#i want him to torture me in his dungeon...be mean to me and then we have makeup sex

[scoobydoodean]

just saw somebody saying that cas is a pushover for dean…. obviously that’s not true. but can i have some solid evidence just to make me feel more sane?

I mean Cas's baseline state is ignoring what anyone wants him to do imo. It's just when he ignores what most people want him to do, he makes this face: 🙄

And when he ignores what Dean wants him to do, he makes this this face. 🥺

But anyway:

"You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in." (4.02)

ANNA: "Uhm, guys, the angels are talking again. / SAM: What are they saying? / ANNA: It's weird. Like a recording. A loop. It says: "Dean Winchester gives us Anna by midnight, or we hurl him back to damnation." (4.10)

"[I tricked you into coming into town] Because whatever I ask [for you to turn an innocent person over to me for execution], you seem to do the exact opposite [protect them from me]." (4.15)

After kidnapping Dean to make him torture for them: "This is too much to ask, I know. But we have to ask it." (4.16)

[Kidnaps Dean and locks him up] (4.22)

[Flies away abruptly because Dean asks a question he doesn't want to answer] (5.01)

"I killed two angels this week. My brothers. I'm hunted. I rebelled. And I did it, all of it, for you, and you failed. You and your brother destroyed the world—and I lost everything, for nothing. So keep your opinions to yourself." (5.02) (Note: Cas blaming Dean for everything going wrong here is also some major bullshit).

CASTIEL: May I borrow [your amulet]? / DEAN: No. / CASTIEL: Dean. Give it to me. / DEAN: All right, I guess. (5.02)

Cas flies off to kill Jesse when Dean and Sam are in direct moral opposition. (5.06)

ANNA: I'd say the Winchesters don't trust me. / CASTIEL: They do. I don't. I wouldn't let them come. (5.13)

You're not gonna finish that? [Takes Dean's burger without waiting for an answer] (5.14)

[Kidnaps Dean and locks him up] (5.18)

"Maybe they're desperate. Maybe they wrongly assumed Dean would be brave enough to withstand them." (5.18)

[Beats the shit out of Dean in an alley] "I rebelled for this?! So that you could surrender to them?" [kidnaps Dean and locks him up again] (5.18)

DEAN: Whoa, wait. You’re gonna take on five angels? / CASTIEL: Yes. / DEAN: Isn’t that suicide? / CASTIEL: Maybe it is. But then I won’t have to watch you fail. 

CASTIEL: You think I came because you called? I came because of this. [The Staff of Moses] / DEAN: Oh, well, it's nice to know what matters. / CASTIEL: It does help one to focus. (6.03)

CASTIEL: I need your help. / SAM: [ Scoffs. ] That's rich. Really. / CASTIEL: [ Grunts, tosses the jar of locusts at SAM. CASTIEL performs air quotes during this speech. ] Sam, Dean, my "people skills" are "rusty." Pardon me, but I have spent the last "year" as a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent. But believe me, you do not want that weapon down here. Help me find it. Or more people will die.

[Flies away abruptly when Dean asks anything he doesn't want to answer] (6.03)

Cas tortures a child while Dean pleads with him not to do it (6.03).

[Yanks Dean's wrist over without asking and slices his palm open to use his blood for a spell] DEAN: Whoa, whoa! Hey! Ahh! Why don't you use your own? / CASTIEL: It wouldn't work. I'm not human.

[Flies away abruptly when Dean is mid-sentence] (6.06)

Cas ghosts Dean for days while Dean pleads for help in prayers (6.05-6.06)

Those are some moments of note up to my current rewatch episode.

Less organized but past current rewatch point some random momence:

The entire plot of season 6 where Cas is going behind their backs the whole time culminating in him refusing to let go of his plan while Dean pleads him to do just that.

Fun lil Deancas bitchy compilation set here

[Beats the shit out of Dean flies away with the angel tablet]

Refuses to come out of Purgatory

Ignores Dean's nightly prayers in Purgatory

Ignores Dean's prayers and calls all of the tiiiiiiiime sometimes for weeks

Locking Dean in the dungeon... again. (S9)

DEAN: I'm glad you're here / CAS: *Leaves* (10.03)

Keeping Demon Dean from doing demon things :(((( (10.03)

Works with Sam to decode the Book of the Damned behind Dean's back.

CAS: No fighting. / DEAN: Tell [Claire] that. / CAS: Both of you.

"YEAH you know what I like about him? It's that he's sarcastic, but he's THOUGHTFUL and APPRECIATIVE too."

"If I plan to do anything else stupid, I'll let you know."

CAS: So I should just sit here? / DEAN: Pretty much. / CAS: NO.

[Look of utter loathing] "Dean. You are NOT a talking dog." (13.16)

"At least I don't look like a lumberjack."

Steals The Colt to kill Kelly Kline when Sam and Dean want to save her -> Does a 180 into wanting to protect Kelly and still won't include Sam and Dean, instead knocking them unconscious (12.19)

Locks Sam and Dean out of the dungeon so he can torture Donatello for information (13.14)

Also: #hot girl cas. And anyway, if Cas decreases his bitchy basline tendencies to be bitchy around Dean and Dean only, and instead indulges him occasionally by doing things like dressing up like cowboys, we should be fond of this because the angel the size of a Chrysler building who has killed thousands lets Dean put him in little outfits to make him happy and there is something very cute about that.

#and cas is my best friend #mail #hot girl cas

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price as Prince Prospero

The Masque of the Red Death (1964) // dir. Roger Corman

#vincent price #the masque of the red death #masque of the red death #edgar allan poe #Prince Prospero #god hes gorgeous #his COSTUME *BITES FIST* #fuckkkkk meeeeee #so fucking sexy #i want him to torture me in his dungeon...be mean to me and then we have makeup sex #im fine this is fine #bicon #bisexual #god #unf #horror #old horror movies #vintage #movie #actor #handsome #gif #gifs made by me #gif set #tw: blood #tw blood #blood #halloween #epic #i fucking love this movie

[allyeardepression]

@jegulus-microfic | april 12 Amortentia | words: 683

DARLING, GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM JAIL (not jail but a hospital, same thing really). I missed writing and maybe some of you missed me so here’s a cute one. enjoy;3

tw: alleged poisoning, swearing

"Have you seen that green shirt Regulus wore to the party last week? He looked so beautiful in it,” James mused, laying down on the floor next to Remus’ bed. “And his hair, oh Merlin, his hair...”

“What the fuck, Prongs?” Sirius snapped at him, sitting straight on Mooney’s bed. Oh, right, he forgot his best friend was in the room.

James looked at Remus, a bit terrified, hoping the tall boy would come up with something to save his ass. With the smirk Remus gave him, James knew he was doomed.

“Oh boy, are you okay, James?” The taller boy asked with feigned concern. “Pads, I think someone poisoned him.”

At the comment, Sirius’ face turned from pissed to concerned.

“What? With what?” he started, running to James to check on him.

Remus hummed, looking at the two of them with a mean grin.

“Some Slytherin must’ve added amortentia to his tea in revenge for the last prank,” he said, acting as if he were terrified. “We should take him to Slughorn; he probably has an antidotum.” With that, Sirius picked James up and led him out of their dormitory.

Padfoot looked determined to help him as they walked to the dungeons, while Remus kept sending him amused glances. In response, James just farrowed his eyebrows, mouthing  you’re dead to his friend.

When they finally reached the potions professor’s room, Sirius started banging on them like a madman. Not even ten seconds into it, the door opened.

“What are you doing here?” Regulus asked, looking at all three of them. James could see his eyes softening as they reached his own, and he smiled gently at Regulus, the younger boy's cheeks turning slightly pink.

“What are you doing here?” Sirius asked, reminding James of his presence.

“Well, I’m brewing a potion,” Regulus started. “But you still didn’t answer my question.”

Sirius frowned at his brother, and he pointed at James. “Can you see him? He’s looking at you like you’re the world’s eighth wonder; somebody poisoned him with amortentia!”

Regulus and James locked eyes again, the younger boy smirking this time.

"Oh, really?” he started, still looking at James. “What gave you the idea?”

“Well,” Sirius began, “he started rumbling about how pretty you looked last week, and how he likes your hair, and other shit like that!” That was just Sirius being dramatic, but Regulus seemed more pleased with every word. “Is Slughorn here? We need to fix him right now!”

Regulus shook his head, turning to face his brother. “He went to Madam Pomfrey; he should be back soon," he said with a pause. “But maybe you should go back to the dorm; it's almost curfew. I’ll take care of that moron.”

James looked at Remus with pleading eyes, hoping this time his friend would actually help him. Thankfully, Moony seemed like he had enough of torturing him for one evening.

He grabbed Sirius’ shoulder, turning him so they stood face-to-face. “He’ll be fine, honey,” Remus said gently, leaning closer to Sirius’ ear. As the black-haired boy’s eyes widened, James assumed the two of them would be taking advantage of the free dormitory. Good for them, James thought. Just don’t destroy the room. Again.

“If he starts being insufferable, give him a sleeping drought or bind him; I don’t care. Just... be safe,” Sirius said to his brother, getting a dismissive yeah, yeah in response.

As the two Gryffindors left them, Regulus pushed James into the room, slamming the door behind them.

“So, amortentia, huh?” Regulus asked with a teasing smile, putting his hands on James’ chest. The older boy grabbed him by the waist, pulling him closer.

“Yeah,” he began, rubbing his hands up and down Regulus’ sides. “I think Barty wanted to get back at me for turning custard creams into Canary Creams.”

“Perhaps yes,” Regulus said, nuzzling at James’ jaw. “And you think I’m pretty? Evan must’ve helped him with the potion if you talked so nicely about me,” James chuckled as the younger boy grabbed him by the neck and pulled him down for a kiss. 

#jegulus #dead gay wizards #starchaser #james potter #james x regulus #regulus black #jegulus microfic #marauders #the marauders #hogwarts au #amortentia #sirius black #remus lupin #1k words or less #by: allyeardepression

[ectologia]

Can I please make a request? Instead of being told to kill Best Jeanist to prove himself to the League of Villains, Keigo is taken to a room with an innocent civilian and told to rape her. He goes through with it and feels guilty but ends up enjoying it a lot more than he’d like to admit. The nastier the better!

I love this idea! hope it’s nasty enough for you anon ♡

BAD GUY

KEIGO TAKAMI X F!READER + FEATURING TOUYA TODOROKI (DABI)

𝐂𝐖 ♱ DUBCON/NONCON, KIDNAPPING, SHIBARI, CHAINS, VAGINAL BLEEDING, GAGS, BLINDFOLDS, ABUSE, PROFANITY, CREAMPIE

“The fuck you mean change of plan?”

Keigo shifts in his rigid stance, his fingers twitching in anxious waiting.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it pretty boy.” Dabi slings an arm over Keigo’s tense shoulders, hooking the heavy appendage around his neck to tug him along.

The moment the door is swung open, he’s met with the foul stench of stale air and oxidised blood. His nose twitches and curls at the numerous metal chains clinging to the crumbling walls of what he can only assume is some kind of dungeon or torture chamber. His eyes squint at the distorted figure hung against the back wall.

Your broken, bruised wrists twitch in their rusted confines, cuffed to the ceiling where your ankles are collected with them, legs spread and strung open like a dirty fuck-puppet.

Keigo’s eyes follow as he watches Dabi saunter towards you, slapping your inner thigh and jolting you awake. “Got this one special.” he jiggles the ripened flesh, swinging you back and forth in your restraints. “Stretched her out for you ‘n everything.” Keigo’s top lip raises in disgust as Dabi brings two fingers down to press against your swollen pussy lips, spreading the delicate flesh open to give an informative view of your gaping hole, already stuffed with blood and a not so ominous white fluid, dribbling down your puffy slit all the way to your taint.

Keigo stares wide eyed and somewhat disturbed, blinking down at the miniature puddle of semen, tinted red.

Dabi clicks his tongue, sighing. “Well, come on then. This bitch ain’t gonna fuck herself.”

A blond head snaps up, eyes slitted and narrowed. “What?”

A dark chuckle resounds throughout the dimly lit vault. “You heard me, hero.” Dabi circles Keigo like a sickly vulture with a wicked grin, shuffling through his pocket. “You wanna’ prove your loyalty to the L.O.V?” He fiddles with the wheel of his lighter until the wick ignites.

“Fuck her.”

“Who is she?” Keigo snaps back in an instance.

Dabi snickers, eyeing the swiftly burning embers of his cigarette. “How the fuck do I know? She’s just some random chick we picked up. Who cares anyway, don’t gotta know her name to stick your dick in her.” He reasons, smirking behind the smouldering stick tucked between his fingers.

Keigo snarls through grit teeth. “Is this what you meant by change of plan? you want me to ra—”

“Rape her?” Dabi cocks his head with a mocking pout. He takes another lengthy drag of his cigarette before pivoting to face Keigo, allowing the murky tendrils of smoke to encase him in a cloud of grey. “Yeah, I do.” He tuts. “But that shouldn’t be a problem for you, should it Hawks?”

Against his will, Keigo is shoved towards your limp body, flinching. He grimaces as a sloppy string of drool slides off of your tongue, slipping through the metal ring of the gag fitted between your teeth, prying your tired jaws open.

“If you’re worried about your lil’ reputation, don’t. She can’t see you.” He juts his chin towards the stained cloth tied over your eyes, used as a make-shift blindfold.

“You’re a sick bastard, you know that?” Keigo huffs, refusing to acknowledge the pebbled nipples and perfectly vulnerable pussy spread out in-front of him like a fucking buffet.

“You wanna be a villain? Then you gotta’ fuckin’ act like one.” Dabi slumps against the wall, folding a thick arm below his chest.

Keigo scowls, thumbing the leather of his belt. “Alright, you gonna get the fuck out, or what?”

“Nah, boss wants me to watch. Make sure you don’t try anything funny.”

A bitter chuckle escapes Keigo, shaking his head. “Or you’re just lookin’ to get off to this shit?”

“Hey, I’ve actually got better things to being doing then sitting here and watching you fail at lasting more than 2 minutes.” Dabi frowns, flicking at the brittle ash clinging to his cigarette.

The situation isn’t funny, so why does he feel like laughing?

Your ears perk at the taunting clang and zip of a belt buckle being dropped to the ground. Your frantic attempts to pull away prove futile the moment two thickly gloved hands wrap around your thighs, cupping the domes of your ass to bring your pulsing slit closer to his already pumped and steaming length.

“Look at you.” Dabi whistles at the scene. “Already got a nice little boner going on, ready to pound some pussy blondie?”

“Shut up.” Keigo barks over his shoulder, fisting his bobbing cock as he decides the best way to approach.

Does he go in slow and let you adjust?.. Or does he just shove it all in at once and get it over with? short and sweet.. Well, not really sweet but you get the gist.

Is there really any nice way to rape somebody?

He goes for something in between, sheathing himself all the way inside until the chubby tip of his prick prods at your cervix. Your screams are muffled by the silver o-gag separating your tongue from the rest of your contorted mouth, only allowing slips of guttural hums and cries. It’s difficult to fuck your pussy comfortably given how you’ve been practically pinned to the wall, so Keigo makes do, using the stringy chains wrapped around your limbs as a handle to pull you back and forth on his dick while he juts into your swollen cunt.

“Mmh.. Shit.”

He doesn’t want to admit it, but it feels damn good fucking you like this. Completely helpless, hanging from the ceiling with your legs bent backwards all for him to rape and hurt. His rhythm increases in tempo, no longer shy, shallow thrusts but deep, meaningful, powerful ones. He leans backwards, using one hand to tug on your restraints while the other fondles your fat tits and nipples. The flimsy nibs are picked and flicked at, twisted between the rough pads of his leather-clad fingers.

“There you go.” Dabi hums, almost raising a hand to applaud him in his endeavour. “That’s much better. Now slap her around a bit.”

Keigo’s hips falter as he turns his neck to Dabi.

“You heard me bird boy, spank that bitch.”

Keigo huffs. With every sharp blow, a new red and purple mark seeps through the canvas of your delicate skin. Your tits and thighs jiggle against the harshness of his hand, twitching and flinching away from his abuse.

“Holy fuckin’ shit.” he hisses, turning white knuckled as he clamps down harder on the ringing chains holding you above him. “She’s fuckin’ clenching man.”

Dabi nods in agreement, nursing on the damp end of his cigarette.

“Can I nut in her?”

“You do whatever the fuck you want, I ain’t gonna say no.” Dabi laughs. “And she sure as hell ain’t either.” He jabs the smoked pick in your direction before dusting himself clean of it, crushing the paper beneath a thick rubber sole.

“Fuck sake, I’m gonna cum so hard.”

He howls, throwing his head back the moment his cock spurts, pumping your pussy full of hot jizz. He hooks his elbows below your knees, pressing himself into you while he empties his heavy balls into your womb. “Take it, oh yeah, take it girlie. Take it all in that tight little fuckin’ twat.” The rapid shiver of your legs does well to encourage him.

Ropes of sloppy, bubbling white cum spew out onto the floor as he retracts, dripping down with a wet pap.

Keigo turns, gasping and heaving like a wild animal, his red raw cock bouncing against his balls as he moves. “Am I done here?..”

