#what is saved from death’s dullness
Many brave men lived before Agamemnon
but all are buried, unwept and known
in the long night, without a bard to consecrate them.
Horace Odes IV.IX
How many writers Alexander the Great was said to have with him, to record his deeds! And still, when at Troy he stood on the grave of Achilles, he said “O lucky youth, who found a Homer to herald your deeds!”
Cicero, Pro Archia
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Hi! if ur requests are still open I just thought of a scenario with xiao where lumine called him for help but after lumine called him his s/o also called and they're currently nearly dead but xiao thought they'll come to his s/o after finishing up with lumine but when he came back his s/o is alrdy dead. Thank u!
— # 🍨 Unrefundable Pain | Xiao - Kaeya x Reader
⤤ Summary: Xiao hears both Lumine & his s/o both crying out to his name as they both are in a life or death situation. And without thought he ran to Lumine thinking she was closer and would be easier to save and he could come back and get you quickly. But that thought had failed, since he finds you dead due to an abyss mage.
⤤ Notes: Not much to say here but hopefully I did a good job in expressing the pain in this one. I also wanted to add Kaeya for fun :)! Xiao & Kaeya are separate, not together. Also I tried my best for Xiao’s character, still trying to learn about him.
⤤ Requests: Open. (Read Rules First.)
⤤ Characters: Xiao + Kaeya
⤤ Warnings: Death, blood, sadness, crying, yelling + grief + suicidal thoughts.
Xiao | Regretful
“Xiao!!” Xiao heard his name get called out. He could hear Lumine screaming, and your voice screaming from afar. Xiao eyes widened, placing his mask over his face. He let out a deep groan, before darting in Lumine’s direction with no thought.
He would just assume that getting Lumine very quickly would work. Hoping he could grab her in time, making sure she didn’t and wouldn’t fall from that cliff. Xiao sprinted fast in her direction, but still being able to hear your voice.
As long as he could still hear your voice, it did mean you were alive..? Right? Xiao raced to the cliff Lumine could have fallen off of, grabbing her tightly on the wrist. Trying to make sure she would stay stable.
His grip tightened once more, before being able to pull her body back onto the land. The amount of stress that had pumped through his mind. While his attention was on Lumine. Forgetting about you. Lumine let out a strong huff before using her other arm to climb up the mountain.
She panted heavily. Letting out breathy sighs, before placing both knees back onto the land.
“How did you end up like this?” He asked, pointing to the wounds that covered her arms.
“I think an Abyss mage…” She replied, trying to stand up but she hardly could due to her amount of stamina she already had used up.
She let out more pants and sighs, placing her hands on her knees. Xiao taking a break as well. It was quite a difficult commission they had to deal with. Very difficult.
“Just get on my back” Xiao offered, turning his back to Lumine, hoping to take her home. Lumine nodded before steadily and carefully climbing on his back.
Xiao decided it would be best to bring Lumine home. While his mind, completely forgot about you. And that forgetful mind coming with a consequence. Xiao started walking off a bit before sprinting back onto a path not too far from the cliff. He was tired as well, but he was used to overdoing.
Lumine let out a big gasp, that was meant to be more quiet, as Xiao looked at her. Lumine shook Xiao’s arms from her legs. Before jumping on his back with a darken and feared look on her face.
“What about your s/o?” Lumine managed to pant about, and that’s when Xiao’s eyes widened.
Xiao snatched the mask off of his face, where Lumine could see such a dark expression on his face. The way his face became so dark after the words that left her lips. And his eyes, a dull color.
And now that, the thought had entered his mind. He remembered telling himself, if you were still screaming, you should be okay. You would still be alive? Wouldn’t you?
You were no longer screaming.
Xiao let out a growl before darting in the opposite direction. His panting becoming heavy. He ran, ran into the open grass field he remembered seeing you at. While the memories of you sparked through his mind.
Xiao continued running, ignoring any nearby monsters or ruin guards. If they disturbed him enough, he’d kill them under mintues. Xiao kept running until he found himself in a small Liyue forest, looking around for you.
“Hey!?” He screamed, as he started to walk a bit slower now. “[NAME!?]”
He let out more growls, getting frustrated because he couldn’t see you. Getting frustrated because his mind kept thinking, what if he had lost you. But he still had slight hope, as he continued to stray deeper into the forest.
Then his eyes widened.
Your body, laying in a deep puddle, that seemed to be a small ditch near a tree. Where blood was emptying you from your stomach. While your eyes were open, with no shine in them. Your eyes, dull like his.
Your hand was in a position where it seemed like you tried to survive, but due to the markings, he knew it had to be the power of an abyss mage and those hilichurls. Those possessed hilichurls.
Xiao could feel his panting get heavier, while his eyes widened. His hand shaking as he dropped his mask and spear to the ground. As he rushed to your body, placing his hand behind your back.
“[Name!?]” he asked but much more quieter. He placed his head by your chest, knowing that’s where more mortals had their hearts at. To see if they were living or not. But when he could hear no loud pumping from the heart, he froze.
Maybe you passed out? Was a thought of his, but he continued to see that the blood had made tiny left over water from the puddle red. He placed his face by your cheek, checking your eyes. But your eyes didn’t move.
He could feel tears leaving his eyes now. But without thinking, he pressed a kiss to your lips. But nothing. No reacting, no kissing back. Nothing. You always kissed him back, no matter the situation. So why wouldn’t you kiss him back now?
Cause you were dead.
Your body laid their lifelessly.
Xiao let out a growl, before sighing again. Carefully picking up your body, and holding you tightly in his arms. Tears running down his face as he started to exit the forest. Going back to where Lumine was.
His mind now all over the place. As so much regret filled his soul. He couldn’t help but blame himself. It was his fault. The three of you should have sticked together. But you didn’t.
As more tears dropped onto you from his eyes, Xiao got closer and closer to Lumine, until he was in her sight. With your lifelessly body. She was laying under a tree trying to heal her wounds. And shifted her eyes towards your dead body and Xiao.
Guilt filling her eyes, as Xiao stood in front of her. With more tears falling down to his cheeks.
“You better find your brother” he growled in frustration. “Or their death would have been for nothing.”
Kaeya | Indecisive
Kaeya froze, hearing both you and Lumine call out to you. His mind wondering back and forth on who to save. You three decided to do a commission together due to the high rate of hilichurls. And spilted up.
Now the both of you sounded and were in danger. Lumine voice was to Kaeya’s right, in the direction of the statue of 7. The one that helped give Lumine Anemo powers. Where as your voice was in the direction of Dawn Winery.
Kaeya chewed on his lip, thinking of who to go to first. But after a few more seconds of pain, and panic, he ran to his right. Planning to go and get Lumine and then come back to get you. Kaeya panted, trying to find Lumine as fast as he could.
He was not much of a guy to panic, but hearing Lumine scream like that, left his blood cold. Kaeya soon found Lumine, struggling to keep Hilichurls away from her. As there seemed to be 12 of them.
In a rush, Kaeya simply swung his sword, freezing and cooling any hilichurls, trying his very best to make sure they were dead. Each one of them dying after a few hits. He started to pant a little, because not only did he have to fight his own hilichurls from the start, he had to fight Lumine’s as well.
Lumine ran to Kaeya making sure he was okay, despite the wounds on her body and elbows and arms.
“Are you okay?” Lumine asked, in concern but Kaeya nodded quickly.
“I-It’s fine, I have to go and see if [Name] is alright” he panted before turning around and darting back. Lumine trying to catch up to him, but he was far to fast for her.
Kaeya running back in the direction he had came from but this time heading further to the left. Lumine following him, as he continued to run. Kaeya looked around, realizing you were not near springville nor near Mondstalt.
Did you travel to the Dawn Winery to get help? Was a question that wondered his mind. It wondered until he saw blood on the path. But patches of blood.
Kaeya froze still, trying to collect his thoughts. Surely this couldn’t be your blood, correct? Impossible. You were to too at fighting hilichurls with that weapon you wield. There’s no way.
Kaeya started to walk in the direction of the blood, walking further and further down the path, with Lumine not too far behind. The blood soon leading him into the grass.
Kaeya panting as he continued to follow the blood, while his sword was loosely in his right hand. Lumine now besides him, asking if he was okay.
He didn’t answer nor give her a cocky smile or chuckle or answer like he usually does. His mind was worried on you. As the blood looked a bit too human, to be a monster’s blood. Or an animal’s blood. Kaeya and Lumine continued walking into the grass until they could see Dawn Winery not so far away.
Along with the statue of the seven right there in front of their eyes. Kaeya dropped his sword to the ground. Looking and staring at the blood in the grass.
Seeing your helpless body, and lifeless soul, right by the statue of the seven. With blood leaving from your neck. Kaeya’s mind turned cold. His eye sight blurring while tears forming and flowing like the river left his eyes. His own tears watering the grass itself.
Lumine looked to him with a sad look and a guilty one. While her eyes turned numb, and his turned dull.
“W-Why?” Was a word he mumbled before, falling onto his knees.
Bending over and pulling at his hair in frustration and disappointment and sadness.
@childeluv ‘s content. Don’t steal or plagiarize my writing. Don’t repost in different language either.
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: You decide to give Bucky a ride when an agent shows your man too much attention.
Word Count: Roughly 1,297
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, slight jealousy, possessive behavior, porn with feels, swearing. It’s porn.
This is not beta-read, so any and all mistakes are my own
No one asked for this. I just wanted the reader to take Bucky for a ride. Enjoy!
You were a rational person. That’s what you told yourself. You were also understanding. That was a good quality. But you weren’t jealous. That wasn’t like you at all.
Until the day it was. You saw green when another agent put their hand on Bucky’s arm. Or was it red? It could have been the entire fucking rainbow, but it did nothing to soothe the sudden beast clawing to come out and play. Who did they think they were to touch him? What gave them the right?
“Ignore them,” you thought as you went back to the task at hand. What were you doing? You couldn’t recall as you kept looking out the corner of your eye. You were sure your side-eye game was strong.
Bucky, bless him, put distance between himself and the agent. That made you smile to yourself. He didn’t like being touched. Not unless it was you. The agent didn’t get it, obviously, when they tried again. And you swore you saw flames from the glare directed their way.
“Fuck this,” you whispered as you went over. You had half a mind to storm over and show them all the ways you could break their fingers, but you swayed your hips instead. The moment Bucky looked your way, you knew he was done for. It was a siren’s call and he was helpless to your song. The smirk he gave you in return told you all you needed to know.
“So sorry. I need to steal him away,” you said, taking Bucky’s hand in yours as you regarded the agent. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring him back in one piece.”
You ignored the chuckle your soldier let out as you led him into the lounge. “Doll, I thought the death glare was my thing.”
“You’re many things,” you said, turning and pushing him on the couch. “And you’re mine.”
His inhale was sharp. “Right here?” he asked, already working his pants open and shoving them down. You wondered if he was hard the moment you shoved him down or if it was when you led him away.
“Right here,” you confirmed as you rid yourself of your own pants and underwear. “I’m going to ride you into this couch. Where anyone can hear or see us. I hope they do. They’ll know whose pussy can thaw the Winter Soldier.”
“Jesus fuck,” he whispered, shuddering as he stroked himself. You licked your lips when you saw how red the tip of his magnificent cock was. Any other day you would have dropped to your knees and worshipped him like the god he was, but today was your day of glory.
“Is that what you want?” you asked in a sweet voice, gripping his shoulders as you straddled him. You rolled your hips sensually in his lap, a slow grind to drive him to the brink. You loved submitting to him, but today he would beg for you. “You want me to fuck myself on your cock like I own it?”
Bucky, the Soldat, the Winter Soldier, whined. He whined for you. The sound was desperate, sexy and you knew you’d get off to it later in your dreams. “Fuck me like you own me.”
You kissed him long and deep as you helped guide him into your tight heat. You ignored the small sting of him stretching you. Prepped or not, he was made to be inside you and you were made to take him. That knowledge dulled the brief ache in your core. “Feel how good we are together? How well we fit?” you asked as you lifted your hips and slammed home.
“Fuck, doll,” Bucky groaned, his hands running along your hips and thighs. It was like he couldn’t decide where to touch you. You felt the strain, knowing how badly he wanted to drive up and make you scream. But he gave you a task...fuck him like you owned him. And you weren’t one to shy away from an order.
“You know how perfect you are?” you asked, your gaze sharp when his mouth fell open to protest. “Don’t you fucking tell me you aren’t. You’re perfection. You’re mine.”
They were words he said to you many times over. And it occurred to you in that moment he had never on the receiving end. Not even in his younger years did anyone tell him what he deserved to hear. Now it wasn’t about proving a point to a nameless agent. You were going to prove a point to him.
“I’m...Fuck, just like that...I’m yours,” he groaned, the words punched out in a pleasured gasp.
“And I’m yours,” you promised, your body hot as you moved. You rode him like your life depended on it. You craved him like a drug. You could never just have a taste. You always needed more. “I’m the only one who can take your cock like this. I'm the only one who gets you. You’re everything. Mine to fuck. Mine to love.”
The sound he let out was a mix between a whimper and a growl. It was enough to make your impending orgasm bubble to the surface. You kept riding him, keeping it at bay as long as you could. “You need me to come? Need me to drench your cock?”
“Fuck!” he cried, his eyes shining as he looked at you. He gazed at you like you were a burning angel come to both save and corrupt him. That was almost your undoing, but you held on. “Yes. Fuck, yes. Come all over me.”
You fell apart, your peak strong as it hit you. You spasmed as you writhed, sure that the entire compound heard you. Anyone riding Bucky’s dick would have shouted to the heavens, so you weren’t the least bit sorry for your cries. “Bucky,” you whimpered as you felt him swell.
“Doll, please. I’m…” he couldn’t even continue as you clamped around him.
“Do it, Bucky. Come for me. I need it.”
You knew his climax hit him hard, his eyes wide in amazement as he came inside you. It was like he bared his soul just for you to see. He trusted you to see all of him, to take care of him. You would always protect the man who let you in.
“That's it, Bucky. Fill me up,” you moaned as your body milked his. “I’ve got you.”
Both of you trembled as he gripped the back of your neck, pulling you in for a heart stopping kiss as he finished. It almost triggered another orgasm. Yes, his kisses were that good. “That was...fuck.”
“Did I break your brain?” you teased as you caught your breath, giving him a softer kiss as wrapped his other arm around you.
“You did. All the blood is in my dick now.”
You smiled, gazing at him as you brushed his hair back. There was so much love there. What did you do to deserve it? “I love you.”
“Love you, too, doll,” he swore, looking thoroughly fucked out. You were proud.
“Can you warn us the next time you do that?” Tony suddenly asked from the doorway, making you look over your shoulder. There were others behind him, but you refused to move from Bucky’s lap. “I think you gave that poor agent a heart attack.”
“Maybe they’ll give you a hand,” you said, nodding to the tent in his pants.
Tony, unashamed, looked at his crotch and shrugged. “Worth a shot,” he replied, making you and Bucky both laugh as he pushed through the small crowd.
“Unless you all want to witness round two, I suggest you leave.”
“Or don’t,” Bucky smirked, taking you by surprise as he maneuvered you onto your back. “I don’t mind the crowd.”
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hey girl congrats for the followers, you deserves!!! can I ask for something with cheater kaeya and childe? angst? I usually like angst with comfort in the end but I wouldn’t particularly forgive a betrayal, so feel free to choose if will have comfort or not
unfaithful (kaeya, tartaglia)
relationships: kaeya x reader, childe x reader, kaeya x lumine, childe x lumine
genre: angst, no comfort
warnings: cheating, character death
author’s note: thank you for the request! this is honestly my first time writing something like this so i hope i did well! and i don’t have anything against lumine, just so we’re clear. i just find it easier to have her as the other love interest, you know? and in case someone goes “lumine is underaged,” lumine is hundreds or so years old, she’s just short and baby-faced, possibly because she’s immortal or aging is just different for her. also, i'm sorry if the ending in tartaglia's in kinda abrupt -- it was intentional but i wasn't too sure how to put it into words so yeah.
you were diluc’s childhood friend so you met kaeya when you were pretty young
at first, you were awkward around kaeya since he was shy and he was a lot different from diluc
but eventually, you warmed up to kaeya and became friends with him
while the two of them entered the knights, you focused on your studies and in occasionally helping out in the winery affairs
master crepus used to reassure you that you shouldn’t concern yourself with such but you insisted that you wanted to support his sons especially once they inherit the title of “master” from him
as the three of you grew up, you started catching feelings for kaeya
why him exactly? you weren’t sure
though you didn’t change the way you acted around him, minus the occasional blushing, you knew that you definitely grew to like him in a romantic sense
seeing as he was a rising star in the knights of favonius and throughout the city of mondstadt just like his brother, you were hesitant on confessing
especially when you see him flirting with nearly everyone he sees
but after a heartfelt confession, the two of you eventually got into a relationship
diluc was against it, due to both kaeya’s flirtatious nature and his own dislike towards kaeya
some people also expressed their doubts, considering kaeya’s reputation
but you merely shrugged them off, assuring them that kaeya genuinely likes you back
the two of you eventually spent a year together as a pair of lovers, with fights being easily resolved
but things soon changed after the arrival of the traveler from afar, lumine
kaeya started spending less time with you, under the guise of helping lumine, who was eventually dubbed as the honorary knight by jean, around mondstadt
he’d either leave earlier, come home later, or would directly go to sleep - claiming that he was exhausted - when he does come home early
at first, you shrugged it off, but soon diluc came to you
he told you that kaeya was being awfully too close with lumine
despite diluc's dense personality, he can tell that the touches, words, and glances kaeya would send to the honorary knight held something that shouldn't be there if you were mere friends
you dismissed it but it only fueled your doubts more
feeling like you're about to go insane because of your doubts, you decided to go the tavern and confide in diluc
and when you arrived, you were regretful yet thankful that you decided to stop by
you could only put your hands against your lips to muffle the broken gasp that wanted to come out as you stare at the figures at the corner of the tavern.
one of them, a petite blonde woman, was pressed against the wall by a much taller man. the man in question was your boyfriend, kaeya.
and the woman was lumine, the honorary knight.
"stop, kaeya," you hear lumine say as she tries to push your boyfriend. "you have a girlfriend. she doesn't deserve this."
"she won't know," you hear kaeya tell her in a sultry tone that you often hear in bed. "come on, lumine, i know you're interested in me."
not wanting to endure this any longer, you quietly escape the scene and run back to your shared home with tears flowing down your cheeks.
without wasting any second, you took everything valuable to you and packed them up in a bag. you didn't want to stay too long in case kaeya suddenly comes home but you didn't want to leave everything behind either.
with a heavy heart, you place a note on the kitchen counter, before saying good bye to the house you called your home for the past year. then, you headed to the place you always recognized as your safe place.
later that night, when kaeya returned home, he headed straight for the bedroom. when he failed to see your sleeping figure on the bed, he assumed you were merely in the bathroom. but as the minutes passed by, he finally realized something was amiss. you weren't in the bathroom and your wardrobe was thrashed. assuming that you were kidnapped, he immediately heads out of the room to look for you and notices the note on the table. he expected to see some threat that he'll find foolish but to his surprise, it was from you.
"good bye, captain alberich. have fun with your honorary knight.
p.s. for someone who dances with mystery, you were sure sloppy at hiding your affair."
not caring whether anyone will see him, he rushed out in search of you. he looked around the city yet there was no sign of you. not even the guards saw you.
so he headed straight to the winery, sucking up his pride in order to ask for help from his brother. unfortunately, the moment the door opened, he received a punch to the face.
and the moment he looked up, a burning flame of anger was inside diluc's eyes — something he didn't see even when he confessed about his true origins.
"you're lucky that's the only thing you'll get," diluc says in a warning tone. "because if it were up to me, you deserve more than a punch after playing with her feelings."
"diluc, i need to see her. i need to explain!"
"explain what, sir kaeya?" diluc's voice was dripping with venom. "nothing can excuse how you started pursuing lumine when you were in a relationship with (y/n). nothing can fix that so save your apologies and never show yourself to (y/n) ever again."
"i'm sorry — i really am. please let me see her, diluc," kaeya pleads. if it were any other situation, diluc would've found this amusing but not this time.
"if you're truly sorry, then stay out of her life. she doesn't need to be reminded that the man she loved and trusted with her whole being was the same man who broke her. now leave."
you and tartaglia met when he was first sent to liyue
like the walking wallet he was, he helped you pay for something when you were short of mora
so you decided to pay him back by cooking something for him
the two of you eventually became close, and he eventually trusted you enough to tell you that he was a fatui harbinger
you accepted him despite that, and would even help nurse his injuries
eventually, the two of you became a couple
unlike what was expected of him, your relationship was kept subtle as he wanted to keep you away from harm
that didn't stop him from treating your house as his own, spending nights cuddling or being sexually intimate with you
you thought it was cute — how he wanted to protect you
but it eventually became the leeway to his betrayal
due to lumine's identity as mondstadt's savior, a traveler from afar, and an opponent that made tartaglia feel the thrill he always wanted, he couldn't help but grow attracted to her
lumine, in this one, was unaware about you. she was unaware that tartaglia was even in a relationship
so when tartaglia pulled her into his lap, capturing her lips with a kiss, she melted
and that's what allowed you to see his infidelity
you couldn't help but let out a shaky breath as you heard the muffled moans from inside tartaglia's office in the northland bank. you originally came here to ask him to go on a date with you before you go do a commission that will take more than a week. snapping out of your daze, you wipe your tears and turn to the apologetic fatui diplomat nearby.
"please don't tell him about my visit," you say. "i'll handle this, i'll make sure none of you get blamed when he finds out."
after returning to your house, you packed as much as you could for your commission and an extended stay in either an inn or in mondstadt. afterwards, you anxiously waited for tartaglia to come home.
"hey, childe, do you love me?" you suddenly asked. normally, he would wholeheartedly assure you but because he was exhausted, he just wanted nothing more than to sleep.
so he ignores you.
"do you love me, childe?" you repeat, making him grit his teeth in irritation. "please, childe, i just—"
"why are you so clingy?!" he asks, snapping. he turns to you, his dull eyes making you shiver. "if i knew you were going to be insensitive like this, i shouldn't have dated you."
"i know, because there are better people than me," you say, smiling. "and lumine's one of them. that's why you love her, right?"
"what…" he was at loss for words. you knew?
"it's alright, childe. you don't have to explain anything, i know and understand what's happening," you explain. "please don't blame anyone, not even your troops. if anything, blame me for coming there unannounced."
why were you taking the blame? shouldn't you be mad at him? he was the one who was unfaithful — not you.
"don't worry, i'll be leaving tonight. i have a commission to accomplish and i have to visit a relative anyway. i just wanted to see you before i go for good."
"no, (y/n), please—" he suddenly regrets everything. from the moment he pursued lumine, to the way he shouted at you. "—i made a mistake. i don't love her, i love you. please give me a second chance."
"i'll let you know once i return from my commission," you tell him, igniting hope in his heart. without another word, you leave your house. and once you were far enough, you uttered the words you wanted to say.
"farewell, tartaglia. i love you."
the following week, instead of being able to greet you and patch things up with you, tartaglia received the worse news of his life.
due to the commission going out of control, you sacrificed your life to save a younger adventurer who was with you.
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i’m in the water.
summary. | He’s in the wind, and you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.
warnings. | non/dubcon, smut, angst, protectiveness, kidnapping (implied), stockholm syndrome, obsessiveness, death/violence, dark themes, DDLG undertones, creampie kink, choking, piss kink (both pee), degradation, pet play undertones, p in v sex, Master kink, dacryphilia, crawling, slapping, hair pulling, face fucking, boot riding, orgasm denial, spitting, gagging, manhandling, praise, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.
word count. | 8.5k
pairings. | Dark!Winter Soldier x Naive!Reader.
a/n. | please heed the warnings! i hope you enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. they’re both very hydrated! this takes place in the 90’s! thank you so much @asadmarveltrashbag and @mypoisonedvine for proof reading for me ilysm!!
From the day you were born, you always felt as though your legs are broken. Always needing crutches throughout your life to hold you up, always needing support. But you never really had these crutches, so you'd always drag your hands against the brick walls to support yourself. Vulnerable, breaking away at the edges, falling down. Nothing kind ever came, and it stays the same for a while.
So maybe that’s why you lean into his icy cold touch. So abrasive and yet so caring. His aspects are juxtaposed to each other, just like in those Magritte paintings your art teacher would show you. She was always a kind lady, but you don’t care enough about her to wonder where she is in life now. She was kind to you, though, so you hope that she isn’t suffering like you are.
Your goosebumps raise for the fifth time in this painfully slow hour.
“Are you cold, кролик?” he asks even though he knows the answer. You hum. You always do. Your voice doesn’t raise in an affirmation. It stays flat; he knows what that means. “Thinking again?” he gruffly presses, squeezes your bare arms. The thin, grey shirt with torn sleeves does nothing to protect your body. But why do you ask for protection against the man who has done everything for you?
“Why… Why do people believe that grey is a boring colour?” you ask him, looking around the dark cell that surrounds you. Soldat grunts, not knowing what to say. “I think it’s quite beautiful. All colours have different shades, yes, but there’s something about grey. Each shade comes with a different emotion. Don’t you think so?” you ask him, looking down to your lap.
A carrot toy sits there. It’s filled with cotton balls from the medical room, by his request. “Yes…” He bites the tip of his tongue, not sure what to say because the Soldat only has a few emotions and a few words. “Why can’t we get a different wall colour?” you question him, turning around to face the man.
“It’s not allowed,” he reminds you. You feel like you’re experiencing déjà-vu, but then again, the days have blurred together so well that you can’t tell if the tape is being put on rewind already. You have to assume that your celluloid scenes are fading away along with your sanity. It’s torn at the seams. Threads hanging that just need to be ripped or cut out.
“Beige would look lovely…” you point out solemnly. The Soldat doesn’t know what shade of beige you’re thinking of, but he believes it would be beautiful nonetheless. “I… have a mission,” he tells you after a while. You hum in that same monotonous tone again, so he squeezes your arm even tighter. “When, Master?” you curiously ask, only now taking in his words.
“Tonight. Approximately at twenty-one hours,” he informs you in that mechanic voice of his that you hate. It makes you feel more trapped and vulnerable, even though there’s quite literally a chip in the back of your neck. “How long?” you ask him softly, a frown already beginning to display itself on your face.
He doesn’t like it when you frown. He prefers the lines that your smile provides over the lines your frown forces. That innocent glint in your eyes shines a bit, flickering like a dull light on the verge of completely blowing. Though it’s not much, it’s still something. And when it goes away, his entire being is filled with darkness.
You’re the light of his life, the fire of his loins.
“Not sure. Extraction of information. Senators and mayors…” He begins to ramble, and you shake your head. “Sorry, кролик,” he apologizes as he notices how uncomfortable you’re starting to get. You hum again. He wonders if you were a bird in your past life, perhaps a hummingbird, to be more exact. Or maybe even a swan or a dove because you’re just as beautiful as they are, if not more.
“You know how to behave, right? Потому что ты мой хороший маленький кролик?” he asks, and you don’t understand the second question, but you understand the former. “I know, Master,” you breathe, an airy ending to your words. “You’ll be good, кролик?” he questions one more time, and you lazily nod. You’re tired. Your body moves at a drowsy pace, and you don’t like it.
You don’t want to sleep, though. Scared that if you shut your eyes for too long, the monsters will come back, and Soldat won’t be able to save you. He always saves you. You’re his damsel, constantly in distress, locked away in a gilded cage. But he tells you it’s not a gilded cage. It’s not a run-down cell built in the fifties. It’s your home, even though you haven’t known what home is like for a while.
“I’ll always be good for you, Master. Please don’t leave for long. I get lonely easily,” you express in small bits of sadness and distress. “I know, кролик, я знаю,” Soldat says as he hugs you closer. You tilt your head backwards and let it lull on his shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he promises, and you know it’s not true because he never fulfills it. “But my carrot can’t keep me company for all those hours… Please stay? Please?” you plead with tears welling in your eyes.
“Я могу составить ей хорошую компанию,” the soldier standing outside the cell mutters under his breath, earning a few snickers from his coworkers. I can keep her in good company, is what he said. And it’s truly unfortunate that the guards have forgotten that the Soldat — the Asset — has super-hearing. Their laughter dies down into sighs, and Winter’s chest begins to heave.
He puffs up like the big bad wolf he is, and he tosses you to the side like a rag doll. You watch him as he strides his way over to the guards. Each step carries the weight of the Winter Soldier, the one who’s ready to kill whoever is in his sight. Except for you. His bionic hand reaches through the metal bars that separate him from the outside world.
He wraps his fingers around the guard’s neck, and he squeezes his throat tightly. As Winter crushes the guard’s windpipe, you watch him behind slightly squinted eyelids. Tears blur your eyesight, and you remember that time when you were holding off the tears so well, you couldn't see the HYDRA van driving ahead of you.
Maybe if you could control your emotions a little better, you wouldn’t be here.
But then again, where would you be without the Soldat? Miserable, stuck in the worst parts of town without anyone. Having to drag your hands across those brick walls, again and again. Surviving on your own, teetering on the edge of death. Just like these men at the hands of the Soldat.
The crunching of bones and the screams of men are all blocked out for you. You focus on Soldat’s arm whirring in the most satisfying harmony you’ve heard in the past two years. Other than the orchestra you both have managed to make almost every day. But you still cup your hands over your ears.
Winter pulls a knife from the guard’s limp body. That very same knife ends up inside his heart, stopping it from pumping. The guards begin shooting at Winter, but he easily shields himself with the metal arm. It goes silent, but you keep your hands over your ears. Muffled talking steps in place of the silence, and you look up to see members of HYDRA staring at your Winter and you.
“Солдат, Что ты натворил?” One of the head agents asks. You believe his name is Vasily Karpov because that is what Winter has told you. “The… The guard said something about my кролик. He’s not supposed to,” Winter explains, looking to the ground. Karpov mutters a chain of curse words under his breath that you’re not too happy about. One of the other agents asks him to speak up, and he snaps.
“Just get him to the armoury! We need to prep him,” he shouts before stalking away from the scene. They all stick around a few more seconds before scurrying off like little mice. The dead bodies still lay on the floor, but nobody seems to really care. What’s happened has happened, and there’s no changing it.
“Привести с собой солдата!” A rough voice blasts through the intercoms, and suddenly, more guards show up at your cell. You curl up into a ball and rest your forehead against your knees. You can’t bear to watch them take him away. You wait until the cell door swings shut, and then men stomp away. But even then, you cannot look up.
Bring the Soldat.
He wears that mask of his. The last time you saw it, it was caked with dirt and blood. You can hear his hard breathing behind it, almost sounding as though he’s just run a marathon. He sits in the edge of the cot — the left corner, to be exact — and he watches you. The Soldat states as you look down at the array of snacks he’s provided you with.
“Kролик,” Winter gruffly calls, and you turn around. You hum and your voice raises at the end. You haven’t done that in a while, so it startles him a bit. “Which one?” he asks, stretching his neck out just a bit to see what snack you’ve chosen. “N… Not sure,” you shyly whisper, ducking your head down in fear.
“Green one,” he says after a while, and you place your hand on it. “I don’t know what it is?” you confusingly say. The Russian text on it confuses you, so you hand it to Winter. “ Sour Patch Kids…” Winter reads out loud, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “Oh, I like those!” you eagerly cheer, sitting up on your knees. You turn around and reach your hand out for him to give them to you.
They’ve wiped him. You know it, and you hate it. They’ve taken all emotion away from him, and now he’s just an empty shell of a man. His softness from just a few hours ago has now gone away, and you don’t know what to expect of himself. But then again, you never do.
Hesitatingly, he hands it over. “Don’t eat now. Sugar will keep you up,” he warns, and you nod. Your father would say the same thing when you were younger. The only difference is that your father had more love in his voice than Winter ever will. “We need to go over the rules,” he speaks up after a few seconds. You hum again, and he continues. “Do you remember your rules?” Winter asks, and you hum once more.
“Кролик,” he growls, and you look up. “Do you need me to repeat the rules?” Winter questions and you shake your head in objection. He doesn’t listen, though, because he knows you don’t remember them. You never seem to remember the big, important parts of the puzzle. Only the small corner pieces that don’t really matter. “I’ll tell you them anyway, and you’re going to listen to every word I say. Understood, кролик?” he raises his eyebrow, not leaving any room for protesting.
You gulp thickly and nod. “Don’t make any noises, don’t touch yourself, don’t talk to the guards, don’t let anyone touch you, don’t hurt yourself and don’t even think of escaping,” he lists, and the last one makes tears sting your eyes. “I won’t escape. ‘S not like I can even do anything in here,” you whisper under your breath, and he stands up. Metal fingers grip your chin tightly, and Winter slowly kneels down in front of you.
You’re watched like a pet. You always have been. Not even a pet, more like a possession. Seen as an object with no feelings and no emotions. As though you don’t have a heart that pumps crimson blood and lungs that expand with each breath you take. “Don’t ever speak like that again. I can easily stitch those pretty lips of yours shut, кролик,” he threatens, and you feel your tears beginning to leak.
No, no, no, no, no. Not now.
He laughs. He fucking laughs, and you want to cry even more because you need him. You need your support, but he doesn’t want to give it to you. You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. “You’re so fucking… precious. Especially when you shed those tears of yours,” he tells you with a hidden smile behind his mask. He squeezes your jaw even tighter, and you whimper out a small ‘thank you, Master’ to him.
“I wasn’t finished listing the rules, so keep your fly shut,” Winter sneers, and you nod your head slowly. “When I get back, which will be in around three hours, you have to finish drinking all those bottles of water,” he stays, snapping his fingers to grab your attention. Your eyes follow those very same fingers as they point at the four bottles of water sitting by the bed.
You never noticed them until just now. “Oh, and you can’t go to the bathroom until I say so,” he adds with a slight humorous chuckle to his voice. Your eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockets. “Don’t worry, кролик, I’ll be back so quickly, it’ll feel like a few minutes,” he promises, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. It reminds you of when you were young, and your parents would take you to the beach.
Your parents would build sandcastles with you until they got tired. You would beg your father to piggyback you into the sea, and he would do exactly that. Your mother would carry her disposable camera with her just to take photos that would end up in the green photo album from the thrift store.
And when you got a bit older, you’d go by yourself—older in the sense that you have to start paying the bus fare of $3. You’d head to the beach after dinner and before your parents came home from work. The sky would either be a dark, dark grey or a lovely mix of pastels. The water would wash beneath your feet, pulling and loosening clumps of sand.
Taking it away the same manner Winter took your innocence.
“And remember, if you break any of these rules, I’ll know. And the outcome won’t be as pretty as your face or that pussy of yours, кролик,” Soldat warns, and you nod your head. “Yes, Master,” you shyly say to him. You want to look down at the concrete flooring so badly, but his iron-clad grip on you doesn’t loosen until a minute after your words. He looks down at you, and you look away. His strong gaze is just as powerful as the summer sun that would beat down on your skin.
You never realized how thirsty you were until just now. You’ve finished all four bottles in the span of two hours, and now you’re counting down the minutes until Soldat arrives. There are no guards standing outside your cell, so you’re all alone. Not even your intrusive thoughts have visited, and you wonder if the water was spiked.
You were never that good at telling time. It would always take you a few seconds to find the minute hand and the hour hand. But the digital clock that is on the wall across from your cell is quite helpful. It even has seconds on it, too. So you count down out loud, trying to ignore the full feeling in your stomach.
Stomping echoes down the hallways, and you don’t know if he’s close by or meters away from you. You never could tell. Russian words fall off the agents’ tongues, and sometimes you wish you could understand them. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like such an outsider even though you’re trapped in their home. “Ты свободен, солдат,” one of the agents say, and you can hear Winter grunt.
You’re free to go, Soldat.
His big, heavy feet stomp down the hallway. The sounds bounce off the greyish-green walls, stained with different things such as blood and dirt. You can hear his metal arm whirring, and your heart jumps with fear. You’re not scared of him; you’re scared of what he’s capable of.
Oh, who are you kidding? You’re terrified of him.
The guards open up the cell door, and you look up, locking eyes with his. They’re dark and empty as they usually are. “Кролик,” he growls, and you whimper. You run up to him and hug him, feeling the water slosh inside of you. You slow your breathing down the same way your elementary school nurse told you to when you were younger and try your hardest not to throw up.
“Missed me, hm?” Winter questions and you nod meekly. Though you didn’t want to admit it two years ago, you do now. “Missed you lots, Master,” you tell him. The leather is cold against your warm skin. If you focus just a bit more, you could feel the creases of the fabric as well. But you’re too busy with him, so you ignore it. “W- Was the mission good, Master?” you nervously ask him, only out of curiosity and nothing more.
“As always. Were you good, кролик?” Soldat questions in return, rightfully so. You nod eagerly and fiddle with your fingers behind his back. He acts like he can’t feel it, just for you not to stop hugging him. “Good girl… You seem like you want something. Out with it,” he orders, and you gulp in fear.
“I… I was wondering if I could go to the bathroom,” you meekly tell Winter, looking down to the ground. His boots are shiny and polished. Cleaner than anything you’ve seen before, and it’s confusing. He usually comes in covered with dirt, sweat, tears and blood. “You need to go to the bathroom, кролик?” he asks as if he didn’t hear you beforehand.
You shyly nod and unwrap your arms from around his broad torso. You wonder if he left the mission unscathed or not. Winter chuckles. It’s breathy, airy, sly and dark. “Aw, кролик, you’re adorable, the cutest кролик of them all. It’s too bad I’m not going to let you,” he sneers in that faux fantasy tone of his. You furrow your eyebrows and so desperately want to beg him, but it’s out of line, and he never asked, so you stay quiet.
Winter grabs your hand and drags you to the cot, reminding you of the way you’d pull your parents to the shore so they can play in the water with you. They’d both laugh before your father would tackle you in the water, and your mother would push him down in retaliation. You’d always resubmerge from the water with a smile on your face and laughter bellowing throughout the beach.
You miss those times.
You let him guide you to the bed you wish wasn’t yours. “What did you do while I was gone, кролик?” Soldat questions, sitting down on the canvas of the bed. You’re placed on his lap, almost as though he’s forcing you to reclaim a throne you need. And it’s true; you need him. His hands fall to your waist, and Winter holds you in place. “I drank all the water as you asked, and I just sat here, Master,” you recount to him, leaving out the parts of the past three hours he doesn’t need to know.
He hums in the same manner as you. “That’s all?” he questions, and you slowly nod your head. “Good, I’d hate to have to punish you this late in the night,” he says, pinching the skin on your torso. You don’t whimper because you’re used to it. He calls it affection, and so do you. Winter’s hands move from your sides to the front of your stomach, caressing you with a bit of pressure being put on your bladder.
You whimper and try to play it off with a cough, but you know deep down he doesn’t buy it. Soldat continues to run his hand against your stomach the same way you’d run across the shore. Slow, wary, yet with care from the ground beneath you. You like to think of the simpler, more happier times. You know if Winter pushes a little harder, you may not be able to control yourself any longer.
The pressure in your bladder grows every few seconds, so you squirm around in his lap. Your weight shifts from his left thigh to his right thigh, over and over, and he knows exactly what’s wrong. “Кролик… Are you feeling all tingly?” he asks you. You nod your head, but you take in his words. Meanings and implications are always lost with you. They fly over your head the same way birds do, and you only see them with someone's direction.
“N- No, Master, I just have to pee really badly…” you clarify to him, and he nods his head in understanding. You smile as a spark of hope lights inside of your heart. “I don’t think you do, кролик, I already told you,” he assures, and you sigh. “I- I know, Master, I’m sorry,” you apologize and drop your head down. “I think you’re having those tingles, кролик, is your little cunt wet?” Soldat questions even though you don’t have to answer.
His hand travels between your legs and to your pussy, cupping it tightly. You whimper and involuntarily grind against his hand. “You’re absolutely soaked, кролик! Were you thinking of me?” he interrogates, and you just go with it. “Y- Yes, Master, was thinking of you all the time,” you whisper to him. He squeezes your cunt tighter and purrs in your ear. “Then why didn’t you tell me beforehand, кролик?” Winter presses, and you feel fear pump through your veins.
“I- I knew you were tired from the mission, so I didn’t want to bother you, Master. I’m sorry, please forgive me!” you plead, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. Your heart sinks to your stomach with each sound he makes, and you want death to take you right here, right now. The Soldat pushes you to the ground, and you fall with a loud ‘thud!’. Your knees hit the concrete hard, and you can feel your old scars open up a bit.
One was from a poor fall at the beach. Your father carried you home, and your mother tried to soothe you. You were only six at the time, but it felt like your world was ending.
Winter’s metal hand grabs your hair and tugs on your locks painfully. You bite back a pained moan as he yanks your head back. It’s not the first time he has nearly given you whiplash. He changes moods faster than anyone you’ve ever met. The Soldat walks around you, and you follow him with your eyes. “It’s okay, кролик. I’m not mad at you. I’m gonna treat you so well; you’re gonna love me even more,” he promises with a dark glint in his eyes.
