#suddenly it’s this raw bleeding aching thing and you don’t know where to turn because ther person you want to turn to does nothing good for | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonlit-jeno · 3 years

Text

red door, yellow door (m.)

pairing: mark lee x fem reader x jung jaehyun

words: 8.1k

a/n: this is a repost from my old bts blog! pls don’t ask abt it bc i no longer actively follow bts :)

One of these days, you’re going to kill your coworkers.

You love them, you really do, but sometimes they can just be so dumb. It was Donghyuck and Renjun who came up with the idea to play this stupid game, one that is probably only played by naive 12 year old girls during slumber parties.

Normally you’d just brush it off, but Renjun had called you a wimp, so naturally you had to do it. Which is how you’ve ended up on your back with your best friend massaging circles into your forehead.

“Red door, yellow door, any other color door,” is being chanted around the room. You fight the urge to move your neck to a more comfortable position on Mark’s lap. Your hand twitches above your head, where your arms are raised. “This is stupid,” You whisper, and Mark laughs, scolding you lightly.

After a while, the mindless chanting lulls you to sleep, and you feel yourself drift off.

“What do you see?”

Two doors appear in front of you, one red and one yellow. They both look kind of old, paint chipping and peeling off.

“Anything else?”

A black door appears next to the yellow one and you find yourself drawn to it, wanting to go in. This one is shinier, considerable newer and more inviting compared to the other two

“Go in.”

You open the door and walk through, a sense of relief flooding through your senses as you give in to the pull. The room that you find yourself in seems never ending, the only thing in it a large bed.

“Do you see anyone?”

A man appears, sitting on the bed. The suit he’s wearing is unfitting for the plain surroundings- in fact, he’s unfitting for the surroundings in general. His teeth are blinding white when he smiles, not a hair out of place on his entire head. He’s attractive, all golden skin and beautiful features. Almost too beautiful. A shiver crawls up your spine, a tinge of discomfort bleeding into your senses. He smiles, dimples popping out, and you push the discomfort to the back of your mind.

“Who are you?” Your voice comes out distant to your own ears, echoing around you.

“Call me Jaehyun. Why don’t you come here, little bird? We can get properly acquainted.” The voice sounds haunting, like a distorted video. You wouldn’t believe that he’s speaking if his lips didn’t move in sync. Despite the unnatural voice sounding warning bells in your brain, you find yourself moving forward automatically and settling down on his lap when he pats his thigh for emphasis.

“And what’s your name, little bird?” He trails a hand up and down your thigh and you shiver, leaning back against him. He chuckles when you tell him your name, a pleased smile lighting up his features.

“Well, little bird, seems that we’re going to have some fun together.”

Your name is being echoed all around you, and you wake with a jolt, eyes flying open to see Mark staring at you.

“Are you okay?” The rest of your group is also gathered around you, standing in a half circle.

“Yeah, just fell asleep for a bit. Why?” You push yourself onto your elbows, sitting up so that you can lean against Mark.

Donghyuck plops down on the floor, sitting so that he’s facing you. “You were talking like you were having a conversation with someone. Who was it?”

You shrug, trying not to dull his excitement. “I don’t know, just some guy.”

“Was he wearing a suit?” Renjun asks, standing behind Hyuck. He grimaces when you nod. “Y/n, we literally told you not to talk to anyone in a suit. We told you not to talk to anyone. It’s in the rules.”

You roll your eyes, knowing how serious he gets when it comes to stuff like this. “Relax, it’s fine. He seemed nice, and it’s not like it was anything real.”

Renjun still doesn’t look convinced, but Mark interrupts his paranoia by doing what he’s best- or worst, depending on who you ask- at, cracking jokes.

“Hey, was he eating deviled eggs?” He laughs at his own joke, and everyone else groans. “Hey, don’t get mad at me. His place was probably such a hellhole.” The bad mood dissolves into jokes and loud laughter for the rest of the night.

You leave the party- or gathering as Donghyuck had called it because it sounded more mysterious- when it starts storming. The rain drenches you and pretty much everyone else that’s sitting on the porch, leaving you scrambling for shelter. Luckily, Mark offers you a ride.

“Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite!” Mark hollars out the window of his truck, his words getting lost in the night as he speeds off. His truck hits a pothole and you can imagine him swearing as his head hits the roof. Giggling to yourself, you unlock your apartment and slip inside. It’s close to 2 in the morning, so you decide that if you’re already not going to get that much sleep, why not binge Shameless?

You only get through two episodes before your eyelids feel heavy, and you have to fight to keep them open. On screen, there’s a bar fight that you try to take interest in, but sleep quickly pulls you under.

“Welcome back, little bird.” The voice is all around you, but no matter how much you turn and search, no one’s to be found.

“Turn around, little bird, I am here.” Spinning abruptly, you come face to face with the man from earlier, Jaehyun. He gives you a chilling grin.

“So we meet again,” he starts, and his voice no longer sounds eerie or inauthentic. He sounds like, well, a normal man. “Tell me, what would you do if I were to kiss you?”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips on instinct. “Depends. Are you a good kisser?” You aim for coy, but you miss the mark and land closer to worried.

“You could say that.” He pulls you close with one hand on the back of your head, stopping right before your lips. “May I?”

You nod, and he pulls you in for a gentle, closed mouth kiss.

It’s like that touch ignites a fire in you, because before you know it, your arms are thrown around his neck, dragging him closer to deepen the kiss. You lick along his lower lip and he readily grants you access, a throaty groan leaving him when you suck on his tongue. Liquid heat courses through your veins when he nips at your lower lip, tongue flicking over it in apology. You moan, raw and needy. He likes that, if the chuckle and wicked grin is anything to go by. Picking you up so that your legs are wrapped around his waist, he walks over to a bed that definitely wasn’t there before.

He drops you on the bed, and then suddenly you’re both naked. Jaehyun leans over you, all lean muscles and golden skin. His cock hangs hard and flushed between his legs, and you have the urge to swallow him down. He groans, as if reading your mind, and then reaches to pump himself slowly, long fingers wrapped around the length. “Not now, little bird, not now. I have something else in mind.” With one gentle push to your shoulders, you’re lying flat on the bed, Jaehyun between your legs. His mouth hovers over your core, already wet and dripping despite not having been touched. He plays idly with the slick on your upper thigh, drawing random patterns into the flesh. His eyes are dark, and you could swear that they’re entirely black, no white visible. He peers curiously up at you from between your legs, watching your reaction as his fingers get closer and closer to where you want him. Your breathing picks up as arousal thrums through your body, center pulsing and aching for some sort of relief.

“May I have you?” His breath ghosts over your center when you speak, the sensation making you even needier.

You nod quickly. “Take it, fuck, you have all of me.” He grins, wasting no time in diving in. His tongue feels impossibly good, licking up your folds and circling over your clit. He leaves sloppy kisses along your core, one hand massaging your thigh and keeping you spread open. You cry out when his tongue pushes into you, his nose brushing your clit and sending sparks up your spine.

His tongue feels impossibly long, so good inside of you that you feel like you’re losing your mind. Your hips buck up desperately, riding his face to hell and back. One arm gets thrown over your stomach to keep you in place while two fingers from his free hand dip into your soaking core, curling into that spot immediately. Stars flash behind your eyes, one hand coming down to fist in Jaehyun’s hair. Your feet scramble frantically along his back, heels digging in in an effort to anchor yourself, toes curling at the sensations singing through you.

You feel your orgasm drawing closer, heat pooling in your center. You whimper brokenly as you try to chase after your high, grinding your hips along his tongue. He lets you, just holding his tongue flat out for you to ride.

You come like that, falling apart on his tongue, screams of his name falling from your lips. He works you through it, tongue gently licking along your folds, slurping up your arousal as if he hasn’t had a meal in weeks.

You lay there, boneless and whimpering weakly through the aftershocks until Jaehyun pulls away to kiss up your body. He licks into your mouth hotly, reminding you that he hasn’t come yet. You bat weakly at his chest, pushing him onto his back. “Your turn,”

He groans in appreciation at the view of you above him. “So perfect, little bird. I’m gonna have so much fun with your soul.”

This sentence freezes you in your spot. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Jaehyun meets your gaze, black eyes entrancing you. “That means, y/n, that I’m going to have your soul. You belong to me now, hmm?” One of his hands plays gently with a strand of your hair. “That’s what you agreed to earlier, no?”

“N-no.” You try backing away, but the inhuman voice from earlier is back, echoing everywhere, repeating his words over and over until you can’t take it anymore-

You wake with a gasp, hitting your head as you sit up. Your computer is still on your lap, episode fifteen playing. Fuck, you’ve only been asleep for forty five minutes. It’s not even three yet, and you don’t have to go to work until eight. Deciding there’s no way you’re falling back asleep, you get up and decide to bake.

Five hours later, your coworkers love you when you show up with containers of cinnamon rolls, five different types of cookies, and a coffee cake. Mark looks mildly worried.

“You okay? I haven’t seen you bake since high school.” You snap out of your thoughts and turn to face Mark. The look of concern on your best friend’s face is enough to make you feel guilty and you nod, forcing a smile onto your face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Had a bad dream last night and couldn’t sleep, that’s all.” You respond, trying not to show how bothered you actually are.

“Wanna talk about it?” Mark leans forward over his desk, chin planted on his hand.

“No, it’s gonna sound dumb.” You whine, shaking your head. And it is dumb, even to you. You’re scared because you had a dream that some man ate you out and then told you he was going to take your soul?

“Well, you always sound dumb. Of course your dreams are gonna be dumb.” Mark laughs as you chuck a piece of cake at him, infectious laugh soothing you. You sigh.

Mark raises his eyebrows at you when you finish telling him your dream. “You’re scared because you had a wet dream? Damn, I’d be living in a nightmare if I was scared after every wet dream I’ve had.”

You kick him under the table. “Mark! It was really scary. He told me he was going to take my soul!”

Upon seeing that you’re actually freaked out, his face softens. “Look, y/n, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You probably just thought that he was hot, and your brain remembered his face and put it in a dream. I wouldn’t worry about it; what’s the worst he’s gonna do, haunt you?”

You give a shaky nod, agreeing. It’s not like something from your dreams could actually harm you. Mark reaches across the desk, taking your hand in his and giving a tight squeeze, warm brown eyes gazing at you openly. “And if something does happen, just remember that I’m your best friend. I’ll be here for you.”

“Thanks, Mark. Means a lot to me.”

He leans back in his seat. “Anytime, anyplace, anything. Triple A.”

You smile, raising an eyebrow. “Anything?”

His eyes go wide, taking in the glint in your eyes. “Within reason.”

“How about a sip of coffee?” You nod down at his cup, pasting a huge smile on your face.

“I did say within reason, so no.”

You huff. “I expected that.”

Although you don’t scare easily, it’s safe to say that you’re a bit unsettled tonight, especially after your nightmare last night. You find yourself jumping at every little noise, hand slamming the light switch on with your pulse racing every five minutes. This has been going on for an hour, and after a final sweep of your room reveals nothing, you decide that maybe a face mask will help you relax.

Your bathroom has two mirrors facing each other, which is normally a blessing when you do your hair, but tonight it does nothing but make you want to hide under your blankets.

Get a grip on yourself, you chastise, grabbing your phone and opening spotify. Maybe some music will help? You click on your Christmas playlist because what better way to cheer up than to think about your favorite holiday?

A mistake, really, because it seems that you’ve forgotten how creepy Santa is.

“He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake,” Yikes. You stop that song in a hurry, feeling anything but comforted. No music then, noted.

You reach for your face wash, turning the sink on and waiting for the water to warm. You can’t help but glance in the mirror behind you every so often, paranoia getting the best of you. Man, you feel pathetic, worrying about monsters in your closet like you’re six and not twenty-six.

You wash your face quickly, hoping that your fears will wash away as well. No such luck.

You swear you see something move behind you after you dry your face off, but there’s nothing there. Shaking it off, you reach for your face mask, taking your time painting your face with the green clay.

It’s after your face is coated that you spot someone in the glass behind you. You scream, whipping around to come face to face with a man. Not just any man- Jaehyun.

Your heart thunders in your chest, eyes widening in fear. He seems to be in the mirror, copying your petrified expression mockingly.

“Hello, little bird.” He purrs, smirking lightly.

“Are you- are you in my mirror?” You’re in disbelief, mind struggling to comprehend this. First you spot him while in a weird trance, then in a dream, and now in your mirror? Maybe you’re having a quarter life crisis.

“No, I am not. Mirrors are just gateways to alternate dimensions. I’m merely using the mirror to visit you.” He says this like it’s common knowledge. It feels like your throat is made of sandpaper with how hard it is to choke out your words. “O-okay. I’m just gonna- yeah.”

You grab your phone from the counter and bolt, fumbling for your keys before jumping into your car and speeding off in the direction of Mark’s house. You call him, fingers fumbling on the screen. He goes to voicemail the first time, and your heart drops. “No, no, no,” you whisper frantically, calling again. He does pick up this time.

“Y/n? It’s the middle of the night.” His voice sounds gruff, and you feel guilty for waking him up. One glance in your rear view mirror reveals that Jaehyun is joining you on this ride, and you scream, car swerving violently to one side before you straighten it out.

“Where are we going, little bird?”

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Mark’s voice has lost its sleepy edge, taking on a concerned tone. He says your name again, more frantic.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Your tires squeal as you make a turn, now only two blocks away. “Can I- can I come over? I really need to be with someone right now.”

“Of course, you know you’re always welcome. The door’s unlocked.”

You hang up, willing the tears in your eyes to not spill over. Finally arriving, you slam on the breaks and haphazardly pull next to a curb, yanking the key out of the ignition and sprinting to Mark’s house.

You lock the door behind you when you step inside, testing the handle as if a door could stop a mirror traveling demon or whatever the fuck Jaehyun was from coming inside. “Mirrors,” you mumble, reaching the stairs.

“Y/n? What’s-” Mark stands at the top of the stairs, one hand rubbing at his eyes. You cut him off, flying up the stairs.

“Mirrors, fuck. Mark, we need to cover the mirrors!” You breeze by his shocked figure, not noticing the way he turns to stare at you incredulously.

“What, why? Y/n, are you crazy?”

Ignoring him, you throw a towel over the mirror in his bathroom, ripping open a pack of bandaids to use as adhesive.

You throw another towel over the mirror in his bedroom, collapsing on his bed when you’re done and finally allowing yourself to sob.

“Y/n, hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me.” Mark, as gentle and caring as ever, comes over to sit next to you, one hand combing through your hair.

“I- don’t laugh at me.” You stare him straight in the eye, pleading with him. You know you’re going to sound crazy, but you’re praying that your best friend listens to you. He nods, urging you to go on.

“That- that man I saw in my dream and during whatever fucked up game Hyuck had us play? He was in my fucking mirror, Mark. I- the whole night, I had this feeling that I was being watched, and then I went into my bathroom and he was just there, and-” You’re hyperventilating at this point, fighting for every breath, tears clouding your vision. “He was in my car, in the rear view mirror-” Mark pulls you closer, enveloping you in his arms and allowing you to sob loudly into his chest. You cry for a few minutes, until you’re finally able to pull yourself together.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’ve had a rough week, I know. It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay.”

He wipes a tear away from your check, patting you lightly. “Why don’t you go wash this off, okay? We can watch a movie after.” He offers, and until that point, you’d forgotten you were wearing a face mask. You grimace at the green imprint on his black shirt, but he just chuckles. “I’ll go grab you some water in the meantime.”

Nodding, you garner up the energy to walk to his bathroom. It’s fine, the mirror’s covered, he can’t hurt you. You close the door just in case, wanting an extra level of protection

You rinse your face with cold water, hoping that it will clear your mind. You give your face a couple more splashes before drying off with a towel.

“You missed a spot on your forehead.” You freeze before looking around wildly. There’s no one around, which can only mean that Jaehyun can still see you. Swallowing, you start the water again, rubbing at your forehead.

“And your left cheek.” You rub at the skin, being way too harsh but you excuse it considering your situation. “No, your other left. My left.”

“Jesus,” You growl in annoyance, reaching up to rip the towel down. Sure enough, there’s a splotch of green on your cheek. Jaehyun’s nowhere to be found. Maybe I am losing my mind.

You finish rinsing the mask off, finding some face lotion buried in Mark’s drawer, screaming bloody murder when Jaehyun appears in the mirror again. “Looking for me?”

“No! Leave me alone!” You cry, head spinning. Jaehyun fakes a pout, holding a hand over his heart in mock hurt. Do demons even have hearts?

“Ouch, little bird. You don’t want to finish what we started the other night? When I had you moaning so pretty, so wet for me. I’m sure your pussy would take me so well, hmm?” Your heart rate kicks up again, but for a different reason this time. You almost moan, thinking about the dream.

Because he was right, you had been so wet. The want comes back full forces, slamming into you like a truck. You remember how needy you were, wanting to suck his cock so bad, wanting him to fuck you like there’s no tomorrow. All fear that you previously had is slowly disappearing, fading into lust.

The demon smiles knowingly. “Ah, little bird, so you do remember. Remember how you promised me that you’re mine?”

You nod, eyes glazing over. You’re wet, panties starting to stick to your throbbing core uncomfortably.

“Mmmh, I bet you’re already dripping for me. Just waiting for me to come out and fill you up.”

Hearing your name leave his lips sends a wave of arousal crashing through you so strong that your knees buckle, grabbing onto the counter for support. He chuckles, but whatever he’s about to say is cut off by Mark.

“What were you say-” Your best friend trails off, eyes wide as he observes the scene. You snap out of your haze at the interruption. His mouth parts in shock. “You really weren’t kidding, shit.” He laughs humorlessly.

Then, quick as lightning, he rears back and punches the mirror. You scream in surprise at the crack, shards falling to the floor.

You and Mark both stare at the broken shards of glass on the ground, gleaming under the lights. “Mark,” You start, trailing off once you realize you have nothing to say. He seems to understand, walking forward until he’s close enough to pull you into a hug. You feel tears start to slide down your cheeks, dampening the cotton of your best friends shirt. You hug him closer, burying your face into his broad chest. He wraps himself around you, and you let yourself be lulled into the sense of security that his larger frame brings you. A sense of security that vanishes once you hear a low chuckle that definitely does not belong to Mark.

You both scream, leaping backwards and away from the noise. Jaehyun stands there, just in front of the door, with a shit eating grin on his face. You cower behind Mark, who is wrapping a protective arm around you while simultaneously trying to hide behind you.

“I really must thank you for finally setting me free. Normally I have to wait for some asshole with a ouija board, but then there’s just so many other demons that I have to compete with. So I just stick to the dream world-” He pauses to wink at you for emphasis “-but this is so much more fun.” His eyes are black, and you can’t tell where he’s looking. Swallowing, you clutch onto Mark’s arm for dear life.

The demon seems to regard the two of you for a moment, before his amusement seems to grow. He begins to move forward.

“Ah, Mark Lee. Lovely name for a stupid boy. Didn’t you know breaking a mirror is bad luck?” By this point, you and Mark are flattened against the wall, while Jaehyun stands less than a foot away from the two of you. There’s nowhere to run. This is it, you think, this is how I die.

Jaehyun chuckles, turning to you. You lower your gaze to the ground; it hurts to make eye contact with him. “No, little bird. This isn’t how you die, don’t worry.”

Then he’s backing away from the two of you, motioning to follow him. The logical part of your brain is screaming not to, but you find yourself drawn to him, legs carrying you after him without your consent, Mark clutching your arm tightly as he walks next to you.

Jaehyun seems to know the layout of the house, leading you straight into Mark’s bedroom. The demon grabs a chair from the desk and spins it around, straddling it so that he’s facing the bed.

He motions lazily. “Go on now, have a seat. Get comfortable.”

You find yourself sitting down on the edge of the bed, following his words like marching orders. Mark sits about half a foot away from you. Jaehyun shakes his head. “No, no, no. That won’t do. I said to get comfortable, did I not?” He raises an eyebrow as if daring you to argue with him. “Go lay down at the head board.”

You crawl to the head of the bed, settling so that you’re on your side, facing the demon. Mark follows suit, pulling you close to him so that you’re spooning. Jaehyun lets out a pleased hum. “Much better. Aren’t you much more comfortable now?” Nodding, you realize that you actually are more comfortable. It’s not just the change of position, but the energy in the room as well. The demon is no longer giving off a threatening aura. It’s more relaxed, maybe even happy? He certainly looks more relaxed, probably as happy as a demon can get, if not a little smug.

Your body is pulsing with energy, and it takes you a moment to place what you’re feeling. The earlier need to run that you had felt has been replaced with another need, albeit further down. Your thighs clench as another surge of heat pulses through your core, and your face warms at the realization. Why now, of all times, are you horny?

Jaehyun’s grin broadens as he seems to sense your dilemma. “Oh, little bird, if only you knew. Tell me, what type of demon do you think I am?” He watches you curiously, black eyes staring into your soul.

You try to tilt your head towards Mark, but the position’s too awkward and you only catch a glimpse of the side of his face. He looks a bit flushed from what you can see, teeth digging into his plush bottom lip, teeth that you could easily replace with your own- you blink, dazedly. What the fuck? Sexual thoughts about your best friend? That’s a new one. Even if you’ve noticed that he’s hot, you’d never thought about him sexually. Now, though, you can feel the hardness of his dick against your ass, and you can’t help but think about how good he could fuck you.

“Incubus,” You finally manage, blinking rapidly to clear the haze of your vision. Jaehyun grins, looking genuinely surprised that you’d gotten it right.

“Good girl. Make a little sense now?” You nod, fighting a moan as Mark starts to rock against you, slowly, as if he’s unconsciously doing it. Jaehyun notices.

“How about you, Mark? You doing alright over there?”

Your friend, your best friend, buries his face in your neck and groans, deep and delicious. It sends another surge of heat through your body, the growing need between your legs pulsing pathetically. “What are you doing to us?” The words are growled behind you, vibrating against the skin where his lips are pressed.

“Oh no, Mark, I’m not doing anything to you. The only thing I can do to you is make you realize your desires. Your deepest, darkest fantasies? I make that happen. Finally being able to fuck the girl you’ve been in love with for years? I make that happen.” The words take a minute to register with you, but you stiffen when the meaning hits you. Mark Lee, in love with you? An unlikely story, bordering impossible.

The demon chuckles at your inner turmoil, rolling his eyes at how dumb humans can be. “You too, y/n. You love Mark, even if you won’t admit it. You let the idea that he was too good for you scare you away from him. Do you not remember how often you thought of him, late at night after first meeting him?”

You groan in protest, not because it’s not true, but because you do remember. It had been so long ago. When you hadn’t known Mark, had only known of him. You pull away from Mark, awkwardly pushing him to lay flat against the pillows while you clamber on top of him.

“Mark, is it true? Do you love me?” You hold his face between your hands, staring into his eyes. He meets your gaze, pupils blown and eyes half lidded. He nods as best he can.

“So, so much.” Mark’s voice comes out raspy, matching his flushed skin. You lean down to kiss him, uncaring of the other presence in the room. Mark moans when your lips make contact, hands pulling you to straddle him. Your eyelids flutter at the feeling of his clothed cock against your center, rocking your hips to try to ease the throb of your core. His hands fly to your ass, pulling and kneading at the flesh as he urges you into a harsher pace.

The kiss is rougher, needier now, open mouthed and panting. Mark’s got his tongue tangled with yours, sucking in such a way that sends waves of heat through you. You want him in you, any part of him really.

Jaehyun seems to agree, speaking up from right next to you. You jump, having forgotten he was there although he’s the reason you’re like this in the first place.

“Let’s get the show on the road. As much as I’m enjoying this, I think we’d all enjoy something else a little more.” The demon reaches for the hem of your shirt and you nod, raising your arms above your head to let him pull the garment off. Mark groans at the newly revealed skin, hands going to cup your breasts through the fabric of your bra. “Fuck,” He whines, staring in awe at your chest. He doesn’t waste time before leaning up to kiss along your cleavage, pulling the bra down to expose your breasts. Another set of hands unclasp the bra before traveling down your torso to rub circles into your hip bones, sliding your sleeping shorts and panties off at the same time. Jaehyun throws the shorts somewhere off the bed. He keeps the panties, a pleased sigh leaving him as he appreciates the ruined fabric.

“Fuck, little bird. You’re really enjoying this,” He comments, as if he isn’t a fucking lust demon that can sense these kinds of things. You don’t voice your thoughts, because Mark chooses this moment to suck a nipple into his mouth, nibbling and sucking on the sensitive skin so that all you can do is moan. “You’ve even ruined your panties. They’re soaked.”

He hands the strip of lace to Mark, who lets out a throaty groan at the sight. “You’re not getting these back.” He informs you, slipping the garment into his bedside drawer. You ignore him, instead tugging insistently at his shirt. He takes pity on you, grabbing the collar and yanking the baggy tee over his head.

You let your hands slide down his chest in admiration, feeling the hard lines of his muscles. You lick your lips at how broad his shoulders are, how strong he looks. Jaehyun doesn’t give you much time to enjoy the view, gliding two fingers along your slit before circling around your little nub. A cry of pleasure leaves you to mindlessly press your face into Mark’s collarbone, nipping and sucking the flesh until you’re sure you’ve left a bruise.

Jaehyun slips the two fingers into your aching core, curling and dragging them so well along your walls. Sparks of electricity flow through your veins, heat pooling in your center.

Mark groans from below you. Looking down, you see that you’ve unconsciously dug your nails into his hard chest in an effort to ground yourself. You remove your hands, only to spot little red half crescents littered over his skin. You rub your palms over the marks as if to soothe them, but it seems that the man wasn’t groaning from pain.

“Y/n” He sounds so fucked out, voice hoarse and raw even though hardly anything has happened yet. “You look so good like this, so perfect for me.” He brings one large hand up to cup your cheek, thumb delicately stroking over your cheekbone before moving down to trace your lower lip. You part your lips, letting him slide in before sucking around the digit, tongue curling around it as if it were his cock. His eyes darken a fraction, tongue coming out to wet his lips, swollen and kiss bitten.

You moan around the digit as Jaehyun adds a third finger, stretching your walls so pleasantly that you can’t help but buck your hips back for more. A whine forces its way out of your throat as the demon pulls his fingers out of you, leaving an empty ache between your thighs.

“Don’t you think it would be more fun if she was sucking on something a bit bigger than your finger, Mark?” The voice startles you, breath tickling your ear as he speaks. The man under you nods, swallowing thickly. Your eyes are drawn to the way his Adam’s apple bobs with the movement, and a gush of wetness pulses down below. Your thighs are probably covered in your arousal at this point.

You scoot down his body, trailing kisses and bites down his toned stomach. You take your time unzipping his pants, sucking a mark into the soft skin below his navel. He’s hard as a rock, and you moan in appreciation at the sheer size of him once you shimmy his jeans down his thighs.

“No underwear?” You ask, mouth curling up in a teasing smirk. He huffs out a laugh, propping himself up on his elbows so that he can watch. “No, ‘s too restricting.”

You lazily pump his dick, thumb flicking over the tip once or twice. You plan to tease him more, but then Jaehyun’s pushing your head down and you have no choice but to open your mouth wide, innocent eyes peeking up at Mark as you take his cock in your mouth. He’s so big that you can’t take him in all the way, keeping one hand curled around his cock to stroke what your mouth can’t reach. You let it get sloppy, using your spit to ease the glide until you’ve got a pleasant rhythm going. Mark replaces Jaehyun’s hands with his own, gathering strands of your hair in his palms and using that grip to control your pace. “F-fuck,” He lets out a shaky exhale, letting his head fall back against the pillows once he’s satisfied with the pace.

Jaehyun slaps your ass, a loud smack sounding throughout the room. You moan, pitching forward onto Mark’s cock and gagging as he hits the back of your throat. A strangled cry leaves the man above you, his hips thrusting even further into the tight, wet heat of your mouth.

The demon kneads your stinging flesh before using his grip on you to pull your hips up. “Good girl,” You keen under his praises, sticking your ass up even higher. The warm, wet pressure against your center has you faltering, moaning almost violently around Mark’s cock. He doesn’t seem to be having any complaints, the vibrations forcing a moan of his own out.

Your eyes roll up into your head as Jaehyun wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly. You’re sure you’d be screaming by now if Mark’s cock wasn’t halfway down your throat. You’ve given up sucking him off by this point, content to let the man fuck your mouth while Jaehyun sucks your fucking soul out from between your legs. It feels so good, not used to being the center of even one man’s focus, let alone two.

Mark eases you off of his cock after you accidentally bite him, using your spit to ease the slide as he lazily fucks up into his loose fist. You rest your head on his thigh, alternating between moaning wantonly and mouthing messily against the skin as you feel your orgasm approach.

Jaehyun pulls away at the last second, and you whine loudly as your orgasm is cut off. The feeling of frustration leaves you close to tears, and you jiggle your ass in hopes that it will regain his attention. It does momentarily, as Jaehyun lands a harsh smack on the flesh, but he pulls away again.

“Mark,” The man in question looks up, hand freezing on his dick as if waiting for Jaehyun’s orders. And fuck, what a sight that would be: your normally brash and confident friend being so pliant and submissive to a near stranger… You blink out of it, feeling mildly ashamed even in your current state. Luckily, Jaehyun interrupts your thoughts. “I’m feeling generous today, so I’ll let you go first. You’ve been waiting long enough for this, anyway.”

Mark nods eagerly, pulling you into a desperate kiss. You paw at every inch of skin you can reach, searching for a release from the ache inside of you. Your wish is granted when he hooks two fingers in your soaking cunt, groaning at how wet you are. He scissors you open quickly, hissing at how tight you feel.

“Ready, angel? Want my cock?” The pet name has you moaning, though it draws a low chuckle from Jaehyun, who’s watching from his position next to Mark.

“Hurry up, already. Need you in me, ‘ve waited so long.”

Mark lights up at this, smile stretching his features. He looks so breathtaking in this moment, skin glowing and flushed, hair mussed up, eyes blown wide and half lidded.

“I’m yours,” He breathes, leaning up for one last kiss. His hands slide down to your hips, pulling you forward so that you’re hovering above his thick cock. “Ride me baby.”

“I’d love to.” Reaching one hand down to position him at your entrance, you start to lower yourself down. Of course, Jaehyun chooses this exact moment to stop you. He truly is the spawn of Satan.

