar #marinette sugar #protective Nathaniel Kurtzberg #rose sugar #juleka sugar #nathaniel sugar #marc sugar

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hale-13 · 3 years

Text

Caliber

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 12 - Death

Peter grew up like most American kids running active shooter drills thinking (hoping) it would never happen to him.

Words: 2338, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Tony Stark, Various Midtown Students and Faculty

TW: TW: Gun Violence, Blood, Major Character Injury, Possible MCD (if you choose to interpret it that way)

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Growing up, Peter spent his early childhood in lower level genetics labs with his parents. Part of this was simply because they worked some weird hours at OsCorp but the other part was definitely because they recognized his intelligence and talent early and would give him easy experiments to run while they worked. Safe? Eh, maybe not but Peter had fun.

Well, until they died that is.

After that Peter would spend his time in the hospital daycare or nurse’s break room or sitting at Ben’s desk in the bullpen at the precinct where he worked. Daycare and babysitters were expensive and Peter was having a little separation anxiety from becoming an orphan at six. Peter accredits this formative time in his life to why he has a healthy respect of first responders, why he goes out every night in spandex to help his neighborhood (even if the cops hate him).

After the funeral, after May and Ben went back to work and started taking Peter with them, Ben sat Peter down to go over basic gun safety with him. He can remember that initial conversation pretty vividly: Ben had sat Peter down on the couch and had pulled out his unloaded side arm and the small safe he stored it in. He told Peter just how dangerous weapons could be in untrained hands, how Peter could easily hurt himself or others if he ever touched it, how Ben would always have it locked up but, on the off chance it wasn’t, Peter was to never touch it.

Peter had readily agreed and had steered clear of Ben’s belt and the gun safe next to his side of the bed his whole childhood.

The officers that Ben worked with were, for the most part, super nice to Peter and always took time out of their days to talk to him, bring him snacks and (attempt) to help him with his homework and Peter grew to be the most comfortable in the loud bullpen or the adjacent break room. The summer before he started his freshman year at Midtown, Ben and some of the other officers had given Peter a crash course in gun safety – how to clean, care and shoot a weapon – and it only took one trip to dash Peter’s dreams of working in law enforcement; he never wanted to handle a gun again.

Holding his uncle’s body as he bled out a few months later from the massive hole left in his back by the .45 caliber handgun only solidified that decision.

Luckily, in his tenure as Spider-Man, Peter tended to run into more sub-Ultron and Chitauri fare than the classic handguns and rifles he was familiar with which suited him just fine. When he did come across a run of the mill mugger or rapist who was using a pistol or something similar, Peter took great pleasure in using his super strength to rip it into tiny pieces – destroyed beyond repair and off the streets for good.

This had resulted in some unfortunate bullet grazes and full-on holes in his body that had prompted his helicopter mentor (under the order of Aunt May of course) to force him through another gun safety lecture, complete with a practical portion where Colonel Rhodes assisted in teaching Peter how to properly disarm and disassemble a variety of different sidearms. It was definitely cool to spend time with Actual War Machine but Peter rushed through it as quickly and throughly as possible. He never wanted to have the easy comfort with weapons that Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes had – he preferred non-lethal disarmament when patrolling.

All this said – Peter probably had more experience and knowledge with various weapons (human and otherwise) than he had any right to.

All of this experience, all of his time as Spider-Man, everything he had been through did nothing to help keep him calm and collected when his principal came over the intercom while Peter was in gym class to announce a code red shelter in place order. Like most high schoolers in America, Peter had gone through numerous school safety drills so he, in theory, knew what to do in a emergency.

In practice? Not so much.

Coach Wilson had looked just as pale and stunned as the class but had recovered quickly enough to rush the doors. A few other students had also started moving to gather some of the wrestling mats to roll in front of the doors once Coach Wilson had gotten them closed and locked.

He, unfortunately, wasn’t quick enough.