He wedges his boot between your legs and underneath your cunt. “Get comfy, шлюха,” he orders. You shift yourself a bit, trying to alleviate any aches you feel, but it seems as though he wants you to be uncomfortable. Your pussy rests on his foot, and you wonder what he’s up to. His hand tilts your head to look up at him. You want to look away, just like when you’d look at the bright sun on a hot summer day. It was always too much to look at, but the sight was so captivating you couldn’t turn away.
“You said you wanted to go pee, right, маленькая потаскушка?” he questions, and you confusingly nod. “Then go ahead, do it,” he orders. You gasp, quite loudly, in fact. The reaction doesn’t please your Master, so he yanks on your hair a little tighter. “What’s wrong, сука? I thought that’s what you needed?” he interrogates, and you nod. “Yes, Master, but not like this,” you reason, and he growls. “I give you protection, I give you food, I give you my cum, I give you everything you need. What’s wrong now? Don’t you love me?” Winter asks.
Your heart quite literally breaks in two.
“I do, Master! I love you so much!” you promise, feeling those stupid tears of yours starting to well up. “Then why aren’t you listening to me, you dumb baby? Hm?” he presses, and panic begins to rise in your chest. The tears stream down your face the same way the waves would engulf you at the age of 7. “It’s just uncomfortable, Master, that’s all…” you reason with him. “Well, I don’t care. You’re gonna do it anyway, okay? I thought you were a good bunny for me…” Winter trails off as if he’s lost all hope and cause.
It makes you want to cry even harder.
Sniffling, you wipe your tears and try not to give up. “I am your good bunny, Master. Please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to!” you beg once again, and he grows weary of your patheticness. Winter bends down, and his flesh hand goes to the front of your flimsy shirt. Thin cotton rips away easily, with barely any strength coming from his behalf. The grey cloth is in two pieces, and he pushes them off your shoulders.
Your nipples harden as soon as the cool air brushes against them. Winter’s hand leaves your head, and you feel alone without his touch. “Seems like you forgot your place, кролик… You don’t get what you want; you get what you deserve. And what you deserve is to be put in your place,” he tells you, and your bones rattle with fear. The sound of a belt clinking and a zipping being pulled down grabs your attention, and you hold back a hearty sigh.
The Soldat stares you down as he throws his belt to the side just like he did you a few hours ago. “I can’t believe you, honestly. Думая, что ты так выше меня, пытаясь помешать мне делать то, что я хочу. After this, you’re going to regret ever talking back to me like that ever again,” he rants under his breath like the mad man he is. Your tears have dried up, but your bottom lip starts to wobble again. He huffs, tired of seeing you cry.
Winter halts his movements and goes to remove his mask, the one thing that’s been hiding that sinister smirk of his. The dark, matte material is clutched between the tips of his cut-up, bruised fingers. He carefully places the mask on your face, covering your mouth and nose. The action shuts you up, just like how he wants. You look up at him without blinking your tears away. You let them fall and soak the mask, staining it with your waterworks.
The Soldat pulls his big, thick cock out of his tactical pants. His cock is as hard as a rock, blooding pumping down to it, and his veins throb on the side of his shaft. Beads of precum drip down from his tip, rolling down his cock. He’s a raging red, desperate to be inside of you. His metal head returns to your head, and he brings you higher up in your knees. Your neck cranes at such a painful angle that the ache in your knees is ignored.
“You better fucking look at me while I teach you your lesson, шлюха,” he warns, and you listen to him easily. Through your haze of pained tears, you manage to look into his eyes. You’re not sure what he wants to do and what he’s going to do. You never do. The Soldat is unpredictable, and even in your two years of knowing him, you’ll never understand how the gears in his mind turn.
“Not so dumb after all, huh,” he chuckles before shaking his head. Winter sighs and smiles down at you. “One last chance, шлюха,” he tells you in a sing-song voice. You don’t say anything, and the Soldat clicks his tongue. Suddenly, instead of the delicious precum, he would usually make you lap up like a kitten, clear streams of warmth hit your chest. You gasp behind the mask, but it comes out as muffled nonsense to him.
“Stop!” you cry out to him, but your words are once again muffled. His pee soaks your chest as he relieves himself from the pressure in his bladder. Your hands bat at his stiff thighs, hitting them just so that he can stop humiliating you and treating you like you’re all but human. Winter growls, and his metal arm drops your head, and he slaps your hands away. His pee covers your tits and drips down your skin, staining you with disgust and humiliation.
The streams soon stop, and you’re sobbing even louder now. “Oh shut it, this isn’t even as bad of a punishment. I’m going easy on you, шлюха, I could easily do worse,” Soldat growls as the slightly tinted liquid drips from the tip and onto the ground. Your chest stutters with sobs, and you can barely breathe. You’re covered and coated like a freshly bought canvas, and Winter’s just ruined you. Almost in the same manner that you’d destroy your father’s canvas with your cheap, dollar store paint.
Winter bends down and grabs what was once your shirt and is now just a piece of cloth. Kind of like how your mother would give you any leftover scraps of fabric to make something for you. She’d never let anything go to waste. He uses it to wipe the drops of urine that still drip from his cock, and then he throws it at you like you mean nothing to him. You let it fall to the ground because there’s no possible way a piece of cloth that was once on your back can fix your honour.
But who are you kidding? You lost your honour the moment you gave into the Soldat, just like you always do.
You stretch your arms out to him, silently pleading for comfort from him. But he shakes his head with a sly smile on his face. “Aw, you want your Master to help you out, мой питомец?” Winter questions, and you eagerly nod your head. His metal hand goes to remove the mask, but he stops as soon as he touches it. “Say please,” he orders with faux sympathy in his voice. “Please, Master,” you beg to him, and he smiles.
Winter places his hand back on the mask and yanks it off of your face. The sides scratch your cheeks a bit, but that’s not what matters. “T- Thank you, Master. I love you so much,” you tell him before struggling to put a smile on your face. At the end of the day, no matter how brutal he is with you, you’ll always love him. ...Right? “You’re welcome, кролик,” he says as he throws the mask to where his belt lies.
Your cheeks are sticky and stained with tears, much like your chest. Winter’s flesh hand cups your left cheeky lightly, and he’s back to being the gentleman who has killed for you on numerous occasions. He wipes away the wetness on your cheek as his other hand goes to his cock, grabbing the base of it. “Say ‘ah,’ моя маленькая шлюшка,” he orders before you can even register his signature Cheshire smirk.
His cock is shoved inside your mouth without any warning. He always does that. No heads up, no preparation, nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. Winter wiggles his foot that’s underneath your cunt, and the sudden friction is startling. He calls you bunny because of this reason. You can get off on anything, and you’re always needy for him. “I can see how wet you are, шлюха. You’re soaking my boot with that little pussy of yours,” he coos.
You don’t realize how wet you are until he points it out. You’re absolutely soaking, and you’re not sure why. But for the utmost incomprehensible reason ever, you don’t care.
His cock slides down your throat until your nose nuzzles against his pubic bone. His balls touch your chin, and your saliva coats his cock thickly. Your throat and side of your kissable mouth both hurt horribly, but you ignore the pain just for him. “You’re my good little bunny, right?” he questions, and you nod while his cock rests on your tongue. “And good little bunnies like you always listen to their Masters, right?” Winter asks, and you nod again.
He smiles. His hand on your cheeks moves to the back of your head slowly, returning to its newfound home. “I bet you want to come, don’t you, кролик?” he interrogates, and he’s not wrong. You really do want to come, and you’re a bit ashamed of it. “Master will let you come, don’t worry. I’m gonna let you have cummies, кролик,” he promises, and you happily giggle around his cock.
“Go on, hump my boot like the little bunny you are,” he pushes, and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. You want to protest so badly, but the memories of what he just did to you freshly flood your mind like the memories from when you were younger. “Are you that stupid that I have to explain how to get yourself off? Or are you just not listening to me, кролик?” he asks in a tone that reminds you of subdued thunder.
You shake your hand and try to move your hips around a bit. Your soaking wet pussy grinds against the leather of Winter’s shoe, and your clit throbs at the feeling. Winter’s cock slides out of your mouth until the fat tip of it is all that’s left, and then he quickly shoves it back in. Your loud gags and his moans fill the room like music. Your loss of oxygen makes you see stars, and you can recall how much your father loved to paint the midnight skies until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.
Your old toothbrushes would serve as the home of the clouds of dust that the stars would be born from. His fingers would be covered in white paint that would fall off in the water and swirl down the sink. His black t-shirts would have white freckles on them, and your mother would always suggest for him to turn the cloth into a galaxy. He’d always tell her one day, and you’d always remind him of that day whenever you’d catch him painting.
“Fuck, you always do look even prettier with my cock in your mouth, кролик,” he swears, and you smile around his cock. Oh, well, you at least try to smile. You continue to rub yourself against his boot as he uses your throat as he pleases. Your hole drools with want, and your slick gives his shoe a shine that is unmatched by any other substance. The burning, fiery feeling on your clit spreads to your abdomen, and you can feel yourself being brought closer to the edge.
You’re moaning around his thick cock, sending sinful vibrations throughout him. “Fuck, are you gonna come, кролик?” he questions as he feels you hug his leg. You nod around his cock, and he begins to push your head back and forth of his cock, matching your desperate movements. He uses you like a fleshlight, and you’re used to it. “Well, too fucking bad, шлюха, you’re not allowed to come,” he spits, and your hips freeze in place.
“I didn’t say stop, did I? No, I didn’t, continue, шлюха,” he sneers, and you listen to the Soldat. You’re not sure how you’re going to stave off your orgasm, but you’ll do anything for him. You slowly begin to grind your hips back and forth on his boot again, trying to slow your breathing down, and Winter fucks your face sloppily. “Fuck, you want my cum, don’t you, кролик?” he questions, and you squeeze his leg tighter.
Winter pulls his cock out abruptly and pinches the base, staving off his release only for a few seconds. “I said, don’t you want my cum, шлюха?” he asks once again, and you nod. Saliva coats your mouth, and you can barely catch your breath. “I- I really want your cum, Master, please! Please give me your cum,” you plead to him with a ditzy look in your eyes. You wiggle your hips side to side just to give off the impression that you’re getting yourself off.
But you can’t fool the fooler. Nobody can.
“I’m going to give you all my cum, шлюха, and you’re going to take it all like a good girl,” he moans as he shoves his cock back into your mouth. Winter shoves himself deep inside your throat until you can’t take any more of his length. You swallow around his cock, and he moans loudly, swearing in Russian. The words roll off his tongue skillfully, and you feel yourself getting even wetter.
He grabs your head even tighter and bobs your skull up and down his cock a few more times before finally hitting his release. His balls tighten up, and a deep, throaty moan leaves his mouth in the best way ever. Hot, sticky ropes spurt down your throat before you can even register the way he throws his head back. Winter’s long hair spills on the sides of his head as his cum spills down your throat. You have no choice but to swallow, but it’s not like you want to spit his seed out anyways.
Winter lets out a deep moan that goes straight to your core, and his hand pats your head in a praising manner. “Good girl, such a good fucking girl,” he praises as he slowly pulls his sensitive cock out of your mouth. Your cunt flutters with sensitivity, and you want to come so badly, but you just can’t. The Soldat takes a few steps back, slipping his foot away from your aching pussy. You let out a whimper, and he smiles.
“I’m not done with you, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and your heart flutters. You’ve managed to ignore the building pressure in your bladder, but now it seems to come back stronger. “C- Can I go pee first, Master?” you politely ask him, still on your knees. Even that ache has returned, but it’s the least important thing as of now. He ignores your question as he works on the numerous straps on his battle uniform.
Skillful fingers take off the leather vest he wears, revealing a bulletproof protectant that saves him from certain dangers. “Get on the bed, кролик,” Winter orders as he continues to strip himself. You begin to stand up on your wobbly, scarred legs, but he tuts. “Uh uh, not like that,” he interjects, walking back to you. He pushes you back onto the floor, and you fall with a sob. “On your knees, because that’s what you deserve. Nothing more, шлюха,” he sneers, and you sniffle.
You slowly crawl to the bed. Each time your knees touch the ground, you burn up with both arousal and humiliation. And it’s not like the action is making your need to go to the bathroom any better. The abrupt movement makes the liquid slosh inside you, and you want to burst out in tears, begging Winter to just let you relieve yourself. Your hands have slight scars from your nails, and it reminds you of when your father would encourage you to do the monkey bars.
You’d always try to swing yourself to the end with all your might. But you never could do it. You’d fall down to the ground and leave the park wailing. The scars and blisters on your hand would make your parents so upset, but that never stopped you from wanting to go back and try again. Eventually, you got too old to try, and it would always upset you. Maybe one day you’ll be able to try again— one day.
You hear zippers unzipping and velcro cracking behind you as you get on the bed. The coolness of the sheets is so refreshing against your hot skin. It soothes you for a few seconds, but it eventually loses its worth. You turn around and face him with a sort of dumbfounded look on your face. He fucking loves it; Winter always does. He’s naked, fully naked, and even his signature tactical boots have been discarded.
If you squint, you could see the way your wetness shines on his boot. “Good girl, such as good little bunny,” he praises, and you can feel yourself get flustered. Winter climbs onto the bed, staring you dead in the eyes. He kneels in front of you with a wicked smirk, and he brings his flesh hand up to your throat. You let out a gasp as he squeezes your neck tightly before he leans in closer to you.
The Soldat’s face is just a mere few centimetres away from yours. You can feel each breath that he takes against your skin. His hard cock rests against your sticky chest, and he’s still hard as fuck. “Open your mouth, кролик,” he orders, and you instantly do so. You wait for his cock to be stuffed in your mouth once again, but it never comes. You watch as he puckers his lips up before spitting right by your mouth.
You choke in surprise as his saliva slowly drips into your mouth, landing on your sore tongue. You whimper at the feeling, and Winter has a proud smile on his face. He pulls his head away from yours, in the same manner your father would whenever he’d finish one of his masterpieces. “Swallow it all, кролик, I know you want to,” he orders in a sing-song voice.
You follow his demand obediently. You can’t lie; the sheer act of him spitting in your mouth and forcing you to swallow it makes you even wetter. You’d take anything he gives you. “You’re such a good girl, you know that right?” he questions, and your chest heaves. Winter’s cock twitches against you, and you so desperately want him inside you. But there’s nothing you want more than to go relieve yourself.
His metal hand comes up to your face, and you think he’s going to lovingly hold you. You absolutely adore it when he strokes your cheeks. The Soldat’s thumb touches the soft yet slightly sweaty skin of your face and moves back and forth. Chills run down your spine, and you smile into his touch. He suddenly pulls his hand away, and he strikes you roughly. You let out a cry as your skin stings and prickles from the hit.
He does it again and again until your tears soak his hand. Your cheek is practically numb from the pain. You can feel his cock leaking with cum, and you know that he’s going to fuck you, just like you want him to. “Did you forget your manners?” Winter harshly questions, and you quickly shake your head. “T- Thank you, Master,” you whisper to him, and he smiles.
“Master… Can I please go to the bathroom? Please, it hurts,” you beg to him, but he just shakes his head. “P- Please, Master? I’ll be a good girl, I promise!” you plead to him as your tears run down your face even quicker. He ignores your cries for relief, and he instead slams you onto the bed. Your mind is a mess as he combs on top of you, and the aches you have only get stronger.
The hand that was slapping some sense into you finds a new home on your stomach, right above your swollen bladder. He pushes down on your stomach slightly, and you kick your legs. “Shh, none of that, no, stop it,” he shushes, and you try your hardest to not let go right there and then. “Master knows what you need, okay? And right now, you need my cock, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and you sob.
The hand on your throat moves to his cock, and he grabs his thick base. The veins on the side throb with need, and in one thrust, he bottoms out inside you. You barely have the time to register what’s just happened. The painful stretch of his cock radiates throughout your core, and you dig your nails into the scarred skin of your palms. His tip nudges against your g-spot, and you coat his cock with your wetness.
Winter is buried inside you to the hilt, filling you up to the brim. His swollen, heavy balls rest against your ass, and you both try to get used to the connection. The painful stretch dulls down to an exquisite pleasure, and Winter loves the way your tight cunt gets used to his thick cock. He’s splitting you in two, but he simply does not care. His hand returns back to your throat, and this time, he squeezes the sides of your neck even tighter.
Winter pulls his cock out until his fat tip is the only thing resting inside of your pussy. He slams back into you roughly, and you let out a cry. Your jaw falls slack as the Soldat begins to fuck into your relentlessly. His balls slap against your ass, and your loud, short-lived moans fill the cell that you’ve grown to love. “Fucking hell, кролик, your pussy feels so good,” he growls, slamming into you even harder.
Your tits bounce with every movement he makes. The pleasure sears through your body as Winter hammers against your poor g-spot with each thrust he makes. “Master, please, I need to go really badly,” you beg to him as he continues to fuck you. He shakes his head in objection before pushing down on your stomach even harder. You let out a wail and try to squirm away, but you only worsen things for yourself.
“No, you don’t, кролик. The only thing you need is my cock,” the Soldat tells you, and you upsettingly toss your head back. “No, Master, please, I don’t wanna make a mess,” you reason with him, but he just doesn't seem to want to listen. “I know that, кролик, but you need to listen to me, okay? You don’t need to go; you just need me,” he growls lowly, and you can feel him pushing harder on your bladder.
“No- Wait, Master, please stop pushing on me,” you implore to him as a moan follows your words. Your silky, wet cunt hugs his cock as the tingly feeling in your bladder becomes stronger. You want to cross your legs and stop it from growing, but you can’t. Pressure builds up in your core, and you’re not sure if you’re going to come or if you’re going to make a mess and humiliate yourself.
“Let go, мой тупой ребенок, I know you want to so badly. You can make a mess, do it,” Winter urges, and you shake your head. “No, Master, please stop it,” you cry to him, but he only fucks you harder. One specific thrust hits your cervix, and you yell out in pain before even realizing what’s happened. Warmth trickles down your thighs and onto his cock. You let out a wail as humiliation blossoms from your soul.
Though there’s nobody else watching, you’re still embarrassed. And that wicked smirk on Winter’s face does nothing to help you out. The sound of it makes your back sweat, and you want the ground to open up and take you home. Your urine wets the sheets beneath you, and your tears wet your face. “God, look at you. You finally got what you wanted, and here you are, crying like a fucking brat. You’re so ungrateful. Do you even deserve my cum?” he questions with disgust on his tongue.
You struggle to nod, but you do it anyway. The last thing you need is to have your Master upset with you. “‘M sorry, Master, please forgive me,” you plead to him. You continue to relieve yourself, and he continues to fuck you despite the mess you’re making in his shaft. “Такой грязный, глупый малыш. Ты такой жалкий, ты же знаешь это, да?” he questions even though you only know one simple word of Russian. You moan loudly as you slowly stop making a mess and begin to feel your orgasm building up.
“Aw, are you gonna come, кролик?” Winter asks you in a condescending tone, one that makes you even wetter. The lewd sounds that come from your pussy as just as humiliating as what you’ve just done, but you don’t care. You’re too busy getting fucked stupid. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my cum; watch it leak out of you. You always do look prettier when you’re filled up with my cum,” he moans as his thrusts grow sloppy.
“Master, ‘m gonna c- come,” you whimper to him, laying in your own piss. “Go ahead, шлюха, come on my cock. You already made a mess on me twice, might as well do it for the third time,” Winter growls, moving the hand that lays on your stomach. He grabs your hips roughly and pulls you closer towards his cock. Hot flames lick at your abdomen as you hit your climax, seeing stars in your vision.
Your reality is warped as you can barely make out the look on Winter’s face. Darkness takes over your vision in the same manner as the clouds would take over the skies on those hot summer days. They would hide the pretty sun for a few minutes, and then they’d leave eventually. Your pussy clamps down on his cock tightly as you coat him with your juices, making him moan.
You wail loudly as you clench around him, making him groan. “Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” he asks without waiting for an answer. You nod as he fucks you through your orgasm, not even caring about how overstimulated you are. His cock slips in and out of you with ease and his thrusts begin to grow sloppy. “Tell me how much you want my cum,” he demands, fucking you even slower.
“I- I want your cum really badly, Master. I need it so badly; please fill me up with your cum!” you politely beg to you as you come down from your much-needed high. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up so nicely, кролик, you’re gonna beg me to fuck you again,” Winter husks as his balls tighten up. A string of Russian words leave his mouth, and you have to assume that it’s all foul language.
Warm, white ropes of cum paint your walls as he pushes deep inside your cunt while coming. Winter’s blue eyes squeeze shut, and you both moan at the feeling. He fills you up just like he promised, and you bite down on your lips. Everything has dried, and you feel disgusted, so you try to focus on the way his cum pumps inside you. His cock stays inside you, but he doesn’t soften at all, and you know what that means. Winter falls on top of your sticky chest with a sigh, and tears sting your eyes.
Though he says you need him, you wonder if that’s really true.
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Angel of Paradis
Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader
Warnings: Spoilers from Season 4. Mentions of gun violence, blood, death
A/N: Now I know EP8 is only the beginning of the end but goddamn it hurts!! I love potato girl and losing her just tore me to bits. So here, take this. Its my way of coping I guess..
Levi is pissed off. From the start, he disliked the plan but it wasn't like Eren gave you all much of a choice. So the moment the kid got on the airship, he was welcomed with one of the captain's infamous kicks. The cockpit wall quakes with the impact and Hange sighs, shooting you a look. "I think you need to get out there and make sure Levi doesn't kill Eren, Y/n." She says exasperatedly and you nod, rising from your seat next to Onyankopon.
"I'll be right back." You say and she flashes you a knowing grin, shaking her head slightly. Even the commander knows you're the only one who could reign in the Levi Ackerman.
You see Levi on the corner glaring at Eren as he was being tied up. You sigh heavily, seeing Eren steaming as he heals. Jaw probably unhinged from the captain's kick. You sat beside him on the bench and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his face clean from dirt and blood.
"Y/n-san." He greets you monotonously and you gave him a kind smile. "Hey, kid." You greet back, tucking loose strands of his now long hair behind his ear.
Your heart aches at the sight. He used to have so much fire, had the same will to fight for humanity that you only ever saw in your mentor, Erwin. Now all you see is ember of pure hatred and cold blooded need for revenge. "I'm glad you're okay." You murmur. Eren's blank stare softens for a second and a small smile hints the corner of his mouth. "Glad to see you too, Lieutenant." He says quietly and out of the corner of your eyes, you see Levi roll his eyes and make a disgruntled sound as he turns around.
You walk up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Levi meets your gaze with his dull gray ones for a second and sighs, his expression softening too. At this you smile a little and say, "We still have a long battle to fight ahead of us, Captain. Things might not have gone smoothly, but we won today." You remind him and as if proving your point, right on the other side of the ship you hear the soldiers celebrate as they reunite.
"You're right." He agrees. Levi then takes a deep breath and grabs the hand you placed on his shoulder so he can bring it to his face. He turns his head and placed a chaste kiss on your palm. Your heart flutters at the gesture. It isn't grand but was still something you couldn't quite get used to. You two never declared your love for one another, never really had the luxury of time or chance to do so, but small acts like this was enough to let you know that your presence provided him the calm he sorely needs. And that was all you want. Be his peace in this war.
"I'm going to check if the rest of the squad made it back up." You tell him, grazing your thumb on his lower lip and he reluctantly lets you go. "Be back as soon as you can. Meeting will start as soon as this fucking monkey heals enough." He says, cold glare flashing at the other Jaeger who is a pile of steam still laying on the ground. "Okay, I'll just check on Lima's squad. They're the last ones to be picked up supposedly." Levi nods again and watches you leave before turning to talk to Yelena.
You smile past Floch and the other soldiers who are weeping, hugging and making their tributes for those whom had fallen in battle. You then saw three of the soldiers you've grown close with through the years. They were huddled in the corner, sharing a hug.
You hear Jean say in protest, "Dont hug people with that lump ass iron gear on.", while shrugging off Connie's arm. You chuckle at this and tackled him back to the embrace. "Shut the hell up, Jean. I would take Connie's armored hugs any day!" To which the trio whines out, " Lieutenant Y/l/n!!" when you squished them tight.
Although the new gear designed by Hange was in deed not made for hugging, you four relaxed in the uncomfortable embrace. Grounded by the fact that you all made it safe despite the battle you had just gone through. Connie and Sasha smile up at you while Jean tries to still look annoyed, although the softness in his eyes says otherwise.
The soldiers left below start coming in and the cheering just grows even louder. You didn't have the heart to stop them because you yourself are quite happy that today was a success despite some casualties. Now, you have the War Hammer titan as well and were able to destroy the fleet. Now, the Eldians' chance stands higher against this damn war.
"Did you hear that just now?"
Sasha asks out of the blue and you turn to her in wonder. Honestly you couldn't hear anything but the soldiers celebrating. But out of the lot of you, you know Sasha's sense of hearing is far superior than all of you combined. So you take a step back from the crowd and actually looked around.
"Hey, quiet down!!"Jean yells over the chanting but Floch shouts, "Make some noise! Victory!!!" And was echoed by the rest as they embraced and pumped their fists in the air.
"Hey!" Jean tries again only to be pulled by Connie to the side to ask, "Isn't Lobov-san still out there?"
"No, I think he came aboard." Jean says thoughtfully and this was when something didn't sit quite right with you. Commander Lobov is a man that is hard to miss. And with his dedication to this mission to make up for his years being a useless garrison, he would be amongst the soldiers cheering the loudest for the said victory.
Your instincts has never failed you before and its the very reason why you are so good at your job and able to survive this long. But sometimes, you wish that your instincts aren't always right because you always perceive danger. And right now, every fiber of your being is telling you something is fucking wrong.
That if you were to look out the airship right now, you'll probably see the commander lifeless.
Or worse, an enemy may have made its way up to the ship.
Your blood runs cold for a split second before you acted purely out of instinct. You shove Sasha to the side, dreading as you head for the airship's side door and at the exact moment.. someone aboards.
Your gaze met the kid's muddy brown ones. It was determined, filled with fury and you saw that there isn't any trace of hesitation as her finger pulls the trigger. You knew you didn't stand a chance judging by look on her face and her sure aim on your torso. The word of warning you want to let out was caught in your throat as she fires.
You remember seeing those crazed brown eyes and then the ceiling of the airship the next. The sensation of what can only be compared to fire piercing your skin spreads through your chest and insides like molten metal. You hear the indistinct noise of the soldiers' voices grow louder yet muffled at the same time around you.
From happy cheers to manic, hysterical screaming.
You couldn't catch your breath at first and you aren't sure from which. Was it from falling flat on your back? Or was it the searing pain that made tears leak from your eyes?
And then above the chaos, you hear your three closest comrades call your name in unison.
"Lieutenant Y/n, hey!!!" Connie's frantic voice shrill through the limited space of the ship. "Hang in there, hey!" You feel him rattle you, placing his rough calloused hand against your cheek. Jean's panic stricken face comes to your field of vision and you whimper, "A kid." You gasp. "In the airship."
"Bandages! Now! We need to stop the bleeding!" Jean commands shakily and the rest of the soldiers that aren't capturing the two intruders scramble to get the med kit and the captain.
"Y/n-san, please hold on until we make it to the island!!" Connie pleads but hopelessness crawls his veins as he sees your blood flood the wooden floors.
"Keep him safe." You whisper out to nobody. The captain in mind. Your eye lids grow heavy but you didn't want to close them. No. You can't die. You promised him.
"Don't you dare die on me, Y/l/n." His voice echoes in your mind, compelling you to keep breathing despite how excruciating it feels.
Sasha who was frozen at first, snapped out of her shock as she hears Connie's voice call your name out of sheer panic when your eyes fall close. She then runs to meet the soldier carrying the bandages and was at your side in an instant. With trembling hands, Sasha tries with all her might to wrap you up and stop the bleeding.
"No, no, no, no!!" She starts sobbing while watching the bandage turn red, your gushing blood seeping through no matter how tight she puts the wrap around you. "Y/n-san, no, you can't leave us like this." Sasha hiccups, wiping her tears hastily before grabbing your now cold clammy hand and pressing it to her face. "Please!" She cries, eyes falling close.
If you hadn't pushed her, if you didn't step in her place, it would have been her that got shot. Guilt rakes through her as she watches you desperately fight for your life.
You can feel yourself drifting and you felt helpless. You then meet Sasha's, Jean's and then Connie's gaze, muttering with your remaining strength, "Protect him." And it was no request but an order.
Jean stumbles away, his hands going over his ears, unable to stand your labored breaths and Connie and Sasha's whimpering. Jean felt like hurling when Floch turned the kids to him. The other responsible for you being on the brink of death.
But to those two kids, they are the enemies who wreck havoc to their hometown. Floch wanted to kill them and throw them out but what good would that do? Would taking their lives save yours? And knowing you, who practically treat soldiers like them like your kids even though you were just a few years older than them, you would be disappointed in him at the mere thought of hurting these kids.
Jean can almost hear your angelic voice, "They're just children." You would say. So with a vexed expression and heavy turmoil growing within him, he ties them up and led them to where the captain and commander are.
Jean swallows hard when the captain's cold gaze met his and asks, "Who are these kids?"
By the looks of it, he still does not know.
"They killed Lobov-san and used his gear to come aboard." A lump forms in his throat, suddenly can no longer meet the captain's gaze. "A-and this one here, she.. shot Lieutenant Y/l/n."
Levi's eyes widen. Did he just hear Jean correctly? You? Shot? You were with him just minutes ago. No, how is that possible?-
"Captain, I-I don't think she'll make it." He continues, voice faltering. The grievance in Jean's face make Levi's blood run cold. He stumbles forward a bit as Armin and Mikasa run past him but he seemed frozen in his tracks.
You got hurt but you'll pull through this. You always have. You promised him. And you are one of the toughest people he knows.
Levi tries to convince himself as he glared back at Zeke. He tries to distract himself from the cold fear of losing you with the blinding rage he feels for the Beast Titan wielder. But then, the door swings open again and Levi felt something terribly wrong right away.
And when Connie appears with tears sliding down his face and says,
"Y/n-san.. is dead."
Levi's entire world shifts.
Everyone was shellshocked for a moment. Because how could you be gone just like that? When you were just with them just minutes ago providing comfort to all of them? Passing by and giving them a wave of peace and calmness like the angel that you are.
Hange wobbles, her knees growing weak and its as if someone had punched her in the chest. The pain reminiscent as the day she watched Moblit vanish before her eyes. You were her right hand woman. Her confidant.
Eren's head hung in disbelief. His mind clouded by your kind smile just earlier and telling him you're actually glad to see him. Him. The monster who had just devastated a whole town and killed probably thousands of people. He thought that by now, he'd have gotten used to losing the people around him but losing you is gutting him. Its was like losing family. A sister.
"Connie.. did Y/n-san have any last words?" He asks mindlessly, wanting to know what your last thoughts were. Connie blinks through his tears and his eyes drifts to the captain, whose face was undreadable and knuckles threatening to split open at how tightly his balled fists are clenched.
"She said.. 'Protect him.'" Connie mutters and Levi's facade breaks.
The mob of weeping soldiers parted as the captain staggers to the back of the ship where you lay. Armin and Mikasa were still curled up beside you, their faces red and puffy from wailing. Both of them reluctantly stood up and stepped away as he walks closer. His gaze was still trained on the ground as he puts one foot in front of the other.
He shudders and stop midstep as his foot steps on the crimson stained wood. Before he knows it, he falls on his knees with a thud. Your pale hand comes into his field of vision and he takes a deep shakey breath as he reaches for it. His eyes darts everywhere but your face. The bandage on your middle, the boots on your feet that he had his fair share of shinning as his token of appreciation for you making his morning teas, the emblem of the Wings of Freedom embedded on your breast plate.
Your hand felt cold and stiff against his. A stark contast of the warmth it exuded on his cheek just moments ago.
"Y/n?" He croaks.
Suddenly his breathing shallows as the deafening silence stretches on. He can still smell you but can no longer feel you although you're right fucking there. Levi wanted this to some fucked up nightmare. But then, as he steels his nerves and finally looked at your face, his heart shatters.
Your hair is uncharacteristically dishevelled, e/c eyes lifeless, pupils middilated and your mouth parted ever so slightly.
Levi pulls you in his arms frantically, plethora of would have been and should have been anchoring his heart into a sea of regret.
He should have never let you out the damn door.
He should have held you tighter.
He should have you talked to you longer.
He should have told you.. he loves you.
He never even got to tell you.
Levi's face crumples, face reddening before a resentful yell erupts from him. The soldiers wince at the sound. It was pure agony and it pierces through each and everyone of them, bringing the lot of them back to tears if they ever stopped in the first place.
The entire flight back to Paradis, Levi held you the way he wished he did while you were still with him.
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black mamba | i.midoriya
♡ pairing: izuku midoriya x fem!reader.
♡ word count: 10.8K
♡ rating: mature, 18+, mdni.
♡ genre: villain!au, angst, smut.
♡ summary: with criminals on the rise, destruction sweeping the city and an easy recon mission gone wrong you find yourself at the merciless hands of japan’s greatest villain threat— only to find the person behind it all, was someone you’d lost a long time ago.
♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy smut, ( characters aged up to early twenties ), HEAVY!dark content, dub-con, heavy!knife play, heavy!blood play, forced breeding!kink, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, kids ), fingering ( female receiving ), bondage, degrading, handjobs, tummy bulges, manipulation, carving, cheating, some yandre themes, mentions of violence, mentions of death.
♡ author’s note(s): hi all!! i’m in another collab!! this is probably my darkest creation yet but i was super excited for this, so i hope you all enjoy my contribution to the bnharem villain/hero swap!au collab please check out the masterlist and all amazing works from the other creators !! big thanks to my love @jirou-s for the concept of mister villain!deku he would not be who he is without her <3 ( peep the tats i edited onto deku for this, it’s important ).
♡ masterlist | requests | kofi
‘Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.’
‘Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?’
‘Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.’
‘One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.’
it’s too loud. the volume, it's too loud.
is the first thing you think as wisps of consciousness return to you and your body struggles to come to. everything hurts, there’s a dull ache in the back of your head, warm liquid running down your neck and the news report is too fucking loud— static cutting through the factual, yet panic laced voice on the tv. the fuzzy noise rings in garishly in your ear and it’s driving you fucking insane, forcing you grit your teeth in irritation and worsening your splitting headache.
you reach out to grab the remote in order to turn the tv off— curse out the news reporter and head to bed but when you lift your arm there’s resistance, you can’t move. you try again, tugging this time only to be met with a sharp sting to your wrist as if rope is cutting into your skin. your eyes snap open, bewildered as you glance down to find both of your arms bound the rests of a chair. promptly kicking your feet you find that your ankles are tied together too— you look around and realise your location doesn’t match a single memory in your brain.
it’s dark except for low neon green lighting, smells like blood and damp— there’s a dripping sound coming from the ceiling that merges with the light hum of technology you’ve never seen before and the increasingly worried news reports flashing across the screen. breaking news, go home, stay safe, breaking news— national emergency.
you’re not at home, suddenly remembering you were never there to begin with. panic rises in your chest as you frantically begin to tug on your restraints in a desperate attempt to escape— all of your hero training for these situations flying out of your brain. you need to get back out there, you need to help people, you need to help him.
the last thing you remember is the attack.
yourself and bakugou had been in a strategy meeting, joined by your mentors at the agencies you were semi-pros at. your mentor, hawks, had explained that there was increasing activity occurring across most of the major cities in japan from an uprising crime syndicate known as the doku janome group. translating to ‘eye of the vipers’. they had some crazy plan, starting with small and seemingly harmless attacks like robberies and hijackings in random areas to raise panic and confusion amongst the public, but recently the members of the doku janome had been getting out of hand.
no one knew where the group came from or what their main goal was and little intel could be pulled from the members in custody. all that the heroes and public safety commission knew was that the group was divided into smaller divisions going by species of snake— their leader supposedly holding the name ‘black mamba’. the second most venomous snake in the world.
you and bakugou were put on strategy by your mentors— being the most respected and top semi pro heroes at your respective agencies. yours at hawks’ and katsuki at endeavour’s. it wouldn’t be the first time you’d teamed up for a job, you remember the excitement in the blonde’s eyes while you read through the brief— you felt the same, being trusted with such a big mission by top heroes.
that was until the sirens blared across the city, your pagers and contacts ringing off the hook declaring a state of urgency. there was an attack on an elementary school for those with gifted quirks— children’s lives were on the line, endangered by those of the doku janome with rumours of a bomb threat catching fast.
every hero who could be of some help was called out to minimise to situation on top of the smaller attacks that had begun to progress. you suit up with bakugou, riding in a van directly from hawks’ agency to the scene— your heart broke upon arrival, half the school already in flames and your fellow heroes and old classmates struggling to hold back enemy lines. bakugou snapped you out of it, giving you clear instructions. head in, look for survivors and take down anyone you see— he would help with hostiles and regaining control of the situation.
he’d sent you off with a trusting look— you were capable of a recon especially with your quirk, it should have been easy. yourself and the other heroes could have turned this around and it looked like you had. you almost had that group of kids out of the gymnasium and to safety, you could hear the sounds of fighting dying down outside. you almost had it.
but the last thing you remember is that voice, katsuki’s voice screaming at you to get down before the building shattered and shook— blown up from the inside.
you tug at your binding with more urgency, pulling so hard that the rope burns marks into your wrists as you attempt to make an escape. it hurts so bad, but you need to get out, need to make sure that everyone outside is okay. that bakugou’s okay.
“oh! you’re awake!” a voice beams from deep within the shadows. you can just about make out a figure lurking in the darkness, but with your head swimming from blood loss and exhaustion taking over— you can barely use your hero training to work out their build and what it will take to bring them down. “i wouldn’t do that if i were you, you could get hurt.”
with furrowed brows and an unsteady heart rate— you pull again, searching for the direction the voice is coming from. “why did you tie me up if you didn’t want me to hurt myself?” you croak with an unimpressed chuckle, not realising how dry your throat had been. “who are you? why did you bring me here?”
there’s a jolt of metal somewhere, as if the figure is stepping down from something and you start to work the ropes faster. “so many questions, you’ve always been a talkative one, kitten.” they speak again with an air of uncomfortable familiarity, skirting around the answers they have yet to give you but you can tell that they’ve come closer.
“who are you?” you demand again, weaker this time as the throbbing in the back of your head grows stronger and stronger, the taste of iron flooding your mouth— you’re tired from blood loss and straining, you know that now and maybe that’s what they want too.
“awh, you don’t remember me?”
the voice taunts you, striking fear right into your chest. this, this was someone you knew. you try to think back to all the dates you’ve ever been on, all the weird partners and obsessive fan’s you’d given a chance to. the ones you’d laughed about with katsuki, brushing them off as no more than a minor annoyance. you should have known, all it takes is one little thing to push someone like that off the edge, to push them into doing something insane— like kidnapping you.
it’s times like this that you wished for katsuki, he would know what to do. he wouldn’t let panic become scrawled across his face— you know that you have by the way your capture laughs at you— no. your blonde partner in crime would have busted his way out, kicked ass and gotten back to the scene. he was built for these situations, right down to his quirk and although yours ( a wind quirk ) wasn’t made for intimate capture situations like this— you knew you couldn’t just give up now.
you begin thrashing in your seat, kicking and tugging and screaming— hoping that the rope around your wrists and ankles grows loose. tears of pain sting in your eyes as the rough material finally breaks your skin but you don’t give up, even if it hurts.
the voice seems to have had enough of your screaming, rushing forward to grab your wrist and slam it back down against the arm of the chair— pulling you out of your daze as they snarl. “i thought i told you not to fuckin’ do that.” they warn, fingernails digging into the flesh of your arm.