“Little bird, hold on just a second. I found something of interest in the back of Markie’s brain.” You cringe as he mocks your earlier nickname for the man. “What’s this I’m seeing, Mark? You like it up the ass?” His tone is teasing, but Mark groans in embarrassment. His face has gone an alarming shade of red by this point. “N-no,” He tries to deny, sputtering excuses but Jaehyun cuts him off with a press of a finger to his lips. “Oh, Mark, don’t get shy on me now. It’s a perfectly fine thing to like. Little bird, you’ll get your turn in a minute. You,” He snaps his fingers at Mark. “Come here. Kneel up, just like that. Perfect.” He appraises Mark’s ass for a moment, hands moulding the flesh before slipping a finger in. Mark’s eyebrows furrow, and you shoot up in alarm. “Doesn’t he need lube?”

Jaehyun looks at you, surprised that you care, before chuckling. “I can produce lube. Perks of being a lust demon.” Winking at you, he returns his focus to Mark. You can’t see what he’s doing, but the pure pleasure present on your best friends face has you clenching your thighs together, waves of need crashing through you. If you thought he looked good before, he looks absolutely gone now. Breathless groans are leaving him now, eyelids fighting to stay open as he sinks down on the others fingers. You watch him, mesmerized, before shuffling over to him.

“How close are you?”

He forces his gaze down to you. “Kind of- nngh- close, w-why?”

Wrapping a hand around his base lightly, you start stroking. “Will you come if I blow you?”

He moans, a punched out sound that takes you by surprise. “Fuck, yes, I’ll definitely come if you blow me.” You pout in disappointment. Upon seeing your crestfallen expression, he continues. “Maybe we c-can- oh, yes- figure something out. Jaehyun,” He turns his head back behind him, struggling to get the words out between moans. “Can I eat y/n out?”

There’s just something so hot about Mark asking for permission from someone else that you can’t help the whimper that escapes you. Jaehyun must nod, because then you’re being laid back, Mark settling between your thighs. He’s sucking sweet kisses into your core almost immediately, pulling your legs over his shoulders to give him better access. You’re letting out sharp cries of pleasure the whole time, eyes fighting the urge to roll back in your head in favor of watching Mark between your legs. A particularly well placed flick of his tongue has your hips rolling against his face, grasping the sheets in your hand as your mind blanks. The pleasure climbing through your system is insane, threatening to burn you from the inside out.

It only gets better once Mark starts moaning, his sinful mouth sending sweet vibrations traveling up your core. You manage to catch sight of Jaehyun behind him, kissing wetly along his shoulders and neck, features curving into a smirk once he notices you watching him.

“Little bird likes this, hmm? Like watching another man pleasure your boyfriend while he pleases you?” You hum, unable to tear yourself away from his gaze, unable to even think, letting his boyfriend comment slide. Whereas before it hurt to look directly into his eyes, you now find yourself getting lost in his dark orbs. It’s like a drug, your pleasure being amplified by the man, demon, whatever in front of you.

You finally break eye contact, head falling back against the mattress as Mark draws you closer and closer to your peak. Burying one hand in his hair, you use the leverage to grind your core against his face, chasing your sweet release. “C-close, Mark, please-” You don’t know what you’re begging for at this point. It’s too much but not enough at the same time. Jaehyun saves you from having to decide by cruelly ripping your orgasm away from you, again, dragging Mark’s face away from your pussy.

A few tears slip down your face at this point, frustration reaching its peak. Jaehyun wipes the tears away, laughing lowly. “Don’t worry, you’ll get what you desire soon.”

He must pull out of Mark, because your friend whimpers before seeming to realize what he just did and clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Mark, would you like to fuck our little bird now?” Mark nods, tongue flicking out to wet dry lips.

Jaehyun smirks. “Good. On your back. Y/n, ride him.” You don’t have to be told twice. You scramble onto your knees, wasting no time in straddling Mark before dropping yourself down on him. You both moan in satisfaction, you at finally being filled and Mark at your tightness. You have to brace both hands on his chest, almost collapsing at the overwhelming relief you feel. Beyond the burn of the stretch, his cock filling you up so nicely, there’s a sweet pleasure, a satisfaction.

You don’t wait very long to adjust, grinding your hips in smooth circles before lifting yourself off of him and dropping yourself back down. You quickly start a rhythm of you bouncing on his cock, eyes rolling at how fucking big he feels in you.

Mark’s hands are locked in a vice grip on your ass, fingers digging into the supple flesh and using his grip to urge you into a faster pace.

Jaehyun decides to join, coming up behind you to kiss at your neck, one hand reaching up to your mouth. “Suck,” He commands, slipping two fingers past your willing lips. You do, hollowing your cheeks and slurping around the digits, wishing that it was his dick. He hums behind you, bringing the wet digits down to your entrance, finding your clit with ease and rubbing fast circles into the little nub. You moan even louder now, feeling yourself speed towards your climax. You’ve been on edge for too long, you can’t hold on anymore.

“You close, little bird? Going to come on Mark’s cock? Gonna make him fill you up, pound into that dirty cunt?” His words get to you, your head falling back against his shoulder once more.

“Yes, yes! Oh, please, please-” He cuts off your mindless rambling by pulling you in for a kiss, one that you melt into. This is the first time he’s kissed you, and you’re quite upset that you hadn’t kissed him earlier. It’s a hot kiss, lots of tongue and teeth. It heightens your pleasure immensely, and you can’t stop kissing him. You suck on his tongue filthily, and oh, he must like that if the resulting groan is anything to go by. Even when he goes to pull away, you won’t let him, one hand fisting in his hair to keep him close. He seems to be speeding up your release, if that were even possible. Your mind feels hazier now, every sensation heightened, core screaming for release. You feel your orgasm twisting painfully at your insides, pulsing before finally exploding. The intensity of it rips a scream out of your throat, nails scratching across Mark’s chest as Jaehyun licks even deeper into your mouth, drinking up the noises you make.

When you come down, Mark is still thrusting desperately up into you, though he stops at the demons command. “From behind,” You hear Jaehyun say, but everything’s hazy at this point. Your mind is still fuzzy from your orgasm, and it’s like watching through a screen. Like you’re high, though you hadn’t had anything the whole day.

Mark manhandles you into position, hands and knees with your ass raised high in the air. He leaves one gentle kiss on your shoulder blade before relentlessly pounding into you, cock hitting even deeper in this position. Jaehyun kneels in front of you, pulling your face in towards his cock. You moan around him as he slips inside, mouth not quite burning at the stretch like Mark, though the demon still has you gagging. His cock has the same effect on you as his kisses did, and you feel addicted. You’re slurping and sucking and moaning around him, not wanting the intense pleasure to stop. You barely hear the kissing above you, taking far too long to register that Jaehyun has pulled Mark into a messy kiss above you. The image has you moaning even more wantonly, ass pushing back against Mark.

The kiss seems to have a similar effect on the man, because then he’s slamming into you at an even more relentless rate, moans higher and more frequent before he’s coming with a shout, finally filling you up. Your core pulses again at the feeling, and you suck at Jaehyun’s dick with renewed vigor. His hands fist in your hair, keeping you still so that he can fuck your mouth as hard as he wants. You relish in the feeling of your throat being fucked raw, spit dripping out of your mouth and down his cock. He lets out a deep groan, hips slamming deep one last time as he finishes. His cum seems to ignite a fire within you, because you’re coming almost simultaneously with him, despite not even being touched.

You collapse afterwards, dragging yourself to Mark and letting him drape himself over you. You let yourself drift off to sleep, sated and still riding the high.

The demon kisses each of you one last time, drinking in the last remaining parts of your soul, watching as the two humans take their last breaths. “Thanks for the meal, lovelies.” He chuckles, petting your head almost affectionately before walking out into the night sky, not sparing a single glance back.

#mark smut #mark lee smut #jaehyun smut #jung jaehyun smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #kpop smut #super m smut #nct u smut #gonna delete any asks abt bts or the old blog so pls dont send any lol #not for bad reasons or anythnig i just dont have anything to say abt them #ummm ok i did edit this but it was originally jin and hoseok so if you see their names that's an accident my b #anyways enjoy kdjsnfj

978 notes · View notes

wri0thesley · 3 years

Text

examination - overhaul x reader (2.5k)

warnings: dark content. yandere/overly controlling overhaul. non-consensual drugging, medical kink, glove kink, examination, surgical setting kind of, reader is basically a prisoner, choking, mindbroken reader, needles, non-con implied. afab reader, fem pronouns. not sfw, minors dni!

me: might write that overhaul choking drabble today idk. also me: writes this 2.5k shameful bullshit instead

this is the first mha fic i’ve ever written pls be nice to me, i love this horrible horrible man

The leather of the operating table sticks to your bare thighs uncomfortably as you tug the gown down, despite knowing that the small gesture is useless. You will end the ‘examination’ on your back, gown pushed around your hips, feet in stirrups--

The door opening startles you, big doe eyes flying to the door to see him. Half of his face is still covered by the bird-mask that you always see in your nightmares, but the overall expression of his eyes is satisfied. You are exactly where he told you to be, exactly when he told you to be, exactly how he told you to be. It’s not a surprise – he’s aware of how much fear he commandeers – but it’s still pleasing to remember just how thoroughly broken you are.

He doesn’t greet you as he comes to stand by the operating table, his eyes instead roaming over all of the bare skin not covered by the medical gown. You’ve been careful. You know that you’re not bruised, or cut, or scratched – you’d looked at yourself in the mirror before you’d made your way here.

Bare-faced, hair brushed back, skin still looking a little uncomfortable and raw from the thorough scrubbing you’d given yourself. It’s better to pre-empt these things, you’ve learnt.

He lets out a sigh. Gloved fingers come to pinch at his mask and remove it – you lean back automatically, not wanting to breathe on him or anything that might set him off, and you win a light tilt of his lips that’s covered with a clinical black surgical mask a moment after you’ve seen it.

The gloves he’s wearing are tugged off with a furrow of displeasure, dropped onto the tray beside him as he snaps the new dark latex ones over his hands and wrists instead. Seeing his bare hands always makes a flash of fear go through you. He does not threaten, in so many words – but sometimes, if you displease him, he tugs at the wrist and you feel coldness drench your back.

“Open your mouth,” he says, detached. He always talks like that to you; still, you occasionally hear talk of what he’s like with those who have displeased him, and you think perhaps his cool detachment as he probes and pokes and prods at you is preferable to the other options. Two of his fingers push on your lower lip, forcing your jaw wider until you ache. “Stick out your tongue.”

You think actual doctors use some kind of tool for this; you don’t think they press two long fingers onto their patient’s tongues so that your eyes squeeze shut for a moment, the taste of rubbery latex flooding your senses. You just manage to stop yourself gagging; there’s no telling what he’ll do if you do that with his fingers still in your mouth.

“Hmm.” He says, golden eyes trailing over your tongue. You are not aware of the throb of heat that goes through him at the sight of you, docile and obedient, your mouth wide open for him. He is an expert in making sure his feelings do not project onto his face. “I’ll up your vitamin dose.” He pulls his fingers out, eyes narrowing in displeasure as he changes out the glove on the hand that was on your tongue.

You sometimes wonder how many pairs he goes through, and let yourself have a brief smile at the thought of how much of the Shie Hassaikai’s budget must be devoted to things like surgical masks and latex gloves and anti-bacterial hand gels. Certainly, your little room in the compound must have cost a pretty penny in all of the vitamins and supplements and other various medications that Overhaul tells you to take.

Another vitamin. Your face is falling before you can stop it, and school your features into a blank mask. He does not miss the change; you are usually so good for him.

(You don’t need to be taking half of the things that Overhaul makes sure are emptied into your too-large pillbox. But you’re easier, sweeter and more pliant when you’re so drugged up you can barely open your eyes.)

“Is there something wrong?”

There’s a knife edge to his voice. Your shoulders shrink in, fear evident in every inch of your expression. Thumb and forefinger come to grip your chin, jerking it harshly so you’re looking directly upwards into narrowed, golden eyes.

“I asked you a question. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

A knot of fear in your throat almost stops you from speaking; but that fear, you know, will be tenfold if you make him madder than you already seem to have. Overhaul doesn’t shout; but his cool, clinical tone and the dangerous glint of his iris is just as frightening as if he did.

“I already take so many,” you whisper, your voice very quiet, cracking. You don’t speak much anymore. His face twitches.

“Perhaps a throat spray, too,” he says, evenly. The fingers on your face trail down, and you bite back a whimper as suddenly both of his hands are on your neck, thumbs pressing directly into your windpipe. He doesn’t press, yet, but the danger lingers there as he keeps his gaze on you. “You sound scratchy.”

(He thinks of a throat numbing spray; of your sleepy, dazed eyes as he pushes himself further inside. He might make you bleed, or tear something, he supposes – but his quirk was made for quickly fixing such flaws, even if he was the one to have made them.)

He presses one thumb down, relishing in the soft wheeze that issues forth from your mouth; the terrified, deer-in-headlights shine of your eyes under fluorescent lighting.

“S-sorry, ‘m sorry--” You manage, voice sounding even drier than before. Overhaul tips his head to one side to consider you. You certainly look sorry, pathetic as you are. But . . . not good enough. Your neck feels good under his hands. He presses the other thumb.

Your hand flies up as if you’re going to grab his forearm, but flutters before it does. You force it back down, curling your fingers around the edge of the operating table – good. He doesn’t know how he’d have punished you if you’d been so bold as to touch him without permission or asking, but he knows you won’t have liked it.

You hate the feeling of the latex gloves on your bare skin; hate the squeaking sound they make when they rub against something, hate the cloying scent of them that lingers wherever Overhaul goes.

The fingers wrapped around the back of your neck dig in, too. He’s pressing too hard, restricting too much airflow – you try and take a hurried breath of air, but nothing can get through the blockage. Your lips suddenly feel very numb. Panic is flooding your senses, as well as a vague sense of . . . nothing.

If Overhaul chokes you out right now, and keeps going until you’re limp and your heart stops beating, nobody will do anything. Nobody will care. The thought is strangely comforting.

He releases the pressure, turning away in distaste as you let out a series of distressed little coughs. You manage to get your wrist in front of your mouth before you cough everywhere, but an antiseptic wipe is still pressed into your other hand forcefully before you’ve even stopped choking.

“What do you say?” He asks you, as he turns back to the medical trolley as if he didn’t just come seconds away from killing you. His gloved hand brushes various silvery medical tools, not all of which you recognise, and your heart misses a beat in fear at the sight of the surgical blades. He ignores those ones, thankfully, instead settling on a syringe.

You’re not sure what’s in this one, but you don’t ask. He’ll tell you as he does it; you no longer know how truthful he is, but it’s not like it matters.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you manage, through the hazy mess that is your poor oxygen-deprived brain. “I-I’ll t-take whatever you tell me to take.”

“I do it for your own good,” he tells you, tapping the syringe with one gloved finger. He looks at it with that same bored, unreadable expression. You wonder if you could tell what he was thinking better if he didn’t wear the mask. “I just don’t want you to be sick.”

He stresses the word. He is always talking about how filthy and ill and diseased the rest of the world is. You swallow again. You should be grateful. You should. Should be grateful that, for all he tells you is wrong with you and plies you with medicines and drugs and vitamins, he doesn’t think you’re sick enough to just outright disassemble you and put you back together.

You hold your arm out, hoping your compliance will make some of his anger at your outburst fade. His eyes linger on the pinprick bruises of your inner elbow, the side he usually injects.

“Just a painkiller,” he says to you, but you don’t believe him.

He doesn’t give you a warning the way nurses used to when you had to be injected as a child. The needle presses into your skin immediately, almost too deep, and you’re immeasurably glad that Overhaul doesn’t see the flinch on your face because he’s too busy watching the liquid be injected directly into your bloodstream.

Needle out. Gauze. Medical tape. He is practised, clinical, careful as he bandages the site of the injection.

(It’ll kick in in about fifteen minutes, he thinks. By then, you’ll have your back flat and your feet in stirrups and you won’t say anything as he presses three gloved fingers inside of you. All you’ll do is let your breath catch, your hips jerk, your eyes hazy and unfocused as the tranquiliser works its magic.)

An alarm sounds from the device wrapped around your wrist.

“Ah,” he says. “I’ll give you the new vitamin now, then. Just a moment.”

He strides over to the other side of the room and you are well-trained enough to not let your eyes follow him, as perfectly organised cupboards are opened and the rattle of pills echoes in your ears.

You turn the bracelet around your wrist off. It’ll beep again once more, later on, for your third lot of medications. Once in the morning, to both wake you up and to tell you to take your first cocktail of pills. Overhaul never usually sees you until the afternoon unless he wants to check on something, but that doesn’t mean he’ll let you rot in bed hating your life all day.

(You are permitted some books, some hobbies that Overhaul does not think will be damaging to your poor health and that don’t make a mess. There is a half-finished embroidery in your desk drawer, a jigsaw puzzle you must have done twenty times spread out over the desk proper, origami animals in a neat line on your bedside table.)

The second alarm goes off at five fifteen. You are supposed to be in this room – you always consider it the surgery room, though it’s more of an examination room than anything else. You’re not permitted to wander the upstairs of the base at your leisure, much less the cavernous underground hallways, so you often wonder what else Overhaul is hiding down here. Overhaul gives you these drugs himself; sometimes this particular cocktail features some new tablet that you’ve never taken before. He watches you take them with the eyes of a hawk, checking underneath your tongue to make sure you’ve swallowed them all.

And the last lot are taken before you go to bed (half nine in the evening, always. Overhaul says a routine for you is integral to keeping you well).

He’s back. One small cup full of rattling pills and medication is given to you, and a half glass full of purified water from the water filter jug in the refrigerator.

He watches you tip the small cup back, watches the bob of your throat as you trustingly swallow them.

You don’t bother looking inside of it before you do this; you probably won’t recognise half of what it is, anyway. You’re going to take them no matter what, so you have decided perhaps it’s better the devil you do not know.

A gulp of cold water, too loud. You’re given a tissue to wipe your mouth.

You’re suddenly getting very tired. Your arms feel very heavy, your mouth dry, your head stuffed with cotton wool. You blink so slowly you feel like you’re wading through a marsh.

“Mouth open,” he’s saying, again, and you do it so he can check you’ve taken the medication, but it sounds and feels like he’s very far away. If you spoke aloud right now, you feel certain that your words would come out slurred and unrecognisable. “Good.”

Your brain attaches itself to the phrase. He so rarely praises you. You feel your mouth pull at the corners, your smile somnolent and pliant. You cannot see the way Overhaul smirks at your expression underneath his mask, but you can see the pleased light reflecting in his eyes.

“Last examination,” he tells you, brusquely. “Lean back. Feet up. You know what to do, don’t you?”

You do! You’ve done this one a hundred times. A soft giggle escapes from your lips as you swing your legs slowly onto the table and the back is readjusted by Overhaul’s own steady hands to make you comfortable. It is comfortable, despite the cold, sticky leather. You miss the stirrup the first time, and you hear Overhaul click his tongue as you’re forcibly pushed into them. It’s not your fault. You always feel drowsy after taking your medicine, but today is even worse than usual--

“Just relax,” he tells you. Latex-covered fingers rest on your outer thighs, pushing the thin medical gown up so that the hem is ruched up around your waist. “Close your eyes. This will be cold--”

You close your eyes and let out a soft sigh as slick, cold fingers (you suppose that he lubricated them, and you’re grateful – he’s not always so kind) gently prod at the space between your legs.

You could fall asleep, right here, you think – which is absurd. You shouldn’t be feeling so heavy and tired and comfortable whilst your . . . you never have quite the right words to describe what Overhaul is to you, but the fact remains that you shouldn’t be so trusting and naive as to fall asleep here with fingers that have killed probing your slit.

You can hear a clock ticking as if it’s somewhere very far away. You can hear Overhaul’s meticulous, even breathing – like even that has to be perfectly in time, perfectly meted out. You can feel your own erratic heartbeat, like a bird trapped in your chest.

You shouldn’t fall asleep, you shouldn’t fall asleep--

You watch fireworks and swirls and patterns on the inside of your eyelids like you’re at a festival; the kind you are no longer allowed to attend, lest somebody’s sickness rub off on you. Watching your own in your mind seems like the next best thing.

You drop into oblivion.

#overhaul x reader #yandere overhaul #overhaul smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #yandere bnha #chisaki kai x reader #not sfw text #yandere for ts #writing #overhaul x you #medical kink #glove kink #mindbreak for ts #drugging for ts #non con for ts #dub con for ts #bnha posting

721 notes · View notes

the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village

Rating: T+ for blood, language, nudity, and horny

Warnings: Implied pain/blood kink

Summary: Local vampire tries to give her human soulmate a bath, but the human is feral and loving it. Then it gets a lil horny, to both of their frustration.

Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring

2: Bloodbath, Baby!

“I take it you changed your mind about the clothes? Or am I supposed to use these towels like a makeshift toga?” You asked, glancing around the bathroom, eying the ornate tub with mild interest. This certainly wasn’t where you had expected Cassandra to take you, especially not when she had somewhat promised you garments to wear. There were no pants or shirts (or even dresses) in sight, just a rack of the softest looking towels you had ever seen. It was admittedly difficult for you to resist the urge to use one to wipe the blood off of your shoulder. However, you figured that it would be best to save that for after you were given a good behavior prize. After all, it was much more fun to be a bastard if your “victim” (not that Cassandra really counted as that) knew how polite you were capable of being, and you were, under normal circumstances, very polite. Most of the time. Maybe.

“What did I say about talking?” Cassandra snapped at you, glaring at you from her perch on the counter. She was sitting on the edge, waiting for something, occasionally eying the room’s entrance.

“You told me to shut up for ‘five minutes’. It’s been eight, at the very least! I’ve been holding back, just for you, babe,” you replied, smirking as you did. For a moment your soulmate seems to consider chucking a bar of soap at your head. Eventually she thinks better of it, opting to roll her eyes at you instead. “For the record, I did count, just to be sure. Wouldn’t have wanted to make any assumptions about the passage of time, considering how fast time seems to fly when I’m with a loved one.” Unfortunately, this does not get a rise out of Cassandra, who has shifted to face away from you. Not yet willing to give up your buffoonery (and assuming that you would not, in fact, be getting a good behavior prize anytime soon), you released a loud, exaggerated sigh, before switching tactics.

Standing up with the blanket still curled around yourself, you maneuver over to the tub, eagerly climbing inside. With how large it was, laying down was fairly easy, though you weren’t entirely flat. Wanting to be as comfortable as possible, you adjust yourself and the blanket until it covers you, while letting one end go behind your head like a pillow. It’s nowhere near as nice as you had hoped. On the plus side, however, is the attention it gets from Cassandra. Before long she’s standing adjacent to the tub, staring down with an expression of exasperation.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She asked.

“Napping, obviously. Care to join me?” You answered, without hesitation. Then you gently pat the blanket, as if offering to let her sit on top of you. This only serves to make her angrier. Now she’s leaning over the basin, bracing one hand against it, her other hand reaching to grab your throat and pull you towards her. The two of you are so close that you can’t help but blush, and the feeling of her skin against yours is weirdly attractive. “I should have known you were the kinky type. Not that I mind,” you murmured, gaze wandering a little farther south than her lips. Before you know it she’s shoved you back down and let go of you. She shakes her hand a bit, like she’s just touched something gross, but you see the pink rising on her cheeks. As much as you want to tease her, the sound of approaching footsteps takes priority. Soon the door is opening, revealing a stressed servant, a pile of clothes in her arms. Suddenly you’re glad that Cassandra pushed you away, considering you don’t think she would have enjoyed having someone walk in on the two of you in that position.

“Lady Cassandra, I have what you requested. Would you like me to draw a bath for you? Or-” she pauses when she sees you, clearly unsure of what to make of your behavior. Hell, she almost drops what she’s carrying, and makes a soft ‘oh’ sound. Presumably dying inside, Cassandra quickly takes the bundle from her. Then she stands between the two of you, blocking line of sight, looking as tense as could be.

“Just get back to work, and don’t mention this to anyone,” she growled, gesturing towards the door. As soon as the maiden closes it behind her, Cassandra is turning back to you. “Get rid of that stupid fucking blanket or I’m forcing you to wear wet socks.” Understandably, you start giggling at her request, hardly able to believe that she had really just said those words out loud. “Would you prefer I cut up the soles of your feet? I’ll heal long before you do, asshole.” Now that makes you pause, trying to figure out whether or not her threat held up. Even though everyone had a basic understanding of how blood bonds worked (the less romantic, and more historic, way to refer to soulmates), the specifics were confusing for most people, including yourself. Would your aching wounds bother her? Or only the initial injury?... Somehow you had a feeling you’d figure out the answer within the next few days.

Until then, you decide to err on the side of caution, for once in your life. Still, you roll your eyes before you pull the blanket up and out of the tub. Again you spot a faint rosy tint on Cassandra’s face, and her gaze most definitely lingers on places other than your eyes. In the end you have to bite your lower lip to stop yourself from calling her out on it. Gotta get some clothes first, you think, then back to being a dick. Holding back only gets harder from there.

Wordlessly, Cassandra takes a seat by the front of the tub, where your feet are propped up on the edge. Giving you a judgemental look, she pushes them aside so she can reach the controls knobs easier. You give an exaggerated pout in response, only for her to ignore you completely, trying very hard to look anywhere but at you. It was in stark contrast to how she had looked at you a mere half an hour earlier. There were several interesting things to note about her behavior, and you found yourself almost excited to figure out the puzzle she presented. Did she care about you now? Simply because of your blood bond? Did she have a genuine soft spot for romance?... Those sorts of questions were all you could think about, even as Cassandra turned the handles, letting cold water splash into the tub.

“I’d say ‘fuck you’ but honestly, were I in your position I would likely do the same,” you said, shivering a little. Cassandra raises an eyebrow, staring at you like you were stupid, before turning the handle a bit more. Eventually you figure out what she meant by it. “What, you guys don’t have a quality water heater? This is Romania for fuck’s sake. I would have figured the water would be a hell of a lot hotter by now,” you added, only for her to splash some still very much cold water on your face. “Is this fun for you? Are you enjoying this? God, I hope you assholes have Legos somewhere in this maniac menagerie, so I can step on them while you sleep.”

“Do you always spit in the face of kindness?” Cassandra asked, moving towards the other end of the tub as she spoke. Once more you laugh, though this time it’s much more of a hollow sound, and your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “My sister wanted to kill you, but I pulled your pathetic corpse out of the basement, now I’m letting you use my bath, and you’re mocking me. This is why I don’t bother with this shit,” she growled, even as she wets a washcloth and starts dabbing at your wounds. On one hand you understand her frustration… but on the other you couldn’t get the image of her past victims out of your head.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather be clean than not,” you started to say, pausing to think for a moment. Then you reach out, putting your hand over Cassandra’s, making her freeze in place. It’s soft enough of a touch to surprise her. Which is why it’s so easy for you to snatch the towel from her hands. “You ‘don’t bother’ with this ‘shit’ because you’re a fucking sadist, who thinks all humans are beneath you, who acts like she has every right to bleed innocent people dry, who thinks she’s God’s gift to this goddamn hellhole we call Earth. Do you think this makes up for your sins? Do you-” her nails dig into your arm and she grits her teeth in pain- “think that I can forget listening to the screams of your victims? Whose graves is this castle built upon? Whose fucking bones am I standing on? Who died to keep you alive? How many other versions of me have you killed, in other timelines, in other lives, where the universe didn’t demand that we be together? I’ve seen your heart, girl, and it’s as raw as they come.”

There’s a brief second of intense, furious eye contact. Then a flash of movement, a rush of pain, tears filling the corner of your eyes. Blood pours from the new hole in your shoulder, but Cassandra is quick to lick it up. She’s groaning in between each run of her tongue across your skin, clearly feeling it every bit that you were, yet she shows no signs of stopping. If anything, her pain seems to spur her on harder. Even you can’t help but blush a little as you struggle beneath her grip. Why did vampires have to use their mouths? Why couldn’t they get blood transfusions, like the rest of society? This way, your pleasure mixes with your misery, leaving you confused, and the fact that you’re still naked is not at all helping.

“Oh fuck off, please,” you gasped, trying to push her off of you. To your surprise, she does as asked, pulling away after one last lick. When you turn to look at her, you see your blood covering her lips and dripping down her chin. “You’re a mess, Cassie. Hot water?” With that you return her favor from earlier, splashing some of the (finally above room temperature) water in her direction. Most of it misses her. A few drops, however, do manage to hit their mark. Then she’s wiping her face on her sleeve, scowling the whole time. There’s still plenty of blood on her face afterwards, but it’s nothing compared to what’s gathering on your shoulder. She eyes the wound, nostrils flaring briefly, a predator dying for one more bite. “If you bite me again, I swear to whoever that one lady y’all worship is, I will bite you. My teeth aren’t made for that shit, but I don’t care. We’ll both be miserable and that’s it, baby! That’s love! I’m threatening you with an unhealthy perception of affection, dipshit!”

This time you expect her to move away, or hit you, or do anything other than what she does. Calling your bluff, she moves around the ever-filling tub, pausing to turn the water off, before hiking the edges of her dress up and… oh. Oh. Somehow she’s in the tub with you now, legs on either side of your waist, presenting the side of her neck to you with a knowing smirk. But you are not known for your cleverness. Nor your ability to make good decisions, at that. Perhaps your blood loss was starting to affect your cognition. Whatever made you so feral, so beautifully unhinged, you embraced it with utter glee. Soon enough your teeth find themselves on Cassandra’s throat, digging in enough for you to feel your blood bond reacting. For a moment she stiffens in response. Then she relaxes, even takes in a rush of air that sounds oddly content, leaning into your touch. What the fuck? You think, almost shocked enough to let go. Almost.

“What’s the matter, pet? I thought you wanted me to know what it felt like on the other side of things?” Cassandra teased, voice quiet and low. Something about her tone sends a familiar, although unwanted, feeling to your core. Still, her words egg you on, and you find yourself biting harder, tugging at the skin a little. More tears gather in your eyes, but you fight through the pain as best as you can. You drag your teeth across her skin, wishing for sharper canines, before letting go to inspect your work. There’s a clear outline where your mouth had been, but not a single drop of blood. Frustrated, you go back in for seconds, choosing a different spot to target. Again you go through the motions, only for no crimson to stain your lips. This cycle repeats several more times, with you running your tongue along her neck in between bites, so focused that you don’t realize that she’s grinding against you until she stops.