Brian Anderson, a sophomore Peter recognized from the debate team, forced the door open, brandishing the small revolver in a shaky hand. His face was pale, eyes red rimmed with tears with such a desolate look it made Peter’s own heart clench in sympathy despite his rapid heart-rate.

“Back up,” he whispered, using the gun to gesture for the coach to step away and the man obliged; holding his hands up in surrender and slowly backing away from the door. Some of Peter’s classmates, including Ned who, for once, wasn’t right at Peter’s side in class but across the room from him, had started to cry. Michelle, looking stony faced but terrified underneath it all, was trying to shush Betty Brant who was in the middle of a full blown panic attack and trying not to draw attention to herself.

“Okay,” Coach Wilson said, motioning the class members closest to him to back up with one raised hand, his eyes never leaving the weapon. “You’re calling the shots here Brian.”

Brian sniffled, fresh tears spilling over his eyes and hand trembling as he surveyed the room, eventually moving the barrel to point at Mark Conley, one of Flash’s friends and a notorious online bully. Both boys had gone nearly ghost white and the class seemed to be holding its collective breath.

“Sorry Ben,” Peter thought. “Sorry Mr. Stark.”

“Brian,” he called out, voice sounding much more steady than he predicted it would since he was just Peter Parker right now and not Spider-Man. “You don’t want to do this man.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Brian spit out, anger over-ruling all of his other feelings and his eyes landing on Peter. “You don’t know what I want to do!”

“I promise you don’t want to do this,” Peter said calmly. “I know what they’re like. You think they treat me any better than you? You’ll regret this if you do it.”

Brian snorted out a dry laugh, not looking like he found anything remotely funny. “Then you should want me to do this.” He said, cherry picking Peter’s words.

“But I don’t,” Peter told him, edging closer to the other boy, making sure to put his body in front of Mark as he moved closer. “Do you know how my uncle died?” Brian, eyes locked with Peter’s, shook his head nearly imperceptibly. “He was shot by some guy robbing a bodega. He bled out in my arms before emergency services could arrive.” Peter said bluntly, doing the best to ignore how his heart clenched and his eyes burned.

The barrel of Brian’s gun dipped down to point more toward the floor and Peter took a few cautious steps forward, stopping when he was only about five feet away. “They won’t stop,” Brian whispered, the tears flowing heavier but his finger still in place over the trigger. “It just keeps getting worse and I can’t take it. I can’t do this anymore!”

“I know,” Peter said, voice soft, dropping his hands down to rest loosely at his sides. He really wishes he had his web-shooters, secret identity be damned. He was never taking them off again, no matter what May tried to tell him about work/life balance. “I know what its like and it sucks but they aren’t worth throwing your whole life away. It’s not worth hurting all the innocent people you’ll hurt. You don’t want to do that to your friends and family.”

“I don’t have any friends!” Brian said loudly, raising the gun back up to point at Peter but Peter didn’t move from his relaxed position even though he felt his heart speed up to a gallop. He faced possible injury and death at least once a week but that was always as Spider-Man… never as Peter Parker.

“I’m your friend,” Peter told him, a little desperate but honest. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” Brian gasped and let the pistol drop to his side in a loose grip. “Just hand me the gun Brian okay? And then we can talk about it, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Brian sniffed and rubbed his free hand over his face to wipe away the tears rolling down his cheeks. “Do you promise?”

“I promise,” Peter confirmed, holding out his hand. Brian nodded and lifted his hand to pass Peter the gun when everything went wrong. Betty, who had been hyperventilating through the entire exchange, finally passed out. MJ tried to catch her but the two of them hit the floor with a echoing bang that startled the whole class. Brian, gun lifted and finger still on the trigger, flinched and jerked to aim back at Mark, shooting.

Everything happened in slow motion for Peter and he grimaced at what he was about to do, saying mental apologies and throwing his body in the path of the bullet, jerking back at the feeling of it hitting him in the chest.