Dabi taps a finger against his chin, blinking up at the ceiling as though deep in thought. “Hm..”

“I think you can go another round.”

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dabi #bnha smut #hawks #keigo takami #takami keigo #keigo takami smut #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo smut #keigo smut #bnha hawks #hawks x reader #hawks smut #bnha keigo takami #mha keigo takami

[litnerdwrites]

Azriel in Silver Flames

I've basically hated the IC since... Acowar, honestly. But the more I think about it, the more conflicted I am about Azriel. I liked him in every book, but in retrospect, I'm not so sure anymore. This is mostly regarding his treatment of Nesta, since he honestly didn't do much before hand the start of Silver Flames, and he didn't do too much during it either.

I understand why Azriel would stay away from Nesta from the end of ACOWAR to the start of Silver Flames. He's observant, and I imagine he's figured out that Nesta doesn't want to spend time with the IC. Moreover, he may also see it as being in Feyre's jurisdiction, and wanting to stay out of it out of respect for her privacy and what not. It's his behaviour through out silver flames that has me conflicted.

Azriel was raised in confinement with limited interactions with other people. He saw his mother once a week, for limited time and suffered physical and verbal abuse, and torture during that time. He had no control over his schedule, food, social interactions, nothing. Yet, despite that, he allowed Nesta to be isolated and kept on a strict schedule and diet that she has no say in, and we never see any signs of him arguing against it. Especially since he knows being locked up somewhere against your will, where you can't leave, often made to do things you don't want, is what most of the IC's trauma roots from (Amren in the Prison, Rhys UTM, Feyre UTM, Mor in the CON, Azriel in his father's dungeon, etc). Why the, seemingly, most sensible person allowed this is beyond me.

Azriel, through out the book, never protests against this treatment either. He treats Nesta decently, though that is the absolute minimum. She should've been treated like that, regardless, of where she was or what she was doing.

He despises Illyria, knows the dangers out there, from both males and whatever's in those forests, yet he doesn't protest against Nesta going. We've seen that there are days where she wanders around on her own (like when she went to Emerie's), without protection. What would happen if she jumped off a cliff or a steep bluff? Or if she went into the forests? What about if some of the males attacked her? It's not like she was constantly supervised. trusting her witch status will keep them away is too risky, since some might not care. Azriel knows the dangers of Illyria, and he let her be taken there. He saw how Illyria hurt his mother, and how she was treated, first hand.

He doesn't do anything even after suspecting that Cassian pushed her down the stairs, or witnessing her being verbally abused by Cassian, and Rhys when he cares to show up. He doesn't defend her, or shut his brothers down, he just lets it happen, seemingly unbothered. Idk about you, but if I was at dinner, and my brother said to his girlfriend, the things that Cassian says to Nesta, I'd drag him out the front door by the hair myself.

Azriel also had a bag packed for Nesta and Cassian's hike from hell, waiting for Cassian to come get it. He let Cassian take Nesta somewhere else against her will. He, presumably, knew about the plan to take her on that hike, helped prepare for it, and just let it happen without a care. He knew where they were taking her, and what they were going to make her do, and he let it happen.

Then there's the issue regarding the Trove. Azriel pushes for Nesta's right to know about what her powers can do, yet he doesn't have any issue pushing her into life threatening situation to keep Elain from it? He says that Elain shouldn't be exposed to whatever darkness the trove and cauldron possess, but that alone implies that Nesta should be exposed to it, and that's despite her mental condition at the time.

While I don't think Azriel's status as a spymaster means he should know things like Nesta's fear of fire, and her suicidal ideation, but it does mean that there's a very good chance that he does (and yet he still sends her on that hike). Knowing this, Azriel implies that Nesta should go on these life threatening missions, where she could be killed, or commit suicide, or be taken.

Azriel is shown to stand up to/argue with Rhysand in the bonus chapters. He does so for himself and arguably Elain. Why doesn't he do it for Nesta too?

It's all of these little things that leave a bitter taste in my mouth regarding Azriel.

Would he have tried to beg/force Nesta to go instead of Elain had she refused, or if he would've stood up for Nesta if Cassian had become physically violent with her. If she refused to go on that hike, would he have fought for her right to chose like he did before? If Rhys tried to kill her, would he stand up to him for her? If Elain is mistreated in her book, would he stand up for her? If so, why not Nesta too? How can he call himself her friend if he doesn't at least try to talk about how wrong it is, assuming he even realises it's wrong to start with.

We haven't gotten much of his pov yet, and he doesn't really say much, but from what I have seen, I'm concerned. Azriel may not be actively trying to hurt Nesta, but it feels like he enables his brothers and his court too much.

Didn't Tamlin dod the same, along with his court, who watched Feyre whither away, and did nothing. Even if they didn't see what was happening in her head, they saw her wasting away from lack of sleep or food. Isn't Azriel doing the same to Nesta by letting her be treated that way? Reaming neutral still makes him part of the problem, doesn't it?

Am I the only one who gets this bad taste in my mouth when I think about this?

#anti ic #nesta deserves better #pro nesta #anti acosf #anti rhysand #anti inner circle #nesta acotar

[visiosatanae]

Branded

Ficlet below the cut, please mind the warnings 🔞❗

This involves exactly what the picture implies, so please do not read any further if you aren't a fan of graphic depictions of torture and violence. Needless to say, MDNI

The room was cold when you finally came to, the sweat beading up on your skin now freezing. Your head hurt, a throbbing ache still pounding behind your eyes. Your body was upright, arms raised above your head but you found you couldn't move. Panic began its course as you realized you were completely devoid of clothing, vulnerable to the draft of this makeshift dungeon. You couldn't remember how you got here, only that the Cardinal had requested your presence urgently before-

The Cardinal…

Shakily you craned your head to look around the room. There were no windows and the walls and floor were stone, suggesting you were underground. The only light came from a few wall sconces and the fireplace crackling away in the corner with what looked like a rack of fire pokers next to it. In front of you was a table filled with surgical instruments and knives. You struggled with your binds, the metal around your wrists and ankles groaning against the frame you were attached to. 

"Ah, it seems the puttana has awoken." A chill ran up your spine, freezing at the sound of the Cardinal's voice from behind you. "Did you get your beauty sleep, cara?" 

"Why did you take me?" Your voice is hoarse. "I didn't do anything to you, Cardinal." You hear him stand from wherever he was sitting, slowly and methodically making his way towards you. 

"Our Dark Lord may be the father of all lies, Sorella, but that doesn't mean you are allowed to lie to me." He tuts, finally coming into view. He wore his red cassock, his usual biretta nowhere to be seen. 

You try to wrack your brain for any clue as to what he's talking about, but you can think of nothing. "Your Eminence, I don't know-"

You felt his hand around your face, the soft leather of his gloves digging into your cheeks and stopping you from speaking. His heterochromatic eyes pierced yours, as if trying to discern something behind them. After a moment he released you, your jaw aching. 

"I guess you really don't understand." He mused to himself, making his way towards the fireplace. You watched him warily. Rumors around the ministry warned of the Cardinal having a foul temper and unpredictable nature. And it seemed you were inadvertently on the receiving end of his ire. "Tell me, how do you feel about Brother Sebastian?" 

A pang of fear shot through you at the name. "He's a friend. We have a class together and we talk sometimes." You tried to keep your voice from shaking. "Please don't hurt him, he hasn't done anything." 

"He touched what is mine," the Cardinal snapped, voice firm and cold. He then bent to pick up something from the fire; another poker you must have missed. But as he turned around you could see it wasn't just an implement for stoking the fire. The end was flat and red hot, two backwards C's glowing in curling metal script. 

"As a boy, I had a habit of coveting things that were mine, or what I wanted to be mine." You felt yourself pale, eyes widening as he stepped closer. He inspected its fiery glow, ensuring the temperature was even throughout. "I learned that the only way to keep the other children away from my things was to mark it as such. Pen was much too easy to rub or scratch off, so I began to carve instead." You couldn't help but eye the table of knives and scalpels. He looked thoughtful as he reminisced. "But in the end, I found that branding was the quickest and most effective method. Even to this day." His eyes flicked to yours and your heart stopped under his gaze. 

He came closer still and your brain finally put the pieces together, your head shaking and your breath quickening. “Please, please no, please no…” Your pleas trailed off as he held the brand close to you. You could feel the heat emanating off of it even though it was still inches away. He reveled in the look of absolute terror on your face. “You’re insane,” you spat, your fear reducing your ability to speak rationally. 

“Tell you what, cara,” he ignores your words, “I’ll let you pick the next one, hm?”

“The next?” You felt lightheaded. 

“Si,” he nodded. “I have quite the collection. You didn’t expect just one, did you?” You wanted to throw up as he brought the red hot metal lower, hovering below your waist. “But the first choice is mine, as are you.”

A scream echoed within the walls of the nearly barren room, your throat beginning to burn but not as much as your skin. The Cardinal pressed the brand firmly to your thigh, holding it in place with a gloved hand to ensure the mark was as perfect as possible. It felt like forever before the iron was removed, the smell of burning flesh churning your stomach. Even at the awkward angle you could see you were branded as his, the letters “CC” marking your thigh forever in a blistering burn. 

The Cardinal eyed his handiwork, seeming satisfied with how it turned out. You shrieked as the leather of his gloves brushed your tender skin, his fingers caressing what he had done. Hot tears ran down your face with a sob, the pain already beginning to break you. With a smile he patted your face. 

“We are not done yet, dolcezza,” he said, walking back towards the rack of branding irons. 

“Please.” Your whisper still echoed in the room. “Please have mercy, Your Eminence.” 

“Sweet Sorella,” he cooed, picking out another design. “Mercy is for those who worship God. And as you well know, He does not step foot here…” 

#the band ghost #the band ghost fanart #ghost fic #visiart #visific #happy halloween! #have some cardinal copia being a sadistic bastard #if that's your thing #seriously don't read if you don't like

[weepingflowerbonkcop]

Here is me defending my thoughts and opinions once again. Enjoy my headcannons and feel free to use them if any likes!

Best to worse hygiene in the Chain:

1. Warriors

2. Calamity

3. Legend

4. First

5. Fierce Diety

6. Four

7. Koridai

8. Time

9. Courage

10. Sky

11. Twilight

12. Wind

13. Sage

14. Wild

15. Hyrule

Best to worse hygiene in the Chain:

Part 2

4. First

• Alright so he was kept in a dungeon and tortured for a bit so at that time bathing wasn't such a big thing for him. But once he got out and had a dip, he decided that water was the most glorious thing for Hylians to have.

• He likes to soak in a cold bath for a long while. It's therapeutic for him and it soothes the scars littering his body.

• He does search for a body of water when they make camp for the night just so that he can wash up. He doesn't care how far he has to walk to the water - he's going to have the next best thing to therapy for himself.

• I also see him going and making sure that the younger Link's take regular baths as well. He's not as bad as Legend and Time with it but he us very persistent with the subject.

• First doesn't really use too much products like Wars and Legend, but he has his own that he specifically uses with more calming scents or those of a Middle aged man like Old Spice.

• Of course he is a knight that we know, but I don't think he'd be all that with the idea of being over hygienic. The regular and simple hygiene is fine with him, taking baths regularly, washing your hands, etc.

5. Fierce Diety

• The reason why I scored him so high is because although he is a literal War God, he's not one to like the aftermath per say.

• He might not be bothered by the sight of blood and gore or it getting on himself. But I fairly believe he likes to keep himself neat and orderly - meaning he does do a thorough wash up after.

• He wouldn't like the iron smell on him from the blood and all.

• He might not bathe every single day, but he does every second or third day when he's not covered in blood. He also has a routine that he follows with how he showers/bathes. First a good shower and then a bath.

• He does keep up with hygiene like washing his hands regularly because of his title as a War God.

• He's not picky with the smell of the soap or shampoo but he does have a preference for the more earthy type smells like pine or something similar to the forest.

6. Four

• He's a smith my people, he does sweat alot and ends up smelling like he hasn't bathed in weeks. He doesn't like the smell of sweat and it makes him feel gross when it feels like the heat is making his clothes stick to him.

• He bathes everyday but he doesn't always wash his hair. He's got certain days that he deticates for doing his hair care routine. Can't argue with me, just LOOK at his silky hair.

• Not only with his occupation, his other selves (Red, Blue, Vio, Green) also have their own preferences on cleanliness. They are the main reason for Fours awareness about his hygiene.

•  Blue doesn't mind the smell of sweat as much as the other colours. But he does hate it when his face and hair get dirty/oily.

•  Red and Vio are both the clean freaks out of the colours. At first it won't bother them as much but after a good 30 minutes their both wanting nothing more than to take a nice bath and scrub the guck gone.

•  Green is the one to take action of going and washing up after he notices any dirt. He keeps his hands clean to the best of his ability even while working.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #linked universe hyrule #linked universe legend #linked universe sky #linked universe twilight #linked universe warriors #linked universe time #linked universe wind #linked universe wild #linked universe four #linked universe courage #linked universe koridai #linked universe first #linked universe sage #linked universe calamity #linked universe fierce diety #lu sky #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu time #lu four #lu wind #lu wild #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu sage #lu calamity #lu courage

[love-yourself-first-tfw]

Hard to Love - Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Prompt: Curing Dean isn’t easy but in the end, it’s worth it. 

Word Count: 3596 

Warnings: Violence, Swearing, Crying, soft!Dean.

Author’s Note: Last part, I feel like this ending way better than it started but let me know what you think!

Part One

Sitting outside the door to the dungeon, hearing Dean taunt his brother, listening to all the things Sam did to try and get Dean back. 

Using a drunk, weak man to summon a crossroad demon and then torture said demon for information. A scream comes from Dean before a clattering that makes you flinch into the walls, digging your nails into your thighs. 

“Let me ask you this, Sammy: If this doesn’t work, we both know what you got to do to me, right?” Dean roars at him, “you got the stomach for that, Sam?!” 

The door slams behind Sam as he walks into the hall, looking at you on the ground. He slides down next to you and gives you a sad smile, whispering into your hair when your head lands on his shoulder, “I hope I’m not doing this for nothing.”

“Me too.”

                                                                        Dean’s pain is evident in his yelling now, his voice weak after the shot. You’d gone into the room with Sam, standing against the wall near the door, keeping your eyes on the furious man in the middle. The last shot leaves his head hanging, his chin touching his chest as he tries to breathe. 

“Sam?” His panic-stricken face scares you. His hand lifts his phone to his ear, holding a finger up to you as he walks into the hallway. 

Dean looks worse than Crowley did, a whole lot worse. While his chest was moving when Sam left the room, it stopped in the last few seconds. Without thinking about the fear from before, you move toward Dean. 

“Dean?” His skin is cold to your touch, bringing your hands to his cheeks, and tapping lightly. “Hey, come on. Come back.” 

“No.” It’s only a whisper but it feels like a shout, his breath hitting your bare shoulder. It’s been almost a year since you’d been this close to Dean or been able to touch him. 

“I’m sorry this hurts so much but you don’t want this. You’ve never wanted this.” Your hands fall from his face when he looks up at you, Sam walking into the room again. 

“Dean, you okay?” Sam pulls you back by your shoulder, protecting you behind him.

“Yeah, if you … consider drowning in your own sweat while your blood boils ‘okay.’” A cough-- more of a choke-- is followed by Sam’s sigh. 

“Look, I can’t just stop.” 

“Sure, you can. You just stop! There’s no point in trying to bring your brother back now.” 

I guess this is as close as we get to Dean pleading to be let go.

“I will get my brother back.” 

“In fact, your uh… guilt-ridden, weight-of-the-world bro has been M.I.A. for quite some time now. But I’m loving the new model: Lean, mean, Dean. Do you notice I tried to get as far away from you as possible? Away from your whining and your complaining. I chose the King of Hell over you! Maybe I was just … tired of babysitting you. Or always having to yank your lame ass out of the fire since … ”

Dean laughs at Sam, the strongest he’s seemed in hours. “Forever. Or maybe … Maybe it was the fact that my mother would still be alive if it wasn’t for you. That your very existence sucked the life out of my life! (Y/N) got the hint. Why couldn’t you.”

You both know this isn’t Dean this is the Demon trying to do anything to get his way, but it still hurts to hear. You watch as Sam stays silent and refills another syringe with purified blood. 

“Oh. Ooh. Is this you manning up?”

“This is me yanking your lame ass out of the fire.” Sam jabs the needle into Dean’s arm. “You’re welcome.”

He gasps out in a pain that hurts you, making you want to go to him again, but Sam grabs your elbow, leading you out to the hallway. 

“C’mon. We don’t need to be in here anymore. I’ll just come back to give him the dose. We can go have something to eat.” 

You look back at the dungeon door before nodding to Sam, following him to the kitchen, and standing against the island. 

“What were you doing in Colorado?” 

“Working, trying to fake being a normal human, I haven’t hunted since I left.” You shrug and take the water bottle that Sam passes to you. “Just trying to stay under the radar, I guess.” 

An old habit in times of stress comes up as you slowly peel the label off the bottle, tearing it into small ribbons. “When did Dean turn? When did Metatron kill him?” 