“p-please,” you whimper, forcing your tired eyes to snap open and reveal the identity of your kidnapper. he remains crouched in front of your chair, sickly focused on the bruising and fresh wounds that taint the skin on your arms. it’s only when your breath hitches in realisation that they look up and meet your eye, making your whole world spin.
his freckled face lights up at the mention of his name, gleeful chuckle slipping past his lips and you shake. this can’t be real, he can’t be real. “so you do remember me, yn,” you can feel the smile in deku’s voice, he acts as if nothing happens and it makes you feel sick to the stomach. “with that head injury, it was only a matter of time before you remembered.”
this izuku midoriya looks much different to the one you remember, while his freckled cheeks remain there’s a scar that cuts across the right and ascends up through his eye— leaving it reddish in colour beside the green. speaking of, the colour of his beautiful green eyes has turned dark and murky, as if he holds dark secrets or has blood on his hands. his hair is shaved into a sharp undercut with the patterns of a snake styled into the side. there are snake bite piercings along his lips too. before you knew him, izuku’s body had been littered with scars, they were still evident but covered with new, harsher ones that you could see, only by the sheer luck of his crisp open white shirt.
looking closer, you notice thick stripes of black in laced with each scar. you realise, they’re snakes. there’s more than one, black mambas to be more specific. the tails of the snakes start along his face and jaw, twirling around deku’s neck and shoulders and twisting down the muscles on his arms. several of the smaller inked snakes dance across the scars on his hands and intertwine with them like rope, ending with their heads on his finger tips. the larger of his snake tattoos start’s on just underneath his left ear, printed across his face— the tail and body of the black mamba snake twisting around his neck in a choke old until it’s head rests on the very underside of his jaw— large and black and prominent as if it’s about to jump out and bite you.
you feel as though you’re about to throw up ss realisation hits you like a heavy tonne of bricks. “it-it’s you, isn’t it?” you bite back your tears and overwhelming emotions to look at him, you want believe against your better judgement. blinking rapidly as if this is all a dream but you can tell everything is real, just like his touch on your arm. “y-you’re the black mamba, the leader of the doku janome?”
izuku doesn’t give you a verbal response, but a physical one instead. his inked and scarred hand squeezes your injured wrist once before he pulls it up to his mouth, running his tongue over the fangs that line it before licking the blood from your wound. you grimace at the feeling, more tears building up in your eyes— this isn’t like him, this isn’t your izuku. this is a killer, a psychopath, a crime boss and now he’s got you locked up and right where he’s wants you.
“this doesn’t make any sense, you’re supposed to be dead,” you start to hiccup, a mixture of fear and shock rippling your exhausted body. the injury on your head needs to be taken care of and you’re sure that you have others somewhere from the explosion— but you can’t pass out now, not when the man you’d thought you’d lost is sitting right in front of you. “why are you doing this? attacking innocent people, izu?”
the old pet name slips out before you can catch it and causes deku to pull back from cleaning your wounded arm to offer you a somewhat happy, yet sinister smirk. you can't miss the blood smeared against his pretty lips. the ones you used to kiss. “to see the downfall of hero society, of course, why else, yn?” he explains with a knowing lilt to his tone. you should have known, izuku was smart— he would have never revealed his entire plan to you, a hero no less. heck he had been one once too. it’s what killed him. he knew everything there was to know about the hero life, the tactics they used to take down villains. he would have been a fool to tell you anything about his plans.
the newfound villain watches the clogs turn in your head, before returning to nosing up your arm, and sucking on smaller cuts you’d received from the blast as well. you had always been his smart girl.
you shift uncomfortably, tears finally beginning to stream down your face and burn at your cheeks as you squirm away but you’re held down by the ropes binding you and izuku’s weight on your lap as his tall frame leans over you. “a-at least tell me about the school, why the school, izuku? please…” you resort to begging, nodding over to the static news report as scenes of the blast become plastered on the screen. you don’t even want to read the death toll rolling across the bottom of it.
“simple,” izuku says, lips pulling back into another smirk— revealing his pearly white teeth and fangs. one of his hands comes up to play with a torn piece of your hero costume and you suddenly wish it wasn’t as revealing as it were. midoriya leans forward as if he's about to kiss you, so you look away, unsure if you can stomach his actions or his answer. “you love children, kitten, they were all you ever talked about. and if i was going to get you back i needed a way to lure you out. the school was just that.”
“you’re sick,” you say, spitting in his face to get him to back off as anger twists on your own. you couldn’t believe that he would use children against you— the memories of the many late nights and hours you would spend with him, talking about your future family, your future life together rushing to the front of your mind. you had made plans with izuku, hell, you were engaged to him until that fateful day. “th-they were kids. they didn’t do anything wrong,”
“gifted kids grow up wanting to be heroes, they feed back into the system. you want to solve the problem of hero society? you cut it off from the source.” hurt flashes across deku’s features as he pulls back, tongue swiping over your spit that paints them. the expression is quickly covered with a snarl before scowls at yoy and slams his hands down on your arm rests in a way that makes you jump. “but if you want someone to blame for their deaths? look at your fuckin’ self. i just needed you on site, i knew you would come if kids were involved. wasn’t even gonna blow the place up—but you just had to bring kacchan didn’t you? and planting that bomb was the only way to get you apart. i never even liked him, you know, all those years— did you even miss me?”
you’re beyond the point of emotions at this point, the whiplash of his words hitting you from all different directions. the children, the death toll, bakugou, him. it’s all too much, overwhelming you from the inside out. “o-of course i missed you,” you snivel, losing control of your tears. your head hurts, your eyes are puffy but izuku looks down at you with sickening affection that makes you lose it even more. you hate him. but you loved him once and now he’s here. “i loved you, i was engaged to you izu...but i-i watched you die, i watched them put your body in the ground…please, why are you doing this?”
your voice is pleading, although you have no idea why you’d asked him that again. maybe it was because seeing him forced you to relive all the moments you had spent missing him—crying over him. your deku had died on a simple, easy mission.
it was early on in your semi-pro hero career and the three of you, yourself, bakugou and deku were sent on a simple rescue mission. something went wrong, to this day you still don’t know what it was but the building had collapsed with your fiancé still inside. you searched for days for his body, refusing to give up on him, refusing to believe that your love had given his life for something that was supposed to be so fucking easy.
bakugou stayed with you, for months, searched for leads— any bit of intel to give you hope and to bring your childhood friend home but that day when they found him, izuku’s body, you both grieved and broke down together, crying in each other’s arms. you’d spent the next year building each other back up through your grief, slowly finding solace in one another, slowly falling in love.
but you had grieved for nothing, for izuku midoriya was sitting before you— heart beating but blackened with cruelty and an evilness you never knew he was capable of.
“how could you have missed me while you moved on with another man?” izuku uses the pads of his thumbs to brush away salty tears— cocking his head up at you almost innocently. “if you hadn’t cosied up to bakugou you would have known that i lived, survived crushed under rubble while all i thought about was you.” you screw your eyes shut as he recounts his pain, the feeling of his bones breaking beneath the crumbled pieces of the building you’d left him in. “if i had known you were with kacchan, i would have let myself die right then and there. i lived for you, but you betrayed me.”
you shake your head, trying to block out the euphoric tone in deku’s voice along with the rising death count on the news. this your fault. is the hidden message written behind his cool emerald eyes. they died because of you. i died because of you. his hands say as they start to map out your body. you should have looked for me.
what kind of hero lets innocent people die?
you whimper out in pain, hurt— you’re not even sure, as the black mamba’s hands start to knead at your thighs and your plush body as if it were his to touch again. “that’s not fair… we mourned you…” you defend weakly, your will to resist izuku’s touches beginning to wear off. “we...we mourned you, izu—“
something snaps in the villain and in seconds, he goes from tenderly wiping your tears to gripping your throat between strong, murderous fingers while the other grabs your cheeks and squishes them together. you hate the flare of heat that shoots to your core as deku holds you like this, especially when he’s got blood on his hands, put blood on yours. you feel nauseous even as desire starts to crawl up your spine.
deku squeezes hard on your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him while he towers above you—his once soft green eyes carrying a terrifying glare. “did you mourn me while he fucked you?” izuku growls huskily, his own lust dancing across his features. “while katsuki bakugou fucked you in our bed while i was ‘seven feet under’?” you bite back a fearful moan, pushing your thighs together as the snakes around your throat squeeze. “while he held your throat like this you like this didn’t he, and you liked it. you liked his hands on you like this, kitten. you have no idea how much that hurt me, you never let me choke you out like this.”
“y-you were different then,” you say breathlessly, as a pleasant burning feeling fills your lungs from the lack of air. you feel dizzy, from the lack of oxygen or your head injury you, don’t know— but it’s clouding your judgement in the worst of ways. “p-please izu—“
his face twists with satisfaction, watching you writhe in your restraints, acting desperately on your need for a taste of air. “please what? beggin’ me to fuck you now that i’ve changed?” you shake your head, fighting off your body’s urges as izuku’s hand frees your cheeks only to trail down your body— gripping the flesh of your chest when he reaches it. “bet you’re glad the old me died, huh kitten? now i can fuck you like you want, get rid of the feel of kacchan on your body and make it mine again…”
shamefully, you don’t pull away when the villain presses his lips to yours— shutting away his jewelled eyes as while he works against you. his lips are familiar and nostalgic, reminding you of the nights you would spend sneaking off to love and touch each other back at U.A, back when your izuku was still alive. he tastes different and the same, of blood and sweet cinnamon— he feels old and new, soft yet feverish, as if he’d thought about this for days, weeks or even years.
your face scrunches up at the thought, how long had deku been planning the attack on the school? was it really all to lure you into his trap or did he really lead the doku janome group as the black mamba himself? deku doesn’t let you resist him, however, pulling you closer to himself by the throat and sliding his wet tongue against your lips. with a squeeze to your airway, you gasp, giving him entrance to your hot, wet mouth.
with your tongues now dancing in a vicious, sloppy battle— izuku’s snake tattooed hands slither down your body and grope at your breasts from over your spandex hero suit. your back arches into his palms as they twist and tug at your freshly hardened nipples, making you tremble with heat. “you’re shaking, sweet kitty, did you miss my hands on you that bad?” deku sighs hungrily, against your lips, biting on the lower one and tugging towards him. “i’ve gotten better with them, haven’t i?”
you don’t want to imagine how, but he had gotten better. the hand on your throat pushes up into your baby hairs on the nape of your neck— forcing your head back and the buzz of the news report fills your ears once more. his lips ascend to your throat, dragging a trail of his saliva with him as he bites and sucks at your flesh. “mhm, y-you have izu—“ you agree with him hesitantly, hating the tremor in your voice— he seems pleased, kissing over one of the bruises he paints into your skin with sharpened teeth.
“better than him, better than kacchan?” he breathes hotly against you— puffs of air sending shivers down your spine and your body reacts to him just as it alway had deku made love to you. it twitches with want, a pulse of craving right down to your cunt, you grow embarrassingly wet as he man-handles you the way he likes— biting down on your weak spots and pinching at your covered flesh. you hate how he still knows so much about your body, rubbing and touching you in the ways that made you howl just for him when you were still together.
you should despise how good it feels, how prideful izuku looks when you moan just right. you should be saving those noises for your boyfriend, you should be thinking of bakugo.
“n-no,” you stammer pushing your thighs together and screwing your eyes shut to drown out the sounds of your hitching breath while deku marks up your skin— grunting against you. “i love him deku— please,”
green eyes you once found safety in, become murky with anger and a haze full of lust— he no longer looks at you with a chubby cheeked smile and adoration, but instead you become a piece of meat to be fucked and claimed once again. “shouldn’t have fucking said that, kitten,” deku lowers his voice to a nasty, dirty growl, a noise you didn’t even know he was capable of making and something shifts in the air. his hand snakes between your legs and forcefully pushes them open until the sting of the rope prevents him from going any further.
“i’m the one you love, don’t play fuckin’ dumb with me angel,” the villain says darkly, voice laced with lust and greed. you watch with watery, dreadful eyes as he lets go of your chest to tear a while in the crotch of your hero costume— exposing your glistening pussy to his starved, blood lusted lined eyes. he takes the tattered fabric, bringing it to his nose and taking a sniff of the soiled material. “y’gonna pretend like you don’t love me while your pussy aches for me, just like that?”
“i don’t l-love you...not anymore, you’re not him… you’re sick,” you bite back, letting out a strained hiss as the cold air hits your sex. you’re wetter than you’d like to admit— the fear you feel your life held in the hands of your ex lover turned killer turning you on greater than anything you’ve ever experienced. but your cheeks burn with heat under your skin, deku knows that he can still turn you on, grins down at you maliciously as your hole starts spasming around nothing.
a moment passes, before a skills hand comes down hard on your cunt— you squeak with shock, jolting in the chair while the rope around your wrists cuts deliciously into your skin. the black mamba himself lets out a delirious chuckle and revels in the way you twitch and gush from a simple spank. “tell me you want me, tell me you need me,” your needy juices hit the floor with a crude slap to the floor, slicking up your thighs much to izuku’s pleasure.
“n-no,” you deny, earning yourself another spank to your sex, only this time deku presses a finger to your puffy clit— drawing a lazy circle into it until your eyes are crossing and your thighs spread wider on their own.
“say it, you needy bitch. look at how you drip for me, what would the heroes say if they saw you messy for a villain like me?” he’s taunting you, eyes half lidded watching as your hips up and chase his hand. you’re desperate to be fucked no matter how much you deny it, otherwise your body wouldn’t react to him in the day it does. with your eyes dilating and your skin that’s exposed flushed with a sweltering heat that radiates off of you.
you shake your head when izuku’s tattooed fingers fall to your clit again, rolling it between decorated tips of his fingers until your words of denial fall into pretty little moans and you’re rolling your hips up into the palm of his hand. “i-don’t...they w-won’t—!“ you mewl out as izuku spreads your pussy lips open, letting a globule of spit drip between his lips and land directly on your folds. light headed from the sight, or from blood loss you don’t know, you decide there’s no point in lying and denying your body of its needs, giving into the hero turned villain before you. “i—fuck— i need you, fingers— anything, izuku, i need you—!”
he wastes no time from there, forcing two of his prettily inked digits past your puckered hole and deep into your silken cunt. a throaty moan escapes you as he breached your walls with their thickness— immediately curling them and watching your face for a reaction. fuck, you look so good like this, hot cunt sucking him in while your mouth hangs open wife for him to claim. deku thinks about how many times kacchan must have gotten to see you like this while he played dead and built up his empire, how many times the blonde got to watch the strings of your drool break away from the roof of your mouth and your tongue. it makes him see red, makes him livid and without warning izuku begins thrusting his fingers into your sopping heat at a brutal pace— not even letting you adjust to the stretch of them against you.
“forgot how good your tight lil cunny looks stretching over my fingers kitten, you’re still so tight,” the villain whines, gaze flickering down to where he pumps himself inside of you. his fingertips map out the ridges of your walls and grinding his palm against your swollen nub—causing the neurones in your brain to fire and dopamine to dance across it. “my little hero slut who gets fucked every night by her precious boyfriend is still just as tight as the day i left her…i outta fuck you open, finish the job off for your precious suki, hm?”
you want to say no, tell deku that he’s wrong and that katsuki is more than enough for you but his hands work you so well, they know all the spots that make you twitch and squirm in your seat as his fingers press down on your gummy walls and drive your pussy to leak all over his scarred arms and hands. those same walls selfishly keep deku locked in, making sweet and sticky sounds as those fingers of push and pull against your sex. you can barely breathe, suffocated by euphoria and you know that if your hands were free you’d be tugging him into a kiss right now.
you should loathe the way you’re acting, being unfaithful to your boyfriend and fucking the man who got you into this mess— but you can’t help it, not when midoriya hangs over you in a breathless manner— groaning and moaning along with you. “fuck me open izu— ‘m your hero slut, s’what I deserve,” you whinge pathetically, tears stinging in your eyes from just how good it feels to have your pussy pounded this rough.
izuku grins as you succumb to him, twisting his fingers inside you in search for your g-spot. “you’re such a good girl, kitten, doesn’t it feel good to be fucked proper, just like this?” you squeeze around him at the naughty words, lifting your hips as the euphoria washes over your sweaty body in waves. “you like bein’ talked to like you’re a whore don’t you?— fuck, my cock’s s’hard just watching you like this, watching your juicy pussy leak for me…” he babbles, free hand shooting to his dress pants to palm is hard on.
“wan’ see, please let me see yer cock,” slurring over the drool on your tongue, your arch your back and let your head roll to the side as pleasure mixes with the painful burn of the ropes. izuku pulls his fingers from your tight heat, even though you protests and rubs the length of a single digit along your slit to capture some of your sweet nectar against it
he misses being inside your cunt already, the way your hot sticky hole held him captive inside of you dizzying his brain— it had been so long since he got to feel you and you were giving into him so easily, like a dirty little bitch in heat. if showing you how painfully hard he was for you was going to keep you this passive and well behaved for the villain, then he was going to give it to you. deku uses his cleaner hand to unbutton his pants, only half pulling them down along with his underwear to give enough room for his cock to spring free.
your brain breaks at the sight of his girth, you can’t even think straight and it’s not even touched you yet. deku had always been big, lengthy too— his tip is red and swollen from the lack of touch, oozing fat beads of clear, sticky precum from its centre. the veins on his cock are prominent, so thick that you can’t help but wonder if you’ll be able to feel them when he finally sinks that thing inside of you. you want to reach out and grab him, jerk him off until he’s the one panting like a bitch— but izuku had already made it clear that he was the one in charge. your eyes light up while he takes his cock in his hand soiled with your slick, slowly but surely pumping it to full mast as his other hand walks across the meat of your bare thigh— back to your sloppy slit.
“oooh, you greedy little kitten, starin’ at my cock like that, you wanted to see it didn’t you? every inch of it is goin’ inside you,” izuku purrs, voice thick with lust as he begins to fist his length— hand warm with your slick. you along to his words, chest heaving and becoming tight in your hero suit before his other hand starts to circle your glistening hole once again. “don’t even fuckin’ care about your fellow heroes on fightin’ for their lives, so long as you get that naughty cunt filled— you’re ready to go, yeah you are...such a naughty little hero….”
the weight of his words pass over your head, the whole city is fighting off your ex-lover’s men but you’re too busy with his fingers between his thighs and his cock dribbling over your lap. you should be filled with guilt, but instead you’re bubbling over with desire— choking on your own saliva as deku’s face flushes from the way he rubs against your thighs.
“izuku—!” you squeal in such a precious way when he shoves his fingers right back into your hole, bearing the pads down hard against your pleasure spot while he jerks himself off to your little noises. “g-god, please...feel’s so fuckin’ good izu…’m naughty, need more— more—“
you can’t even register what you’re saying, don’t even know what you’re begging for while izuku works your cunt in wondrous ways— lewd sounds of your sloppy sexes fill the air, the villain pumping both of you fast and hard before he slots his mouth against yours. he laughs breathily into the heat of your mouth while you beg for more of him— sliding his tongue across yours in a messy kiss to shut you up. “keep that filthy mouth open kitten, have a gift for you since you beg me so nice,” he sighs, tapping his cock against your trembling thighs. deku let’s the spit gather across his tongue before spewing it onto your own, the exchange is nasty— fuelled by the moans and pants you force into one another’s mouths. “such a dirty little hero slut, god— fuckin’ hell...could cream against your fuckin’ thigh from this, paint you white and mark you mine.”
“do it,” you press, eyes crossing and tongue laying flat against your cherry bitten lips. “wan’ your cum izu, wanna cum with you!”
“‘course you do, you’re my perfect little girl, you wanna please this man? this villain stretchin’ you open on his fingers while all of those people die,” guilt twists in your stomach at his words but you feel so fucking turned on, gushing around his tattooed fingers, the heads of the snakes plunging deep inside your sobbing, pathetic sex. you’re a dirty, poor excuse for a hero— listening to deku’s pretty laments as the death toll on the tv gets higher and higher. you don’t even think about bakugou, and how he could be amongst those you gave their lives in the explosion— no, your darling little head is too focused on the way izuku scissors his fingers deep in your hole— forcing it open with each push and pull of his digits.
you’re so close, getting off to the slapping sounds of deku’s dick as he leaks more and more precum— so much so that it drools onto the skin of your doughy thighs and makes them shine. “fuck, mhmph, izu—! izuku, gonna cum, gonna fucking cum—please,”
“yeah? that so? filthy fucking kitty,” he asks, unable to catch his own breath while he ruts into his fist to the same pace as his fingers moving in and out of your slick entrance. “fuck—shit, you nasty lil hero, you wanna cum? yeah? then cum for me, show me what a slut you can be...gonna cum too, mess up these sweet, fuckin’ thighs—shit,” the villain mumbles, tripping over his words as he slaps his cock against your thighs several times, precum flying across them.
your nails dig into the arm rests of the chair while you rut with wanton into the palm of izuku’s hand, letting it bump your clit with each thrust of his digits against your pleasure spot— you’re almost there, practically teetering off the edge about to fall into the blissful sea of orgasm before deku rips his hand away from your cunt and uses his soiled hand to rub a palm over the top of his dick. you scream as your release is torn away from you, mouth running dry while you fixate on the way deku pleasures himself.
“oops, dirty girl—“ deku mocks you while dry heave, body twitching while the ebb of your high subsided into painful want. “you don’t get to cum, not until i get to get my mouth on that leaky cunny of yours,” you writhe at his words, beginning to blubber from not being able to cum but being forced to watch as the green haired crime boss palms himself to an earth shattering high. “y-yeah, yeah...c-cumming— ohmygod you messy fucking slut,”
deku cums hard, thick ropes of his milky seed painting your skin and staining your hero costume as his body shakes violently— colours burst behind his scarred eye and its companion, practically rolling into the back of his skull as the coil in his belly snaps and he jerks himself to release all over you. he throws his head back in a haughty groan to reveal the large snake head on the underside of his jaw. you cry out, that should have been your orgasm— should have been you cumming all over him but there’s nothing you can do about it. your ex lover twitches as he comes down, using his trembling hand to scoop up some of his seed and bring it to your lips on two of his tattooed fingers.
he taps against your lips once, smearing a few drops of his release against them before you open up. you suck on his digits diligently, moaning at the taste of your slick and his potent cum on your tongue. deku’s release is like venom, sweet and sickly— and you’d slowly die without it, yet the way he tastes is addicting and you don’t think you could ever get enough.
“the way you suck on me, fuck kitten,” midoriya hums, watching in awe as you lick the cum from the snake heads in his fingers— tracing over the thick black ink. his hazy eyes meet yours in a heated stare and he offers you a crazy, brilliant smile. “gonna finish you off with my mouth, wanna spell my name against your pussy when you cum.”
the black mamba pulls your mouth off of his hand before withdrawing from your body completely. you whine at the loss— head swimming from the lust and from your injuries as he steps into the shadows briefly, suddenly on high alert when the villain returns with a glimmering weapon.
“i-is that knife?” you question, blood freezing in your veins. you’d used them in sex with bakugou before, admittedly while you were trying out fearplay…but izuku was a villain, a killler. who knew what he’d do to you with you bound up and a weapon like that in his hands?
“yes,” he answers with a sly grin, reaching your body in three short stride, the hairs on the nape of your neck standing on end, he’s crazy— you almost forget that, so caught up in chasing your high that your brain forgoes the fact that izuku midoriya is now a killer. “be still for me kitten, wouldn’t want to cut you before we get started.” you couldn’t move even if you tried, staying still in your place as izuku positions the knife at the breast of your hero costume before slicing right through it with practiced ease— your heart hammers in your rib cage as the knife just barely grazes your soft, blemished skin. “see, that wasn’t so bad, now was it, sweet girl. unless… you really did want to get cut…”
he’s insane. batshit crazy and yet your pussy still throbs for him.
deku doesn’t wait for an answer, instead pushing away the ruined material of your hero costume to latch onto your now exposed tits— sucking the right nipple into his hot mouth while pressing the cool blade against the neglected one. his canines bite down harshly on your chest— practically breaking skin and making you wince, the villain’s tongue slides over the small wound and simpers at the taste of iron spreading across his tongue.
“izu, that hurts…” you whine, squirming to get away from sharp teeth and blade but the more you move, the more he presses the weapon into your left breast.
izuku looks up, content and pacified expression sitting lightly on his freckled face. his face shines with his own drool as he smiles from ear to ear, now twisting his knife down your abdomen— the tip grazing your skin. “does it look like i give fuck?” the knife reaches its final destination on the swell of your doughy thigh, pressing down on the meat and izuku salivates at the sight. “you like the possibility of pain, can tell by the way this sweet pussy leaks, how it smells…”
he drops his hands to your knees, curiously tracing your battle scars there before separating them— creating a pathway to your core. then he’s pushing his nose right up against your puffy clit, painfully swollen with your pent up release. your pupils dilate, body heaving in anticipation of being given a chance to cum...at this point you don’t care how he does it, who does it, you just need to let go. “god, wanna cut you up here so bad,” deku squeals in a high pitch, the sound vibrating against your cunt. the villain starts shimmying his head between your thighs so that his green hair tickles them and his nose bumps against your clit again. “would you like that kitten? if i made you bleed...oh you’d taste so so good,”
“don’... don’t want it,”
you shake your head no, pathetic gasp breaching the damp air of the lair you seem to be in— echoing against the news report that still floods the screen. “no? oh kitten...please, i need to mark you...slice you up somewhere and let everyone know you’re mine.” deku grunts gluttonously against your pussy lips, sucking on them as he goes.
“m-my legs…there...” you cry out, needing more.
you don’t want to be marked, don’t want the scars as of a reminder of what you let him do to you— you don’t want there to be evidence of midoriya’s touch on you when you go back to bakugou but the way he pleads against your body and possessively snarls into your heat makes it so much harder to resist him. you feel the villain smirk against your sex before he pulls back, shoving your legs together and dragging the knife across the tops of your thighs, just underneath your tummy.
slowly but surely, the sharp edge of the knife pierces the area and you whimper as dull pain spreads underneath the skin. “such a good little kitten, be still for me yeah? it’ll hurt you less sweet girl,” deku soothes you in a tenderness you didn’t know he was still capable of— reminding you of how he used to be. he drags the knife in the shape of letters, pressing shallowly into your skin until his name is written across the tops of your thighs— bleeding into the space between your legs and mixing with his cum there.
“fuck, you’re so fucking pretty, bleedin’ fer me like this,” izuku loses it over the sight of the crimson swelling up from your fresh wounds—diving right in to slurp it up from the chicken scratch i carved into your flesh. “you want me to eat you? yeah?” then he’s forcing your legs open as far as the rope will allow him to, letting the liquid drip against your sex before he jumps right back in. his hot tongue runs laps up and down the length of your slit, feasting on the taste of your arousal and your blood and his cum— fuck he’s getting dizzy, desperately trying to pull more slick from your hole, more whines from between your cute lips.
“hurts s’good, s’good izu,” you slur avidly, grinding your hips to down on the villain’s face as his tongue slips inside of you— poking around your plush walls as if he was being starved. you won’t last long, still sensitive and on the edge from teasing and izuku knows that, eating out your creamy cunt with burning abrupt, fast strokes of his tongue before he uses it to spell is name, drawing each letter into your sex.
it’s so obscene, sluice and unholy sounds of your precious parts filling the space between your feverish bodies. you know that they come from the disgustingly sexy mix of your bodily fluids, and the thought of them staining the villain’s face makes your back arch. he drops the knife, bringing his sticky snake inked hands to your calves to keep you spread wide— fingertips searing bruises into your weak body. everything he does makes the world sprin, brings you closer and closer to your high. you’re sure you look a mess too, the world’s most dangerous man spoiling you between your legs— fully clothed except for pants that hang low on his hips while your hair is mussed from wriggling and your tattered hero costume leaves you naked.
izuku’s tongue slips out of your hole briefly, making you clench your fists and writhe with ache and protest. “nonono—cm’back, izuku please i’m s’close…” you say, feeling woozy— practically tearing up at the loss. sitting back on his haunches, deku watches you thrash and struggle while your pussy lays exposed to the cool air, your hole spasms— it misses him, the heat of his mouth and the flick of his tongue and it’s not long before his head is buried back between your pillowy thighs, his tongue focused on abusing your overstimulated clit. you’re so fucking precious when you need him, taste so addicting in his mouth.
“mmhph, you taste like honey, honey…” the crime boss laments into your seeping cunt pervertedly. your upper body freezes, gaze shooting down to meet his eyes lined with a thirst for you. the reddish, green and scarred one is filled with blood lust. “isn’t that what kacchan calls you?” his tone is mocking, pushing you closer and closer to release— your puckered hole squeezes around nothing, a warning of your impending orgasm and you can’t resist its calling. you can’t stop yourself cumming for another man while bakugou flashes across your mind. deku moans deliriously, flicking the tip of his tongue against your swollen nub to get you closer. “you’re gonna cum for me. right now.” he demands.
his authoritative tone vibrating against your core is what sends you hurtling over the edge— blinding orgasm rendering your body limp and useless as you convulse against the villain’s sweltering mouth. you gush with a squeal against freckled cheeks, staining them with your sticky arousal but he doesn’t let up— even as he pulls his face from your cunt. deku stands, replacing his tongue with his pretty fingers and pinches, twirls the digits against your clit while his mouth finds yours in a messy, nasty kiss.
you’re forced to taste your cum and your blood as you suck on feverishly on his tongue— izuku’s face twisting with pleasure as you moan into his mouth. groggily, you whisper. “wan’ta taste,”
“open up,” izuku commands, pulling back from your bitten raw as he uses his thumb to push down your lower one. he spits harshly into your mouth, grinning at you so wide you don’t know what shines brighter. his smile or his face glistening with evidence of your release. “fuck, that’s a good kitten,” the villain swears as he begins to slide his cock up and down your puffy folds, eyes crossing as he teases you both.
you hold his spit on your tongue, letting him see you pant before he reaches down for the knife and uses it to tap your chin. “swallow for me, hero slut.”
you do as you’re told, gulping down his gift to you, brain hazy. it tastes of every sin you’ve committed tonight, and you barely register midoriya cutting right through the rope that binds your ankles together.
the room spins as deku lifts your shaking legs to settle on his slender hips, tapping your cheeks with the blade. the cool metal captures your attention. “come back to me, naughty kitten, need you awake for when you take my cock.” you can see deku’s taught and muscled body ripple while he adjusts himself between your legs— his black mamba tattoos continuing further down his arms, neck and shoulders and some coiling around his waist.
you mewl needily, impatiently and pull his hips closer by your weak legs. “izuku,” he needs to fuck you soon. your hips rut up in attempt to take his cock, already hard and oozing precum against your clit. deku taps it heavily against your entrance a few times, the wet sound causing you both to moan out.
his head hangs low while his toned body shudders— his tattooed hands coming up to rest against the head of your chair as he slowly pushes his cockhead past your clenching walls. the chair rocks backwards as deku fucks into you, soaking his cock in your warm velvet pussy. he pulls out a few times, testing your restraint as he withholds your pleasure before slamming into you at full force— filling you up to the brim with dick.
your gazes lock as deku begins to build up momentum inside you, pushing his girth so deep that you feel your walls stretch to accommodate him, even as his tip brushes against your cervix. you grip the arm chairs so tight, feeling faint at every pulse of the villain inside you. “been s’long since i—“ izuku heaves, desire crackling across his brain while he buries himself to the heat within your welcoming walls, you’re so slick and sloppy— blood and cum making it easier for him to sink into you. “—shit kitten, you’re so tight for me…been so long since i fucked this cunt, did you miss me? huh?”
“mm’izu, zuzu…” you gasp, fluttering around him.
you’re so cute, so blissed out impaled on him. god, he missed taking you like this— seeing you underneath him with not a thought between your eyes that glaze over. you always looked prettiest like this for deku, always for him. but then he thinks back to kacchan, and how he’d been inside you ever since deku had gone away and it makes him mad, makes him see red. you were his little doll, his fuckslut, and he was going to remind you of what you’d been missing out on.
with you in a daze, the villain lifts a hand from the back of your chair— using it to drag the knife across your cheek as you lay there, complacent for him. then, in one swift movement, he cuts deep into your cheek to bring you out of your cockhaze and watches as your pupils dilate and your primal prey instincts telling you to run. leaning down to lick the warm, blood red from your face, deku draws his hips back from your heat and starts a brutal unforgiving pace. your juices splash back, copious amounts spewing from your tightness as fear flashes through to body, dripping down izuku’s cock and ruining his dress pants.
“can’t have you losing your mind on me little hero, don’t you wanna see yourself get wrecked on my cock?” deku asks you, pressing the sharp edge of the knife to your throat. his bicoloured eyes are delusional with rancorous intent— enjoying every fearful whimper that bubbles on your lips. but your pussy gives it away, eagerly clamping down on his length and barely letting him escape your hole as he pounds away at you with vigor. “that’s right, good girl—good kitten, stay awake for me while i fuck you, kay?”
you feel like prey being hunted by a poisonous snake, growing drunk and becoming insane on the heat of your body’s pressed against one another— izuku’s abs press against your tummy, forcing you to feel the bulge of his cock as it churns up your wet, syrupy insides. he’s so fucking big, he fills you up just right, melding you into the shape of his dick so you’ll never feel pleasure from anyone else ever again. are you sick for wanting that? having your body ruined and scarred for when you return to your worried boyfriend?
you’re disgusting but you feel so good.
with the knife pressed deliciously against the column of your throat, your pussy throbs with fear making izuku choke on a moan as he gyrates his hips— bearing down hard on your sweet spot. your eyes roll back again and drool clings to your tongue when your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. you need more, so much more. “zuzu— fuck, feel s’good...but i—i’m…” you drawl in an almost pornographic way, humping back against the villain’s cock and start to lose your mind.
“what kitten? say it. speak.” he coos dangerously, delight spreading across your features as you break over his fat cock. you’re clenching around him like crazy, choking out his cock and you’ve never felt so good. better than the memories of him fucking you after dark, better than his hand around him when he thought about you for all those years. your gummy walls take him in so nicely, keeping him cushioned your fucking wetness every time he thrusts further and further up your pussy.
the pleasure is sweltering, burning you from the inside out— replacing all traces of guilt in your blood stream. “‘m feelin’ dizzy zuzu— can’t… s’too much…”
the villain tuts, gaze honing in on the way your body sways in and out of concuousness— all except for your tight fucking cunt. “yeah? feelin’ dizzy baby, must be from all that blood loss…” he nicks your throat with the knife, pushing his lips into a mocking pout as you tears flood your doe eyes from the pain. “shit—kitten you practically suffocate when you get cut up like that,”
a mop of green hair drops to your neck, sucking the iron liquid off of your throat before deku trails back up to your lips, forcing his against you while he shoves his cock into you over and over again. the chair creaks and you’re scared it might break, but you’re more scared of the knife that lays between both of your throats— it’s tantalizing how izuku could end either of you at any moment. you clench down on him at the thought, your nectar drips onto his cock and he wails hungrily into your hot mouth. “y’scared baby?” he slurs lazily over your sloppy kiss, causing your cunt to throb feverishly, “scared i might cut’cha, kill us both?”
you nod, throwing your head back with voracious cry, hot tears seeping down your chubby cheeks— you’re fucking terrified but so turned on that it makes you spew slick everywhere, hitting the floor with a nasty splash. “so scared zuzu, can’t hold it— fucking need you to make me cum,” you look back down at him, seeing izuku’s face contort with ecstasy and determination to make you feel it all. “zuzu! please…”
you can feel the rough material of his dress pants against the backs of your thighs as he pushes your legs further up his torso— his biceps flooded with black mamba tattoos flex, balls clapping against your clit louder and louder while he folds you in half and loses control of his thrusts, lewd sounds bouncing off the walls. “you’re such a dirty hero kitten, so fucking frightened you might cum— shit, you better fuckin’ hold it…” deku grunts, gaze falling to where your bodies join, watching as his cock slips in and out of you.
“izuku i can’t, please jus’ let me cum,” you beg, losing your breath while his girth pressed against your g-spot— once he finds it, izuku makes sure to plunge into your sticky pussy over and over, abusing it and taking you higher and higher.
“fine, you wanna cum? you’ll do it with me, with this knife right up against you, my dick deep in this slutty hero cunt,” he pants, spouting any words that come to mind. deku grits his teeth while your heart rate sky rockets, as he forces the switch blade kissing your bruising neck. you tear your up, adrenaline mixing with your pleasure high so you don’t know what’s up or what’s down. “you’re cryin’ kitten? up here and down between these naughty thighs, you like being frightened on my cock that much? fuck, you’re dirty.”
you don’t think you can last that much longer, especially with deku’s languid thrusts hitting deep against your pleasure spot. it’s mounting up inside of you, making your tummy feel warm. “yes, i like it,” you hiccup mawkishly, face hot. “izuku ‘m so close, so so close—“
eyes fluttering shut, you let the villain overwhelm all of your senses— the cold blade, the weighty girth stretching you out, the nasty sounds of your sweaty bodies slapping against one another. deku draws loose shapes with the blade against your neck. you’re choking his cock, taking it it so deep, deku trembles above you, his sweat dripping between your breasts like your pussy does on him. “say you love me, i’ll let you cum if you say it, kitten.”
there’s that word again, love. you don’t love him, you love bakugou... but you’re so high on your approaching orgasm that the words slip out with little resistance. “luh you zu, p-please... can i cum now?” you whine, clenching hard to keep your release in until you’re given permission.
“cum for me sweet girl, let me feel you make a mess on my cock.” the villain says hoarsely, straining to keep his own cool as his hips begin to jerk and lose their rhythm. you finally let go, orgasm washing over you at long last— the room starts to blur and your legs shake around izuku’s waist while you cream on his thick cock and paint his lower body with your messy release.
falling limp while you come down from cloud nine, deku continues his assault on your sloppy cunt, his dirty talk mellowed out by the sound of the news report on the tv— reality finally coming back to you. 40 confirmed fatalities, 12 confirmed missing. the report reads, your name amongst the jumbled words you hear underneath deku’s moaning hot in your ear and your skin slapping together as he uses your body.
suddenly you become hyper aware of the situation, you’ve fucked your ex— the crime boss you’ve been tracking down for months while your boyfriend searches for you in thick rubble, not knowing if you’re dead or alive. he’s right back where you were all those years ago, when your izuku died. afraid and alone.
what’s wrong with you? what have you done?
“g-gonna cum in your tight little hole kitten—fuuck, shit… gonna send you back to kacchan with you full of my milk...” deku mewls from above you, but he sounds distant as static fills your ears. you begin to cry, regret and dread coursing heavily through your bloodstream, while you attempt to push the villain off of you with your legs. “oh nono baby, you think you get to use me to cum and leave me high and dry? no, ‘m gonna fucking breed you…”
you shake your head, angry tears streaming down your face while izuku takes advantage of your weak body, getting off to your sobs and upset doe eyes. “don’t be selfish, yn. heroes are supposed to help people, aren’t they?”
“p-please izuku, i-i did everythin’ you asked…please wait…” you hiccup, hearing bakugou’s name in the report again. you’d let him cum, anywhere but inside you, that last thing you owe to bakugou.
you try to squirm away, being reminded of the sinful acts you’ve committed tonight but deku’s hold on you is strong— your body jolting up the chair as he chases his release, hips stuttering as he tumbles into it. “cummin’, fuckin’ cummin,” he sighs blissfully, pounding away at your cunt while his release flows in thick waves, coating your inner walls and thighs with white milky seed. his cum is potent, sticking to your cunt with as izuku’s thrusts fall into slow grinds, pushing it further inside you. “oops,” he adds, mockingly.
there’s so much of his cum that your tummy bulges and when he pulls out of you with a pant, the mix of your arousals hits the floor with a crude splat— evidence of your infidelity committed alongside the villain reaping havoc on your city.
deku doesn’t even bother to clean you up, fixing himself back into his pants while you lay there spent and full of his cum, running down your thighs and pooling in the seat of your chair. your body hurts everywhere, your thighs, wrists, back of your neck....you want to cry, bakugou didn’t deserve this, nor did the other heroes or those children at the school and all you can do is listen to the news report as it recounts the scene over and over again.
“w-where are you going?” you croak out to izuku while he buttons his shirt, locking away the thick black ink that’s printed against his torso. “are you leaving?”
deku kisses your forehead before heading towards the door, running a hand through his green undercut as he offers you a sinister smile. “i have some business to take care of kitten, sit tight, i’ll be back for you.” his words are laced with venom, creating a sickly feeling in your belly as he opens the door. “i’ll never let you out of my sight for too long again.”
dread fills your lungs, wraps around your heart and pulses through your body as you watch deku go— not missing the tortured screams of katsuki bakugou reverberating through the halls.
the mad man, the villain, izuku midoriya had fucked you hard while the world you loved crumbled and your sweet, caring boyfriend katsuki bakugou had been made to watch in the next room over... all along.
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between the lines | lee minho
𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔
✑ Late fines, shared lockers, and a missing love letter:
In which a frantic search for an overdue library book leads to you finding other things that are...long overdue.
✑ PAIRING: student librarian!minho x bookworm!reader
✑ GENRE: retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, slight enemies-to-lovers shenanigans
✑ WORD COUNT: 9.7k
✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying themes, skz are all around the same age. mc is insecure and a bit of a valentine's day grinch. minho is whipped but too hardheaded to admit it. also, an embarrassing amount of classic literature/pablo neruda references.
Ah, Valentine’s Day.
Call it the most romantic day of the year if you will, but in the treacherous hallways of Levanter High, it meant a minefield of hormonal couples, crushed chocolate boxes, and supermarket rose bouquets. Clutching your backpack with a grimace, you narrowly dodged a pigtailed cheerleader as she leapt into her jock boyfriend’s waiting arms. Turning into another hallway, you plugged your ears to block out a senior boy’s cold rejection of a freshman’s nervous love confession.
You finally caught sight of your locker and breathed a sigh of relief. Levanter High’s lockers were split in half lengthwise—one top row, and one bottom row. You dropped to a crouch to wrench yours open—you’d lost your lock a couple of weeks ago—trying to block out the early morning commotion as you rummaged for your English books.