His breath knocked out and his consciousness already becoming more nebulous from the pain that was blooming in his lungs, Peter stumbled forward to yank the gun from Brian’s limp grasp, deftly unloading it with the last of his strength and with shaking hands before throwing the rounds to the opposite side of the gym; collapsing at the other boys feet.

“Oh god,” Brian whispered in horror. “Oh god Peter. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” He tried to bend down next to Peter but was swiftly tackled by Abe and Jason where he was wrestled onto his front with them restraining his hands without a fight beyond his gulping sobs.

“You’re alright Parker,” Coach Wilson said soothingly as he rolled Peter onto his back and used his own hastily shed jacket to apply pressure to the steadily bleeding hole in Peter’s chest, causing him to grunt and squeeze his eyes shut in pain. “Thompson! Call 911 and tell them we have the shooter and we need emergency services in the gym. Conley run up to the office and tell Morita what happened!” Both boys jumped into action but Peter ignored it in favor of unsteadily pulling his own phone out of his pocket and sliding it to Ned who had joined the group along with a pale and teary Michelle.

“Call Tony,” Peter coughed out, blood staining his lips and leaked down the side of his face. “No hospital.”

Ned, shaking and crying worse than Peter had ever seen fumbled the phone with numb hands before giving up and pressing the panic button on the side of the phone. Feeling relieved that his mentor was on the way, Peter let his tired eyes close only to rip them open at the flick on his nose.

“It’s not nap time Tiger,” MJ told him, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t want to get detention again.”

“I think…” Peter gasped out, his lungs aching with the strain. “Think this… get me… a permanent… ‘get out of detention’… free card.”

Michelle ran soft fingers through his hair, helping him relax his clenching muscles. He could tell that Ned was on the phone and speaking in rapid, broken sentences. He could kind of hear the sirens approaching, the sound of the building evacuating, crying students. But nothing mattered as much as Michelle. “You just couldn’t help yourself huh?”

“You know… me,” Peter grunted, trying for a grin that didn’t show the tacky blood he was sure was staining his teeth. “No guts… no glory.”

“God you’re a disaster,” MJ said with a watery laugh, a single tear escaping to race down her cheek. Peter wanted nothing more than to reach out and wipe it away but his arms were made of lead.

Before Peter could work up the energy to respond, the doors of the gym were blown off the hinges by repulsers as Tony rushed the room, suited up in his full armor and clearly panicked. “Peter!” He shouted as he stumbled out of the suit, falling to his knees next to Peter and hastily began applying his prototype nanotech bandage to the hole in Peter’s chest before rolling him on his side to repeat the process with his back.

Peter gagged at the change in position, his eyesight fading out to a pinprick of light and his hearing glitching out. The voices around him became ever more harried but Peter couldn’t make out what they were trying to say – all he knew was he was really tired. More tired than he had ever been maybe. Surely no one would mind if he took a little nap?

“Stay with me buddy,” he heard Mr. Stark say as cold, hard arms gripped under his back and knees, lifting him and causing him to nearly black out again. “Just a quick little flight to the Tower Petey,” Tony said, voice wavering and not its usual strong timbre. “Just hang with me for a few more minutes and then you can nap okay kiddo?”

“Tired,” Peter gasped out, chest seizing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!” Tony ordered, frantic and yelling over the wind buffeting them. When had they started flying? “Just stay awake.”

“Love May,” Peter whispered, his vision a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors that were rapidly fading. “Love you.”

“Peter!” Tony sounded so far away, Peter thought as his eyes closed against the colors and shapes and lights that were making him feel dizzy and sick.

Just a little nap.

No one would notice.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump12 #Prompt: Death #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump

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luvdsc · 4 years

Text

ellipsism.

gold is a bluer color than blue.

pairing :: na jaemin x reader genre :: angst / soulmate + high school au word count :: 1,734 words warnings :: gang, blood, violence, death song :: you were good to me (jeremy zucker & chelsea cutler)

You order a chocolate milkshake.