“About a month after you left.” Sam crosses his arms, looking over you as you stare at the floor, tapping your toe every once in a while. 

“He was fine that last hunt when you stayed home-- or planned your escape, but that’s beside that point. He was fine and then I found your note when we got back. I thought he’d be fine; with the way he was treating you, why would he? But he freaked out. He left and didn’t come back for like, three days. I want you to know that I’m not judging you for deciding to do that. For leaving.” 

“He left?” 

“Yeah, came back covered in blood and wouldn’t tell me what happened, just shoved me aside and then cleaned up and acted like nothing happened.” He rubs his forehead, sipping on the water. “He just let bloodlust go, he didn’t stop when he should have. Then Metatron, I thought he was dead, then he was gone.” 

“Did you do those things he said you did? To find him?”

Sam’s head hangs in shame, nodding to your question, “Yeah. I couldn’t... He would’ve done it for me. I couldn’t just leave him.”

“I know, Sam. You’re right.” You tap your foot in quick succession, looking at the door. “C’mon, I want to show you something. I don’t know if it’s still there, but I want to try.” 

He follows you to Dean’s door, watching you as you push the door open. “He kept pictures in here when we were together at least.” 

The room is just how you expect it, guns hanging on the wall and a slice of half-eaten pie that sits atop a pile of papers. Your heart thrums painfully as you see the handwritten notes; Dean trying to work something out. 

You flip over a page in a notepad to see pictures of Dean and Mary, Mary and John, Sam, Dean, and Bobby, and two pictures of Sam and Dean. Sam has tears in his eyes as he looks at the pictures of himself and his brother. A smile at the memories forms before he looks at you, trying to seem as though you weren’t hurting in this situation too. 

“He looked at them a lot. He loves you, Sam. There is no doubt in my mind that he would do anything for you. I’m sure he wants to keep you as safe as you want him.” 

You ignore the feelings coming up when you don’t see the pictures that marked moments in your relationship with Dean. The ones that held bright smiles and love that slowly faded. Sam looks around the room, seeing the perfectly made bed. A piece of blue fabric, sticking out from under Dean’s pillow, catches his attention. Sam drops the photos back to the table, pulling the corner of the pillow up, and revealing the much-too-small-for-Dean t-shirt. 

“Oh.” Shock is evident in your voice when you whisper, “I forgot about that.”

“It’s yours?” Sam picks up the shirt, looking at the design, an arrow below the words ‘I’m with stupid’, and quirks his eyebrow up at you.

“Yeah, Dean bought it for me when we had our first date. Wouldn’t shut up until I put it on.” Sam has teary eyes when you look back at him, giving you a sad smile to go along with them. 

                                                                      Staying in Dean’s room when Sam tells you he’s going to give Dean his next dose of blood. Fingers grazing the bedsheets before you sit down, breathing in the smell you left behind; a dizzying oak and whiskey consuming your nose. 

Startled by Sam entering the room suddenly, wide eyes and panic written all over his face. “C’mon follow me and don’t make any noise.” 

You whisper in response to Sam’s low voice, “what happened?”

“Dean got out. He isn’t in the dungeon anymore.” Sam grabs a knife from the nightstand, peaking out the door to make sure the coast is clear. 

He slides against the wall, looking back at you to see you following his movement, a knife in your hand as well. He enters the kitchen just as Dean’s yell echoes through the bunker. 

“Come on, Sammy! Don’t you want to hang out with your big brother? Spend a little quality time? Or why don’t you leave little (Y/N) for me, promise I’ll leave you alone.”

Loud slamming comes after his jeering, doors hitting walls in Dean’s demonic search to kill Sam and most likely you if you can’t stop him. He motions to the keys on the counter, keeping his eye on the doorways, and clueing you in on his plan. 

The both of you rush to get to the control room and shut the power down to the whole place, red lights begin flashing, and an alarm goes with them. 

“Smart, guys! Locking the place down. Doors won’t open. I get it. But here’s the thing: I don’t want to leave! Not ‘til I find you.” 

You trip trying to get into position, a chair tumbling to the ground behind you, clattering to the ground. 

“Oh, by the way, you can, uh… blame yourselves for me getting loose. All that blood you pumped into me to make me human… Well. The less demon I was, the less the cuffs worked. And that Devil’s Trap? Well, I just walked right across it. It stung, but still.” 

Dean’s voice gets closer to you as he walks toward the control room. He flips the power back on when he is inside, the power surging back to life, and signaling your mad dash to pull the door closed. 

Your shaking hands lock it before throwing the keys to the side, sending a weary look at Sam. 

“That’s your big move?” Dean’s laugh is hollow, making a shiver run up your spine.

“Listen to me, Dean! We were getting close, okay? I know you’re still in there somewhere. Just let me finish the treatments.” Dean stays quiet, worrying both of you. “Dean?” 

You stumble back with Sam as a large splinter flies from the door. Dean continues to hit the door with the weapon he wields, making a crack in the wood that he can look through. 

“You act like I want to be cured. Personally, I like the disease.”  

With another swing of the hammer, more wood flies from the door. 

“Dean, stop! I don’t want to use this blade on you.” He is holding the demon knife, ready to defend himself when Dean comes at him. 

You watch as Dean mocks his words, an exaggerated frown on his lips. “That sucks for you, doesn’t it? ‘Cause you really mean that!” 

Shaky and unsure of your words, you speak your thoughts, “We won’t have a choice if you come after us.”

“Sure you will! And I know which one you’ll make. Isn’t that right? But see… Here’s the thing: I’m lucky. Oh, hell, I’m blessed! ‘Cause, there’s just enough demon left in me that killing you? Ain’t no choice at all.” 

Sam grabs your hand, pulling you away from the madman just as he gets all the way through the door. Your bare feet slap the ground as you run behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides. Breathing hard when you finally stand against one of the walls, trying to listen and watch for Dean. 

A scream gets stuck in your throat-- the noise more of a whimper than anything-- when Dean swings and misses Sam’s head with the hammer, lodging it in the wall. You watch Sam push the demon blade to Dean’s neck, the hammer stuck in the wall next to your head. 

You tear your eyes away at the heart-wrenching scene in front of you.

“Well… Look at you. Do it. It’s all you.” The knife hits the ground, Sam’s hand dropping, unable to do the thing he’s been trying to avoid: killing Dean. When he lunges, Sam steps back, his body hitting yours, the wall of muscle sending you to the ground like a rock. 

A few seconds of silence before Dean’s surprised grunt makes you turn your head, with the new player on your team appearing behind Dean. Sam helps you up, an apology coming out before you are on your feet. 

“It’s okay, Sam, I’m fine.” Your ankle twisted in a way you were sure was wrong and a black eye is inevitable with how his elbow was shoved into your face, but right now it’s about Dean and saving him. 

“It’s over.” Cas’ deep voice barrels over you, his grace glowing blue in his eyes. “It’s over, Dean.”

                                                                      Defeated and angrier than before, Dean yells and tries to thrash away from Cas, trying to get away from the chair in the dungeon as the two men strap him down once again. 

After a few hours of Dean screaming again, this time in pain as he gets stuck with a needle in his arm, he is slumped forward and breathing heavily, passed out from the last round. 

Sam stresses, looking at his worn-down brother. “What the hell are we doing to him, Cas? I mean, even after I gave him all that blood, he still said he didn’t want to be cured, that he didn’t want to be human.” 

“Well… I see his point. You know, only humans can feel real joy, but … also such profound pain. This is easier.” You nod along with the angel, understanding what he means and agreeing with his logical thinking. 

You look at Dean when his head rises, black eyes taking over before fading to the forest green you love so much. 

Sam unscrews the flask of holy water, waiting for another demonic outburst. “You look worried, guys.” 

Sam splashes Dean, hearing no sizzle or screams from Dean, he smiles. The first happy one you’ve seen since you’ve been back. “Welcome back, Dean.” 

The green orbs connect with yours, a twinge of regret on his face when he sees how run-down you look. When Sam unties Dean, he rubs his wrists and takes a step toward you, stopping when you step back. A searing pain shoots up your leg from your ankle when you step your full weight onto it, steading yourself with the wall. 

He looks hurt at your reaction but steps away as Sam helps you. “What happened? Jesus, when did you get a black eye?” 

You shrug Sam’s hands off you, ignoring his questions to look at Dean, trying to convey that you aren’t scared of him. “It wasn’t you, Dean. Sam fell into me.” 

He has his head lowered to his chest, defeat clear in his body language. Despite what anguish he had caused you, you wanted him to know that it was not his fault. 

                                                                      Sam helps Dean to his room while you and Cas sit in the library and look through the Book of Demonic Possession. You wait for Sam, tapping your fingers on the table, impatiently, until he appears. 

“Hey.” He reaches the stairs, no ounce of worry on his face. 

“How’s he doing?” You blurt out instead of any other questions. 

“He’s uh … He’s still a little out of it, but better, I think. I mean, I think this whole thing—the blood cure, and the … all of it—really wrecked him, you know? On the plus side, he’s hungry again, so I’m just going to go pick him up a big ol’ bag of crap food and stuff it in his face myself.”

Cas agrees, “Yeah. Sam? You realize one problem is solved, but one still remains. Dean is no longer a demon, that’s true. But the Mark of Cain… that, he still has. And sooner or later, that’s going to be an issue.”

You tried to ignore the deep red scar in the dungeon, hoping it would fade away as he was cured but no such luck to be had. 

“You know what, Cas? I’m beat, man. One battle at a time, you know? So I’m just gonna go grab my brother some cholesterol. And then, I’m gonna get drunk.”

“Ditto, can you pick me up something? A greasy burger sounds good right now.” Being drunk and full would be so nice after the day you’ve had.  

“Duh, I wouldn’t forget about you.” 

                                                                    You stand in front of Dean’s door, contemplating the idea of knocking and talking to the cured man. Sam hadn’t left that long ago, leaving you with Cas before he goaded you into taking the short walk to Dean’s room. 

With a deep breath, you let your knuckles hit the door, hearing his voice through the door. “Yeah?” 

You step inside, close the door and lean against it with your hands behind your butt, trying to keep your weight on your good leg. 

“Hi.” The bags under his eyes are worse than they were an hour ago, skin pale and flush while sitting on his bed, trying to look relaxed but you know him too well. “You look terrible.” 

Dean chuckles, a glint in his eyes, different-- better than before. “You know, it wouldn’t kill ya to lie.”  

You hum, looking at the once cream-colored carpet, now streaked with dirt from almost a century of use. Your fingers tap against the door, trying to get the right words out. “No, it wouldn’t but I’ve never lied to you before, why start now?” 

Dean stands, stepping in front of you. “Well, you, on the other hand, you… Look good.” 

“Thanks, Dean.” 

You raise your head. Dean’s face hardens at your face, hand going to your cheek. Turning your head into his hand, relishing the comfort that you’d longed for, tears stinging your closed eyes. He whispers apologies, bringing you closer and into his arms. 

“Did you ask Cas to heal you?” 

You shrug, shaking your head on his chest, “No. It’s stolen grace. I don’t want him to drain himself.” 

“Okay, sit down then. I want to see your ankle.” He is gentle with his words as he guides you to the chair, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

You wince when you sit down, biting down on your lip when he starts to roll your sweats up. Purple and blue blotches cover your foot, twitching away from Dean’s fingertips as they graze the swollen limb. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s a doozy.” You want to cry at the pet name but you focus on the pain. He rolls up the fabric so it stays in place, seeing more marks spreading up your leg. “You look like you were hit by a linebacker.” 

“I mean, compared to me, he is a linebacker so, checks out.” 

You get a hearty laugh from Dean, standing from his squatting position. “You got me there. I’m gonna get you an ice pack.” 

“You don’t have to. You don’t have to take care of me.” 

“(Y/N). Stop, I want to. You shouldn’t be in this position at all.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for what I did and said... Or didn’t say. I just want you to know that.” 

“Okay.” Slumping back into the chair and watching him leave, you think about how fast your life changed, for the better. But you love these boys. A family that chose you. And you left. In a time of need, hurt, and worry, you just tucked tail and ran, a coward. 

You cough through the first sob but when Dean reenters the room you are hyperventilating into your cries. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong? You’re gonna be fine, sweetheart.” 

You shake your head, trying to breathe, talk, and cry all at once. “No, I left.” 

 “Calm down, I don’t understand.” He sets the items down on the floor, squatting in front of you. “I know you left, I know why you left. I’m not angry with you.” 

“I-I-” You have to stop and collect yourself to continue. “I shouldn’t have.” 

“You know that’s what I wanted, right? I was too weak to tell you that you deserve more in every way possible so I didn’t tell you anything. And it worked, too well. I’m sorry I did that. Don’t be sorry for leaving, I made you do that.” 

“I missed you.” You wipe your nose with your sleeve, trying to stop the tears. “Not just when I left; I’ve never felt so alone with someone next to me. I missed you so much.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, baby.” He cups the back of your head, letting you stuff your face into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry. I love you and I’m so sorry.” 

Thinking you’d never hear those words from him again, you respond quickly. “I love you. I don’t want to leave again.” 

“You don’t have to.”

“Just don’t shut me out, please.” 

“I promise. I’m here for as long as you’ll have me, I’m not making that mistake again.” 

#dean winchester #demon!dean #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester angst #Sam Winchester #sammy #castiel one shot #castiel #supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural one shot #dean winchester is an idiot

[yuikomorii]

Heya! In which of the boys route do you think Yui was broken/hurt the most?

I always wanted to know which would be the worst scenario (route) for like.. an avarage girl irl . I know most girls would not survive there😅 but just wanted to know your opinion which of those 6 doors you would never open. Or 13 if we count all the characters.

// Since it's an otome game, it goes without saying that there will be a lot of plot armor and that the love interests can't really harm the heroine seriously throughout the route, regardless of what she does, because the plot would go nowhere like that. Most characters are jerks but not really that hard to handle, since they were known for scaring Yui rather than letting her get genuinely hurt. However there were certain Diaboys who were very scary, as it felt like they had no feelings of remorse or empathy.

Laito:

Can’t say that his HDB route is the worst thing Rejet has ever written (because it’s definitely not) but it baffled me how he was so okay with Yui breaking like that to the point where she lost all her will to live and only wanted to be set free from him. I mean, she literally tried to commit and he was just there not even intending to stop her bleeding veins despite being the one who cut them?? It’s true that in the Vampire Ending she doesn’t turn out that bad but after all, this is just because it’s fiction.

Kanato:

He was easier to understand than Laito because at least you were able to know that he had a soft spot for sweets and Teddy. Nevertheless, it was a bit too much how he kept stabbing Yui with the fork and a few chapters later, I’m pretty sure he stabbed Yui with a knife in more places as well. Still, it’s surprising how she turned out worse in his route, considering the fact that in the afterstory she kills innocent people—

Kou:

I love Kou but he was a literal demon in MB. I really hated how he made his fans bully Yui JUST FOR FUN. It wasn’t even any sort of punishment, he merely wanted to make her suffer. Another thing I couldn’t stand was how he kept putting Yui’s life in danger, only to make her prove her love. I understand wanting to test someone but it would have been way better if he actually saved Yui after seeing her do something dangerous. That way it would have proved that he cared for her yet he continued to watch her get hurt for him over and over again, without feeling any empathy. He was sorta redeemed at the end but yeah, most of his route was big yikes, especially since you wouldn’t have expected a cheerful and friendly idol like him to be such a wicked person.

Carla:

I like the Tsukinami family's desire to preserve their lineage but sorry, I must say that I find it repulsive that a 17-year-old would be forced to become pregnant out of the blue with strangers. I understand that Yui was partially to blame for Carla's anger and subsequent dungeon scene but that moment grossed me out sooo bad. She lost her will to live but Carla literally jumped on a depressed girl and was on the verge of rap€ing her, if his Endzeit didn’t kick in. He gets gradually better throughout his route but this scene left a sore taste in my mouth.

Kino:

Look, Kino is a great villain and a lot of fun, but his LE route was trash. Kino killed a child, mistreated Yui, abducted both Yui and Ayato, planned to sell Ayato to the church for execution, manipulated Yui and tortured Ayato. The pain he caused them both was immense and although I appreciated Yui calling him out, it's so sad that she was brainwashed. While it's true that Kino can be quite cute when he wants to, their romance was so rushed and forced because they didn't give us any reason why Yui would fall for him other than manipulation when Ayato, who was seen to care more about her than for himself, was right there. I wish they developed Kino’s feelings better, given that he straight up blackmailed Yui to become his, otherwise Ayato would had been killed, therefore Yui had no other choice but accept the situation. That’s why his CL route is way better.

I only mentioned 5 instead of 6 but that’s mostly because no other character came closer to them in terms of bad scenario. The rest of them felt decent in their routes for a game called Diabolik Lovers, lol.

#admin

[happyandticklish]

Breathless

Notes: Commission for @ssnicker-doodless. Holy hell is this ever late, and I am super appreciative of your understanding while I was working on it through mountains of homework ;-; But I had to pull through for the sake of lee Brett, which is a worthy cause that I think we can all get behind😤 I loosely incorporated some of your headcannons as well, as those were incredible and I needed to put them into use somehow. I hope you enjoy!!