“Hey, watch ou—”
The locker above yours opened with a screech, and you looked up just in time to see a pink avalanche of cards and chocolates raining down on your head in a painful, deafening crash. The student who had called out the warning was frozen with a comical look of shock on her face. You swore the entire hallway fell silent, blood rushing to your cheeks as you slowly raised your gaze at the person who had opened the locker.
Lee Hana—head cheerleader of Levanter’s pep squad, and in your humble opinion, the spawn of Satan herself.
“Ohmigosh,” she exclaimed, raising one hand to her mouth in mock horror, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”
The crowd around you was beginning to snicker and point, and you felt your face growing redder by the minute. “What are you doing here?” You asked tersely, motioning towards the locker above yours. “That’s not even your locker.”
Hana smiled and held up a small, glittery package. Oh. You didn’t have to look closer to know that the envelope was a love letter, elaborately tied to a box of expensive chocolates—the kind your parents would probably have to work overtime to afford. “My Valentine—for your locker buddy,” Hana replied matter-of-factly, then added, “Not that you would understand, hm? Since you’ve never received one yourself, and all.”
A smattering of laughs erupted from the crowd that was building around you. Biting back a retort, you looked down at all the other Valentine’s trinkets that had spilled around you. Of course—you should have gotten used to it by now. After all, your locker was right underneath the one that belonged to the student librarian, school heartthrob, and the absolute bane of your existence, Lee—
“Minho!” Hana exclaimed, and you looked up to see him shuffling through the crowd, his eyes briefly falling on yours. You immediately turned away as the pretty cheerleader skipped up to him, and shoved your books into your bag. Slamming your locker shut—twice, because Levanter’s damned lockers always jammed before shutting properly—you snatched up as many of Minho’s fallen Valentine’s Day trinkets as you could before shoving them back into the now-emptied top locker. The metal door was still swinging wide open. You’d overheard Minho complaining to the boy who always did the announcements—Han Jihyun? Han Jisung?—about how he kept losing his own lock. Both of you seemed to have a habit of misplacing things (not that you liked to admit to that similarity).
Out of the corner of your eye, Minho was still watching you over Hana’s shoulder, his lips tilted in a half-smile. Your gut twisted unpleasantly. Four years and counting—that was how long you’d ended up with a locker right under Minho’s.
“You’re so lucky!” Lia—your best friend—had gushed, while you had scoffed in utter disbelief.
“Oh, sure. Just my rotten luck.”
“Come on, y/n. Are you still hung up about that love letter from freshman year?”
Yes, you had thought sourly. “No way,” you had snapped, and Lia had giggled, unconvinced.
It wasn’t like you’d always had a personal vendetta against Minho. In fact, in ninth grade, you’d been head over heels for him, just like the rest of the student body—to the point where you’d even slipped a small love letter into his locker on Valentine’s Day, too. It had been one of those gaudy 99-cent corner-store cards, and you'd saved up your pocket money just to buy a matching pack of candy hearts. Then you’d spent the day with butterflies in your stomach, anxiously waiting nearby his locker to see his reaction.
But when he hadn’t shown up, you'd shrugged and begun heading home—and that was when you had caught sight of Minho, throwing all the love letters he’d received straight into the Dumpsters in the back parking lot.
Talk about a reality check.
As if that hadn't been traumatizing enough, you’d been forced to face him nearly every morning for the following three years. To make matters worse, being Minho’s involuntary locker mate also meant that all the girls—and guys, for that matter—saw you as little more than a stepping stone to him, always asking you to relay party invitations or trying to curry favour with you to get to him.
“We’re not close,” you’d insist to his persistent admirers every time, but it didn’t help. Minho, on the other hand, you thought bitterly, seemed to think he was too good for anyone—he didn’t even respond much to Hana’s advances, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no way he’d even look twice at you—you’d been firsthand witness to that. You finally gave up trying to clean up the fallen Valentines, and stood up with a sigh. Throwing him a death glare, you pushed past the crowd just as the bell rang and students began scurrying away.
What did it matter if Lee Hana was trying to get with Minho? If anything, they were a match made in heaven. Or hell. With a decided huff, you plopped yourself down at your desk just as your English teacher began class.
“We’re starting the poetry unit today! Remember, you’ll be writing a love poem of your own for the final project—so I suggest you all get started on reading!” You teacher had winked and clapped her hands excitedly while a collective groan had swept through your class. A few couples had nudged each other meaningfully, already promising to write their poems about each other, and you’d thrown up a little in your mouth.
Romance was a bit of a touchy subject for you— now, you didn’t hate the notion of love, per se, you’d just always been somewhat...wary of it. After watching your friends fall in and out of disastrous relationships and fleeting feelings from the sidelines too many times to count, your own defense mechanisms had skyrocketed, and now you found yourself trying not to roll your eyes at every piece of romantic writing you read. Still, this inexperience only made you more determined to get a head start on the topic— and so, once the last bell had rung, you made a beeline for the school library. You would tackle love the only way you knew how to—by hitting the books. Pushing open the door, you overheard Hana and her friends muttering in disappointment and immediately recoiled.
“You said he’d be in here!”
“Well, I thought I saw him! Let’s wait for a bit.”
You peeked over the librarian’s desk, and sure enough, it was vacant— save for a tray of half-shelved books and stamping cards. Maybe Minho left early today, you thought, shrugging. That’s a relief. Then you shook your head quickly. What’s it to me whether he’s here or not? You tried to ignore Hana’s disdainful glance at you, heading straight towards your favourite nook at the back of the library instead: a cozy alcove tucked behind the last row of shelves. With a deep sigh, you pulled out the first book of poetry your teacher had assigned—Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets—and sank into the bean bag chair.
‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May…’
A couple lines in, and the Englishman’s words were already making your head spin. You grimaced, massaging your temples. ‘A summer’s day?’ Seriously? You could swear you’d seen something less cheesy on a dollar store card. After a couple of pages, you could already feel your treacherous eyelids beginning to droop, fighting to stay awake as you tried to make sense of Shakespeare’s verses. But thy eternal summer...shall not fade...nor lose...possession…
“The library’s closing.”
You jolted awake, hands fumbling blindly before you could even force your eyes open. The library came into focus first—the lights had been dimmed, the flickering EXIT sign from the empty hallway casting a warm glow through the panelled window across the room. A dull headache still throbbed in your temples.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes groggily. You had to practically peel your cheek away from the Shakespeare book, fingers gingerly feeling the dent the cover had left in your cheek. “I-I’m so sorry, I must have—lost track of time studying.”
A familiar chuckle sent your heart plummeting to your stomach. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
When your eyes finally adjusted, your expression automatically soured into a glare.
“Now that’s more like it.” Smirking, Minho crossed his arms, leaning back on a bookshelf. He glanced down at the book in your lap—the book that you clearly hadn’t been studying. “Didn’t know you were one for Shakespeare.”
“I—” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not. His writing gives me a headache. It’s like it’s all in another language or something.”
Minho raised an eyebrow. “Old English. Why are you reading it, then?”
“We’re doing poetry in class—and our final project is to write an actual love poem, based on the poets we’ll study. Shakespeare was just first on the reading list, so…” you felt yourself trailing off, flustered. Why were you even bothering to explain this to Minho, who probably couldn’t care less? “Nevermind.”
You felt his piercing gaze on you as you shoved your books into your bag, glancing outside at the nearly emptied parking lot. If you squinted, you could spot a couple—Seo Changbin, judging by the male’s iconic leather jacket, and his lover—making out under the bleachers. You shook your head incredulously. Valentine’s Day. Love poems. Hormonal couples galore. It was like the universe was playing a long, cruel joke on you: Ha-ha, look who’s spending Valentine’s Day studying in the library alone.
Well, alone except for a student librarian with whom you had a mortifying history. Not much better. Eager to leave, you got to your feet, only to see Minho flipping through a smaller book he’d pulled off the shelf next to him. “If you want some real inspiration,” he began slowly, pushing up his glasses, “I’d suggest you start closer to our time period.”
You looked down at the book he was holding up, brow furrowing as you read the title out loud. “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Pablo Neruda.”
“The best Chilean poet of the 20th century,” he nodded. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving but this.’”
It took you a second to realise Minho was quoting a poem, and you were suddenly grateful that the dimly lit library hid the flush of red that had betrayed your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you mumbled, “That actually sounds...kind of pretty.”
He didn’t look up, but you thought you saw the corners of his mouth shoot up ever so slightly. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on you? Flipping through the book, Minho fished out a pad of sticky notes from his back pocket and marked a few pages. “Here. ‘The Song of Despair’...‘Tonight I Can Write’...‘Here I Love You.’ Those are good.” Clamping the book shut, he held it out towards you.
You almost thanked him, but the words faltered on your tongue as you took it from him suspiciously. “What’s with the sudden helpful attitude?”
He shrugged. “It’s my job.” You raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he smirked. “Consider it my apology for this morning, then.”
That left you at a real loss for words, and for the first time, you struggled to find a retort. “That’s...considerate of you, apologising on behalf of your girlfriend and all.”
“Hana’s not my girlfriend.”
You breathed a small laugh. “Soon-to-be, then. Don’t break her heart.”
Minho scoffed, bringing the book to the front desk and scrawling your name on the sign-out card. He stamped the dates, then held it out at you before glancing out the window. Dusk had fallen, the empty football field lit only by rows of flickering lampposts. “You can get home safe?”
“Screw off, Lee Minho.” You eyed him warily, shoving the book into your bag before practically running to the double doors. The strange atmosphere that had suddenly built up in the library felt terrifyingly foreign to you, and your first instinct was to be rid of it as soon as possible. In the hallway, you spotted a janitor dumping a bin into a trash bag. A familiar avalanche of pink envelopes and gifts caught your eye, and you felt a wave of humiliation. Just the memory of Minho throwing yours out—after reading it and having a good laugh, no doubt—made you want to ram your head into the lockers all over again. You’ve got no chance with him, y/n, you thought blearily. Right when you’d thought you’d finally come to terms with Minho’s brutal (albeit unintentional) rejection, here he was again: crashing back into your life like some...cat-eyed, pointy-nosed meteor.
“Oh, y/n! One more thing.”
You’d already had one foot out the front door when Minho called your name again, making you jerk your head back in surprise. Minho had his bag slung over one shoulder, a pile of books in his arms as he waved to get your attention. His smile looked almost...genuine in the warm shadows, his round glasses softening his usually sharp gaze. Despite yourself, you felt your heart skip a beat.
Then Minho made a wiping motion over his face and grinned. “You’ve got drool on your chin.”
Your face reddened, and you slammed the library door shut, earning a glare from the janitor down the hall. Smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead repeatedly, you stormed out of the school muttering curses under your breath. Typical Lee Minho.
To your surprise, you practically devoured the poems in less than a week, taken aback at how much you genuinely enjoyed them. It was the first time you didn’t find yourself cringing at romance—and sure enough, in a couple days’ time, you found yourself reluctantly standing back in front of the double doors of the school library once again.
Carefully, you craned your head to peep into the panelled window, scanning the room for Minho. As per usual, a gaggle of girls were huddled on the other side, blocking your view.
“Looking for someone?”
Flinching, you nearly tripped on Hana’s long legs as she came up beside you. Before you could respond, she fixed you with a withering look. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Little Miss Perfect.”
The cheerleader rolled her eyes, sneering. “Don’t act all innocent with me, you sneaky b—”
Sighing, you pushed open the doors before she could finish. Hana followed you into the library, still sputtering angrily. Her hand snatched your arm, French manicure digging painfully into your cardigan.
“The Valentines,” she hissed, and it finally clicked.
She’s talking about the love letters, you realized. The ones Minho throws out every year.
Gut twisting, you looked up to see all the other girls crossing their arms and looking back at you expectantly. “None of you...got a response?” You asked incredulously, already knowing the answer. This happened every year: Expectant admirers showered Minho’s locker with gifts, Minho wouldn’t even glance at them— and then, for some reason, you were left to take the blame. A twinge of annoyance shot through your chest.
“You stole them from his locker, didn’t you?” Hana continued accusingly, pupils shaking. “You sneaky, jealous bitch— of course you did.”
He threw them all out, you wanted to scream back at her, but the words wouldn’t budge from your tongue. Somehow, saying them out loud felt like tearing off the stitches of an old wound; a painful reminder of your personal humiliating memory. And—though you hated to admit it—a small part of you still didn’t have the heart to throw Minho under the bus just yet, even after all that he’d done.
Feeling defeated, you sighed and turned towards her. “Why would I want to do that?”
Hana scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls over one shoulder. “Oh, please. We all know you’ve had a massive one-sided crush on him since ninth grade.”
A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, the other girls’ snickers at your reaction drowning out any of your protests. “That’s not—”
“Not true? Then—is it mutual?” Hana sneered mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh. He wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of y—”
“Can I help you with anything?”
The small crowd fell silent as Minho appeared from one of the aisles, eyebrows raised slightly in his usual nonchalant manner. A chill of panic rushed down your spine, palms growing clammy with cold sweat. H-how much did he overhear? In your peripheral, Hana was practically batting her eyelashes at him, but Minho’s mild eyes were focused on yours expectantly.
“I—uh. Well,” you stammered eloquently, your entire body suddenly paralyzed. Hana’s cherry red lips were twisted in a smug smirk, clearly waiting for you to embarrass yourself. “The book,” you blurted, immediately rummaging for the poetry book in your bag and holding it out to him.
Minho took it from you, fingertips grazing yours slightly. They were surprisingly warm. “How’d you find it?”
“R-really good, actually.” Then, you hesitantly added, “I...like the way Neruda uses imagery—he’s precise without being plain, and artful without deviating too much into purple prose. I think I liked Tonight I Can Write the most— y’know, ‘Tonight I can write the saddest lines...’” You swallowed, then instantly began regretting having ever spoken. Great job, y/n, now you sound like a full-blown nerd.
But Minho nodded, his eyes gleaming. “‘I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me, too.’”
“That’s the second verse,” you muttered automatically, and his lips twitched.
“It’s one of my favourite lines.”
The other girls had begun to awkwardly shuffle out of the library, their absence easing your racing heart. With just a few mildly spoken words, you noted, Minho had managed to make you feel as though you had blocked out the rest of the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Hana glaring daggers at you, and the small smile dropped from your face.
“Do you need something?” Minho asked her blankly, his gaze trailing down to Hana’s hand, which was still painfully latched onto your arm. With a roll of her eyes, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the library.
As soon as she was gone, you breathed an audible sigh of relief. Minho was peeling the sticky notes off from the poetry book you’d returned, eyes still watching you intently. Giving him the side-eye, you deadpanned, “She’s pretty, you know. Maybe you should go talk to her sometime.”
There was a small smile on Minho’s lips. “Does she like Chilean poetry?”
You could only give a short—slightly too shaky for your liking—laugh in response, ruffling your own hair as you tried to calm your frazzled nerves. Don’t forget, y/n. One, that he’s out of your league. Two, how this was all his fault to begin with.
“Is that all you came here for?” Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts again, making you jump. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He finds this—me—amusing.
“Well…” you looked down at your feet, then grudgingly nodded at the poetry book you’d just returned. “Do you...have any other recommendations?”
Minho’s face broke into a shit-eating grin, and you bit back a groan. before your pride got the better of you and you changed your mind, he was already heading towards the back of the library, sliding books out as you struggled to keep with his pace. “First of all, Dickinson. Hit-or-miss, but you never know. Then there’s Sylvia Plath, some Emily Brontë…”
Before you knew it, you’d been whisked into a world of verse and metaphor, flying between numerous time periods and continents as you and Minho perused the shelves. Just like the time when you had accidentally fallen asleep in the library, the library seemed to grow cozier, quieter, more peaceful during moments like these, as if the entire world was holding still as you lost yourself in pages upon pages of books. Soon, you found yourself heading to the library nearly every day after school. Despite yourself, you found yourself looking forward to that sunset hour, the fleeting period where most students had left, and the entire library would glow warm as though it were blushing under the swathes of golden light. And in these same fleeting moments, you found your gaze lingering more and more on Minho—the way he would push his silver glasses on, furrowing his brow in concentration whenever he searched for a book, or run his long fingers over their worn spines whenever he was lost in thought—
“Like what you see?” With a flinch, you realised Minho had begun walking back towards you, a crooked smirk on his lips as he set a new pile of books down at the desk you were sat at.
“No!” You snapped, too quickly. “Just—spaced out for a bit. Too concentrated on the project.”
The smirk hadn’t budged from Minho’s face, and you resisted the urge to throw a copy of Emily Dickinson’s Selected Poems at his long, pointy nose. “Mm. You seem to be coming here a lot more often.”
“That’s because the due date is coming up.”
“No. I mean, you seem to be talking to me a lot more.”
You rolled your eyes, snatching a book from the top of his pile as you muttered, “Screw you, Lee Minho.”
His eyebrows shot up in wicked mischief. “You’re more than welcome to try.”
With a cry of exasperation—and surprise at having been heard—you hoisted your book bag onto the table, building a makeshift wall between the two of you.
You didn’t catch the way Minho’s laughter slowly faded as he rested his head on one hand thoughtfully, quietly watching you read. Your lips were pursed in concentration as you muttered your notes under your breath. Cute, he couldn’t help thinking.
Minho had always been good at memorizing things, but he couldn’t remember exactly when you’d begun disliking him so much. You had always intrigued him—what with the way your locker always seemed to be overflowing with books, or how you used to lend him your copy when he forgot his, back in ninth grade. That Valentine’s Day, four years ago, your name had been the only one he’d hoped to find as he rifled through the cards he’d received. But he’d come up empty, and so he’d thrown them all out. And for some reason, you’d been cold to him ever since.
Minho had assumed that you were probably annoyed with all the letters that would fall out of his locker and onto you, and so every year he tried his best to get rid of the Valentines as soon as possible. Nevertheless, you only seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with him.
And now here you were, right in front of him, four years later, and he still couldn’t bring himself to ask you why. Confrontation had never been his strong suit—his words always seemed to come out too blunt, too cold, too soon, and so he’d always avoided bringing it up with you again. Minho sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Written words—that is, books—had always been so much easier than people.
He did, however, remember when he’d started falling for you.
Tenth grade, literature studies. He’d begun arguing against your thesis during one of your presentations, and the two of you had ended up bickering the entire class—pulling out quotes from nearly every chapter of Pride and Prejudice before the class president had to intervene, and your teacher had sent you both to detention.
You had glared at him once, and he’d fallen head over heels.
These violent delights have violent ends, he’d mused in his head back then—Romeo and Juliet—and with the murderous stare Minho sometimes caught you fixing him with, he was willing to bet that you were wishing a violent end on him, too.
He couldn’t pen a love letter to save his life, either— and so, he resorted to pettily glaring at any admirer that approached your locker like Gandalf—you shall not pass—until they backed off. Minho didn’t think you would appreciate him revealing that, either. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his actions seemed—and like a poorly written plot twist, you had ended up stumbling back into his life again. Never in his life, however, did Minho think that Pablo Neruda would become his wingman. Glancing down at his portrait on the back cover of the book, Minho could almost imagine the Chilean poet pointing his pen threateningly: “Don’t screw this up.”
“Hey, Minho?” He snapped out of his thoughts to see you waving your hand at him from the other side of your book bag. “You were right. I don’t get any of Dickinson’s poems.”
Your words took a moment to register, Minho caught off-guard by the soft golden hour light illuminating your pretty features. You waved your hand in his face again, and he blinked, breath caught in his throat. Almost tripping over his tongue, he finally quipped, “How on earth are you passing AP English?”
You glowered and smacked his shoulder, the near-silent library ringing with Minho’s laughter once again.
With a week left to the deadline, you were planted at your desk in your room, the wastebasket littered with crumpled up half-sheets of notebook paper. To your dismay, none of the words seemed to be coming out the way you wanted them to. Gnawing the back of your pencil in frustration, you dumped the contents of your book bag onto the desk, and spotted your latest library book—100 Love Sonnets, by Pablo Neruda. Inexplicably, out of all the poets Minho had introduced to you, you always found yourself coming back to him.
Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, your fingers stopped at one titled Sonnet XVII. “I love you without knowing how,” your eyes scanned the verse curiously, “or when, or from where. I love you simply…”
It was the poem Minho had quoted that evening in the library, you realized, heart skipping a beat. “...without problems or pride / I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving / but this, in which there is no I or you / so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand / so intimate that when I fall asleep, your eyes close.”
With a sigh, you buried your head in your arms, lying face-down onto the desk. Maybe the reason why you instinctively disliked reading love poems so much was because of the sheer sincerity of them all. You envied their ability to put feelings into words—with unabashed, unapologetic ardour, and be celebrated for it, to boot. Eyes scanning the verses again, your mind wandered to the way Minho’s eyes had lit up as he’d explained the lines to you, his brow furrowed in focus.
At Levanter High, you had grown used to being pushed around and out of the spotlight. It was either the popular girls and their backhanded compliments, or the boys who spoke to you condescendingly just to a) get you to do their homework, or b) get in your pants. But Minho had always taken you seriously, albeit while driving you half-insane with his infuriating remarks. And as much as you hated to admit it, that same fiery look in his eyes whenever he got worked up—so different from his usual reserved facade in front of the teachers and swooning students—had always made your heart skip a beat. In tenth grade—back when he seemed to pick a fight with you nearly every English class until Bang Chan had to hold the two of you back from killing each other—you’d thought you’d successfully quashed your feelings for the mild-voiced, hazel-eyed librarian. Yet every time he spoke, he left you feeling vulnerable, disarmed, and you were back—though you refused to admit it—to square one.
“‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,’” you whispered, fingers tracing the words on the paper. Feeling a sudden surge—of confidence, or simply exasperation, you weren’t sure—you seized the pen and began scribbling on a new piece of paper. For years, you’d been afraid to face your feelings, terrified of the humiliation if Hana—or anyone at school—found out. But if getting them all out in one cheesy, hot mess of a love letter could give you some closure, you thought tensely, you were more than happy to oblige. You would write it all out under the guise of a love poem, and then it would never have to see the light of day again.
Words began coming to your head like a floodgate had been thrown wide open, and you began scrawling onto the page. “‘I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers,’” you quoted thoughtfully as you drafted your own poem. In a way, it felt cathartic—you could get all your feelings out, pass it off as an assignment, and never think about the forbidden fruit again. For all you knew, it was a win-win situation. The pen kept wobbling, ink spilling out haphazardly and skipping, but you relaxed slightly. Maybe this assignment wasn’t too bad, after all.
Head filled to the brim with poetry, you set the pen down and dozed off.
“You’re not coming to the football game?” Lia flashed puppy eyes at you, and you smacked her hand playfully, swiping a french fry from her plate.
“Lia, since when have I ever gone to one?” The two of you had dropped by the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe for a quick pick-me-up during lunch hour, but one smile from the cute waiter—Yang Jeongin, if you remembered his name correctly—had dazzled Lia into ordering an extra burger combo, complete with a plate of fries. “Sports and crowds—not my thing. And I have an English project due the next day.”
She pouted. “Oh, come on! Knowing you, you’ve probably already finished it by now.”
You grinned, thinking back to your love poem and fighting the urge to cringe. You’d read it the morning after, and it had taken every fibre in your being to hold yourself back from ripping it to shreds. Piercing, catlike eyes, you’d written in one line. Silver spectacles. Long fingers on dusty pages. Shuddering, you’d stuffed it into the Neruda book before banishing them both to your locker and going about your day. Love poems are supposed to be cheesy, y/n, suck it up. It’ll only be this one time. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone other than your teacher would ever read it.
When you dropped by the library after school, you spotted Hana’s familiar figure by one of the cubicles. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a laugh muted by the plexiglass windows, you saw that she was talking to a grinning Minho.
“Are you sure you’re not coming to the game on Thursday?” Hana was whining as you pushed open the doors to the library. She patted his arms playfully. “You could be on the football team if you wanted to, you know! Why don’t you try?”
He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not that quick on my feet.”
“Well, tell you what. They’re having a party at Hyunjin’s place right after—his parents are out of town. If you don’t feel like coming to the game, at least join us at the afterparty to loosen up a little—have a little fun.” She blew him a kiss and stood, throwing her purse over her shoulder and spotting you. You instinctively froze, bracing yourself for whatever slew of insults she had for you today, but all Hana did was beam and wave at you.
As she passed you by the door, she threw you a knowing wink. “Have fun on your little study date!”
Her words made your ears grow hot again, but to your surprise, there was no trace of venom in her voice — only a lighthearted teasing, as if she had been your friend all along. Hana really did look sweet when she smiled genuinely, and you could see why she had so many people easily wrapped around her finger. Maybe people do change. Or she’s just in a good mood. Before you could shrug and turn away, you sensed Minho’s presence behind you and yelped.
He held his hands up in mock surrender, and you could swear he was suppressing a laugh. “Here to work on your project again?”
Hana’s strange exchange with you on her way out had left your mind reeling, and you scrambled to form coherent sentences. “No, I, um—I actually finished it last night. I just…” Thought I’d just drop by to say hi. But your pride turned the words to mush before they had even formed, and you ended up trailing off awkwardly.
“Really?” There was a flash of disappointment in his face, then Minho’s gaze landed on the book-borrowing register on the front desk. “Right—your book is due today. Did you want to return it?”
Your eyes widened, silently cursing at your own forgetfulness. “Um—yes,” you lied, pretending to search in your bag before giving an awkward laugh. “Yep. I think it’s in my locker—let me go get it.”
After jogging to the other side of the school, you flung open the bottom locker, making another mental note to replace your missing lock. Still catching your breath, your hand sifted through the notes and textbooks before coming up empty. Where is it? You could swear you remembered putting it there, unless—
Breath catching in your throat, you shut the locker with a mortified bang. The English classroom. You practically sprinted down the hallways, earning another dirty look from the janitor as you raced past. Bang Chan looked up in alarm when you nearly crashed into the English classroom door. The entire room was empty, save for the class president, who looked like he was helping to file the teacher’s papers.
“Where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly as your eyes frantically raked the room.
“Have you—seen a book, by any chance? 100 Love Sonnets. Pablo Neruda.”
Chan frowned. “We shelve all the books after class, and if it’s one we don’t recognize, we keep it until the students come back in the morning.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”
Your heart sank, and you saw the corners of Chan’s mouth lift bemusedly.
“What’s the hurry, anyway? I thought you hated love po—”
With a groan of frustration, you left the baffled class president staring after you as you turned on your heel and back into the hallway. Your mind was racing, panic making your ears buzz. The love letter’s in there. Where the hell did I put it? You sprinted to the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe next, but only got an apologetic shrug from Jeongin even after you’d scoured every nook and cranny of the diner. The sun was already beginning to set as you trudged, defeated, back to the school. Spotting the library’s dim windows in the distance, you wrestled with your options — if it weren’t for that cursed love letter, you could’ve probably just told Minho you’d misplaced it. But now the book—along with everything you’d never dared to tell anyone, crammed onto a sheet of notebook paper—could be anywhere, and there was no way in hell you were going to stop looking until you found it. Heart heavy with dread, you did a full 180 and began walking home.
It was no use. You’d practically pulled an all-nighter tearing your room apart searching for the book— and then, the better part of the following day running around town. But no matter where you looked—the record shop, Blockbuster’s, or even the laundromat—you came up empty.
It’s like it’s disappeared entirely, you thought as the lunch ladies piled your tray with a few sad-looking burritos. The cafeteria was buzzing with teenagers jittery with caffeine and sugar, and you had to duck as a boy chucked an apple at another across the room. You passed the cheerleaders’ table, trying to avoid eye contact, but their giggly conversation carried over the chaotic commotion.
“Did you see how cute Hyunjin looked today on the field?”
“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend? Maybe Hana can talk to him for us—if he doesn’t fall for her first.” The blonde cheerleader that had spoken nudged the older girl insistently.
“Me?” There was a smile in Hana’s voice. You could feel her eyes on you as she mused, “Oh, I don’t know, Hyunjin’s not my type. I much prefer boys with—how should I put it—catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long fingers perfect for turning dusty pages…” She clasped her hands together in mock adoration, and her friends erupted in giggles.
“What the hell was that? Sounds like a cheesy love poem.”
You had frozen stiff as soon as she had uttered the words, stunned eyes finding Hana’s only a couple feet away. She gave you a winning smile—the same one you’d deemed friendly just a couple days ago—and winked.
“Give me my book back.”
You pulled her aside after the last bell had rung, voice shaking. Hana only tilted her head innocently, eyes round as a puppy’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Before you could spit a biting retort back at her, the taller cheerleader tapped her chin thoughtfully with one bejewelled nail. “But I might think harder if...I got a little something in return.”
You grit your teeth. “What do you want?”
“Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party as my date,” Hana beamed, “and tell the office you want to change your locker.”
“You’re crazy,” you blurted, and her face immediately darkened. Dropping her voice, she leaned in closer, until her voice was right beside your ear.
“Oh, I can be even crazier. What would happen if I made copies of this little letter on Monday, hm? Or published it in the school paper for everyone to read? I’m sure Han Jisung would love that—”
Your eyes trailed down to the slip of paper she’d pulled out of her purse, the sight of your own familiar handwriting making panic surge through your veins like ice. Snatching it from her hand, you quickly began tearing it apart before noticing the calm smirk on Hana’s face.
“Photocopy, silly,” she giggled in a sing-song voice as you peered more closely at the shredded pieces, hands shaking. “Oh, all right, don’t cry. If you want the original so badly…” she leaned in again, cruel smile on her lips. “Then you might want to look in the library.”
Eyes widening, you immediately pushed her away and bolted for the stairs. “Don’t forget the deal! Thursday night,” Hana called after you, and you broke into a run.
Most of the classrooms were already empty, their dark windows reflecting your own face back at you as you hurtled past them. Your heart pounded in your chest as the library finally came into view at the end of the hallway, but you nearly came to a screeching halt when you saw that the lights had been turned off. Had Minho gone home early? Chewing your lip anxiously, you peered past the plexiglass. Aisles empty, books all shelved neatly, chairs stacked. The library was quiet as a tomb. Desperately, you tried the knob—and to your surprise, the door creaked open. Maybe he forgot to lock it. You had nothing to lose. Holding your breath, you slipped in.
Even the faint click of the door closing again sounded deafening. You rifled through the front desk first, dropping to a crouch as you inspected the carts and borrowing-bin. To your dismay, they were all empty—they must have all been re-shelved already. Heart sinking, you began tip-toeing through the shelves, fingers trembling as they ran over the laminated Dewey Decimal labels. Please, please, please…
You reached the poetry section at the back of the library, eyes squinting to try and read the spines of the books under shrouds of shadows. Poets— Nash. Naidu. Nemerov…
“Neruda,” you gasped, eyes falling on the book you had practically gone through hell searching for. 100 Love Sonnets. Almost sobbing in sheer relief, you reached out to grab it—just as another hand shot out from beside you. Your yelp of surprise broke the still, dim quiet, and you didn’t have to look up to know who the warm, pale fingers belonged to.
“Care to explain what you’re doing here?”
Spectacles glinting under the twilight, one hand in his pocket, nonchalant as ever, was the boy that had gotten you into this mess. Lee Minho.
As you stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, you felt as though your entire world was balancing precariously over a yawning abyss— as if one wrong move would send everything you’d spent the last two months—no, the last four years—repatching. You swallowed hard. His hand had landed a split-second later than yours, holding both you and the book in place, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his warm fingers on your chilled skin. Forcefully, you yanked the book from the shelves and out of his grasp. “The—book. I-I realised I still needed it for the project. It’s due this Friday, you know.”
He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “Today’s only Wednesday. Why not come back tomorrow morning?”
Shit. “I, um, promised Lia I’d go with her to the game tomorrow,” you fibbed, flipping through the book quickly, ready to grab any stray piece of paper that flew out. Nothing. “So I—need to finish the assignment today. Could you renew it for me?” Trying to plaster on an unbothered smile, you flipped through the book again. Still nothing. Had Hana lied to you?
In your peripheral, you saw Minho slowly shift his weight, crossing his arms as he mused, “Well, I’m not too sure about that. We’re getting...careful about letting students borrow books for too long. People tend to leave some...strange things in them.”
Your eyes snapped up, fingers freezing on the fluttering pages. “What—then did you—see anything? S-strange, I mean.”
A flicker of amusement passed through Minho’s eyes, and then it was gone. He cleared his throat, humming thoughtfully. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”
The strange intensity of his gaze seemed to corner you into the shadows, and you swore your heart was pounding so hard it seemed to echo through the room. “Nothing,” you stammered, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I mean, I just—accidentally left—” Kill me now. You shook your head rapidly. “N-nevermind. I’m heading home.”
“Oh, one more thing.” You turned, remembering Hana’s sly words to you back in the stairwell. “You’re invited to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, after the game on Thursday.” Then, hoping you sounded more convincing than you felt, “Hana’s really counting on you to be her date.”
Minho chuckled. “You know I go to parties as often as you do.”
You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in his words, only that same, airy indifference Minho always carried himself with. “Please? Hana—I mean, it would make her really happy if you went.”
“Would you be happy?”
The strange question caught you off guard, making you look up again. Minho was no longer smiling. His hand was still resting lightly over the missing space the book had left on the shelf, and his expression looked strangely lost under the twilit sky.
“Would it make you happy if I went?” He repeated, and you felt your mouth go dry.
Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, and I won’t publish your little love letter for everyone to see on Monday. You nodded firmly, laughing in an attempt to ease the strange atmosphere that had settled over the two of you once again. “Y-yeah. Ecstatic.”
You turned on your heel, breath leaving your lips in a shaky sigh. If the poem wasn’t in the book, where on earth could it be? Option one: It had fallen out somewhere along the way, and hadn’t fallen into anyone’s hands. The best case scenario. Option two: Hana had been playing with you again, and she had had the original all along. Option three…
“By the way, Hana told me not to give this to you.”
You whirled around in surprise, and your eyes landed on a horribly familiar piece of notebook paper dangling from Minho’s fingers. Option three, damn it all. Mortified, you snatched it from his hand, crumpling it into your fist as he laughed lightly.
“It’s a very good poem.”
“Shut up, Lee Minho,” you wailed, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and bury you six feet under for all of eternity. “It’s a cheesy, cliché wreck.”
He hummed in amusement. “What were you writing about?”
Paralyzed, your eyes flickered towards the window before sputtering, “The—sunset. Figurative approach, you know? Emily Dickinson-inspired—”
“Mm. Then what was that quote about—” He tilted his head in thought, fingers snapping. “Catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long—” He stopped when you plugged your ears instinctively, eyes glowering at him in disbelief. If looks could kill, Minho was sure he’d now have died more times than the characters in a Shakespearean tragedy. “—was that about the sunset, too?”
“Of course,” you snapped, your voice a tad too pitchy for your liking. Damn Lee Minho and his knack for memorizing things. “Haven’t you ever heard of extended metaphors? Rest assured, Lee Minho—I will never, ever, ever—have feelings for you.” You crumpled the sheet of poetry into a ball as you spoke with a note of finality, jamming it into your back pocket for good riddance.
Minho looked unfazed, the light curve of a knowing smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he took a step towards you, making you stumble back in alarm. “‘You can cut all the flowers,” he mused, glancing down at the crumpled love letter, “‘but you cannot stop spring from coming.’”
“Neruda quote. Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, and I’ll stop,” he murmured, eyes growing serious for a moment before his lips twitched with mirth, “but something tells me I deserve to hear more about that sunset from your poem.”
Gulping, you felt hot tears brimming in your eyes, and suddenly wished you were anywhere but here. This confrontation had been your worst nightmare, what you had always wanted to avoid. Your pride’ll be the end of you, y/n, you remembered Lia remarking when you’d sworn up and down that your feelings for Lee Minho were a thing of the past. And it was true—your pride had always gotten the better of you. You were a hypocrite, and a terrible one at that—always telling yourself you had gotten over that stupid, ninth-grade heartbreak, before unravelling into a nervous mess whenever Minho so much as threw a glance at you. And now, you could feel everything you’d feebly repressed for the last four years caving in. Crashing down on you like an avalanche of cheap supermarket chocolates.
“It was about you. You, alright?” You hissed, voice coming out more wounded, rather than venomous like you’d intended. “There. Are you happy now?” You were glad the shadows hid the humiliated tears beginning to roll down your cheeks, and wiped at your eyes furiously. Damn it all. So much for not crying.
“Then why didn’t you—”
“Say anything?” You breathed a short laugh. “Because I didn’t want to see you just throw it out again, okay?”
The silence that met your words was deafening, and when you finally mustered the courage to lift your gaze you saw that Minho’s look of disbelief mirrored your own.
Damn Lee Minho and his two-faced ass. Had he already forgotten? “In ninth grade. I left you a—stupid love letter in your locker, with all your other Valentines. Then I s-saw you throwing them all out, behind the school.”
“But I read every name on the cards,” Minho insisted, running a hand through his tousled hair. I left you—a stupid love letter in your locker. Your words sent his head spinning, and he felt his flustered cheeks heat up as he mumbled, “I’ve never—seen yours on any of them.”
Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. Minho’s brow furrowed in vague recollection. “But I did see Hana pulling an envelope out from my locker that day. She said that—she’d heard someone had been sending chain mail on Valentine’s Day, so she was helping the principal clean them up from people’s lockers.”
Hana? Your mind flashed to the missing locks, and the cheerleader that always seemed to be hanging around your locker, and suddenly everything dawned on you. “What did the envelope look like?”
“A corner store card. With—”
“Candy hearts. Right.” You muttered, watching Minho nod slowly. Your anger faltered slightly, feeling a slight shame wash over you, but you weren’t willing to give up just yet. “That still doesn’t explain why you dump out all the gifts you get every year.”
He sighed. “Look. Why would I keep love letters from people I don’t like? That’s just...narcissistic. And I don’t...like chocolate, either,” he added as an afterthought, and you couldn’t help exhaling a short laugh at his ridiculously blunt sentence. Another silence fell between the two of you, the angry tension in the air replaced with an almost childish awkwardness.
“I really did like the poem,” Minho spoke tentatively after what felt like an eternity, and you buried your head in your hands.
“Shut up, Lee Minho, oh my g—”
“And I wouldn’t have thrown it out.” The soft edge to his voice made you stop, peeking out of your fingers to look at him questioningly.
“Why not?” You asked, swallowing hard. “You said keeping letters from someone you don’t like would be narcissistic.”
He was barely a foot away, and the sheer proximity of his face from yours made your stomach flop—with irritation or butterflies, you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. Nonetheless, a tiny voice at the back of your head told you that you were heading towards the latter.
“You know, for someone who reads so many books, you sure are dense,” Minho murmured, shaking his head.
“I throw out all my Valentines every year because I never see your name on them, alright?” His expression was as careless as ever—that cool, calm facade he wore like a suit of armour—but you didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. Lee Minho, you realized with a jolt, was nervous. “I...only ever wanted to receive one from you.”
Your eyes widened, hands lowering from your face in shock. The book tumbled from under your arm to the ground. “But—Hana always told me about how much you hated me.”
“Hmm.” He dropped down to pick it up before fixing his piercing eyes on yours. “Funny. She’s been telling me the same about you. How you’re a two-faced, back-stabbing...such-and-such,” he smiled at the indignant look on your face before his face grew serious. “You’ve always let people walk all over you, and you never retaliate. It’s both admirable and frustrating to watch.”
“I’m not good at confrontation,” you mumbled, still shifting your weight from one leg to the other nervously. “Every time I think I’ve finally got the guts to try and say something back, I...I get all terrified that the words’ll jumble up and I-I’ll start to cry like an idiot again—”
“You’re not an idiot,” he interrupted sternly, “You’re probably more clever—and genuine—than everyone in our grade combined. Your thesis was brilliant.”
You snorted incredulously. “Then why did you keep attacking it every class?”
“It was the only time I could get you to talk to me.”
“Weirdo,” you muttered, but you couldn’t find it in you to make the word sound insulting anymore. Minho chuckled, hand grazing yours as he handed the book back to you. You didn’t move your hand away, and neither did he.
“It is weird. I must be out of my mind. Whenever you look at me, it’s like the whole world stops, and suddenly every cheesy line of poetry I’ve ever read just seems to make sense.”
Your heart was pounding so hard you were more than certain Minho could hear it. The way he was looking at you was nearly overwhelming, stomach fluttering with a feeling so strange and foreign it terrified you. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that you would be here, in this delicate, unreal moment, and you felt all your insecurities threatening to swallow you up again. Out of everyone in the school, he likes you? A voice snickered at the back of your mind. Don’t kid yourself.
Shrinking away, you mumbled, “Y-you—don’t have to say stuff like that, you know. I mean, i-if you feel bad because of the letter and everything, you don’t have to pretend you lik—”
There was a flash of an exasperated smile on Minho’s lips. Before you could finish, his hand reached to pull your chin towards him again, and suddenly his mouth was pressed flush to yours. You froze, lips parting in surprise, but the kiss was light—barely even a brush of soft skin, and bringing with it the faint scent of vanilla and old books. Minho pulled away almost as quickly as he’d pulled you in, stammering, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
That seemed to send what was left of your hesitation crumbling into dust. You grabbed the collar of his dress shirt to pull him back in, and the library fell silent again.