You never had one before, but they were his favorite.

The boy with blue hair drank them so often that they were all you could taste when your lips pressed against his. He would place one hand on your cheek with the other gently grasping you by the curve of your waist, pulling you closer until he kissed you dizzy. The slightest hints of chocolate stained his breath as he whispered sweet nothings that meant everything to you. He mumbled i love you’s between each breath, sang you lullabies before every exchange of good night’s, and called you endearments sweeter than the sugary concoction he found so much delight in.

The drink is placed in front of you. Fingers curling around the base of the glass, you take a small sip, reveling in the nostalgic taste. You smile.

Chocolate milkshakes might be your favorite, too.

The boy with blue hair was a heartbreakingly beautiful enigma wrapped in a well worn leather jacket and a false bravado that fell apart easily beneath your fingertips once you had found yourself occupying every crevice of his heart. He was blue skies turning into cotton candy pink, whispered wishes slipped between birthday candles, vibrantly yellow dandelions peeking out between cracked pavement, the last wisps of dusk settling into twilight, and the nostalgic song that nestled itself within your years of adolescence and yet, you couldn’t remember the title of for the life of you. He was quiet laughter hidden between the dusty bookshelves of a library, kept promises that were sealed with looped pinkies, stolen kisses as the sunset spilled across the sky, and chilled chocolate milkshakes on a warm day.

Falling in love with the boy with blue hair and a heart wrenching smile was never on your list of things to do in high school, and you didn’t think falling in love with you was on his list either, but love had a funny way of working itself out. A chance encounter on your walk home, an innocent offer of tissues towards your usually absent classmate with a bloody nose, and one glance at this vibrant boy who seemed to hold entire galaxies in his eyes were all it took for you to go head over heels for Na Jaemin.

But you’d also have to thank your soulmate—whoever they were—because if Jaemin hadn’t noticed the odd words stating “Save me a milkshake?” tattooed across your wrist in ebony ink, he wouldn’t have offered to buy you a milkshake in return for the tissues. While sitting in the diner on the corner of Camellia Boulevard and Arcadia Street for the very first time, you found out he was much luckier than you as he showed off a neatly written “I promise” on his wrist.

In a world where soulmate signs came in all different shapes and forms, you were fortunate that yours was straightforward and easy-to-hide. It was supposed to be a simple transition of black into gold as your indicator. It was certainly better than Donghyuck’s sign whose hair color changed every few days courtesy of his soulmate. When you told the boy with blue hair about the day your friend was sporting rainbow streaks, the genuine grin gracing his face as he laughed loudly made him look like an angel, and well, angels never hurt anyone, right?

The boy with blue hair never told you why he was sporting a bruised lip and carmine stains at your very first shared interaction, but you were no stranger to all the swirling rumors at school about the wrong crowd he ran with and the affiliations he had with the darker side of the city. However, you never pried, accepting that he would tell you when the time came and he was ready.

And today, he was finally ready. He was ready to leave that part of his past behind, ready to move on, ready to take charge of his life with you by his side. He was going to tell you today.

Friday afternoons were always reserved for you, but unfortunately, he had to meet with someone from his past one final time. He secretly texted you in class, asking you to meet up a little later than usual at your and his favorite diner where the two of you like to argue over the superior milkshake flavor (you adamantly insist that vanilla is better). When he received your affirmative reply a few minutes later along with a slew of pretty heart emojis, he beamed brightly before sending back a generous amount of cute emojis in response.

He was excited to show you the A he got on his English paper: the one that you helped him outline and that he stayed up all night perfecting. This was the first time he had put so much time and effort into an assignment, and his teacher was more than thrilled when she received the carefully stapled papers with his name proudly stamped across the cover page. His grades were slowly, but steadily improving, and it was all because of you. He even discovered that he really liked his computer science class and began to research potential classes at nearby community colleges.