“I need to file my teeth,” you mused, trying to forget about what you had just done. Now that it’s over, Cassandra seems to feel the same, and she quickly climbs back out of the tub. She’s refusing to meet your gaze, instead focusing on arranging the clothes the servant had brought earlier. By the time she’s facing you again her blush is almost entirely gone.

“Finish cleaning up, then bandage yourself and get dressed. I’ll have a maiden wait outside to bring you back to my room. Don’t even think about trying to run,” Cassandra said sternly. You’re too distracted by the thought of what happened to give her any snarky response. So she simply nods to herself, then leaves, slamming the door behind her. Though you had expected to be relieved by her absence, you find yourself groaning, holding your head in your hands. Why is she so attractive? This is probably illegal, you think, in at least several countries. Or it should be, at least. Now that she’s gone, there’s nothing to distract you from the price of her attention, with your shoulder and neck aching horribly. Cleaning up was going to hurt even worse. Still, you think, at least I’ll have some time to think of new insults. With that in mind, you begin to wash away the blood, thoughts entirely consumed by your newest ‘partner’.

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #unhinged maiden #well personally I prefer the term feral #absolutely feral #goddamn menace #blunt teeth sharp tongue #please enjoy #not beta read

331 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Vampire Chris and jake get stranded in the middle of nowhere one night. Maybe a car crash or something. As they walk back the sun starts to rise.

CW: Car crash, bruising, seatbelt burn, vampire whumpee, caretaker turned whumpee

The moment of the crash is gone.

He opens his eyes to the aftermath.

Jake blinks, the world spinning, and his head drops back against the headrest of the driver's seat. The world is still lurching, sickeningly, in circles around him. Something is ticking, the engine maybe, slowly cooling down and shit, at least it's not on fire.

The air bag has a smear of terrible vibrant red against its pillowy white as it slowly deflates, and all he can do is stare at it until he realizes the blood must be his own.

One hand comes up to touch at his forehead, and his fingers come away wet and red, too. What he'd thought was sweat is a head wound, bleeding down one side, tickling his cheekbone and jaw. It stings, a little.

The pain seems distant, somehow, like it's being held at arm's length. As if he's looking at his pain from a distance further than he can close.

"Ch-... Chris, you okay, buddy?" He turns, and the passenger seat is empty. The air bag deployed on that side, but there's no blood.

The door is standing open, dome light still on. It takes a long few moments of staring before he can understand that the door is open because Chris forced it open, closed his hands on the metal and squeezed until it bent beneath his strength and let him out.

Jake's body aches as he shifts forwards, fumbling to unbuckle his seatbelt. All the pain is filtering into his senses, piece by piece as if he can only understand a wound once he sees it.

He can't remember the crash.

They were at a four-way stop, listening to some of the terrible pop music Chris loves about the modern world, and Jake had pulled through. They were laughing at some lyric that Jake had had to explain, that had made the little vampire boy flush a little at the definition.

Then there were headlights blinding him, overtaking everything. Chris had yelled something and Jake had yelled something and then-

The moment is gone.

So is the entire back half of his car.

He turns around with a hiss to stare right out a giant gaping hole where his backseat should be into the cool, clear night.

Parts of his car are strewn haphazardly across the road and the grassy ditch he's come to a stop in. As he looks, he can see the frame of a door, crumbled metal that must be his trunk, a tire. Another tire. The bumper on the ground. Glass and metal everywhere.

The stop signs at the fourway are all standing totally untouched, except for one bent at a hard angle, leaning like a man fighting a strong wind.

The sweater he'd been wearing when he got in the car - removed and tossed carelessly in the backseat to pick up later - is hanging off the bent stop sign.

It's fucking spotlessly clean still.

He blinks.

Blinks some more.

What the fuck?

He'd driven Chris up into the hills to go star-gazing, making the most of Chris's bubbly energy that only comes out at night and his classes being canceled tomorrow because of some issue with the campus water supply. This is countryside up here, with houses miles and miles apart. Remnants of old orchards and homesteads, still kept by the descendants of the men and women who traveled out here. Nobody drives out this way this late. It could be morning before someone finds him.

His phone. He can call for help.

Jake looks around, but his phone is nowhere to be seen. He digs around the footwell, what he can touch of it, and there's nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.

His windshield is shattered, open to the outside, and he wonders if his phone flew out of it. It was on the dash, wasn't it? On Chris's side...

Shit.

It could be anywhere in the grass, and he's a fucking moron who keeps his phone on silent or vibrate 24 hours a day. He'll never hear it out here.

First things first, then.

He settles for trying to open his door.

It's been crunched, just a little. Enough that it won't swing out, and he has to throw his shoulder against it, grunting in pain, again and again until finally it nudges just enough for him to fall onto shattered tiny squares of safety glass on the ground. A water bottle is lying there. It's Dasani.

He hates Dasani water, but it'd been free at the gas station they'd stopped at if he bought a bag of chips, so...

Oh, right. His car is full of fucking gasoline.

He groans, scrambling away from the vehicle, trying to remember what a safe distance will be if his car catches on fire or fucking explodes in the middle of the night. At least if it explodes it'll get someone's attention, right?

Shit, he's going to throw up.

Jake lays there, waiting for his stomach to settle, and then crawls again. He makes it up to the road, to the rough asphalt and the gravel that lines the side. The little pebbles sting his palms, rub dirt and dust into the cuts, but he ignores it.

He makes it to the road, twenty feet or so from his car, and then... then he just lays down.

"Chris..." He can barely think. Where has the little vampire gone? Why isn't he here, creeping out of the treeline to ask if Jake's all right? Did he run? Maybe he has Jake's phone. Maybe there was no signal and he's gone to try and find some, to make a call.

Maybe...

Fuck, it hurts to think.

Even just taking a deep breath hurts - something's wrong with his ribs. Bruised or broken. When he pulls his shirt up, he can see the seatbelt burn starting to deepen in color, a diagonal stripe from shoulder to hip written in bright red darkening to burgundy bruising, soon to turn purple and black. If he hadn't been wearing a heavy shirt it'd have torn his skin open. One side of his neck is rubbed raw, he can tell when he touches it and has to pull his fingers away at the spike of pain.

There are spots of dark on his pale shirt, blood seeping through or dripping from his forehead.

But, shit. It could be worse. Looking at the back half of his car, it seems like a goddamn miracle that it isn't.

Jake pulls his legs under him and tries to stand up.

His right leg just won't fucking do it.

Rather than take his weight, it buckles with a spike of pain so bad Jake cries out and collapses back onto the road.

As if it were a dam breaking, all the adrenaline holding off the worst of the pain seems to wear away at once.

Everything hurts, suddenly, a sickening wash of pain breaking against him like he's nothing but a shell to be worn to sand. He aches when he breathes, when he doesn't. A cough makes him whimper as his ribs creak and crack. His head throbs, his hands sting, his leg is swelling even as he looks at it, a broken bone. Definitely a broken bone.

"Jesus Christ," He groans, rolling onto his side, his face pressing into gravel and safety glass.

Nat won't notice they're not home until morning.

No one's going to know he's out here until after sunrise, until he's not up to get ready for class and Chris isn't curled up in the closet to sleep in his nest of blankets and pillows. No one's going to know what happened, and where the everloving fuck did his phone go?

Time passes. He doesn't know how much.

Maybe Chris figured they can't protect him and took the fuck off. Maybe he's going to find somewhere new to crash, some new people to care for him. Maybe he's hunting.

Who the fuck knows?

He comes and goes, in and out of consciousness.

He can't stand, and sort of scooting and crawling around does nothing to help him figure out where his cell phone has gone. No one else drives by on this mostly-abandoned country road, and it was a stroke of seriously bad luck the asshole who hit them and ran was there at all.

Asshole was probably drunk, driving back from the bar, trying to use the backroads to avoid the goddamn cops.

Bad. Fucking. Luck.

Jake wonders if the asshole will even remember hitting his car in the morning, or if he'll wake up and discover the front of his vehicle all fucked up and have no idea how it happened.

He thinks he might pass clean out for a while.

That can't be good.

His head hurts worse when he wakes up.

He raises his head slowly at the sound of a distant rumble, an ancient truck engine coming closer. It takes more effort than he ever imagined just to get himself up to sitting, ready to wave down whoever it is - whatever fucking angel is on this road at what has to be 3 or 4 in the morning by now.

"Please," He whispers, dry lips scraping against each other. "Please, please don't run m'over... please..."

Headlights wash over the scene of the crash, fading everything to nearly black-and-white. Jake raises a hand to shield his eyes, blinking rapidly, as the blue-and-white Ford comes to an idling stop.

A door swings open with a creak and then slams shut again, boots crunching on the glass and debris on the road. Jake raises his eyes to see an old man in worn jeans and a grayish t-shirt staring down at him. "Well, I'll be damned," The man says, his voice low, a little rough around the edges. His hair's dark, but speckled with silver that's visible even in the night air. "You all right, son?"

Jake slowly looks back at his wrecked, ruined car, then back up at the man. "I'm pretty clearly not," He answers, then winces at his rudeness. "Sorry. I mean... no."

"That's all right. We all of us get a little more honest when we're bleeding from the skull. I'm gonna bet you aren't a natural brunette and I'm looking at a big old ton of blood there. What happened?"

"Guy ran the stop sign, hit me... drove off."

"Well, damn. What're you doin' up this way this late at night?"

"Would you... y'believe me if I said... star-gazin'?"

The man chuckles, but it's a low sound, and he moves closer. He pulls a heavy old cell phone out of his pocket - one of those goddamn flip phones that never dies or gets destroyed. It's like Captain Fucking America. Jake has to hold back a half-hysterical laugh.

"Hm, I might. It happens from time to time. Y'didn't come with a young lady, did you?" The man looks over the scene of the crash, searching for more people.

"No, no... just... jus'... I'm just here." He thinks of Chris, the open passenger door, the total lack of a vampire nearby. Is he hiding in the woods? If he's seen, or found out, he'll be hauled back off to be locked up somewhere, milked for venom for pharmaceutical drugs, treated like an animal. They can't admit he was here, he can't be seen. He must be hiding.

That's it.

Chris must just be hiding...

"Please, man, I-I can't find my phone to call for help-"

"I got you, son. I'll make the call. Likely your phone's just buried in the grass somewhere, we'll figure it out. You stay put right where you are, you don't want to move around and make any of it worse."

"Yes, sir." Jake stays where he is while the old man makes the call to 911, feeding him details when he asks, staring off into space when he doesn't.

They can pick Chris up when he and Nat come to get his stuff from the wreck tomorrow. They'll get him then. It'll be fine.

It'll be fine.

The old man hangs up and heads back to his truck, pulling out a battered old first aid kit. "You're lucky I believe in ghosts, you know."

"What? Why? Am I dead?" Jake looks down at his hands. They're scratched and bleeding, and he's pretty sure dead people don't bleed like that.

"No, son, no. But I wouldn't be out here if I didn't."

Jake blinks. "I... I don't follow."

"Well, had a little ghost show up at my bedroom window and refuse to shut up until I drove out here. Redheaded boy. Kept calling for a medic. Felt like I was back in the war for a minute before I realized it was him."

"Which... which war?"

The man fixes him with a stare as he crouches, old knees cracking as he does, in front of Jake. He opens the box and takes out some gauze and adhesive, antibiotic cream, something else Jake doesn't recognize. "You need medics in every kind of war there is, son. It doesn't matter which one. I've fought in two. But this boy called for a medic like he's seen the need for 'em before and didn't have time to save someone. Some kind of old ghost walkin' these roads saw you and made sure I knew."

Jake exhales, almost a laugh, and feels tears burn hot in his eyes. He realizes he's going to cry from sheer relief and exhaustion and pain, and he's not sure he can stop.

A ghost in the window means...

Chris left and ran for help.

"Thank you," he whispers, and he's not really talking to the old man at all.

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

131 notes · View notes

bunnykawa · 4 years

Text

hungry (osamu miya x f. reader)

summary: You have a big crush on the handsome owner of an onigiri shop. He thinks it’s annoying. Or does he?

a/n: eh idk what this is. timeskip love haha. but this might be a triggering so please keep that in mind and read the warnings

warnings: 18+, yandere themes, noncon/dubcon/rape, raw sex, kinda public sex?, some degradation, little bit of spanking and hairpulling, abusive language, violence, stalking, mentions of past sexual abuse, you vomit but it's not sexualized it's trauma-induced, timeskip!osamu :)

The energy of the restaurant is oddly calm tonight. Nights are almost never tranquil at Onigiri Miya with the constant parade of people coming in, so you hum in satisfaction when you scan the restaurant and there's barely anyone here. You stare down at your half-eaten onigiri and the loyalty stamp card that you filled up from how often you come here. After nine visits, you get a free onigiri on your tenth one as long as you show them your stamp card.

This is your hundredth visit—you remember because the first time you entered Onigiri Miya was ten stamp cards ago. The staff already know your name, if not by your face and your timid behavior that makes you stutter when ordering the same thing every time they see you. As peculiar as they think you are (for coming to Onigiri Miya at the same time on Fridays and Saturdays for the past six months and sitting alone quietly until they close), they warmly welcome you.

It's only you in the dining area tonight. The few employees that Onigri Miya has must have left earlier than usual. You suddenly tense up in your seat and grip onto your cup of freshly-poured hot tea tightly between tremulous fingers. The familiar male figure, standing at over six feet tall with beautiful broad shoulders, passes by the front counter, disappearing as he makes his way to the back.

After you let out a harsh breath, you adjust your phone from behind your purse on the table. Your phone is propped up behind it, the camera lens slightly peeking over the faux leather. Butterflies form in your stomach when you see that you were still recording and you caught him on camera.

Yes, you go to Onigiri Miya because the food is amazing. Somehow, they make a dish as simple as a rice ball so delectable and appetizing and you adore them because of it. But hyperfixation is a fucking bitch, your thought process is a little flawed, and the real reason why you frequent the establishment is because Osamu Miya is absolutely gorgeous. Every time you see him, you're left wondering what it would be like to run your fingers through his dark hair or how his lips feel pressed against yours. Your thoughts run wild. How does he like his eggs in the morning? What's his family like? Does he sleep on the right side of the bed? Left side? In the middle? Does he have space for you on his bed?

How does it feel to be loved by Osamu Miya?

Every time you visit the restaurant, visibly nervous with anxiety beating in your chest and your throat closing as you try to speak, you feel that you're one step close to finding out. And maybe you did feel it once. Just once. You're unsure if that one special moment you shared with Osamu was genuine from his heart with good intentions, but you would do anything for that feeling to last forever. And if that made your whole being feel as if you were floating, then why wouldn't it be the same for him?

So, that's why you're here. To relive that special moment in the way that you fantasized about—something that can become a fond memory instead of a dream deep inside your head that leaves you yearning for physicality. Desire is the only sensation that you've felt for the past six months and it's torture to watch the man that you've fallen in love with barely acknowledge you as a person even if he's seen your face in his restaurant consistently every week since you first met. Since he saved you.

Six months later. Six months to move on. Six months to get help and yet you're still digging your hands into your panties and biting onto your sheets to gag yourself because of one man after every visit to his restaurant.

"Hey."

Oh, that voice makes your thighs tremble every time you hear it. As stoic and impassive as it is, it's the same voice that gave you solace when you were beaten down in the dark to bleed on concrete. You're gritting your teeth—nearly moaning at the sweet sound—as that voice almost breaks you out of your thoughts. Almost.

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Osamu asks in a deadpan tone from his place behind the counter. You jolt suddenly. For someone who's so obsessive with small details, you sure don't pay much attention to your surroundings. You quickly shake your head when you realize that he's talking to you.

"Y-yes. I'm...I'm fine, O...samu," you squeak in embarrassment. You don't realize it, but you're clutching onto your stamp card with white knuckles. His gray hooded eyes seem to be staring right through you, as if he knows why you're here tonight, what you're looking for. But whatever he does notice, he doesn't mention. His eyes dart down to your purse before he maintains eye contact with you.

He places his hand on the counter to lean on it. The small action makes your mouth dry. He's so fucking beautiful. "It's almost ten-o'clock. I'm gonna close up. You should leave soon."

But you don't want to leave yet. Tonight was supposed to be the night that you finally made your dreams come true. It's only him and you in the restaurant tonight, so it must mean something.

"Where...where's the rest of the c-crew?" you ask shakily. Fuck, get yourself together. You just need an excuse not to leave. And he might know your name, but he doesn't know you. Not yet.

He raises a thick eyebrow at your question before answering, "Left early tonight. Just me taking care of the shop." You should have noticed. This is why you leave your phone recording while you're there—you don't want to miss anything in case you get distracted.

But does he want you to leave? Your heart aches at the thought of him not wanting your presence when you've been craving his for so long. "I see," you mutter awkwardly.

What do I do now?

"You've got a lot of nerve, you know that?" he says after a few seconds of awkward silence. You haven't moved from your seat and neither has Osamu moved from his spot to "close up" as he said he would. You wonder if the door is already locked.

"What do you mean?" Your heart is thumping more now than it has in the past three hours you've been here. Osamu lives in your brain rent-free yet you can barely breathe around him. Now he's speaking to you. Actually speaking to you.

"You know exactly what I mean," he calmly accuses you. The unexpected shift in his tone makes your blood run cold. "Wonder if your phone has run out of storage yet. Funny you go out of your way to come here twice a week just to record me."

"What?!" you cry out, suddenly shooting up from your seat. Your chair skids a few inches across the floor behind you before it tilts and hits the ground with a crash. The quick movement causes the table in front of you to shake and make your phone to fall back as well, the screen smashing against the wood and the camera lens facing up towards the ceiling. You feel like you're about to have a heart attack. Your vision goes blurry from tears suddenly threatening to overflow because were you that obvious?

"I noticed. A long time ago. Remember you from that night back in the alley. Very unique face you got there," Osamu hums. He steps around the counter to make his way towards you. You cower into the wall beside your table, your eyes darting from your phone and Osamu's threatening figure.

Back in the alley. The image of the back alley behind Onigiri Miya flashes in your mind. Dark, wet, and sadly gray. That's where you first met him.

"Didn't expect to see you back here. Thought you might've developed PTSD or something with how you were crying. Now you're stalking me."

"No," you loudly plead, shaking your head side to side, "I don't know what you're talking about!" You're lying straight through your teeth. That's funny—you've been coming to his restaurant for a chance to see him again, but he's coming closer and closer and you're terrified instead of happy. Your knees buckle as you press your back against the wall. You squeeze your eyes shut as the memories come flooding back into your system in vivid detail.

He continues on, "Don't even lie to me. Stalking me like a crazy bitch. I wasn't sure what I should do about you. I felt bad for you and let you continue doing this, even thought about calling the police for a little bit, but…"

Osamu almost never talks to you, maybe a few times where he's handling the register and the orders and he has to talk to you, but he's always in the open kitchen where you can freely admire him when you want to, always an arm's length away. When you would think about what your first conversation together would be like, you always imagined his words to be kind. Sweet. Maybe he'd say he admired you—

"...you're a little fucked up in the head, huh?"

His tone is hostile. There's no love laced in any of the syllables falling from his tongue. He's annoyed. He hates the fact that you want him—it's that obvious but you don't want to believe it, especially when you think you worked so hard. It's not fair.

Your mind is hazy as he's coming closer and closer to your trembling form. You see his lips moving and the calm expression on his face turn into hard evil, but your ears can't decipher what he's saying. His words have faded into white noise. And you've seen him multiple times, traced his face through the screen of your phone, admired him from afar at the same spot in his restaurant for months, but his face is sharper, harsher, and almost unrecognizable. Is this really the man that saved you? Is this really Osamu Miya?

Your blood is pumping loudly in your ears. It's the only sound that you can make out other than your heavy breathing. God, if he gets any closer...

Then, the adrenaline kicks in and you're lunging at him with your arms outstretched towards his large frame. You don't know what you're going to do and sure as hell you're no match for him, but your body is screaming at you. Your senses are running wild, like the aura that Osamu is emitting is lighting you on fire and making you act on primal instinct. It's telling you to fight.

To fight him. To bash your tiny fists against his handsome face because he should have fallen in love with you the moment that you fell in love with him, but he has the audacity to leave you hanging for half a year and call you a stalker.

And it's painful. You're not sure which hurts more, but at this moment, the physical pain is excruciating. You can't breathe anymore, not when his calloused hands (from years of training on the court, which you found out from the internet, and in the kitchen) are wrapped around your throat. You can't think straight either—your head hit the ground a little too hard and the world is spinning. Osamu's face is contorted in anger and even if your world is spinning, his features are as clear as day.

Your memories start crashing down inside your brain in fragments. The pain, frustration, and sadness hit you all at once—it’s nauseating. It’s as if Osamu can sense this, too, because as soon as he notices your sick expression, he flips you over to force you on your knees with one arm around your waist, his hand in your scalp to hold your head in place towards the floor and then you’re heaving and gagging out the rice balls you consumed earlier. Your throat is on fire and you're still coughing up pieces of rice.

“You gross bitch,” he mutters.

You gross bitch.

It's bouncing around in your ear drum until it fades into cotton, a familiar set of words that cut you deep that you were able to pick up on easily among the other curses he's been throwing at you. The same words from six months ago. A trigger? Yeah, that's what the internet calls it. You almost died, or at least that's what it felt like. That's the only way you can describe it, the only way you were able to make sense of what happened, because you feel that you might as well have.

It was from someone else's mouth—a disgusting, grimy man whose face haunted your dreams for months, a man with greasy fingers that put his hands on you, who beat you until you were nearly unconscious with blood dripping down your chin, who ripped you away of your pride and worth until you were nothing. The concrete was wet and cold, scraping against your sensitive skin and breaking through layers as he rutted into you. His breath fucking stunk and for fuck's sake, you don't know if you've seen anyone uglier, but as fucked up as it is, he made you feel ugly.

You thought you saw an angel that day. The backdoor to Onigiri Miya opened up and when you finally opened your eyes and looked up, there he was—with blank gray eyes that stared down at the scene before him in slight disgust, and then he ripped the repulsive body off of your half-naked form. You were too weak.

While you were weak and scared and incoherent, Osamu saw you and didn't hesitate to protect you. At the end of every dream you've had since then, Osamu always came to help you.

And that should've been the end of it. That should've been the last time. You can't go through that again. No, no, no. You don't deserve to go through that again.

You don't deserve it.

You're more responsive and awake once Osamu bends you over the table you were sitting at, then your senses are overloading, telling you to resist, to keep fighting. You're so tired, at this point you're completely heartbroken, but you can't—you can't just give up yet. He's holding you down, restraining your wrists with one hand while his other hand is at your waistband pulling your shorts down your thighs. You're kicking at him with whatever strength you have left even if the taste in your mouth is vile, he's much stronger than you, and your head is pounding from the anxiety. You're grateful that you can even breathe.

But it feels like your body has failed you, once again, and for a second you think that you do deserve it. The adrenaline is almost gone, you can barely lift a finger, you feel like passing out, and—fuck—you're so stupid, so dependent on one person to make you feel high. With Osamu...you don't even know what to think. The image you dreamed of is long gone. It's sad that reality can crash over you so easily and ruin everything.

"Get off of me!" you scream. Over and over again. Until your voice cracks and your throat is on the brink of bleeding, coughing out your poor lungs. Until it's nothing but the essence of your torment. Your cup of tea, now warm, has spilled all over the table and is slowly seeping into your hair as your cheek rubs against the wood. And there's nothing else you can do, because Osamu is still behind you with your hands trapped by his. Your shorts and your panties are around your ankles. His jeans are unbuttoned and it's out.

You don't want to fight anymore, you're fucking terrified. So terrified that you can't bring yourself to move. As soon as you stop fighting, his breathing becomes steady and he's using less force on you. Sobs rack through your body hysterically when you feel it.

It's throbbing against your thigh—warm, leaking precum, long, and thick. The skin-to-skin contact in such an intimate area is making the hairs on the back of your neck rise. That tiny voice inside of your head is telling you to look back at it to see if his dick matches the image you made up in your head. Is it exactly how you pictured it? Is it as pretty?

He's wiping his precum against your tense skin. When you flinch at the tip of his cock rubbing against you, he bites his lip and kneads one of your ass cheeks with his free hand, spreading your holes open and ever so gently brushing his thumb over your pussy.

"You're...wet," he comments. You hear it. He dips his thumb between your folds and swipes it up and down and you hear the squelching of your cunt over your heavy breathing. That's—that's not right. No, you shouldn't be feeling this way. He pushes his thumb deeper into your cunt and slowly pulls it back out. You flinch and arch your back slightly at the sudden sensation, making you push your ass towards him. He lets out a breathy laugh at your reaction.

His thumb disappears for a second but it's instantly replaced with his dick probing at your entrance. With a roll of his hips, he breaks through your squishy flesh with some difficulty.

A loud yelp and a slurry of protests falls from your wet desperate lips. You wriggle your bottom, trying to create space between your two bodies, jerking away from him with whatever strength you have left. However, Osamu keeps going until he's completely bottomed out, filling you up until his tip is flush against your cervix. He lets go of your wrists so he could keep a firm grip on your hips instead. Whenever you moved, it burned.

Stop.

The stretch is unbearable—it's been half a year since you've had someone else inside you. The burn of having your hole forcefully split open wide again against your will has your head going delirious with so many mixed emotions. Fuck's sake, this isn't right and it's been heavily engraved in your brain for months that you have every right to fight back. Although you haven't been thinking straight for a long time, you're still lucid enough for your ears to work and soak up information like a sponge. He's moving, rutting his hips into your hot cunt cruelly. You can still fight him off, maybe you'd win if you tried again.

But this is Osamu. Your heart fucking aches for him and you want to get away, but it's Osamu drilling into your heat and it's just not fair. It's not fair because your body is still responding to his malicious touch. It's not fair because even if it hurts—and fuck, it hurts so damn much—you're involuntarily grinding your ass into him. It's not fucking fair because you can't hate him.

Why is life never fair?

"No," you sob, "No, no, no. It hurts. It hurts. Please stop." Your hot tears are mixing with the puddle of tea that's pooling underneath your cheek and your tongue still tastes foul from your little episode. You’re scared you might start gagging again.

"Stop?" he muses, "Haven't you been loitering in my restaurant because you've been craving my cock? You wanted this for months and the one time I give it to you, you're telling me to stop?" Osamu slams into your poor little cunt despite your pained cries and babbling. Your pussy is clamping around him, your body trying to accommodate his length and girth breaking into you so suddenly.

"Osamu." His name would've tasted so good if the situation was different. Little did you know that you pushed him passed his breaking point a long time ago. But Osamu knew that you were beyond yours ever since he met you. If only you weren't so fucking weird, maybe then he would've pitied you—maybe he would've genuinely felt something for you.

What a shame that you fell in love with a man who wouldn't be able to understand you.

"I'm tired of you coming into my restaurant," he grunts, snapping his hips against yours roughly, "-and treating me like I'm some kind of animal. Do I look like a fucking animal to you?"

You choke, “No. You don’t—that’s not why—please. You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me," he coaxes. But how do you tell him? Are you supposed to be honest? You're afraid that if you are honest, Osamu will treat you just as badly as he is now. It's also hard for you to collect your thoughts and find a sincere explanation that he could listen to—you're too focused on the many sensations pulsing through you. He raises a bulky arm only bring it down instantly to smack your ass with rough hands. The sudden impact forces you forward for a split second. Then he brings his hand down a few more times, until he's satisfied with the dark red hand print with tiny splotches dotted across your skin.

Is this a punishment for everything that you've done within the last six months? Punishment for admiring him through sneaky videos and pictures? Punishment for thinking about him all the time? You feel like a criminal, caught red-handed and forced to go through torture and suffer for your ungodly sins. Each time he hits you, you're twitching from the painful sting and praying for forgiveness.

"Stop it!" you beg through tears, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It hurts so much." Apologies start spilling from your sore throat impulsively.

I'm sorry, Osamu.

Please stop, Osamu.

It really hurts, Osamu.

But nothing that comes out of your mouth convinces him, and after awhile it's more like you're trying to convince yourself more. Suddenly the burning in your sensitive cunt is replaced with the inebriating desire and hunger for more friction between your two bodies and it leaves a shameful tint to bloom over you. You're salivating over his dick—you wanna see it so bad even if you're scared—and the guilt is eating at you on the inside. It feels good, actually enough to have you gripping onto the edge of the table and sucking Osamu into your cunt so that he doesn't pull back too far.

"Don't tell me that it hurts," he groans, "Your pussy is creaming all over me. You can't lie to me anymore."

He's right. You're lying more to yourself than him, though. You don't tell him to stop anymore, settling with swear words and a chorus of Osamu! Osamu! Osamu! It's amazing, intoxicating, and it also makes you feel disgusting. The way his cock fills up your tight pussy perfectly and how his balls are consistently smacking your clit and stimulating it—you're drooling from the pleasure.

"Does it feel good?" he huffs, "Is this what you wanted? To be a cockwhore for me?"

Your body betrays you and you're left moaning and crying at the same time with breathy words that Osamu can't decipher because you're a complete mess, but he swears he can hear you agree without hesitation. "Y-yes, fuck yes! Your cock is s-so amazing," you cry out, "Hurts so good, Osamu!"

It's not enough. Although you're gradually submitting to him, it's still not enough for the sadistic side of him. He wants to hear more of you, to push you until you're braindead and nothing more than a hole to stretch and tear apart just for the hell of it. He leans over you just to grab you by the disheveled hair on your scalp. Another scream leaves you as he pulls you up to be able to growl in your ear.

"Tell me everything, you whore," he breathes, softly yet maliciously. You try to answer him but the angle he has your neck at from the grip on your hair is choking you.

"Why'd you keep coming here? Obsessive little bitch. Why're you still here?" It's like he's laughing in your face even if his voice and expression say otherwise. He's mocking your pain, making you relive your trauma as if it was all a fucking joke. As if you’re incapable of feeling pain.

This isn't even supposed to feel as good as it does, yet it does. The way he calls you an obsessive little bitch has your stomach doing flips and your cheeks to flush even more. Then you're confused. You're enjoying his cock forced inside you and it's damn confusing.

