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lilxberry · 3 years

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I Watched You Die} 7 - Natasha Romanoff

Synopsis;

Someone from Natashas’ past makes the most of unsuspected arrivals and begins to cause issues, not only for her, just everyone they come into contact with. HYDRA uses them as a simple puppet and Natasha believes that maybe, just maybe, she could get them back to her in the way she remembers.

Warnings: Torture. Language. Angst. (I honestly dk so I guess lemme know)

Words: 3,496

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader (female reader) (super soldier reader) (HYDRA reader)

(A/N: I know I haven’t really been posting but holy shit have I had to do about a thousand things a minute. Plus my hamster died this week so I was hella sad lmao.)

< Chapter 6 Chapter 8 >

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Deep down, the screaming and pained cries troubled you. They hurt you to your core and a part of you wished it would end already, for both yours and her sakes. You knew she wanted to escape, desperately so, but HYDRA hasn’t given her a single chance to find a way.

You obscure her vision with dark bags over her head and you carry her to and from the cell HYDRA holds her into the labs where, every day, they continue to break her down bit by bit. The carrying helps fuzz her mind of which direction you take, your movements ever always miniscule and hard to pick up, even when you walk at a faster than average pace and can move like no other with such speed and versatility.

The screams, her screams, they haunt you, even if you have possibly 2 hours a sleep a week or less; you receive no rest during that short period of time.

It had been 2 week, 4 days, 17 hours and 36 minutes since Strucker had thrusted upon you the responsibility of Natasha’s handler. The constant post of outside her room, the hand over of food and water, the carry like a child.

She was your responsibility.

Her hair, usually a brighter red, is dull and greasy due to not washing it. She refused. She looked broken enough as it is and the small part of you that still lingers in the back of your mind, the small part that HYDRA hadn’t been able to corrupt, it screams at you to help her.

You knew, you somehow knew, the memories they had altered were tainted. They told you that she had left you for dead, that she knew you still lived and breathed and had a sufficient flow of blood coursing through you and decided by her own will to leave you; that she never loved you, that she used you, that you were simply a thing holding her back.

And that when you were down for the count, slowly dying in the building on that mission that went royally tits up, she had seen an opportunity to be free, to leave you behind.

But they brainwashed that information into you, how she knew and how it was her fault for the mission in the first place going wrong was her doing for double crossing you and the KGB. That, in effect, ruined the memories you still had of her when you had woken up after the meticulous number of surgeries and procedures those dirty scientists had done on you.

You believed them, your brain believed them, your heart believed them.

You hadn’t wanted to, but the evidence was stacked up high against Natalia and her so called ‘love’ for you.

They built a burning rage inside of you against the red head. And it all worked out in their favour.

But that small part of you, the part that fights daily to prevail over each and every memory they had tainted, over this new persona they moulded you into to, knew that they lie. It claws at the back of your mind each time she screams, each time silent tears run down her face from the pain and the will to give up.

They’ve broken her, but not in the way they truly wanted.

They’ve broken her, and slowly, its breaking you too.

Your mind, overpowered by the brainwashing and the lies and the serum, can’t comprehend that empty feeling in your chest, that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, can’t comprehend the bile that fights its way up your throat.

Slowly, through those 2 week, 4 days, 17 hours and now 41 minutes, that small part of you that Natasha had always knew and loved and trusted bit away at the barricade HYDRA had built up enough for the old you to act out in your new body.

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“Are you tired yet, Miss Romanoff?” Strucker asked in a condescending tone.

Filth ridden clothes that were soaked with sweat adorned her body. The once vibrant red flowing locked atop her head were greasy and sticking to every inch of skin it could.

She looked tired. Oh so tired. The dark circles under her eyes were prominent yet she still held a steeled gaze full of determination.

She dignified the answer with no words.

Strucker chuckled darkly.

“Still as stubborn as a mare, I see.” He leant down to become level with her ear and the hot breath that hit the shell of it near made her skin crawl. “Every mare eventually becomes complacent and knows to follow instructions after a bit of…training.”

His smile was sadistic and although you hadn’t shown it, it annoyed you more than anything. Something deep within you wished to wipe that sickening smile off of his face.

He eyed you in his peripheral vision, looking at your form that stood to attention and as rigid as the soldier he known had created out of you for a few short seconds before turning his gaze to the those at the large control panel, giving them a singular nod before leaning back up and walking towards the exit.

“You’ll eventually squeal, Miss Romanoff,” Strucker called before passing through the doorway and allowing the door to close behind him.

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The time came where a handful of the soldiers that relieved you of those two hours to rest arrived and you knew, it was the time to act.

The hallways looked longer than usual, a stretch of plain walls and dirty concrete floor that could make anyone feel woozy and dizzy and downright sick; things always seemed longer when there was that ominous threat of death hanging in the air that only you would know about until the others caught on.

Your room was just as bland and lacklustre of colour as the rest of the hidden facility, the bed bare bar a simple sheet and pillow that would’ve already looked worn down and thin by now if used by a person with a normal functioning sleep schedule.