Clutching his prized paper in hand, Jaemin stood at the intended meeting spot, enjoying the light drizzle of the rain overhead. The sun barely peeked out from behind the darkening clouds, causing the water droplets to glimmer and gleam as they fell. The gentle pattering of tiny raindrops against his face felt refreshing, almost like a new beginning, a quiet reminder of the rainbow that came afterwards.

Jaemin heard the awful squelching noise before he felt it.

It was an uncomfortable pressure at first until it increased in pain and spread across his abdomen, a cold feeling worming its way up and wrapping around his figure. He had found himself dropping onto the damp concrete, curling in on himself as the papers fluttered loosely from his hand, stained in dark shades of cerise that made its way across the ground.

The blurry figure standing above him stood still for a minute before darting off. No loose ends, he could hear his former boss’s voice echoing in his head. It was what he was told the first time he stepped foot on their territory. How naive of him to believe that they would let him go so easily.

Dragging himself towards the wall behind several empty dumpsters, he propped himself up, pressing down on the wound as best he could but the rivulets of carmine spilled much too quickly and easily, slipping between his fingers. It’s futile, and he knew it, the increasingly harsher waves of pain washing over him with every ticking second. He absentmindedly stared at the A and smiley face adorning his paper in red ink, now barely distinguishable from the other glaring hues of vermilion. The rain poured down, turning the paper translucent as it began to tear around the edges.

Mind going numb from everything but the thought of you—you who was still waiting patiently for someone who would never come—he painstakingly pulled out his phone from his jacket, the device almost falling from his grasp. He clumsily fumbled with it for a few moments before he managed to hit the right buttons. You answered on the first ring, and he smiled, small tendrils of warmth blooming from his heart at the sound of your voice. You were the rose among his garden of thorns, the green light on the other side of the shore, and the beacon of light in the midst of a storm.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, taking a deep breath. He hoped that you didn’t notice the way his voice wavered nor the way his breath quickened with every passing second. He hoped that you knew he tried so hard to not fall in love with you, so that you wouldn’t get hurt because of him. He hoped that you could forgive him for falling in love with you anyways. He hoped that you could forgive him for being selfish for the one last time.

“Hey, where are you? Are you alright?” Your worried tone was evident, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He felt tired, his eyelids drooping slowly, yet he still forced himself to stay awake. He’s sorry for lying to you. “Yeah, I’m fine, just running a little late. Are you already there?”

“Yeah, I just ordered a vanilla milkshake for myself. You know, the best flavor,” you teased him, and he relaxed against the bricks, phone held loosely in his hand.

“Oh, really? I think you’re wrong.”

You scoffed, and he could easily picture the way the corners of your lips tug up into a smile that you desperately try to hide. “ You know what? I’m gonna get you a vanilla one right now instead of chocolate. This is what happens when you’re late.”

“You sure you’re not just buying a second one for yourself?” he laughed softly, and you gasped indignantly. “What do you take me for? A milkshake thief? Maybe I should just drink it myself.”

“No!” He weakly protested, breath growing shallower and weaker. He shakily held up his phone, desperately pressing it against his ear. If he closed his eyes, it was almost as if you were right here, talking to him. He could pretend that he was sitting next to you on vinyl covered seats as you share a plate of fries over vanilla and chocolate milkshakes and his fingers shyly brush against yours as he picks up a fry. He could vividly see how your eyes sparkle as you tell him about your day, and he’ll stare at you, enamored and starry eyed, as some retro love song plays from the jukebox in the corner.

“Can you promise me something?” he said quietly. The pauses between each heart palpitation grew wider and further apart, and he could faintly hear you answer yes over his slowing heartbeats. He inhaled sharply, his breath stuttering, as he forced the words through his teeth, clenching tightly onto the phone like a lifeline.