Fuck, it’s enough to further damage your overstimulated psyche and turn you into someone you never thought you would be. An empty shell of the person you used to be because your body doesn’t even fucking feel like your body anymore. Nothing feels real anymore, like you're shifting through universes and living lifetimes but you're stuck in one place at the same time. Why do you always come back here?

You turn your head to the side, enough for you to see his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, probably from concentration on your slick pussy, and then he notices you staring at him. You don't utter another word, you might just choke and spew if you even open your mouth to attempt to (and holy shit, you don't want to embarrass yourself anymore), but your eyes—they answer his question in heavy silence. It’s enough for him to understand and see right through you. Loud and clear although you don't speak.

Because you saved me.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you let out another sob, but this cry is full of guilty pleasure instead with barely any tears. It has you nearly passing out and feeling sick to your stomach and just please—make it stop hurting. But it feels so damn good at the same time, to have the tip of his swelling cock kissing your cervix every time he slams into you, grinding his hips against your sweet cunt. Your body contracts violently as you release your liquids all around Osamu's cock, pushing your ass against his pelvis and knocking your empty tea cup and purse off the table. Intitially, the loud crash makes you jolt but it's nothing compared to how your orgasm crashing over you has you screaming and thrashing around pathetically.

You're cumming. You're cumming. You can't believe you're fucking cumming. You've never felt this way before and you always believed that sex was painful but you're still cumming long and hard on Osamu's cock. Your juices are being forced out of you.

And you didn't even want it.

You're embarrassed and oddly satisfied at the same time. Your cum is dribbling down your legs and there's no doubt that it's dripping down Osamu's pelvis and thighs, too. He lets go of your hair and your head drops forward onto the table with a thump. You wince at the contact, but you don't move.

After a few silent minutes (silent other than your audible panting) exhaustion finally hits you, and with a heavy breath you completely collapse against the table. You finally stop your death grip on the sides of the table to let them dangle off the edge. Your scalp is sore, it makes your head pound when you move your head even slightly.

A soft tired gasp escapes your throat in surprise; you feel little pecks going up your back and across your shoulders.

Then there’s feather-light kisses tickling your shoulder that leaves an agitated tingle in your nerves and—why? Why bother being gentle at this point? But the fluttering in your pelvis doesn't stop. He slips out of you just to turn your weak body over so you're laying on your back. You instantly move your eyes further down and—

It's pretty. Prettier than you imagined. His cock is fucking pretty. It's hypnotizing as you scan the vein running underneath the skin and the pink swollen head oozing clear liquid. It's glistening, dripping, with juices.

Holy shit, those are your juices.

It dawns on you that you both connected. Although not in the way that you had hoped, definitely not, but...you connected in the most physically intimate way possible. You felt him, his warmth, his damp skin, everything. Your eyes drift upwards. He's breathing heavily, his chest visibly moving. He has a firm grip on your thighs to keep you in place—you're not going anywhere. You don't want to go anywhere. Examining his face, you can see everything, every single detail. His lips, his lidded eyes, his cute nose, the shape of his face, and—wow—Osamu is pretty. So pretty. He's nearly angelic when you take a closer look. You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him before.

You hope you're not imagining it, because you see something different behind his blank stare as if he's in as much of an awe as you are while you look up at him lovingly, like he didn't just hurt you. He took you against your will and yet you're staring at him like he just told you that you were his world. Are you a fucking idiot? Are you delusional?

"Do you love me?"

The question leaves him before he realizes his lips are forming the words. Osamu looks down at you, no other emotion laced in any of his handsome features except for distaste and...curiosity? With parted puffy lips and despair etched onto your cheeks, you slowly nod. The glazed look in your eyes draws him closer to your face, scrutinizing every part of your soft skin. He braces his hands on both sides of your trembling form. One part of your cheek is still wet from the tea that spilled earlier and your hair is disgustingly moist from a mixture of sweat and earl grey and you feel anxious again.

"Okay," he says, voice as monotonous and dead as usual, but also worn out and accompanied with heavy breathing. You tense when he leans even closer, but quickly relax when you feel him kiss your forehead. It's a delicate kiss that makes your heart flutter. Then he trails further and connects your lips. It's short, but wet and sweet. He hadn't kissed you on your mouth the whole night, it probably would have been too weird for him to kiss a sad stalker he didn't know, especially when you vomited on his otherwise spotless floor. The taste of him is lingering on your skin—you're almost afraid to lick your lips in case this'll be the last time you ever have his against yours.

He pulls you into his chest. Your heart might just jump out of yours. His cock is brushing against your shuddering core, hard and sticky, but he doesn't enter you. Osamu simply holds you close, one of his hands in your hair and the other flat against your back. You weakly bring your arms up to wrap around his shoulders and dig your face into the crook of his neck.

Then you cry. You let out a harsh breath and let yourself cry again, shoulders violently shaking and your chest tightening uncomfortably, for the thousandth time tonight even if you're tired and yearning for the comfort of your bed. Slowly, wet tears seep into his t-shirt. Osamu smells good—musky, sweaty, like a man. You don't understand what just happened—it brought you back to six months ago yet it feels entirely indifferent. He smells like a man, but he doesn't smell dirty like the last one who destroyed you.

He continues to hold you as you break down. Osamu thinks he understands, but you—you're more confused now more than ever.

2K notes · View notes

cursestothemoon · 3 years

Note

Can you do a blurb where Fred and the reader hate each other but take the anger out by fucking? Like not in a ‘im trying to convince myself I hate you’ way but like they actually hate each other and that was just a way to get the anger out. Sorry if that's confusing lol

Also, what's the difference between a blurb and a drabble?

i have no idea what the difference is im gonna be honest, i just know they are both short :)

You Hate How Much You Love It

F.W. X FEM!READER

17+ IF YOU ARE TAGGED AND DON’T WANT TO BE TAGGED IN SMUT PLEASE LET ME KNOW

warnings: smut, hate sex, spitting, choking, degrading, dom!fred/sub!reader, language, mentions of blood, unedited (i am sorry once again)

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Weasley?”

“Already did last night, love.”

“Hit one more blunger in my direction and I’ll beat you with my broom!”

“Maybe if you learned to stay out of my way you wouldn’t be such an easy target.”

You held in another snarky remark, you could tell your captain was nearing the end of his patience with you and Fred.

The game had started with Fred teasing you as you walked onto the pitch, and continued as you mounted your brooms . The anger had always been there, neither of you too fond of the other. Fred was a pompous, careless, big-headed, inconsiderate, slimy git- to put it nicely. Your hatred for the ginger ass was so out of nowhere your friends just assumed you fancied him or something, but you couldn’t bring yourself to think he was attractive beyond just surface level appearance. Sure physically you could say he was good looking, but his personality made you want throw him off the astronomy tower.

Fred thought similarly of you, sure you were beyond sexy and incredibly hot- something he liked to tell you to get you all riled up- but he couldn’t stand your personality, you infuriated him. That’s how the agreement was made, a perfect set up, all based off of one common interest.

You two shared a libido that was so high you could see it from space, and obviously feelings wouldn’t be an issue because it was more than clear that that was the last thing either of you wanted.

“You’re a cheat.” You growled at Fred as he pushed you into a near by broom cupboard.

He gave a mocking laugh before getting close to your face, “Don’t be such a nagging bitch.”

“You’re lucky you’re a good fuck, or else I’d castrate you right here.” You bit back, not backing down in his efforts to intimidate you.

Suddenly, your head lulled to the side, a sharp sting murmuring on the skin of your cheek.

“Then what would keep that slutty mouth of yours busy, hm?”

The air in the room was thick with sexual tension, your hand slowly trailing up his chest before gripping his neck. The action made Fred smile, a teasing, mocking smirk that had arousal pooling in your panties.

“I dare you.”

His tone was calm and alarmingly stoic, but before you could decide if you did actually want to or not, Fred brought his own hand up to wrap around your throat not hesitating to add pressure. He pushed you back into the stone wall, his lips smashing onto yours as your tongues fought for dominance. The kiss wasn't pretty, teeth were clashing and you were sure your lip was bleeding from how hard Fred had bit it.

You loved it.

The kiss had no passion, just raw sexual need and hatred, turning both of you on more. Your lips trailed after his as he pulled away, regaining your composure you reached for the hem of your shirt to pull it off before you were stopped by Fred’s hands.

He looked down at your fingers feebly holding the ends of your shirt as his large hands gripped your wrists tightly.

“That’s cute, you think you’re in charge. On your knees.”

You did as you were told, your aching cunt telling you to let him win at least a few battles so you could get your brains fucked out sooner rather than later. Your fingers worked quickly to untie the ties on his pants- he was still in his quidditch uniform- and finally got the waist band pulled down to just above mid thigh. His bulge was visible through his tight boxers, almost a perfect outline and your mouth started to water. No matter how much you hated Fred Weasley, you couldn't deny that his cock was beautiful. You palmed him through the thin material making him tilt his head back, leaning it against the cold stone wall- seeing as you had switched sides. You pulled his boxers down too, his cock now unrestrained and incredibly hard. Wasting no time, you licked a broad stripe up from the base of his cock to the tip before collecting the precum on the tip with your tongue. Your lips wrapped around the spongey head, giving it a slow, hard suck making Fred grumble from above you.

His voice was deep and gravely, “Do I have to do everything myself?” Before he grabbed your hair in a makeshift ponytail, the other hand holding the back of your head and pushing you to take more of him.

Soon his pace was fast, a mix between face fucking and head pushing making you gag around his length- this only spurred him on.

“That’s right, suck my cock like the horny slag you are. Hate how much you love it, don’t you?”

You moaned around him in response, resulting in a stuttered moan coming from him. You brought your hand up to massage his balls, tugging and fondling just as he likes it. Fred was close, you could feel it, but before he came down your throat he tugged you off of himself. Your teeth dragged along the length of his shaft making him shiver and wince before shoving you off.

“Don’t be a fucking brat, brats don’t get to cum.”

Your lips turned up in the most innocent smile you could muster, “Sorry.”

His lips curled into a snarl, “Strip.”

You didn’t move, wanting to push him just a little bit, and Fred was not having.

“Strip or else I’ll shred your clothes and force you to walk back to your dorm naked, L/n.”

The throbbing of your cunt was unmistakable now, pulling your clothes off hastily. Each item hit the dusty floor in record speed making Fred chuckle at your eagerness and obedience. He slowly pulled his pants and boxers off the rest of the way before pulling his shirt over his head, both of you now completely naked.

Fred was leaning against the wall, hand slowly stroking his prick as he spoke, “How do you want it, princess?”

You smirked, “How ever you wanna give it to me, Freddie.”

Fred seemed to go absolutely feral at your answer, shooting up to grab you by the back of your neck push you against the wall he was resting on just seconds prior. The cold stone scratched at your sensitive, pert nipples as Fred moved his knee in-between your thighs to push them apart. He slid two fingers along your folds, smearing your arousal and drawing out a shaky breath from your parted lips. He gave you little time to prepare before sliding into your entrance, the lack of preparation before hand made the stretch of your walls from his cock mix a sting into the pleasure. His thrusts were fast and hard as he fucked you against the wall, one hand down rubbing rough circles on your clit and the other holding both your wrists behind your back.

He continued his rough pace, his hand leaving your clit and moving to your neck forcing you to drop your head back, just below his shoulder. He had a firm grasp on your jaw, making your mouth drop open so he could spit into it. The taste was always unique to him, the taste on your tongue was completely Fred.

“I hate you.” He growled into your ear.

Your eyes met in a heated glare as you responded, “Show me how much.”

tags:

@siriusement

@amourtentiaa

@vsawyer1989

@lifeofkaze

@theorangedrummer

@erinblack003

@famdomhideout

@an2402lths

@escapingrealitybyreading

@readyg0erge

@maybesandohnos

@therealhouseelvesofhogwarts

#Fred Weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley smut #fred weasley blurb #fred weasley x reader

267 notes · View notes

lovelybarnes · 3 years

Text

berlin- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: mentions of blood and dying, fighting, weapons, avengers stuff, it’s not fluff

about: a challenge “berlin in the cold/ all that fighting/ all that snow” for @sventeen-daybreak

a/n: i hope this is good! it’s only 1k words or so, so i hope that’s enough lol i'm also so sorry for any mistakes, after reading it for like the third time, every word i read was just horrible so i stopped reading lmao

also i am currently working on the loki part 2, so i'm hoping it'll be out by thursday (aka my normal posting day)

"berlin in the cold,"

the cold air is nipping at your uncovered skin, numbing your nose and your cheeks, but you don’t seem to notice. your evening breaths are visible, swirling in front of you as white puffs. your fingers are tapping slowly against the leg of your suit, staining the color with the dark red on your fingers. you can still feel the wound they pressed on, the thick vermillion coating your fingers while you struggled to keep it in. you can still hear the whimpers and the screams, and the eyes that stared up at you, pleading for you to do something you were unable to.

the snow you’re standing in is pure white, a stark contrast to the carmine colored you can still see. very little of it is yours, but it’s a meaningless comfort with the reminder of the pain heavy, and it’s barely noticeable that the avengers came to help with so much death.

your legs still ache from the excessive use, thighs sore from squeezing heads so hard, the bodies belonging to them fall to the ground; dead or passed out, you didn’t bother to tell because you’d cracked their necks already. the weapons you used sit uselessly in the pockets of your suit: bloodied or chipped knives, broken tasers, and guns emptied of ammo.

you can still see the bodies, both human and alien, and a few in between, strewn across the white, but your face remains expressionless, the hate for the things that caused the destruction loud and clear as it runs in your blood, making your fingers reach out to take the lives you’ve already taken, not that you’d be able to with how exhausted you are now. the evidence of that, though, is nonexistent, and will be until you’re in the compound, free to pass out as you please in the confines of your own bed.

the presence behind you- familiar and comforting, a striking change from the ones you’d been encountering for the last hours- gently reminds you it isn’t your bed only anymore, but yours and bucky’s to share. the thought draws a relaxing sheen over your thoughts, the thought of hands and touches that don’t bring with them murderous intent a large enough relief to let your shoulders drop a little.

just a little, though, because even if you close your eyes, the metallic smell of blood remains, burning in your nose, appearing on your tongue, and the still bodies are still there, all life drained away.

“you’re cold,” bucky says quietly, and you don’t mind it; his voice is always soft, gravelly in a way that should shatter the war-ridden silence, but it doesn’t, only makes it tremble, as if he’s handling it with the same tender hands he handles you with- only light touches, as if you aren’t the opposite of the most delicate thing in the world.

you don’t respond, but you don’t need to, bucky has already slipped his arms from the coat you made him take, draping it over your shoulders. the only reason he doesn’t turn you around and puts it on you correctly is the eerie silence there rarely is when you’re around him, and the complete lack of your touch. you’re always at his side, hidden under his arm while you ask him if he’s okay because you always are.

you aren’t this time, he recognizes, watching you absentmindedly scratch at the dried blood on your thumb, the red speckles harshly interrupting the bright white as they land. “i don’t understand why they came here like that.” you think out loud, voice soft yet cracked. you mean suddenly, without the warning usually given and taken advantage of by arriving earlier, stopping most of the chaos and coldblooded murder.

“they’re aliens,” bucky points out dumbly, because he doesn’t know what else to say. he doesn’t understand either. this is something he asks you, and you answer with something true and honest because that’s what you are. you blink, not moving from the place you stand, watching the ruins of what was once a home. “but if we got here sooner-”

“you know what thinking like that does,” bucky interrupts carefully, and you do. you’ve seen the tears that tinge his eyes red and roll down his cheeks, the nightmares that limit his rest to only a few hours. yet, you can still only remember the little girl, whose blood possibly wouldn’t be caked on your hands if you’d gotten here earlier.

she was so little, you think, sniffling. “you’re cold,” bucky repeats, attempting to ease you into the quinjet where the rest of the avengers wait, friday doing her job stitching up natasha’s wounds. the stinging on your calf reminds you that you should probably be there too, but you remain still. “it was so pretty here,” you whisper, remnants of the place it used to be still floating in the air like a shadow. you wanted to take bucky here one day, show him how beautiful the cold could be; but the scarlet covering hides the beautiful, the bodies smearing the illusion, only confirming bucky’s views.

the snowflakes that fall from the sky mask the devastation with a sheen of peace, landing gently in yours and bucky’s hair in a way that makes him look angelic. it’s nearly ironic, with his gun shoved in his holster, bloodied and used. he’s still on your side, bright blue eyes staying frozen on you.

you’re standing in snow up to your knees, the ice unkind to your raw skin. the flakes only continue to fall, and you know that everything you can see will be covered by a new layer by tomorrow. it makes you upset, hand curling into a tight fist, sticky with blood. “why hasn’t anyone picked them up?” you ask.

“too much snow. shield didn’t have enough manpower to get them all,” bucky replies, staring at the alien carcasses that remain, shriveled and ugly, one caught in mid scream. you shake your head, “i don’t mean that,” you state, voice slightly raising, nearly breaking your facade. “i mean them, they don’t deserve to- to lie there with their murderers.”

“y/n…” bucky begins, your breathing catches, murmuring a no under your breath, “they didn’t deserve for their last memories to be fighting. they don’t deserve to be buried under so much snow.”

you turn to bucky, finally moving. “they didn’t deserve that.”

“i know,” he responds, voice hushed while he comes closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and waist. “i couldn’t help them,” you snivel, letting yourself fall against bucky completely until he’s practically carrying you, his body enveloping yours till you aren’t visible anymore, safe in his embrace.

“you did everything you could, you helped so many people,” bucky murmurs, pressing his lips against the crown of your head, “not enough,” you counter, cold tears bleeding into his shoulder. “so much, y/n. people are alive because of you.”

your arms finally go around his back, pulling him closer, “then why does it feel like i did nothing?” bucky shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut at the sound of your broken words. he didn’t know how to make this better. seeing you cry was new to him, it was always you comforting him, hugging him tightly and whispering loving words in his ear until he calmed down and clung to you as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“you did everything you could,” he repeats quietly, rubbing small circles on your back. “i really hate being an avenger sometimes,” you mumble into the ripped material of his suit. “i know. i do too,” he nods, kissing your head repeatedly. his body heat is melting the cold off of yours with each second that passes by. if you close your eyes, you can pretend you aren’t where you are, and the liquid coating your fingers isn’t what it is, but something less gory. not a heavy reminder of what happened.

“i don’t want to be here anymore,” you start, “i want to go home with you and never see anything like this again.” your words are unrealistic, and both you and bucky know that, but he nods anyway, pulling away from you and tugging the coat tighter around your body.

you walk next to him towards the quinjet, the snow you used to love stained with the ghost of the decimation that had just taken place.

"all that fighting; all that snow."

152 notes · View notes

lyrabythelake · 3 years

Text

Stick Together

Legend is lost, and so very alone.

Read on AO3

CW: gore, mentions of death, just a shed-load of Legend angst

No birds sing in these woods.

It’s the thing that stands out most to Legend as he stumbles his way over fallen branches and rotting logs he cannot see, for the fog swallows his legs and the foreparts of his arms he stretches blindly out in front of him. There are no twittered conversations or scuffling of small creatures, no trickling nearby streams or even rustling leaves.

Just complete, all-consuming silence.

It’s the kind of silence that sits heavy in his chest and threatens to choke him, the kind that reminds him every second that he could not be more alone.

It’s not how it’s meant to be, he thinks desperately. Woods are places where life and nature thrives, but the trees that emerge from this ghastly fog are withered and decaying, twisting shells of what they once were. Or perhaps they have always been like this. There is no life in this place; it is a graveyard for the lost, one that threatens to bury him alongside all those who were unfortunate enough to die here, so very alone.

“Time!?” he calls, but it is half-hearted at best, his voice long hoarse from hours spent shouting the same eight names in futile hope that one of them will hear. The sound falls pitifully short, consumed by the banks of white swirling mist that cave in on all sides. He sounds small and frightened, incredibly pathetic, but he would give anything for someone, anyone to hear him.

How long has it been? he wonders. Time loses all meaning when the world around him provides no landmarks but the homogenous, gnarled faces of those mangled, warped trees that stare down at him every few steps. Time doesn’t flow in the same way when one is staring into that infinite abyss of swirling white.

His feet ache fiercely, but he cannot stop. He entered this place, so there must be an exit, there must. His mouth is so, incredibly dry and his stomach aches with hunger, his legs are weak and his ankles are splintering with pain from turning over on the uneven floor, but still he blunders forward. He has no way of knowing in which direction he is heading, every turn of his head is disorientating, every trip of his feet he is left wondering if he has just been going in circles all this time.

He has never been good at following orders, he’ll admit. Perhaps it is not so surprising that eventually it was the thing that brought his downfall.

“Stick together,” Wild had said, “and whatever you do, don’t stray from the path. This place is called the Lost Woods for a reason.”

Simple really, but the Captain had been on top form that day (is it the same day or have weeks passed without him knowing?) and after a jab that hit particularly close to home, he had stormed off in a fit of prideful rage.

None of that anger remains now, all that is left is clawing desperation and uncontrollable terror. There have been many times in his life where he thought he might die, when he had accepted that he may be nearing his last few moments in this world, but never has he felt so completely helpless about it.

This isn’t like dying in a sudden, electric explosion of a lightning strike. This isn’t like falling mid-battle, fighting for his life, sword held out in front of him until the very last second. This is slow and quiet and suffocating, it is drawn out and long-suffering, like Hylia is playing with him, torturing him before she finally ends it all.

It’s not like he deserves any better, he supposes.

A scream echoes in the distance, guttural and full of fear, like the sound of an animal crying out as they are torn limb from limb by a larger predator. Except there is no mistaking that this one is human.

“Hello?!” His breathing picks up as he clambers forward more quickly, half twisting his ankle on a tree root.

“Is anyone there?!”

Had it been a figment of his imagination? Is his worn-out mind configuring hallucinations from the ringing in his ears just so he can focus on something other than this endless white murk?

The scream sounds again, closer this time, but coming from all around him, the direction impossible to determine. But this time he hears the familiarity in it; he knows that voice, though he’s never heard it in this capacity, never heard such blatant terror held within it.

“Hyrule…” he all but whispers, his voice choked, the sound not coming out how he intended. “HYRULE!” he screams louder, his vocal cords feeling like they’re tearing under the strain. He spins around, desperately scrambling for the direction he needs to go in order to save him. But there is none. The sound had come from everywhere.

Had he gone searching for him after he had disappeared? Has he been wondering lost and alone all this time because of Legend’s stupidity? Has he met a grisly end in these woods, ripped to shreds by some wild animal, or is he lying somewhere in the mud, staring up into this boundless white mist, bleeding to death on the woodland floor in bleak agony?

“HYRULE!”

He can’t let that happen. Hyrule is too sweet, too determined, too kind, and he has already spent most of his life alone, he doesn’t deserve to die like that, he can’t die like that.

Another scream echoes out, lost to the white darkness and again, its tone is horrifyingly familiar.

“WIND!” Legend cries. There are tears streaming down his face, though he can’t remember when they started. Perhaps they have always been flowing.

Wind is so young, so hopeful and holds such promise. He told Legend only the other day how he dreams to explore every inch of the ocean, discover everything it has to offer. When he said it, he held such excitement in his big, blue eyes that Legend couldn’t even pretend not to be enthusiastic on his behalf.

“WIND! HYRULE! Where are you,” he utters miserably, those last words quieter but as much to himself as any of his pleas. His heart is banging in his chest, beating away the last stems of energy he has left within him. He dares not set out in one direction, for he might only extend the distance between him and his friends and when he finally loses his last morsel of energy, he won’t have the strength to rectify the mistake.

Another scream. Warriors. The man is like a brother to him, even if they have their disagreements. He has fought too hard in his life, he deserves a noble death, not this.

Then there is another scream, then another. Twilight, Four, Wild, Sky, their voices warped from terror and pain, so different from what he is used to them sounding like, none of them indicating any further as to where they may be located.

Legend is not holding back his sobs anymore, there is no point, no one can hear him. The mist takes his tears and draws strength from them, seeming to get ever thicker, that cruel, hypnotic swirling ever more disorientating.

Time’s voice sounds next, low and strained as if he’s trying to keep himself from screaming but fails as the pain gets the best of him.

“Time! Warriors!? PLEASE!” That last word comes out more of a scream, raw and painful, every fragment of helplessness he feels carried in its din, and he sinks to his knees. He has nothing left to give; dirt and twigs dig into his knees and shins and then his hands as he brings them too to the ground. The screams are a cacophony around him, coming from every direction, a symphony perhaps in the way they seem orchestrated to break him down until he is nothing. They are so frequent he can no longer tell them apart; it is just noise and agony and his own pathetic crying.

He wants to bring his hands to his ears, but he can’t bring himself to, for what awful kind of coward would block out their friends as they suffered. He cannot go to them, he cannot help, so he listens, and his tears fall and wet the muddied ground as he cries for his companions and all the others he could not save.

It is ridiculous now to think of all those who called him a hero when it’s clear all paths led to this moment, to him cowering on the slowly softening ground, snot dripping from his nose like a child while his friends die their endless, painful deaths.

But then the screams stop. Suddenly and all at once they cut off, and if it weren’t for the ringing in his ears and the heaviness of his face, he might have thought they never sounded at all.

They weren’t real, he thinks, they couldn’t have been. But his heart is still beating like a rabbit caught in a trap and adrenaline makes him tremble violently. The sheer disparity between the screams and the silence makes it seem like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs. He is waiting for something, waiting for them to start up again, perhaps worse than before.

And start up again they do, eventually, except this time, there is only one, and it is different. A jolt rips through him as if from a lightning strike, sudden and totally unpredictable at the scream that is higher in pitch than the rest and so, unbearably familiar.

Marin.

“Please, no,” he sobs, and though he knows it isn’t real now, that almost makes it worse.

He has not heard her voice in oh, so long. There have been nights where he’s lain awake trying to remember it, replaying those distant memories over and over in his mind, helpless as the picture of her gradually fades. He once would have given anything to hear her voice again, and it seems his desires have been thrown back in his face, distorted and satirical.

His heart aches as if it is tearing in two, and he truly believes it would be impossible to feel any more pain than he does in this moment.

He does move then, finally. He curls up into a ball, his back leaning against the rough, gnarled trunk of one of those dead, shadows of trees, his eyes pressed to his knees, listening to the sounds of his lost love, her sweet voice warped in excruciating pain.

There is a time during the potential hours he sits there that those screams turn to something melodic. He doesn’t know when it happened, perhaps it was too gradual to put a finger on the exact moment it changed, but the sound that reaches his ears is now a beautiful, eerie, and terribly familiar song.

It doesn’t sound like he remembers it. It’s not her voice, not really, there is an ethereal quality to it beyond the echo the woods provide and there is something strange and creepy about it. It’s a mockery of the girl he loved, and it is worse than any of the screams that came before it.

His tears stop. There are no more within him left to cry. The singing drones on and, he supposes, if he is to die here, at least he is thinking of her.

And he is. He thinks of lighthouses and gull’s cries, of falling asleep to the waves gently crashing on the shore. He thinks of the feeling of sand between his toes which he thought unpleasant at first but grew to love. He thinks of thick, red hair and the smell of strawberries and a time that brought true happiness in a way he hasn’t felt since.

There is an aching peace in those memories, so he hides in them. He lets himself be cowardly, because you know what? He’s given all that he has to play the hero, and perhaps he does deserve to die alone in the end, but in the face of it all, he’ll take back what he can.

So he gives up, lets the fog consume him.

_______________

“Legend!?”

He is aware, vaguely, that the singing has stopped. Aware of the ache in his head from crying and in his stomach from hunger. It is distant, but it is there, and logically, that means he’s not dead.

“Legend!?”

The voices… sirens… whatever they are haven’t given up then. Perhaps they’ll keep torturing him until the life finally leaves him completely. How cruel the world can be.

“Legend, where are you?!”

He perks up, finally bringing his face from his knees, for all the good it does. The fog is the milky white of a blinded man’s eyes.

Footsteps in the distance. The snap of twigs, desperate chatter. Maybe…

“Hello?!” Goddesses, his voice is wrecked. He’s never sounded so pitiful in his life.

“Legend! Is that you?!”

“Over here!” he cries, the small beginnings of hope blooming in his chest, despite him trying his best to smother it. Hoping never did end well for him.

“It is him!”

“Which direction did that come from?”

“This way, I’m pretty sure.”

“It’s a wonder we found anything in all this goddessdamned mist.”

“Over here, I think I see him!”

All of a sudden, a familiar face is staring into his own, worry etched into every feature, his curly brown hair wilder than usual, one cheek streaked with grime. But Hyrule is looking miraculously alive as he kneels in front of him, and this time Legend sobs in relief. He reaches out a trembling hand, the frailty of it almost sickening, and grabs a fistful of green tunic.

“You’re real?” he whispers hoarsely. It’s more a plea than a question and Hyrule’s eyes widen in something similar to shock.

“I’m real,” he tells him, watching helplessly as Legend reaches out his other hand to grab a handful of material in that one too.

“I wasn’t sure.” But he is now. Hyrule’s tunic is soft in his hands and the details of his face, the faint freckles on his skin, the green of his eyes, they’re too real to be anything else. Reality has been warped so many times for him that it’s become difficult over the years to tell what’s real and what’s not, but Hyrule is here now, and that’s as much confirmation as he’s going to get.

The others arrive, falling silent as they see Legend on the ground. He knows what a state he must look, he must have been crying for hours, but he can’t bring himself to care. The colours of their clothes are the most vibrant he’s seen for an eternity, and he turns his gaze from the Prussian blue of Warriors’ scarf to the glinting gold of Time’s chest plate like he is starving for it.

“What happened?” Time asks immediately, his voice soft but sombre.

“I thought you were dead. All of you.” Legend’s voice has almost given out completely, every syllable feels like he is ripping up the inside of his throat. There is another silence, and it seems no one knows what to say. Legend supposes the sight of him in such a vulnerable state must be a little shocking. He may not be the most stoic member of the group, but like them all, he keeps his emotions close to his chest.

“They say travellers who get lost in these woods hear the sounds of their loved ones in pain in the last moments of their life,” Wild murmurs quietly when no one says anything. His voice is muffled by the fog, but they all hear him crystal clear.