HYDRA trusted you, Strucker trusted you, they felt no need to search you room regularly, at all even. Which made this part of the plan a lot easier for you to pull off.

With an air of nonchalant, you walked towards your bed as you had done each and every time you would enter, laying down on your side, face towards the wall and arm cradling your head underneath the pillow.

The smallest of movements, you wrangled the phone you had snatched from the lab down and out of your sleeve, holding it in your hand hidden under your pillow. Your memorisation of Natasha’s number from the small slip of paper you had been given played well and you typed it in with ease on the small handheld device, the buttons rather than the touchscreen of a smartphone was certainly more helpful.

Once happy with the number you typed in discreetly without looking, you moved to type your message out, one you’ve elected to type out in Russian for further safety measures; this could all go so easily wrong.

If the Avengers had kept a hold of Natasha’s phone like you strongly believe they’d do, you were hopeful that they’d somehow get this message, a part of you doubted they were smart though, so hopes weren’t very high.

Certain the massage was what you hoped would say, you hit send and now, it was a small game of waiting until you have to next move the woman with hair the colour of burning embers to the lab and Strucker.

You weren’t doing this for yourself, you were doing this for her, the woman that small part of you that grows each day still loves and direly wishes to protect.

The woman who makes the soldier in you confused.

The woman who knows you behind HYDRA’s interference.

‘Надеюсь, вы с нетерпением ждете доставки.’

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The team was a disarray, a cluster of messes.

They racked their brain to the point of shutdown with any possible place you could be kept way from them. S.H.I.E.L.D. had no leads on any sort of base or such that HYDRA is connected to. There was nothing, and there was no hope.

Well, maybe just a small flicker of it of which lives inside a young agent.

Lewis O’Connor.

The young man had heard through the grapevine that the woman who he greatly looked up to had been taken, that there were no traces of her apart from you. He seethed at the fact and simply found yet another reason to detest you strongly.

He had shown up at the compound, telling what himself and the older red head spoken of the day she had been missing. He demanded he be allowed to help those look, no chance in sight that he would take ‘no’ as an answer.

This had occurred the day the team had arrived back from San Fransico and honestly, they don’t they could’ve denied his help, it was all hands-on deck to find the red head.

With the phone, the team had handed it to the young, reinstated agent and told it to monitor it closely. The device was hooked up to the system and he, along with the avengers and many other agents, dug deeply through the phone to find something, anything.

His eyes looked dull and his hair was dishevelled, dark bags under his eyes, a collection of coffee cups that are empty. The poor kid had been forced to get some rest by others on many occasions.

Their hoped dwindled done to nothing but a sliver, but the young lad was determined, not a single cell in his body could will him to quit, to give in, to throw the towel in.

He had every right to keep at it, to stay with such a determination that burned ferociously through him.

Beep.

A single text tone sounded through the dark computer room the agent sat in, the monitors illuminating him with a hard blue hue. His head snapped towards the phone that lit up for a moment. The movement so fast he would swear he had almost given himself whiplash.

“Friday?” He spoke with apprehension, almost sure his eyes and ears deceived him when the screen faded back out into nothing but black.

“What can I do for you, Agent O’Connor?” the A.I.’s voice sounded through the room.

Lewis gulped as he continued to warily eye the phone. “Can you pull up the message just received from Miss Romanoffs’ phone on to a monitor, please?”

A moment past before the screen showed with a message from an unknown number, the text in a language he certainly didn’t understand but had the strongest hunch telling him what language it was exactly.

“Friday, can you please tell the Avengers and Director Fury to come here as quickly as possible? Tell them it’s an emergency.”

“Right away, Agent,” the A.I.’s voice rang out.

Lewis cleared his throat as he stared intently at the message still displayed, his orbs not moving a single inch from the words. “Can you also translate this message, Friday?”

“I’ll see that it’s done, Agent.”

_______________

The plan was set into motion. Of course, you were the only one to currently know of it; everyone else involved had no idea. Even the Avengers were only given one shitty text that had no real context whatsoever.

It was time to return to your post, prompting you to exit the small room that HYDRA had assigned for you and walk back the way you came all the way to the outside of Natasha’s holding cell.

Your posture was as straight and stern as usual and gave no one reason to watch you any closer that what was deemed normal.

The two on guard straightened as you got closer and closer, eventually giving yourself a salute, standing to attention until the moment you dismiss them with a nod of your head.

They scampered away like good little soldiers and now you were left on your lonesome before the room you were about to enter.

With the set of keys you had been entrusted with, you stepped closer to the heavy door and slowly unlocked, the click that resounded through the empty hallway showed yet another step in your plan being completed.

You push the door open, it creaking open loudly and the second you stepped into the room, your eyes instantaneously landed on the woman who was curled up on the small bed provided for anyone who HYDRA held captive.

She made no move, having no energy and part of you deep down felt something twinge in you, like a dull ache that’s weak in power but strong enough in presence, allowing you to know that it is indeed there.

She hadn’t even batted an eye.

You stepped towards her, and her eyes flickered up to watch you emotionlessly; her green orbs seeming dull and lifeless, near all hope drained from them. Reaching the edge of the bed she curled herself up on, you bring yourself to crouch before slipping your arms underneath her, one behind her shoulders and upper back and the other hooked under her knees.