Summary: Brett and Reagan experiment with their first real session. 

Brett Hand was used to feeling helpless.

It was a common occurrence in his life and as such, he had forced himself to become accustomed to it. There were some things in life that were out of his control, and while he hadn’t yet found a healthy way to cope with that information, he had turned to denial instead to try to block out the anxious storm brewing inside of him. When the whole team decided to secretly inject him with truth serum without telling him one day, he took a deep breath and powered through it after sharing many a detail of his first time that was quickly dragged out of him. When Reagan cancelled on their dinner plans he had spent hours arranging for them because there had been an accident in the lab, he had simply smiled and sent back a text telling her not to worry. When every exam left him gritting his teeth in frustration as he furiously rose his grade to an A for his family, he told himself that life wasn’t about just facts and memorization. 

Brett Hand was a helpless individual so often that it had become comfortable at this point.

Yet, as Reagan tugged the last remaining strap around his wrists, he felt that same sense of telltale helplessness. Only this time, he couldn’t shove it down as usual. It wrapped around his insides, making him squirm uncomfortably in his seat as he tried to breathe normally.

Unfortunately, he was dating possibly one of the smartest people he had ever met, so it didn’t take her long to notice his nervousness. “Are you okay? You’re looking a little pale there.”

He nodded, the motion jerky and tense. “Of course! Definitely okay! I did ask for this after all, so it would be weird if I wasn’t okay, right?” He was more convincing himself than anyone else. “I mean, I like this kind of thing, so why would any of this be a problem for me?”

Her face had fallen in understanding and guilt twinged in his gut. “Brett, if you’re not okay with this—”

“I am,” Brett insisted. Not technically a lie. He was okay with this. He should be okay with this. He had hardly been able to contain his excitement when Reagan had readily agreed to his request, and had spent hours fantasizing about it in the weeks leading up to the event. Now it was finally happening and his incompetent lump of a brain was ruining everything for him. “I’m fine, Reagan, really. Just some first-time jitters, that’s all. I’m sure it will go away once you get started.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly still concerned, but consented, standing up to go back to her mysterious table of tools she hadn’t let him look at yet. They had decided to conduct the session in her lab, as that was one of the few places where a theoretical torture set-up wouldn’t look out of place. The bondage in place was rudimentary, more for Brett’s sake than anything. His hands were tied firmly behind the leather back chair, but other than that he was free to squirm as much as he wanted. The lighting in the room was dimmed to create atmosphere, and across from him was a table with a billowy sheet covering an array of different tools.

The setting all felt very dungeon-y, which had sent a thrill through Brett when he had first seen it. Now, it was making him realize how easy it would be to keep him down here forever if Reagan so pleased. He was pretty sure these walls were soundproof too. Again, a would-be benefit that, in the wrong hands, could end catastrophically for him.

Not that he was worried Reagan was going to kill him, per se. But there were other risks. A safeword is a difficult thing to comprehend in-between bouts of giggling laughter. And who knows what objects Reagan had picked out for him. He was fully clothed at the current moment but he knew that was bound to change later on. Being tied up, completely exposed, with no idea of how far things could go…

He squeezed his eyes shut as his thoughts spiraled. Calm down, Brett. It’s just tickling. You like tickling.

When he opened them, Reagan had turned back around with her hands held suspiciously behind her back.

“What’s that?” he asked, trying for casual as though he was not tied to a chair and was instead sitting comfortably on Reagan’s bed with zero stakes involved. He shifted in his bindings, trying to get a better look. “Nothing too intense, I hope?”

“Trust me, you’re gonna love it,” she said, kneeling beside him. She had that crazy scientist look on her face, the one that said she had just discovered a new idea she wanted to try out and someone was going to suffer for it. There was an uncertainty to it though, as though she were out of her element. “I have to admit, I did a bit of research to prep for this and found some common tools people use online. I just… we don’t normally do this in-depth of sessions and I wanted to make sure it was special.”

She was nervous. That made him feel a slight bit better about this whole thing. Her words and her demeanor conflicted though. He wanted to assure her that this was very sweet of her, but he couldn’t help the anxiety prickling inside of him at the thought of just what kind of ‘research’ she did. He had spent many nights delving into that side of the internet, and some of the devices they used looked intense. Really intense. Instinctively, he tugged on his bonds. They held. Obviously, as there was no way perfectionist Reagan was going to create shitty bondage. He tried again, just to make sure, his mind running rampant with scenarios. What if it really, really tickled, and he couldn’t get free, and he was forced to just sit there and take it? What if she didn’t understand how bad it was?

Brett yelped when she started to pull her hand out and she paused, face freezing in alarm. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was no playing that off.

“Brett,” Reagan asked slowly, dropping something on the ground. A quick glance down revealed it to be a toothbrush. Disappointment and relief tangled up inside of him at the thought that it probably wouldn’t be used on him now. “Look, if something is bothering you, you need to tell me. Because I’m not going to consent to do something to you that is so obviously making you uncomfortable. You can’t even look me in the eyes right now!”

“I can too,” he muttered, staring determinedly at the floor. “Besides, this is supposed to happen! I’ve watched all the videos for it, and the, uh, ‘victim’ always feels nervous beforehand. That’s supposed to be the fun of it!”

“Is this fun?”

No. The answer came to him instinctively before he could think about it, and he shoved it down as he had been doing the entire ride over here up till now. Because he had watched the videos. He had watched people scream and beg for release and be given none, and though he knew it was all part of some elaborate act, he could never shake the thought that one day that would be him. It was what had prevented him from telling past lovers about this interest of his, and it was what was preventing him from letting Reagan go through with this now.

“Brett.”

“No! Yes! I don’t know!” Behind the chair, Brett fiddled with his fingers, keeping his panic at bay. He exhaled shakily, forcibly calming himself down. It’s just Reagan. “Look. I love you, Reagan. I know you would never do anything to hurt me or that I wouldn’t want. You made that very clear and I don’t want to make it seem like I’m doubting you, because I’m definitely, definitely not! I just… this is new to me, too. I think maybe it was too much too fast and I don’t think I can handle that right now. Not like this.”

He wiggled his shoulders to indicate the bondage. Embarrassed heat crawled up the back of his neck. Probably, he should have had this conversation earlier so he didn’t have to share such an intimate confession while tied up and vulnerable.

He felt a touch on his hand and flinched—regrettably as Reagan pulled back almost instantly. This is exactly what he had been trying to avoid. “I’m sorry, I—I rushed this,” she said, tone unbearably apologetic. “I only agreed to all of this because I thought you’d be into it, but you’re right, it’s too soon. We can try another time, or not at all, or… I don’t know, whatever you want. Here, let me untie that for you—”

“Wait!”

They both paused. Brett coughed, the blush crawling down his neck unhelpfully. “Well… that is… I didn’t mean I’m not ready for all of it.”

Reagan sat back on her heels, frowning. Confusion was an odd emotion to see displayed on the usual know-it-all. “Oh. Okay.” She paused. “I’m sorry, what are you saying? You do want to be tickled?”

Tickled. The way the word sent giddy butterflies swooping through his stomach made Brett more and more sure of his decision. He inhaled shakily, needing to phrase this correctly so as not to hurt anyone’s feelings involved. “Well, I don’t not want to be tickled. But I don’t think I can handle all of… well. That.”

He nodded down towards the discarded electric toothbrush which sat in abandoned offense at his words.

“Maybe we could… I don’t know. Try something softer. Gentler. Just for now, anyway. I do still want to do all of that.” He paused, daring a glance at her. Not angry, so that was a plus. “Just not for today. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

It was a relief to get the confession off his chest. Terrifying, but a relief. He waited for the inevitable rejection he was used to or at the very least the derisive snort of judgement that Reagan was never shy about withholding. Instead, Reagan merely grabbed the toothbrush off of the floor and stood up to place it back over on the metal table—harmless, now. Then, she walked back over behind him, calmly gripping the back of the chair. Her knuckles brushed against his shoulder blades and he shivered at the sudden touch.

“Uh, Reagan?” he asked, a nervous smile slipping onto his face once more. He didn’t appreciate the silent game they were playing here. “Did you hear what I said? Are we good?”

“You know, the very first time I met you, I didn’t think you were very bright.”

Okay. Not where he’d thought this was going. “Well I mean, that’s not entirely—”

“And then I got to know you and realized that hey, this guy has some brains after all,” Reagan went on, ignoring his protests. “In fact, he may be one of the only halfway competent members on this team.”

Brett furrowed his brow. “Thank you? I think?”

“And as we grew even closer, I realized you were actually pretty smart, in your own weird Brett way that I could never accomplish no matter how hard I tried. Which is why I cannot for the life of me understand why you’d ever think that I would be annoyed by something like this.”

Oh. Oh. Brett’s shoulders slackened as he realized he was not, in fact, being scolded, at least not in a way that mattered. “I—I mean, I didn’t think you would be annoyed per se—”

She interrupted him, glaring down at him over the chair. “If I ever do anything to make you uncomfortable, especially when it comes to stuff as serious as this, you’ll tell me?”

He paused. “Y-Yeah, I mean, of course.”

“Brett.”

“I promise, Reagan. Seriously.”

“Good.” Reagan exhaled in relief, stretching her hands in front of her as she cracked both her knuckles. “Now that that’s done with…”

Brett stiffened as he felt hands coming around to unbutton his jacket from behind, carefully undoing each button with an almost awkward precision. They had been together for several months now, but Reagan still approached him carefully at first like he was going to bite her if she made any sudden movements. Brett probably would have been hurt by it if he didn’t know by now that that was just how Reagan was. After a while, she would relax into the touch, into touching him, and everything would be fine.

Which reminded him that she was touching him which meant that most likely this was going to lead to…

Anticipation kicked into high gear once more, panic bubbling gently at the back of his brain. This time, however, it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt exciting. He squirmed in his seat, unable to help it.

“Is this okay?” Her voice was right by his ear and his breath hitched in his throat. This was really happening. Weakly, he nodded, and he could practically feel her smile. “Good. Because I’d hate to have put all my notes to waste.”

“N-Notes?” he managed to croak out in confusion, scrunching back in the chair when she undid the last button. He could feel the cool breeze of the fans in the corner blowing against his bare skin and he shivered.

“You didn’t think I came into this unprepared, did you?” She cocked a brow, bringing her hands up to rest against his ribs. Just sitting there, not moving. A simple reminder of what she could do to him. “This might be our first real session, but it’s certainly not the first time I’ve had the pleasure of making you helpless under my fingers, and I’ve been keeping a mental record of those experiences, as any good scientist does. I’ve memorized your spots, Brett. I know which methods have you screaming and which have you begging for more, and which do both. And, most importantly, I know exactly which you like.”

Brett’s heart had stopped beating in his chest some time ago. It must have, anyways, because he couldn’t seem to feel its presence there anymore. All he could focus on was her fingers, two of her fingers to be precise, which had set subtly into motion while she talked. They touched down gently on his ribs, sliding up into slow, methodical circles under his arms. It was unfair how much that simple gesture tickled and he felt the first beginning giggles start to rise in his chest. He refused to break this early, however, so he thinned his lips together in resistance, his cheeks puffing out from the exertion of it.

“This is how it starts. Just two fingers, ever-so-slowly tracing, reminding you of just how ticklish you can be and how you can’t do a damn thing about it.” The circles climbed higher and Brett followed their path, arching back in his chair as he tried to move out of their line of fire. “For all you know, I’ll just stay like this forever. Endless teasing. Sounds fun, doesn’t it?”

This was new. Not the teasing, per se. She had done that before many times, usually at Brett’s insistence that it was fine, he didn’t mind it. But she hadn’t teased him like this. Not with confidence. Not with that sadistic edge in her voice.

He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on his breathing so that it didn’t stutter when her fingertips finally landed under his arms. “R-Reagan…”

“Is teasing not okay?” She scratched under his arms lightly, one nail at each side that kept up a horrendously persistent pace. “Sorry, I’m just trying to figure out what is or isn’t allowed here.”

“T-Teasing’s fine.” The words came out in a rush as Brett held back the grin that threatened to take over his face if he didn’t do something about it.

“Mm. And this?”

Brett jerked at the addition of two more fingers, the chair squeaking out in protest as his movement scooched it. Okay, all good, just a tad more ticklish than he was expecting things to be right off the bat. Giggles were slipping out now, choked and muffled as he tried to hold them back. There was no real point to the farce, but he couldn’t help the way his body instinctively held onto the laughter each time as though letting it out would reveal some failure on his part.

He nodded quickly, deciding that complete sentences weren’t smart under the circumstances. He kept shifting in his seat, his shoulders rolling back and then forwards as he tried to dissuade her fingers from their tasks.

When all five fingers descended under his arms, he squeaked, a stupid noise that he wished he could grab back and shove down his throat but it was too late. Reagan chuckled, amusement underlying her words. "Tickle?"

Red tinged the ends of Brett’s ears. Obviously, he wanted to say, but he had a feeling that would be unwise considering his position. He tried to open his mouth to respond, but each time she would spider over the skin by his topmost rib and his words crumpled into a fit of panicked giggles. He jerked against the chair in frustration, trying to ignore how much it tickled already. 

This was how it always was. That endless conflict of desire vs need. He needed the tickling to end but everything in him wanted it to continue. He tried to force his body to understand that he liked this, but it refused to stay still under her gentle ministrations. His stomach was in knots as he tried to reconcile the nervous excitement that made him want to scream or break out of these bonds or something.

“This is one of your favorite spots,” Reagan noted, upkeeping her gentle pace. Her tone had that tinge of pride and excitement in it that she used when she was unveiling one of her latest discoveries. He wasn’t sure how to feel about being one. “At first I thought you hated it from how much you’d try to get away and insist that it was ‘too much’. However, after examining the data, I’ve realized that you expose this area both during tickling and outside of it far more than is necessary. So then, I tried shying away from the area when tickling you to see if you’d provoke me to move there. Do you want to know the results?”

Absolutely none of this was fair and he was loving it. Since when did she become so good at this? “Oh my god, Reagan, do we really have to go through thihihIHIS—shit!”

Reagan merely raised her voice to accommodate the shrieking laughter that accompanied the spidering fingers under what she could reach of his armpits. “Every time, without fail, you would direct my hands towards there, whether you realized it or not. I mean, really, Brett. Begging me not to tickle you there when I’m nowhere near it?”

Brett had not thought he could blush any harder than he was, but evidently, his body had other plans. He felt like his skin was on fire, the sensation blooming over the rest of his skin and creating an embarrassing vermillion tint. He felt like some kind of human tomato, which is a thought he would have found undignified if he wasn’t so focused on being embarrassed by other things.

I mean, what kind of person keeps notes on your tickling habits? He had always assumed he was being slick about this particular interest. To find out that Reagan had not only noticed his behavior but had been keeping tabs on it without his awareness was unbelievably mortifying—and a tad flattering, if he was being completely honest.

Due to this compromised state of mind, he was running short on comebacks so he merely shook his head, keeping his gaze directed firmly at the floor to hide even a modicum of the effect she was having on him.

“No?” The fake sympathy was practically palpable in the air between them, sending goosebumps up the back of Brett’s neck. “So you don’t want me to stay here for the next…. Hmm. Does ten minutes sound good to you?”

Ten minutes. Dread crept its icy fingers down his chest, kicking his heart rate into high gear. No way, absolutely not, not there.

And yet.

There was no way he’d be able to handle something like that, so why did he feel so damn giddy at the concept?

Reagan seemed to take his lack of response as agreement if the way her hands refused to leave their perch was any indication. The laughter that had started as mere giggles at first was growing more frantic as time went on, whines and shrieks entering into the mix as he struggled violently against his bonds. The safeword rested on the tip of his tongue, ready if he needed it, but they had barely been at this for more than five minutes. There was no way he was giving in now.

Even if Reagan was driving him insane. Even if this tickled more than anything should have a right to tickle. Even if he was spending every second tied up planning out revenge scenarios because this wasn’t fair.

Though he was pretty sure Reagan had been joking at first, the digital clock resting on the desk across from them displayed the passing of five, six, eight—twelve minutes. Brett, breathless from struggling and laughter, was on the verge of giving in when her hands finally stilled. He exhaled a sigh that was half-relief, half-disappointment at the break.

“How was that?”

He glared at her, though the gesture lacked any real venom. “Horrible.”

“Liar.” She poked him in the side and he yelped, twisting away from her finger. “How was that, really?”

“Ticklish,” Brett admitted after a minute, and then with a bit of hesitance, “and fun. Just a little. Possibly.”

Reagan came out from behind him with a self-satisfied hum, coming to kneel by his lap. He forced his legs not to curl up off instinct. “That’s what I thought. You’re unbelievably obvious—it’s endearing, I’ll admit. Like dating a puppy.”

He frowned. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to be nice or if you’re making fun of me.”

“Ah, c’mon, it can be both.” She placed her hands on either of his knees carefully and he barely restrained a flinch. Don’t give yourself away, Brett. “Now, that was a perfect example of a strategy that has you begging, even if you enjoyed it thoroughly—”

“Hey—!”