“I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner,” Twilight says sombrely, as if it wasn’t his fault for running off in the first place. He doesn’t want apologies; he just wants to get out of this goddessforsaken woods and pretend all this never happened.

He knows that’s impossible though. The screams of those who stand in front of him unite in his mind with the strange, beautiful melody sung by the girl in his dreams. The way it echoes in his ears makes him fear it will never fade.

“Can you stand?” asks Sky, clearly sharing his desire to leave this place as soon as possible. To tell the truth, he doesn’t think he can, but he lets Hyrule haul him up, and though he wobbles palpably, he remains on his feet.

“We’ll rest as soon as we’re out of this fog,” Time tells them as they follow Wild closely. He somehow seems to know where he’s going, though Legend isn’t paying much attention to him, lost in his own relief and remnant horror.

“Let’s not come here again.” Wind’s voice is smaller than usual, containing none of its usual optimism. Legend could not agree with him more.

The atmosphere around them feels slightly strange to him. His ears still carry those Goddessawful screams and nothing feels quite normal. It is only the feeling of Hyrule by his side helping him along that assures him he’s truly been saved. But he trusts his friends, believes them to be real. And that belief is all he has.

#lyra writes #linked universe #linked universe fanfic #lu legend #Legend's turn to be tortured today

70 notes · View notes

silverstarlightwrites · 3 years

Text

An alternate AU to this one that occurred to me just now

Team Seven take the mission to the Land of Waves. On the bridge, they fight Zabuza and Haku.

On the bridge, Naruto dies.

Something in Sasuke breaks, and he goes berserk. Haku and their ice mirrors scream as they flashboil in the black flames Sasuke summons forth, and it takes only a howl and a wild gesture to send Amaterasu blazing across the bridge to consume Zabuza and Tazuna as well. The stone melts underneath them, while Kakashi snatches up Sakura and flees, and it’s not until Sasuke feels the weight of wet clothes - crushing Naruto’s body to his chest, bloody and so absurdly hot - that he realises the bridge has disintegrated, and the water is burning.

It’s instinct and desperation that let Sasuke to douse the fires he’s conjured, and even then it aches and tastes like blood and acid, and he’s sinking when Kakashi whips across the surface to catch him, the moment the flames are gone.

Sasuke cries into Naruto’s chest, and refuses to let go. Sakura is cold and silent, and she neither speaks nor eats for the grim, slow trek back to Konoha. And it is slow, even further drawn out by the constant fluctuation of chakra from Naruto’s corpse, carried awkwardly and painfully by Sasuke alone.

It’s not Naruto’s chakra, of course. Kakashi dreads the inevitable questions, resolves not to lie when they come, and somehow their absence is even worse.

The moment they walk through the southern Konoha gate, there are Anbu all over them. They pry Naruto’s body from Sasuke’s arms, despite his shouting and kunai, despite the way Sasuke’s eyes ignite into blood red to fight-- But he doesn’t summon Amaterasu again, doesn’t expend the chakra he doesn’t have to try and kill their own. Sakura touches his shoulder, just two fingers, and her face is pale and hollow when she shakes her head, but it’s still more interaction than she’s allowed for the whole trip, and Sasuke obeys her. Blinks his eyes black, slumps in place, and then sags against Sakura.

She catches him, and he’s shaking, and she stares over his shoulder, unblinking, at the Anbu wrapping Naruto’s corpse in chakra-absorbing paper scrawled endlessly with Seals.

Kakashi isn’t sure what she sees, and he isn’t sure he wants to know.

One Anbu stays behind, and they instruct the gutted remains of Team Seven that the Hokage wants to see them. Kakashi can’t bring himself to intervene when Sasuke snarls and lunges, or when Sakura lets him. Doesn’t step in when Sasuke tells them to Fuck Off or when he punches them weakly in the chest - and the Anbu clearly thinks he’s simply not going to get involved, because when they try to catch Sasuke’s wrist they aren’t expecting Kakashi to move. Too fast to be safe, too fast for the chakra use not to burn.

Sasuke leans back into Kakashi as the Anbu trips, and Kakashi feels himself close his hands on Sasuke’s shoulders. “Don’t touch my kids,” he hears himself hiss, and if he doesn’t quite know when he accepted them as his then he doesn’t quite care either.

One of them is dead, and they won’t be permitted to mourn him properly because of the beast caged inside him without his knowledge.

The thought makes Kakashi sick. It all does, all of it. Konoha’s abuse of an innocent child, Kakashi’s complicitness in allowing it to happen. Hiruzen’s cruelty in allowing it also.

In allowing all of it.

Sasuke has lost enough.

The Anbu doesn’t need telling twice, and they leave Kakashi to cajole his kids into seeing Hiruzen. It takes more effort than he’d care to admit. Just physically, the three of them are a wreck - and it’s worse emotionally. Mentally.

“You let them take him.”

It’s the first thing Sakura has said since Naruto died - in a burst of blood and scarlet chakra - and Kakashi suddenly thinks he’s never felt anything so cold as her voice. When he meets her gaze, it’s like drowning.

“I had to. The Hokage will explain.” Because Kakashi is bound not to. By an oath that maybe he shouldn’t have taken, by a promise extracted by force. Why shouldn’t he tell them?

He doesn’t, of course. He scoops Sasuke up, and despises that Sasuke simply allows it, and offers Sakura a hand as they start walking. Sakura ignores it, striding ahead with her back too stiff and her hands clenched too tight. The walk to the Hokage Tower, while significantly shorter, is the same as the trip from Waves to Konoha.

Hiruzen ushers them into his office, tearful, and Sasuke struggles stiffly out of Kakashi’s grip. Red flickers and whorls through his eyes, and it’s impossible to know if he’s fighting to ignite his Sharingan or if he’s fighting not to.

“I’m sorry.” It’s low and mournful and wet. It’s insulting.

Sakura snaps. She flies into a rage, screaming obscenities. Her teammate is dead, and she’s never experienced loss like this before, and gods but she watched it happen, and no pitiful, pathetic ‘I’m sorry’ can ever undo that. That Hiruzen even tries sends her over the edge.

Nobody stops her. By the time she burns out, the office is torn apart, papers scattered everywhere and the desk overturned. Sakura has scratched her nails bloody against the woodwork. When she collapses to the floor and howls, Sasuke finally approaches her, sinks to her level, and wraps his arms around her.

Perhaps he understands, then. Perhaps a hug - so tight as Sakura clings back that it may be the only thing holding her together - is all he wanted after the horror of his clan’s slaughter.

Kakashi catches himself wondering if Sasuke ever got that hug, but he knows the answer.

Of course he didn’t.

Hiruzen explains to them what a Jinchuriki is. He explains the basic concept of a Bijuu, and gives them a short summary of the Nine-Tails. They take it blankly, too much to process over the top of their raw grief, but they look to Kakashi as if searching for confirmation and Kakashi nods. Tells them it’s true.

And then, because it’s not enough, it’s pathetic an explanation, he hears himself continue.

Because “He deserved better. We failed him.” Hears it spin, feels more than sees the way Sasuke and Sakura twitch and shrink, and then corrects himself. His own voice is like tar in his throat.

“You failed him.”

Sasuke and Sakura follow him out of Hiruzen’s office, and Hiruzen doesn’t try to stop them.

Kakashi sets the pack to watch them when they all end up at the war memorial. It wasn’t exactly a decision to go there, of course, but it never really is. All eight ninken are there already when they arrive, and they encourage Sakura and Sasuke to collapse and curl up with them, but Kakashi resists. He has something else to do.

And it’s dark by the time he comes back, his kids and his pack all bundled up in his far-too-tiny apartment, but he wakes them all the same. Demanding Naruto’s body back hadn’t been easy or clean, and the results of the chakra-draining done to preserve as much of the stray Nine-Tails chakra bleeding out of where it had torn free upon Naruto’s death is... messy.

Naruto’s body stays wrapped up the way Kakashi walked out of the Anbu Blue Vault with it. Only his head is visible, and his hair is knotted and matted with blood and oil, but it doesn’t stop Sakura from running her hands through it, or Sasuke from laying his head against Naruto’s chest.

Not enough people come to Naruto’s funeral. The whole fucking Village should mourn him, the child who protected them from the Nine-Tails for his entire, short life. His loss should have been overwhelming - it should have brought all of Konoha to a fucking stop.

But it doesn’t. Umino Iruka attends, and he’s quiet but he weeps ceaselessly the whole day. Sakura and Sasuke seem to welcome his presence, so Kakashi doesn’t nothing to discourage it.

Hiruzen shows up, perhaps halfway through. It takes all of Kakashi’s still-wan strength to hold Sakura back from trying to maul him, and Sasuke doesn’t fight one way or another when he lights up his Sharingan at the Hokage’s approach.

“Go. Away,” Sasuke snarls at him, and for just a moment it seems like Hiruzen might scold the boy, who’s been stripped of his family in half a dozen different ways, over and over again, as if he’s expressing his grief incorrectly, and that moment is all it takes for Kakashi to speak over all of them.

It’s the voice he used as the Hound. He hasn’t heard it for years. “You should go, Hokage-sama. You don’t want to make me choose a side here.”

Because Kakashi is loathe to fight Konoha at all, let alone its leader, but he knows without a doubt that he will. For Sasuke. For Sakura. If ever the decision must be made, Kakashi knows he will turn on Hiruzen in an instant if it would protect his kids from ending up like him.

Konoha would not make a broken blade out of Sasuke. It would not strip Sakura of her soul.

Orochimaru comes. He seeks out Sasuke, and the power he offers is too tempting for Sasuke to pass up - but he refuses to sneak away in the dead of night. Team Seven’s progress has halted in the aftermath of Naruto’s death; Hiruzen has tried several times to full the gap in their unit, but Sakura and Sasuke vehemently refuse to accept one, and Kakashi does not make them. He will not.

Naruto cannot be replaced. The gap can never be sufficiently filled.

And so comes the morning that Sasuke asks for their company in leaving. He’s been suffocating under Konoha’s weight for a long time, Kakashi realises that morning, and he’s finally reached his limit. Kakashi doesn’t try to talk him out of it; he won’t succeed. There’s no point. Revenge has been his motivation for so long that Sasuke will never quite learn how to give it up, and now he has so much more for which to seek vengeance.

It will only be Itachi first. After that, all of Konoha is culpable for Naruto’s death, and the endless suffering he endured before it. Kakashi is not fool enough to think he can change Sasuke’s mind.

Sakura agrees on the spot. She’s unrecognisable from the bubbly genin Kakashi took custody of from the Academy. She’s gaunt and messy and angry, and she’s forsaken her friends in order to follow Sasuke into the dark. She’s clinging to him, ferociously, in a different way than she’d tried to before.

She’s clinging to Sasuke the same way Kakashi had clung to Rin - how Rin had clung right back - after Obito’s death. Sasuke is her constant, her reassurance that Naruto’s absence won’t just be for nothing, that someone is going to pay for it. That she’s going to help make that happen.

You don’t want to make me choose a side, Kakashi had told Hiruzen, as if they were words of fucking prophecy. Because here are his kids, minds made up, choosing a side that Kakashi would rather flay himself than join - and yet, here he is too, and he knows already he’s going to go with them.

Choosing against Konoha tastes like ozone and fear and self-loathing, but choosing against Sasuke and Sakura is unconscionable. Even this, even this, Kakashi will do. Watching them die is a terror that keeps him up at night, a nightmare with its hands around Kakashi’s throat, a dread that’s getting ever colder. That this might lead to that outcome takes his breath away.

But the thought of not being there is even worse. Konoha forsook Sasuke when his family was wiped out, and Konoha forsook them both once again when they came home bloodied and shattered. Konoha has gone on the same as always, as if nothing even happened, and it always has when the whole world was supposed to shatter and didn’t - with Obito’s eye in Kakashi’s skull and Rin’s blood on Kakashi’s hands - and that truth does absolutely nothing to stay Sasuke’s hatred or Sakura’s wrath. They are young and angry and wounded, and there is no words Kakashi can say that will convince them to reject the power on offer, no matter how dangerous and untrustworthy the source may be.

And he refuses to let them do this alone. Everyone will want their heads, but Kakashi has fought and killed the best of them, and if - in the end - his only purpose is to protect his remaining kids, where he failed to protect the third, then perhaps the Hound yet serves a purpose still.

So Kakashi selects a kunai, and helps them score through their Konoha hitai-ite, and lets them lead him into hell.

136 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Title: Collared.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus/Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Synopsis: Malleus’ biggest mistake was treating you as a lover would, rather than as a captor. Unfortunately, his patience is limited, and he can only spend so much time waiting for you to adjust before he resorts to stricter methods.

TW: Graphic Violence, Burning, Mentions Of Blood, Implied Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Unhealthy Relationships, Slight Bondage, Use Of Morally-Grey Magic, Emotional Manipulation, and Slight Victim-Blaming.

Your head was beginning to hurt.

It was the pressure, more than anything, the weight of a crown that you’d never wanted to wear, a crown that hadn’t been designed to accommodate someone without horns or wings or enough strength to make the strain bearable. It was a beautiful piece, objectively, a gift from a diplomat hoping to establish a relationship with Malleus shortly after his coronation, but the jewels were heavy, carved into ornate shapes and perched on top of needle-thin peaks, and although you’d been enthralled by the idea of wearing something that looked as delicate as ice, that swirled in impossible ways and curved angles human hands wouldn’t be able to attempt to achieve, the thin base dug into your scalp, and fashion in the Valley of Thorns was so layered, so limiting, the tiara only served as another annoyance you had to bear, another thing to push the air from your lungs and make your vision blur and force you onto the line between discomfort and active agony.

You’d tried to remove it while he met with his advisors, while Malleus spoke and all the attention was on him rather than his disagreeable human companion, but he’d caught you by the wrist the moment you tried, forcing your hand back into your lap before any of his courtiers could notice you’d move. He’d always been particular about the way you presented yourself, in front of him, in front of your subjects. It might’ve been because he took so much pride in doting on you, insisting on dressing you himself every morning and interpreting any refusal as willful disobedience. He might’ve just enjoyed making sure you were as aware of the power he had over you as he was. The latter was more likely, knowing the demeanor he’d taken on after he’d whisked you away to his kingdom, after he’d taken the throne and all the power in the county, with it. That would explain why he felt the need to keep an arm draped over your shoulders, now.

It would explain why he wouldn’t let go, despite your attempts to shake him off.

“They don’t mean you any harm,” He muttered, the voice kept low in order to escape the notice of his guards, trailing after him like ever-present shadows. “No one in this castle wants to see you suffer. You don’t have a reason to act as if they do.”

No one wanted to see you suffer, expect him. Malleus always seemed to forget that, when looking for the source of your irritation. “Everyone here treats me like your consort.”

There was a blink, then another. You could’ve groaned. “But, (Y/n), you are my consort--”

“Not because I want to be.” It was a hollow mantra, something you’d said time and time again. At your side, Malleus grimaced, and you tried to walk a little faster, fixing your eyes on the stone floor to avoid the concerned glances of the guards. “I’m a prisoner here, Malleus. Nothing you try to do will make me less of a prisoner, not when your methods are so…” You trailed off, letting out a heavy sigh. “Not when everything you do is so confining.”

“Everything I do, I do because I care for you,” He explained, taking on that indignant, scolding aire you’d always hated. He was never careless, but he’d never been so richeous, either. Not until he’d gotten an excuse to be. “If you think of yourself as a prisoner, there’s nothing I can do to remedy--”

It was moment of impulse, more of a fleeting idea than a genuine question. You might’ve regretted asking it at all, if something in the back of your head hadn’t started hammering against your skull at the thought of carrying on this conversation. “If I wanted to, would you let me leave?”

There was a slight pause, an alien silence as he stopped moving, his arm falling from your shoulders. “It would destroy me,” He mumbled, by way of excuse. “I don’t know if I’d be able to go on if you--”

“Would I be able to leave?” This time, you tried to be more forceful, more instant, but it came out wrong, brash, frustrated. One of the more devoted members of Malleus’ entourage took half a step towards you, but he was quickly waved off. “Would you let me go, or would you stop me?”

It was his turn to sigh, now. Somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to pity him. “If it came to that, I wouldn’t have another choice, my love.”

That was all you needed to hear. By now, Malleus’ guards knew better than to stop you, only separating and letting you pass, your pace now fervid and your hand already in your hair, tearing at your crown, working at clasps and combs until the ornament came free and you could hear stone collide with metal, until it hit the floor and shattered, falling apart more suddenly than something so finely made should. “Then I’m a prisoner,” You snapped, not bothering to spare him a second glance as you fled down the hall. “And I don’t see a reason to listen to my captor’s advice.”

He didn’t move to follow you, and for once, you were thankful for his disregard.

At least you’d be able to deal with his scorn from a distance, for the rest of the day.

Your wrist was going to be sore, tomorrow.

If you were being honest with yourself, it was your own fault. You’d agitated him, and by bringing up the fact that you didn’t want to be here, that you didn’t love him, you’d made him paranoid, jealous, clingy, in the way a predator might cling to prey it couldn’t bring itself to kill. It must’ve comforted him, to keep a hand pressed against the small of you back or an arm around your waist, a fist wrapped around your forearm and his pointed, painted nails burrowed so far into your skin, you were scared he might draw blood if you tried to pull away. You should’ve been used to it, by now, the possessive way he held you. You’d had more than enough time to learn to tolerate it.

You’d had more than enough time, but that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?

You’d had more than enough time to come to terms with how little you wanted to tolerate it.

To your credit, you didn’t try to tear yourself away from him, not at first. All you did was slow down, tripping over your own feet on the uneven terrain of his courtyard before coming to a stop. You tried to avoid paying too much attention to the scenery whenever Malleus saw fit to take you farther than the castle walls, knowing how little you’d see of the outside world and how easy it was to miss, but you forced yourself to glare down at the weeds forcing themselves through well-worn cobblestone as Malleus glanced towards. It’d be easier if you didn’t meet his eyes. And, when he failed to ask, all you did was voice your thoughts, your tone as neutral as you could manage. “You’re hurting me.”

There was a beat of silence, a quick glance towards your wrist. When he let out a quiet, breathy laugh, you couldn’t stop yourself from deflating. “You should’ve said something,” He chastised, playfully. “It’s easy to forget how fragile humans can be, especially when they’re so rare. Silver would sooner bleed out than let Lilia fret over his injuries, and I can’t say you’re much better.”

And yet, he let you go. If anything, his grip only grew tighter, a pulsing ache soon forming under his palm. “Malleus, that’s nice, but--”

“Silver is considerate, though. If he bites his tongue, it’s only because he knows speaking would be more alarming than keeping quiet. I’m not sure where he picked up the trait, but that’s thoughtful of him, isn’t it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, only clamping down, watching with a small smile as your free hand shot to his wrist and you struggled not to cry out. Pulling away wasn’t an option, anymore. It was all you could do to keep your fingertips from going numb, let along tug your way out of his iron-clad grip. “I don’t really expect you to understand. You’ve been too unreasonable to see the point in sacrifice, lately.”

“I don’t have anything to sacrifice.” It was true, he wouldn’t have been able to deny that. What little you’d once had, he’d taken away. What you tried to keep to yourself, he pried from your arms without the slightest bit of shame. You knew that, and so did Malleus, somewhere in the back of his twisted, deluded mind. But, judging from the way his eyes narrowed as you went on, he didn’t care for the reminder. “You’re hurting me, is that what you want? Am I just supposed to grit my teeth and let you?”

There was the shortest hesitation, just a moment’s worth of reluctance. He opened his mouth, but you already had your answer. By the time he thought to lie, you were reeling back, digging your heels into the pavement and struggling in vain to wrench yourself away from him. “Let me go!” You didn’t try to keep your voice down. You didn’t care when a passing couple pretended not to stare and the nearest soldiers edged away from their post and Malleus scowled, his patience worn thin enough for his frustration to show. “You’re a monster--”

The air hitched in your throat before you could process why. Malleus hardly moved, but all it took was a click of his tongue and a glare only slightly more malicious than his usual glower and then, something white-hot and burning was searing itself into your skin, little more than a spark of what you knew he was capable of. It only lasted a second, most likely less than that, but the pain didn’t lessen as Malleus released you, allowing you the mercy of drawing your arm back into your chest and cradling your injury. The wound was raw, throbbing every time it made contact with the chilled air, your vision blurring at just the thought of touching it. If you hadn’t known better, you may’ve gone running to a healer out of instinct alone, but you had a feeling Malleus wasn’t in the mood to deal with that kind of defiance.

“Take this as a lesson,” He spat, the warning dripping with a venom you’d never heard from him. “I won’t be this kind, in the future. The burn will heal, but next time you insist I’m so awful, the damage won’t be as temporary. Do you understand?”

Slowly, you forced yourself to nod, earning an unimpressed scoff from Malleus. He accepted your lackluster submission, though, turning away and signaling you to follow with a slight, nonchalant wave. You moved to comply, but you hesitated before you started after him. You couldn’t help it.

You were injured, but he wasn’t holding onto you, anymore. He wasn’t dragging you around like a loyal mutt, forced onto a lead by an optimistic master. You were injured, but it’d worked.

Any amount of pain would’ve been worth it, if you’d finally found a way to get under his skin.

He was going to kill you.

You really hadn’t meant to lash out. You hadn’t meant to hurt him, but he’d startled you, caught you off guard while you were trying to fall asleep in a bed that was too soft and too decorative to appeal to faeries and the sparse, scattered hours they spend asleep. He’d put his hands on you, and you’d panicked. You’d felt his teeth on your neck, and for a moment, you hadn’t been able to think.

You hadn’t meant to, but now there were three thin, ragged scratches running from his cheek his jaw, the bottom-most still bleeding, and Malleus was going to kill you.

You tried to remedy the situation, while you still could. You’d never hurt him before, never affected him in a way left such tangible evidence, and to be honest, part of you still couldn’t believe you’d managed it. Malleus seemed to be stuck in a similar mindset, his lips parting slightly as his hand drifted from your hip to his cheek, tracing the jagged wound. He didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away from the contact, but that didn’t matter. Whether there was pain or not, you’d done something to harm him. That wasn’t an offense he was going to forgive easily.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--” You cut yourself off, sitting up before you could say another word, before you could make things worse for yourself. There was a dip in the mattress, a small shift in his posture, but you tried not to linger on the way his shoulder squared as you cupped the unmarried side of his face. “I’m sorry, I’m really, really sorry, you just… I didn’t know what you were doing, and you know I don’t like it when you... I don’t like it when you touch me.”

“You cut me.” He sounded surprised, more shocked than he should’ve been. It made sense, for Malleus. He’d never liked to acknowledge that you could hurt him, let alone the possibility that you’d try to. “You cut me.”

“I-I know,” You tried, settling onto your knees in front of him. Suddenly, you were thankful he’d chosen wait until you were in bed. “But, it’s alright, you just need to--”

This time, he didn’t wait for you to finish. Before you could finish, his fingers were tangled in your hair, the heel of his palm pressed against your forehead. You almost wished their had been some kind of magic word - a spell, an incantation to give you an idea of his intentions. Instead, there was only the feeling of his nails digging into your scalp, a sourceless sense of confusion, and exhaustion. Pure, unadulterated exhaustion.

He didn’t even bother to catch you, as you collapsed.

Your throat was on fire, when you woke up.

It was a dry, cracked, excruciating sort of pain, the type that had curling into yourself and clutching at your neck and wondering if you should try to drink something or close your eyes or scream. You might’ve tried to. If you did, though, you couldn’t hear it, couldn’t feel it, not underneath that blend of acid and rust that seemed to coat your vocal cords. It was all you could to roll onto your side, to try to focus on something, rather than letting your vision blur and fade around the edges every time you thought about straining yourself. But, you’d regret that, too, when the thing lying beside you came into focus.

Or, the person, rather. If you could still call him that.

Malleus was awake, you had to assume he’d always been. Faeries didn’t need sleep, not like a human might, meaning he was conscious and aware and, when he noticed you staring up at him with an expression best described as ‘petrified’, he was able to smile, to smirk, to meet your eyes with all the composure he’d lacked, the last time you’d shared his company. It might’ve been hours ago, it might’ve been days ago, but you had no way of being certain. The black, satin sheets underneath you were still the same ones you’d crumpled onto, under his spell. The hearth on the other side of his bedroom was still lit, but it always was, an eerily green fire left to burn constantly in an effort to fight the pervasive darkness of his homeland. The only thing that might’ve changed was his appearance, his spotless white tunic now unbuttoned, his hair brushed away from his face, and in his hand, he toyed with something. A handle, maybe, a strip of dark strip of leather that, when you thought to check, led back in your direction. Reflexively, you brought a hand to the base of your neck, where the pain was at its worst.

Huh.

You really should’ve seen this coming.

A choker. That’s what it felt like, at least. A circlet of cold, polished metal pulled tight against your skin, made to swirl and branch out in a way that, almost ironically, made you think of the thornbushes Malleus had always been so fond of. As far as you could tell, there wasn’t a buckle, no latch or pin that’d let you remove the contraption without freeing yourself of your head, in the process. You couldn’t see its color or its size, but you were thankful for that. Just imagining the way it must look, a collar and a leash and the pathetic, weakened mortal forced into it…

Quickly, you decided not to linger on the thought, and to concentrate on finding a way out of it, instead.

You held onto your side of the tether, hoping beyond hope that you’d just jumped to the wrong conclusion. “What is this?”

The words came out soft, just bordering on inaudible, but Malleus was close enough to hear. At first, he only hummed, scanning over you idly, evaluating your current state. You must’ve been unconscious for more than a day, at least. Clearly, his rage had time to cool into something much more dangerous than impulsive wrath. “I thought this would be… appropriate.” You hated the way he spoke, with rehearsed inflections and a practiced stiltedness. As if there was a reason to pretend he wasn’t satisfied with his work. “I didn’t have another option. You’ve been acting out so often and… What’s the phrase mortals are so fond of? Biting the hand that pets you?”

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,” You muttered, absently. The numb realization came first, but the anger was quick to follow. Quick to overwhelm, despite your better judgement. “I’m not a fucking dog--”

As soon as you started to raise your voice, he pulled your cord taut, jerking you forward and causing the metal around your neck to contract, just enough to press into your skin. You didn’t even get a chance to ask what he’d done. It wasn’t just pain, anymore. It wasn’t just a flame being held against your arm, or your thigh, or whatever part of you Malleus decided he loved the least, that day. It was a puncture, an injection, something that forced itself into your body and refused to withdraw. It was something driving itself under your skin and writhing, a parisite curling around your collarbone and biting. Your hands shot back to your collar, clawing at the seamless metal, but as far as you could tell, it hadn’t moved. It hadn’t done anything. There was nothing to fight against, nothing to dig your nails into, no blood or bruise or mark. Just the slightest bit of warmth and Malleus hovering over you, rubbing small, shallow circles into your shoulder and making your lungs tighten in your chest, making it more impossible to breath with every passing second.

It was almost worse when it stopped, when Malleus sighed and dropped your leash and you were able to gasp for air. This time, Malleus was there to catch you, to guide your head against his chest as he cooed sweet, contented nothings. You’d almost forgotten how cruel magic could be, in the wrong hands.

You’d almost forgotten how sadistic he could be, with the right incentives.

“It’s not that bad, is it? There’s never going to be a wound, but I tried to make sure it would hurt. Just enough to let you see how I feel, every time you find a new way to break my heart.” There was a languid sigh, a shake of his head. You had to lock your jaw into place just to keep from calling him another awful name, just to keep from earning yourself another pull and another minute of whatever method of torture he’d come up with. “I can’t trust you to behave for the sake of your own safety. This was the only way, my love. If I can’t trust you to love me…” There was a brief pause, a light kiss pushed into your temple. Regretful, but not remorseful. Apologetic, but more sorry he chose to imprison someone so stubborn than for the lengths he was willing to go to, if it meant controlling your temper. You couldn’t say you were surprised, but your disappointment would’ve been impossible to ignore.

Although, you didn’t have much time to linger on the feeling as Malleus took up your cord, wrapping it around his fist as he went on.

“You’ll just have to learn to fear me, instead.”

749 notes · View notes

fett-djarin · 3 years

Text

I posted this on the wrong blog omfg and i didnt realize til this morning but HI ITS PAZ TIME

Paz Vizsla x f!reader

Rating: 18+

Length: 3k Tags: Brief description of injury/blood, thigh riding, fingering, riding, multiple orgasms, creampies, cockwarming, please tell me if i missed anything!!!

NSFW under the cut!

When Paz visited, you knew you were in for a long night.

Usually a long night of steamy, messy sex that left you unable to walk straight the next day.

Tonight was a little different.

There was a heavy rap on your door that startled you awake from where you had been dozing on and off while watching holodramas. You pushed yourself up, nearly running to the door at the knock again. You pulled it open, expecting Paz, but you were surprised--it was Paz, but he had a hand pressed to his side, over the thick leather and padded cloth that covered where the beskar didn’t, and he leaned heavily against the doorframe to your apartment.

“Hey, mesh’la,” Paz greeted you, voice strained. Dark red seeped around his gloves.

“Paz!” You grabbed his elbow, wiggling under his arm in an attempt to support some of his weight. Like you could do much for a heavy artillery Mandalorian warrior easily weighing 300 pounds with the armor on, but you would try.

You stumbled into your apartment, kicking the door shut behind you. Paz’s massive frame dwarfed your own and he leaned heavily on you, which never happened even when the big Mandalorian showed up injured. Then again, no injury before seemed as serious as this one. He collapsed on to your couch with a groan, hand still pressed tight to the wound on his side.

You scrambled to your fresher, pulling out the medkit you kept stocked for cases like this--albeit, it was only a medkit, and you weren’t a medic or properly prepared to deal with an injury more than a shallow blaster burn. You knelt on the floor next to the couch, encouraging him to let you remove the blue-painted beskar plates, laying them aside on the floor. You frowned the blaster residue and new scuffs on them.

"Let me see." You placed your hand over his, pressed against his side.

He grunted in response.

"Let me see," you repeated, urging him to move his hand and you sucked in a tight breath at the ragged wound in the flesh of his side. "What happened?" You couldn't stop your horrified whisper.

"Vibroblade. Didn't--" he huffed. "Didn't see him behind me." His voice was raspy.