Natasha protests none, assuming she would just be taken back to the lab with the constant lingering, putrid scent of burnt flesh and what smelt eerily similar to rubbing alcohol.

Her head rest on your shoulder as all her weight was carried in your arms, breezing through the door and down the hallway, unbeknown to her, a corridor you’ve never taken her down before.

With determined steps, you briskly make your way towards the vehicle hangar of the base, and luckily, you had yet to pass by any agents that would raise any alarms.

You were surprised none had yet been raised due to the cameras that line the walls. Although, those who tend to sit and watch aren’t always so attentive and seeing as it was just you, they could easily assume you were simply following orders.

Only when you finally turned the corner and the large doors to enter the hangar came into sight did the plan come into contact with complications you knew were unavoidable.

“По какому приказу ты здесь с пленником, солдат?” an armed HYDRA agent spoke loudly to your approaching figure, the others with him before the door standing to attention. (On what orders bring you here with the captive, soldier?)

“Я должен перевезти пленника в новое учреждение, которое бы увеличило дистанцию между Щ.И.Т.ом, Мстителями и Вдовой,” you replied sternly, putting forth the façade of their number one ranking soldier. (I am to transfer the captive to a new facility, one which would put more distance between S.H.I.E.L.D., the Avengers and the Widow.)

“А теперь открой двери.” Your tone showed no further discussion showed take place and that they were to follow your orders, but the agents hadn’t gotten that on just a sentence alone. (Now open the doors.)

Ever so slowly, the soldier reached for his radio sat atop his shoulder to begin confirming what story you’ve spun, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes before stepping forward. They eyed you warily.

Tightening the grip you had on the red head, you crack your neck before kicking your right leg out, sending the soldier that you had hit into the wall and down to floor in quick succession. Before the others had any real time to react, you moved once more, taking one after another down, with your legs along, your arms and upper body being occupied with holding and protecting Natasha.

The five soldiers were downed and now all that were left were those who stood behind the large, heavy doors of the hangar.

Rolling your shoulders, you kick up the keycard that had fallen from one of the agents’ bodies, catching it with easy with your right hand, all before stepping forward and swiping the card, gaining access, and opening the doors.

“Это лучше сделать быстро.” (This best be quick.)

_______________

“The fuck does that mean?” Tony spoke, looking over the words on the screen before the team. “I hope you’re looking forward to a delivery.’ What kind of mysterious shit is this?”

Wanda sighed and looked at the ground, arms crossed over her chest and deep in thought as she contemplated over things within her own head.

Pietro bumped his shoulder against her own, forcing her eyes to look at him. With a small, subtle nod, the witch knew he had asked her in the simplest form if she were alright, to which h=she replied with a nod of his own.

Allowing her gaze to fall back to the ground below her feet, she finally spoke.

“I think it’s clear who it’s from.”

“Yeah, but why?” It was the brunette of the old-time duo to question aloud, to which Wanda simply shrugged.

“We don’t know. But at least we know we may have to be ready for a fight.” She straightened herself out and allowed her arms to fall down to her sides. “We can use this as an advantage, use the time to prepare for whatever is about to come.”

“Wanda’s right. We focus on getting prepared and we’ll be ready for whatever comes our way.” Steve steps forward, automatically stepping back into the role of a leader. “We focus our resources on building up a better defence and getting ready to fight back if nessicary.”

The team felt a new wave of hope, and it was down to a message and a young agent they’ve allowed into their ranks.

With a newfound vigour, they believed they would be ready for what was to come, whatever it may be.

_______________

The drive in the unmarked jeep would have been tiring to most but you felt relatively unaffected. Natasha, on the other hand, looked as stoic and unmoving as ever, curled up in the front seat on the passengers’ side.

You would glance at her occasionally and see no change in her position or posture. She was like a shell, empty and hollow; merely there.

As soon as you could, you had pulled up to a gas station within rural Canada, removing any sign of a tracking device on and within the black car, along with buying minimal essentials, for Natasha only; water and food, along with some cheap blanket they stocked in a far back shelf.

When you had offered her the bottle, she had stared at you blankly, part of you believing it was out of distrust. You had sighed heavily, unscrewing the cap in a huff and taking a large swig to show that nothing had been done to it.

She continuously stared at you and the bottle when you had offered it to her once more and with a grunt, you screwed the cap back on and placed it within the cup holder in the centre of the vehicle.

The 32-hour long drive was coming to a close, the compound nearing with each mile, the level of gas within the tank lowering. You were lucky to reach your destination before the tank runs dry and you’re running of fumes.

With the route memorised, you worked your way down roads and through densely wooded areas to break through the treeline, the path that cut through it now becoming a large, open space before the compound.

Your trained, enhanced eyes had spotted the multiple of figures at the ready halfway up the gravel drive, no doubt being alerted to an unknown’s arrival.

Slowing the car to a stop, you put it in park about 40 feet before the Avengers, shutting off the engine and sitting in your seat in silence for a long pause. You clear your throat and ensure your features are schooled before ever so slowly opening the car door, stepping out and rounding the vehicle with your eyes still on the group.