Minho kissed the way he talked—soft but firm, and always leaving you struggling to catch your breath. Each touch had the growing intensity of something long overdue, starting out careful—as though you were treading over the newly shattered, four-year-old misunderstandings of one another—before your hands instinctively tangled in his hair and Minho pulled you in impossibly closer. You could feel his heartbeat pressed against yours, the crumpled poem and Neruda’s sonnets long forgotten on the carpeted ground.
The click of the library door opening sent the two of you flying apart, Minho hitting his head on the shelf with a comical thud. The kiss left you dazed and out of breath, and Minho’s face was flushed as both of you whipped around to see a livid Hana at the front of the library. Mouth opening and closing in silent fury, she shot you a death glare before storming out the door, leaving both you and Minho blinking after her.
Several moments passed, the whiplash of the unexpected interruption having sent both of your heads reeling. Then, the two of you broke into stunned laughter, slowly sliding down to the carpet as you doubled over in giggles.
When you finally stopped laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Minho’s gaze was fixed fondly on your face. You poked his cheek. “You’re blushing, asshole.”
He didn’t respond, eyes falling to your lips again, and you felt your own face flush. “W-what?”
Minho grinned. “And you have drool on your chin again.”
“Hey, Minho! Minho, you won’t believe this!”
That enthusiastic voice belonged to none other than Han Jisung—voice of Levanter High’s morning announcements, and notorious school gossip. He hurtled down the bustling hall towards you and Minho, hunching over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
“Shit, ‘sung—did you kill somebody?”
The dark-haired boy shook his head rapidly. “Did you see the school newspaper?”
Your mouth went dry, Hana’s lingering threats still ringing clear in your ears. Jisung continued excitedly, “Two people submitted anonymous love poems over the weekend—at the same time! Can you believe it? I’m supposed to cover it on the announcements in a bit!”
Two? You peered at Minho, who hadn’t looked at you, and glimpsed a knowing glint in his eyes. “W-who submitted them?”
“Well, Lee Hana was handing out copies of the first one to everyone first thing this morning. But when I showed her the other one, she refused to tell me who the first belonged to.” He pouted.
Minho looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. “Do you have a copy of the paper, ‘sung?”
The dark-haired boy grinned. “Yeah, ‘course! You guys can have mine. See ya!”
As Jisung disappeared into the crowd of students, you turned back to Minho. He had been in the middle of putting a new lock on your locker, and was now setting the combination on his own. “They’re matching,” he’d pointed out when you’d gone into town together to buy them, and you’d groaned.
“Gro-oss.” The old, PDA-hating you would have probably thrown them away on the spot, but now the sight made you smile like a dork. If you can’t beat em, join ‘em.
You looked down to read the papers Jisung had deposited into your hands. Sure enough, on the left column, you spotted a photocopy of your own love letter. But on the right, there was a completely new one—and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who the anonymous writer was.
“You know, Minho,” you deadpanned, “I don’t think either of us are cut out to be poets.”
“I stayed up all night writing that love letter, you know!” Minho exclaimed indignantly, and you just shook your head laughing. “But you’re right. I could feel Neruda turning in his grave.”
“You’re going to be the end of me, Lee Minho.”
His face broke into a mischievous grin at that, pinning you playfully to the lockers and stealing another kiss as you yelped in surprise.
“Can it be a happy ending?”
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could I request a gojo x fem reader pls? where she can't touch people (and people can't touch her too) due to her cursed technique. it's like she has gojo's infinity, but unlike him, she can't turn it off. the technique disappears when she dies and it's literally the only time satoru gets to touch her for the first time ever :(((
Thank you for the request, lovely anon. I hope you enjoy my take on it <3
Kiss me hard before you go
Gojo Satoru x fem!Reader
Warnings and tags: heavy angst with a hopeful ending, character death with a twist, kissing, references to wounds, injuries, violence and death but nothing graphic, references to amnesia
Word count: 1,400
As Gojo held your body tightly to himself, his tears of despair soaked the crown of your head. He was bent over in grief, his hands clutching at your upper body as your back rested against his chest. He had dreamed for so long of holding you between his arms, breaking through the walls of your Infinity, which for you was more of a curse than a blessing. But not like this—never like this, with the fight leaving your body as you slowly succumbed to the wounds provoked by a Special Grade Cursed Tool.
“Baby,” he croaked, squeezing his eyes shut as more tears fell over your hair, “Okkotsu Yuta is going to be here soon, okay?”
A faint smile appeared on your lips as tiredness weighed your frame, now barely feeling the pain of your injuries as you focused on the warmth of his embrace. “Satoru…” you whimpered as your breathing was growing shallow and your head hazy, “my Infinity can be breached only when I’m dying. You know that.”
He immediately shook his head at your words. “Don’t—” he choked out as his body trembled, inwardly berating himself for not being able to use the Reverse Cursed Technique, “just don’t. You know that Yuta is gonna save you.”
You weakly squeezed his hands as his fingers intertwined with yours. “At least I can finally feel you, Satoru.”
He gently pressed a kiss on the top of your head. “And you will feel me again,” he said firmly, trying to keep his voice from cracking, “once you’re healed, I’m going to find a way for you to control Infinity like my family and I do.”
You slowly close your eyes, allowing yourself to imagine the blissful possibility for a few moments. Then, you took a shaky breath as you tried to push down what you knew would remain just a dream you could never realize in this life. Still, you wanted to indulge him.
“That sounds amazing, Satoru,” you whispered as his lips found your temple, planting a kiss on it, “I’m sure that if there’s one person who can find a solution to my everlasting Infinity, it is you.”
A shaky smile appeared on his lips at your words. “That’s right, baby,” he said, swallowing hard, “anything for you.”
Despite the exhaustion of your body and the sorrow in your mind, you smiled to yourself. You had spent a long time thinking that the affection you felt towards Gojo was unrequited, but then he had confessed his feelings to you just a few days before the mission that doomed your fate. What terrible timing, and yet, subdued bubbles of joy made your now feeble heart flutter as you thought about it.
“I love you,” Gojo said while your vision was blurred with bittersweet tears and a small gasp left your lips, “I love you and I’ll keep loving you.”
You slightly tilted your head, placing your ear over his pounding heart. “I love you too, Satoru,” you breathed, “I always did.”
Gojo grasped your chin, tilting it up. His turquoise eyes were bloodshot, and his hair disheveled as tears doused his cheeks. He leaned forward and kissed you, pouring fondness and despair into it as your lips parted and you slowly reciprocated, locking your lips with him.
His eyes welled up with tears once again as your breathing slowed down, and he cupped your cheeks, whimpering into your mouth as you went unresponsive and your kisses stopped. Anguish chewed at his gut while a dull ache filled his heart, and he clung to your body as he wailed, placing his dampened cheek against your cold one.
A hot rage swelled within himself as he thought about who dared lay a hand on you, and he was able to do something he had never done before—unleashing the most destructive of his Extension Techniques, the Hollow Purple, without even moving a finger.
Purple waves of cosmic power were released outside the warehouse you were in, destroying anything in their path, both devilish curses and innocent bystanders.
Unbeknownst to his Six Eyes, there was someone who had witnessed everything but had chosen not to intervene.
And as Gojo’s destructive force of grief and wrath was devastating the land around your location, the shadow of a Cursed Spirit began to walk among the ruins with the intent of revealing himself to the anguished white-haired sorcerer.
Consumed by the overwhelming emotions, Satoru initially didn’t notice a silhouette coming towards him as he held your body between his arms.
“Human emotions are genuinely horrifying, aren’t they?”
Gojo anchored his tearful, enraged gaze on the source of the voice, and his eyes narrowed. “Sukuna!” he growled, activating his Infinity to shield the both of you, “don’t take another step.”
The King of Curses tilted his head, his inquisitive stare studying your inanimate frame. “Her soul is not gone yet,” he told the white-haired sorcerer, “she’s still with you, floating between life and death.”
Gojo ground his teeth. “Don’t you dare speak about her!” he hissed, “and give the control of that body back to Yuji.”
Sukuna clicked his tongue. “Or what?” he challenged, “will you blast me away like you did with this town, or...” he leaned forward as Satoru tensed, pulling your body even closer to his chest, “...will you listen to me and let me do something to bring her back to you?”
Gojo scowled, clenching his fists. “Don’t you fucking dare!” he snarled.
Sukuna let out an exasperated sigh. “Usually, I would try and annihilate you without a second thought...but today I’m here to help you.”
Gojo clenched his jaw and then shook his head. “Someone like you would never do that without a price.”
The King of Curses hummed in approval. “That’s correct,” he conceded, “but this time, luck would have it that I’m feeling generous. And your sweet sorcerer is too valuable to perish.”
Satoru gave Sukuna an unreadable stare before focusing his attention on your face for a minute.
“I’m going to bring you back, baby,” he mumbled, his fingers delicately tracing your cheeks, “very soon.”
Gojo stood up with you in his arms and then anchored his cool gaze on the Cursed Spirit inhabiting Yuji’s body.
“Tell me what to do in order to bring her back to me.”
Sukuna grinned like a Cheshire Cat. “I just need to touch her soul and transfer some of my cursed energy into it,” he explained to Gojo, “so that she can come out of the limbo she’s currently in and rejoin the land of the living once more.”
Satoru gave him a slight nod. “If you hurt her or try using a Binding Vow,” he began, his voice as glacial as the deepest winter, “there won’t be anything left of you, Sukuna.”
Sukuna raised his eyebrows. “If I wanted to hurt your sweet sorcerer, I would have done it by now,” he stated flatly. “Besides, I already have one Binding Vow with the brat, and that’s enough for me.”
The Cursed Spirit then took a step forward and closed the distance between your bodies. “I must warn you though—when she comes back, she could be different.”
Gojo frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
Sukuna clicked his tongue. “The last time I did this, that person came back without their Cursed Energy.”
Gojo clenched his teeth. He could work with that, as long as you were okay and in his arms. “As long as no harm comes to her, do what you have to do.”
Sukuna quickly grasped your arm, inhaling sharply as he closed his eyes. His Cursed Energy began to flow from his body to yours, and your figure shed a glow of purple with red and black hues.
Gojo’s nerves hummed with anticipation as apprehension clouded his features. Then, he heard your breathing and heartbeat picking up, and his heart palpitated with euphoria.
The Strongest Sorcerer held his breath, forgetting about Sukuna being nearby, and he tenderly called out your name as your eyes slowly fluttered open.
You blinked as you heard a voice uttering your name with fondness. You angled your head towards one side as you realized you were in someone’s arms, and your gaze landed on an angelic face.
“Baby,” he gulped and then took a deep breath, “how do you feel?”
You brought your hand to his cheek, and the tip of your fingers traced his features. “I feel good,” you murmured as his eyes lit up, “your face looks familiar to me,“ you trailed off as his eyes widened, “what is your name?“
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hi! you rly have the best levi aus owo i love them sm! if your requests are open, can you please do one with levi where reader almost died from saving somebody else? 👉🏼👈🏼
Pairing: Levi x Reader
Themes: 18+, Violence, Drama, Fluff, Smut
Word Count: 5.5k
With the scouts in formation Captain Levi strode to the front of the group, looking over them with a sigh before beginning. “I want an easy mission today Cadets, so don’t die and that’s an order.” You were toward the front of the group, holding back a smirk as you noticed the majority of the Cadets were looking down at the Captain. “Squad Leader Hange here needs a Titan for her experiments, she’ll focus on the capturing element. The rest of you will deal with the remaining Titans. Make sure to survive, unless you’d rather become Titan shit, understood?”
Levi nodded toward the formation and took his place again, making his way to the centre of the group, beside you. “Nice speech.” You mutter to him sarcastically, low enough so only he can hear and you see him roll his eyes. No other Cadet would get away with teasing him like this, not in this situation especially, but Levi found himself caring for you deeply and he wasn’t sure why. He looks forward at the forest scattered with Titans ahead and shoots you a quick glance, a tinge of worry in his eyes as he mumbles, “Watch yourself, Y/N.”
Before you can answer he sprints off infront of you, causing the rest of you to do the same, following close behind him in formation as slowly the group flies off towards the trees. Hange’s excitable screams fill the air as she giggles maniacally, shooting past you with her arms outstretched as if preparing for an embrace towards the Titans, “Come to me, my babies!”
You couldn’t help but chuckle at Hange’s uncontrollable excitement, fuelled by her ironically unconditional love for Titans. It only spurred you on all the more, hearing her zip through the air and coo at the monsters; you were incredibly skilful for a Cadet, perfecting your techniques using the ODM gear and blades within weeks of you joining the scouts. It felt somewhat natural to you, flying through the air, somehow it even felt free at times. You flourished in missions like this, taking the opportunity to have some fun, much like Hange, you also got giddy in the face of the Titans.
“Wahoo!” You sing out as you twist and turn through the trees, swinging your body into an incoming Titan and twisting as your blade slices it’s nape. It’s huge form falls behind you and you see the trees rustle slightly as the thud, looking back over your shoulder and high fiving the air when you see Levi watching you.
He shakes his head at you, as impressed with your indisputable talent as he was, Levi couldn’t put into words how stressed he felt fighting beside you as of late, your recklessness although skilful put him on constant edge.
You turn away from him, continuing towards another Titan and boosting yourself closer to the ground. Your boots but inches from the dirt as you shoot towards it’s ankle, pulling back your arms as you fly past, slitting it open with ease and sending the monster tumbling to the ground. Angling yourself towards a tree above you, you shout yourself up towards the top, springing upwards and winking almost boastfully at the Captain as you do so. Quickly, you turn back on yourself, facing towards the Titan writhing on the ground and putting all your agility into getting to its nape as fast as you can. As you speed down towards it, Levi intercepts you just before you reach it and slits it’s nape precisely with a flip, soaring back up towards a tree and standing on a large branch, winking at you teasingly as he leans against it, crossing his arms.
You roll your eyes up towards him, standing beside the fallen Titan with a furrowed brows and hands on your hips in annoyance. “Tch.” You muttered to yourself and found your frown turning to a smirk as you recognised Levi rubbing off on you.
Nodding at the Captain, you turn your back and continue towards another hoard close by. The trees are a blur as you shoot ribbons towards them, twirling occasionally for momentum as you close in on the group. You set your sights on the largest of them, thin greasy black hair falling down its face as it’s jaws snap as the small figures whirring past. Just as you near, you hear a scream to your right and turn to it, noticing Armin pale and teary eyed below you, backing from one of the creatures with a look of pure terror. Shit, you thought, turning on yourself in the air and bounding towards the blonde haired boy. Once you were within distance of the two, you brought back your arms to swing, calling out to him. “Armin, I’m com-“
Just as you’re about to make contact with the Titan it’s hand shoots towards you, everything seems to slow slightly as you watch it’s grotesque fingers reach out. Swiftly, you twist yourself away quickly but not quite fast enough and the Titan manages to hit your leg, sending you tumbling towards the ground. A sharp pain in your arm caused you to wince and you notice the Titan’s attention has diverted from Armin to you as you lie on the ground. “Armin, run now!” You yell, attempting to drag yourself up as a dull pain aches throughout your body but it’s no use; the Titan makes it’s a way towards you sluggishly, an entirely emotionless grin on its face as it nears you.
Captain Levi appears from nowhere, shooting down from above the Titan with a crazed look in his eyes. His hair had fallen into his face and you noticed that his cheeks were flushed a deep red, yelling as he flies down towards the vile mound of flesh infront of you. He slices the nape so hard that the entire surroundings are painted red, the impact shaking your surroundings. Before the Titan can even fall he is by your side, hovering over you closely and breathing heavily, that crazed look in his eye hadn’t disappeared and it scared you. “What the fuck are you doing?” He yells out, pulling at his hair as a low growl rips through his throat, “Do you have a fucking death wish brat? You idiot!” Despite his cursing and name calling, his hand have moved to caress your face softly, the other cradling you softly as his squad members deal with the remaining Titans. The crazed look in his eye dulls as he looks down at you, the wide insanity becoming an intense concern.
“Y/N! Are you okay? I’m so sorry!” Armin appears from behind Levi, sobbing as he tries to come near you but he’s stopped by the Captain. “You stay away from you her, you fucking good for nothing, weak, nimble child! Get away!” He roars and it causes a dreadful feeling in your stomach, Armin was so soft but so brave, you hated to see him spoken to like that.
“Levi...Stop it now.” Your gaze is stern and Levi throws up one of his arms in disbelief, still holding you up with the other. Armin was also shocked, he had never seen anyone command the Captain quite like that.
“Are you fucking joking? You could have died because of this fucking-“
“Enough.” You scold weakly, pulling away Levi and shrugging off the pain, you were hurt but not badly, somehow. “I chose to risk my life for Armin, respect my decision.”
“How can I respect your decisions when you’re putting your life in danger!”
“We’re all putting our lives in danger, Levi.” You sigh, nodding at Armin softly and apologetically as his face is filled with guilt.
Levi mutters a ‘tsk’ and turns to face the others, seeing the job is almost done and looking back towards you. He snakes his arm beneath your legs and the other behind your neck, standing up and carrying you with ease with a blank look on his face.
“What are you doing?”
“Carrying you.” He states plainly.
“I’m quite aware of that, but where are you taking me?”
“Where the fuck do you think? You need some stitches for that gash on your arm.” Your gaze moves down at your arm and you notice the blood seeping through, when you had fell to the ground a rock had been beneath you and caused quite the nasty scratch. Once he had cleared the forest, he placed you gently on his horse and made his way within the walls, not uttering a word as he was still fuming from your stupid act of suicide.
Levi eventually dismounts his horse and carries you towards the main building and after a few minutes of walking opens a door. You’re surprised to see that you are in Levi’s room, so clean it almost looks empty. “Levi, this isn’t the infirmary.”
“You’re sharp, aren’t you Y/N?” He mocks coldly, setting you on his bed and moving towards a cupboard, taking out a box and placing it beside you, crouching by your feet. “That damn place is filthy, I’ll stitch you up here.”
“Oh.” Your voice came out barely as a whisper as a result of your surprise, composing yourself and nodding, “Okay.”
Levi quickly cut off the fabric of your uniform shirt so that he could examine the wound. A sharp piece of stone had sliced deep into your skin, leaving a jagged gash on your forearm. Levi reached into the box and cleaned out a cloth and some alcohol, dabbing it on softly and cleaning the wound as much as possible in order to see the full extent of the damage. You wince quietly at the intense sting that the alcohol brings, biting your lip and Levi looks up towards you, feeling himself grow uncomfortable at being the source of your pain. Since when had he cared about inflicting pain on his cadets?
He threaded the needle carefully and sat beside you on the bed, holding your arm gently and gazing into your eyes intently, “This will hurt a bit, Y/N. I’m sorry.”
You nod, taking a deep breath as you anticipate the pain. Once he pierced your skin it stung like a bitch and you whimpered, Levi winced and shook his head, taking another deep breath as he continues. After a couple he notices your eyes brim with tears but you hold them back and his soft voice comforts you, “You’re doing so well, nearly there now.” He had never spoken to you like that, his voice was almost indistinguishable; so melodic. It soothed you, somehow easing the pain slightly as you smiled at him, and oddly, he smiled back.
“I’m glad you’re still here, brat.”
You can’t help but blush, the small intimacies that the two of you shared always had this affect on you. “Please be more careful, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”
The way he looked at you so desperately made your heart ache, you couldn’t deny your love and admiration for him and the fact that he cared so much meant a lot to you.
“I promise Captain, I’m sorry.”
For a second his hand is on your hair, stroking it softly as his tilts his head looking at you. But quickly he’s up off the bed and away from you, looking around at his room as he grabs the first aid box and puts it back. “I have things to do and I’m too busy to sit around babysitting you all day long. Get some rest, you need it.”
You go to move to get off the bed and are met by his firm grasp on your shoulder, “No, here.” He states strongly as he gently but authoritatively pushes you back down onto bed before exiting the room.
It’s past midnight now, the moon shone brightly, helping to illuminate the dimly lit room further. The night sky littered with stars and there was not a cloud in sight, Levi’s come to notice as his footsteps took him to stand by the window and gaze out. It was a summer’s evening but there seemed to be a slight breeze in the air as the silhouette of the tree leaves could be seen swaying slightly. He had returned from his duties hours ago but chose not to wake you, deciding you needed the rest after the day you had. Levi couldn’t help but watch you occasionally while you slept, the way your lips parted as you breathed quietly and your lids fluttered occasionally in your sleep drew him in. You looked so delicate when you slept, nothing like the brave and cocky individual you were towards Levi when you were awake. He loved the way you was of course, but seeing you so calm filled him with warmth.
This small moment of peace was interrupted by the sound of his name being screamed in a terrifying manner. His head sharply whipped around towards you, causing his bangs to sway harshly with his sudden movement. He sees your eyes are still closed and realises you’re having a nightmare. Within seconds he’s beside you on his bed, hands placed on your shoulders and his voice sharp with authority, trying to be heard over your slumber, “Y/N! Wake up. Brat, come on, I need you to wake up for me.” It took a while for Levi to bring you around and you felt a pair of hands gripping your shoulders upon your awakening. You struggle against the constriction and whimper, not recognising his features in the dark.
“Hey, hey, calm down sweetheart. It’s just me, it’s Levi.”
Sweetheart. Levi had never said words like that. He usually just called you “F/N”, or “brat”. It was a strange thing to think about as your head span with the terror from the dream prior, but for whatever reason, a small part of your mind latched onto that word.
It took you a minute to steady your breathing, all the while Levi rubbed your shoulders and ducked his head down to be level with yours. He gently pulled you onto his lap, hoisting you both up so that you sit on the edge of his bed together. Your limbs hooked onto him as he began to rock you softly as you shook. This was the first time he had held you, and he silently hoped that it wouldn’t be the last either. He softly cleared his throat, “Is this, okay?”
You nodded into his chest, taking in his soft musky scent and burrowing yourself into him and mumbling. “Yes, thank you Levi.”
Levi smiles but you can’t see him, having someone be this close to him felt a little odd but he invited the feeling, enjoying how it felt to have you like this. After experiencing the fear of losing you today he had accepted his feelings, much to his dismay, he found himself more drawn to you more than he had ever been to another person.
“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?”
“No, thank you. This is fine.”
With your legs wrapped around his waist and arms fastened around his upper torso, he marvelled in how rapidly your body relaxed. Your heart rate slowed down drastically and it was endearing to know that you felt so safe with him. It made him feel more important in a sense. His hand moved to hold you closer, the other hand working through your slightly knotted locks.
“I’m right here,” He mutters, resting his chin atop of your head and closing his eyes, this was the most human contact he had had in an awfully long time and it seemed to ease the tension he carried with him so much. No, he didn’t like seeing you so weak and fragile. But as long as he was able to fix it and take care of you, it made it bearable. His fingers run up and down your arm, avoiding the scar as he hums gently against you.
“Well, this is nice.” He states and you giggle softly as he sounds shocked. Pulling away from his embrace ever so slightly so you can look at him. You nod, smiling at his soft features in the moonlight, “It is, are you so surprised?”
Much to your own surprise, Levi chuckles, a slight glint in his eye that you had never seen before. “It’s just...different is all.” He muses, tilting his head towards you with a soft half smile, melting your heart and causing your chest to tighten. It didn’t take a genius to sense that something had changed between you both, the way he was holding and looking at you was a complete juxtaposition to his usual manner.
“Y/N.” His stern voice pulls you from your thoughts, “I know you care about your friends, so do I believe it or not. But you’re going to lose people, you can’t go risking your life for all of them constantly.”
His abruptness irritated you slightly, as if you could just accept that people you love would die. “You saved me today, Levi. If you hadn’t risked your life I would be dead.” You started, “And if I hadn’t risked my life, Armin would be dead. That’s how this shit works, we protect those we care about, you know that.”
Levi is a little taken back, not sure how to react to your outburst. You were right, of course, he couldn’t deny that and he sighed, looking at you a little somber. “I know, I know. I just-“ He paused, growing nervous at his vulnerability in this situation. It caused a silly jolt of anger inside of him, irritated by the hold you have on him as he spits out, “I care about you, brat.”
A blush spreads on his cheek as you look down at him, still sat on the mans lap as he cringes at his choice of words below you. He looks adorable, his words just now mixed with his actions tonight have sent your feelings for the man sky rocketing and you can’t help yourself. You wrap your uninjured arm around his neck and press your lips to his, closing your eyes and giving into the passion inside of you. It takes you a moment to notice that Levi isn’t moving, he’s frozen stiff and you pull off quickly, stuttering an apology as he stares at you with what can only be explained as utter shock. Your heart hurls, had you just messed up everything entirely?
Before you can continue your apology Levi has pulled you to him tightly and swiftly placed you beneath him. He’s straddling you and breathing heavily, making sure not to apply any pressure near your stitches. “You shouldn’t have done that.” He murmurs, his gaze set on your lips and his voice drones off. Levi was captivated by you, sent into some kind of trance by the feeling of your lips against his. It was consuming him, the overwhelming desire to own you. You open your mouth nervously to apologise yet again but are met with his mouth crashing into yours.
Levi’s lips felt desperate, groaning against you lowly as his craving for you failed to subside, only worsening. The way you writhed beneath him, your soft, warm body straining against his was sending him insane, creating a sense of urgency within him that he had never felt. “This is wrong,” He said between the kiss, despite his hands desperately clutching at your sides and his breathing speeding up rapidly.
“I know.” You agreed, helplessly succumbing to your desires as your Captain obsessed over your touch. He was a compulsive man when it came to his obsessions, cleaning, killing, and now you. Levi would never be able to get enough of you, the aberrant corruption of his insatiable hunger merging with his growing love, creating so much passion it was consuming him.
With the hand that was unharmed you began unbuttoning his shirt, making him flinch. Slowly, as you work your way down, you allow your fingers to softly brush against the skin on his sculpted, porcelain chest, emitting a groan from his lips. “What are you doing to me, Y/N?”
The two of you finally break away kiss and you held his gaze, a playful smirk on your lips as your fingertips travel lower, grazing past the small line of hair connecting his navel to his pants. “You say that as if you want me to stop, Captain.”
The sudden use of his title sent another flush of heat straight to crotch and his eyes roll slightly. He knows he is blushing and can’t ignore the tightness of his trousers around his hardening member, “Does it fucking look like I want you to stop?”
You had never seen Levi so restless, so not in control, you could tell by his heavy breathing that he was trying to compose himself.
Your hand that was trailing down his shirt moves to the hem of his trousers and he hisses slightly, shivering at your touch and looking down at you darkly as you focus .
As you work on the button, he pulls his hand away from your face, watching you wordlessly and biting his lip, the hardness between his legs worsening by the minute.
Once his pants are unfastened he continues kissing you, he parts your lips with his fervently and slips his tongue inside. The two of you grown in unison as you taste each other and Levi’s arms move downwards, one to you waist and one to your behind. Naturally as a result of his touch, your hips buck into his, creating a friction between your groins. Levi can hardly breathe as he groans ravenously, pushing his hips up and shifting around so his pants fall down beneath his crotch. You can feel him against you now; warm, hard and thick and it makes your mouth water, the kiss becoming all the more lustful as he nibbles at your lips and licks at your tongue.
He began pressing his hips against you, tilting his head to get a better angle on your lips as the two of you writhe against each other. Levi’s cold fingers moved to your shirt and pulled it above your head, looking down at you with an amoral grin on his features.
“So damn cute, Brat.” Levi’s soft but callous tone causes a wetness to pool once again between your thighs and you bite your lip, looking up at the raven haired man above you seductively. “Something about you...” He drawls, running a finger from your lips to your chest agonisingly slow, “It’s driving me insane, Y/N.” You watched as he opened his mouth, allowing his tongue to dart across his lips, wetting them, before planting kisses across your chest and drawing a nipple into his mouth. The sensitive bud met the warmth of his tongue while he suckled away, you could hear Levi’s breathing increase slightly as he grew even harder against your leg. This time he pulled his briefs down and palmed at his length softly, groaning against your skin. You wrapped an arm around him, supporting his neck as he continued to work at your flesh as you ran your fingers through his hair.
He pulls away and props himself up on an elbow, watching you closely with reddened lips as he begins unbuttoning your trousers. Once they’re off his fingers brush against your clit through your underwear and you moan out, “Levi.” You sigh pleasurably.
Your voice practically sang in his twisted mind and those eyes reminded him of a frightened doe. Your lips were so pink and swollen from his kiss, (h/c) locks that he just wanted to grip tightly to and tug on. Everything. Everything about you drove him mad.
He had to take you.
He had to keep you.
He had to claim you.
Thoughts like jagged shards of ice churned in his mind as he delved his finger under your panties and slipped a finger inside you the tiniest bit. His eyes roller and his mouth began to water, thinking of how you’d feel hugging his cock tightly. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” He groans, curling his finger upwards as your back arches and a silent moan leaves your lips, “Levi. I’ve never...”
Before you can even finish the sentence Levi withdraws his hand from you and the emptiness makes you whimper. His eyes are mad, his hands shaking as he looks away from you. “You’re a virgin?” He asks bluntly, Levi’s lips are pursed as his brows furrow. He feels you nod and takes a sharp intake of breath, “Put your clothes on.” He commands moving to get off you but your hands involuntarily grasp at his collar, pulling him back down to you. His features are contorted, battling against his self restraint as his shaky hands move to the one around his collar. “Y/N, I can’t. I’ll hurt you.”
His genuine concern causes your gaze on his to soften, a smirk pulling at your lips as you notice is still shaking hands and hardening bulge between your legs, “So you’d rather someone else take me, Captain?”. Levi’s eyes darken, an intensely abominable look on his face as he’s made nauseas by the idea, you were right; if anyone was going to take you it was going to be him.
“Silly girl,” he scolds lowly, wasting no time in pressing his lips to yours once again. With his body on yours, you can feel his cock better, pressing into you, making you let out a soft whimper against his lips. His fingers make their way back down to your wetness and his index circles your clit gently, causing you to moan out, “So...Good.” You breathe, Levi’s cock twitching in his boxer briefs, making him momentarily shut his eyes before going back to watching you squirm beneath him. He allows a finger to enter you and push up into you slowly. You sighed as he continued to pump his long, slender fingers in and out of you, watching as your face contorted in pleasure. “Such a good girl.” He murmured. He couldn’t quite understand why, but the look of you being so submissive and humiliated really turned him on as he observed you not being able to open your eyes, biting your lip and fisting the bed sheets. Before you could come undone, he removed his fingers, much to your dismay.
“Fuck…you’re breathtaking” he mumbled as he removed his briefs and positioned himself between your legs, spreading them wide and making your face turn the deepest shade of ruby red. You felt like your whole body was on fire with the thought of what would happen after, when you would give every last piece of yourself to him. His chest was just hovering over your breasts as he kissed you roughly. You opened your mouth to accommodate him, while feeling a pressure at the opening in your folds. “That’s a good girl,” He groans as he enters you slowly. You whimpered slightly, your eyes widening as you felt Levi push himself inside you gently, inch by inch. It felt like he was literally stuffing you full, filling you up as your walls stretched to fit his length.
“Fuck Y/N, you’re so fucking tight…my god…” He groaned into your neck, panting and trying not to hurt you anymore than he already was. The missionary position you were both in was proving to be difficult for you to accommodate his size. It felt a little pleasurable, but the pain was much more intense than you thought it was going to be.
Levi noticed the pained look in your eyes and despite his intense arousal, stopped his hips from moving and pressed his lips against your forehead. “Do you want to stop?” His soft voice fills the empty silence as you exhale deeply, shaking your head, “Please, don’t.” Levi was silent. You could hear the faint whisper of his breathing. Then you felt feather-light kisses peppered onto your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks, your lips. His tongue darted against your lower lip, seeking admittance. Dazedly, you opened your mouth, letting him deepen the kiss and work the magic that his tongue could provide. You felt him enter you again, slipping in much easier this time. By and by, your body relaxed. Your core warmed with arousal again. The white-hot pain lessened into a dull, crimson throb. His cock, while still an intrusion, was starting to feel less unpleasant.. There was still a feeling of strange tightness, but not as painful as it was before. Levi looked down to you to search for any signs of pain on your face, but seeing your eyes shut tight, your lips parted slightly as you moaned gently, he took this as a sign that you were okay.
Levi continued to roll his hips into you, giving you long deep strokes of his cock that grazed your bundle of nerves inside of you. You weren’t sure of the feeling you were having deep within you, but it felt like pure ecstasy as you began to clench your walls tight around his girth as your orgasm hit – making you shake uncontrollably as you breathed Levi’s name out in small whimpers.
“Shit.” Levi moaned, throwing his head back as he began to pound you faster and faster, not being able to control his slow motions any longer as he chased his high. All thoughts of being gentle and making your first time painless left his head and all he could think about was owing you fully. He grabbed your hips harshly, the sound of his skin slapping against yours violently as you let long, drawn out moans – your voice jolting with his movements which only spurred him on further.
“Oh, holy shit Y/N.” Levi’s strokes were getting faster and rougher as you chanted and moaned his name, closing your eyes and arching your back.
“Eyes on me, Y/N. I wanna watch you fall apart on my cock.” You exhaled in pleasure at his words and actions as your hands gripped onto anything that they could. Levi removed his hand from your hips and grabbed both of his hands with yours, pinning them down to the bed on either side, interlocking his fingers with yours. You look up into his eyes as he breathlessly moans and growls above you, nearing his climax.
As his release approached his thrusts became even more vicious making it nearly impossible for you to hold back your impending orgasm. Levi threw all of his weight into his next thrust, forcing into you with a groan, “I’m so fucking close Y/N.” He lied flat on top of you, still bucking his hips into you as you howled like a bitch in heat. He stilled at last as his own wave of pleasure washed over him as he painted your inner walls white, allowing for your final release. You clamped down on him hard as your eyes rolled back into your head and your body went limp. “Yes, come for me brat.” He’s uttering amidst his moans, still riding out his intense orgasm while his fingers grip yours so hard they turn white.
Levi pulled himself from inside you when his knot deflated, moaning from the back of his throat when the cum he’d just deposited inside poured from your pussy.
“Let’s take care of you, hm?” he pulled you closer and helped you put your legs around his waist, and you put your arms around his neck, swinging your legs behind him. Levi walked the two of you inside the shower and helped you standing up before regulating the water and putting you under the spray, making sure your hair wouldn’t get wet. He washed your back, massaged your shoulder and cleaned you from any fluid from the earlier sexual activities between you, very gentle but firm in his touches and making sure you were responsive in return. When he was done, he cleaned himself in a quick wash and wrapped you in a big towel, drying the two of you with a sad smile on his face and transporting you right back to your bed.
“Y/N, I want another night with you. I want as many as you’ll give me.” Levi looked at her again, his grey eyes filled with weariness and loss but also hope.
You smiled at Levi, he looked so handsome and cute with his hair damp and falling into his eyes. You laid your head against his bare chest. “You can have all my nights, Levi.”
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it will come back [pt. 3] /// Shigaraki x f!Reader
Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 1] [Part 2]
A/N: Watch me drag this fic out of an early grave. Dedicated to all of you who sent me messages telling me you couldn’t wait for the next part—you’re the reason I write 💕
Title from the Hozier song: “don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”
Tags/warnings: yandere, reader is going through it, mentions of injuries & blood, next/last part has 18+ content
Lately you’ve had trouble sleeping.
It feels unfair, obscene almost. How cruel is it that you have to wake up at 5 AM, work a 16 hour shift at the hospital, go home and make instant ramen for yourself (because you never have the energy to cook and restaurants don’t deliver to your neighborhood anymore)—and then when you can finally collapse into your bed, you can’t fall asleep? You don’t want to think about the number of hours you’ve wasted staring up at the dark ceiling of your bedroom, tracing the grains in the plaster and trying to ignore the red numbers on the alarm clock at your bedside getting later and later and later, draining away the precious time you have left.
You look like hell warmed over, and you know it. Two weeks ago you bought concealer for the first time in ages, but it didn’t really help cover the purple bruises carved under your eyes from lack of sleep. Maybe you’re just shit at doing makeup. But even if you could hide the dark circles, it wouldn’t help with the shaking hands and headaches and everything else.
You’d be worried about yourself, but you feel fine. Emotionally, right? You’re totally good. Aside from the tiredness and the accompanying frustration, there’s nothing really wrong with you. Sure, you’re fraternizing with a villain, you recently watched a man get shot to death, and half the time you can manage to get yourself to sleep you just end up waking twenty minutes later, unable to remember what you were dreaming about but paralyzed by something you would almost describe as…panic? Horror? But hey, everyone has rough patches, right? That’s life!
See, you’re the picture of emotional stability. At least compared to the company you keep.
You told him not to come over.
You told him not to come over—you said you were sick, you said you didn’t want him to catch something from you. Tomura didn’t respond to your messages but you assumed he got it. He’s been keeping his distance, now that you think about it. It’s been a while since you last saw him. More than a week. It feels like longer when you think about it. You can’t remember the last time he left you alone for a week. But even though you weren’t expecting him, you still sent the text telling him not to come over. Just in case.
So you lock the window in your bedroom, the one that looks out over the fire escape. Just in case.
It’s fucking cold. Tomura has this bad habit of running up the electricity bill in your shit apartment when he sits around waiting for you. It’s getting colder these days, and you don’t really have the money to keep the heat on while you lie in bed staring at the ceiling waiting to not fall asleep. You pay for heat, but your landlord pays for water, so you’ve found a perfect compromise, which is why you’re sitting in a bathtub of hot water at 2:53 AM with the heat lamp overhead spilling crimson light over everything in your tiny bathroom.
A bead of something wet—steam, sweat?—trickles down your forehead, and you wipe it away with the back of your equally wet hand. God, if anyone saw, you’d probably look batshit…although that’s a road you don’t really want to go down at this point. Sitting alone in your bathtub in the middle of the night? That’s definitely not an emotionally stable activity, right? What’s next? Are you going to be hearing voices?
“Where are you?”
Fuck! The water splashes up as you jerk back inadvertently. Someone’s in your apartment. Someone’s in your home…looking for you. And even though you recognize immediately that the voice calling out from somewhere outside your bathroom is not some random serial killer but your good friend Tomura (who, you have to remind yourself, may very well still be a serial killer for all you know about him) that recognition doesn’t really dull the spike of apprehension that lances through you when you hear him.
You don’t answer.
“(Y/N)…” There’s creaking through your apartment. Footsteps. He’s getting closer.
You don’t really want to see him. You told him you were sick and he still came, but you’re not even that surprised, are you? Part of you was expecting him.
“(Y/N).” His voice sounds hoarse. His footsteps make it sound like he’s limping. “(Y/N)…I need, I need you.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. Fine. Tomura’s still a lost cause, and you’re still a sucker. “Tomura?”
“Where are you…can’t find you…”
Jesus, is he drunk or something? You stand up in the tub and reluctantly reach for the drain stopper. “Give me a sec, I’m in the bath…”
As soon as you say it, you see the handle of the bathroom jiggle and—shit, did you not lock the door? Of course you didn’t, you’re home alone taking a fucking bath and Tomura wasn’t supposed to be here. You barely have time to snatch your robe and shrug it loosely over your naked body before Tomura’s stumbling through the door and into the steam-filled bathroom.
“Hey—what the hell, you can’t be in here! Get out!” Water sloshes out of the tub and overflows onto the tiles as you fall back, because Tomura is for some reason tipping forward and directly on top of you. You don’t fall—barely—because your back slaps painfully against the wall with Tomura plastered against your front.
Everything is red. You left the main light off to save electricity and now you wish you hadn’t, because the heat lamp is so rich and red and heavy. Tomura’s hands and face and hair are so pale that in this light they look bloody. A quick glance at his hands reveals that they’re bandaged. Good thing, because as soon as his body is pressing into yours he’s lurching forward into the tub and wrapping his hands around your shoulders and pulling you—both of you—to your knees in the hot water.
“Tomura—what, what are you doing?” You’re distinctly aware that you didn’t have time to close the robe, so there are patches of your wet, nude skin touching him. His body feels cold compared to the warm water sloshing over the rim of the tub.
“(Y/N)…my head hurts, it hurts, you have to fix me.” Tomura sounds needy. Needier than usual, at least.
His forehead drops onto your shoulder, searing your skin with surprising heat. “Fuck, you’re burning up—? What happened? Did you get in a fight?” No, wait. You don’t want to know that. It’s better if you don’t know the details, so you try again. “Where are you hurt?”
“They shot me, they fucking shot me…”
Even though you’re aware that you’re still mostly naked in your bathtub, this is all it takes to shift you into nurse mode. “Where?”
“Everywhere—my hand, both of my arms, and my legs—“ Before you can stop him, he’s rocking back away from you so he can peel off his long-sleeved shirt, which you can see now is wet from more than bathwater. His arms are covered in bandages, white wrappings stained black with blood and whatever filth you can’t even make out.