You cut away what you could of the fabric--the less damaged sections proving too thick for your little scissors. Stars, how was he still standing? It wasn't too long, but it was deep.

Paz breathed a deep sigh, seemingly relaxing into your couch.

"Hey, hey, stay awake. Paz, stay with me," you shook his arm, making him groan. "I know. But you can't sleep. Not yet."

The medkit tipped, spilling its contents across the ground. A bacta shot. It was small, not enough to close the whole wound, but enough to help. At the very least, slow the bleeding and ease the pain. It was your best starting point.

"Paz, I'm gonna give you a shot, okay? Don't punch me," you said, trying to be as gentle as possible. He hissed, large fists clenching as you administered the shot. When you smeared bacta gel along the raw edges, his heavy hand landed on your shoulder, squeezing hard enough to make you wince. The shot had slowed the bleeding like you had hoped, so the remaining gel should do the trick for the rest...so you laid a patch over it, and now all you could do was wait. A wound of that size would take a few days to heal without stronger bacta or a professional medic's care, but as long as Paz didn't die--in your apartment!--you knew he would be okay.

He better be, because how in the hells would you explain the corpse of a Mandalorian hunter on your couch.

“Fierfek,” Paz grumbled. You nudged the spilled medkit supplies out of the way with your leg, scooting closer on your knees and laying your head on his thigh, beskar cool against your cheek. Paz murmured your name. His hand came up, stroking over your hair and cheek, helmet rolled to the side so he could look at you. “Thank you.”

You caught his hand, twining your fingers together. “Of course.” You shuffled closer, so you could press your forehead to his helmet in a gentle Keldabe kiss. “Feeling better?”

“Now that the imminent threat of death has passed, yes.” Good, he must not be lying if his sarcastic dry humor was already making a reappearance. “You look good on your knees for me, mesh’la.”

“Paz.”

He chuckled, then winced as his side ached. You tutted, smoothing your hand across his chest in a soothing gesture. You could feel his eyes on you through the dark T-visor of his helmet.

“Can you blame me?” He tapped you under the chin with his forefinger, thumb rolling over your lower lip. You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, pushing to your feet and planting a kiss on his helmet. He caught you around the hips, tugging you down on top of him. You squawked in indignation, terrified of hurting him, but he maneuvered you in a way that you fell on his uninjured side, half on top of his broad body and sandwiched between him and the back of your couch.

“Don’t hurt yourself!”

“Don’t insult me, cyar’ika,” Paz chuckled. His touch swept down your spine and he palmed a handful of your ass. “Was looking forward to seeing you...not exactly like this.” You were no match for the strength of the heavy artillery Mandalorian, so you resigned yourself to your fate of cuddling. Not that you minded, but you also couldn’t help but worry over the freshly-dressed wound on his side. Instead, you settled into his side, laying your head on his chest, which was currently free of beskar--a rare occurrence outside of your bed.

He continued to massage your asscheek, occasionally dipping dangerously lower and brushing against your clothed pussy from behind. You couldn’t help but squirm against him, feeling the spark of arousal flutter to life in your belly. He hummed, pulling you tighter against him, and you were practically sprawled across his chest. One of his thick thighs pressed between yours and you bit your lip to smother your sharp gasp. Your hands curled into fists in his undershirt.

Paz hummed, adjusting his body--probably would give the excuse of getting more comfortable--but it pressed the firm muscle of his thigh harder against you. It drew a little whine from you and he chuckled darkly. He used his hold on your hips to press you down, dragging your cunt against his thigh.

“Something you like there, mesh’la?” You could hear the grin in his voice.

Paz had been so serious when you first met. Gruff, intimidating...he towered over you, and honestly scared you half to death with his looming silent warrior persona, but once you two had worked together for a bit and you grew more comfortable with each other, he turned into a giant goofball. Sometimes when he put on his serious-scary-Mandalorian front when dealing with a quarry you forgot that that was how most people knew Paz. Nobody got to see the warmth underneath.

Right now, though, the way the muscle of his thigh dragged against your clit through your pants sent sparks dancing up your spine.

“Y-you’re hurt...don’t--” your breath left you and you stuttered as he rocked your hips down.

“Guess you’ll have to be on top, then, huh?”

You felt heat fill your face, wetness pooling in your underwear. You tugged the cloth covering his neck to the side so you could suck a mark into his skin, feeling the rumble of his groan under your lips. He smelled good, something earthy and the tang of plasma and something uniquely Paz. His thick arousal pressed into your thigh as you rocked against him.

“Kiss me?” Your voice was high, far needier than you wanted to seem. You pressed your nose into his neck, rubbing your thigh against his erection, which made him buck and growl. He paused, focusing on your face, and you obediently, deliberately shut your eyes, holding still. After a few moments you felt him shift around, and then warm breath was ghosting across your face and a hot tongue traced your lower lip.

You opened for him with a whimper, and Paz immediately turned it filthy, his tongue sliding into your mouth and tasting yours, swallowing all of the sweet little noises you made. His hand curled into your hair, guiding your head to where he wanted it, lips caressing yours and deepening the kiss. It was wet, hot, and made your core ache for more.

“Please,” you whispered.

He broke away from you with a huff of laughter. He lowers his helmet back in place and taps your chin, telling you you could open your eyes. “What was that, pretty thing? You’re beggin’ already and we just got started.”

He worked his hands under the waistband of your shorts, running down the front of your panties and brushing over your clit. You moaned as he began stroking soft circles over the cloth. You whined his name when he nudged your panties to the side and ran his thick fingers through your dripping slit, teasing lightly at your entrance.

You groaned at the loss of his fingers, but he tipped them up under his helmet and your eyes snapped shut out of instinct. You knew he was licking them clean and you shuddered on top of him. He was suddenly encouraging you to lift your hips and tugged your pants and panties down in one motion. You straddled his waist, his erection now pressed right to your weeping slit and giving you some much needed friction, but still nearly not enough.

You squirmed on top of him, rocking your hips down, the cold beskar of his codpiece sending a shock through you. He chuckled at your neediness.

“Calm down, baby. Gotta get you ready first.” His deep voice purring underneath you made you clench around nothing. He pulled his gloves off, fingers returning to your cunt, dipping down to your entrance. Paz slid two knuckle-deep into your wet heat, making you whine at the stretch. Fuck, his fingers were thick. Nothing in comparison to his cock though. He always took time to get you ready for him. He would be rough anywhere else you wanted him to be, but sometimes you wished he would just sink you down on his cock and make you take it, make that stretch bite and ache that much more brightly.

You tipped forward onto his chest, mouthing at his neck as the heel of his palm ground against your clit, his fingers curling into that bright spot inside you that made your legs tremble around him.

“You’re needy. So wet for me, cyar’ika.”

Your voice wavered as you answered, “Yeah, I’m the needy one, when you came here hurt and practically pulled me on top of you as soon as--” you yelped as his large hand laid a sharp smack on your ass, massaging the sting into a radiating warmth that made you want more. His fingers pressed into you faster, your nails digging in through his undershirt. Oh, that tightness was building inside you, shivers dancing up your spine as Paz brought you higher and higher. The way the heel of his palm rolled just right against your clit was driving you towards the edge, mouth falling open with a desperate whimper.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His voice was gruff, dropped even lower and you felt the rumble of it bones-deep.

“More, more, please--” You wiggled on top of him, trying to grind your hips down just so in time with the movement of his hand. He stopped altogether and you let out a frustrated noise.

“Please, Paz, please make me cum,” you whined into his neck, biting lightly and soothing it over with your tongue. “Let me cum on your hand.”

He clicked his tongue at you, and your pussy clenched around his fingers, still inside you. “You beg so prettily. Should I let you? Or should I make you beg some more?”

You let out a desperate moan, shaking your head where your face was buried at the juncture of his shoulder. “Been good, Paz, please….”

He hummed, seemingly mulling it over. “You have been good, sweet girl.” His fingers began moving again, thrusting in and out of you at a languid pace. It wasn’t fast, but it hit that spot deep inside you that made you see stars. “Go on then. Cum on my fingers.” You let out a relieved groan, which quickly turned into a high-pitched noise when he abruptly thrust his fingers deep, grinding his hand against your clit. Oh, fuck.

He did it again, and again, picking up speed each time, until you were quivering around him. His voice was rough, low and dark in your ear, and it felt like he reached in your body and grabbed your orgasm right out of you when he demanded that you cum, now.

It spread warmth from your core, down your legs and up your back, toes curling and legs shaking. His fingers continued moving in and out of you slowly, gently working you through the waves of pleasure while you clenched around him, until you jolted, riding the fine razor’s edge of overstimulation. The obscene slick noise as he pulled his fingers from you made you whimper, core clenching around nothing.

His fingers prodded at your lips, and it was his turn to let out a moan when you took them in your mouth, licking them clean and tasting yourself. You sucked on his fingers, running your tongue along every ridge and dip like it was his cock in your mouth instead. He pulled his spit-soaked fingers from your mouth, moving down to undo his codpiece and fling it aside. “Filthy girl.”

His thick erection slid through your folds. You sighed, rolling your hips, coating him in your slick. Shit, he was big. He always made sure you were prepared beforehand, but were you ever really completely prepared? You braced yourself on your knees and lifted your hips. Paz guided himself to your soaked entrance and you sucked in a harsh breath at the first stretch around the head of his cock. You’ve taken him before, dozens of times, but each time it felt like he would never fit completely. The push of his cock through your cunt, inch by inch, made your legs begin to shake as you took him deeper. He reached that spot deep inside of you, pressed right against the patch of nerves that sent raw electricity through you. You sank down on him slowly, little fretful noises pulled from your throat, as his hands ran up and down your sides in a soothing motion.

“There you go, baby, look at that,” he breathed out as your hips came flush with his. He ran his hand down your tummy, pressing lightly just above your pubic bone, making the tight fit of his cock in you even sharper, pulling a wrecked moan from you. “Yeah? Feel me right here?” His thumb stroked teasing lines below your bellybutton, and you clenched around him, making another noise at the feeling of him so deep inside you. “Take me so well, mesh’la, fuck.”

You tentatively rocked your hips, lifting up an inch and slowly coming back down. Fuck, that feeling was devastating. You wouldn’t last long. Paz’s hands settled on your hips, encouraging you to rise up on your knees and drop back down. It started slow, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside you, but his grip became more demanding. You may have been on top, but Paz was in control; lifting and pulling you down like you weighed nothing. You leaned forward slightly, now thrusting back into him, and you almost shrieked at the new angle.

This way, each thrust of his cock in your wet heat drilled that sensitive spot inside you with deadly precision. His touch was greedy, working you faster and harder, the slick sounds of your wetness dripping out of you and coating his cock only easing the way he filled you. The sound of skin meeting skin made you pulse around him and he bit out a rough groan at a particularly tight squeeze of your pussy around him. His breathing was coming faster and you were nearly boneless in his arms, head tipped back in pleasure.

“Fuck, you gonna cum again, pretty baby?” One of his large palms gripped your ass, pressing tight enough you knew you would have five fingertip-sized circular bruises tomorrow. You nodded wordlessly, and he took the opportunity to thrust up into you, wrenching a loud moan from your throat. His other hand dipped down to rub fast little circles over your clit, pulling you roughly down into him. Sparks of electricity ran though you and you seized up tight, reaching that high and being thrown right off it. Your orgasm wracked through your entire body, pulling a sound from Paz like he had been punched as you pulsed around him, impossibly tighter.

The debilitating waves of ecstasy washed over you, making you tremble in his grasp. Paz pulled you down to his chest and wrapped his arms around you, holding you while you squirmed and shook. You bit down at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and he thrust into you hard, cumming deep with a gravelly growl of your name. His warm release in you made you shudder again, clinging tightly to him. Your chest heaved, catching your breath, eyes closed with exhaustion.

“Keep your eyes closed, cyare.” Paz murmured in your ear. You nodded, cheek squished against his chest, tucked under his chin. You felt his soft lips caress your hairline, then your cheeks, and you tilted your head up for a sweet kiss to your lips. Paz shifted under you and you made a noise of discontent, clinging closer to him.

“Lay with me,” he said. His voice came filtered through the modulator, helmet back in place.

You sighed, settling in, hitching a breath at the way it shifted his cock still inside your sensitive core. “Like I could move anyway.” Good thing he was a space heater.

Paz just chuckled, wrapping his big arms around you, holding you to his chest. “Get some rest.”

“You should too,” you mumbled, closing your eyes, pressing a final kiss into his skin.

#paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla x you #paz vizla x reader #paz vizla x you #paz vizsla #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction #reader insert #no y/n #fanfic

264 notes · View notes

jackie5656 · 3 years

Text

We’ll Be Alright

With; Newt (TMR)

A/N: Beware, it’s a sad. Anyways, it’s more Thomas and reader than anything else, both trying to overcome their grief. I also recommend sad music lmao. ALSO I do condone Teresa slander and yes I have read the books. I acknowledge the character development BUT AT WHAT COST?

You rub your fingers across the zipper of the jacket over your shoulders, glaring at the boy in front of you. Blood boiling as he carves her name onto the rock that potrudes from the sand. Each scratch of the knife against the stone, each letter makes your stomach churn in rage. Why the shuck would Thomas even consider putting it there, not after all she’d done. Your heart beats rapidly against your chest, pumping the hot blood throughout your nbody as your mind is flooded with the hate-

“Y/n, just breathe alright? You need to calm down.” Minho’s deep voice instructs softly beside you. Despite his soothing tone, the burning fire in front of the group of you does nothing to relax you.

This isn’t like you, you’ve never been one to get this angry. But it’s different now, you’re different. A lot of times there are moment when everything seems fine, but not when Thomas is carving her shucking name right where-

“Y/n, you’re practically seething just-” Minho’s cut off when you scramble up from your seat between him and Frypan, not bothering to listen to their protests as you March towards Thomas. Tunnel vision making the wide distance between you collapse in only seconds. He’s only halfway through carving out the ‘R’ when you shove him out of the way. No doubt catching him off guard as he looks at you with eyes wide in bewilderment.

“Wh-what the hell-”

“How dare you put her shucking name next to his! You have no right!” You shout instantly, voice raw with anger and hurt as the taller boy straightens himself out.

“Y/n, what are you-”

“You don’t even see how messed up it is, do you? She’s the reason Minho still can’t sleep at night, the reason he does all he can to escape sleep to avoid the awful night terrors. She’s the reason the boy I loved is dead! It’s her shucking fault. And what, because she assisted us the tiniest bit before shit hit the fan she deserves to be on that rock? That’s a load of klunk, Thomas.”

“I lost him too y/n!”

“Then how could you possibly love her Thomas? After all she did to us!” You shove him again, but the boy doesn’t move back this time. He steps to you, eyes filled with anger and confusion at your outburst. His next words tear you apart, and suddenly all the pent up anger you’ve been pushing down explodes as he speaks.

“WCKD took her too! The flare took all she had, she was only trying to make things right!” Without thinking, your fist crashes against the brunette’s cheek with a terrible thump. Pain immediately sears throughout your knuckles and up your arm, but it’s nothing compared to the never-ending ache of your heart.

“You slinthead! How dare you try and justify what she did to us! Does what she went through make her actions right? Does her pain excuse torturing thousands of kids for the sake of what WCKD felt was necessary? It doesn’t Thomas, and no amount of her regret or guilt can take it back. Or bring him back, bring him home!” Your voice cracks as you cradle your fist, warm tears streaming down your cheeks as Gally, Frypan, and Minho come rushing over.

“Take a walk y/n.” Gally yells once the others help Thomas to his feet. He holds his chin, dazed and shocked at your actions.

“Th-Thomas I didn’t-” You struggle to find the words as you slowly back away, stunned and terrified by your own force as you try to come to terms with what you’ve just done.

“I said take a walk!” The muscular blonde repeats, standing in front of you and nudging you toward the edge of the beach. You don’t protest this time, stumbling hurriedly toward the water in a fit of emotions.

****************

When you’ve finally calmed down, your blurred vision can just make out the large rock that stands a few yards from the crashing waves. You don’t hesitate to climb on top of it, settling down against the cold stone and wrapping the corduroy jacket around you even tighter. It still smells like him, and sometimes when you close your eyes you can still feel him.

“Hey, I know you’re scared. But we won’t hurt you, I promise you’re alright greenie.”

“Greenie?”

“That’s what we call all the newbies, I’m Newt by the way. What do you say you get out of this thing, lemme show you around? You’ll be alright greenie, I promise.” Without thinking, you take the stranger’s outstretched hand. You can’t remember who you are, where you’re from, or how you ended up here. Still, his kind eyes and warm smile draw you to him. You don’t know him, but you will.

“Newt, I know we have to save Minho but there’s still time for-”

“Darling, please. We talked about this.”

“No, you talked about it! You can’t make this decision on your own!”

“I know you’re scared, I’m scared too.”

“You don’t get it Newt, I won’t-I can’t do this without you.” He offers a soft smile when he wipes a tear from your cheek, but you can tell it’s not genuine. You grip onto his jacket, pleading with your eyes for him to reconsider. But the way he cups the sides of your face with blood-shot eyes makes the small bit of hope in your hear fizzle away. He’s already decided, he’s gonna leave you.

“Please, please don’t leave me Newt. Mihno’s gonna be here soon okay? He’s gonna bring the serum and this will all go away just...Please don’t go baby, please don’t leave me here. Thomas, Thomas he won’t stop bleeding! Go find Minho! Thomas, get up! We have to do something!” You’re screaming at the boy who only stares blankly ahead, tears streaming down his face as he meets your eyes. Your body wracks with sobs as he only shakes his head, getting up and walking towards the building ahed of you. You don’t attempt to get his attention anymore, grabbing the collar of Newts jacket and shaking him. “Wake up Newt, please wake up...” You throw your arms around him as you sob, hiding your face in his neck when Minho and the others reach you. It’s too hard to look at them, knowing their expressions will only make this moment more real. Is it real? This couldn’t be anything more than a nightmare. You can only mumble out protests when you feel Minho pulling you to your feet, wrapping his arms around your waist when you desperately try to get back to the cold body laying on the floor. “We can’t leave him here! We can’t just leave him!” Minho’s own cries are drowned out through white noise as he drags you back to the jet, Newts fluffy-collard jacket crumpled in your arms as you succumb exhaustion and defeat. He’s gone

Waves crash against the large rock in a rythmic dance. Bringing your knees up to your chest to fight the cold, you rub the stained sleeve of the brown jacket wrapped around you. The deep blue stain reminding you of that horrid night, the lifeless, black eyes that stared up at the sky as you were whisked away from your only love.

“Mind if I sit?” The solemn voice interrupts before you can spiral once more. You nod, not turning around to watch Thomas climb onto the Boulder and shuffle to sit beside you. The brunette looking out at the night sky with an thoughtful expression.

“I think about that night a lot, what we could have done differently. And I think somewhere out there, there’s a different ending for all of us. Where he’s here, and we don’t have to pretend there’s not someone missing at the bonfires or dinner table...I didn’t want to love her y/n, not after what she did to us. But you and I know it’s not something we can control. No matter what I do, I love her.” His voice cracks as he speaks, but he avoids your eyes when you look to him.

“What I said Thomas, what I did...That wasn’t fair. I should have never hit you. It’s just, I’m so angry Tommy. I’m so mad all the time and it’s so scary. Sometimes, I feel like I lost myself that night and I’ll never get her back. It’s like, I don’t know...Like whoever I once was, was left laying next to his body. I can’t imagine how scared he must have been, how alone he must have felt. To feel himself and all his memories slipping away all over again. He never deserved it, he didn’t deserve any of it. A lot of times I wish it was me-”

“D-don’t say that.”

“I do though, I wish it was me. He was too good for this world. He deserved a happy ending Thomas, damnit we all did. I feel like I can’t breathe when he’s not with me, I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I mean, I punched you for gods sake! Same girl who wouldn’t even slice a pig her first day at the glade...” He lets out a small laugh, nostalgic smile pulling at his lips when he looks over at you.

“I remember Newt telling me about that, said he’d never seen a greenie tell Gally to go shuck himself until you.” You let out a pathetic chuckle, shaking your head and rubbing another oncoming wave of tears at his words.

“I miss him so much Tommy, it hurts all the time...I guess I’m still trying to forgive the world, forgive myself. I just wish I could talk to him one more time, hear his voice. I’m still trying to grasp he’s never coming back to me. I don’t know what to do with all these feelings sometimes, all this pain.”

“You could punch me again. You have a mean right hook by the way.” You meet his gaze with forced smile, tackling the taller boy into an embrace when you notice the fresh tears on his cheeks. He falters at the contact, but immediately wraps his arms around you with a sigh.

“I’m sorry Tommy. He loved you so much, I know he’d hate to see us fight. You didn’t deserve what I did, I know that. I should never taken my anger out on you.”

“It’s alright, I know you didn’t mean it. And I also know he would never have wanted you to blame yourself. He wanted you to be able to move on, to look back on all of it and know it was all meant to be. The shank also told me to take care of you, I guess I’m doing a pretty shuck job at that huh?” Your laugh is genuine this time, a little giggle that reassures Thomas he’ll be able to make sure of that promise some day in the future. He’d make sure Newt would have someone to look after you, always.

“He told me the same thing. I think you and Minho are doing all the work though.”

“Not a chance, I think I needed a good punch honestly. Who taught you how to hit like that?” You swat at his chest, pulling away from the hug to lean against his side.

“Gally, I think. Didn’t you get flashbacks from when he kicked your ass at the glade?”

“Hilarious, I could totally beat him in a fight now.”

“Right.”

“We should head back, the others might worry you were jacked enough to finish what you started.”

“Give me a couple minutes? I’ll meet you there.” You mutter softly, offering the boy a soft smile when he kisses the crown of your head and heads towards the firelight in the distance.

You let out a deep sigh when you look back out at the waves, stuffing your hands in the pockets of the jacket to warm them. Movements faltering when you feel something like twine wrap around your fingers. Pulling out the small item, your heart swells when you finally see what’s blocked your hand. It’s a strand of braided leather, a bracelet you recognize as the one Newt wore back in the glade. The frayed ends of the tattered leather warm your heart, surveying his tedious handywork with moisture filled eyes. Suddenly, a wave of assurance overcomes you. As if the boys’ finnally been able to communicate it’ll all be okay. You wrap the fabric around your fingers, pressing it against your lips before heading toward the campfire in the distance. Everything’s gonna be okay.

155 notes · View notes

animeyanderelover · 3 years

Note

Can I request deidara with prompt 67?

One of the explosion boys coming your way.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, obsessiveness, delusions, kidnapping, blindfolding, being tied up,chains, Stockholm syndrome, reader losing it, self-harming, blood

Prompt 67: “Say my name again like this.”

The only sound you were able to detect was your own shaking breath, nearly echoing in the eerily silence which surrounded you. How long had you been here, tied up in this position? You had no idea and this was what scared you. It couldn't have been more than a few hours, right? It was hard to tell given that you couldn't see anything. The blindfold in front of your eyes neglected you any kind vision, leaving you absolutely vulnerable and defenseless. Anything could happen to you now and you wouldn't even notice nor get the chance to fight.

But Deidara had surely have to come back very soon, wouldn't he? He wouldn't leave you all alone in here, right? You felt pure fear rising up inside of you whilst thinking that he might not come back after all. What if he had gotten bored of you? Or had been killed? You knew that you should actually be glad if he wouldn't come back in here. It meant that you were free to go. The problem simply was that next to the fact that you were tied up in pretty solid chains, preventing you from making any sort of handsights also that you had no idea were you even were. What if you were in the middle of nowhere? Were there even enough supplies to manage to hold on long enough until you would bump into some people? What if you would be attacked on your way for help? Deidara had taken all your weapons.

You hated it, how you actually wanted him to come back. But the sad reality was that the loneliness had slowly gotten to you over time. Not only that, but all the fear as well. You hated it whenever he left you alone because it meant you would have to be tied up again, being forced to endure again hours silence and darkness. With no food, no drinking, no chance to go to the tiolet. It was torture. On longer missions he took you most of the times with him so he could keep an eye on you. And then you had to rely on him because elsewise you might get hurt. In either scenario, it had always been the case that you had to rely on him.

So where was he?! Why wasn't he here yet?! A dry sob escaped your lips. You were afraid of being left alone in here. You couldn't stand this anymore and your body agreed. Your muscles were sore and stiff from sitting in the same positions for hours straight, your throat was dry and burning with the need to finally swallow some water, your stomach was twisting in an aching way around that clearly signalled that you were hungry and your wrists hurt due to being tightly squeezed from the cold iron. But the worst? That you had been robbed one of your most important senses. You couldn't see anything which left you relying on the next best sense you had left. Your hearing. But this made it even worse because whenever you even imagined to sense a slight creaking, you felt the absolutely not belonging together emotions of hope and fear rising up inside of you. You always hoped that the creaking meant that Deidara was back, but there was also this nerve-wracking anxiety that it was maybe a shinobi who had found this house.

It was killing you slowly inside and with every passing second you felt yourself growing more and more frightened. What if he had really lost interest? Or really gotten himself killed? Who would help you then?! No one knew that you were here! You would die! Without anyone knowing what had ever happened to you! That blonde boy had to come back! You needed him.

And suddenly you jerked forward, your thoughts starting to cartwheeling inside of your head. The chains instantly pulled you backwards, the sharper edges of the iron pressing themselves in your skin until you felt the stinging of them cutting in your skin. But in that moment you couldn't care less, feeling like suddenly you were hyperaware of every noise around you. It made you only feel more unhinged, the small noises making you tense up before leading to you pulling even tighter against the iron. Without even noticing you had even started crying, wetting the fabric of the blindfold with your tears, but you didn't even care about that. You honestly didn't give a damn about anything right now, not the slow stream of blood nor how much your throat hurt when you started whining and sobbing, the way it burned due to being completely dried out. Right now you only cared about one thing.

"Deidara! DEIDARA!" He didn't leave you. No, he would never do that. He had clearly said that he loved you. He couldn't leave you alone. You would die! You didn't want to die! "DEIDARA!!!" The only thing you seemed to be able to do now was screaming his name.

The moment you suddenly heard a door being slammed open, you choked on your own spit and the air, starting to cough violently. But even for that your panicked brain couldn't seem to care right now. You had currently only one person stuck in your mind. Was he back?! "Deidara!" Your mind focused intensely on the footsteps which stormed towards your door and with one loud bang the door to the room in which you were trapped was smashed open. "(y/n)?! What's wrong?!"

You bursted out in even more tears when you heard his voice which caused your whole body to loosen up a bit, all the uncontrolled tugging and pulling suddenly stopping. He was here! He was finally here! He hadn't forgotten you. You really wanted to say something, but the only thing you were able to do now was hiccuping and sobbing in relief.

"Why are you crying?!...Why are you bleeding?! What happened?!" With one swift movement you felt the fabric covering your eyes being ripped away from your face, finally allowing you to see what was going on around you. At first a dry whimper escaped your lips, your eyes not being able to handle all the sudden light attacking them again. You had to rapidly blink a couple of times before you finally got used to it again, finally being able to recognize the long-haired male who was hastily removing the chains around your wrists, obviously panicking when he saw the opened skin, red, raw and bloody from all of your brutal pushing before.

"What did you do?! Look, you're hurt! Why would you do something like this?!" He ruffled his hair, clearly stressed out about this. You on the other hand felt like you had just been punched in the face. Had you disappointed him? What if he wouldn't like you anymore because of this and just tie you up again, but this time without coming back? "Wait here, alright. I-I'll quickly get the first aid to treat your wounds." He tried to sound calm, not wanting you to get scared even more.

But the moment he tried to turn around, you literally just jumped onto him, catching him clearly off-guard with this. He blinked a bit surprised at you clinging tightly onto his body, body trembling with heavy sobs. You didn't want him to leave, you wanted him to stay with you. Your wrists honestly didn't hurt that much, your brain not even recognizing the pain in them. At least not as much as the painful stinging inside of you, mixed with the sweet feeling of relief. These two emotions, which clashed currently together in your brain, made you honestly a bit sick and slightly dizzy. Or was this because you weren't very hydrated right now? You didn't know.

"S-stay please." Your voice was barely a whisper and sounded raspy due to the lack of water. But it was audible enough for Deidara to hear. Was he dreaming right now? He couldn't recall a time where you had ever hugged him or touched him in any sort of way before. Those last few weeks all you had ever done was screaming, crying and begging him to let you go.

But here you were now, clinging onto him like he was the oxygen you needed to breathe, burrying your face in his chest and whimpering for him to stay. He knew that he should have taken care of your raw wrists in that moment, he knew that this wasn't the right moment. But he really couldn't help the large grin which suddenly appeared on his face. He knew it! He knew that with a bit time you would start accepting the fact that you and him were just meant to be! How could he say no to your wishes when you obviously needed him so much right now?

"It's fine (y/n). I'm here. I won't go anywhere." You slightly lifted your head, being met with his absolutely adoring gaze and this lunatic grin on his face. If he would have given you that look one week ago, you were sure that you would have pushed him away and yelled at him. But now you didn't. No, you were even glad that he was giving you that look. It somehow soothed you to see just how infatuated he really was with you.

"Please never leave me again alone like this. I-I was terrified that you might not come back or get killed." Your grip tightened slightly, your shivering only increasing when thinking back to the darkness and the nerve-wracking uncertainty about whaz would happen. It made you feel like throwing up.

His smile only seemed to widen when hearing this, it looked like his face might actually hurt. H-how cute! You had been worried about him! "I'm really sorry for making you worry that much. I really didn't intend to do so. My man Sasori kept me a bit more busy than intended. The next time I'll hurry up." His tone had transformed to sickening sweet, obviously hoping that he would calm you down by holding you in his arms and cooing at you with this adoring gaze of his. And it did help you to relax a lot, but it still didn't seem enough.

You shook your head in a stubborn way, looking at him with red and puffy eyes. "No! I don't want to wait for you in here for hours without knowing what might happen to you in the moment. Can't you just take me with you?" For a short moment Deidara's expression seemed to waver with uncertainty, not really happy to even think about this. Missions were often very dangerous and it happened more than once that he had to bombard the whole landscape to get something down. He didn't want to bring your life into danger. "I'm not so sure..."