“Eyes open, we don’t need any surprises,” Steve ordered the group in a volume he was certain only they could hear, agent O’Connor amongst them.

“I should shoot that bastard now while I have the chance,” Clint muttered to himself. “They took Nat.”

“Patience Legolas. Let’s see where this goes.”

Their eyes narrow as they see you open the car door on the passenger’s side, the figure they couldn’t quite see had been hunched and slouched in their seat.

They see you push your arms in and under the figure that they have yet to recognise. They can easily see that your movements are careful and precise, and it ever so slightly puts them on edge. Maybe they were wrong that it had been a person. Maybe it had been a weapon.

Maybe it was-

Their eyes widened and Wanda had released a gasp.

They felt as if the air had been knocked from out of their bodies, leaving them winded, speechless.

“Oh my god…”

“Is that…?”

“Nat.”

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This is shit honestly

I ain’t no writer

I draw and shit

Never have high expectations of me lmao

Anyways

If you want to be added to a taglist lemme know

Anywho, I hope you enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

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Marvel taglist:

@thanossexual @iwazoomingouttahere @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

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‘I Watched You Die’ taglist:

@diaryoflife @username23345 @drpepperobsessed @fayhar @d14n4ol @srtamercurio @gabbygabbie @lostandsearching @afuckingshituniverse @thea13sworld @nelouath8 @navs-bhat @pistachiomilk3 @peggycarter-steverogers @b-5by5 @trikruismybitch @anxiousgoldengirl @when-wolves-howl @whitelotus00 @anxiousgoldengirl @daniescady @unexpected-character @lgtftchan @mitch-cabello1097 @wlwfanfictionss @gottacamz @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday @ygtft-chen @llamame-papi @nucianced-tck-enby

(Those whose @ is in bold, I could not tag unfortunately.)

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wallgirl · 3 years

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The Little Nereid Part 17

Record of Ragnarok fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Word count: 1,800

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful. Loving someone like Poseidon is not easy period, let alone as your first love. But Dynamene is young and naïve, and all she wants is a chance to be at the sea god’s side.

Categories and warnings: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending, slow-burn (ish); no sexual content. Graphic violence parts 15 and 16.

Updated regularly; will have about 20 parts total.

Warning for this chapter: references to injury and blood, largely at the end of the chapter. Avoid if squeamish.

—

Am I dead?

It was the first thought to arise as she woke out of a thick haze. Tiny motes of dust drifted before her, but when her eyes tried to focus on them, they seemingly disappeared. Had they been there at all?

She blinked rapidly to clear her vision. Before her was an endless expanse of black, completely impenetrable and all encompassing. She instinctively knew that it went on forever, despite not being able to see anything besides her own pale body. She felt some sort of tepid liquid beneath her feet - was it water? - but couldn't bring herself to look down past her shoulders. She remembered in horrific blurs what had happened to bring her to this place, and feared what she might see there.

But I don't feel any pain. Could it be...? Dynamene looked hesitantly down at herself. Her white peplos stretched clean and untorn across her intact chest. She pressed her skin hesitantly, but felt no pain. It was as if the wound had never existed.

Now that she had gotten her bearings, she turned about in hopes of spotting something, anything, in the endlessness. Is this purgatory? Dynamene knew that when deities perished, so did their souls. Their consciousness ceased to exist along with their body. I think, therefore I am. I must not be dead. So what's going on? A neutral silence did nothing to sate her curiosity. Is this it?

Seconds ticked by with no change. A feeling of dread sunk in her chest. No, this can't be it. I still had so much I wanted to do.

I was such a fool.

She thought of her family, and her final argument with Ianeira. I'm sorry. I should have listened. She pursed her lips as she fought back tears. If this is the end, I apologize. I didn't mean to hurt you all. I wish I could change it. I wish I could see you again.

Then, suddenly, there was something bright that stood out against the void before her, a long, long ways away. It seemed to call to her in the distance with its brilliant white light. With nothing else to do and no answers to her questions, Dynamene ran toward it. Her feet splashed through the black water, droplets lit by the faint glow emanating from her being.

She stopped, breathless, after what might have been a few seconds or a few hours. The something had taken on the shape of a person, a bit taller than her, and with their back largely turned to her. Dynamene stepped forward cautiously, allowing their features to come into focus.

It was him, standing there before her in the black. His body emitted an eerie white glow, just like hers. She stood in bewilderment for several moments. She could only see the edge of his cheek with the way he was turned, no other part of his face. Dynamene was at a loss. "Why are you here?"

There was no answer. He didn't even move. Was he really there? Was it just a figment of her wounded body's imagination? She curled her fingers uncertainly as she considered reaching out to see if she was merely hallucinating.

Then his face tilted slightly towards her, making it clear he had heard her. Still, he refused to show himself to her entirely, and Dynamene's eyes widened. There was something in the bowed angle of his head...

Are you ashamed?