No way in hell a medical professional did this, you think, quickly examining the makeshift treatment. Almost as soon as the shirt is off, the poorly-wrapped cotton bandages are falling off his arms in strips. Dark veins branch out under the pale skin of his arms, pushing up against the surface to pump blood toward his injuries. The blue lines in his skin are thickly visible under the red light of the heat lamp, and it looks painful. Agonizing. “You need a hospital.”
“No, no hospitals. I told you—“
“Tomura, seriously, listen to me! You need to see a real doctor, this is really bad…”
It hurts looking at him. You run your hands lightly down the sides of his arms, barely touching, until his hand snatches your wrist away from his body and squeezes so hard you can feel your bones pushing against his. “I don’t need a doctor. I need you.”
“Don’t be stupid, Tomura—“
“I need you, (Y/N)…” His body sags against the side of the tub, pulling you with him, almost on top of him. Without thinking, you brush the silvery wet bangs away from his face. You can feel his chest flexing against your stomach, struggling to pull in breath as consciousness slips away from him. “You can’t leave me here…you can’t just leave me here to die.”
He’s right. Fuck, he’s right. Tomura came here because he knows you won’t bring him to the hospital and you won’t call the cops and you definitely won’t leave him in a ditch somewhere to bleed out on his own. The puffy texture of his older scars—the ones from when you first met him—rub against your smooth lower abdomen with every ragged inhale.
Tomura’s good hand drags over your skin, keeping you as close as he can get you even as his eyes flutter closed.
This isn’t my problem, you think. But it’s already too late.
It was worse than it looked. Somehow. You don’t really know how that’s possible, because it looked horrible—how did Tomura even get shot so many times? It’s a miracle none of the bullets hit him anywhere vital, but you wouldn’t exactly call him lucky. The wounds are at least a week old and none of them are healing well. He has an infection, which explains his fever and why he seemed so out of it when he was with you in the bathroom.
The injuries are a lot better off than when you got started, but you weren’t joking when you told Tomura he needs real medical attention, more than what you can give him with the simple first-aid supplies you keep at home. He’ll need antibiotics. You can’t get those yourself without breaking a few laws and probably getting fired—Tomura wouldn’t expect you to do that, right? Then again, stealing drugs from work probably wouldn’t even register as a crime to him.
Does that make you a villain too? You’re helping him. You know what you’re doing—as much as you try to avoid knowing anything about him, you can’t pretend you didn’t see everything that came up when you almost searched him weeks ago. ‘League of villains’, it said. That can’t be good. And yet here he is, half-mummified in clean gauze and sleeping soundly in bed like any old patient.
At least something good came of this: you’re exhausted. Treating Tomura has finally taken enough out of you to get you to sleep. Now that he’s stable, you’re the one who feels like passing out… You should take the couch, you really should, but it’s so cold. Both of you need to keep warm, and you’ll be up for work in a few hours anyway. He probably won’t even notice you’re next to him, right…?
You’re so tired you barely know what you’re doing as you pull up the corner of the blanket over Tomura and push into the bed at his side.
Not anything new. Of course it hurts, of course…he was delirious with anger at first and he barely noticed it but then it got bad, and it got worse, and he had to. He had to see you. It’s not fair when you tell him not to come.
Ah…ah. He feels ill. The pain strobes like a heartbeat. But it’s different now. Duller. It must be better. You make it better.
Where is he?
You told him not to come. It wasn’t fair.
The air stings cold against Tomura’s face. His eyelashes are sticking together but he opens his eyes anyway. Your bedroom, this is your bedroom. He knows even though you haven’t let him in here since that first time. Sometimes when he comes you’re not back from work yet so. He waits in here for you sometimes. He likes this room. It’s his favorite room in your place. He likes to go through your dresser. It smells like you in here.
It smells like you…
How did he get here?
It’s dark out but not black like midnight. The light through the windows is blue, deep deep blue. Cold…he’s been sleeping on damp hair and it’s slicked to the back of his neck and cheeks. He doesn’t sleep with his hair wet. Why? He’s cold, but—hot—like his guts are churning around and can’t decide. He knows by instinct that it’ll hurt to turn his head so he doesn’t. Out the window is inky blue but he closes his eyes and it turns red for a second…
Scarlet, scarlet red. Blood squirming out of an artery. You, an apparition, a ghost, wet and warm and red. You were in the bath. You were in the bath and you were sparkling red. Red glittering over your shoulders. Tomura wanted you to make him better but his head is floating now and he wants to lick the water off your skin. He dreams about you like this all the time but it feels so real. Your body slicked up against his. That line of bare skin where your robe was open and you touched him like that. He wants you so bad he can feel you. He can smell you. He wonders—if he licked you, he wonders, would you taste like water?
In the dream you’re so red. Like if he tasted you, it would be blood and not water in his mouth.
The bed moves. Someone breathing next to him. Tomura says your name and you sigh in your sleep.
Why—? How, how, he didn’t—doesn’t remember how he got here, but you’re here, you’re next to him, warm and damp and still. It hurts to move but not enough to stop him and he turns over so he can see you. He says your name again. And again. And again.
Doesn’t matter how he got here. Doesn’t even hurt anymore. His pulse is back in his throat now, then in his chest, and then lower. You’re so close…you’re sleeping next to him. You look too sick and too tired—you’ve been ill for weeks now, he’s noticed—but you’re still perfect. You’re sleeping deeply, curled on your side with your hair swept back on the pillow, away from your neck. Tomura’s hand finds its way to your shoulder and tries to push, tries to lift his body on top of yours, but he’s too weak. So he just touches you. Pulls the neckline of the robe down a little and puts his hand on your skin. You taped his little finger but he keeps it lifted, just in case.
He’s been confused. You’ve been sending mixed signals but this—showing him your body in the bath, letting him touch you, fixing his injuries and falling asleep next to him. You want him, you want this. You need the things he needs. But he’s too weak, feverish and trembling (and it’s because of them, the pro heroes, the UA teachers, always getting in the way, it’s their fault their fault their fault) and he can’t right now. They’re always getting in the way. Not fair.
(If it wasn’t for them you wouldn’t be so wary. You wouldn’t be sick. You wouldn’t check your locks twice before you go to bed. You wouldn’t tell him not to come over—you wouldn’t be scared—and then he could be with you all the time, always—) But they’re not here now. You’re right next to him and there’s nothing between you and Tomura, nothing keeping him from feeling you.
He slows his breath down. Matches it to yours so when you breathe out he breathes in. Moving his chest along with yours. In and out and in. Tomura lays his mouth against your collarbone and licks your cool damp skin.
You taste like you smell. Fresh and clean and almost sweet, but not really. Like milk.
It’s so good. Tomura wonders for a second if this is a fever dream but it hasn’t been this good in a hundred dreams, a thousand. He pushes his body against yours, fits his knee between you legs so he can rut his dick into your hip. Just being near you is almost enough.
“Mm—what’s… Tomura?” Your eyes blink open slowly and he freezes, pulling his mouth away from your neck. “What are you doing…”
You’re sleepy, but you’re not dizzy enough to ignore the heat of his body locked into yours. You prop yourself up on an elbow to move away, but—
She’s leaving, Tomura thinks, and for some reason this thought makes him anxious, agitated. He tries to pull you back down but his hands are shaky. “You can’t go.”
“Well...how are you feeling?”
“Better. Cold. But— you can’t go.” Tomura’s voice sounds strange, even to himself. His breathing is heavier than it’s supposed to be. “I won’t let you. You can’t.”
“Calm down. I’m not going anywhere.” Not that you have anywhere to go. It’s before dawn and all you really want is to go back to sleep.
Tomura’s long fingers make their way to the back of your neck, letting his weight push you back down to the pillow instead of trying to hold you there by force. You don’t resist, but it’s not the guarantee he wants. “You’re not going to leave.”
“I mean, I have work in a few hours…” But you know that’s not what he means.
“Promise. You have to promise you won’t leave.”
You try to laugh it off (what is he talking about? where did this even come from? he doesn’t give a shit about what you do as long as you’re around to sew him up, right?) but the sound dies in your throat when you see how serious Tomura looks.
He looks like he did before, that time after you saw the cashier get shot, after he wiped the blood off your face and you realized what it meant to let this stranger into your life and pretend you know him. He’s a villain. He hurts people. Maybe this is what they see—maybe this is how he looks at people when he hurts them.
“Say it… Say you’re not going to leave. Ever.” He’s holding it back but he’s desperate. You can hear it in his voice.
“I promise I won’t leave,” you tell him, and you’re not supposed to be whispering but you are. This shouldn’t mean anything—he’s feverish, he’s out of it, and you’re just telling him what he wants to hear—but at the same time you can feel how delicately you have to handle this, like you’re holding something very fragile and very sharp in your bare hands.
“Say it again,” Tomura says.
“I’m not going to leave.”
“I’m not leaving, Tomura, come on—“
“Just one more time…like you mean it…”
Your eyes lock with his, and you try to convince someone (him? or yourself?) that you’re telling the truth. “I’m not going to leave you.”
Tomura rattles out a sigh. His mouth is up against your collarbone, rough lips brushing against your chest. Bandaged arms come to rest around you, closing you in, and you don’t know whether that’s supposed to make you feel safe or trapped.
Honestly, you’d rather not find out.
“Yeah—“ You shoot an apologetic glance at the chief nursing officer and try to shut the door to the staff room as quietly as possible. “Yeah, sorry. Bus was late.”
Untrue. The bus was on time, but Tomura turned your alarm off and made you miss it. It’s the fourth day that he’s been staying over while you treat his gunshots. There’s that saying about fish and visitors stinking after three days…how soon do semi-unwelcome criminal occupants start to stink?
The CNO glares at you. “Second time this week. I told you we had a staff meeting.”
“Yeah, I know, I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.” Well, not if you can manage to kick Tomura out tonight. He’s recovered a lot, which has to have something to do with the drugs he’s managed to acquire through probably less-than-legal means. Like usual, you don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.
“See that it doesn’t.”
Nodding meekly, you duck away from the CNO’s stern glare and grab a paper cup to fill with coffee. The speaker at the front of the meeting isn’t someone you recognize—in fact, he doesn’t even look like a hospital worker. He’s scruffy, dressed in all black except an oversized grey scarf and a sling, and he looks like he’s more in need of a decent night’s sleep than you are (which is saying something). If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was a patient here.
Droopy eyes flick toward your conspicuous entrance and you find yourself mentally cursing Tomura out again for making you late. Luckily though, the speaker doesn’t seem interested in calling you out. “Like I was saying, keep on guard for anyone matching his description. He’s badly injured, and unless the League has a doctor on call, it’s possible he’ll turn up in an ER for professional medical attention.”
Unless the League has a doctor on call?
(the white-blue light of your computer screen. the smell of blood. your heartbeat in your throat. the ghost of his hands pinning your wrists down to the couch. > tomura shigaraki league of villains)
The speaker, whose odd outfit you now recognize as a pro hero costume, points out on his own body where the injuries are that the ER staff is supposed to be looking out for. A gunshot through the right hand. A few grazes on the side of his thigh. More. All over his arms and legs. But you don’t need the warning. You know exactly where each gunshot is, because you’ve been treating them for the past four days.
Someone’s hand curls over yours and you jump. “(Y/N), you’re spilling the coffee,” the CNO whispers curtly, tugging the coffeepot away from you before any more of the black liquid can drip over the side of the cup and splatter on the tile floor below.
“What should we do if we recognize him?” asks one of the nurses sitting in front of you. Her eyes are wide and you can tell that she’s excited by this, thrilled at the opportunity to be a part of a real-life villain investigation.
The hero scratches his head. “Contact police as soon as you can, but don’t engage. Don’t confront him or let him know you know who he is.”
“But what if he tries to get away? We keep quirk-cancelling cuffs here. We could stop him escaping.”
“Let him escape.” The hero pauses, and for some reason his gaze sharpens, hardens. “I get it, this is an ER. You’ve all seen what villain attacks look like close up. But this one’s different.”
You know you’re imagining it, but why does it feel like the hero’s looking at you? You force yourself to look down at the coffee instead of making eye contact. Ripples. You’re shivering.
“You might think the hospital’s a safe place, or maybe you’ve even got a quirk you think will protect you, but trust me. You say the wrong thing, and you’re dust. He won’t even break a sweat.”
Dust. Like your phone after Tomura held it that first night. Like your silverware when Tomura gets careless. It’s so quick. You don’t want to think about what that quirk would do to a human body, but your eyes flit to the casts and gauze decorating the pro’s body and you don’t really have to guess.
“Anyway, keep on the lookout. We’re working with your director to take a look at records, see if anyone’s come through who could be our guy. And be aware of any increase in villain attacks in the area—we’ve got info that the League’s been recruiting from a neighborhood nearby.”
There are a few more questions after that, but you keep quiet, ducking your head to avoid the hero’s gaze. What do you do? Tell him that Tomura—Shigaraki—is probably holed up in your apartment at this very moment? Maybe you can find him after the meeting, but how are you supposed to explain that you didn’t know?
But is that even true? Are you really innocent here?
The hero leaves while you’re still deciding whether to go after him. You gulp down some of your lukewarm coffee and tug on the CNO’s sleeve. “Hey, hey, who is this guy we’re supposed to be looking for? I missed the start of the meeting.”
“Shigaraki? Are you kidding?” You shake your head, and the CNO rolls his eyes. “You haven’t heard of the leader of the League of Villains?”
“Not really.” Your voice is too high. Don’t notice, you think, please don’t notice.
“They’re the ones who attacked UA two weeks ago—come on, even you have to turn on the news once in a while.” He must be able to see the blood draining out of your face, because his frown softens. “(Y/N), I’ve seen you poke needles into mob bosses without batting an eyelash. Don’t tell me you’re scared of a villain.”
UA. That’s a hero school. That’s a high school.
“I’m not.” Even you don’t believe yourself. “I’m not scared.”
There’s a long pause as the other nurses drain out of the room, and then CNO pats your shoulder awkwardly. “Look, you’ve got a shift in a few minutes. Keep away from 20-year-olds with white hair and you’ll be fine…now go clock in, unless you want to be late again.
You nod. But you don’t clock in. You go to the private staff bathroom, lock the door, and balance your laptop on your knees so you can look for it. The last time you tried to do this you were too scared, but now it’s like you’re in a trance, like you couldn’t stop yourself if you tried.
It’s not hard to find news—the terrorist attack is plastered so thick all over the internet that it’s amazing you haven’t seen anything about it until now. You read article after article. You watch a news story. There are pictures, interviews. You fit it together, piece by piece: the portal the villains the leader the attacks the nomu.
He tried to kill 15-year-olds. Children. If he hadn’t gotten shot, Tomura would have wrapped his hand around a little girl’s face and turned her into dust.
Judging by the interviews from the heroes who fought him, he would have enjoyed it.
You’re going to be sick. You close your laptop and put it back in your bag and kneel in front of the toilet so you can retch into it, and then you gargle some water from the sink and wipe the sour taste out of your mouth and leave the bathroom. You’re late for your shift.
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Yet even so, Francesco Datini’s memory has remained more alive than that of some greater men. The grasping, wilful man who, even in his last hours, ‘thought it a very strange thing that he should have to die’, has succeeded – by the preservation of his papers and the gift of his fortune – in avoiding total oblivion. Economists and historians remember him with gratitude, and so, to this day, do some of the poor of his native city, to whom what is left of his fortune is distributed every year. Still, on the day of his death, a Mass is said for him, at the city’s expense, in the Cathedral of Prato; still, in the Cappella della Sacra Cintola, his silver lamps burn before the Virgin’s shrine; and still the passer-by may read the inscription carved over his doorway: ‘The Ceppo of Francesco di Marco, Merchant of Christ’s Poor.’
Iris Origo, The Merchant of Prato
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It Had To Be Done
Tokyo Manji Gang x GN!reader
In which Takemichi has no choice but to kill Y/n in order to correct the future timeline.
Warnings: reader death, drugging, slight manga spoilers.
Part two | Part three
That was never the plan. It was never Takemichi’s plan to have blood on his hands, especially not someone so precious to Toman. If it wasn’t for the harrowing future, time and time again, he would not have dared to even approach the beloved Toman member. Not when they smiled with such warmth and reassurance, not when they accepted their fate and blindly believed him for his reasoning.
“Naoto... I can’t do this.”
“You have to Takemichi, you’ve seen what they’ve done. They’re behind the darkness of this reality. L/n Y/n is the reason we aren’t getting any progress done.”
Takemichi clenched his fists as he recalled the friendly demeanour they held every encounter they had, he didn’t believe that the Y/n now was same he saw twelve years ago. They were gone, the old Y/n was gone and replaced by a dull and withered host. They were just skin, and bone, and flesh. No personality, only a puppet with strings holding them hostage, wrapped around Mikey’s finger.
“Takemitchy... Death feels more welcoming than this.”
That’s what they had said when he confronted them in the future. Y/n’s eyes were distant -detached from any form of life, the glistening tears were not held back as they just stared at the now dark haired male they used to call friend.
“What about Chifuyu?! Draken?! Mitsuya?! Anyone?!” Takemichi was desperate, hand clenching onto the front of his shirt as he tried to keep his voice from cracking.
“I’ll kill them over and over, if that is what it takes to keep them safe from whatever this hell is. I’d off myself too but we both know Mikey would go on a rampage if I do anything now. I’m the only one he has left.”
How did it get like this?
No matter what changed in the past, Y/n would always end up killing one or the other in the future with the same emotional void.
Here he was, heart beating loudly in his eardrums as he set his eyes on the carefree Y/n who was running around with the Kawata twins with Mitsuya yelling at the three to calm down. Takemichi felt physically sick as he planned out how he was going to achieve killing Toman’s best friend.
“Hey! Takemitchy, save me from the evil twins!” Y/n squealed as they hid behind the blonde for cover.
That was the only thing Takemichi heard.
Chifuyu, noting the strange behaviour of the newfound friend, shot Takemichi a look and motioned him over to a secluded corner of the playground they were all gathered in.
“What did you see in the future that has you all acting like this?” Chifuyu had asked as he glanced around, making sure no one overheard.
Takemichi didn’t know whether to say anything to Chifuyu or not, but he had to say something. The burden was far heavy to keep to himself.
“I have to do something horrible.” Takemichi bit his bottom lip as he took in a deep breath, shakily letting it out.
Chifuyu looked at his friend in worry, following Takemichi’s gaze towards Y/n, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion. “Why do you keep looking at Y/n like that?”
“I have to kill them.”
Takemichi shushed the male as he glanced around, glad no one noticed the outburst.
“You can’t do that! N-Not Y/n.”
Chifuyu looked scared and Takemichi didn’t know how to approach the subject. “Every timeline I go through, no matter what I fix, I can’t save them. I can’t save you guys because of them. Y/n looks miserable in each and every future I went back to. This is the only way.”
Chifuyu suddenly grabbed Takemichi’s collar and pulled him closer, “there has to be a way!” The male couldn’t lose another friend, not after Baji.
Takemichi felt tears well up as he started sniffling, “there’s no other way! I don’t want to do this! But there’s no other way!” The blonde broke down, “I don’t want their blood on my hands, I don’t want to kill anyone!”
Chifuyu looked lost, but he was aware of the heavy burden Takemichi carried with him. Seeing your friends and lover die over and over again must have taken a toll on his mental state. He gulped before releasing the blonde, looking down at the floor as he felt tears of frustration burn his eyes. This wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair.
“I’ll do it for you.”
Takemichi looked at Chifuyu in shock, the latter not making eye contact with him as he wiped his tears with the back of his hand. “You’ve carried enough with you... I can do it.”
“No.” Takemichi said firmly, “I don’t know what the future will hold if you do it, it’s one thing for me to do it because I’m the one who’s already seen the worst, it’s another for you to bear that burden for the next years to come.”
Chifuyu nodded before looking back at Y/n, “can I at least say a proper goodbye before you go through with this?”
Y/n was laughing along with Smiley, sitting cross-legged on the soft grass with an ice cream cone in hand. “I have a plan.” Smiley declares, catching the attention of Y/n and Angry, both looking up from their cones.
“It involves fire.”
“Absolutely not, you maniac.” Angry scoffed as Y/n just gave him with an unimpressed look, “you’re a menace to society you know that?”
“You two suck.”
“Y/n!” Mikey strolled over and plopped himself down beside them, looking at them expectantly as he eyed the cone in their hands. Y/n rolled their eyes as they shoved the male away, “you’ve had enough sweets for the day, Mikey.”
Mikey started to whine as he draped himself over Y/n dramatically, “stop being a little bitch.” Y/n clicked their tongue in annoyance, but a small smile made way at the glare that was given to them by Mikey.
A large hand came down upon their head, “is that any way to speak to your commander, Y/n?”
“That hurt, Kenny!”
“Oi! Don’t call me that!”
It was late in the night when a doorbell distracted Y/n from their reading. Confused, they slowly trudged towards the front door and opened it a smidge before relaxing and easing it open fully. Before them stood Takemichi and Chifuyu, both males looking forlorn and distraught.
“Is everything okay?” Y/n asked worried, ushering the two inside.
“Everything is okay.” Chifuyu shot them a wavering smile, hesitating before grabbing Y/n’s arm and pulling them into a hug.
Nestling his face in their neck, taking in their warmth and the familiar smell that lingered on them despite any circumstance. Y/n, now concerned, wrapped their arms around Chifuyu before shooting Takemichi a look wanting to know what was happening. Sniffles could be heard from the male hugging them, Chifuyu’s grip tightening with each breath.
“How about I make you two something warm to drink, huh?” Y/n asked, gently peeling themselves away from the crying boy and placing their hands on either side of his cheek, Chifuyu leaned into their touch before nodding.
Takemichi gulped before leaning on the kitchen counter as Y/n prepared calming tea for the three of them, “hey, Y/n?”
Y/n turned their head towards the blonde, beckoning him to continue with a short hum. “I’m sorry, for everything.”
“There’s nothing for you to be apologizing about Takemitchy.” Y/n handed the boy a mug.
Takemichi encased his cold hands around the warm mug, heart beating rapidly at what was about to take place. Chifuyu and Takemichi shared a look before Chifuyu turned Y/n away from their mug.
“You were the best thing that has happened to Toman, Y/n.” Chifuyu stated, eyes glancing back at Takemichi who was slipping a powder-like substance into Y/n’s tea. Gulping down the lump in his throat
“What’s going on with the two of you?”
Y/n grabbed their mug after looking away from Chifuyu and took a sip to test the temperature before gulping a bit of the liquid down. “Truth is Y/n, I can time leap.” Takemichi kept his eyes on them, “and in order to save everyone, I had to do something unforgivable.”
“I figured something was up with you,” Y/n hummed looking down at their cup, already aware of the contents inside from the smell alone. Y/n took a deep breath before downing the whole mug, “I’m guessing you had to kill me to keep everyone safe, huh?”
Both males looked at Y/n in shock as they put aside their now empty mug, Y/n coughed a bit, “explains both your behaviours tonight.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Takemichi cried as Y/n pulled him in a hug. His arms wound around them as he sobbed into their shoulder, the burdens he carries with him oozing out with the wrenching sobs that came out with him.
Y/n saw black spots taking over their vision, “I forgive you, Takemitchy. It had to be done.”
Their body went slack in his arms as their breathing slowed. The sudden slack weight had Takemichi staggering, knees weak.
Chifuyu had a hand on his mouth to stifle his sobs, watching his friend lay Y/n down on the floor. “I leave them to you, Takemitchy.” Y/n mustered a smile before glancing at Chifuyu who knelt down beside them. He grabbed their hand and held tight, it was too soon to lose another friend. “Keep that good heart of yours, okay Chifuyu?”
The male nodded, unable to find his voice from the constant sobs and hiccups escaping his throat. “I love you guys.” They muttered before slipping into stillness. It was painless and quick. There was no physical blood but somehow that felt worse, it was horrible to think someone would come across Y/n’s lifeless body once the two leave.
How would Toman react?
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” Takemichi repeated like a prayer, hoping this nightmare would end. It was a never-ending cycle of the people he held close dying and he knew he was never going to recover from all of this, if it ever were to be a good ending.
Chifuyu let out a raw scream, hands gripping Y/n’s shirt as he sobbed leaning into them. He hated this, he wished he never got to be a part of the gang, but the gang was his family. It was a wrenching bittersweet moment.
Anger, frustration, and sadness muddled together as the two were coming to terms with what they had just done.
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⭒ how to care for your fatui harbinger ⭒
in which childe faints from pain and blood loss and you, his oh-so-loving partner, patch him up
genre: hurt/comfort, fluff
word count: 1334
Childe lives for the thrill of battle. He’ll face off against any opponent, but he prefers something that will present at least a bit of a challenge. There’s nothing better than the exhilaration that comes with fighting for your life, Childe thinks, so he seeks out enemies he shouldn’t, unconcerned with whether he’ll come out alive. It’s all part of his pursuit to grow stronger; and besides, nothing compares to the pride he feels after defeating something that should have killed him.
Today he’d felt particularly restless, so Childe went out to do what he always did when he was like this: find something to fight. Unfortunately for him, nothing particularly difficult crossed his path, pushing Childe to continue on and on until he came across something more exciting. He’d made quick work of several Hilichurl camps, and by the time he’d finished off his second Abyss Mage of the day, it had begun to rain.
That’s when the Ruin Guard found him.
Childe was honestly relieved that he’d found—or, he supposed, had been found by—something a little more dangerous. It hadn’t been too hard to defeat, the rain aiding in his attacks, but the downpour limited visibility. He was growing tired, but Childe couldn’t have cared less, instead spurred on by the additional difficulty.
He’d won, of course. He could very clearly recall watching the Ruin Guard fall, the ground beneath his feet shaking. The machine had jerked and sparked for a moment before shutting down, completely useless. Childe remembers putting his weapon away and walking over to the Ruin Guard, the toe of his boot lazily nudging the pile of metal as he’d placed his hands on his hips.
Then his side exploded in searing pain.
And then he woke up here. Wherever “here” was.
He was laying in a soft bed, propped against a pile of pillows at the headboard, that much was obvious. He could hear the rain still pouring down in a steady, dull rhythm outside. His pain had lessened, thankfully, and he could feel several of his injuries had been tended to and bandaged.
Childe wasn’t left wondering by who for very long as you make your way into his field of vision, fiddling with something in your hands, your back to him. He brightens immediately.
“Hey!” He chirps, grinning at you as he sat a little straighter. “Whatcha up to?” Childe tilts his head, and you turn just in time—setting whatever was in your hands down on a nearby table— to see him wince as the action sends a jolt of pain along his shoulder.
He doesn’t expect you to fix him with an icy glare.
“You mean aside from dragging your unconscious ass all the way from the Guili Plains to Wangshu Inn?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “And then basically bringing you back from the brink of death? Oh, not much.” Childe winces again, this time at your words.
“Unconscious, huh?” He asks, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Sorry about that.” You sigh, burying your face in your hands. Childe’s smile falls as you stay like that for a moment, before you finally make your way over to his side.
The bed dips as you sit next to him, wrapping your arms around his bare waist and carefully burying your face into his bandaged neck.
“You scared me,” you mumble, tightening your hold on him. Though you can’t see it, Childe’s gaze softens.
“Aw, come on,” he says, bringing his own arms down and around you. “It’s going to take a lot more than that to get rid of me.”
“Is it?” You ask, drawing back to look him in the eyes, your arms falling from around his form. “Each time you go find some crazy strong opponent to fight, I’m scared you won’t come back, Childe. Just—” You avert your gaze, staring down at your hands in your lap. “Just be more careful. Please.”
Silence, save for the beating of the rain.
“Okay,” he says, uncharacteristically quiet. “I promise.”
You relax, your shoulders drooping. “Thank you,” you sigh, flashing him a small smile. “Now,” you push off from your spot at his side to stand. “I never finished dressing your wounds.”
As you make your way to the table to retrieve a roll of bandages—what you had been messing with when Childe first came to—you swear he mumbles something that sounds like “never finished dressing me, either.” When you whip around to fix him with another glare, he simply grins back at you.
“I heard that,” you snap, returning to his side and unwinding a strip of bandage.
“Heard what?” He hums sweetly, and you roll your eyes. You’d already taken care of his worst injuries, so you start wrapping a cluster of relatively small cuts on his arm. Thank the Archons, Childe lets you work in silence for a while, covering each wound you come across as you carefully inspect his upper body. You know the quiet won’t last, not with him, but you enjoy it while it does.
“You know,” Childe starts, and you brace yourself for whatever it is he’s about to say, finishing tending to a minor wound above the already-bandaged large gash in his side.
“If you wanted to see me shirtless so bad, you could’ve just asked.”
You inhale sharply, freezing as, much to your dismay, your face burns. You can feel Childe shaking, attempting to contain his laughter at your reaction as you refuse to meet his eyes.
He yelps when you press a hand into the wound on his side, careful so as not to actually hurt him, effectively shutting him up. As you quickly retreat from his side, he hears you grumble out that you were “fixing the bandages.” An obvious lie. Childe’s eyes follow you as you pack up the medicinal supplies you’d been using, the flush on your cheeks only deepening under his gaze.
“That was rude of you,” he whines, and you snort at his pouting.
“Me?” He feigns innocence. “All I said was—”
You yell, cutting him off as you stiffly turn to face him again, your hands balled into fists at your side. “I know what you said,” you grit out between clenched teeth. Childe’s gaze is mirthful, and he laughs at you again. You cross your arms indignantly, half-heartedly glaring at him from your place beside the bed. It doesn’t take long, though, for you to start laughing along with him, your shoulders gently bouncing.
“You’re terrible,” you sigh, moving to sit next to him again.
“Ah, but you love me anyway,” Childe responds as you take your seat.
You immediately regret it when he wraps his arms around you—trapping yours against your sides—and pulls you into his still-bare chest.
Shrieking, you struggle in his hold, but it does nothing. Quite the opposite of what you want, Childe actually holds you tighter to him, burying his face in your shoulder.
You ask yourself why you ever entered a relationship with a Fatui Harbinger.
He’s laughing again, you realize, and you give up, slumping into him and seething in his arms. Your blush comes back with a vengeance as you glare straight ahead, accepting your fate for the time being. You let Childe have his moment, feeling him nuzzle into the back of your shoulder before placing a soft kiss on the same spot.
Finally, finally his hold on you loosens. You take advantage of your newfound mobility to spring away from him, ignoring the dramatic groan of disappointment he lets out as you free yourself from his clutches. He calls out your name, practically whining. He seems to really be trying to live up to his alias today.
“Aw, come on—”
“I’m not coming back over there until you put a shirt on,” you say, refusing to even look at him, and he groans again.
“Babe,” Childe pleads, “I promise I won’t—”
He’s silenced as a clean, dry shirt hits him in the face.
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♡˖°꒰ ukai keishin x fem! reader
❥ t/w | nsfw, public sex, exhibitionism, daddy kink, mentions of keishin drinking, light choking, 18 y/o manager, spiritual successor to ‘gold’
» certain feelings are revealed after keishin sneaks into your room at training camp.
The room is dully illuminated, faint slithers of moonlight creeping in from gaps in the curtains. Your eyes are already adjusted to the darkness, but every touch of his hands on your body feels like ecstasy. You can hear his gruff pants loud in your ear, the way he groans your name as you moan.
“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, drawn-out and breathy. “I need you to be quiet for me, yeah? Can you do that?”
Keishin’s voice is soft as he speaks into your ear. It’s such a contrast to the way he’s thrusting into you. He’s hitting deep, strokes short and your eyes flit over to Kiyoko as she murmurs incoherent words in her sleep. The image of her is obscured with every snap of Keishin’s hips, your body moving with each thrust and eyes clouding with tears at all the sensations.
His voice. Your friend right next to you. It all makes your head spin, giving you whiplash as you clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds leaving you. Keishin isn't supposed to be here and when he said he had a surprise for you tonight— you didn’t think he meant this.
Your eyes snap shut to try and focus on everything around you. Keishin smells of cigarettes and booze with a dash of mint. It hits you all at once with his face against your neck, lips latched onto the junction of your shoulder while he sucks deep bruises into the skin. A harsh bite has you keening into your hand at the sensation causing a curse to leave his mouth at the alluring sound.
His hands grip your hips tight, so tight you can feel his blunt nails digging into your skin, little crescent shapes being engraved into the flesh. It makes you shiver, puffy lips parting as you pant out allowing drool to leak onto the pillow. The cold metal of the ring on his finger burns you, brands itself into your skin and all you can think about is—
Keishin. Keishin. Keishin. Keishin.
“Kei... Kei, I—” your words are cut off when he shifts his hips, hitting that spot deep inside you. Your hands shakily fall to his biceps, nails sinking into the skin and your thighs snap inward when his hand falls to your hard little clit. His thumb is moving in circles and your walls just greedily suck him in.
“Look at her...” he hisses, “look at her when you cum all over daddy’s cock.”
It’s embarrassing. Your skin feels hot. Your mind feels muddled. And you look at Kiyoko, heated cheek pressed into your pillow as you admire her features. Her soft lips are parted, silky hair fanned out around her as she lays on her back. The usual glasses she wears are placed neatly beside her and—
“Shit, shit, shit, oh god!” you whine out as Keishin pinches your clit harshly.
“Shut up…” He breathes out, hand coming to wrap around your mouth. His eyes are locked onto your center before he stops his movements altogether— robbing you of your end. A sob leaves you, eyes tightly clenching shut and tears now leak down your face. There’s a moment of silence before you open them again, locking eyes with him almost immediately. “You’re always so fucking loud.”
‘M’sorry, M’sorry’ oozes from your mouth. It’s muffled and muddled like the lines that are being crossed, lines that no one seems to care about anymore and the longer you stare at Kiyoko the more you realize you’d gladly do anything for Keishin— he knows it too.
“I can’t believe you’re letting me fuck your sloppy pussy right next to your best friend.” He rolls his hips into you, the words leaving him in a whisper. Somehow his voice drops even more with his next words, “You must really love me, huh?”
You both know you do and he loves you just as equally… maybe even more. Keishin’s hand leaves your face to grasp yours, fingers lacing before placing them down beside your face on the side furthest from Kiyoko. He noses at your neck, flesh being bitten softly as he thrusts into you steadily.
“Keishin,” you keen. “Faster, please, please, please, daddy. I promise— promise I’ll be quiet, I just—”
He knows you like it rough, like it when he drives into you so harshly you can’t breathe and your eyes roll back into your skull. He knows you like it when you have finger-shaped bruises on your hips the next day from him grabbing you so roughly. He pulls back, lips curling into a smirk at your fucked out ramblings. “You want daddy to pound into this little pussy?”
“Yeah, daddy… fucking ruin me.” His eyes widen. “Ruin me, please,” you repeat.
There’s not a second wasted as Keishin's free hand comes up to wrap around your throat. His hips snap into yours with such harshness you know you’re going to be sore tomorrow. The chain around your neck catches his eyes as it glimmers with every jolt of your body. The branding ‘K’ and gold ring reminding him of every little thing you two have done together. He can distantly hear you saying his name, crying it out as if he’s your god— the very and only thing you worship.
There’s a dull papping that makes its way through the room and the both of you wonder how none of the faculty in the room over has woken yet. In some fucked up way Keishin hopes they can hear you, hopes the coaches that were talking about your tight little body can hear that he’s the only one who gets to ruin it, claim it, own it.
He needs them to know that all of you belongs to him and he knows he can say the same for himself. Keishin knows he doesn’t express it as much as he should but— he’s yours. The thoughts cause him to lean in, lips capturing yours as you moan into his mouth. His hand squeezes yours three times, each for a single word he still has so much trouble saying; I. Love. You.
You’re so lost in each other you forget about the other person in the room, sounds being swallowed by your mouths and sweet nothings whispered in your ear. In the corner of your eye, you see movement— Keishin notices it too.
She’s facing you now and your breath hitches when she reaches out blindly to grab for your hand. There’s a whine that leaves her unconscious state when she can’t find it. You can tell beneath her eyelids her eyes are flickering almost as if they’re searching around for you and in an effort to keep her asleep, you reach out. Her hand is soft in yours and it’s such a contrast to Keishin’s calloused hands. The ones that are holding onto you as he slams into you roughly right now.
You can see her mouth moving, lips forming your name and you try to wrestle your hand out of Keishin’s grip, needing something— anything —to muffle the sounds about to leave your mouth. You can feel the hand wrapped around your throat squeeze before moving up to your jaw, turning your head to the side to face Kiyoko. You can only wonder what her reaction would be like if she woke up right now, wonder what her face would look like at the sight of the team’s coach fucking you brainless.
“Daddy, lemme look at you, please…” you mutter, lip being bitten raw as you swallow all your sounds.
At the sight, his thumb falls onto your bottom lip pulling it out between your teeth before speaking, “Naw, don’t do that... Let daddy hear those sweet sounds before he cums, alright?”
You hum and Keishin’s body seems even closer than before like he’s melted into you as his pelvis rubs against your clit. The friction has you holding Kiyoko’s hand even tighter— mind not even worried about the consequences —and when she whines out your name in her sleep, your walls just pulse and cream around his cock. You cry out his name only to be muffled by his mouth, by his tongue as it laps at every crevice as if he’s never kissed you before. His cock twitches when you bite down on his lip and warmth fills you when he catches sight of the glimmering ‘K’ resting between your tits.
Keishin pulls out one last time before pushing back in swiftly. He hisses when your walls clench at the action and you can feel his cum seep down beneath you both. He lets out a curse at the sight; your pretty pussy stuffed to the brim with his cum. Even though he’s seen it so many times, he’ll never get over it.
Your tired eyes flicker about, taking everything in. Kiyoko’s still asleep even with her hand almost being crushed by your death grip. The rustling of her blankets is the only thing that can be heard apart from your breathing. Her hand pulls away from yours as she turns over, away from you, away from Keishin and it’s only now that you register his hand toying with your necklace.
You both go to speak, cutting each other off, and instead of attempting again— you don’t. He places his head on your chest, fingers still fiddling with the chain. Immediately, your hands move to run through his hair, the thought of what you were both about to say festering in your minds.
He needs to tell you. He has to tell you. And so he does.
“I’m tired of hiding this shit,” Keishin speaks so suddenly, determination laced in his voice. “One day… I’ll put a ring on your finger, not on some fucking chain where nobody can see it.”
Doubt flows through him when you don’t respond. It has him second-guessing himself, mouth opening to try and save whatever you have left, but he stops when he hears you take a shuddering breath.
“I’d like that,” you whisper through a watery smile, “a lot actually...”
It’s quiet after. The both of you relish in each other’s company, forgetting about where you are at that very moment. Completely content and you know in the morning you’ll have to pretend like this never happened… like you’re not in love with Ukai Keishin.
» a/n | happy valentine’s day! i’m sending everyone lots of love and smooches! i hope you enjoyed this! (つω`｡)♡
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Why Couldn’t it Have Been Me?
Paring: Wilbur Soot x reader (past), Ghostbur x reader
Disclaimer: This contains major spoilers for Tommyinnit’s 4/29 lore stream
Warnings: swearing, violence, death, near death, cheating, 4/29 lore stream, grief, blood, injury, panic attack
Word count: 6,737
(A/N): So in this, you’re Schlatt’s twin and Puffy’s your older sister. Also, sorry for any mistakes, I typed a good 2/3 of this on my phone
This was your own personal hell: being trapped within cement walls with your ex fiance, your asshole of a brother, and a Dream wannabe that seemed to never lose any energy. Your life was like a trope in a novel alive you would’ve liked, however being cursed to live in it made you absolutely loathe any and all mention of it.
Alive you would’ve killed to hang out with your brother again, not the one that turned to the bottle. Alive you would’ve craved the sweet melodies that streamed from Wilbur’s mouth. You would’ve swooned and maybe, just maybe, you would’ve forgiven him. Alive you would’ve perhaps liked this ‘Mexican Dream’ guy, you would’ve perhaps become the best of friends.
However you despised the three locked up with you with your whole heart.
Your ex fiance was someone you adored. Hell, you even idolized him when you were alive. The Wilbur you knew was sweet, loving, attentive, and just all around someone that you swooned over. You could still remember how your heart exploded when he first asked you out under the setting sun by the ocean. You remembered every song he's written for you, every word and rhythm by heart, even after all these years.
You remembered how you felt your heart completely shatter when you found the songs he had in his drafts for someone that wasn't you. Someone by the name of 'Sally'. After a heated argument you had broken up with him, taking the engagement ring off from your finger and throwing it deep into the ocean. You stayed on L'Manberg's side even after all that, too loyal and proud towards the country you helped forge to drop it. You wouldn't let some stupid boy or rabid tyrants prevent you from raising your beautiful nation up from the ashes.
That had been your downfall. You should've listened to Puffy and left the country behind when you had the chance, now you paid the ultimate price for your deep rooted loyalty and devotion towards independence. And your sacrifice didn't even matter in the end! Your deranged ex blew it all to smithereens. If you didn't despise him before, you absolutely did after your dumbass twin told you about his little 'escapades' while you were gone.