“Save me a milkshake?”

On the other side of town, in a tiny booth tucked in a corner of a 1950s themed restaurant, four little words started to shimmer in gold.

“I promise.”

The boy with blue hair smiled.

As the sky wept, a splash of gold twinkled innocently against the darkening asphalt.

#jaemin scenarios #jaemin angst #jaemin imagines #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream scenarios #jaemin x reader #nct angst #nct dream fanfic #nct fanfic #jaemin fanfic #nct scenario #nct dream fic #na jaemin #jaemin #nct #nct dream

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janiikae · 3 years

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐌 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐄 | 𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍

Available on my Wattpad: caterinarozier

-After being on the run for years by the side of the myth, the legend, the baddest bitch of all, Katherine pierce, you're finally caught, taken prisoner by the feared Klaus Mikaelson.

He could have had you desiccate for decades, drown underwater over and over again, be tortured everyday, be dinner to wolves, but instead, he decides to keep you prisoner in his dungeons, visiting you everyday until something sparks out of that.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏:

Katherine, Katherine Pierce; Katerina Petrova, survivor, she-devil, psychopath, evil slut vampire—those were all names constantly given to her.

I simply called her, 'my partner,' after all, that's what she was. We had a truce, a friendship made from the day I met her. She wasn't my 'best best friend,' neither of us had friends, just each other.

We've had many brutal fights, stealing each other's boyfriend, which was a game she started not long after we met, but we would always makeup and pretend like nothing had happened, killing the man who dared to get in between us.

The year was 1773, Katherine was celebrating her birthday. She had just turned 300 and was celebrating by pretending to be another slave and having a threesome with my master and another sex slave. She had sneaked in through a back door with the intention of playing peasant, having some fun, then killing everyone for her own pleasure.

I was seventeen, my parents and grandparents had been killed by an ancient organization named, 'Arsenov,' which had settled in Bulgaria, Katherine's homeland.

I was shy, terrified that they would beat me like they had every time I didn't follow instructions. I was suicidal, scheming to kill myself with whatever sharp object I could get my hands on.

"Get your filthy arse in there!" The master's son ordered, yanking me inside by the rope tied around my wrists and neck. He over-abused his power, raping every female slave just to prove to his father that he wasn't gay, which he was gay because he couldn't even stay hard when it was my turn, my back was still sore from the beating of that night.

I laid my eyes on Katherine as she placed a kiss on the master's neck, making her vampire face before stabbing her sharp teeth in him. My eyes widened and my heart dropped. I desperately blinked in disbelief at what was happening in front of me.

The master's son threw me to the ground, backing away to grab a sword and attempt to stab Katherine with it. Dehydration and starvation slowed me down. I stopped taking my rations about four days ago, with the intention of dying, but I suddenly feared death.

Even though my vision was blurry, there she was, kneeling beside me with a mouth covered in blood. "You want to live, young one?" I nodded, turning my view to the side as I was taking my last breaths.

I don't remember much after that, just waking up in her cottage. She taught me all of her conniving ways, told me her life story, her mission of running away, and took me with her. I have spent over 200 years by her side, earning enemies like the Mikaelsons.

•

Our heels clicked on the black concrete street after that tiring Salvatore masquerade ball, where I had just saved Katherine's life—again.

"So you sticking around with me on this one, cupcake?" questioned Katherine, smirking over at me our arms were hooked. I turned my view down to my red heels, sighing, "Katherine, I—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." She stood in front of me with her arms crossed. "You didn't use a petty nickname. Now, spill. What's wrong?"

I chuckled, "Nothing with you—just that that little witch of theirs is powerful, turned Lucy against us."

Katherine nodded, sauntering by my side again. "Well, let's kill her. We can't kill Elena, do you know what we can do with her life?"

"Buy ours."

"Uh-huh, that's right, smarty pants."