As if trying to dispel the notion, he finally stepped to face her completely. His colors looked washed out in the white glow, while the faint shadows traced the edges of his face. It seemed he was at last in a place every bit as fittingly ethereal as he was. But he continued to remain silent, and Dynamene's gaze shifted away in frustration.

"You're the one who brought me here. So why have you come now?" She couldn't veil the accusation in her voice. "I tried to tell you. But you didn't stop. You killed me."

Here in this endless vacuum of existence, Poseidon held no power over her. She was already on death's door, that much seemed certain. He couldn't harm her now. Dynamene was free to speak her mind completely. "Why didn't you believe me? Did you call me to your room just to kill me?" There was more bite to her tone now. "Was my love only a burden to you?" Her accusations echoed across the space.

His gaze finally flickered to meet hers. She felt no joy from it, only a strange sensation of tired defeat. Her shoulders slumped. "I suppose I'm going to disappear forever now, aren't I?" She twisted her peplos with guilty hands. "And I... I brought it on myself. I didn't listen to my family. I didn't see... I didn't understand. They'd warned me."

Nothing in his somber expression changed, but the shadows had deepened across his face. He took a single step closer to her, and she looked up at him with a miserable expression. Then he lifted one hand to clasp over hers, stilling her worried fidgeting. "I didn't mean to bring you here, Dynamene."

Her lower lip trembled, and she had to look away as he continued. "I thought you were a fake sent to replace the real you. I thought someone might've abducted you. I couldn't hear your heartbeat; your appearance had changed; I sensed strange magic about you."

So you didn't mean to hurt me, yet... "So your first response was to maim?" Dynamene pulled her hands away. "You would've lost the only chance to find me if your theory had been true."

"I-" Poseidon's words came to a stop mid-breath. It was the first time she'd ever heard him halt in the midst of a sentence. She turned her eyes back to him in confusion. He looked at war with himself; what was it that he'd meant to say? He took a moment to settle on a fitting response as his expression smoothed back out into stoicism. "I allowed my rage to get the better of me."

Her mouth nearly fell open. Poseidon was admitting fault. He had just, before a mere Nereid, confessed that his emotions had got the better of him.

Emotions spurred on by the thought that she might've been harmed.

She looked away as she absorbed this. The little motes of dust had returned, flickering gently in their light. They danced in little waves, fading in and out of sight. Poseidon had gone against the appearance he fought so hard to maintain for her. He cared about her. His heart had thawed at last, just as she'd wanted.

But there was no change within her heart except something bittersweet that ached. Her bleak expression remained as she looked up at him.

"Do you not forgive me?" He asked in a hushed voice. A vulnerability she didn't recognize had crept into his words.

Dynamene pursed her lips, thinking desperately about how to respond. Do I forgive you?

I... I think I do.

I do forgive you, but it doesn't change the way I feel right now.

That terror I experienced, that agonizing pain... You say you didn't mean to inflict it on me.

But how many countless others have you taken in the same way, with no regret? Your own brother, the Titans... People who have wronged you. People who would do you harm. And people who you perceived to have slighted you. Now I finally understand it all.

You did them the same harm, and you didn't feel anything.

"I forgive you," she whispered, but the words were meaningless. This wasn't about forgiveness. Something nameless had changed beneath the current.

He lifted his hand to gently smooth back her unruly bangs. His dark eyes drank in her face, even as she remained largely unaffected by his gesture. The girlish infatuation of before was completely extinguished. Now disappointment prevailed in her eyes.

But regardless, his feelings were unchanged. Now, for the very first time, they were truly alone. He finally admitted his desire for her to himself, even though he still didn't understand it. And as he leaned down closer to her, his eyes closed for the first time as he allowed himself to become immersed in his emotions.

And despite her disillusionment and sorrow, she loved him yet. A man of ice who had thawed only for her. Allowing him to enfold her in his embrace, her lips met his.

Two beings of light, entwined in the dark.

---

Dynamene gasped, a ragged, excruciating sound. Poseidon drew back in shock, staring down at her with sharp eyes. She coughed violently, wracking her thin body with the effort. Poseidon quickly lifted her shoulders to help clear her airway. Lifewater dripped from her lips, tainted red with his own blood. It was then that he understood what had happened. Before, when he had bit his lips in anger...

His blood was reviving her. Poseidon immediately bit his lip again and kissed her once more, pushing his blood into her. He forced several breaths of air into her, desperately willing her to keep breathing, before moving back to monitor the effect.

The flesh around her wounds had stopped disintegrating, though they were not healing. She gave another gasp for air, then fell silent.

He wasn't going to give up. He removed one glove and tore through the skin of his finger with his teeth. The gash began to drip blood, and he held it above her open mouth. As drop by drop ran down her throat, she began to move once more. He squeezed his hand, willing the blood to run faster, to hurry her revival.

After many agonizing seconds, Dynamene's eyelids twitched. Her bleary eyes opened slowly and focused on him. The sound of dripping lifewater stopped.

Poseidon exhaled. He rebandaged her chest, pulled her back into his arms, and stood. She was healing. She would live. Now to get out of this forsaken place and back to the palace. She would need more medical care as soon as possible.