"Please. Don't leave me alone anymore in here. I hate it. It's cold and silent and dark. I am aware that you often go on dangerous missions. B-but you can protect me, can't you? I don't have to worry as long as I'm with you, right?" This managed to make a blush climb up Deidara's face when hearing your words, the trust you put into him. He almost felt his chest swelling with pride when hearing that you were that confident in him keeping you safe. And weren't you right? He had promised after all to keep you safe. "I'll think about it, alright?"

The answer didn't seem to satisfy you completely, judging from the way you were tugging hos cloak. "Deidara..." Your voice vibrated slightly against his chest, a small and pleading whine. And this small word, his name, caused the blonde to freeze for a short moment. He just kind of stared at you in awe. That was before he finally progressed the noise you had just made, whining so cutely his name which deepened his already slightly pink cheeks even more. How could someone be so unbelievably endearing?

"Say that again!" You stirred confused up a bit, looking him in his face. You felt yourself slightly flinching when you saw his expression. He looked a bit...weird. The crazed expression on his face seemed to have become only more unhinged-looking thanks to the blush on his face. When noticing your gaze on his, he suddenly leaned closer, making sure to ensure that you wouldn't flee by holding you with his grip in your place until his forehead was pressed against yours. "Say my name again like this."

#yandere naruto #yandere naruto shippuden #yandere deidara

90 notes · View notes

hopelesshawks · 3 years

Text

Official Accounts Part 20- Rescue

Summary: (y/n) was perfectly happy remaining anonymous, even if her best friends were all pro heroes and she worked under THE Hawks. Handling the technical aspects of hero work from the background suited her just fine, thank you very much. That goes out the window when suddenly her twitter blows up thanks Denki and the famed no. 2 hero is asking her to run his own official twitter as a result

If you don’t want to see Official Accounts content blacklist #hopelessoa

Warning for canon-typical violence, major character injury, and manga spoilers

Masterlist

No one had come rushing down the stairs after Dabi had alerted you a guest had arrived. Nor had Dabi felt inclined to go check who it was, much to your chagrin. “Hmm, seems our little guest is shy. Shall we call whoever they are down?” Dabi asks. You don’t dignify his question with a response and choose only to glare at him. He saunters up to you, placing a warm hand on your waist, but soon warm becomes hot and then hot becomes burning. Literally. You grit your teeth for as long as possible, not wanting to give the deranged man in front of you the satisfaction, but eventually the pain grows too intense and you can’t help but cry out.

Hawks flinches at the sound of you crying out. His heart wants him to rush in there but his head knows better. Hawks is a smart, calculating man. He knows that Dabi is intending to get a rise out of him. He knows that in a one-on-one fight between him and Dabi, the other man has the advantage. He knows that back up is on the way. The kind of back up that will make this a quick and easy job. He knows all this. His commission approved, highly tuned instincts know this. A small, unhelpful voice in the back of his head reminded him that the last time he chose his brain over his heart in regards to you it had cost him your affections. Is that why every single cell in his body is telling him to go in anyway? No. Hawks would wait. Because it was the rational and logical option. It was the option that was least likely to get both of you killed. He could wait the 10-15 minutes max it would take for one of the others to get there. But then you cried out again, and without him consciously deciding to, Hawks was speeding to your location as if his body was moving of its own accord.

The minute he had eyes on Dabi, Hawks lunged forward and slashed at the other man, aiming for the seams between his healthy and scarred skin. He manages a couple hits but Dabi had been anticipating the winged hero so he quickly moved away from you and out of the way. “Ohh I was hoping it’d be you that showed up!” Dabi laughs. “You should’ve left her out of this,” Hawks growls back. His instincts were on fire in a way they’d never been before. Not the refined instincts of the HPSC, drilled into his head since childhood. No these were more primal, more feral, than that. “We both know this isn’t a good match up for you Hawks. What could possibly have driven you to come charging in like this, hm?” Dabi taunts as he unleashes his blue flames in Hawks’ direction. Hawks rolled away as quickly as he could but still winces as he feels some of his feathers get caught in the blaze. “You gonna talk or we gonna fight?” Hawks snarks back before once again diving in to try and close the distance between he and his adversary.

Dabi had chosen his location well. The confined room severely restricted Hawks’ mobility, further disadvantaging him in a fight already not tipped in his favor. To compensate he sent several feathers out to increase the amount of areas Dabi would have to defend. If he had to take the villain down with a thousand tiny cuts instead of a dramatic final slash he would. But Dabi is smart too and so he picked and chose which feathers to ward off and which to let land. As much as Hawks was hanging in there he was literally burning through feathers at an alarming rate and no matter how much he tried to dodge, the tightness of the room pretty much guaranteed he’d take at least a little heat. This was bad. It was really bad. But he couldn’t stop now. So he pressed on and hoped back up would arrive soon.

Your heart had constricted painfully in your chest when you saw Hawks come flying down the stairs. You knew this was not a fight he would likely win. Not alone. Which is why you wasted no time taking advantage of Dabi’s focus being entirely on the winged hero instead of you. Your eyes turned to the chain and handcuffs confining you and you took a deep breath to steady your hands before getting to work. You carefully grab hold of the chain and start pressing it past the raw skin of your wrists to get inside one of the cuffs until you can loop it over your hand. Then, slowly but surely, you’re able to pull it through until you free the handcuffs from the ceiling chain. You immediately begin working the chain connecting the cuffs, trying to line up the links just right to get the tension you need to break them apart. “C’mon, c’mon,” you groan in frustration as your eyes dart between the cuffs and the ongoing fight.

It’s going as poorly as you knew it would. Granted, Hawks is certainly giving a valiant effort. Dabi is cut and bleeding in several places. A few of the staples on his arms and face are even detached. But there is no questioning who is leading. Hawks could barely fly in the confines of the room anyway but now even if he had the space he wouldn’t have the feathers to do so. He’s breathing heavy and there’s already large angry patches of red skin from the burns he’s received. He can’t afford to throw away any more feathers by sending them at Dabi from all angles so the most he can do is duck and weave Dabi’s flames as much as possible to try and get in close and get in an incapacitating hit. Then you see the determined look in his eye, despite the fact he’s fighting a losing battle, and your blood turns to ice in your veins. It’s like watching your mother’s last moments all over again. One lone hero against a force they clearly can’t beat and yet so, so determined to press on. At least back then the tv screen had put distance between you and the struggle. Now you were watching a hero fall in real time.

You watch in horror as Dabi finally gets the hit he was waiting for and Hawks goes careening to the side. You continue to fumble with the cuffs, the tension constantly falling away just before it can break the chain keeping you from helping Hawks. Dabi laughs and it’s a cruel sound as Hawks has no choice but to curl up and cover his head and vital organs from the raging blue flames. Tears are flowing down your face and your vision blurs as you watch Dabi slowly approach the fallen hero before kicking him in the stomach once, twice, three times. The links of the handcuffs catch and once again you begin to bend them in hopes this time the tension will finally break them apart. “What will be left of you if I clip your wings?” Dabi cackles as he reaches for what little is left of the appendages in question. But before he can do anything the cuffs finally snap. Your quirk comes roaring back to the surface and no sooner do you feel it swell within you are you directing every ounce of it at Dabi, your eyes glowing with the power of it. Dabi slams into the back wall and you surge forward to put yourself between him and Hawks, who looks on the verge of passing out. “Well, well, well. He wasn’t kidding when he said your quirk was strong. This makes things interesting,” Dabi smirks as he slowly gets back to his feet. “Really? Because I’m already bored of you,” you fire back before surging forward and wielding your quirk with a ferocity you never had before.

You’re not a trained hero. Technically what you’re doing is illegal, considering you don’t have any kind of hero’s license. None of that matters in this moment though. What Dabi had on you in experience, you compensated for with agility. It isn’t enough to get you a win but it can buy you time as you pray more help is on the way. Your ribs are aching, you’ve acquired several severe burns, and you’re starting to slow down but still you push and for the first time you think you understand why your mother made the choice she did. Suddenly a familiar voice echoes through the room. “DIE!” Bakugo screams as he comes crashing in, tackling Dabi in one explosive move. You don’t stop to see the result, your faith fully in your friend as you rush to where Hawks is lying unconscious on the ground. You wrap one of his arms around your shoulders and do your best to stand, half walking half dragging him out of the room. You don’t look back until you’ve managed to get him outside of the building but even still you can hear the sound of Dabi and Bakugo’s fight.

“Hawks? Hawks! C’mon I need you to wake up. I need you to wake up for me,” you plead as you lay him down on the concrete, kneeling beside him. You pat his face repeatedly until finally you get his eyes to flutter open. “Oh thank god! Are you trying to get yourself killed? Jesus Hawks!” you sigh, already cataloging his various injuries to report to emergency services. “Keigo.” “What?” “My real name. It’s Keigo. You... you can’t use it where someone might hear but you can use it.” His voice sounds so weak you could cry again. “Your eyes are glowing. ‘S beautiful,” he chuckles, reaching a hand up to cup your face before passing back out. “It’s gonna be ok Keigo,” you reply in a hushed voice, although you doubt he hears you. It’s not too long after that you hear the familiar rumble of Chargebolt’s motorcycle as he races to the location, Mirko arriving shortly thereafter. “They’re inside! Hawks needs urgent medical attention,” you tell them before they can ask. Mirko gives a curt nod and rushes into the building, following the sounds of the fight. Chargebolt hesitates as his eyes scan over your various injuries, the tear tracks still evident on your face from when you’d been crying earlier. “I’m fine, Denki. I promise. Just toss me your phone so I can call an ambulance and the cops. Dabi stole mine,” you assure him. He nods and does exactly that before racing in to help Mirko and Bakugo. As you dial the emergency services number your gaze returns to the number two hero. Almost all of his feathers have been burned away, leaving just the nubs of his wings and the immobile feathers at their base. Laying on his back the way he is, someone who didn’t know who he was wouldn’t be able to tell he’s supposed to have wings at all. Your heart aches as you can’t help but think how small he looks without them.

Author’s Note: I wanna give a big shout out to @dutchintheusa on tiktok who is the one I got the hack about escaping hand cuffs chained to the ceiling from that (y/n) uses here and how to escape handcuffs without a Bobby pin. He’s got a bunch of emergency/survival escape techniques as well as general advice to stay safe in a scary world. I would highly recommend checking him out. The fight is heavily inspired by the fight between Hawks and Dabi in the manga and the fact I have repeatedly wished I could insert myself into that room and protect Hawks (hence the spoiler tag). Also I listened to Tantrum by Ashnikko on repeat while writing this if you want an idea of the ~vibe~ of the fighting lmao.

Taglist [open]: @cathy8taffy @katzurras @grumpyfroggies @captaincyberqueen @itskindofafairything @420-uwu @someweirdshitman @oliviasslut @the-adzukibean @main-ruthyruth

#wing hero hawks #hawks x reader #hawks #hawks x y/n #hopelessoa

129 notes · View notes

flutteringdreams-matw · 3 years

Text

Out of Time (18)

First/Last

Read on AO3 /FFN

Word Count: 9296

Previously: The aftermath part 2 - some flashbacks, some concerns and lots of guilt. One of my favourite Lancer and Clockwork moments too.

Now: Climax. Resolution. I tried a few new things structurally that doesn't translate well to tumblr, so I heavily suggest checking it out on AO3.

Please let me know what you think! Feel free to drop a reply or reblog whatever. Much thanks to @avaritia-apotheosis for reading this over and making sure it wasn't too confusing. Next chapter will be up on Sunday - we're going weekly until the end. Regardless the link will be in the replies! Enjoy my friends.

The world exploded in pain…

…An explosion…

…Darkness…

Silence…

A ringing in his ears…

Too loud…

It was too loud…

“…an-ny!”

Hurts…

Burns…

Aches…

Pressure on his side…

Hurts - why does it hurt so much?

“…on Da…..sta….me!”

Something moved him…

Burns - so much pain.

“…dying…”

Oh.

That would do it.

Dying was bad.

He shouldn’t do that.

He felt himself push forward, through the burning pain.

His eyes fluttered open.

It was too bright…

Green - why was the sky green?

Why did it move?

Were there two skies?

“…nk go…ne…”

Something moved above him.

A shape.

Purple?

“Danny?”

So gentle.

Safe.

Worried.

Sam.

“Danny...”

She was speaking again.

To him?

To someone else?

Why was she so scared?

“…pressure…

wound…

Phantom…

blood…”

Ethelwulf.

Who was bleeding?

Pain erupted through him.

Something escaped his chest.

Heavy.

Raw.

Did he make that sound?

His core burned.

Oh.

He was trying to transform.

Could he still do that?

The sky moved.

Where were they now?

“…Shield…”

“…to -sig…”

His arm moved.

Something familiar was close.

That would help him right?

Shield.

They said the shield.

Was that his?

Something seared through him again.

It hurt.

“…on, okay? ….little more…”

She wanted him to hang on?

Did they not win?

Danger.

Protect.

His throat - was that his throat? - burned.

“…drop…shield…bad…”

No.

Shield…

Must protect…

Pain…

“…little longer…. Shield….home….ghost….”

He closed his eyes…

Hurts…

Pain…

Shield…

Hurts…

Family…

Shield…

Friends….

Shield.

“Ancients…”

Shield.

Anger?

“Danny….you’re…do…this….”

Fear?

Terror?

Shield.

Darkness…

Falling…

No…

Not Falling…

..Sinking…

Time.

He needed…

Needed some…

Time…

A Time Out.

…

….

…

….

…

“-ny?”

…

“Danny!”

….

…

Someone grabbed his arm…

…

Hurt…

…

“Danny!”

…

“Fenton!”

…

“Fenton!!”

…

He was hanging limply.

“Fenton!”

Danny gasped awake at his name, looking around wildly.

“Finally.”

He looked up at the gruff voice. “Phantom?” Danny queried. His ghost half hung off what Danny could only guess was a cliff with one arm. The other arm gripped Danny’s left, keeping him from dropping below into the darkness. Phantom’s jaw was tense, grunting softly in exertion. “What?”

Phantom shook his head. “No time,” he said quickly. He looked down at his human half. “You need to fix this.” Phantom’s eyes scrunched tightly, his gloved hand digging into the boy’s arm. “I can’t keep us like this for much longer.”

Danny’s eyebrows furrowed worriedly. “What do you need me to do?” he asked urgently. He looked down, frowning at the darkness.

“Think about getting us out of here,” Phantom told him. “Just onto solid ground.”

“It can’t be that easy,” he said flatly.

“Do you have a better idea? You’re the one who’s been unconscious for goodness knows how long,” Phantom bit back. He grunted again. “And I could really use a hand here.”

Danny sighed. As soon as the thought of solid ground crossed his mind, he was suddenly thrust upward by a gust of wind. He yelped, landing hard on something. He patted himself down, blinking in disbelief. “I’m okay!” he exclaimed.

“Great,” Phantom’s tired voice sounded from below. Danny frowned, turning around to see Phantom’s hand slipping from edge. “Little help?”

Danny moved quickly, grabbing his ghost half’s arm and pulling him up. Once Phantom was right side up, he flopped onto his back, gasping for air. Danny watched him with a frown, kneeling next to him. “You okay?” Phantom didn’t answer, scrunching his eyes tightly as he gasped. Danny looked himself over as the ghost teen lay in front of him; he didn’t seem to be injured at all. “Why am I okay and you’re not?” he wondered quietly.

“Neither of you are.”

Danny turned, surprised at the voice. Floating in front of them was one of Clockwork’s medallions, glowing in blue energy. “A time medallion?” Danny asked, standing up slowly to face it.

“The time medallion,” the voice stressed. It sounded like multiple people spoke, devoid of emotion. “You’ve not come in contact with one since you went to an alternate timeline.”

Danny stared. “How are you tal-“ he started, but waved his hands and stopping his train of thought. “Nevermind - priorities. What do you mean we’re not okay?”

The medallion flew toward the teen, stopping inches from his face. Danny braced himself for impact but lowered his arms when he realized it stopped. “Your fight with your future self has injured your body and mind,” it said.

Danny stared at it wide eyed. “Did we win?” he asked it.

“Winning is subjective,” it replied. “You are here because time wished it so.”

“What about my town? My family? Friends?” Danny pressed worriedly. “Are they okay?”

“Young halfa,” the medallion started. “That is currently irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant!?” Danny echoed hotly. “Listen you overbearing necklace, my evil self could be out there!”

“That is currently irrelevant,” the medallion repeated. “My master deemed you worthy - therefore you are here. Not out there.”

“And who exactly is your Master? Clockwork?” Phantom grunted, sitting up with effort and glared at the medallion. Fenton turned to his ghost half with a frown before shifting his gaze back to the medallion.

“Time,” it said. “It has smiled on you today half-human, half-ghost.” It shone brightly, engulfing their mindscape in blue. “You can end this paradox - but your battle is here. Time can interfere no longer.”

“In our mindscape?” Danny asked, confused. The medallion disappeared, leaving the two teens with more questions than answers.

“What was that about?” Phantom said, scowling. He winced, grabbing his knee harshly.

“No idea.” Fenton eyed the place the medallion disappeared from him before turning to Phantom curiously. “Why are you in pain and I’m not? Wouldn’t it make sense for us to share it?”

Phantom shook his head. “You wouldn’t be awake if I didn’t do this,” he said bitterly, putting his head on his knee. He closed his eyes, pressing his head further. “Fuck this hurts.”

Danny sat next to him, looking at him sympathetically. “How long was I out?”

“Not sure,” Phantom retorted shortly. He didn’t look up. “When I woke up, I watched you fall. I grabbed your hand but you were so heavy, I was almost dragged down too. You wouldn’t wake up and I could sense that something was wrong. So I started taking some of whatever pain you were feeling.”

“You mean all of it,” Danny replied with a frown. “Phantom…”

Phantom smiled wryly, half lidded green eyes glancing into a blue eyed glare. “Hero complex I guess,” he said. He grunted in pain again.

Danny sighed, turning to the rest of his mindscape. “We’re surrounded with Time Energy,” he said thoughtfully. The blue energy lit up as far as he could see. “Considering the medallion said time can’t interfere, it certainly seems like it wants to.”

Phantom nodded, green eyes narrowing at their surroundings. “We can end this paradox,” he muttered in thought.

“Our fight is here,” Danny finished, blue eyes turning to meet green. He sighed. “This won’t be easy.”

Phantom gave him a sarcastic glare. “Oh, you mean it’s not the Box Ghost?”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Not even Box Ghost with Pandora’s Box,” he replied with a small smile. The smile faded, moving to stand again. “Can you keep going?” he asked worriedly.

Phantom frowned. “I don’t think we’ll have a choice,” he said bitterly. Danny grabbed Phantom’s arm and flung it over his shoulder, supporting his ghost half as they stood. Phantom faltered slightly, leaning heavily on the teen. He nodded when he could mostly support himself.

“We’ll go slow,” Danny told him quietly. Phantom nodded.

They walked for a long time, stopping from time to time when Phantom faltered. Eventually, they reached a wall of blue energy, crackling with electricity.

Danny let his ghost half down gently, staring at the wall with a frown. “Time energy? Or core?” he asked.

Phantom’s green eyes narrowed. “Time, I think,” he said. He grimaced in pain. “Don’t think our core can handle much right now.”

Danny glanced at Phantom, before walking toward it. “It’s blocking our path.” He put his hand out toward it, wincing as electricity danced around hum. He pushed forward, going through the wall with some resistance -

“That’s right. You feel that pain? It’s nothing, nothing, compared to what’s coming to you Danny.”

Danny gasped, withdrawing his hand with wide eyes.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Phantom asked anxiously.

Danny stared at the wall warily, breathing deeply. “I just heard Dan’s voice,” he told the ghost teen. “It was… I think it was before Sam got there.” He finally turned, looking his ghost half over. “I don’t think we’ll be able to chance it the way you are.”

Green eyes regarded the boy intensely. “Then you’ll have to go on without me.”

They stared at each other, Phantom’s last sentence hanging in the silence.

It was Danny who broke it. “I’m not doing that,” he said seriously.

Phantom raised an eyebrow in his direction. “You just said I would be holding you back” he countered.

“Well yeah, but I’m not leaving you here by yourself.” Danny gestured to him. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not cut out for any more battles on your own.”

Phantom rolled his eyes. “Which is why you need to go on ahead.”

Both boys glared at each other, neither wanting to back down. Eventually, Danny sighed. “I don’t think I can face that alone,” he admitted quietly, looking away.

He heard Phantom sigh. “We’re more than just ghost powers,” Phantom reminded him gently. “And unfortunately, there are some things we do need to face on our own.”

Danny tilted his head, acknowledging his words. “The Time Medallion said our mind was injured,” he said softly. He faced the wall of energy again. “You think this would tell us why?”

“Dunno,” Phantom replied. When Danny didn’t reply, Phantom continued. “Fenton, you’re in charge here. Our consciousness may split, but you - human you - can manipulate the mindscape. I’m just an extension of you.” Danny turned back toward his ghost half. “I think the Time Medallion knew that too - it only interacted with you. Meaning that you’re the key to ending the paradox - not me.”

“But…” Danny started, trailing off.

Phantom smiled reassuringly. “Listen - you can get through this,” he said. “Once you do, just bring me to wherever you end up. Just do whatever you did to get back on solid ground.”

Danny nodded, biting his lip as he turned back to wall of energy apprehensively. He took a deep breath, steeling his resolve. “Okay,” he said determinedly.

“Good luck,” Phantom wished.

Danny stepped forward, mind set on the road through the barrier. Phantom disappeared behind him as images and electricity bombarded his senses. “Focus,” he said through gritted teeth. He stepped forward, ignoring the pain and whispers as he moved forward.

“No! They can’t be dead!”

Danny stumbled, falling at the sudden loud voice. His vision shifted, electricity moving through him as he was brought to the middle of a lab. He breathed hard on all fours as the electricity dissipated. Danny frowned, standing slowly as he looked around. Quiet murmurs of two people reached his ears. His eyes widened as he saw himself, in ghost form glaring at Vlad wildly. Danny’s frown deepened, not recognizing anything about this conversation.

“Daniel,” Vlad said quietly. He was remorseful. “You were there.”

Danny watched himself breathe heavily, taking in what the man said. “It’s all my fault,” he said, voice breaking, dropping to the floor and turning human.

Vlad crossed the lab hurriedly to the boy on the ground. “It was an accident.”

Blue eyes suddenly looked up toward Danny, turning red as his gaze settled on the boy. “It was your fault.”

Danny screamed as electricity attacked him again, making him drop to the ground. The lab disappeared, a flurry of images moving around him. Voices overpowered his hearing; he folded in on himself as he tried to move forward.

He was screaming - feeling Dan’s hand squeezing his core, electricity flowing through him.

“You’ll suffer as I had to, watching them die painfully one by one, knowing that you couldn’t do anything to save them.”

“No,” Danny grunted, his fists curling as he crawled forward, writhing in pain as he did so. “They’re alive.” More electricity attacked him, making him cry out. He pushed through it; they had to be alive.

“Why do you have it so easy? You, who kept that weakness of humanity for a lot longer than I did? Why?”

Danny’s face grew determined, pushing himself up through the pain. These were not his memories. “My humanity is a strength,” he panted, staggering forward.

“I just have to run out the clock until your entire life falls apart.”

“It won’t,” Danny argued with Dan’s voice. “I made my choice.” He stood straighter, the electricity starting to die down.

“Why did Clockwork try so hard for you?”

“He didn’t - I did,” Danny said. A different memory came alive - he recognized it.

He was in Lancer’s classroom, quietly studying for the makeup test next week.

“Danny?” Lancer called. The boy looked up. “Detention ended 10 minutes ago.”

Danny shook his head. “I need to be here Mr. Lancer,” he said determinedly.

Lancer sighed worriedly. “You know, the C.A.T. isn’t that big of a deal right?” the teacher said. “I only make it such to get you all used to studying for the S.A.T. next year.”

Danny gave him a grim smile. “It is for me.”

Danny looked out past the vision, seeing the end in sight.

Dan managed to get through his Ecto-Storm, reaching toward him with arm outstretch. He met the wild red eyes of his Ultimate Enemy and tapped into the raw energy within him. Fire and ice exploded outward just as Dan reached him again, freezing the evil ghost in place. Dan was shocked before the world disappeared in white.

“I made my choice,” Danny replied. His body glowed green, protecting him from the Time Energy around him. He needed to remember.

His family laughing at something exploding in the lab.

Training with his parents and Frostbite in the basement of FentonWorks.

Playing video games with Tucker.

Watching a meteor shower with Sam at camp.

Congratulating Jazz on getting into another college.

“It was never my fault,” Danny said confidently. “And I will never make that mistake again.”

“…What makes you so special that you changed my destiny?”

“Nothing,” Danny replied to the memory. “I just made a choice.” He walked forward through the time energy, feeling more and more confident with every step he made. He struggled as the electricity started to resume in intensity.

“YOU DON’T DESERVE THIS!”

“Maybe,” Danny smiled sadly. “But I’m glad I have them.”

He yelled out determinedly, dragging himself out of the Time Energy. Once he was out, he dropped to his hands and knees, breathing hard. Vaguely, he noticed the energy behind him started to disappear and someone calling his name. “Phantom,” he called weakly.

“I’m here,” Phantom replied instantly, kneeling next to human half. “You got through it.” Phantom frowned, watching the human worriedly.

Danny shuddered. “Yeah,” he said breathlessly. He looked up at his ghost half, still out of breath. “But it’s not over.”

Phantom looked grim. “No,” he agreed. “I don’t think so.”

They fell in a comfortable silence as Danny recovered, sitting backward in the dark mindscape.

“That last fight,” Danny started after a while. “That wasn’t just the Ecto-Storm, was it?”

Phantom gave him a pointed look. “What do you think?”

Danny frowned. “Thought so. Our core isn’t just damaged…. Is it?”

Phantom stared at Fenton for a long time. “There’s something else,” Phantom confirmed. “It’s not cold.”

“Heat?”

Phantom nodded.

Danny let out a long breath. “That’s where we need to go,” he said, staggering upward. Phantom followed suit, faltering slightly but regained his bearing quickly. “We need to find our core.”

They continued through the darkness for ages, not knowing what to expect when they reached their destination. Occasionally, one of the two would stumble, wracked by some unseen force before they continued.

Eventually they reached another wall of time energy.

Danny threw his head back and let out an exasperated groan. “Really?” he asked sarcastically.

Phantom patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. “Hey, at least you know you can do this now,” he supplied unhelpfully.

“Think you can come along for this trip?” Danny asked with a raised eyebrow.

Phantom moved to the wall, putting his hand up to it and pushed forward. He wasn’t able to go through it. “It’s like an actual wall,” Phantom said with a groan. “One I can’t phase through.”

“Great,” Danny replied flatly. He sighed, moving forward and rolled up imaginary sleeves. “This better be the last one.”

Phantom gave him a reassuring smile as he moved toward the wall, gritting his teeth and braced himself for the electricity.

It never came.

Immediately, the world around him shifted, again making Phantom disappear. Danny looked up at the green-grey sky above. He frowned, suddenly recognizing where he was. “The Nasty Burger?” he whispered quietly.

“I'll tell you what's going on… Or better yet, I'll show you.”

“Jazz?” he questioned, confused. He ran toward the Nasty Burger, hiding behind a building as he watched Jazz in the Fenton Peeler attack the memory Danny full on. Dan’s disguise peeled away like a banana peel, leaving the evil Phantom on the ground.

“That’s not Danny!” she cried triumphantly.

Danny’s brow furrowed, looking as his parents trained their weapons at Dan. “This must be from before I got there,” he murmured. He watched Dan fly upward, goading his parents about his identity. Dan put his family, friends and Lancer against the Nasty Vat; Jazz attacked him. Dan put her on the vat too, starting to laugh menacingly. Danny turned above. “Which means -“

“Hey, old man!”

Danny turned at his past self’s entrance, flying forward with vigour. “Here we go,” he said. He watched himself tackle Dan, floating in front of his family.

“Don't worry. I won't turn into that. Ever. I promise.”

Past Danny turned to Danny, green locking with blue determinedly. “Make sure you keep that promise.”

Danny nodded, watching as his past self turn back to the events as they played out.

Danny kept moving, rushing past the fight now raging behind him. Images shifted violently around him, making him stop with a frown.

“You’re right,” Dan agreed darkly. Danny watched as an image of him and Dan outside of a cave materialized in front of him. “I am strong, stronger than you could be.” Dan blasted memory-Danny backward, Danny wincing as he watched himself hit a tree. “That’s ‘cause I gave up my humanity - you would’ve too if given the chance.”

Danny watched himself falter, growling at Dan’s taunts. “Forgot about this,” he muttered, eyes narrowing at Fake-Dan.

“And to think, that power in you is just itching to be released,” Dan continued. “Waiting for you to turn evil.”

Memory-Danny stared at him with wide eyes. “What?” he asked.

Dan laughed again, walking toward him. “Don’t you feel it? The power from the wail? Keep using it Danny, it’ll speed up the inevitable.”

Danny ran in front of his past self, staring up into the memory defiantly. “Liar,” he accused. “I choose my own path.”

The memory faded, meshing in with a variety of images again. Once they settled, he found himself on a beach, watching from afar as he unleashed the Ecto-Storm for the first time. "I will never be you," he heard himself vow, his ghostly echo seeming more otherworldly as his powers ran rampant. "So leave my friends and family alone!” More attacks and then memory-Danny spoke again. "I am done being afraid of you!"

Danny gasped, watching as his past self turned the copy of Dan into dust with one blow. Swallowing slightly, he pushed forward, ignoring the howling wind from above, the storm completely disappearing.

“Nope, don’t want to relive the next part,” he muttered bitterly, shaking his head. “That sucked.”

The island disappeared, replacing it with three sets of images. Danny stopped, watching as Dan battled with his mother, father and Jazz in concern.

“And yet you’re right in front of me!” Dan roared at Jazz. Danny looked toward his sister worriedly. She, however, didn’t look worried.

“But I’m not your Jazz,” she said gently to Dan. Her eyes were kind as she held the bazooka steady. “I’m his big sister. Not yours.”

Dan roared, making both Danny and Jazz flinch as he released a blast behind him. “He’ll lose you too. He doesn’t deserve this timeline - what good did he do to deserve this? Not cheat on a test? He should suffer, just like I have!”

Danny frowned, watching Dan get angrier. “Come on Plasmius, what took you,” Danny said, looking desperately to the skies.