"Kath, don't be so petty. We have to stick together now more than ever—Isobel is gone because she turned to their side, too...you won't go, right? Tell me you won't go running to Stefan's arms, Katherine!"

She speeded in front of me, slapping me across the face. "LOOK, we didn't win tonight, I KNOW! We don't have the stone, but that doesn't give you the right to think that low of me! We've been together for two hundred years, I would think you would know me better by now!"

I slapped her back. "Yeah, and I'm doubting you because I know you! In 1864, you let those villagers kidnap me, so you could go check on little Stefan to see if he turned! In 1957, you abandoned me in that bar to go look for Stefan! And today, you left me cornered to run after Stefan! Katherine, HE HAS MADE YOU WEAK!"

Her chest heaved in anger, her hands clenched into a fist, and the look on her eyes as she stared at me through her eyebrows, warned me what she was about to do next. She grabbed me by the throat, tossing me on a white car, the glass shattering with my weight and the force I was thrown with.

I sat up, shattered glass cutting into my palms as I held myself up. Katherine stood in front of me as she harshly stated, "I don't need anyone in my life who doesn't want to be there," then vamp-speeded away.

I sighed, planning my next move. I knew her; it wasn't a good idea to go to her within the next hour or two, so I stood up and speeded away past streets until I saw a bar. Knocking out a woman in the lonely street, I dragged her away into a dark alley to steal her clothes.

I finished slipping the black coat on and stuck fists in the pockets as I made my way towards the entrance of the bar, a handsome man opening the door for me.

I sat at the bar, drinking bourbon as I stared down at my broken nail, hearing a familiar voice approach me. "What a nice evening you hosted, Damon. Even if you weren't seen for the most of it."

"Y/N," he sighed, sitting on a stool beside me.

"Hm." I picked my glass back up. "That's the first time you called me by my name since we reunited."

He took my drink to put it back down, grabbing onto my jaw and wrapping his arm around my neck to pick me up on my feet, pressing my body against his. "Yeah, well, I'm feeling quite nostalgic...care to...I don't know, say, do an act to relive old memories?"

I leaned my head forward, my tongue grazing my lips until he attempted to go in for the kiss and I backed my head away, giggling. I shook my head. "I don't go for Katherine's leftovers."

He smirked. "You sure didn't mind back then."

"Yeah, but back then you were nothing more than an inexperienced virgin—must say: I enjoyed taking your innocence, making you think you took mine."

"Oh, yes but that night, I found out how much of a slut you were...you were always just a cheap knockoff version of Katherine."

"And to her, you were nothing more than a cheap knockoff of Stefan."

The smirk wiped off and I heard snickering coming from the restaurant part, which was now alone. Just that blonde 'Carolina' and Stefan. They were both sitting, laughing at Damon as he let go of me, pulling out a stake from the sleeve of his suit.

I sighed, nodding with a slight smile. "I know, I know. Can a girl have one last drink?" Grinning, Damon leaned over to pull out an open bottle of bourbon to pour on my almost empty glass, then handing it over to me.

I looked over at Stefan, putting my drink up. "We shared a lot of good memories, Salvatores. I guess we'll continue on the other side." I pretended to sip for a second, then quickly spilt it on Damon's chest, bending back to dodge the stake, then standing up straight to take the candle that was set on the bar, setting Damon on fire before I ran away.

Through the glass windows, I watched as Caroline chased after me as Stefan helped Damon by vamp-speeding for a fire extinguisher.

Two wooden bullets to my stomach made me stop running so I stay still, standing still as I looked down at myself, opening the coat. My crimson blood was spreading through the white shirt I was wearing and I looked back up as Caroline shoved a piece of vervain in my mouth, forcing me to pass it down before I blacked out.

#klaus mikaelson #the originals #katherine pierce #damon salvatore #wattpad #elijah mikaelson #the vampire diaries #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #stefan salvatore #klaus mikealson x reader #elena gilbert #legacies

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