Dynamene's eyes remained open, but she said nothing. Even if she had wanted to, her body wouldn't have been able. Her drowsy gaze didn't leave his face once. Something was ending now, but for however long as they had, she just wanted to drink him in. Poseidon... Her Poseidon. Just hours ago, this would have been a dream come true. Now, where had that exhilarated part of her gone? Had it remained behind in the blackness of that silent space? Had their conversation even taken place, or was it just a feverish dream?

What's changed?

No, I don't need to ask. I know.

Just let me enjoy this while it lasts. While I can still see you so close like this, and be in your arms, without any regrets.

She allowed her sore body to rest limply against his, and despite the speed at which he moved through the water to bring them home, her gaze never wavered.

---

We're going to the end now. I can't believe it. This is my longest fanfiction ever. I've gotten to know Dynamene so well. I don't think she'll leave my mind, even after the fic is finished.

I spent the most time on this chapter because I had a very specific mood for it in mind that required a lot of editing and re-writing. I let it sit for a few days before going back and putting more meat into the gaps. That's how I prefer to write - get the important stuff out first, and garnish with detail later.

There was this song by Kaskade that I thought about a lot with this chapter. It's called Borrowed Theme. Maybe I should've titled this chapter that, but that feels a little childish. The title kind of references a different song, anyway lol

#record of ragnarok #poseidon #shuumatsu no valkyrie #poseidon x oc #fanfiction

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i-need-air · 3 years

Note

Hello I really like your hybrid au especially with kirishima

I was wondering if I can request one with kirishima hybrid where reader gets kidnapped because someone from the old ring wants revenge and kirishima is looking for them

Wow, I took some time with this because it was hard to place Kiri in such a situation. I hope I gave it justice. This is not my usual fluff since it's a darker theme, so yeah. Hope it was worth the wait though! Enjoy and tell me if you liked it!! 💕💕

Word count: 4k [ I... I got carried away... and I still feel it's short 💀 ]

Warnings: kidnapping, blood, mentions of abuse, guns, Kiri's past being f'd up, insults [?], hint towards assault;

[ Masterlist ] [ Main Hybrid!Kirishima HCs ]

× this man is all about safety

× asks you to send him a message whenever you arrive safely at home or wherever you're going

× it's super-sweet and really helpful; your well being is everything to him after all

× yet one evening you didn't arrive on time

× no message, nothing

× he was waiting and paying attention to time since he wanted to suggest going out to watch a movie, but you didn't arrive

× one hour later he finds himself frowning at the clock, tapping his foot in wonder

× he sent you a message; the fact that it send but you didn't receive it unsettled him more, to which he decided to call— "The phone you're trying to reach is disconnected or no longer in service."

× did you run out of battery? was that even possible?

× what seals the deal is a DM he receives from a throwaway account on social media he was so active and known on.

× "We've got your little toy. You know where to find us, Red Riot. Come alone or they die." and attached was a pictute of you, on the floor, possibly unconscious, hands tied behind your back.

× a collar was placed by your side; he knew what it was.

× his blood ran cold, a freezing shiver electrified through his spine as he jumped out of the couch, terrorized and more importantly raging mad

× Red Riot: a name he tried to forget; a name people shouted at him in praise as they put bets on his head; a name he's been given as he fought friends and foes; a name that brought back pain and suffering. A name he didn't want to taint his new life with.

× he did not take any time to leave the house in a hurry, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

× Kirishima didn't know where his friends were, so he found himself on his own, outside your apartment complex, taking a deep breath in; he could find you; he had to find you even if it was the last thing he did, yet he had to do it alone.

× he spotted your car in the parking lot— in a blink he was by it's side, just spotting your belongings inside and the car-keys still in

× uncontrollable rage took over him as he still sniffed your scent in the air.

× you've been here and because of him, now you weren't; you're gone; you've been attacked too, the window smashed and blood running down the door

× he sniffed again, noticing how it wasn't your blood— relief didn't come since he did recognize the other scent; his dealer.

× "You fucking mutt!" he growled above the red-haired man chained to the wall, fist closed readied to make impact.

× Kirishima growled lowly, remembering.

× "You fucking made me lose ten fucking grands because you didn't want to finish that fucking beast!" his screams could be heard throughout the hallways.

× He got inside the car.

× "You and your fucking group, you think you're too good to fucking follow MY ORDERS—" a crack could be heard as the punch collided with the hybrid's jaw, yet it did little to no damage to him. Curses followed, making the man almost chuckle, yet chose not to, knowing the damage it would bring. "YOU PATHETIC PIECE OF— I FUCKING BROKE MY HAND, SHIT!" he yanked him by the hair with his other hand, pulling hard. "I'm gonna make you regret the day you were born." And if it weren't for his improvised family, Kirishima would've been regretting that day anyway without his assistance.

× He sped off, fingers whitening on the steering wheel because of his harsh grip. Tears now ran freely on his cheeks with no conscious attempt made to be stopped.