“But—” she continued, squeezing his knee lightly and choking off any further reply from him. “There is another spot that you love far more, even if it is not as ticklish as the other. Now, places like your sides or stomach work well for results, but nothing beats out this from what I’ve seen. This is the one area that, unbelievably, never makes you beg no matter how much it tickles.”

Anticipation was crowding out panic at this point in his mind, and Brett forced any show of enjoyment off of his face. Being tickled was one thing, but there was no need to let Reagan know how eager he was for this kind of treatment.

“You are being unnecessarily sadistic about this,” he huffed, averting his gaze when that prompted a snort from her. 

“Yeah well, you did assign a mad scientist to tickle you.” Both hands were on his knees now. His heart leaped into his threat when she squeezed once more. “Not a very well-calculated decision on your part.”

“Well, that depends on your goal.”

“Mm. And just what is your goal here, Brett Hand?”

He couldn’t say it. Not now, not with her fingers crawling around the sides of his knees, nails slipping underneath. Not when she was looking at him like that. But he couldn’t explain any of that to her, so instead, he allowed himself to be swept up in sensation as her fingers slowly untangled his nervous system, and laughed. 

Which is what he continued to do for the next hour that they spent down in her lab until the laughter slowly transformed into an exhausted wheeze of delight.

Maybe it wasn’t the “proper” session he had imagined for their first time, but in a way, it was so much better than his expectations could have ever hyped up.

They could always make use of the “dungeon’s” full potential later, after all. 

#inside job #tickle fic #brett hand #reagan ridley #breagan #tickling #fanfiction #commission #commissions

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 3. Snowballing [B2]

Pairing: Snape x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Setting: Hogwarts, Snape’s Office

Continuation of: Prompt 2. Restless Waiting

A/N: Well, let's continue the story we started yesterday, shall we? 🤭 Gosh, the prompts just matched up so figured I'd go for it 😂👏 On another note, I really want to thank you all for being here, it means a lot and I hope you'll stay all through this journey 🥰❤

Tags/TW’s: Half A Love Confession, Hugging, Fear Of Loss/Hurting, Implied Past Torture, Mentions Future Torture, Selfberating, Worry For Loved One, Holding Hands, Jealousy, Confessions In Thoughts

Word Count: 1.5k+

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“Severus, Severus?” I crawled forward while still holding his head up. He was unmoving, his breathing uneven and far too shallow. I cradled his head in my lap, stroking away the black tendrils of damp hair from his pale face with trembling fingers. He nearly wheezed out his breaths; I undid the top buttons of his coat and shirt before tugging loose the tightly wrapped cravat to free up space around his throat. My fingers trembled but I had no time to think about what I was doing.

“Severus,” I exhaled, trying to find some semblance of a coherent thought or figure out what to do, what was wrong, what in the cauldron had happened to the man in my lap. It didn���t help that my heart ran rampant, and my mind turned into a fumbling nonsensical muscle of not a single reasonable thought when the man I loved was near — more so apparently when the situation turned dire.

I looked him over, trying to see any sign of damage, physical hurt, or any wounds but I couldn’t see anything wrong. I couldn’t heal what I didn’t know of, I wasn’t a skilled healer or even slightly good at it. What do I do? What do I do? What the bloody hell do I do?! “Severus, please, what happened?” I asked even if he couldn’t reply and adjusted his head, making sure his airways were clear while he lay atop my folded legs. I thank my chosen mother for teaching me the muggle ways of doing things, her being in the medical field and her constant need to teach seemed a great gift in the moment. His hand slid from his stomach to the floor, an ominous thud in the gloomy dark while his breathing evened out, drawing a sigh of relief from me.

I held his head steady and tried to make my head function to figure out what to do while my heart seemed to pound in my chest. I’d never been so close to him, he was so beautiful and powerful yet there he lay, knocked out and atop my lap in a cold dungeon. Cold! I reached for my wand, only to look back to see it on the sofa. Bloody hell!

As gently as I could, I placed his head on the floor and turned to reach for it. I flicked it, setting a roaring fire ablaze in the hearth, before casting the levitation spell to move Severus to the sofa where I gently sat him down. Slipping my wand into my cloak's inner pocket, I grabbed a pillow and propped it gently under his head. His neck was sticky with cold sweat and his breathing turned harsher yet deeper.

I sat down on my knees beside him, watching the profile of his face, the hooked nose, the tucked chin, the only barely raised outline of his thin lips. He was such a beautiful vision, despite his ashen skin. Belinna! Get your head straight! The man is obviously bloody hurt and you’re-, what? Daydreaming about his profile?! Get it together you schoolgirl-hearted idiot!

“I should get Minerva, she’ll know what to do.” Yet, I didn’t want to leave him there. Alone, unwatched. “This is snowballing out of control… I’m snowballing… Just like father said I always would.” The memory came unwelcome, my father by birth yelling at me to keep my emotions in check, that I would ruin my magic with all my feelings and snowball out of control. I’d tried my hardest to lock away my emotions after that, I had only been eight years old but the wound was too deep to ever fully heal. I never dared reach out or explore my inner thoughts or feelings after that.

It wasn’t until seeing Severus, during the Valentia Ball in my seventh year, that I had another uncontrollable emotion. It hadn’t been proper, I hadn’t acted on it or spoken a word of it. He had never noticed me anyway, me being right there in the middle as usual — except, of course, at the ball, I’d been on the outskirts without a partner. There, yet not part of it fully, only dancing one dance with Daniel Wallasin halfway through the night. Unnoticed.

But I watched him, every second I got that night, I watched him with a trembling sensation through my entire body. I couldn’t do anything about it, still couldn’t. So I sat there, not knowing what to do, not wanting to leave him despite some far-off thoughts about fetching someone to help. I grasped his chilly hand, gently tucking my fingers between his and squeezing a bit, while I remained on my knees by the sofa — just watching him breathe for long moments while feeling utterly stupified.

His eyebrows twitched, the cold fingers between my own tensing for a second before hardening around me. His chest rose and sank quicker, as if he were coming out of the unconscious state. “Severus?” I whispered, leaning in closer while rising from sitting on my haunches to kneeling. “You’re safe,” I continued and squeezed his hand tighter. “Save…her…” he murmured, his voice barely audible yet the pain within was palpable. It cut through me, hearing him speak of saving another woman, it shouldn't have mattered as I had no right to feel jealous yet it sliced right through me. “Save who?” I asked quietly, leaning in closer to hear but his hand softened and his breathing turned even once more before I even had a chance to help him. I knew I would, even if it felt like a centaur had kicked me in the chest, I would do anything for him despite receiving nothing in return. If he asked me to use my body as a shield against dragon fire for someone he loved, curse me, I would...

At some point I must have dosed off, the next thing I knew my head was slung off his soft chest and I toppled backwards with a shriek at the sudden motion — sending me flying into the coffee table behind me with a thud and leaving an instant pounding in the back of my head. By Merlin , I swore while trying to untangle my limbs from the half-curled-up state and getting my bearings again, not sure where I was for a moment.

I looked up, eyes clouded by tears from the sudden hurt while the holly I’d attached to each corner of the coffee table tugged at my hair — the little leaves and twigs it was made of snagging the strands. “Belinna?” His voice was gruff — rough and shallow. “You’re safe,” he exhaled a second later as I got myself up into a seated position on the cold floor only slightly softened by a rug beneath me.

I had no time to look up before I was crushed against him, his arms wrapped me up in the softest of strong embraces and my heart must have given out for a second. I couldn’t even hear the roaring of my pulse, everything just turned absolutely quiet at that moment when I, for the first time, felt his warmth. It was exquisite, beyond compare, far more wonderful than any of my imagines or dreams. He was just everything, perfection. I sighed deeply involuntarily as my heart warmed as if a flood wave had drowned it in him.

“I thought you to be dead,” he whispered by my ear and the world came crashing in at full speed and volume. “Dead? Why would I be dead?” I asked, my trembling fingers grasping at the cloak over his back while his fingers pressed into me harder. “He saw,” Severus whispered in a heart-wrenching tone. “He saw you in my mind.” “Who? What are you talking about?” “I have cursed you.” The words were darker, grimmer, than any I had ever heard. “Severus, what are you talking about?” “You must hide, leave, hide,” he said in a near rush of words so unlike his usual way of speaking. “Hide?” “The Dark Lord, he will stop at nothing to reach you now.” The urgency of his voice, the depth of something spine-stiffening dark, it clawed at my ears but confusion took the reins.

The Dark Lord? What does he want with me? And what’s this nonsense about seeing me in his mind? I don’t understand. But I couldn’t ask the questions when Severus held me so tight, seated atop the sofa with me between his legs while he nearly held me up off the floor, my knees just barely making contact with the rug's fibres. “Love, I have cursed you with torture,” he murmured in a broken voice while his entire body began to shake around me. "All this time, I failed..." “L-Love?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper as I couldn't comprehend the term coming from him. “I did all I could to keep you out, keep you away, but you never left… Why didn’t you just leave? ” he nearly snarled toward the end when I felt his nose bury itself in the crook of my neck. “I did all things possible to keep you away.” To keep me away? But, you haven't done anything to me? It’s like I don’t exist sometimes and it hurt— Oh…

...To Be Continued...

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A/N: It's getting a bit exciting, huh? 👀 Also, I can feel the Christmas stress now 😂 December is always a mess of too many things to do, yet I willingly and happily host a giant event that requires a minimum of 4 hours a day on average from me, let's hope this year has NO SURPRISES *knock on wood* I don't have the time or energy for any surprises of the negative or time-consuming kind this year. Last year was its own sort of personal hell toward the end - I want none of that this year (you hear me universe? I'll whoop your galaxy tush if you spring something on me this year too!) and I hope you'll all have a super nice, warm, calm and happy December too! ❤❤❤

Q: What Alan Rickman movie do you watch each Christmas? A: I always watch Die Hard around Christmas (IT'S A CHRISTMAS MOVIE, KAY?) and absolutely love it - the last few years I've also watched Sense & Sensibility (and Pride & Prejudice but that's not an Alan movie but it is my all-time fav movie even if it's lacking in the Alan department - same for The Holiday, Also a tradition for Christmas) and I've previously always watched Robin Hood too - I mean he's such an awesome sheriff and he plays that part perfectly 😂👏

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[Dec:2023]

#rickmas2023 #rickmas #alan rickman #snape fic #christmas fic #rickmaniac #pro snape #severus snape #snape x OC #professor snape #We're building an ice rink and got lots of snow now btw! December is really decembering!

[jeannineee]

There are too little Ruhn fins on here so please Mi’Lady! Angst or fluff with Ruhn…. I have no ideas but…. you could try to base it off songs?

Like ‘Love me like there’s no tomorrow’ by Queen or idk your choice!

You’re an incredible writer! I swear no presssure to do it.

thank you!

There’s No Tomorrow

Ruhn Danaan x Reader

a/n: I hope I did this right??

Reader and Ruhn are mates, this is reader reflecting on the days leading up to Ruhn getting imprisoned by the Asteri.

Based on ‘Love Me Like There’s No Tomorrow’ by Freddie Mercury.

warnings: canon-typical violence, fluff, angst, brief mentions of sex, (18+ honestly)

PART TWO

You had to kill the conversation, you always had the upper hand…

“We have to do this, princess,” Ruhn said, pressing his lips to the top of your head as he embraced you.

Nausea rolled in your gut, panic and fear gnawing at you bones. You clung to Ruhn, burying your face in his chest. “Don’t leave me. I have a bad feeling about all of this.”

Ruhn didn’t respond, knowing that nothing he could say would reassure you. You didn’t speak either. You knew what he needed to do. They had to stop the Asteri. They had to.

Ruhn tightened his grip, attempting to soothe your worries through the mating bond. He was scared, too. But he didn’t say it out loud. The two of you stayed like that all night, clinging to each other, no certainty in the future.

Got caught in love and stepped in sinking sand, you had to go and ruin all our plans…

“We’ll get married, when this is over,” Ruhn casually told you the next morning, a wide grin on his perfect face.

Your eyes widened, tears welling in your eyes as you nodded in agreement. “Y/n Danaan has a nice ring to it,” you said as you straddled his waist.

“It does,” Ruhn agreed, deftly lifting your oversized t-shirt over your head, peppering kisses along any skin he could reach.

But we have one more day together, so love me like there’s no tomorrow…

You spent the entire day in bed with your mate, making love to him. Kissing and exploring every inch of his body, burning him into your memory.

You knew him like the back of your hand. Could recognize his voice in crowded room. Could recognize his footsteps as they padded across the wooden floor.

You would know him without your sight, your hearing. You would know him through the bond in your chest, in your soul, that calls to him when he’s gone, and revels in his presence when he’s near.

You needed him. Your love. Your mate. Your mate. Your mate.

Hold me in your arms, tell me you mean it…

Ruhn stood with you in the foyer of your shared home, both of your faces red and streaked with tears.

Ruhn’s voice broke as he said, “I’ll be back before you know it.” He pulled you flush against him, breathing you in, squeezing you so tightly you could hardly move.

This is our last goodbye, and very soon it will be over…

It wasn’t enough. Wasn’t nearly enough. You wanted to scream, beg, cry. Wanted him to stay. “I love you. So much,” you uttered between sobs, tears soaking his shirt.

“I love you,” he replied immediately, taking the necklace from around his neck, placing it around yours. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

You both knew it was a promise he couldn’t keep.

God knows I’ve learnt to play the lonely man, I’ve never felt so low in all my life…

You sat beside Declan, watching the cameras in horror as the Asteri dragged Ruhn and Hunt to their dungeons.

They would be tortured, maimed, broken.

“We’ll have to ruin some of the ink, this time around,” Rigelus had told your mate.

Ruhn was ushered around the corner, the camera footage ceasing.

Then the mating bond went silent.

#Ruhn Danaan x reader #Ruhn Danaan #smut #fluff #angst #crown prince of the valbaran fae #crescent city smut #crescent city #Ruhn x reader #asteri #crescent city angst #HOSAB #hoeab

[tetsupeach]

All Must Descend

prince bakugou x f!reader

summary - you pass an eventful night in the dungeon as bakugou reckons with what your appearance means for stability at court. sir kirishima shows his hand.

cws - game of thrones au, same tone as the show. murder, violence, political intrigue, smut, magic, old gods, new gods, choking, true love, lore, allusions to torture, prophecy, reader has brown eyes. dom!bakugou. sub!reader.

chapter 1 | chapter 2 - updates on fridays

please have an age in your bio and be 18+ before interacting with this fic. reblogs/comments appreciated, and encouraged.

_____________________________________________________________

Prince Bakugou kicks the dusty path in the garden, frowning so hard that deep caverns are forged in his brow, when Kirishima finds him.

“That bad?” He asks quietly.

“I don’t even recognize her.” Bakugou says in a low growl. “She says it won’t rain until we have the churches blessing, and we can’t get gods grace without Amathar’s heir, without her true power my power is fuckin’ useless apparently.” Kirishima nods. “She just repeats it over and over again, Gods Grace,” he mutters, “It’s every fuckin’ word out of her mouth. Maybe my whole family’s crazy, maybe the stories are true, that every leader who sits on the throne of Yuuei is destined for goddamn madness.”

He kicks the gravel path again, the dust gathering at the bottom of his more court appropriate clothing, simple for a prince, but still obviously made of the finest materials, a pair of dark brown trousers, a loose white shirt and leather boots. There's a ceremonial jeweled sword at his hip that he doesn’t take his hand off of while he paces.

“You aren’t.” Kirishima says fiercely. “I’d stake my life on it. And your power is more than enough, you’re unmatched on the battlefield, even when you’re not wielding holy fire.” Bakugou shrugs off the praise, not meeting his friend’s eyes.

“What does it say that I don’t want to walk around my own fuckin’ castle without bein’ armed,” he looks up at the sky, dappled with diamond twinkling stars. Kirishima sighs.

“Court’s dangerous, right now, but not for you, Bakugou-”

“I’m not worried about me,” he says, pain creeping into his voice like ivy up a wall, “I’m worried about you, about the people I love, and the people,” he gestures to the city, “The people out there. They’re starvin’ and the only thing I can get the Queen to say about it is that when we find Amathar’s bastard things will get better.” Bakugou spits on the ground. “And now I gotta face that girl, from today. My men killed her family. What the fuck am I supposed to say to her about that?”

“All you can do is tell the truth.” Kirishima reaches out and touches his friend's upper arm. “All you can do is tell her you’re sorry, which you are, and that you’ll do what you can for her.”

“How is she?” Bakugou asks and Kirishima thinks again of the sound of your aching dry sobs, bouncing off the walls of the dungeon.

“Afraid.” Kirishima says quietly. “She’s terrified.”

“My mother wants to meet her.” Bakugou says very quietly. “I convinced her to wait until we’d conducted the ritual to see if she’s a descendent of Nahelenia.”

“I talked to her,” Kirishima says, “I don’t think she’s a spy, or anything at all even. She was probably just lashing out at us because she’s afraid.” Bakugou nods, a hand coming to rest over his heart.

“I can still feel the way she was holdin’ onto me as we rode into the city. I can’t,” He presses his lips together, “I can’t, I don’t know what to say to her. Of course she fuckin’ hates me, but I, I feel like I owe it to her to make sure she lives through this.” He looks out across the moonlight garden, white flowers practically growing in the blue light.