“Danny made his decision a long time ago. He’s come a long way from the darkness you caused.”

That did it; Danny’s eyes widened as Dan lost it.

“I caused? I caused!?” Dan shouted. His ghostly aura flared at her words. “This was all his fault. Danny Fenton - playing the hero. He’s no hero Jazz. All that good you think he’s done? He’d throw it away in an instant if it was hard work.”

Danny watched Dan’s tirade, turning to the other images around him. His family had been fighting with him all this time. A surge of gratitude washed over him as he saw them not only recognize Dan for who he was, but held their own. Dan’s words were no longer true. He wasn’t going to throw this away. He kept going, more resolved to reach the other side.

When he saw the last wall, Danny jumped at it with a determined shout as he passed through. He fell to the ground, panting from exertion. “Well,” he said between breaths. “That’s wasn’t as bad as last time.”

“I beg to differ.”

Danny stiffened at the voice. He looked up slowly, still on the ground and out of breath to meet red eyes with surprised blue ones.

Dan sat as if he was on a throne, drumming his hand on the invisible arm with a smug smile on his face. He stood up, walking toward the frozen boy on the ground. “It’s much, much worse.”

:-=-:

Ethelwulf frowned as he looked at the new data on the console screen. “Frostbite, come take a look at this,” he called over. Frostbite and Clockwork both floated toward the screen, glancing at it with concerned eyes. Danny’s brain activity had started to become more agitated a few hours prior, core heat stabilizing below freezing, but still warm enough to cause him harm. A ghostly humanoid hand pointed to the screen. “This is the ecto-signature Tucker wrote for Danny,” he said. The screen shifted as he pressed a button. “This is Danny’s current ecto-signature. Notice anything?”

Frostbite frowned, glancing at one green and purple sample and one green, purple and red. “They’re different?” he asked.

“But have some similarities,” Clockwork said quietly. He pointed to the green and purple parts of the second profile as a weathered hand traced a line back to the first. “They line up.”

“Precisely,” Ethelwulf confirmed. He pulled up a third image, the profile looking more like the first but still had red intertwined. “This is what his ecto-signature looked like when we brought him back. Those red profiles? They were only visible under UV light.”

Frostbite bristled. “Correct me, but UV light is hot, is it not,” he asked with disdain.

Ethelwulf nodded. “Now look what happens when I take the UV light away.” All three images flickered, before becoming identical.

Frostbite gasped. “It looks the same! This explains the instability of his core temperature.”

Clockwork’s eyes hardened. “Ethelwulf,” he said seriously. “That means - “

“His ecto-signature hasn’t changed,” Ethelwulf confirmed, rising. “There’s a second ecto-signature attacking his core.”

Frostbite caught on, narrowing his eyes. “Dan,” he said gravely. “He’s here.”

As Ethelwulf stood up, Clockwork cried out in pain, blue energy rippling through his entire being. The old Time Master hissed, watching as the world around him slow. Etelwulf and Frostbite were moving slowly, regardless of their time medallions. He turned desperately to the infirmary down the hall. “Daniel,” he whispered worriedly.

The end was coming.

:-=-:

Danny’s eyes darkened. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said angrily, pushing himself onto his knees.

“Shouldn’t I?” Dan drawled, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the one who brought me here.”

Danny’s entire body stopped. “What?” he tested breathlessly.

Dan laughed. “It was too perfect actually,” he said, stopping halfway. He waved his hand in front of him, grasping at air. “I was trying to get to your core, but you surprised me Danny. Didn’t think you had it in you to release all that raw energy at once.” He smiled crudely. “It was a good thing I left my imprint on your core earlier in our fight. I was sucked in when your body tried to save you. Two Phantoms - one body.”

Danny’s eyes widened. “So what now?” he asked darkly.

“Oh,” Dan said in fake lightness. “Depends.” His smile grew menacing. “What are you going to do to stop me?” He threw an ecto-blast toward the teen.

“Fenton!”

Danny felt himself get tackled, bouncing across the mindscape. He looked up at Phantom’s worried face. “You good?” Phantom asked.

Danny nodded, frowning at his ghost half. “Are you?”

Phantom scowled. “Does it matter?” he retorted. He pointed backward. “We have him to deal with.”

Both boys turned back to an irate Dan. “Of course,” the evil spectre said with disdain. “You always have some last ditch plan up your sleeve.” Dan snapped his fingers. “Good thing I came prepared.”

A bluish white orb appeared between them, pulsing in a slow, deliberate pattern. Even from where they were, Danny could feel the temperature of his core rising.

Dan smirked at the two dumbfounded teens, his hand lighting up in blue flames. “Your core is weakened Danny, pushed past your limits to save the people you care about. So what’s going to save you?” Dan sent a fireball toward the floating core.

“No!” yelled Phantom, releasing an ice blast. It blocked the fireball, making it explode away from the core. Both ghosts glared at each other as Phantom stepped in front of Danny protectively.

Danny looked at his ghost core worriedly, frowning as it started to cool. “Phantom,” he asked urgently. “What happens if we lose in our mindscape?”

Dan turned to the teen. “Then you die,” he told him gleefully. “There are two dominant consciousness’ in here. If your core falls - you lose and I win.”

Phantom scoffed bitterly. “Like I’d let that happen,” he said unwaveringly. His green eyes found the fearful blue of his human half. “Danny, you need to get out of here,” Phantom told the boy quietly. “I can hold him off until -“

“Until what?!” Danny shot back. “I’m useless in here.”

Phantom shook his head. “You can end this,” he reminded him. When Danny went to argue Phantom cut across him. “You can.”

Dan growled, getting the attention of both of them. “I’d like to see you try,” he hissed. The older launched himself at the younger with arms ablaze. Danny and Phantom dove in opposite directions, narrowly avoiding the attack. Phantom wasted little time, kicking Dan in the gut as he jumped upward. The teen’s green hands glowed as he readied an attack, swiping and blocking an incoming punch to the face. Phantom pushed back, making Dan lose balance and tackled the older ghost. Dan recovered quickly, flying at the younger ghost, grabbing him forcefully and slamming him into the ground.

Danny watched as his ghost half squared off with Dan, completely shell-shocked at the intensity of the fight in front of him. He pushed himself off the ground slowly, watching as Phantom unleashed a series of ecto-blasts at Dan. Dan blocked all but two, wincing before his aura shone green, unleashing a large energy burst onto the younger Phantom. Danny seemed forgotten in the battle for his mind, as was -

As was his core.

Danny turned, looking at the orb floating lower and lower to the ground, feeling the temperature fluctuate between hot and cold as the two ghosts fought around him. He frowned in thought, watching it flicker between white and blue, looking for any type of pattern that he could use to his advantage. “If that’s changing,” Danny murmured to himself, watching a large ice blast being thrown into a fire blast. His core turned whiter as Phantom got a small upper hand. “Yes!” he exclaimed softly. Determined, the teen broke out into a run toward the core as the ghosts fought on. He dodged a stray ecto-blast, sliding right under the orb as it floated to the ground. He gasped as he caught it, surprised at the strong images trying to bombard his senses.

Talking with Mr. Lancer and Tucker.

The shield.

Sam and Ethelwulf watching two Ecto-Storms collide.

Danny shook his head, trying to focus on the memory of the shield. Something had happened to it. Gritting his teeth, he saw it grow, drawing power from deep within his core.

“Dammit Danny! Save your energy… please. You’re hurt. Don’t do this!”

It was Sam’s voice. He must have been in rough shape when he put the shield up for her to be begging; Sam doesn’t beg.

His core nagged at him, showing him more images of the shield.

The shield was breaking, weakened by the constant attacks throughout the day. So was his body - so how was he supposed to survive this and keep his family safe? If he took it down there’d be a good chance he’d live but - pain ripped through his being, clawing its way through his chest. Dan couldn’t win.

Sam was still talking to him, her voice quiet and desperate. She was scared - so was he if he was honest. He didn’t want to die. Maybe they could save him? They trusted him to protect them… he trusted them to save him. Energy flowed through from the battered core through his arm to the shield.

“Okay,” he said softly to the core, realizing what it wanted as the images gave way. He curled his body around it protectively. “I understand. We can -“ he cut himself off with a yell as an ecto-blast hit him from behind. Danny groaned, falling forward to protect his core.

“Think I forgot about you human?” Dan spat, narrowed red eyes glaring in his direction. “Where do you think you’re going with my core?”

Danny hissed, glaring defiantly at his older self. Phantom was pushing himself off the ground and faltering as he rushed to get back up.

Dan smirked as Danny stayed silent. Already the teen felt the core’s temperature rising. “You want to hear what I’d do first when I have control of your body?” Dan asked snidely. Danny tightened his grip on his core as Dan came closer. “Oh, I won’t kill you right away. I’m going to make you watch as I destroy every last one of the people in Amity. Then your friends and family - I wonder, who would make you break the fastest?”

Danny stood slowly, putting the core behind him. “I’ll stop you,” he vowed quietly, voice full of conviction. He felt the core in his hand grow colder at his words. “You won’t win.”

Dan reached the boy, matching the disgust and disdain reflected back at him. Dan chuckled lowly. “In what time?” he asked maliciously. His arm raised as blue flames appeared above him. “Face it Danny, you’re too late.” His hand came down to attack the boy, Danny still glaring at Dan with no fear.

Dan’s hand bounced off a strong green ecto-shield as Phantom materialized in front of the boy, protecting them both. Dan snarled, pounding his fist into the shield as Phantom dug his boots into the imaginary ground. “Go!” His ghost half ordered.

Danny nodded, letting go of his core and ran forward. His chest burned as he ran, ignoring the loud sounds of ecto-blasts exploding in the distance.

“I can do this,” Danny said determinedly, wincing as something hurt deep within his chest. He shook his head, pushing aside the new sensation. “I just need to -“ he didn’t finish his sentence, feeling himself being pulled upward into bright light.

:-=-:

It was 3:14am.

Tucker and Sam left around 9:30, vowing to return as soon as they could. Jazz promised she would update them. They had given him a small bit of diluted Ecto-Enhancer eight hours ago.

The rest of the Fentons kept vigil over the youngest, watching for any sign that he was getting better. When they weren’t sitting in silence, they were taking turns sleeping.

No one was leaving Danny alone tonight.

Maddie sighed tiredly, glancing at Jazz who was nodding off, psychology textbook slipping through her fingers as sleep threatened to claim her. Jack chuckled fondly at the sight, locking eyes with his wife from across the bed.

Two beeps in rhythm. The third had an echo.

He’s alive. Maddie thought factually. Those beeps mean he’s here. He can make it through this.

Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Heart a;nd Core beat.

The steady rhythm kept time.

“He’s fighting,” Jack told her strongly.

Heartbeat.

Core and heart beat.

Madie nodded. “He always is,” she said with a proud smile. “Don’t think we’d ever be able to stop him.”

Jack smiled. “Darn right too,” he said. “Fentons don’t give up.”

Heartbeat.

Core and Heartbeat.

Maddie and Jack bristled at the last noise, scrambling to look at the monitor. Another heart and core beat shrilled, breaking Jazz out of her daze, sitting up on high alert. “What’s wrong,” she asked hurriedly, rushing forward.

Maddie pursed her lips. “Jack, his core is starting to beat faster,” she told him. Her eyes widened, “And his temperature is fluctuating rapidly, I -“

Danny’s body twitched, cutting her off. All three Fentons stared at the bed in disbelief. Danny’s core beat faster still. Another twitch.

“Jazz…” Maddie whispered, looking up into her husband’s uncertain eyes. “Can you -“

Danny’s body arched upwards, thrashing on the bed as his core started to beat alarmingly fast. Maddie and Jack moved quickly, holding their son down to avoid excess injury.

“Danny!” all three Fentons cried, alarmed.

The boy continued to thrash, oblivious to their shouts. He arched up through his restraints, face twisted painfully as he breathed hard into the mask.

“Danny,” Jack coaxed loudly as he held the boy down by the shoulders. “It’s okay, your safe.”

Maddie tore her gaze back to the monitor; his core temperature spiked above and below zero readily. “Jazz, Ethelwulf, now!” she barked worriedly, moving toward her son’s head. Jazz rushed out of the room. “Danny, you’re home,” she told him, smoothing his hair back comfortingly. He arched up again, twisting his face into the pillow. “You need to wake up okay?”

Four core beats per heartbeat.

“Danny!” they cried.

:-=-:

He heard the shouts of the Fentons, watched as Jasmine burst out of the room, slowing down gradually as she moved toward the ghosts. Her eyes widened, seeking out Clockwork’s gaze as her body slowed, trying to stop in slow motion. He watched her piece together what was happening just as she managed to stop.

Clockwork floated to the ground as more time energy rippled outward violently. “Danny,” he grunted to the girl desperately. “Get to Danny.”

He watched her head move, nodding her head twice painstakingly slow. She turned her body, headed back to the room, slowly getting faster.

Clockwork gritted his teeth, waiting as his young charge stopped time within the paradox, fighting with an unseen foe. He groaned after fifteen minutes, feeling time slacken slightly as Ethelwulf finally noticed something was wrong with time.

Clockwork grunted again, frowning as he searched through the pathways of time for any hint of the outcome. He had prepared Danny as best he could but he was so young - could he truly do this?

It was another thirty-seven before time reset and Clockwork’s form shifted for the first time in two weeks.

:-=-:

Danny’s eyes flew open with a gasp, as if he couldn’t get enough air. Very suddenly his eyes closed, grimacing painfully with a wordless cry of agony.

“Danny!” Maddie cried, relieved. Jack echoed her, tears coming to both parents’ eyes.

His eyes opened, staring up at the ceiling and blinking. He tried to move, eyes scrunching tightly as a pained, raspy noise escaped his lips.

“I know,” Maddie said soothingly, pushing his hair back. “I know sweetheart, but you’re okay.”

Danny’s brow furrowed in confusion as he opened his eyes half-lidded. She wasn’t entirely sure he was focusing on her.

“Son,” Jack whispered worriedly. Maddie let her husband get into Danny’s field of vision. “Dan’s gone, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

Danny arched upward with a groan, trying to tug weakly at the oxygen mask still around his face. Maddie removed it gently, watching her son gasp for air as his body twitched.

Jack turned back to the monitor with a deep frown. “Maddie,” he said warningly. Maddie looked up at his tone. “His core temperature.”

Her head whipped back, gasping as she watched her son’s core still spike above freezing. Danny let out another noise of pain. She turned her attention back to him. “Sweetie, what is it, what’s wrong?” she asked urgently.

Danny looked as if he tried to say something, nothing more than a pained gurgling sound escaping his lips. He whimpered, arching upward again. Jack held him down.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said determinedly. “You’re not hurting yourself anymore kiddo.”

Blue eyes stared up at his parents, pleading with them to understand something.

Maddie frowned, a quick plan forming. “Danny you’re back at FentonWorks,” Maddie tried again, locking eyes with her son. He continued to twitch underneath Jack’s arms. “Blink once if you understand, twice if you don’t.”

One blink.

Both Maddie and Jack let out a small relieved breath as they looked worriedly at the screen. “Your core is overheating,” Maddie continued. One blink. “Do you know why? Once yes, twice no.” One blink.

Danny arched upward with a groan, his core beating faster once more. His eyes became panicked, staring up at his parents with urgency. They flashed green briefly, before he grimaced, arching up again.

“Something’s wrong?” Jack supplied. One blink. “Dan?” One blink. “Danny you beat him.”

Two blinks.

Jack and Maddie stilled. Danny blinked twice once more.

“He hasn’t been seen since you last fought,” Maddie said quickly. “Do you know where -“ one blink cut her off.

“Time’s slowing down; Dan’s here!” Jazz exclaimed worriedly, rushing over to her brother’s bedside. She gave him a watery smile of relief before becoming serious. “Danny’s, he’s here, isn’t he?” One blink. Jazz swallowed nervously as Danny looked more panicked.

“Where?” Maddie exclaimed, whirling around.

Danny let out a pained noise, eyes flickering green and then red before returning to blue.

Jack’s face grew grim, looking to the monitor as the pieces came together. “Maddie,” he said urgently.

Maddie gasped, realizing it also. She turned back to her son in horror. “Danny? He’s -“ One blink, another pained noise escaping his throat as he thrashed on the bed. His core temperature started to rise as his eyes flickered red again; Danny’s eyes closed tightly in pain.

“Okay little brother, you can do this,” Jazz uttered hurriedly. “Dan’s jealous of you, so use that to your advantage. You’re stronger than he is. Take down the shield and end this paradox.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Jack assured, holding onto his son tightly.

“You’re not fighting alone,” Maddie told him gently. “Just come back to us.”

Danny’s eyes opened painfully, flickering green and blue for a moment before his body slackened. He dropped back onto the bed, eyes rolling backward and breathed shallowly.

:-=-:

Consciousness was unkind as he awoke, his body burning in agony. He heard his parents call out to him, felt disoriented at his surroundings. His core ached painfully, making his body move in protest.

Someone was stroking his hair.

It was nice, soothing.

Loud, shrill beeping made his head pound.

“..you’re home…”

Mom. She was safe.

Where was Dad? Jazz?

Home? He was home?

Pain tore through his body.

“Danny!”

His eyes flew open, throat burning as he gasped for air.

It hurt.

He tried to scream but he couldn’t make a sound.

Eyes closed again, too much effort to keep them open.

“Danny!” his parents’ relieved cries reached his ears.

Where were they?

He forced his eyes to open, staring up into the bright lights of the Fenton Infirmary. He tried to move, a fresh wave of pain washing over him. His throat burned as a raspy noise escaped his lips.

Why did he feel like he was tied down?

“I know,” his Mom was pushing his hair back again. “I know sweetheart, but you’re okay.”

Okay?

Oh something was not okay.

Too warm, too much pain.

Eyes opened, blurry figure above.

“Son.” His Dad was there too - thank goodness. He sounded worried. His Dad’s blurry orange figure moved above him. “Dan’s gone, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

His chest felt heavy, burning as if he was on fire.

No - he wasn’t.

Dan was here.

Something was on his face… he needed to warn them.

Suddenly it was gone, breathing became a lot harder.

He tried to speak, pitiful noises escaping him.

Why did it hurt so damn much?

His parents were speaking again. More pain.

“Sweetie, what is it, what’s wrong?” Mom asked him.

Dan he tried to say. He’s attacking me. He’s going to hurt you. We need to stop him.

His parents stared at him worriedly.

He felt like he was being stabbed, arching up as his core throbbed.

“Oh no you don’t. You’re not hurting yourself anymore kiddo.” His Dad held him down.

Please. He’s here. I can’t…

“Danny you’re back at FentonWorks,”His mom was speaking, looking him in the eye. She had an idea - she must have. He felt his body move on his own. “Blink once if you understand, twice if you don’t.”

He blinked once.

“Your core is overheating,”

One blink again.

“Do you know why? Once yes, twice no.”

Again one blink.

He could do -

He arched upward with a groan, his core beating faster once more.

It felt like it was going to explode.

He was losing.

He looked up in panic, staring up at his parents with urgency.

They needed to understand.

“Something’s wrong?” His Dad supplied.

Yes!

One blink.

“Dan?”

One blink.

“Danny you beat him.”

Two blinks.

No. He’s here. He’s trying to kill me.

His parents stiffened.

Did they believe him? He blinked twice once more.

He had to hurry.

“He hasn’t been seen since you last fought. Do you know where -“

Danny blinked once before she could finish.

“Time’s slowing down; Dan’s here!”

Jazz.

She was okay too.

Suddenly, she was there, all business.

“Danny’s, he’s here, isn’t he?”

A small sense of relief washed over him as he blinked once.

His core ached again - he felt too warm.

How could he get them to understand?

Something in their voices shifted.

His Mom gasped. “Danny? He’s -“

One blink, another pained noise escaping his throat as he thrashed on the bed.

How the hell was he still alive?

“Okay little brother, you can do this,” Jazz uttered hurriedly. She came back into focus. “Dan’s jealous of you, so use that to your advantage. You’re stronger than he is. Take down the shield and end this paradox.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” his Dad assured.

“You’re not fighting alone,” His Mom told him gently. “Just come back to us.”

Shield? Could he even use his powers anymore?

He tried anyway, power rushed through him.

Hurthurtshurtshurts.

The shield - he felt it.

A sudden release.

The world disappeared….

…

The haze of unconsciousness was equally unkind, Danny landing in his mindscape with a grunt of pain. He doubled over, wincing as his chest throbbed. “Where are you?” he muttered. An explosion answered him. Danny stood slowly, turning his head toward it. Another ecto-blast made him frown.

“Our consciousness may split, but you - human you - can manipulate the mindscape,” Phantom had said. So all he needed to do was think about it.

“Take me to my core,” he said quietly.

He felt a slight pull, the mindscape shifting as small green lights exploded in the distance. They got closer, Danny running toward them worriedly. Heat was radiating around him. “Hang in there Phantom,” he muttered. The pulling stopped, making Danny stumble slightly. He frowned, looking around before he heard Phantom cry out in pain.

His eyes found Phantom’s crumpled form, doubled over in front of their core painfully. He was bruised and battered. Their core was blue, pulsing painfully as the temperature rose. Dan stood triumphantly in front of Phantom.

“You’ve lost,” Dan told the young ghost cruelly. Danny’s eyes narrowed in thought, realizing neither of them recognized his presence. “Letting him go was a waste of time. Do you realize how close you are to dying?”

“Fenton will come through,” Phantom argued, wincing as he glared up at the evil ghost. “You shouldn’t underestimate him.” Danny moved closer, eying his ghost half warily as a plan started to form.

Dan scoffed. “What can he do that I can’t?”

“Dan’s jealous of you, so use that to your advantage. You’re stronger than he is.” Jazz had told him. Danny’s eyes widened, realizing what he had missed in Dan’s plans.

“That’s enough,” Danny said forcefully. Red and green eyes turned to the boy as he walked toward the two ghosts calmly. They tracked his movements as Danny put himself in between his ghost half and evil self. “That’s enough.”

Dan laughed scathingly. “And what are you going to do to stop me?”

“Fenton, what are you doing?” Phantom asked worriedly.

Danny turned his head to his ghost half, smiling slightly before he looked back to Dan. The smile slid off his face, replaced by pity and remorse for the first time. “I’m sorry about your family,” he told Dan sympathetically.

Dan’s eyes widened, taking a step back in disbelief before a cruel smile replaced it. “What?” he asked darkly. “I don’t need your pity.”

Danny nodded solemnly. “I know… but I’m also not you,” Danny continued calmly. Behind him, Phantom sat up on his knees, wide eyed. “But you were me - and if what happened to you happened to me? I would blame myself too.” Danny smiled ruefully. “In fact, I did - for a really long time.”

“Because it was your fault,” Dan accused, aura flaring at his words.

Danny shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “It was an accident. It was no one’s fault, Dan.”

Dan’s aura flared dangerously. “How would you know anyway?” Dan asked darkly.

Danny let out a low chuckle. “You fused a Time Medallion in me,” he said sardonically. “Did you think that wouldn’t have any side effects? I’ve been seeing bits of your past for months.” His tone softened. “I saw the aftermath of the explosion.” An image of a past Danny running toward the Nasty Burger appeared around them. Both ghosts gasped as Danny continued. “I saw the funeral.” Memory Danny being led by the caskets now joined the other. “I saw your interactions with Vlad to make you this way.” More images now.

“What are you doing!?” Dan exclaimed, growling at the images around them.

Danny looked up at him determinedly. “I saw it all - even when I faced you.” Danny smiled wryly. “You felt it right? All that power I wielded? All because of the Time Medallion you used to trap me in the future.” He laughed. “Ironic huh?”

“No,” Dan snarled. He gestured wildly to the images around him. “This isn’t power! This is weakness.”

“Why do you have it so easy?”

Dan’s voice echoed around them from the memories.

“Ghosts are supposed to live in the past,” Danny continued softly. “That’s how they draw power. Vlad knows that - it’s why his anger and jealously of Dad keeps him going.” The boy gave his evil self a pointed look. “You knew it too - that’s why you went there. I didn’t understand until now.” Danny looked up at Dan’s memories wistfully. “Me? I’m still human.” He looked Dan in the eyes. “Meaning I face my past and shape my future. It’s why I was able to get past the time visions trapping us here. Did you even try to go through the Time Energy?” Danny paused, glancing backward to Phantom before he returned his attention Dan. “I keep growing.” He shook his head, keeping eye contact with the ghost. “So I won’t ever let you win.”

Dan had heard enough. He moved toward Danny, reading a punch. Phantom shouted a word of warning but Danny smiled sadly, watching as Dan inched closer and stopped the punch with his hand. He didn’t flinch as Dan’s hand lit up in green, trying to blast through the boy. Red eyes widened in surprise, as did green.

“How are you doing that?” Phantom whispered in awe, gripping his arm with a wince.

“You’re the one who said I controlled the mindscape,” Danny retorted with an amused raised eyebrow. He pushed Dan backward, watching the ghost stumble backward and looking up at his human self in alarm. “Dan has no more power here.”

With a manic roar, Dan lunged at his human self with blue flames. Danny blocked it again, protecting his ghost half with a stretched out palm. Dan kept attacking, aura flaring dangerously. “No!” he screamed. “No! I am inevitable! I will kill them all, you hear me you little runt? I will kill them! You deserve this!”

Danny heard Phantom stagger to his feet, coming up next to his human half. “You were created out of rage,” Danny told him sombrely. “That self-loathing you’ve felt for all that time? It fuelled that rage; let you give in to that power. It’s why you couldn’t control it.”

“Having that much power, it's a burden, isn't it, child?”

“The power isn't the burden. The burden is in how I use it…”

The three looked up at the memory before back at each other. “I was afraid of my powers,” Danny admitted, glancing at his ghost half. “Not of having them… just fully accepting them. I thought that if I gave into them, I would lose myself. Become the Ghost King… or worse; become you. But you reminded me - my family? My friends? They’re the reason I keep fighting. I’ll never forget that - ever. I’m not alone.” He shot Dan a pitied smile. “I’m sorry you have to be.”

“In my weaker moments…”

“Stop it!” Dan cried, clutching his head. He dropped to his knees as the images around them bombarded him. He looked like he was in pain. “Make it stop! I will -“

“Lose,” Danny finished solemnly. His left eye turned green locking eyes with Phantom, whose eyes mirrored his. Ecto-Energy whipped up around their feet. Their core floated over to them, hovering in between Fenton and Phantom. “Because we’re ready to move on.” Energy shot upward, swirling around them as if they were in a hurricane. Their core pulsed strongly, turning white as a sonic boom of blue energy whooshed outward.

Dan cried out in pain, eyes wide and almost fearful. “You can’t destroy me!” he howled. “I’m a part of you whether you like it or not - you can never get rid of me Danny.”

The memories around them started to fuse with the Ecto-Storm, becoming stronger and crackling with raw power. Danny smiled grimly. “You’re right,” he told the ghost softly as his power grew. “And I accept that... but I’m done letting you hold me back.” Both Phantom and Danny nodded at each other, releasing their hold on the storm and watched it explode outward, flying through Dan as he disappeared in a wordless scream of rage.

The Ecto-Storm died down around them, getting weaker as it continued to push outward. Their memories disappeared, silence deafening the mindscape. Danny dropped to his knees, watching his ghost core float toward him as it started to cool. He breathed hard, staring out at where Dan used to be in slight disbelief.

He won.

“You okay?” Phantom asked softly, kneeling down. Green eyes looked the boy over in concern.

Danny swallowed heavily, still breathing hard. “I…” he started, shaking his head. “I will be.”

Phantom nodded. The two teens were silent for a while before Phantom spoke again. “How did you…” he started before smiling. “Three outcomes… Think this is what Clockwork meant?”

Danny shrugged, finally turning to his ghost half. “Maybe,” he said. “I just accepted it all; visions, power, help. Doubt Clockwork can read minds.” Suddenly, he grimaced. “We’re going to hate what comes next though.”

Phantom looked at him worriedly. “What can be worse than that?”

Danny looked at him, dead-panned. “Recovery.”

:-=-:

The Fentons stared at each other, breathing hard.

“Clockwork told me to get to him” Jazz whispered, swallowing slightly. “Ethelwulf and Frostbite are mostly frozen in time. I started to slow down when I ran away from here. I think Danny’s stopping time again.”

The monitor shrilled, the Fentons watching as a large spike of heat went dangerously upward. Danny broke out into a small sweat, wheezing as he twitched fitfully.

“You can do it Danny,” Maddie murmured, putting his oxygen mask back on. He did not respond. Jazz walked over to the sink, running a small towel under the cold water. She came back and wordlessly handed it to her Mom, who nodded in thanks. She dabbed his forehead tenderly.

“Can Clockwork do anything?” Jack asked, not taking his eyes off Danny’s face.

“He’s…” Jazz bit her lip. “Whatever’s happening with Clockwork, we can’t get to him. Time is only moving in this room.”

Jack swallowed. “So it’s just us,” he whispered, gripping Danny’s shoulder comfortingly. Vaguely, they felt the ground shake beneath them, ignoring it as they stayed by Danny’s side. The boy stopped twitching, completely unconscious, making the father frown. “That had to be his shield,” Jack said quietly. Maddie nodded, also frowning at the stillness of the boy in front of him as she continued to try and cool him down.

It felt like ages as they waited, the shrilling monitor still sounding angrily beside them. Jack moved back, watching his wife still continued to cool Danny down. It was thirty agonizing minutes later that something happened.

The monitor froze, the heart and core beats no longer pulsing in any comforting rhythm. Danny shuddered, a blue aura glowing around him. It spread outward, pulsing out of his chest with gentle force. When the light subsided, a small, broken time medallion laid on his chest.

Heartbeat.

Core and Heartbeat.

“Did he….” Jack whispered hopefully. Maddie turned wordlessly to the monitor, finding his core temperature.

It was falling steadily.

Jazz walked backward toward her chair, planting herself in it heavily as she looked at her brother in awe.

“He did it,” Maddie whispered in disbelief. Her lip trembled as she brought her hands to her mouth. “He did it!”

#danny phantom #cartoons #fanfiction #danny fenton #action #adventure #cross posted on ao3 #no phantom planet #But his parents know #ecto storm series #Out of Time #multichapter #dark danny #Split!Danny #Mind shenanigans #all the feelings for this one

11 notes · View notes