× Only two places haven't been raided by the Hybrid Protection Services came to mind, deemed as abandoned yet for those that knew the insides, the buildings were definitely used mostly as hideouts and for special occasions

× few escaped from being detained by the police, yet word came to him that the bastard, Mawler as he liked to call himself, was caught; it didn't seem to be the case and as he drove, Kirishima could only think he'd make the fucker regret the day he was born; a bitter laugh left his lips, hating himself for a moment. Although the image of a friend came in his mind, imagining him slapping his back in a poor attempt to motivate him. That's what he would say too.

× the self-hatred washed off; for you he'd do anything.

× he rushed to the first location; it used to be a club with an underground arena, in which he himself fought in countless times

× his neck itched as he gritted his teeth; the memory of the electric collar they had to have on while almost killing each other made him want to vomit

× a deep growl left his frame; gutural, dark, menacing; they wanted the Red Riot? it seems they forgot where he really got that name from;

× he only saw blood on the way there.

× he parked not too far but tried to keep a low profile although his big frame didn't help in a stealth situation. Kirishima knew he's in for trouble, but what else could he do?

× —

× you blinked, blinded by the light that shined harshly in your face

× "Would you look at that, fellas? Guess who's wakin' up?" you had no time to panic, just flashes of the quick encounter just by your house appearing in your mind as a boot collided with your stomach, making you wince in pain

× What was going on? What the hell happened?

× "Aww, don't make that face..." someone mocked. "Save it for when Red Riot comes along, baby." he whispered harshly at you, venom in his voice.

× you muttered "—Riot?" in daze, placing your knees as close to your chest for protection; your head hurt badly, a throbbing pain coming from the back of it.

× laughed echoed around you; "He didn't fucking tell you? How much of a fucking BEAST he was?!"; other voices joined in... two more voices, but you couldn't be sure

× memories came back at you; how you were arriving late but decided to not send any message since you were driving; parking, gathering your stuff, the sound of crystal breaking—

× but nothing else;

× "You don't fucking know what your piece of shit of a mutt even did before acting like a perfect little boyfriend, didn't ya?" the same venom filled voice came closer to you, giving you the chance to finally see his ugly scowl and to imprint his stupidly face in your mind;

× were they talking about Kirishima? Your Kirishima? He never really got into detail about his previous life yet made it clear he was forced to fight for the entertainment of others— did they fucking think he had a choice?

× yet you remained silent; it seems Kiri knew you'd be there and your concussion didn't really help you to think straight and form any plan;

× something could be heard outside, a crash of some sort and everyone stood still for a good second.

× "He—... He's here already?" one of them whispered. A clicking made you freeze. You snapped your head up in terror, only knowing that sound from movies, a sound so scary you really didn't think you'd hear it in real life; guns.

× "I fucking send that message 20 minutes ago..." Ugly Scowl said, taken back in surprise. His eyes, dark and void of goodness snapped on you, an unsure smile painting over him. "I wanted to have some fun with ya."

× your body couldn't control the shiver that ran through it, from head to toes, and he noticed, turning his uncertain smile into a sadistic one; your face was probably a dead giveaway too.

× but Eijirou was there and deep down you knew there was nothing to fear; except for the guns.

× the red-head wasn't dumb, he knew this world a million times better than you, so he must've known; with a flood of nervousness piling up in your stomach, you blinked the stinging feeling in your eyes away and hoped for the best.

× "Go check that fucking sound, retards!" he then screamed, two sets of footsteps rushing at his orders; it seemed he was the "boss" of whatever the hell this small group of pieces of shit was and hated your boyfriend's guts.

× should you talk? should you not? what's the best possible outcome out of this?

× your wrists stung, locked harshly with what felt like a rope; in a poor attempt to move your fingers to feel if you could, in an ideal world, free your hands, the man caught your movements instantly; he yanked you by the neck, lifting you off the ground with no difficulty and that's when you noticed he was strong, muscular, big; his frame wasn't as massive as Eijirou's by any chance but massive enough to make you reconsider any attempt to escape. "Don't even fucking think about it, dear."

× his breath, foul and heavy, hit your face and you almost gagged; he was watching you, observing your face in search of something. Through a nod he hummed at himself.

× "Not bad, Riot." his nose hit your cheek as he breathed you in and a whimper left you, guts screaming danger; he snickered. "It's okay, I like them when they cry." he mocked your tears in a heavy whisper, which you didn't notice until he pointed them out.

× a snap could be heard from inside the building, possibly on the floor above; were you underground?

× the disgusting man by your side lifted himself up, throwing you on the floor like garbage. He lifted his gun and narrowed his eyes towards the stairs.

× "Be good and maybe I'll keep you for myself after I hunt your mutt down." he said between gritted teeth. You just started praying for the man you loved, still trying to figure out a way to at least hide before this scum used you as a threat more than he did already.

× —

× Kirishima watched them from the shadows; his breath was heavy yet silent, his enhanced vision saw the two low-life mobs he sometimes noticed following Mawler whenever he went; he took in consideration their stance; of course they'd bring weapons—

× his mind drifted to one of his trainers, EraserHead, and on the few moments of aloofness he let himself have around the younger ones put in his charge; "Humans are easily fooled—" he'd grin lazily. "And very easy to scare."

× with determination like he's never had before, he grabbed a rock; if he had to reach you, he'd have to do the only thing he was never good at: being stealthy.