Every little thing Wilbur did, no matter how small it was, made you hate him even more. Every time he would shuffle those damned cards, it made you want to rip them to shreds and throw them across the train tracks. Every time he would sing or even breathe, you wanted to strangle him. You were absolutely certain that Schlatt felt the same.
Oh, your twin was a real card. Always boasting about how his horns were bigger than yours (who even cares anymore? Yours grew in first anyways), telling the others about your shortcomings through crude jokes, even going as far as fighting you through headbutting; you could still feel the pain of being beaten to death before respawning immediately. Schlatt hadn’t known that you respawn even in the afterlife, so you knew he was serious about killing you. You just wanted Puffy, she was far more tolerable than your twin.
The rustling of his suit jacket and his small grunts and pants resonated within the walls as he did various forms of exercising. You now knew about all of the differing variations of a pushup and you hated yourself for listening to his explanations. He would beg you, Mexican Dream, and Wilbur to stand on his back while he did his endless routines. The only one to readily take him up on that offer was Mexican Dream.
That man was arguably the only one you slightly tolerated, and you said that very lightly. He was still annoying as all hell, but he was a new face. Well, one that you didn’t know well enough to have a grudge against while you were alive. It was slightly refreshing, in a sense. When he first got here, his songs, stories, and humor gave you a nice break away from Wilbur’s depressing songs and Schlatt’s crude jokes. However when you spend eleven years trapped in a cage with one person, everything they do becomes the bane of your existence.
You were running out of things that kept you sane in this dump. You've read the same novel, counted the same ceiling and floor tiles (32 ceiling tiles and 57 floor tiles exactly), traced the same cracks in the walls, temporarily killing the same cellmates, you've done anything and everything that this cesspool had to offer. You've done everything billions of times over, a never ending cycle of monotony.
Tommy joining your group of miserable has-beens was perhaps the highlight of your fifteen, almost sixteen, years spent in this shithole. Though he finally dropped the brave facade and showed just how broken down he was after everything he’s been through, having him around was the saving grace to your sanity. He told you how your sister was, how your nephews were, and most importantly what you missed. You knew about all of the events leading up to Mexican Dream's death, but you were left in the dark with everything past that. Ender, you missed so much since you died; It baffled you how much you missed.
When the train actually stopped at your cell instead of just passing by and it's doors opened, you were just expecting another poor soul to be dropped off here. You could imagine everybody's surprise when none other than Dream stepped out of those doors. The nephew that had betrayed you without a second thought, that had murdered you, that had your severed head displayed on his mantle (you weren't sure the truth of that last statement, Tommy has a habit of over exaggerating. Though, Schlatt did say that your body was found with a missing head when you first forced him to tell you what you missed). Tommy talked to you about how he died only once, so you knew just what your nephew has been up to. It infuriated you knowing that your adult nephew was manipulating and abusing this young teenager.
While you were releasing your pent up frustrations on the masked man, he merely brushed past you and drug Tommy into the train by the arm. You could remember Wilbur banging on the doors begging for Dream to return his little brother and his angered screams echoing down the railways as the train sped off back towards the land of the living.
Lucky Tommy, he got to live out the rest of his life and actually age. You and your crew of intolerable jesters were stuck together once again.
Everybody was silent for a few months, reeling at the newly discovered fact that Dream could actually resurrect people. During those three months, they were quiet and tolerable. In a way, the talks that came out of it was like one of those family therapy sessions your older sister would hold in the living room (you remembered how she would grab you and Schlatt by the horns if either one of you refused to go). You would kill to attend one of those therapy sessions again, and this is the closest you were going to get to it.
You all talked about the things you regretted most while you were alive. Mexican Dream's was that he didn't protect his girlfriend Mamacita well enough. Schlatt's was choosing alcohol and power over his family (tears were especially shed over Tubbo, he really did regret abandoning him to be raised by you). Yours was that you were too loyal to a cause that would be absolutely decimated a short while after you sacrificed everything for it. Surprisingly, Wilbur's was that he had hurt you.
He had begged and groveled for forgiveness, telling you that he just didn't feel that special connection with you anymore. That didn't take away from the fact that he was seeing another while you two were still dating and that he blew up your life's work. He had stolen everything from you, and you would never forgive him for that.
After you made your thoughts on him completely clear, he had started treating you like you treated him in the last few months. Tension was building up between you two that had laid dormant for thirteen and a half years like a rope pulled taut about to snap.
Everybody had slowly returned to their annoying selves slowly but surely. Schlatt resumed his workout routine, Mexican Dream had started loudly singing and ranting about Mamacita's everlasting beauty again, and Wilbur eventually started up his solitaire and songwriting once again.
The three of them made you want to rip off your twisting horns and shove them in your ears in hopes of muffling them, but you knew that whomever put you here would restore your hearing and make your horns regrow. You knew that first hand after you spent a couple of years alone in this hellhole; breaking your horns off by repeatedly banging your head against the dull stone walls in a manic state was never fun. The regeneration of the keratin only slightly stung, it was like you were a kid and they were growing in for the first time again.
You felt your eye twitch as Wilbur sang about that damned train for the umpteenth time since he arrived. It’s always ‘train this' and ‘train that' and quite frankly you were sick of it. You were sick of him.
“Shut the fuck up about that damned train,” Schlatt seethed. You never once thought you would ever agree with your twin, but here you were nodding in agreement and shooting a glare at Wilbur’s direction. The brunet merely stopped his singing and reshuffled his cards, the sound making an ugly cacophony and grating at your ears.
“Not my fault you two don’t want to talk to me. I’m just making due with what I’ve been given.” He dealt the cards out in piles and started yet another game of solitaire. Seriously, how many games of solitaire can one play before they lose it? You supposed that you’d find out soon, Wilbur has been playing that monotonous card game nonstop for thirteen and a half years.
“Yeah, let the hombre chill! I like his music.” The masked man reached up to stroke his goatee, the scratching sound further penetrating your focus on your book.
Everything was quiet before Mexican Dream's voice pierced it, "hey, did I ever tell you guys how beautiful my Mamacita was?"
"You told us millions of times, fuckface. You narrate entire love letters daily, so how could we not know how 'beautiful' she was?" You complained, not once looking up from your book. Schlatt snorted to himself and returned to his workout. Mexican Dream crossed his arms in anger, cursing you out under his breath. Wilbur merely glanced at you and rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm tired of your bitchy attitude. Let him talk about Mamacita, it's not his fault every time you think you love someone it fails."
Your grip on your book tightened impossibly. If it were physically possible, the book would be crumbling to dust in your voice grip. You practically see red as you slowly dog-eared the worn page you were on and put your book down.
"Oh shit," you heard Schlatt mumble and move away from you, Mexican Dream following suit. When you both were alive, your anger was always something you knew Schlatt feared. However, you knew that he's never seen you this angry; nobody has. The majority of what you've been holding in for almost fourteen years is about to be unleashed.
"You know what I'm sick of, Wilbur?"
"Oh, do enlighten us."
"I'm sick of each and every single one of you. You three have been absolutely intolerable ever since you arrived. I was doing just fine alone and the universe just had to fuck everything up for me, just like it always does."
"There you go again," Wilbur laughed sardonically, "making everything about yourself." He gathered his cards and shuffled them repeatedly.
"I make everything about myself?! Do you even hear yourself? Mr. Oh-I'm-such-a-disappointment-to-Philza, you wallow in self pity twenty-four seven! You fucking write every single song about yourself!”
"I didn't want to come here, okay?! I didn't think it was gonna be like this! God, I might as well be in hell with you here."
"Believe me, my hell started fourteen years ago when you guys started showing up," you growled out, your ears flattening to the sides of your skull.
"Have you ever stopped to think that you're our hell? All you've done since we came here was complain and be a massive douche to all of us." He fluttered through the deck more and more as the argument escalated, the noise making you want to scream until you tasted blood.
"I'm the one that's in the wrong here? You fucked up my entire life. He," you pointed at Schlatt, "keeps beating me to death. And he," you jutted your chin towards Mexican Dream, "never shuts the hell up… Would you stop with that damn deck?! You're literally so fucking annoying."
He narrowed his eyes, "make me."
A mixture of an animalistic growl and a guttural scream left your lips as you charged at him, your head tilted downwards so he could feel the brunt of your horns. He moved out of the way just in time, the side of your horn brushing against his arm. You crashed head first into the stone wall before you stabilized yourself and looked at the brunet with seething hatred.
He was staring at you in shock, "how're you-" You used his shock to your advantage, throwing a right hook at his face. His head whipped to the side and his body followed, sending him to the ground in a heap.
"How am I still conscious? I'm a ram hybrid, dumbass. What'd you expect?" You huffed angrily before you pried the cards out of his hand and stalked over to the tracks.
He scrambled up to stop you, but before he could even reach you, you held the deck over the tracks and looked down at him. You could just imagine how your horizontal pupils were blazing with fury.
You reveled in the betrayal and animosity gleaming in his eyes as you dangled the thing he held dearest in this hell over the railroads. If you were to drop them, he'd never be able to see them again.
"We promised not to touch belongings on our first day here!" He yelled at you, his hands wrung in front of him nervously hiding the slight tremor. "Our first day here?" You scoffed, "the last time I checked, I was here for two years before any of you showed up." You gestured around the room in one angry swipe, the cards slipping slightly with how sweaty your hands were. It was then that you saw the fear in Schlatt's eyes. Good, that bastard should be scared of you. "If anything, you all are in my domain."
Wilbur flinched at the sight of the cards slowly slipping out of your hand, his breath hitching and panic stricken across his features. Mexican Dream stood up from his place and put his hands up. He was slowly approaching you like you were a cornered wild animal, making sure that you saw his every move.
He nervously chuckled, "let's just put the cards down and have a nice talk. Doesn't that sound better than this, mi amigo?"
You shook the cards once again, taking in Wilbur's silent anguish with glee. "I'm not your friend, I'm anything but. Don't tell me what to fucking do or else that picture of Mamacita is the next to go."
"...Okay, you're in charge, man. Do what you want." He reluctantly sat back down next to Schlatt. The ram was watching in fear, yet it looked like he was entertained with what was happening. You couldn't blame him, the last interesting thing that happened was three full months ago when Tommy was taken. That and you probably looked feral at the moment.
"You understand that if you drop those, they're lost forever right?"
You threw your head back and laughed, "of course I know, why do you think I only have one sock? I already tried that shit out before you came." You hummed to yourself in thought, then grinned. Wilbur was going to love this.
While you shuffled the deck, you kept a close eye on the movement happening inside the cell. Another perk to being a ram hybrid was that you had a nearly 360 degree scope of everything around you. The only movement happening was the panicked breaths from Wilbur, good. You huffed in amusement, "alright Wilbur, let's do a card trick. I'd ask you to pick a card, any card, but I don't want to risk you fucking shit up again. So, I'm just going to draw for you." You drew a card from the middle of the deck and showed it to him. "The eight of clubs, how fitting."
"(Y/n), I don't know what you're getting at, but if you don't give me those cards right now-"
"Shut it, I'm not done. I'm going to shuffle this back into the deck, watch the hands." You kept eye contact with him as you shuffled the cards rigorously, the card you pulled long since hidden with the slight of a hand. After a bit of shuffling and reshuffling, you had sneakily put the card between the two halves and bridged them until the cards were in one pile with the eight of clubs on top.
You chuckled and pulled the top card, once again showing it to him. "Is this your card?"
He nodded slightly, never once taking his eyes off from the deck. "Yes, now give it back to me!" The angry and anxious undertones were like music to your ears.
You tapped your chin in thought, "hm, I don't think I will. You've taken so much from me, it's only fair that I get some revenge." Without another word, you threw the cards behind your head and smiled widely at the sound of the fluttering down to the tracks.
Wilbur launched himself forward with a frantic yell, his hands flailing to catch all of the cards before they were lost forever. He only succeeded in catching a few.
His breath shuddered as he stared at the three cards in his hand: the five of diamonds, the four of spades, and the seven of hearts. The fate of the universe was on your side for once, perhaps preternaturally so.
"You- do you realize what you just did?!" He spun around to face you. If humans could froth at the mouth, a full waterfall would be streaming through his gritted teeth. His eyes held the rage of a man that had just lost everything in one singular instant, the resentment swirling in his dark brown orbs. Several veins were bulging in his face and neck, painting the skin in a red hue.
You walked over to your book and plopped yourself down. "Yeah," you said with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. You opened up your book and started reading it again, leaving the man to his grief.
Everything was quiet once more much to your delight. Though you read this book from cover to cover thousands of times, enough to know most of the words by heart, you were never able to fully enjoy and immerse yourself in it with them around. You took this time to reclaim your designated corner and spend some quality time reading.
You spent hours with your nose buried deep in your book, savoring the peace. That was until it was snatched out of your hands and ripped away from you. You looked up in slight shock at the sight of Wilbur snapping it shut and walking over to the tracks.
No. No. Nononono he can’t. That was the only thing keeping you sane. He can't just get rid of it when he's done so much towards you when you were alive.
A wail left your mouth as you tackled him to the ground, your arms wrapped around his midsection. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, his forehead smacking against the painted yellow stone. You straddled his back and ripped the book away from him, throwing it across the room and away from the tracks.
You grabbed a fist full of his hair after yanking off his beanie and tossing it into oblivion with his precious cards. You pulled his head up and leaned close to his ear, "you try that shit again and your hat and cards won't be the only things lost to the void." Venom was seeping through your every word, "do you understand me?"
He merely jerked his head to the side, colliding it with your nose and mouth. You shouted in surprise and let him go in favor of holding your aching nose. You could feel the warmth of the blood pouring from it. Through teary eyes, you looked up at Wilbur as he grabbed your book and flung it against the wall of the opposite side of the tracks. You scampered to the edge and watched in horror as it disappeared into the void.
Without warning, you were forced to the ground, a hand holding you by a horn and a knee between your shoulder blades. You struggled before a dark chuckle was heard, "if you keep moving, you'll slip! Do you really want that?" You begrudgingly stopped, realizing that he had all the power in this situation. If he wanted to, he could just slide you off from the platform and toss you away like throwing a piece of paper into the trash.
"Good, you're not as stupid as you were earlier today." He slid you forward, holding your upper body over the tracks by the horn. You came face to face with the swirling abyss that was the void, small shapes appearing from your eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of visual stimulant. Your breathing picked up as he lowered you slightly, "you don't wanna do this."
"No, I do. Thirteen and a half years of having to be around you was hell, but the shit you pulled today just put the icing on the cake. Do you have any last words before you go?"
You grunted as he shook your head slightly, a slight pain coming from the base of your horn. "Fuck you."
"How appropriate, now let's see if you'll come back this time. It'll be our fun little science experiment!"
He dropped your horn without a care in the world, sending you plummeting to your demise. A terrified scream ripped it's way out of your throat and you screwed your eyes tightly shut in preparation for the void. Your body came to a jerking halt as you held your breath, preparing for… whatever awaited you. However, nothing came.
You cracked open an eye only to be met with the uncanny inkyness, the invisible mist freezing your face and its frostbitten arms opened wide for you. But you never fell into its embrace.
Instead, you were pulled back onto the platform. You laid on your stomach with your horn supporting your head staring at the wall, tracing every single nook and cranny of the bricks. Your chest heaved as you greedily gasped for air. You never thought you'd be so relieved to see the cement walls you've been trapped in for over a decade and a half.
You were once again pulled up into a now sitting position and leaned against the wall, your back touching the cool cement. Across from you, you saw Mexican Dream pinning a struggling Wilbur down to the floor. Wilbur's crazed eyes met you, piercing through your very being. However, that didn't affect you in the slightest; you almost were just wiped from existence completely, you stared into the abyss and it stared back at you.
You felt… strange, to say the least. While icy fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins, you felt warmth blossoming in you at the same time. It was like the void was an actual person, politely giving you some form of relief from the hell you've been subjected to for over a decade and a half. It was so welcoming, not terrifying like you initially thought it was. When your fingertips grazed its surface it felt freezing to the touch, yet you felt the staticky power it was showing you. In that split moment of touching it, you had already accepted the power it held over you.
A hand softly slapped your cheek, "c'mon, (y/n). Talk to me." Your eyes drifted lazily to your twin. He was extremely pale, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of responsiveness. When you looked at him, he visibly relaxed. "It was so… so beautiful, Schlatt."
"Yeah, what the actual fuck did you just say? You almost just- just died for good dumbass." He looked at you incredulously, you could just see the cogs in his brain working hard to process what the hell he was seeing.
You looked back at Wilbur, he had stopped struggling slightly and was instead looking at you with a hint of confusion shining through the crazed daze. Mexican Dream tilted his head, the mask skewing slightly to the side of his face. "Thank you, Wilbur. You've shown me that there's… there's more to this hellhole than suffering. There's beauty in the darkness." His struggling had come to a complete halt, now staring at you with the most confusion you've ever seen from him. You also saw a very small hint of fear from deep within his irises.
A calloused hand gripped your chin and forced you to look back at your twin. "What are you on," he hissed lowly, "the stuff that's comin outta your mouth right now is actually batshit insane. He almost just permanently murked you and you're fucking thanking him."
"I haven't felt this at ease in nearly two decades. I feel ethereal, Schlatt, and it's all thanks to him." You let your eyes drift over to Wilbur. Giving him a content smile, you nodded your thanks at him.
The next few days went by tensely for the others, eyeing your every move and keeping you away from the ledge. You had only peered over the ledge once since then, it was just so alluring to you. It was nothing, yet everything at the same time. Mexican Dream had pulled you back to the opposite end of the room by your horns. The part that disturbed the three men was that you said absolutely nothing about it. You didn't even struggle against it, you just laid limp and let it happen.
With each passing second you spent away from the void, the feeling of utter peace was rapidly draining from your body; instead being replaced by icy fear, paranoia, and the realization that you were almost completely swallowed whole by the void.
After coming back to your senses, you didn't allow anybody near you. Your instincts going haywire and screaming that they were going to hurt you if they came close. The last time Schlatt tried touching you, you damn near took his finger off. They didn't bother trying to approach you anymore, instead glancing at you from the corners of their eyes. Wilbur was perhaps the one you feared the most, you knew that if he didn't hesitate to toss you away the first time, he would surely do it a second time. He spent most of his time staring at you, you didn't know if he was zoned out or not.
Everybody was against you, you knew it. You just knew it. They were plotting to toss you back into the void. That thing- or was it an entity? Whatever it was held a power over you that you didn't know was possible. That trance that it put you in, the craving you felt, was something that was repeating like a broken record in your mind. You could still feel the void calling out to you, it was terrifying.
You spent most of the time huddled in your corner staring at the fingers that had grazed the textured nothingness. You could still feel the buzzing and popping of the power on your fingertips, that inky residue staining your skin wouldn't come off. No matter how hard you scrubbed, scratched, or scraped, it would not leave your body. It was freezing.
The oncoming train screeching to a gradual stop was perhaps the only thing you fully acknowledged outside of your safety bubble in days. You watched in shock as it stopped at the platform. The doors opened with a fwoosh, fog pouring out onto the smooth stone floors.
Out stepped Dream, the smile etched into his cracked mask sent chills to your core. Next to him was… was another Wilbur? How in the name of Ender was that even possible?
This Wilbur was different though. This one was desaturated. This one didn't have an insane glint in his eyes, this one had grief shimmering in the tears that steamed on his cheeks. This one was broken compared to the well established man against the wall. This one was defenseless.
Dream shoved him to the center of the room, the man falling to his hands and knees. Sobs escaped his mouth as steam left his skin and drifted along the sides of his face before dissolving into the air.
"Got a new plaything for you guys, this one isn't as… fun as Wilbur is though." Dream's head turned towards you before it tilted. "What happened there? Did our dear little (y/n) get too close to the void?"
"They are none of your concern, pandejo," Mexican Dream seethed at his counterpart from his position next to the train. "Why are you even here, man?"
"Oh, I'm just here to make a trade. I'm afraid that I'll have to give you guys Ghostbur here in exchange for Wilbur."
Wilbur stared at him with pure hope and glee springing up in his eye for the first time in over a decade. "Really?"
Dream chuckled, "yes, really. What, do you really think I'd lie to you?"
"I don't know, ya smiley freak. You've been known to fuck people over." Schlatt scoffed, his ear flicking in annoyance.
"I'm telling the truth this time. Wilbur, come with me."
Stars shone in his eyes as he reveled in the sight of the open train doors. He followed the masked man with a skip in his step, ecstatic giggles leaving his mouth as he boarded.
Anger flooded you as you purse your lips together and you darted towards the train. The doors were closing already, if you could just-
The door shut with a clank, blocking you from freedom. Your clenched fists banged against the window, glowering at the sight of Wilbur's happiness and Dream looking at you with a wave.
"You fucking bastard! Take me, he doesn't deserve it! He threw his goddamned life away, you're wasting your time with him!" Your angry shouts were ignored by the two however as the train once again started moving with a small hiss.
A frustrated scream left your mouth as you pummeled the iron with your fists as it moved. If only you could find a train car to jump onto-
Now. You leapt from the platform towards the junction between two of the train cars. However, your leap of faith was set to a halt midair by Schlatt holding your upper arms. You thrashed against him, desperate to get back to the land of the living, desperate to leave this godforsaken hell called the afterlife, but once again, you were torn away from what you were trying to achieve.
You fell limp as you watched the last train car pass the platform and disappear down the tracks and into the void. The next possible time it would show it’s face would be in a few months if you were lucky. You let him take you back to your corner, your feet limply being drug against the floor. After you were plopped back down, you stared at the clone of your ex. You were pretty sure Dream said that his name was ‘Ghostbur’. What a strange name, yet you supposed that it was fitting for Wilbur’s apparition.
“Are ya done with your little ‘moment’, (y/n)?” Schlatt was kneeling in front of you, his hands prepared to grab you if you made a run for it. Though his tone was annoyed, you could detect the very small worried undertone of his voice.
You nodded and watched as he took a seat next to you, also staring at the newcomer. This is the closest he’s sat next to you in years.
“...What do you think of the clone over there?” You hummed to yourself, “he looks pathetic, but I think that might be the only thing he and Wilbur share.”
Mexican Dream took a seat next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders. Normally, you would’ve shrugged him off, but you were too emotionally drained to do so. “Si, he does look kinda weak. But I think our new hombre here has promise.”
“Promise for what?” Schlatt snorted. Mexican Dream hesitated, “...I don’t know. This is gonna be interesting, mis amigos.”
“The party’s just begun, boys. Buckle up, this is gonna be a wild fucking ride.” You mused to them, unsure of what the future would hold with the newcomer. Though after a couple of years, you were sure you were going to hate him; that is if he’s nothing like his clone. Ender help you if he’s anything like Wilbur.
As you stared at the broken man, you couldn’t help but wonder: why did he get to go back? As far as you were concerned, psychopaths like him do not deserve a second chance at life. If anything, it should be you boarding that train. It should be you getting a second chance. He was the one that so readily threw his life away while you had yours ripped away from you.
One continuous thought was circling in your mind: why couldn’t it have been me?
You wrung your hands together as you anxiously waited for Tommy, Ghostbur, and Friend outside of Pandora’s Vault. Ranboo and Tubbo sat next to you in the grass, giving you silent comfort with their presence. You were mainly worried for your boyfriend, his worst fear was Dream using the resurrection book on him. You had calmed him down from a panic attack prior to meeting up with the teenagers, begging him to let you go in his place. Of course, Ghostbur being the caring and brave soul he was, wove you off and ensured that he’d be okay.
When you saw someone emerging from the portal, you leapt to your feet and steadied your head on your shoulders before you examined the people emerging. Except you only saw a human and a sheep, no ghost.
Tommy looked pale and on the verge of tears as he led Friend towards you. Before he spoke, he used his sleeve to wipe at his tears.
“Hey, Tommy! How did it- where’s Ghostbur?” The enderman hybrid stretched his usually slouched back to peer at the portal, keen eyes searching for any sign of movement.
“I think he’s dead… He’s dead!”
Tubbo tilted his head and looked up at the blond in confusion, “well, yeah. He’s a ghost. Of course he’s dead.” Ranboo nodded in agreement, “yeah, he can’t die again. That just isn’t possible.”
You said nothing (not like you could in the first place, your head wasn’t connected to your body), looking into Tommy’s eyes inquisitively. They were chock full of panic, grief, and fear, staring down at the lead in his clenched hands.
“No, no you don’t understand, it’s not that he’s dead… it’s that Wilbur’s back.”
“Hold on, the Wilbur that blew up L’Manberg? That Wilbur?” Ranboo peered down at him incredulously. “Yes! C’mon, he- we gotta get to L’Manberg.”
He spun around and led Friend towards L’Manberg, walking quickly with a purpose. You, Ranboo, and Tubbo followed. You hugged your head close to your chest, your eyes peeking over your arms. It was always something you’ve done whenever you were scared or worried about something. You heard stories about Wilbur from your nephew, if the stories of his insanity terrified you, you’d hate to see the man in person.
“I was about to kill Dream, and- and Ghostbur died. Dream revived Wilbur… Fuck!” Tommy walked faster, L’Manberg far off in the distance. With one hand, you grabbed the blond’s attention and finger spelled, ‘are you serious? He’s actually gone?’
“Yes! How many times do I have to explain this?! Ghostbur isn’t with us anymore and Wilbur’s back. Wilbur’s back and we’re absolutely fucked.” He turned on his heel and resumed his beeline towards the crater in the wall. No, he couldn’t be gone. This was just a cruel prank they were pulling on you, right?
Tubbo put a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a small sympathetic smile. You leaned into his touch slightly and carried on, stepping into the makeshift staircase behind Tommy.
You moved your arms to cover your eyes as you stepped aside to make room for the other two teenagers. You heard a voice; it sounded exactly like Ghostbur’s voice, yet it sounded... off. You however remained hopeful and uncovered your eyes.
The man that stood there certainly wasn’t your boyfriend. Everything about him was just so wrong. The emotion in his eyes, his clothing, his smile, his stance, his hair, everything. This was a completely different person. This was Wilbur Soot.
“Hello again.” His eyes flicked around your group, his gaze lingering on you for longer than the rest. You noticed that he was staring at your neck, but that was okay. You were used to it; everybody did that. What you weren’t used to was the revulsion that flashed in his eyes. The eyes that once lovingly stared at you and reassured you that he’d love you even with your… condition were now filled with disgust.
That was what broke you, the tears that you tried to hold in came streaming out like a waterfall. Stinging pain hit you as the water worked its way through the cloth of your uniform onto your arms, leaving steam floating upwards towards the cave ceiling. You phased through Ranboo’s body and made a mad dash towards your sister’s house. You needed her, you could feel a panic attack brewing inside you. Usually you would hate to be a bother to your older sister and Ghostbur would always calm you down, but now he’s…
You pushed that thought aside and focused completely on getting to Puffy’s house in the distance. You phased through the door without a thought to knock, frantically beginning your search for Puffy.
You looked everywhere, but you couldn’t find her. Unable to cope any longer, you fell to your knees in the middle of the living room and hugged your head to your chest, your face being pushed against your uniform. Your shoulders shook with silent painful sobs, the only sound in the room being the sizzling of your skin.
Why couldn’t it have been you? It should be Ghostbur standing there in that cavern, not Wilbur. This was completely your fault, you should’ve gone instead of him. You should’ve volunteered quicker than he did, you shouldn’t have let him talk you into it with his soothing words. Now because of your complete and utter cowardice, he was stuck in the afterlife once again. You were never going to see him any time soon. Your other half was ripped away from you because of your inaction.
Between sobs, your lips repeatedly formed the same phrase: why couldn’t it have been me?
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Summary: Steve and Sam are as good as men get, so of course, they’re willing to indulge Bucky’s daughter in a tea party.
Warning(s): fluff, allusions to death
Author's Note: Hi, so, my post about Bucky having a weird daughter kinda blew up last night. I received a ton of support for the concept and as a result this fic finally got finished. I'm calling this series "weird little barnes" and I plan to write more for it, especially if this one does well. Hope y'all enjoy. <3
Word Count: 791
masterlist / ao3
“Daddy, Uncle Steve, Mr. Sam, will you have a tea party with me?” Winnie Barnes asks with a shy gap-toothed smile.
Steve and Sam are over at Bucky’s place to hang out, on a rare Saturday when there’s no world-saving to be done. Bucky had mostly stepped away from field work in order to raise Winnie, but Steve and Sam were still full-on Avengers. As a result they didn’t get to spend a lot of quality time with the younger Barnes. And Steve and Sam are as good as men get, so of course, they’re willing to indulge Bucky’s daughter in a tea party. Steve remembers similar antics from Bucky’s younger sisters, and Sam remembers Sarah and her friends wanting to do far worse to him than give him a tiara and make him drink water out of fake china.
The three men nod and Winnie jumps up and down, before ordering them to follow her into her playroom.
In the middle of the room is a round children’s sized table, already set with teacups and saucers. A teddy bear and a doll occupy two of the six available child-sized seats.
“Uncle Steve sits here,” Winnie said, directing him to a chair between a teddy bear and a doll.
“And Sam goes here,” She points at the seat on the other side of the doll. Sam obliges.
“And Daddy, you go here.” She tugs on her father’s metal arm and pulls him to the seat between Sam and her chair, on the other side of the teddy bear.
The furniture is comically small for them, the table too short to rise above their knees and the chair seats incapable of fully holding even one of their adult butt cheeks. Sam and Bucky look especially ridiculous from their assigned seats next to each other, their legs pressed up against each other. The situation is only worsened when Winnie distributes accessories. She places a plastic tiara on Bucky’s head, and then proceeds to hand Sam a flower crown. Then Winnie gives Steve a sparkly pink cowboy hat, which turns his cheeks a similar shade of pink. The men had never been more grateful for the absence of Natasha Romanoff (or, horrifyingly, Tony Stark).
After they’re seated and dressed for the occasion, Winnie goes around the table with her little teapot, taking care to pour equally small portions of water into each cup (including the teddy bear’s). The men all thank her politely for their tea, taking careful sips. Steve even sticks his pinkie out.
Winnie returns to her seat and beams at them.After a few moments of comfortably silent tea-sipping, Bucky turns to his daughter.
“This is really good, Win. What’s your secret?”
Winnie smiles big again, that same childlike joy bursting forth like sunlight.
“Arsenic,” she replies.
Steve spits his water all over Sam.
Bucky begins to cough. His flesh hand shoots up to his throat, rubbing over his trachea. His eyes go comically wide, writhing and loudly gasping for air. The writhing tips the precarious balance of his tiny chair, and he falls (the admittedly short distance) to the floor on his back. His mouth hangs open, gasping for air, a mischievous curve at the corner of his lips. He writhes on the floor, legs outstretched behind Sam and eyes trained on his young daughter. Bucky’s metal fingers reach out towards Winnie, his entire body tense with the effort of this desperate attempt to reach his daughter. His fingers hover in the air, right over the edge of the table, before the metal meets the plastic with a dull thunk and Bucky sags on the floor.
Winnie jumps from her chair, clapping and giggling. She kicks Bucky with the toe of her light up sneaker, but he remains unresponsive.
Steve stares at Bucky, and then up at Sam. Sam stares back.
What the hell.
They both turn their heads to Winnie. She flits her gaze between them, cocking an expectant eyebrow.
Steve looks to Sam again. Sam looks back.
Steve lets out an embarrassingly fake-sounding cough. His fist comes up to hit his chest, almost mechanically. Sam coughs too, louder. Both men look at Winnie, who rolls her eyes and flicks her wrist in a “keep going” motion.
They slide from their chairs slowly, their faces plastered with bewildered expressions as their knees hit the carpeted floor. Steve angles himself onto his back, before letting out one more half-hearted cough and lolling his head to the side.
Winnie surveys the corpses of her father and his friends.
“Daddy died the best,” she concludes.
Bucky opens one eye and sticks his tongue out at her, sending Winnie into a fit of giggles.
Sam recommends a child counselor on the way out.
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Throughout the show, we see Aang struggle with the idea of obtaining unlimited power, while simultaneously staying true to who he is - a fun loving, accepting, sweet boy. Aang never wished to be the Avatar, but he is, and he cannot neglect his responsibility to the world. To us, we might see the Avatar State as some awesome godlike power, and in some ways it is, but the show diverges what we would expect by having Aang fear it. Aang’s victory at the Northern Water Tribe with the help of the ocean spirit is not treated as an amazing accomplishment, but rather, something that haunts Aang throughout the second and even third season. He often has nightmares about it, and about the destruction he is capable of. He does not enjoy the fact that his body can be used as a vessel for all of the previous Avatar’s, rendering him as more or less an empty shell that will do their bidding. Through out season two, the question becomes: is it better to use your unlimited power to end the war, or to try and stay true to the things which make you human?
Aang faces these questions head on, much like the element of the season: Earth. He is pressured in the first episode of seaosn two to use the Avatar State to his advantage, even if it means going against the person he is. Katara says, “I’m not saying the Avatar State doesn’t have incredible, and helpful power... but you have to understand... for the people that love you, watching you be in that much rage and pain is really scary.”
[ID: two screenshots from the episode "The Avatar State". To the left is a screenshot of Aang from the chest up, hovering in the air. His eyes and tattoos glow, and he glares angrily at the audience. To the right is a screenshot of Katara on her hands and knees, looking up at Aang, who is off screen, with a concerned expression. End ID.]
In the episode The Desert, we see Aang’s grief over the loss of Appa, yet another sacrifice he unwillingly makes to the world, force him again into the Avatar State.
[ID: a screenshot of Aang from the episode "The Desert". He is in the Avatar State, rising a few feet above the ground, sand being kicked up by the wind around him. Katara's arm reaches out to him, grabbing his wrist. He looks down at her with an expression of anguish. End ID.]
As Aang battles internally with whether to choose emotion vs. power, toward the finale of season two, he is asked to make another sacrfice, and asks a very valid and important question:
[ID: a screenshot of Aang from the episode "The Guru". Aang sits cross-legged on the ground, gesturing with his hands as he talks to Guru Pathik. He has one eyebrow raised, doubtful as he asks, "Why would I choose cosmic energy over Katara? How could it be a bad thing that I feel an attachment to her?" End ID.]
Aang’s decision at first glance might seem like a foolish one to make, to choose attachment rather than godlike power, but his choice is affirmed by Iroh. “Perfection and power are overrated. I think you are very wise to choose happiness and love.” Aang, a character who has been forced to sacrifice everything he has for the rest of the world, is now being asked to give up one of the biggest attachments he feels, and asks with good reason as to why he should have to. How is it fair for him to have to sacrifice everything for everyone else? This plays out on an even bigger scale in season three, as Aang is pressured to give up his own morality and cultural views for the rest of the world. Sadly, his wish to not give up his love for Katara does not last, because Aang is not allowed to have a choice. He is forced in his battle with Azula, Zuko, and the Dai Li to let go of his earthly attachments, and his love for Katara, forced to choose power over emotion.
[ID: a screenshot from the episode "The Crossroads of Destiny". Aang is shown from the chest up, grimacing as he says, "I'm sorry Katara". End ID.]
This moment is not painted as a positive thing, but as a tragedy. Aang is a boy who has experienced unimaginable loss, sacrificing his culture, his entire sense of belonging, and now finally the love which he feels in order to try and rise to the responsibility of saving the world. It is only seconds after he makes this sacrifice that he is killed by Azula. Typically, we would see a main character, or any character really, gaining power to defeat an enemy as something good or as something to celebrate, but not in Avatar. This moment is heart breaking, and his death that follows moments after is even more so.
[ID: a screenshot from "The Crossroads of Destiny". The image is colored completely black, the only thing distinguishing Aang being the white lines he is drawn in. He is in the Avatar State, eyes wide as a branch bright lightning strikes him. End ID.]
Aang being forced to strip himself of all that he is is not treated as a good thing, and he is for lack of better words, punished for being forced to choose power over love. One of the reasons this specific battle is so emotionally driven isn’t only because Aang dies, but because Katara is present. Aang might have felt that it were in his best interest and in hers to let her go to reach his full potential of the Avatar State, and he does accomplish this, but it is Katara who does not let him go. Devestated, she creates a giant wave as she rushes to catch him as he plummets to the ground, not even caring if she were to drown the Dai Li, Zuko, or Azula in the process.
[ID: a screenshot from "The Crossroads of Destiny". Katara kneels on the ground, her clothing dirty and ragged, looking devastated as she holds Aang's limp body in her arms. Aang's own clothing is torn and dirtied, with a gigantic hole in the back and an entire sleeve missing. Katara looks ahead, tears streaming down her face. End ID.]
Katara tries to heal him, and it seems as if he truly is dead as she sobs over his body, before he comes back to life. Aang is saved not because he is somehow lucky, or because Katara is simply an amazing healer, but because Aang has someone in the world who loves him deeply.
Aang is given a second chance at life because Katara gives it to him. It is Katara’s unwavering belief, support, and love in Aang which not only broke him out of the iceberg, bringing the Avatar and the symbol of hope back to the world, but that also brings his soul back to his body at the end of season two, launching his character into his last and final arc of the show: staying true to his beliefs and emotions despite the demand to assert unlimited power where compassion and forgiveness should be.
[ID: a screenshot of Aang and Katara. It is dark out, and the image is in dull colors. Aang is laying down, held up by Katara, who sits beside him. His eyes are half-lidded as he stares up at her, smiling. Katara looks down at him as she holds his head, a relieved, happy expression on her face. End ID.]
In the first episode of season three, Katara and Aang exchange a short moment of dialogue that is very powerful in meaning, both for each character and also for a huge theme of the show:
Aang: I went down. I didn’t just get hurt, did I? It was worse than that. I was gone, but you brought me back.
Katara: I just used the spirit water from the North Pole. I don’t know what I did, exactly.
Aang: you saved me.
[ID: a screenshot from "The Awakening". Aang is shown from the chest up, looking at Katara, who is off screen, with a grim expression. He has gauze on his shoulder that is kept in place by a wrapped bandage, and he now has short-cropped black hair on his head, covering some of the arrow on his forehead. Katara's hand reaches out to brush the side of Aang's head. End ID.]
Aang’s character development has always been interesting to me, specifically in the way it tackled the theme of having unlimited power. He is very much a character that sacrifices, and then sacrifices some more, but is never really rewarded for doing so. The contrast between the Crossroads of Destiny, season two episode 20, and Avatar Aang, season three episode 21, will always fascinate me. Zuko comes to a crossroad in the finale of season two, but Aang does as well. Both Zuko and Aang make the wrong choice, Zuko siding with Azula, and Aang trading a part of himself to obtain power.
Contrast the Crossroads of Destiny to Avatar Aang, where Aang goes from having a decision made for him to making his own decision and standing by it. He is first forced to choose power, which ultimately gets him killed. But by the end of the show, Aang has learned that no one can make his decisions for him, nor do they have the right to. Aang is pressured by everyone excluding Katara, to make the choice to kill Firelord Ozai, which would be his ultimate sacrifice - giving away his own morals for the world. But Aang has learned better by now, and refuses.
[ID: a screenshot of Aang from the episode "Avatar Aang". He is shown from the shoulders up, shirtless. His head is bowed slightly as he grimaces, a pained expression on his face. In the background Ozai is on his hands and knees, the plateaus behind them tinted red. End ID.]
By standing strong on his decision to stay true to his own beliefs and morals, he is finally rewarded with the knowledge of energy bending, a skill no previous avatar had encountered. Aang demanded a third option repeatedly, refusing to cave to what others expected of him; for him to use unlimited power to end the war. To end violence with more violence, something Aang feared and avoided as much as possible. Aang is told by Ozai that he is weak regardless of being the avatar, but Ozai is a man who has let power consume him, completely erasing whatever morals he may have had prior. Aang, however, is a character that strikes me as so strong not because he is the avatar, but because of his spirit.
"The true mind can weather all the lies and illusions without being lost. The true heart can tough the poison of hatred without being harmed. Since beginning-less time, darkness thrives in the void, but always yields to purifying light. To bend another’s energy, your own spirit must be unbendable, or you will be corrupted, and destroyed.”
Aang, through trial and error, finally develops into a fully realized avatar, mastering the Avatar State and the power he possesses, while refusing to let it change any aspect of who he is.
[ID: a screenshot of Aang fro the chest up. He is dressed in yellow Air Nomad robes, and around his neck there is a brown bead necklace with the symbol for air on it. His eyes are closed, and he wears a peaceful expression on his face. End ID.]
We end the show with this being one of the last moments of Avatar Aang we see, as he has this moment of true peace. He affirms to us that sometimes, holding tight to the things that you love and believe in, and that make you who you are, are the most powerful actions you can take in life. That the world cannot take the things that you believe in, that it cannot take away your spirit so long as you do not let it.
credit to @trans-suki for the image descriptions!
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Looking for something - Az x reader (slight NSFW - mention of lust.