“Well, you do.” Kirishima shrugs. “She’s just not making it easy. I’ll take her down to see what might await her, if she doesn’t behave, and that’ll help. But you could always try being,” Kirishima searches for the right words. “Being kind, to her.” Bakugou groans.

“I can’t accommodate her mouth,” He shakes his head, “Or it’ll get her killed. I gotta break her for her own safety.”

“Well and,” Kirishima grins, “As far as problems go, at least she’s one with a pretty face huh?”

“Don’t wanna hear shit about it,” Bakugou starts and Kirishima flashes his palms.

“I’m just saying, maybe once she understands her place here, she’ll be able to show you a little gratitude-” Bakugou swats at his friend. “Bakugou, forgive me, but I’ve never seen a woman ride on your horse.”

“I’m not talkin’ about her.” Bakugou snaps. “I didn’t want her holdin’ your sorry ass at knifepoint again, speakin’ of, if you think we’re not gonna talk about how some peasant girl got the drop on you you’re out of your goddamn mind.” Kirishima blushes.

“I,” he thinks about it, “No there’s not way around it I uh, I underestimated them. None of the women have ever resisted us before. I wonder where she learned to fight.” He pauses, surveying the gardens, attempting to change the subject. “It’s so green here in the palace , it’s easy to forget the troubles of the outside.” Bakugou nods, then an a cloud crosses his face.

“None of the guards touched her?” He asks, and Kirishima nods, teasing smile back on his face.

“She’s not a virgin though, said she’s a widow. Not that you’ve ever shown a preference for virgins, as long as a woman is well behaved.” Bakugou spins on his heels, eyes ablaze with anger and Kirishima flashes his palms, “My king.”

“Yeah that’s right,” The prince snaps, “Remember your goddamn place just in the nick of time.” Kirishima giggles. “S’not funny, you tease me about that shit in front of Queen Mitsuki and she’ll order me to behead you right there.” Kirishima shakes his head, shivering.

“I never speak in front of the Queen.”

“Probably a good move these days.” He stretches a little. “Prophecy said no children, didn’t mention virgin. But uh, I think-”

“Prince Bakugou,” a cool voice breathes, cutting through the silence, Kirishima jumps but Bakugou contains his surprise at being snuck up upon.

“Primogen Tobita.” Bakugou says gruffly, and the older man bows to the Prince and nods to his knight. “Not very priestly of you to be eavesdroppin’.” Kirishima keeps his face neutral, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, but the tall, grey haired man just laughs warmly.

“I’m far too old to be overhearing conversation that isn’t happening right in front of my eyes.” He’s a tall man, though both Bakugou and Kirishima have a few inches on him. His long grey hair is parted down the middle, and despite his claims of age his eyes sparkle with the youth and mischief of a young man. “Though I did hear you had quite an adventure today.” He presses. “I’d love to meet the young woman you liked so much she earned a spot on your saddle.”

“She was trouble.” Bakugou growls. “I needed to keep an eye on her.”

“Well either way, you caught me on my way to the dungeon to pay her a visit.” Bakugou and Kirishima exchange a glance.

“I’ll accompany you.” Kirishima offers. “Someone of your age shouldn’t be wandering the maze of the dungeons, you’ll need an escort.”

“Certainly you’re not worried,” he touches his chest, “About the intentions of a man of the church, who the gods have chosen, are you?”

“I can assure you his only concern was for your safety.” Bakugou says, practically spitting the words. “How fares my mother, Primogen?” The primogen sighs theatrically.

“Overtaken by visions and headaches. Hopefully we’ll find Amathar’s heir soon.” He clasps his hand together. “Perhaps it will be the girl you found today. Excuse me.” He pushes past the group and Bakugou sighs deeply, gesturing to the redhead.

“Follow him.” Kirishima nods, and slips into the darkness. Bakugou re enters the castle, servants scurrying out of his way, determined to see his mother in private. The throne room is filled with the usual lords and ladies, post dinner they’re dancing and drinking to tinkling music, warbling out from a drunken flute player. His mother is in the thick of them, long blond hair braided down her back, cup of wine in her right hand, eyes glassy and far off as she sits on her throne, ignoring the nobles speaking to her. She waves them away at the sight of her son.

“Katuski,” she breathes, reaching for him, “I’ve had the most horrible dream,” he nods, allowing her to hold him close as she stands, leaning heavily against his solid form, “About snakes,” she whispers, “First the wells will dry and then there will be snakes, if we cannot bring peace between our nations. We must find Amathars daughter, please, Katsuki, promise me you won’t stop looking.” He glances around, there are several fountains spitting clear cool water in just the throne room alone, but he couldn’t help but remember how dusty and dry the city had been while riding through it earlier. He nods.

“Of course.”

“And the girl, the girl from today?” She asks, “When can she be tested?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Bakugou replies. “She’s in the dungeon for tonight.” His mother shudders, taking another sip of wine. “I could get you some water?’ He offers gruffly, but she shakes her head, sitting back on the throne, nearly falling asleep immediately.

“I want to meet her.” She says absentmindedly. Bakugou nods again.

“Tomorrow.” He turns abruptly and leaves, not wanting to witness his mother passing out, drunk on her throne.

The moon is high in the night sky when the Primogen makes his way down the steps to the dungeon, moving deep within stone hallways. You’re finally completely dry and asleep against the wall, breathing softly, when the clang of your cell door opening wakes you.

“Hello, there.” Primogen Tobita greets you, and you cower, remembering the Knight’s warnings. He’s tall, about the same height as the prince, with grey hair slicked back from his face, and cool dark eyes. His facial hair is neat, trimmed into a tiny little moustache and just a bit of beard at the end of his chin. His robes are dark and billowing, completely obscuring his silhouette. “No need to be afraid.” He says smoothly. “My name is Primogen Tobita, heretic.” You avert your eyes instinctively. “I understand that you may not want to be disrespectful,” he says, “But I would prefer you look at me.” You lift your head to him, and his breath catches in his throat, your dark eyes clearly visible in the torchlight. “That,” he mutters, to himself, “Is concerning.”

“Sir?” You say quietly, picking the honorific you think is least likely to get you in trouble. You scoot away from him, pressing your back against the stone wall.

“Do you have a name?” You nod. “You have my permission to speak.” He says and you shrug.

“I do have a name.” You answer instinctively and he reaches down and slaps you hard across the face, his rings scratching your skin as stars bloom behind your eyes.

“Try again.” he says, still completely composed.

“F/n.” You choke out, now completely crumpled in the corner. “Please I-” You stop yourself, noticing how he wipes his hand after touching you, your blood on his white handkerchief.

“A follower of the sea goddess.” He mutters. “I should have known, they don’t train their women properly.”

“Do not touch her again.” A voice from behind him makes you both jump, as Kirishima strides into the cell. “You could have just struck royalty, Primogen.” He kneels next to you with a clean rag, dabbing at the blood on your cheek with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in your chest.

“I’m simply wondering what kind of witchcraft she used to bewitch the prince!” Primogen Tobita stutters, his pert nose crinkling. “I’ve never seen Prince Bakugou so, distracted, in court today when I suggested she be put to death for threatening your life he was,” he pauses, dramatically resting a hand over his heart, “Beside himself. He’s clearly besotted.”

“Prince Bakugou was troubled by the violence our soldiers demonstrated against the townspeople of her small village.” Kirishima says, an edge to his voice, “He knows this kingdom owes her a debt.” There’s a brief pause as he stands facing the Primogen.

You’re struck again by how large he is, the wide span of his shoulders might at a different angle completely obscure Primogen Tobita from your view.

“Thing is, Sir Shinsou spoke with some of the soldiers, who have been regularly attending the masses you lead for the common people.” He takes a step forward, but Primogen Tobita doesn’t step back, “And they told him that you’ve been encouraging soldiers to grant heretics salvation,” he says, his voice now low and threatening, “At the end of their swords.” Primogen Tobita doesn’t miss a beat.

“Clearly, it was a metaphor.” He says, crossing his arms, “For rebirth in death, in the light of the gods.”

“Clearly,” Kirishima takes another step towards him, and this time the older man has the grace to scoot backwards an inch across the stone floor, “That metaphor cost many lives. I trust you will correct this this weekend at service.” The Primogen swallows. “Or,” Kirishima’s fist closes around the hilt of his sword. “I will correct it, for you.”

“Are you threatening me, Sir Kirishima Eijirou?” Primogen Tobita gathers his robes, performatively scandalized, but the knight just chuckles, a slow grin spreading across his handsome face.

“I am, Primogen. I thought you were educated enough to understand that without explanation.” There’s an awkward pause.

“You forget yourself, Sir Kirishima.” Tobita leans forward. “Aeds good favor, once lost, is difficult to regain.”

“I think me and my sword will do just fine.” At that the Primogen sweeps off in a huff and as soon as his back is turned Kirishima looks back at you.

“Was that smart?” You whisper. “Threatening him?”

“It would take a hundred men to take me alive, and more to kill me.” Kirishima says grimly, inspecting you. “I was gonna do this tomorrow, but I need you to understand what can happen to you if you mouth off to men like him.” You swallow, mouth pressing into a tight line.

“I’m not afraid of death.” You whisper, and he frees one of your wrists, handing you his skein of water. You drink quickly, and he helps you to your feet.

“There are things,” he says, leading you out of the cell, “Worse than death.” He offers you his arm, and you take it, your feet bare on the cool stone. He leads you deeper in the dungeon. “I’m not asking for your cooperation anymore.” He says, as you turn a corner, a note of desperation in his voice. “I’m demanding it.” He pushes open a heavy door before you can respond, and the smell of blood and smoke fills your nose. It’s a torture chamber, odd twisting metal, heavy leather whips, a wheel with leather straps on it, turning slowly over a fire. It’s unoccupied. He lets you step forward, your eyes like saucers as you inspect the space, running your hands over the metal spikes that come away with flakes of red dried blood. “I wouldn’t touch anything.” You nod, withdrawing your hands back into your body, genuine fear returning to you.

“You want to help me?” You ask, your voice soft.

“I’m in your debt.” He says simply, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “No harm should have come to your family.” You swallow nervously.

“I would like to, avoid this.” You step back towards him. “I’ll work on um, my demeanor, I can cooperate, if it keeps me from this room.” He notices your hands trembling, and it tugs at him.

“My lady,” he says, reaching for you, pulling you into his chest and rubbing comforting circles in your back, feeling you tremble. “We will protect you, alright if you just-”

“You shouldn’t be alone with her like this.” The purple haired knight from earlier steps into the room from a side door, sending your heart into a sprint.

“I’m not-” Kirishima sputters, “Shinsou you know I wouldn’t-” He grins, waving away the protests.

“You’re trouble.” Shinsou says, inspecting you with a clinical air. His eyes match his hair, and they flick from your waist to your chest, and then back to Kirishima, without stopping at your face. “You didn’t put her with the others, did you?”

“She didn’t have a group so I locked her up alone in the overnight cell.” Kirishima says defensively. “Bakugou likes her, he wouldn’t want her to-”

“So bring her to his bed,” Shinsou interrupts him. “Or follow orders. You’re too soft on them.” You open your mouth, remember the room you're standing in, and close it. Shinsou breaks into a wide smile, “Oooh did he scare you into submission?” You don’t respond, skin prickling with goosebumps in the cool of the dungeon. “Poor little mouse,” he growls, “First time in a trap?”

“Don’t play with her.” Kirishima pushes himself in front of you, he’s got a few inches on Shinsou, and he squares his shoulders, “She’s not either of ours.”

‘That’s right.” Shinsou counters. “So I’m going to take her up to where the other women were held, rather than the comfortable overnight cell.” He rolls his neck. “Get out of my way.” Kirishima flashes his palms and steps aside, letting Shinsou take you roughly by your upper arm, leading you out of the torture chamber, back the way you came. You try biting them back but you can’t stop the words that flow from your lips,

“If that wasn’t supposed to be where I was being held, then how did that priest find me?” Both men freeze, and turn to you.

“A guard showed him where you were, right?” Kirishima says, “I had to keep my distance, so I didn’t see but,”

“No.” You confirm. “He came alone.” Shinsou laughs darkly.

“Trouble.” He half whispers, half sings. “Shall we check on her cell?” Kirishima nods, and the two men draw their swords. They walk in a defensive formation, Shinsou’s eyes narrowed, Kirishima’s jaw set. He rounds the corner before your cell and you hear the clang of metal against metal. Kirishima’s sword collides with another man’s blade, leaping behind Shinsou, hiding your face in his back. Kirishima quickly disarms the assailant, who is dressed fully in black.

“What is the meaning of this?” Primogen Tobita strolls out of your cell, “Unhand that man, the gods have chosen him for a purpose!’”

“What might that be, Primogen?” Shinsou asks casually, leaning against the stone.

“I had a dream,” he says, gesturing with his jewel encrusted hand, “Nahelenia herself came to me, and said I must speak with that woman,” he points at you, “Alone, that she had a secret to tell.”

“So you sent someone with,” Shinsou glances down at the man on the ground, clutching a dark blade, “A poisoned dagger, to speak with her?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The Primogen huffs. “And I’ll speak with the maiden now.” He holds out a hand, but you don’t take it. “Are you going to defy an order of the church?” He purrs, and you look up at Kirishima, asking for help, but it’s Shinsou that comes to your rescue.

“Actually, we’re here to take her to the castle. Royal Order.” His voice is a low gravel. “You may speak with her tomorrow, after the ritual.” The Primogen scowls.

“If Prince Bakugou requires company, there are a number of courtesans-”

“Actually,” Shinsou cuts him off. “It’s the Queen who asked to speak with her.” If the Primogen is surprised, he doesn’t show it, simply bowing deeply. “And if you’re lucky, I won’t tell her what you said about her son, and,” his lips curl into a sneer, “Courtesans.” He turns to you, offering you his arm. You take it, avoiding eye contact with the Primogen and his man. When you get out of the dungeon, into the night, Kirishima lets out a long breath.

“Fuck,” he says, “Holy fucking shit.”

“You're welcome.” Shinsou sheaths his sword, shaking his head at the other Knight. “One of these days you’re going to have to learn how to play politics.” He says to the redhead who looks sheepish, leading you up the stairs out of the dungeon. Shinsou walks behind you, one hand tightly enclosed around your upper arm.

“I just,” Kirishima sighs, “I get nervous, about church stuff.”

“Was that man going to kill me?” you cut in, eyes wide, and the two knights look at you.

“Almost certainly.” Shinsou says, as if it was stupid that you asked. You nod slowly, and Kirishima opens the door, letting you out into the garden. It’s so early in the morning that the sky is lightening in the east.

“Do we need to take her to the Queen?” Kirishima asks, and Shinsou snorts.

“Queen’s passed out drunk. Just get her ready for the ritual.” He stretches a little. “If the church is worried, maybe she’s the one?” Kirishima nods, looking you over again. “You sure you know who your father is?” You consider, teeth closing on your lower lip.

“Fairly sure, Sir.”

“Sir,” Shinsou cackles, repeating you. “Credit where credit is due, Kirishima, seems like you did a good job scaring the girl. Kirishima rolls his eyes.

“Give her here,” He says, and Shinsou releases you, letting you walk, bare feet in the dirt, over to Kirishima. “We’re headed there.” He points to a tower, “It’s important that you don’t speak to anyone who doesn’t speak to you, alright?” You nod emphatically, and Shinsou scrutinizes you.

“She’s gonna get herself executed in less than a week.” He turns his back on the two of you, “Try not to go down with her.” You swallow a bitter taste, your stomach growling, and let Kirishima lead you through another big pair of double doors, through what must be servants' quarters, people are just starting to wake up. He takes you up a back staircase, it’s narrow and rickety, you nearly trip over the hem of your dress a few times, but he just catches you, large hands closing around your waist and lifting your body into an upright position. You’re tired, your head is buzzing, your stomach aching but you can only assume the lack of food has been intentional. He pushes through a door, and there are squeals.

“Kirishima!” A woman with long dark hair, dressed head to toe in white, “Out, out out,”

“I’ve got the next girl, though!” He protests, “And this isn’t your room, it’s just the tower's antechamber.” You step out from behind him and find yourself engulfed in a warm hug. The woman smells like cedar and patchouli. She takes you by the shoulders, ignoring him.

“I heard you had to bathe in the knights quarters,” She shudders, “How positively dreadful.” Kirishima rolls his eyes.

“It was fine. But ah, if you could be nice to her, that would be excellent.” He says, “I’m afraid she’s only seen the worst of Yuuei so far.” The woman nods, still inspecting you.

“So, girl, singular?” She raises her eyebrows. Kirishima presses his lips together, considering.

“Yeah, you know what Momo,” His fist closes around your upper arm hard enough to bruise. “Can you do what you’re gonna do with her bound?” Momo frowns, blinking a few times. Clearly she woke up only a few minutes ago, there’s still the glassy look of dreaming in her dark eyes. You look around, taking in your surroundings while she considers. The room in the tower is light and airy, large windows allow for the shards of sunlight to paint the oak wood floors with warm golden patterns of sunrise. It seems a uniquely feminine space.