Prompt - I would like to request a Azriel story. The reader is a healer and she saves azriel's life. Then, when he get better, he comes back to thank the reader and they find that they are mates
The empty potion bottle cracked against the other empties in the bin. You hurriedly grabbed another, hoping that you’d have enough to last the night. Several soldiers had been ambushed on their scouting mission under cover of night. And almost all of them had come back badly injured, the only reason they had even made it back was because of the high lord’s spymaster winnowing.
But you hadn’t seen him since he had dropped off the first few soldiers. Your hands worked diligently on the male under you, setting his leg back into place. He groaned softly, but the potion seemed to be working, dulling his pain. The clatter of tables moving and people gasping hardly registered behind you.
“Help him.” A gruff male voice barked. When you turned, you gasped with the rest of the healers.
The shadowsinger’s notoriously blue siphons were gray, dull and lifeless. His hair clung to his neck with blood and sweat, his tanned skin was a shade too pale to be normal. Lord Cassian’s face was gaunt, stricken with worry as you stood there stunned. “Fix him - now.” He ordered, resting the limp male body on an empty table. You grabbed one of the few potions left.
“It’s alright Az, just drink it.” Cassian said softly, brushing the hair from the injured male’s face. Azriel. The name sent a thrill through you.He was always known as the spy, the shadow. The Angel of Death. Watching his eyes squeeze in pain at the adjustment to drink the potion made your blood run cold though. Seeing the pain there was a different kind of pain for you.
“What happened?” You asked, helping Cassian to pull Azriel’s body into a more workable position on his side.
Your hands were alight with healing magic, and stronger than ever. Strange. You didn’t mention it to the lord of bloodshed though, how the light seemed to grow brighter on Azriel. How he just felt different while you healed him. “He’s dying. His siphons were drained getting all of the soldiers out of there.” Cassian explained. Shit. Illyrian’s siphons were never meant to be spent beyond repair. If they used the entirety of their magic they could stop in time, but if they asked more of the mother…. It was destined to go badly. And she would claim what rightfully belonged to her.
You tried not to swear. Tried not to shiver in the presence of death hovering so close. Far above you could feel the power of the High lord arriving for his fallen friend.
You swore the ground shook as he landed. His leathers were cut, and he smelled of blood, just as his brothers had. He gave you a nod, and you tried not to flinch as those curling claws grasped your mind gently. “What do you need?” he seemed to ask it habitually. As if he didn’t know he wasn’t speaking aloud. With him in your mind, you could glimpse at his as well. And you saw what lingered there, constantly. The guilt, the despair… but also the pride, and the love he shared for his family and community. His love for the brothers before him. The terror that lit every one of his nerves on fire watching one of them die in front of him.
“Magic. I can’t repair siphons, I can only repair his body.” You didn’t realise you were shouting it in your mind, until you felt his recoil.
“How much magic?” He said aloud, summoning a glowing potion from the air. You were sure it was worth more than your annual pay, but you had no time to appreciate the delicate bottle before a surge ripped through Azriel’s beaten body.
“I have no idea.” you replied, letting them both hear the fear in your voice. You pressed a glowing hand to the center of his chest. And could have collapsed to the muddy ground at the struggle that presided in him.
He groaned, and you could feel his heart galloping, straining for the last bits of life it could clind on to. Cassian took your hand, and without a word placed a cold object in it. Rhys stared at him, completely astonished. You opened your palm to see his bright red siphon glowing proudly in your grasp. “Cassian.” Rhys breathed, nearly unhearable.
“Are you sure?” You gave him a long look that told him there was no taking this back. There would be no regaining the portion of his power.
He gave a short nod, never taking his eyes off his brother. Before Rhys could offer a different solution and risk time, risk death clutching Azriel’s beating heart away… You placed the siphon in the center of the spymaster’s chest. And began chanting.
The healing process had been slow, and very very painful. But eventually he had been able to fly again. After months of training in the house of wind to just pick up a sword, he was ready to be out of the cool manor. The wind in his hair was a welcome distraction from the aching in his chest where you had imbued him with Cassian’s siphon.
It wasn’t red anymore, to Cas' dismay. He would have loved making proposal jokes about it to the others. Alas, it was a muddled blue instead. Sometimes it would turn purple, if the light hit it right or if his power seemed to surge and wait to strike. His shadows would roam his body everywhere but there. They didn’t like it at first, but stopped grumbling about it after a week.
He could have howled at the freedom of flying. He could have done loops and flown across the sea. If he had the stamina. He found staying aloft too long to be strenuous on his chest, and landed when he hit Velaris’ streets. He stopped at the best apothecary and was led to the back, where the darkest yet most potent spells and potions were held.
He offered the gold marks without flinching, and made his way to where Rhys said you were known to work.
The knock at the ragged old door was light, but commanding. You rolled up the last of the dirty sheets and tossed them into the laundry bin. You heard the assistant nurse greet whoever it was with a chipper “Good afternoon.” Before you heard her hurried footsteps heading towards you.
Haven’s eyes were wide, and worry lit every feature of her lovely face. The face of a caring, kind being. Yet she seemed so afraid. You wondered if the injury at the front was truly that bad, or if another trade merchant had just tried to shake her down for any money again.
“It’s him! You go out there, I’m leaving!”
“Who?” You whispered back, following her as she gathered her things. You’d never seen her in such a rush before.
“The one you healed a few months ago! The High Lord’s friend!”
Your stomach dropped. Why in the hell would he be visiting? What if he hadn’t wanted the siphon Cassian had insisted upon? What if he had lingering pain? You couldn’t stand it. The anxiety of not knowing dug a crater of worry into your stomach.
“What did he say?”
“He asked for you. Get out there, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She slipped out the door with the grace of someone running for their life. You swore under your breath after she left, the quiet of the shop settling without her scuttling feet.
Walking to the front desk, you put on your brave face. You gathered a small bundle of clean rags to put out, a welcome distraction for your hands to focus on rather than clawing at your palms.
“What can I help you with today?” You said in your most casual tone you could manage.
And there he was. Decked out in pitch black leathers that didn’t show that siphon, and his shadows lazily snaking around him. A chill ran down your spine, feeling the coolness of them in the room. His hazel eyes seemed to be hiding something, or holding back.
“I think I owe you that question.” He said, his voice charming and sultry. His teeth gleamed against his dark skin, if it were in any other situation it would have seemed predatory. A wolf taunting it’s prey.
“You owe me nothing.” you waved a rag at him and placed it inside one of the desk drawers.
“I owe you my life.” He scoffed, taking a step closer. “The least I could do is thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” You smiled, trying not to look up at that gorgeous face. Trying not to twist yourself around those shadows and play with them like fog. You crouched and began placing more towels into the empty drawer on the bottom shelf. You folded them carefully, hoping he would go away if he deemed you unworthy of his time. Your hands shook as you folded the last of the rags.
He placed something hard on the desk and you couldn’t help the reaction to look up. To see him towering above you, just on the other side of the desk. His massive wings nearly touched the floor. His scarred hands placed the small box on the wooden surface with delicate awareness.
“Again, you owe me nothing.” You couldn’t help to smile though. The dark plant he had chosen to gift you was one with healing properties, as well as it smelling lovely. The box was a dark velvet, that seemed to eat light entirely. The brass hinges on the end made it look ancient.
“Just open it.” He said, and you could almost hear the eyeroll behind the words.
You glanced at him finally, and noted how his cheeks seemed darker. How his shadows wrapped around him tighter. Oddly enough, you found yourself wanting to pull away too. To pull away from the polite conversation that felt exhausting. You saved hundreds of merchants and soldiers every battle. He’d been one of the few to ever thank you. Why -especially with his ranking- would he bother? He’d surely been healed before. You wondered if he did this kind of thing for every healer. A token of appreciation.
The box nearly shook out of your hands when you eyed the bottle inside. The deep blue liquid that shone and glittered with every movement inside its crystalline bottle. The lid was made of an ornate glass that could be tied and hung from something.
“I owed you that much. I get carried away in battle and don’t watch myself sometimes.”
“You can… perhaps you can gift it back to me when you find out what to do with it.”
“What exactly am I to do with a liquified siphon?!” You squeaked, placing it back in the box with the same careful steadiness you showed your patients.
“Maybe we can brainstorm together. Tomorrow at lunch?” The shadows swirled happily, fluttering a few of the papers on the desk. “Sorry.” He muttered, his cheeks going that dark red again.
“Youre insane.” You couldn’t tear your eyes from the glittering liquid before you. How he’d even managed to find such a thing was beyond you.
“Is that a yes?”
You couldn’t help but laugh.
He nervously picked at the napkin laid before him. Thinking of if he’d picked an appropriate outfit for the occasion. If he seemed too casual for the small outside seating area. His wings tightened when footsteps approached.
“Thanks for coming.” He said, trying to get his shadows to calm. He was nearly speechless at the sight of your hair, and the outfit. He’d never seen you outside the nurse’s uniform. The cloth hugging your body sent a hot rush through him. Something primal seemed to let loose inside him. He clenched his hands at his sides, nails biting deep into his palms. The way he wanted to ravish you at that very moment. The roiling urge to let his shadows whisk you away together so he could see what you would do with him alone. He pushed the thoughts away.
“I didn’t bring it. If you were wondering.” You said, pulling up the chair opposite of him.
He had nearly forgotten about the siphon with you in front of him. “Of course not. We’re here to discuss it.”
“We could reforge it. I dont know what else we could do with it.”
“Some Illyrian stories say the mother herself forged every source of Siphon magic.”
He stirred the tea, adding a bit of honey to it. “Some also say they’re the tears of a magic Wyvern.” He said with a smirk.
“So we find a Wyvern-”
“Absolutely not.” He laughed. “But like those stories, we could use it to create some very powerful… objects.”
“Like….?” You led, letting him explain it for you. What he was seeking may be impossible, but you had a good feeling that he was trying to get at something. You bit into the warm breakfast roll and let him continue.
He gave you a tentative look before saying anything further, and when he did he leaned in close. Close enough that you could feel those shadows snaking around you. “Like something powerful enough to resurrect the dead.”
You tried to hold back the surprised look, but from his wicked smile you could tell it still showed.
“The consequences of that..” you breathed. No one had ever attempted such a thing without the Cauldron present. And now… without the cauldron even at your disposal.. It sounded unfathoabmlely stupid to even attempt such a thing. He saw the fear in your eyes and waved a hand, shooing it away as if he hadn’t just proposed an outrageous theory.
“Could be awful, yes. It’s just an idea… one that may save us from another war.” He leaned back in his seat, his wings folding around the chair. You stared at him, shock still lingering. “I trust you won’t mention this to anyone.” He smiled. Yet you underwood the treat behind those words. You would stay silent about it. Or there would be consequences from the Angel of Death himself.
“Why give this to me? I’m sure theres a thousand other mages all over that could help-”
“Because I like you. Because I owe you a life, and I’ve given you the prospect of possibly saving more than just one.”
You tried to hide the blush that crept into you cheeks. His stare was unflinching and dark as he surveyed your face. The corner of his mouth tugged up in amusement. The thoughts he had that were once all business completely evaporated at the sight of that red hue on your face. His longing savored that look, wondered what else he could do to make you blush. He wondered how red your face would get if he-
“I can just throw it into the Sidra though, why trust me?”
He took a second to recollect himself, to pull himself from the thoughts of lust and desire. “You wouldn’t do that. All mages and healers alike have the baseline of being genuinely good to the core.”
You shoved your plate aside and crossed your arms over your chest. If he was so damned charming how could you say no? Especially when he was giving you that look that you swore were heavy bedroom eyes. And if proceeding with his insane idea meant you’d get to spend more time with him… then why not?
“I’ll consider it.” You obliged, collecting your bag and readying to leave. You knew if you stayed and started talking theories you’d never get up.
He stood as well and gave a short bow. “That’s all I ask.”
A week later he knocked at the door again. After hours when he knew that the other healer had left, leaving you alone to close up shop for the night. He landed with less grace than usual, leaving him stumbling forward a few feet and nearly into the door. He steadied himself before you opened the thick wood door, preparing to see the rejection that awaited him.
But your smile was bright, despite the blood spattered on the white apron you wore. His immediate thought was ‘protect protect protect’ and his shadows skittered through the room, trying to find the threat so he could eliminate it. His heart raced, and before he could say anything you laughed.
“It’s just training. Not actual blood.” You explained, licking one of the red coated fingers. He sniffed lightly, still worried. There was no familiar smell of warm blood coming from the room. And you were smiliing, so surely there was no threat. Still, his heart sped.
“And why are you eating it?” He cringed away, using the concern as an excuse to let his gaze admire your body. He didn’t linger on the finger you licked, knowing there was no way in hell that he would be able to control himself if he watched that.
You waved him inside, and shut the door behind him. The soft faelight overhead twinkiled in the breeze, mixing the sweet smell of sweets and food coloring around. “Because I’m a Vampyr, cursed to never see the sun again and immortal as Fae.” You joked, dipping a finger into the icing at the training station. There had been three potential healers to show up to the class. A surprising turnout.
Only one of which may have had the potential to actually be able to handle battlefield healing. The other two panicked and had either made a fatal error or had frozen in place at the simulated stress. “It’s just frosting, Azriel.” You rolled your eyes at his returning glare at your joke. “Dont believe me?”
“No, I just dont like Vampyr.” He tugged down the collar of his tunic to reveal a faded scar of two definitive bite marks on his collarbone. “For a good reason.”
“Touchy subject. Noted.” You held your finger out to him, offering some of the sweets. “Try it, maybe you’ll feel better.”
He didn’t budge. You smiled wickedly, and it made his stomach flutter. Despite his adrenaline and the expected disappointment with his spies on the continent this morning, you had managed to lighten his mood.
His shadows danced around you, following your every move as you came closer. “I dont bite, promise.” You winked and he could have fallen to his knees at that very moment. They nearly shook to do so. Like a command whispered by the Mother herself, he wanted to. But he stayed in place, weakly. He knew he could jeopardize the entire working relationship with you if he dared do any of the things his body ached for him to do.
He watched you come closer and closer, silently begging you to stay where you were. He wasn’t strong enough to stand so close, to bear the weight of desire and admiration and whatever the hell he was feeling when he saw that soft smile you tried to hide when you thought something was amusing.
He caught your wrist just as you were about to wipe the frosting on the back of his hand. Without thinking, without considering the implications of it… He brought your finger to his mouth and lapped at it, long and slow. Letting his teeth dig in slightly at your knuckle.
When he opened his eyes, the world was new.
You stared at him, mouth agape. And he’d never seen color so vibrant before. The brightness to your eyes, the flush of your cheeks, the delicate way your hair played around your ears. His breath left him, and he fell a step backwards. Straight into a cabinet of books and trinkets. He used it as support as he staggered, his world falling from what he’d once known into something new and utterly terrifying. Yet somehow far more delightful and warm than what it’d once been. His shadows nearly took all light from the room. They swirled and avoided your two bodies all together.
You couldn’t move. You couldnt think, couldn’t even let your hand fall from where it’d been inside his mouth. Your stomach fluttered and heart raced as fast as his shadows seemed to be spinning. Something snapped, achingly inside you. And a new portion formed in your mind, a link down some kind of bridge that was full of warm darkness and shadows. Speckled with golden light that glowed against the inky blackness.
“Azriel.” You breathed. You didn’t know if it was a thought or if it had been aloud, but he fell to his knees before you. His hands trembled when he reached for you, weakly. You still couldn't move. Shock and astonishment still locked you in place. His eyes never left yours, despite the silent tears that rolled down his cheeks.
Deep down that new bond, there was a crack and an echo. Then, finally his soft words came. “Mine.”
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The Devil In I | Kirishima Eijirou x Reader
𝒰𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈, 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹. 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝒾𝒹𝒹𝑒𝓃. 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒶𝒸𝓇𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉. 𝒮𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔'𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓃. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝑜𝒻 𝓊𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹. 𝑀𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓈, 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓊𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓉𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹.
This is my contribution for @sightoru‘s Dante’s Infero collab! Thank you so much Fern for allowing me to be apart of it.
My circle of hell is Wrath. Please check out the other amazing pieces here.
The biggest thank you to @trafalgar-temptress who saved me from multiple breakdowns over this idea.
Warnings: 18+, non-con, violence, choking, spanking, slight manipulation, creampie. No beta!
Word count: 5.4k
Previous (Greed) | Next (Sloth)
Your body ached as the elevator descended, unable to take a moment to recover from the Casino before Nighteye had you travelling towards the next level. Your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to allow yourself a moment of respite, trying to will yourself to wake up from this nightmare. Your fingernails digging into your palms in a feeble attempt to distinguish between dream and reality.
Was this death? Had your mother experienced this before she passed on to the other side. Maybe death would be easier than whatever this was.
“Can we take a break?” You whispered, Dabi’s gunshot still ringing in your ears as it drowned out the loud creaks of the elevator shaft, the dilapidated metal groaning under your weight as it slowly travelled lower.
“I thought you wanted to be with your mother once more.” Nighteye kept his indomitable gaze forward.
“I do, but I’m so tired.” You needed to sit down, your heart still pounding against your rib cage after the last floor.
You’d once believed demons to be a work of fiction, made up by religion to keep everyone placid and obedient. You never believed they would be real, that you’d encounter them in your lifetime.
“Men often make up in wrath what they want in reason.” Nighteye mused as the elevator came to an abrupt stop, the deep whirr of the gears turning to silence. The movement caused you to stumble as Nighteye remained poised in place, “Looks like we’re here.”
“What do you mean?” You asked as you looked through the open elevator doors, darkness blanketing the horizon.
“You’ll see.” Nighteye stayed perfectly still inside the elevator, the rusty doors remaining open as they waited for you to exit.
“Are you not coming?” You asked as you turned to stare up at him.
“You should be able to handle this one on your own, you’ve done well so far.” Nighteye pressed the button in the lift, the familiar chime signaling the doors closing,
“I’ll see you on the other side.” The doors closed as the lift disappeared, fading into black as you were left standing in the desolate surrounding.
“Nighteye?” You called out, desperate for any kind of answer.
What did he mean by ‘the other side’? Was this the last level? The time that you’d finally meet your fate and find yourself in purgatory forever? Or maybe you’d go straight to hell, you didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this--
Grimacing as you felt your feet sinking into the boggy marshland that you’d found yourself in. Shaking your legs to try and dislodge your anchored feet as you looked around the barren wasteland. You could just about make out the low rumble of running water in the distance, seeing nothing else around you as you were pulled towards it by an invisible force. Nighteye’s word echoing in your mind as you wandered closer to the source of the noise, your gaze catching sight of movement in the distance.
“Hello?” You called out, hopeful for any kind of reply. Knowing if this was anything like the other floors that it would not end well.
You followed the source of the noise, hoping to find someone around. Something to indicate what Nighteye wanted you to do on this level, the cryptic messages making it difficult to know what the next scenario would be. As you made your way through the barren land, weaving through the dead brush you managed to find the source of running water, a dark river running through the empty land. Your eyes catching sight of figures hunched over at the water bed, splashing against the surface as you called out to them, stepping towards them as you tried to get their attention
“Hello-” You raised your voice, coming to stand beside one of them, “Can you hear me?”
You stepped back in shock when you caught sight of their faces, completely void of any expression as they continued to stare blankly out into the distance, their hands continuing to slap against the cold water.
“Hey! You made it-” You heard a voice call out as you turned around, noticing a man with red hair smiling over at you from a makeshift wooden dock, “I was starting to think you weren’t coming. Would have been a damn shame-”
“You knew I was coming?” You called out as you walked towards him, a white shirt hanging off his torso as it crossed into a v-shape against his chest, black trousers tucked into sturdy black combat boots. His long, red hair was kept behind a black bandana as he raised his hand in a wave.
“Of course I did, that’s why I’m here.” He smirked, “I can help you get across.”
How did he even know you were here? Nighteye hadn’t interfered with any of the other floors you’d encountered before this one. Why would he now?
“It’s okay, I think I can make it across on my own.” You returned his smile, trying to hide the uneasiness you felt in the situation.
“You think you’re gonna make it across on your own?” Kirishima let out a haughty laugh, “What you gonna do, Princess? Swim?”
You avoided his gaze as you looked out towards the vast water, trying to see the other side. Instead all you could make out was where the sky met the sea, the distance seemed to go on forever.
“Ain’t no one ever swam in the River Styx, Sweetheart.” Kirishima hooked his thumbs into his belt, giving you a smile, “Trust me. This will get you across in no time. I mean- you don’t wanna stay here, do ya?”
You worried your lower lip between your teeth as you took another look around, seeing the restless souls angrily pounding against the marshy banks of the river as water continued to flow downstream roughly. If you didn’t take his offer and tried to make it across alone you’d surely drown, the currents too harsh to hold any hope of actual survival. You couldn’t even make out the other side of the river through the mist that danced along the top of the water, causing a darkened reflection against the surface.
“Suit yourself,” Kirishima’s boots clomped against the wooden dock as he jumped the gap between his boat and land, “Hope to see you on the other side, Princess. Unless the Styx gets ya first.”
Kirishima’s muscular arms reached out to grab the thick rope that kept the boat docked in the river bay, letting it fall into the stern as the ship began to follow the flow of water. Slowly moving away from the rickety dock.
“No wait-” You took a step closer, the wood creaking beneath your feet as your gaze met Kirishima’s, “You said you could get me across-”
“Course I can, best captain in the entire River Styx.” He puffed out his chest with pride as the gap between the boat and land extended.
“But I don’t have any way to pay you-”
“I don’t want your money- but you better pick quick darlin’.” Kirishima reached a hand out to you, leaning over the side of the boat as he waited for you to take it, “Currents pretty strong today.”
Inhaling deeply you made your choice, Nighteyes words replaying in your head. See you on the other side. This had to be what he meant.
So you jumped.
Kirishima caught you with ease, his strong arms wrapping around your frame as he held you against his muscular chest. A toothy grin on his face as he gazed down at you, thick fingers pressing into your sides as you took a step back. Suddenly feeling vulnerable as you left dry land, the boat flowing with the current. Kirishima was quick to take the helm, turning the wheel as he navigated the ship towards less choppy waters, the rough bounce of the ship dulling to a subtle rocking motion. The movement was almost soothing as after four floors of this hell you finally allowed yourself to relax. Leaning against the side of the ship as you looked out towards the vast water of the River Styx, the cool breeze tickling your skin as your eyes suddenly caught sight of something underneath the water.
“Kirishima. We need to stop-” You leaned your body over the edge of the ship, trying to get a better look at the bodies moving underneath the water. There was so many--
Kirishima let out a loud roar of laughter, his palms clinging onto the wheel as he threw his head back, “You’re joking right, Princess?”
“Can’t you see them?” You mumbled, “Under the water.”
“The sullen.” Kirishima leaned against the helm, “Look at them attacking each other even though they’re resigned to the same fate. How pathetic huh?”
Kirishima steadied the helm, securing the wheel in place as he moved to stand beside you. Resting his forearms against the edge of the boat, his ruby eyes glaring down at the water in disgust. Watching the bodies wading beneath the silvery surface, eerie howls echoing through the air as the vessel rocked from side to side.
“You can see them?” You looked towards him, your fingers clinging to the side of the boat as it weaved over the choppy waters.
“The souls that let anger consume them.” He mumbled, chewing the inside of his mouth as he focused back ahead, “I coulda been one of them.”
“One of them?” You glanced back down towards the water, watching the shadows weave through the murky water, how could Kirishima be one of them?
“Why?” You were perplexed, the idea of him being one of them seemed so far off the man standing in front of you now, “How did you end up with this boat here, Kirishima?”
“You can call me Eijirou.” He gave you a smile, stepping away from the helm as the vessel continued its path against the water.
“Eijirou-” You murmured, watching as he lay his forearms against the side of the boat.
“You and I ain’t so different, Princess.” Kirishima smiled.
“What do you mean?” You met his gaze, a confused look on your features.
“Feeling like we never belong, not really-”
Did you really feel that way? You supposed so. Everything had felt so different after your mother died, the only sense of normality you had in your life was taken from you by cancer. Your mother was the powerful force that kept you grounded and now you were left with an irreplaceable gap in your heart. What did you have now she was gone? It felt like everything in your life had changed completely and you were left completely alone. Your friends had been there for you during her passing, comforting you and helping you try to heal. But where were they now? It was almost as though they felt some kind of morbid obligation to be there for you through her death and now you were just as isolated as before.
Maybe you did know how Kirishima felt.
“Before all this shit I was a hero-” He paused as he caught sight of the sceptical look on your face, “I mean it, a real hero. I saved people every day, and I was good at it.”
“That doesn’t seem like a reason for you to end up here.” You tried to prompt him, watching as his hands tightened into fists, thick veins protruding along his forearms.
“I didn’t even care about being the best hero, about being number one. I just wanted to matter-” He continued, swallowing thickly, “People are real quick to forget about you, you know?”
Kirishima’s nostrils flared as he swallowed thickly, “Even the people you think are closest to you.”
“So how did you end up here?” The desire to know swelled inside you, trying to piece together the information Kirishima was providing you.
“I wouldn’t wanna bore you with that, Princess.” He feigned a smile, “Doesn’t matter anymore anyway-”
“Something must have happened to get you here.” You emphasised, motioning to the boat that was carrying you across the River Styx.
“Everyone’s still up there living their perfect little lives, thinking that everything is fine. Like my death didn’t even matter- Like I didn’t even matter.” Kirishima growled, spitting into the water.
“I fucking saved all those people, but Bakugou took the credit for it.” You could feel the rage radiating from Kirishima’s body, his nostrils flaring as he recalled the memory, “He let me take the fucking hit. I died while he got to take all the glory.”
“You died?” You looked up at him in confusion.
“He didn’t tell anyone the truth. It was me that saved all those people, but do you think anyone cared? No one gave a shit about Red Riot.” Kirishima growled, “All those news headlines and stories were about him. And I’m the one that died? Fucking bullshit.”
You were trying to piece together the information he’d given you. Red Riot must have been his Hero name when he was alive in his world, and Bakugou was surely his partner.
“But you still managed to save all those people, so your death wasn’t in vain-” You spoke softly, trying to ease the tension as he seethed beside you.
“You don’t fucking get it, do ya?” Kirishima lashed out, “He should’ve taken the hit, he should be here, not me-”
You didn’t know how to respond, terrified of saying the wrong thing and having him lash out at you in the middle of nowhere. Dread filling your body as you heard Kirishima slam his fist down against the side of the ship, the choppy seas seemingly picking up their rough momentum in line with his anger.
“He lied, okay? He fuckin’ lied.” Kirishima raised his voice, catching you by surprise as you instinctively took a step back, fear brewing inside of you. “He was supposed to be my best friend, but he was just like everyone else.”
You could physically see the rage building inside him, threatening to spill out at any second. His actions becoming more brash and frantic as he stomped against the wooden deck.
“The great Dynamight.” Kirishima spat mockingly, his hands raised in a crude stance as though worshipping a great deity, “He became number one after my death, you know?”
Your heart sped up at the way his eyes darkened from the statement, the rage building inside of him. He was completely different from the sweet, kind man you’d met on the docks who had offered to ferry you across to the other side. This man was truly frightening.
“It took Red Riot, his best fucking friend, dying for him to become number one. How is that fucking fair?”
“I’m sure he misses you.” You tried, it had to be an accident.
“Misses me? He’s the reason I’ve been condemned to this hell, to ferry people across the Styx or to be like them. Bakugou gets to live his perfect little life, while I get this-” Kirishima pointed towards the restless souls in the water, their desperate moans sounding out against the bleak waters.
“This.” He snarled, slamming a fist down onto the hardwood, “This is where being the good guy gets you.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean to let it happen, it sounded like you were friends-” You tried to reason with him, to calm him down.
“It’s easier to seek vengeance than forgiveness.” Kirishima growled, his knuckles whitening as his hands balled into tight fists.
“Eijirou-” You were cut off by a loud sound ringing in your ears, Kirishima’s arm flying out towards you as he backhanded your face. The movement catching you off guard as your cheek began to tingle in the place of impact, your lower lip trembling in shock.
“What the fuck do you know, fucking bitch.” He scoffed, his larger frame hovering over you as he trapped you against the side of the boat, “You don’t fucking get it, do you?”
A large palm circled around your neck, squeezing slightly as a proud display of brute strength. The motion restricted your airways for a moment as he flexed his muscles, causing you to gasp at the sensation. Fear continued to swirl inside you, physically trembling against him as you tried to fight back tears.
“Eijirou, what are you doing?” You mumbled nervously, the edge of the boat digging into your ass as he pressed you against the bow. Feeling him curve your body over the side of the vessel as he held your back above the water.
One slip and he’d submerge you in it, with all the restless souls. You felt your heartbeat increase as you tried to ignore the sting against your cheek, the sound of the smack still reverberating in your ears. Kirishima’s body towering over you as he pressed himself flush against your smaller frame, his lips peppering kisses against your exposed jawline as his calloused fingers began to stroke along your sides, “What does it look like, Sweetheart?”
You winced as he moved his hand from your neck to cup your cheeks, gripping them between his thumb and forefinger. The action curving your lips into a pout, his fingertips pressing into the darkened skin of the cheek he’d just smacked, the sensation causing a pleasurable pain to circulate inside you.
“I-I dunno.” You stuttered, lips unmoving as Kirishima kept his grip against you.
“You wanna make it out, don’tcha?” He smirked, rolling his hips against you as you felt his hard cock straining against his trousers, grinding against your hip, “Get to the other side.”
You did. You wanted to make it across more than anything, to get to the other side and pass this level. Each moment taking you a step closer towards the end of this terrible nightmare.
“Yes.” You whimpered, Kirishima’s hand moving to grip your jaw.
“What is it? I’m useful to help you get across but that’s it?” He rasped, “Ain’t nothing else I’m good for?”
“I d-didn’t say that, Kirishima. Please-“ Your heart was pounding against your chest as Kirishima pulled your body flush against him, his face inches away from your own as he crouched to your level. His warm breath fanning against your face as he connected his lips to yours in a desperate kiss.
Kirishima’s teeth instantly clashing against your pursed lips, his tongue prodding against them to try and gain entrance as he continued to grind himself against you. His chapped lips against yours roughly as he tried to deepen the kiss.
“You’re just like everyone else.” He pulled back from your lips to glare down at you. A large palm moving up to grope your chest roughly, fingertips digging into the soft mound bruisingly as he rolled his hips against you, grunting softly in your ear, “Usin’ me until someone better comes along.”
“That isn’t it, I wouldn’t-” You tried to reason with him.
“Oh yeah? Then prove it-” Kirishima barked, pulling you into another feverish kiss.
This time his large palm grasped your thigh, hoisting it up against his hip as he angled your body to grind his hardness against your clothed cunt. The movement caught you off guard as you moved to curl your arms around his broad shoulders, keeping yourself steady as he groaned at the sensation. Nudging yourself against his cock, as your body betrayed your mind to try and gain some stimulation to your neglected clit. His blunt fingernails grazing against your soft skin as he rut himself against you to try and create some much needed friction against his cock. His tongue slipping into your mouth to stroke against your own as he swallowed your desperate pleas of ‘no’.
“God, you feel amazing.” Kirishima ignored the pearly tears that clumped in your thick lashes, welling in the corners of your eyes, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
His hands smoothed back down your sides, finding the hem of your shirt to pull it up and over your chest along with your bra, exposing your breasts to the cool evening air.
“Holy fuck, you’re hot.” Kirishima groaned as he took sight of your exposed skin, his fingers pinching at your pebbling nipples as he felt them harden under his touch. The motion making you arch your back into him as he began to massage your supple skin, palming your breasts. You clenched your eyes shut to try and avoid looking down at the sullen beneath the water, trying to focus on something, anything but what was happening right now.
You whimpered as you felt his calloused fingers stroke along your inner thighs, slipping underneath your skirt to palm at your clothed sex. Crying out as he pressed down against your clit through the flimsy material, unable to prevent your body from grinding down against his touch.
“Trying to act like ya didn’t want it when you’re fucking dripping. Look at you-” Kirishima held his fingers up to you, your slick glistening against the digits in silvery lines between them, “What a mess.”
You whimpered when he pressed the digits against your mouth, your slick smearing against your lips as he pushed them inside. Curling them as he pressed against your tongue, groaning at the sensation of your lips wrapped around him. Half-lidded eyes glowering at you as he slowly slipped them from your warmth, dragging your bottom lip down with the calloused pad of his index and middle fingers.
“You have no idea how long it's been since I’ve seen another living, breathing person, babe.” Kirishima caught you off guard as he turned you to face the open water, pushing your chest down against the side of the boat. His fingers moving to hook into the hem of your panties, tugging them down your thighs to settle around your knees, “I’ve been so lonely.”
You heard the clink of him undoing his belt as he shuffled behind you, your fingertips gripping onto the wooden side of the boat as Kirishima lined himself up behind you. Grabbing his thick cock in a large fist as he gave himself a teasing pump, stroking himself between your slick folds as his pre-cum mingled with your essence. A low groan leaving his lips as he made contact, the bulging head catching against your tight hole with each slow stroke. Easing his hips forward as he felt your inner walls pulsing around the tip, your body completely betraying your mind.
“Must be my lucky day that you chose my boat.” He groaned as he felt your tightness flutter around his tip, desperately trying to suck him inside your core. Fresh tears spilling down your cheeks as you tried to plead with him to stop, your cries falling on deaf ears.
“Don’t worry, Sweetheart.” Kirishima cooed, kissing away the tears that trickled down your cheeks, his stubble tickling your skin, “‘m gonna make you feel real good.”
Your nails dragged against the cool wood, trying to ignore the burning sensation in your lower half as Kirishima pushed himself inside your depths. The dull ache of him stretching your inner walls made you cry out, involuntarily rolling your hips back against him as he slipped inside you to the hilt.
“Oh, fuck. You’re tight-” Kirishima grunted, rutting his hips against you to try and bury himself impossibly deeper inside your silky walls.
A harsh smack against your ass caught you by surprise as you felt the familiar heat prickling against your skin, pulling a surprised gasp from your throat as he repeated the action. Laughing as you tried in vain to move away from him, to try and stop the assault on your body as you trembled beneath him but it was futile. Kirishima pressed himself harder against you, his upper body curling above you as he placed his palms flat on either side of you. Holding the hardwood of the ship as he finally bottomed out inside your quivering folds. His nose brushing the apex of your neck as he savoured the feeling of your inner walls fluttering around him. Steading himself through the soft rocking of the boat as he slowly eased himself back, pulling him from your depths before diving back in. The motion involuntarily ripping a pleasured moan from between your lips as he began a constant pace. Each roll of his hips had you pressed harder against the side of the ship, your breasts grazing against the wood uncomfortably as you tried to angle your body so your hips weren’t digging into the edge.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” Kirishima groaned, his hands moving to palm at your breasts, tweaking your nipples almost painfully between his thumb and forefinger as the lewd sound of skin against skin filled the evening air and dulled out the depraved wails of the sullen.
“S’too much.” You whimpered, trying to ignore the dull ache between your thighs as his cock pistoned in and out of your slick heat. He was definitely bigger than anyone you’d been with before and it felt like you were being split open, “I can’t-”
“Don’t try and act like you’re not enjoying it, Princess.” Kirishima cooed, “I can feel you clenching around me.” Kirishima smirked, cherishing the way your cunt milked his cock.
Each roll of his hips had the thick veins on his cock dragging against the spongy spot inside you perfectly, forcing more whimpers from between your lips as he worked himself towards his release. Feeling how perfectly your walls were pulsing around him, the dull ache inside you slowly easing into pleasure as you adjusted to the stretch around his thick girth.
“Look at you, fucking slut.” Kirishima snarled, his fingers digging into the plush skin on your hips as he pounded harder into your sex, the bulging tip of his cock bruising your cervix, “You wanted this all along-”
Kirishima’s body folding over your own, his muscular chest pressed against your back as he bit down on the apex of your neck. A loud cry leaving your lips as pain began to flow through your body again, tears clumping in your lashes and blurring your vision as he drove inside you.
“Ah- Please, Eijirou-” You sobbed, your legs trembling as you failed to keep yourself up, slumping against the boat.
“That’s it, say my fucking name.” He snarls, picking up the pace, snapping his hips against yours. You see stars every time his cock brushes your cervix, “So fucking good.”
No matter how hard you tried there was no way you could deny the white hot pleasure ebbing through your body, a euphoric sensation that had you grinding back against him. Desperately trying to achieve the blissful end as you let out a lewd moan.
“Eijirou, please.” You whimpered as more sinful sounds slipped from between your parted lips, the shame of enjoying his monst rations had you trying to silence your cries as you bit down hard on your lower lip as you drew blood.
“Such a fucking mess.” Kirishima mumbled, his large palm wrapping around your neck to pull you into him, your back curving as the angle he was thrusting inside you changed. His lips peppering kisses against your cheeks, kissing away your tears as he continued his pace.
“If Bakugou could see me now-” Kirishima boasted, his hand spanking your ass again as he drove himself inside your quivering body.
“You like that, huh?” A debauched grin on his face as he wrapped a palm around your neck, tightening his grip. Instantly you began to feel the lack of oxygen between your harsh pants, trying desperately to try and quell your heaving chest. “Yeah, of course you do. You filthy slut.”
Kirishima slipped a hand between your thighs, his palm pressed snugly against your mound as he rubbed tight circles against your puffy clit, increasing the pressure as he willed you towards your climax. Warm lips pressing against your ear as he teased your body, “Gonna cum for me, Princess?”
The restriction to your airways had you trembling, the gratifying pleasure you’d felt ebbing inside you had now grown to a large throb. The coil inside you tense and close to breaking, your toes curling as you felt yourself slipping towards your release. Your eyes rolling back as you felt yourself coming undone, your cries of pleasure muted in airy gasps as Kirishima fucked you through your release. His balls slapping against the junction of your ass as he felt your inner walls begin to clench around him, desperately trying to milk his cock as your body continued to betray you.
“That’s my girl.” He released his grip against your neck as your body instantly collapsed forward, clinging to the bow as he greedily searched for his own climax.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-,” Kirishima chanted in tandem with his thrusts as your ass bounced against his cock, “Gonna look so pretty full of my cum, baby.”
His hands grasping your cheeks as he pulled them apart to stare at his thick length plunging inside your slick folds. Fingers digging into the curve of your ass as he left darkened lines against your skin, grunting as he leaned back to see where your bodies are connected. Ruby eyes watching the way his thick cock plunged into your tight body, stretching you out around him.
“Tell me you want it, tell me you want my cum.” He growled.
“I- I- I want it,” You managed to gasp out between harsh pants, trying to regain your breath as pleasure still clouded your mind.
“Fucking say it.” Kirishima roared, his hand coming down on your ass as he thrust into your cunt with renewed vigor.
“I want it, I want your cum, Kirishima. Please-” Uncaring that the side of the boat was now digging uncomfortably into your hips as he pounded into you, working himself towards his release.
“You want me over him, don’t you?” Kirishima continued, prompting you to answer as the crude sound of skin against skin filled the cool evening air.
“Yes, I want it. I want you-” You weren’t even sure what you were agreeing to anymore, barely able to keep your spent body upright as Kirishima used you for his own end.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum-” Kirishima’s hips began to stutter as his orgasm ebbed through him, his warmth breath fanning against your skin as his balls tightened, emptying himself inside your tight cunt. Your inner walls milking him for his release as he continued to give a few more sloppy thrusts inside your spent sex, stuffing you full with his release.
Your cries resigned to muffled sobs as he slowly pulled out of your slick heat, red eyes watching his cum trickling out of your stretched body and dribbling down your thighs. Unable to resist leaning forward to press his fingers against your abused hole, a soft gasp leaving your lips as he pressed his cum back inside you.
“Gods, you’re perfect.” He rasped, pulling your spent body up to wrap you in his arms. The scent of sandalwood and salt captivating you as he pressed a sloppy kiss to your forehead.
“We could be so happy here, babe.” He mused, “Together forever.”
“I can’t stay here.” You whispered, trying to pull back from his embrace.
“You don’t want to stay with me?” You felt his grip tighten almost painfully against your arms as darkened eyes glared down at you, “You’re going to leave me too?”
“I need to find my mum.” You tried to maneuver yourself out of his grasp but Kirishima had far more strength.
“You’re just as bad as everyone else.” Kirishima snarled, spit flying from his lips in anger, “You don’t give a shit-”
“No- Eijirou, Please I-” You felt your entire body trembling as he pushed you roughly, your back laying against the side of the boat as you dangled over the edge. Suspended above the water as he kept a firm grip on your neck. Your smaller hands moving up to try and hold onto his wrist, trying to keep yourself upright as you trembled in fear against him.
“Everyone betrays you in the end.” You let out a scream as you felt Kirishima let go of your body, your stomach lurching as you felt yourself falling towards the River Styx.
The impact of hitting the freezing cold water drowning out your cries, your body jolting as you felt your back slam against the hard metal floor of the elevator. Nighteye standing above you as he stared down at you with a stoic expression.
“You’re doing better than I thought you would.. but the journey is far from over.”
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