"I don't know," Momo looks troubled, "Is she dangerous?"

“I’ll be good,” you interrupt, looking up at him, “Sir.” Kirishima still looks troubled.

“They’re priestesses of Aed,” he explains, turning to you, “They’re not warriors.” He rubs his chin. “You’ll behave?” You nod emphatically and Momo’s dark arching brows knit together.

“What did she do?” She asks, and a grin blooms across Kirishima’s face, he runs his fingers through his coarse red locks.

“Oh, held me at knifepoint, among other things.”

“That’s it!” You squeak, turning around to look at him, “That’s really the only thing I’ve-”

“She’s committed verbal treason and blasphemed about every five minutes, don’t listen to her.” Kirishima says, thinking, but to your surprise, Momo giggles.

“I can understand a little treason. Prince Bakugou is,” a little smile plays on her lips, “He takes some getting used to but he’s a good man.” Kirishima winces, and Momo watches the joy drop from your face as you give a little shake of her head.

“I won’t,” your teeth close on your lower lip. “I don't think-”

“There was an unfortunate incident yesterday.” Kirishima says quietly. “Some of his soldiers burned down her village. Her father is dead.” You bite back your immediate responses, an unfortunate incident, your father wasn’t dead, he was murdered. Murdered. Killed. Taken from you. Momo's shoot open, understanding immediately.

“You’re powerless here,” she says quietly, and the change in her tone takes you by surprise. She inspects you again, your unkempt appearence, the pain she can see deep in your eyes. “You and I have that in common. You’re a smart woman.” You realize it’s one of the first times you haven’t been called a girl, despite being well past your twentieth winter. “I can’t do anything for you. You won’t be able to escape the castle by hurting me, or any of the other priestesses. You know this.” You nod. “No need to bind her.” Momo says smoothly. “Now get out. Men aren’t allowed in our tower, not that the Kingsguard doesn't flaunt our rules at every opportunity.”

Kirishima ducks back through the door way apologetically, waviing a farewell and Momo sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You’re powerless?” You ask, interrupting her annoyance with the Knight. She nods.

“Priestesses of Aed surrender their lives to the god of flame.” She says. “I’ve given up my entire future to be here, to serve him and the old magic of Yuuei.” You swallow. “It means I’ll never have to marry, I can refuse summons to court, I can travel, it comes with a measure of freedom. But no power, politically speaking.” You nod and she leads you further into the tower, into a room lined with fragrant cedar. There’s a tub, she turns a spigot and it starts to fill with water. “I’ll give you some oils and whatnot, you can take a bath in there,” she gestures over her shoulder, “And I’ll give you a ceremonial dress.”

“One powerless person to another, then,” you ask. “What happens after the ceremony, if I’m not royalty?” Momo looks pained.

“Right now the women are being held in the tower after we determine that they aren’t King Amathar’s daughter. I understand you spent the night in our overnight cell, it’s not um,” she opens a door, “The tower is a touch less comfortable. But not so bad!” You nod and she opens a cabinet, handing you a glass bottle. You unscrew the lid, it smells of freesia and lavender. “Clean yourself to the best of your ability and then some of the priestesses of Aed will be by to style your hair. She leaves then, closing the door behind her, you hear it lock.

You wiggle out of the dress Kirishima gave you and step into the warm water, luxuriating in it. The bath is soft and pleasant, and lying in the warm water is the most comfortable you’ve been in days. You clean yourself until the water gets tepid. Then you cover your body with your hands and knock of the door.

The rest of the preistesses, Jirou and Mina, wrap a clean linen dress around your body and work a comb through your tangled hair, styling it and braiding flowers that you recognize from the garden on the grounds into the braids. The flowers themselves smell soapy and clean and between that and the bath you imagine you must be thoroughly perfumed. The preistesses speak around you for the most part, talking about court gossip, about a few vassals who were late on their taxes, a few wives cheating on their husbands, a few mistresses, what the newest clothing trends were.

“What about you,” Mina asks cheerfully, and it takes you a second to realize that she’s speaking to you. “Did you have a sweetheart, or lover, in your village?” You clear your throat.

“I’m a widow.” You say quietly, and her kind dark eyes fill with concern. “It’s ah, it’s alright.” You say quickly. “I didn’t love him. But, I,” you sigh, “I’ve never been in love, I suppose.”

“Why did you marry him, then?” Mina chirps, and Jirou looks at her reproachfully. “What, arranged marriages aren’t common among peasants, no offense.” You swallow, flashing back to your wedding, the white dress in the drafty chapel, to the smell of ale on your husbands breath.

“It was an uncommon situation. But yes, it was pre arranged.”

“Maybe you’ll come out of this ritual engaged to Prince Bakugou!” Mina says, with a little laugh. You shudder and there’s an awkward silence. “That’s not so bad,” Mina protests and Jirou speaks for the first time.

“She’s going to end up in the tower, Mina, so if you could not-”

“What’s so bad, about the tower?” You ask, more sharply than you mean to.

“It’s just crowded.” Jirou says quickly. “We’re not supposed to talk about it. And,” She looks at Mina, “We’re not supposed to talk to the women at all.” Mina sighs.

“I’m bored, though, this is boring.”

“Can I ask,” you try to capitalize on this silence, “Can I ask how women become preistesses in Yuuei?”

“Women in Yuuei can’t refuse an engagement.” Jirou explains. “But we can choose the church over marriage.” She adjusts a flower in your hair. “It wouldn’t be an option for you, regardless of the outcome of the ritual, because you arent a citizen.” You nod, and

Jirou helps you into a deep red dress, that dips between your breasts. When you see yourself, in the ceremonial gown, in a crown of red roses and white gardenias, in front of the first mirror you’ve ever seen, you hardly recognize yourself. You bare only a passing resemblance to the girl whos face looked back at you from her pail of well water just a scant few days ago. There’s a soft knock at the doors.

“Oi.” They hear, and scramble get up, “Lemme talk to her.”

“Prince Bakugou,” Momo cries loudly, striding in from another room at the sound of the Prince’s irate voice, “Men aren’t supposed-”

“Really?” He cuts her off, raising his voice. “When my mother dies, I’ll be king. You don’t say no to me.” She blanches, and unlocks the door. He pushes it open and then does a double take. There’s something about the life of the flowers in your hair that matches the expression on your face, his heart beats in a strange new rhythm. “Get out.” He says and the women scatter, darting deeper into the set of rooms. “Kirishima told me an attempt was made on your life.” You shrug.

“Yes, sir.” It’s a pity he’s an oaf, you decide, because Prince Bakugou Katsuki is decidedly handsome, cutting a sharp silhouette, an elegant profile. A pity, that he was cruel, a pity, then, that he was stupid. You eye the sword at his hip, wishing you could drive it into his ribs. “I came to see,” he looks frustrated, dressed in simple clean clothes, hair parted to one side. “I came to make sure you were alright.”

“You feel badly for me.” You move towards him, slowly, trying not to ruin the complex hairstyle and perfectly laid gown. The prince rubs his eyes, the sun is directly behind you in the window, it hurts to look at you too long.

“I feel responsible for you.” He says, shading his red brown eyes with his hand, blinking the the brilliance of the sun. You sigh deeply.

“You know, in the books, Princes have honor.” Your mouth sets in a hard line. “They’re chivalrous, they care for their people.” He looks away. “What are you doing, for the people of your country, out there?” He shrugs, brows knitting together.

“I’m doing what I can. The fuck is it to you?” Annoyance colors his response. You shrug.

“I’d like to know what kind of man I’m at the mercy of,” you say softly. He reaches for you and you instinctively flinch just before his hand brushes your jaw. He traces the outline of a bruise from where you’d been shoved onto the ground the day before.

“I'm not the kind of man who hits a woman unless he's really gotta. I don't do that shit cause I'm angry, or for fun. Don't flinch away from me, and I won't give you a reason to be afraid of me.” He orders and you do your best, trembling under his touch, remembering that his men had said he was descended from a god. “Kiri really scared the shit outta ya, huh?” He rumbles and you turn your head to meet his gaze, realizing how close his face is to yours. He takes the end of your chin, tipping your face up towards his.

“What’s going to happen to me?” You whisper.

“I can’t tell you anything about today.” He holds your gaze.

"What about after?" You breathe, and in the golden light of the early morning you are so breathtakingly beautiful that all words fly from his mind, he opens his mouth to respond and no words come out.

“Excuse me,” It’s Momo, peeking her head back in, saving him. “You have to take her down in a few minutes, and so help me Aed, Prince Bakugou if you’ve undone our careful work-”

“Calm down,” The prince rolls his eyes. “She’s fine”

“I’m, um, I'm sorry,” you chirp, and both of them look at you, “Wait I’m, I apologize, what do I call you? Not sir?” He smirks.

“Your highness, your grace, your majesty,” he shrugs, “Pick. My full title’s pretty long, you’ll hear it when we get down there.” You take his hand and he impulsively pulls you into his body. Standing like that, pressed up against him, it’s a reminder of how physically intimidating he is. You can feel the muscles on his chest through his shirt, and you get the sense that once he’s wrapped a thick, tanned arm around your waist that you wouldn’t possess the strength to free yourself. He crushes a few of the flowers in your hair with his rough movements and Momo scowls.

“Enough manhandling her.” Momo says, shooing him away.

“No,” He turns to Momo angrily, “I'll do what I want with her, she belongs to me-”

“I belong to you?” You retort instinctually, “You think you’re entitled to my body, because your men murdered my family-” You stop yourself, realizing that everyone is staring at you, that Momo looks terrified, that Bakugou looks aghast. “Y-your grace.” You finish, looking down at your hands as he releases you.

“I told you,” and the pain cuts through his bravado, tipping the tone of his pitch higher, “I feel fuckin' awful,” he takes a shuddering breath clearly steadying himself. “It wasn’t on my orders, but it was on my watch so I, I'm sorry.” He mutters. “I won’t be able to make it up to you.” There’s a pause. “Momo stop shakin' like that, I’m not gonna cut ‘er fuckin’ head off in front of ya.” She lets out a long breath and he watches your bravery dissolve into fear.

“Sorry, I,” you bow your head. “I’m sorry, your grace, I just, it’s been difficult, and I'm sorry.” The tears that you’ve been fighting for days prick at your eyes and you wipe them away, “I’m sorry,” you say again. “I'm just alone now, and I'm afraid.” You lift your eyes to him, the last word comes out like more of a whispered plea than an apology. “You can, you can have whatever you want, obviously,” you babble, “You’re royalty, you can take-” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand, scowling and speaking sharply, in a timbre you recognize as a direct order.

“You gotta keep your mouth shut or it’ll get you killed. I'm bein' patient because I owe ya one. But anyone else at this castle woulda seen you whipped for talkin' to them like that, and bein' common.” You bow your head and he softens. “We’ll head down if uh,” Momo hands you a handkerchief and you dab at your eyes.

“Thanks.” He offers you his hand for a second time and you take it. This time he gives you your space, letting the gown drag behind you as you both walk down the stairs from the priestesses tower into the main body of the castle. There’s a few minutes of silence.

“Why did you let me on your horse?” You ask, the curiosity burning away at you. He doesn't look at you. “You could have thrown me on the wagon with the things you,” you stop yourself from saying stole, “Acquired.” He lets out a heavy breath.

“I didn’t want any of the soldiers to touch you. I needed to make it clear that you were mine. Or they would have taken you when I wasn’t around.”

"Taken me?" You start, and that gets his attention, the honest surprise in your voice.

"You uh," He takes in your face, reading the genuine surprise. "You ever get out of that village before this?" You shake your head.

"Not often. But I, I'm always shocked by the cruelty humanity is capable of. No matter how many times the fates try and teach me, I never learn." He nods at this, understanding.

"Well, I had ta let 'em know you were mine."

“I’m yours?” You repeat, voice echoing down an empty hallway. The castle is nearly deserted but for a few servants. You can hear what sounds like a large gathering of people ahead of you. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

“I decided when you held a knife up to my best friend's throat.” He clears his throat. “So when the ritual today is over, you’ll be mine. The other women in the tower will stumble their way back to what’s left of their villages when we find the descendent of Amathar, which we will eventually or my mother will die and I can abandon this useless crusade. But s’not like you have a home to go back to.” He watches pain well in your eyes and kicks himself.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “It hurts, to think about, having nowhere,” the pitch of your voice rises, “Nowhere to go back to.” You stop walking, and lean against the stone wall, closing your eyes. It’s cool against your back.

“No I,” he searches for words, for a phrase, some kind of incantation meant to soothe, but he doesn’t have access to such things, it’s an unwieldy weapon he’s not trained in yet, heavy in clumsy hands. Instead he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead. One of his large hands rests on your waist, rubbing a comforting pattern. He can feel your pulse racing beneath your skin. “It won’t be too bad, bein’ here.” He says in his low rasp, and it might be his imagination but you seem to soften at his touch.

“What’s gonna happen when I go in there, your grace?” He starts to lead you down the hallway again and you follow. He looks away from you before speaking again. 

“When nothin’ happens, they’ll be some kinda uproar, they’ll take ya to the tower with the others, and I’ll come getcha.” He glances at your trembling hands. “What, marauders in your village no problem, but a little fake ass magic bullshit and you're scared?”

“I was willing to die,” you explain, “To free the others from you, but for myself, now I think I’d like to live, if that’s an option.” He chuckles, catching you as you stumble on the hem of your gown.

“Well don’t try anything that stupid here and you just might live to see winter.” He pulls you through a door into a large main passageway in the castle. The hallway has vaulted ceilings and it’s lit by torches. There are detailed tapestries hanging on the wall, and it must be well ventilated, because you can smell the sweet summer air, the fresh cut grass of the lawn. Your feet are still bare against against the sweet hay scattered on the grey stone. Bakugou’s footsteps echo here, his sword hanging at his hip. He puts one hand on a heavy wooden door, carved with the insignia of his house, a knight carrying a torch. “Don’t say anything.” He growls and you nod. In one fluid movement he opens the door. You jump a mile when trumpets blare, and someone calls loudly.

“Crown Prince Bakugou Katsuki, born under the shattered star, Son of Queen Mitsuki, The Unkneeling, The Great Phoenix, The Dragon Knight, The Lightbringer, your lips twitch as you fight off a smirk at the sheer length of his titles, and he squeezes your hand, a warning. “And F/n L/n, from the village of Damona.” There are chuckles, but you barely hear them. The throne room is huge, arching ceilings hundreds of feet in the air, candles burning, flickering gold and yellow off of the grey stone and the jewels of the gathered courtiers, making every shadow in the room dance. 

The throne itself is carved from the mountain's stone, glittering cool grey. The queen is the spitting image of her son, blonde hair threatening to burst loose from her long braid, in a deep red dress, adorned with gold and silver. The crown on her head is heavy and gleaming, with fiery rubies that catch the low light of the flames. The kingdom of Yuuei’s house symbols were everywhere, the knight is on banners and hangings, embroidered onto dresses, woven into the carpet that serves as a pathway to an altar at the center of the great hall. It’s nubby on your bare feet. You can read their house words on a banner over her perch. House Bakugou, From The Ashes, we rise.

please have an age in your bio and be 18+ before interacting with this fic. reblogs/comments appreciated, and encouraged.

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugou smut #bakugo smut #katsuki bakugo smut #bakugou katsuki smut #mha smut #bnha smut #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader

[kingsandbastardz]

I've reached episode 38 of MLC.

Cheng Yi's acting in the dungeon was impressive and the sequence it took for Li Lianhua to rescue Di Feisheng was super satisfying. So many micro expressions and subtle hints of his growing worry while he kept a rapid patter up to get information! While being starved/ denied water! LLH is great at multitasking!

Honestly, it was this episode that finally made me decide to watch the other dramas under this tragedy king's filmography. If I can battle my second-hand embarrassment to watch Ryan Cheng act out the role of a husky for longer than 5 seconds, surely I can watch Cheng Yi spit blood and die in misery 10x in a row.

Anyway thoughts:

While I enjoyed what I watched, instead of all this taking place in the palace, I wish the entirety was a rescue arc for DFS with the queen bug ending up in Shan Gudao's hands through other means, or uncontested and in his lair. Or maybe Jiao Liqiao had it all along! If only so we get more of the trio learning about each other and group stuff going on. They're the best when all 3 are together so DFS spending half the series away kinda puts a damper on that. And the emperor's arc seemed like a cop out. I'm aware of the ending before I even started watching so imo if they wanted a tragic ending, they absolutely could have nailed that home in several other ways. The tendon healing feels rushed bc they had less time to work with.

Fang Duobing what the hell kind of name for newly invented martial arts is that? You live and breathe heroic jianghu stories and you decide to go with a DFS style "sword", I mean, Mr Worrier's Swordplay? He do be worrying, though, so he's at least upfront about it.

If DFS and LLH ever decide to bump uglies, they would totally get distracted halfway through and go off to solve a mystery or something, wouldn't they? 💀 like DFS just randomly looks at the wall and being like ???? Why is it suddenly a different material and pattern? I need to see why it's so ugly. Also the fact that it's DFS doing this and not LLH. Xiao Shunyao says his intelligence is highly specialized to martial arts - but the guy is a natural investigator. He's just very tactile about it and prone to ripping things out of the wall or ground while checking it out. His instincts are spot on, though

I like how confused DFS was when LLH was like, "Come on JL totally told you the thing." DFS's expression screamed, "Why would I know? Did you not notice I've been doing my best to ignore her??"

I would have liked to see Wuyan deliver the salt to LLH just to see what else he does or doesn't tell him - I would also like to know when he received instructions to deliver the salt to LLH. Was it before or after DFS got paraded around and locked in the master bedroom?

DFS using grey wall or grey rock tactics to deal with JL. Ppl forced to live with narcissists/abusers do this. His version is more like what prisoners do when they have to face torture but that usually is refusal to speak. What he's doing is not just silence, but also refusing to look at her and trying to minimize any reaction to her play, which is an attempt to deny her anything she can feed on. I'm guessing he's had to do this growing up too.

Speaking of that - what exactly was Di Fortress doing with their method of training kids into killers? I somehow missed or forgot that part and can't tell if they ever addressed that. Did they rent them out as assassins? Is it a weird death cult that worships battle and uses that energy as human sacrifice to their war god? OHOHOH you know what they could have done instead of the Enperor arc? If they'd freed up the episodes and put the Nanyin bugs into a Di Fortress arc instead. Since they were already using some sort of bug mind control technique anyway.

Fang Duobing, what do you mean you always knew DFS was on your side? All you do is yell at him for being a villian! 😂 also what's with everyone just accepting that DFS was going to stand there and join them without even a bit of protest or trying to arrest him or anything?

It's interesting, the parallels between LLH and DFS's situation. They're both regular dudes trapped under some mythic narrative where everyone thinks they're these story archetypes. But they're not, they're just two martial arts nerds trying to live their life (one to do good, one trying to survive) . They both had someone they trusted not only betray them- but demand they get on their knees and become publically subservient to them. DFS's situation would have evoked sympathy by itself but LLH probably felt extra understanding about how he must feel. Especially bc he knows what his own reaction would have been in the past to that kind of humiliation. Like, aside from JL's implied intention of sex slavery, how is SGD's plan for LLH any different than what JL did to DFS when she dragged him back home?

#mysterious lotus casebook #di feisheng #li lianhua #fang duobing #analysis #my royal ramblings

[mitsukiwa]

Crimson Cave

Readers at a battle with herself I guess being locked up really did a number on her.  Angst I Eventual Smut I Slight Fluff if you squint hard enough      !MDNI!

previous I part 3                            Word Count 0.2K

                                • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

How many days has it been?

She doesn't know, but she sure was hungry, and thirsty.

Her wrists were swollen, she'd tried countless times to free herself from the ropes retaining her.

After Bakugou had slapped her, he ordered his men to take her to the dungeon. He demanded she wouldn't eat or drink until he'd said so.

Her ass felt numb, she'd sat in this position since they first had tied her up.

They wouldn't even let her go to use the bathroom she's held it in for quite some time now.

There weren't even any windows to let her know when a day had ended or begun. Her throat felt dry and scratchy from all the screaming she's done. But it was useless they all followed his order and the man himself hadn't come down to see her, which must mean he may be angry but she could care less about what he felt.

Besides she couldn't even fully understand what the guards said, she only knew some basic words from their language. All she could do is sit there hearing them laugh and cackle about god knows what while she starves to death. All of this was the doing of the man she most certainly despised.

Maybe if she died she'd be freed from this torture. It'd be a way out. A way out to be freed.

Nonetheless, it seemed far too easy, Bakugou wouldn't let her off the hook like that though. He'd keep her tortured but breathing and heart beating.

One of the guards retreated leaving only one standing by her cell. The sword hanging off his waist.

Her head bobbed forward slightly now and then. Her eyes darted to the guard opening his metal flask, her mouth opened agape while she watched a few drops roll down his neck. His throat bobbed as he consumed the refreshing liquid. She wanted nothing more than to be that guard at this very moment. The man splashed water onto his palm running his hands through his locks.

Then they both locked eyes. Hers widened slightly.

He looked around the hallway peeking out from the wall. He then walked over to the tied-up girl. He kneeled before her, fetching his flask.

''wan' some'' He had a bit of an accent.

She eagerly nodded. The man brought the flask up to the girl's lips, tilting the flask just a little. She opened her mouth the clear flavorless liquid cascaded down into her mouth.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed every ounce of water, a few drops rolling down her mouth. He retracted the flask scrolling on the lid.

She mouthed a 'thank you'. He smiled at the girl.

'' I'll bring you some bread later in the day''

''thank you'' she gave him a light smile.

''our king could be a bit cruel sometimes, but none of the villagers would've ever fought back as you did'' He smiled at the captured girl before him.

''some might say it's a dumb thing to do at the same time, I say it was brave.''

'' It may be brave on some terms even now, but I'm still here captive overall'' She tugged onto the ropes proving her point.

''in some way, it's considered heroism.''

Her face faltered a bit, '' you know what he'll do to you if he found out you gave me water let alone leave your station to speak to me''

The boy didn't seem to mind instead he gave the girl a grin. '' He's on an expedition acquiring more acres''

'' Along with the lives of innocents,'' She mumbled

''I'm sorry for what was brought upon your homeland''

'' It's fine, it's not your fault anyway, you people just take orders''

''We may not have a choice, but we still choose to take part'' He sat with his legs crossed in front of her.

''It's not like any of you had a say in the matter'' She said.

''We don't but regardless we choose to follow him''

She shook her head. ''because you're forced to''

'' He's our king we have to''

'' I know you do'' She mumbled, she looked down to the concrete ground.

''Hey,'' He said lifting her head softly with his thumb and pointer finger. Her eyes flickered into his green ones. He gave her a wide grin.

'' I'll get you out if it's the last thing I do''

She leaned forward into his touch '' Thank you'' She smiled up at him.

'' Now I have to go. The next guard taking this section will arrive shortly.''

She nodded.

                              ————————————————

Two new guards stood outside her cell, crackling about something in their form of tongues. But she was no fool judging by the looks they gave her and the judgmental gaze they'd give her now and then, she knows it was about her.

At times they'd whistle at her, looking her up and down while licking their lips.

Moments like these she'd wish she were back to safety with Bakugou. At least by his side, She knew nobody would dare hurt her unless it were him. She felt somewhat secure around him but wary at the same time. She trusted him enough to know he wouldn't kill her but not enough to feel completely safe around him. From what she's seen so far, the impression he's given her. He was just some heartless bitch. Who gave zero fucks about anyone else but himself. As long as he took the triumph he's satisfied. Watching others fall gives him satisfaction.

Ironic isn't it? To prefer to knock whatever competition he may take as a threat. Even something as simple as giving him one wrong look, congratulations you've made it to his long list of to murder list. Or maybe how he'd phrase it is 'take 'em down and win'. 

She despised him how many times does she even have to repeat the same word over and over in her damn head.

All the time

She thought

Maybe some sick part of her is getting accustomed to it and slowly fitting into his customs. Even thinking about it makes her want to vomit, but what exactly would she vomit on an empty stomach? Acid?

Sometimes she thinks her mind betrays her body, and her body feels wary around him but her mind finds some type of way to give her false reassurance, she's beginning to think her mind may start to be her worst enemy at some point. When she starts to hate him cause there sure is a big part of her that despises that man, but some nagging thought in her mind finds an excuse to give her false reassurance, She hates herself for that. To a full extent. It seems stupid to her when she really thinks about what he could've done instead of killing every soul she knew and keeping just her out of all her people alive. 

Torture

She thought

Yes he loves to torture me even if it's done so by my mind

That is his expertise, I mean he's not king for nothing.

But he's a goddamn brute.

The guard's hoarse laugh shook her out of her trance and wandering mind. She eyed both the males who stood behind the cell bars.

She didn't even trust closing her eyes at any moment, wary of both those men, who stood outside those forsaken bars.

Not to mention she was very much starving to death.

Another guard came running down the hall. He jogged up to the two guards who stood by her cell. He began to tell them something in their language all she could do was try and decipher what she could with her limited knowledge of their language. So she studied their mannerism hoping to at least understand something by their body language. Still, she was utterly lost. Not a moment after one of the guards who stood by your cell unlocked your cell stepping in close to you.

He kneeled down untiying the ropes.

''Alright pretty girl our king wishes to see you''

In all honesty, you really think he was too enclosed in your personal space. He didn't have to be this close to you to untie those ropes. He pulled you up to your feet.

The guard who had come running down from the halls tied a new pair of ropes on her arms. He nudged her forward, The girl lost all her footing and fell face-first onto the concrete ground.

She heard laughter from above her. The guard lifted her back up to her feet. He pulled her along with him. She began limping on her leg.

She heard a 'tsk' from the man who gripped her arm.

Was it just her or all of Bakugou's guards were ruthless as fuck. Some bastards just like him she thought.

He abruptly stopped glancing down at her leg he let out a sigh.

Quickly picking her up he threw her over his shoulder.

She let out a yelp at his sudden motions.

Her body lightly jumped with every step he took. She grabbed onto him as if her life depended on it.

And it was like this the whole way.

                            ⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉⑉

Her mouth watered at the sight before her eyes.

The table is full of varieties of dishes scattered all over the dining table.

''Sit'' A voice then said interrupting her silent appreciating moment.

Despite everything she happily obliged. She looked up at Bakugou who wore a prominent scowl. 

He pointed a thick digit to the dish in front of her. ''Eat'' was all he said.

They didn't exchange words during the entire meal. The silence was bearable, she thought it was quite comforting.

But he couldn't say the same.

When she had finished her meal she glanced over to katsuki who was already staring back at her.

She cleared her throat after a moment ''Thank you, katsuki''

He gave her an empty hum.

She looked down at her hands placed on her lap, she picked at the skin around her fingernails.

She looked back up at the blonde man. ''I'm sorry katsuki''

She doesn't know why she's even apologizing to him, it should be the other way around. Maybe it was because he wasn't giving her as much attention as he originally does. 

He scoffed crossing his arms over his chest. ''really?''

She nodded eagerly, though she didn't intend to, she just did. She hates herself even more for it. Why does she feel she must please him? Make him feel better?

''I shouldn't have scratched you''

He let out a deep sigh through his nose ''s fine''

She got up from her chair walking over to the man sitting across the table.

She doesn't know what she was doing her body walked on its own.

The same words repeated like a mantra over and over in her head.

Make him forgive you, show him just how sorry you are

He looked up at her from his place on the table.

She leaned down on him seating herself on his lap.

His vermillion eyes never left her own.

She lightly traced her index finger along the fading scars she gave him. Her eyes flickered over to his fading scar and back to his irises.

She ghosted her lips over the scratch.

''I'm sorry katsu'' She whispered lowly against his skin.

Stop 

Some part of her brain screamed but the other found its way into her consciousness.

He let out a low growl, it reverberated against her chest, seeming as if both were pressed against each other.

The girl pecked the area. His predatorial eyes flickered to her lips and back to her eyes, He caught her lips in his own.

Both lips moved in sync.

His large hands were placed on both sides of her hips.

The kiss began to get messy by the second.

She grinded against him and in response, he groaned into her mouth. She let out a mewl, her lips swallowed down his noises as he did the same. Making it sound muffled.

Her hands pulled on the hairs on the nape of his neck.

He broke the kiss.

Both gasped out for air. His lips were red and glossy.

He then pushed her figure off his body, standing up from his spot on the chair in the dining room.

''let's go to bed'' He mumbled 

Already exiting the dining room.

She watched his figure disappear into the door.

She stared at the door with widened eyes.

The girl was aroused but nonetheless, she obliged.

If there's one thing she's learned is she receives better when she's obedient towards Bakugou?

So she followed behind him towards their bedroom.

What the hell did you just do?

It was that moral voice again.

She pulled onto her strands

Make it stop just fucken make it stop

© Mitsukiwa 2023-Do not copy,post or translate my work anywhere.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou kastuki #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #explosion boy #yandere katsuki #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere bakugou #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou angst #bakugou x female reader #bnha bakugo x reader #bakugouxfem

[xoxoladyaz]

Steddie Bigbang #177: Infernally Yours is HERE!

Finally, after months of work I am SO HAPPY to start publishing my contribution to @steddiebang, a post-Season 3 AU in which Hopper doesn't go to Russia, the Byers family stays in Hawkins, and Steve Harrington finally agrees to play DnD with Hellfire. Chapters 1 and 2 are up today, chapters 3 and 4 will go up on the 9th, and the last two chapters (and the epilogue) will be posted on the 16th.

Here's the link to the story on Ao3 and a preview below :) I can't wait to see what you all think!

Listen. Steve Harrington knew that he had some sins to pay for, okay? He was kind of a stuck-up shit for most of high school and while he didn’t go out of his way to, like, ruin anybody’s day – cough, cough, Tommy Hagan – he also didn’t really reach out to anyone who needed help either. He’d led on a lot of girls before Nance, too, and if judging by the fact that the only girls he dated these days wanted a good time and not a long time, well, he had some work to do on the whole “relationship” and “finding everlasting love” front. But he’s done the work to be better! Granted, a lot of the work consisted of him getting beaten up and/or tortured by other people while protecting a group of unthankful little shitheads, but it’s still progress. And, not to brag, but he got Robin Buckley as a best friend out of the whole thing, so really, Steve Harrington’s not doing so bad on the whole “redemption” thing, thank you.

So why, why does the universe continue to torment him?

“ – and that’s when Lorcan Fairwood used Horde Breaker to fire into the pack of gnolls, dealing five points of damage to Kazar, the gnoll pack leader, and then Eddie said - ”

“Dingus,” Robin hissed, knocking her elbow into Steve’s and dislodging him from his thoughts. “Get Dingus Junior to knock-it-off with this dork talk before I knock him into the recent returns.”

Groaning, Steve rubbed his palms against his dry eyes and braced for impact. “We got it, Henderson, Munson’s the best thing to ever happen to Dorks and Demons - ”

“ – Dungeons and Dragons, Steve, I know that you know that’s what it’s called - ”

“ – and as much as I like hanging out with you, dude, these multi-hour play-by-plays aren’t convincing me that this nerd shit is, like, fun or whatever,” he finished with a sigh. Robin shot him an exasperated but grateful look and then slid her newest stack of freshly rewound returns his way.

“Shelving time, doinkus.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolled his eyes and reached for the stack.

Dustin snorted and kicked at the front of his desk, which, the attitude on this kid, seriously. “Guess Eddie was right.” 

Steve froze. What the hell does that mean?

“What the hell does that mean?”

Dustin snorted again before spinning to face Steve, his hands falling to his hips. “Eddie said says that jocks only care about other jocks. And jock stuff.”

“Hey, okay, first of all, there’s only one of us that’s actually saved your life multiple times and it’s not Eddie Munson, so jot that down,” Steve snapped, dropping the tapes back onto the counter (and ignoring Robin’s yelp as they tumbled everywhere). “And second, just because we don’t have the same interests doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, man. That’s a shit thing to say.”

Henderson folded inward, his eyes dropping towards the ground and voice losing its normal intensity. “Sorry, Steve.”

“And third – look, Henderson,” Steve sighed at Dustin’s drooping. (Look, he was a little shithead with the biggest ego in every room, but he was Steve’s little shithead and he hated to see him upset – even when it was his own fault.) “Maybe it isn’t like, totally boring in the moment or whatever, but getting a two-hour play by play after your game every Saturday isn’t doing a whole lot to convince me, man.”

“Well,” Dustin perked up slightly and cleared his throat, “we’re always looking for new members - ”

“Nope, no way.”

“Steve,” Henderson’s whining was out in full force now, “it would be so much fun! You wouldn’t even have to do that much work; I could help you get started and - ”

“No.”

“ – seriously, I can make you a character sheet so fast, and our party could really use another fighter anyways - ”

“No, Henderson!”

“ – besides, we haven’t gotten to hang out with you as much now that school started, and you know that Will’s having a hard time because everyone keeps calling him ‘Zombie Boy’ and he would be so excited to have you playing with us - ”

Shit, he’s pulling out the Zombie Boy card. Shit, shit, shit.

“Henderson - ”

“ – and, you know, I totally believe you and everything but Mike is pretty convinced that you’re still an asshole, especially with everything Eddie’s said, and this could be your chance to prove him wrong!” Dustin finished emphatically, his chest puffing with exertion.

Steve shot an exasperated look over the top of the Horror section towards Robin, who was pouting in mock-agreement with Dustin.

Traitor.

Sighing, Steve shoved Friday the 13th onto the shelf and dropped his gaze towards Dustin. “One game.”

Dustin let out a loud whoop, hopping in place and punching wildly at the air. “YES!”

“Just one game, Henderson, that’s it.”

“I’LL TAKE IT!” Letting out an even louder victory cry, Dustin raced for the door. “I’m going to get working on your character sheet right now – Wednesday, 3:30 in the drama room,” Dustin said, whirling around to point at Steve. “You’ll be there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there.”

“YES! Don’t worry Steve, you won’t regret this!” Dustin beamed and then he was out the door, disappearing into the October sun.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie big bang #steve harrington my beloved #hellfire club