× he rushed to the left of the back entrance, hidden behind a beaten up car as he threw the small rock in the opposite direction and in any other situation he'd find himself amused, EraserHead's words on replay in his mind. One of the guys almost jumped in place at the sound, gun fastly jerked into its general direction with trembling hands.

× with no second to spare, he entered the building, his speed impressive—

× no sound was made, but what helped him greatly was that one of them started talking into the nothingness; "We know you're there, you bastard!"

× the other one was now searching inside the building, yet his head turned towards his companion outside; sadly for the poor idiot, it only took a punch in the jaw to immobilize him and knock him out entirely. He took the guns from the now unconscious body and put them in his belt and pocket, yet had no intention to use any.

× the second one left outside was still talking a whole monologue, making the man sweat drop; was this Mawler's plan? he wasn't known to use his brain much...

× yet he wasn't as easy to take down as Kirishima wanted it to be; he turned around, probably uneased by the lack of response of his partner, suspicious and more on the edge; he could feel it, his nervousness, his fear; another bitter grin appeared on Eijirou's features.

× "Jackal?" his voice hid fear behind it.

× they definitely knew the damage he could do and the hybrid was glad they did, wanting them to be terrified, his predator instincts washing over.

× he jumped on him, kicking the pistol out of his hands in a heartbeat and making him stumble backwards, losing his balance; it happened in a blurr, old feeling of being in the ring, fist to fist, tail low and ready to pounce. He was in his element once again and God, he hated himself when he let go of all the pain and broke his arm, the sweet image of your smiling face as you burried yourself into the same arms he hurt people with always in the back of his mind.

× before he could realize, the other woke up from the knockout; he heard rushed steps towards him and a snapping sound. The blabbering idiot was on the ground now, breathing but beaten to a pulp and everything stood still for a good second.

× he got hit? in the back of his head? With just one glance he saw a broken wooden plank and blinked stupidly; did he seriously think—?

× Kirishima grinned and in an instant he grabbed Jackal's head and smashed it into his knee.

× —

× you could hear his steps; you knew it was him; heavy yet trying to conceal them poorly; your man was walking around the floor above and you sniffled your nose at the thought.

× he was absolutely massive and nothing about him was silent; gentle, yes, but silent? laughable. Even in this horrendous situation you closed your eyes lovingly at the thought. He's here.

× "Those damned fucking useless pieces of shit—" Oh, yeah. Him.

× the barrel was suddently pointed at your head and any thoughts you had abandoned your brain completely

× utter terror overwashed your senses in every way as you stared at it with wide eyes

× "Let's see if he fucking likes this—"

× —

× the only way down for the public was the stairway; not even those useless guards knew the hidden entrance his friends and him used once; they had to come back though, the guilt and knowledge that if they're found to be gone would make Mawler execute everyone else.

× a low window painted black that led to a storage room behind the filthy bathrooms and the place they'd be kept in cages; he ran on the first floor, approaching the stairs before jumping on the dusty metal bar, now completely silent and praying his poor attempt at a bait worked.

× in no time he was outside again and in even less of a second he found himself by said window leading to the underground arena.

× —

× "Maybe if I hurt you a little bit, he'll come to his senses." He grinned, gun's safety lever clicked, now pointed at your stomach.

× you saw your vision blurr and you really, really wanted to say something but didn't know what to; your lips trembled and you bit them in the hopes of showing at least some courage before getting shot but you couldn't help closing your eyes.

× the sound was so loud; an obnoxiously loud bang shook the room or maybe just shook you to the core, then warmth engulfed you wholly.

× it gripped into you so strongly yet no damage came; "I got you, baby." came as a whisper in your ear and just as you snapped your eyes to see his red, sweet, gorgeous red eyes look at you tenderly, he was gone.

× nothing was said; just a rush of screams and silence; your kidnapper tried to shoot again or so you saw but he was jumped on instantly; that's when you noticed Eijirou was growling like a wild animal and was covered with blood.

× he was like a hurricane, like a bulldozer, like an unstoppable force that destroyed with no mercy; covered in red and splatters due to his constant attacks just painted him with more of it;

× you were looking at Red Riot and your stomach dropped; this is what he was made to be and you cried when he did not stop beating the man underneath him.

× "Baby, stop—" you'd whisper, really trying to get up and barely making it to stay in a seating position, kinda desperate; and he indeed stopped at your plea, froze actually.

× the poor devil under him was groaning, gargling whatevers but it didn't matter; he was looking at you, shocked and you could see the fear in his eyes...

�� was it bad that it didn't matter to you? as long as he didn't kill them, as long as justice got to them and furthermore kept Kirishima by your side forever, it didn't matter to you; it was instant, that thought.

× but as he stood there frozen, taking in your nerves and sudden relief, your crying face filled with worry; you took him in too... how his back was getting soaked in blood, running through his shirt down, and down, leaking...

× he got shot for you;

× "Please, leave him, help me and—" he turned a little, ashamed yet mute.

× like a scolded child, unsure; he was bleeding but he was scared of you; he had a hole in his back but he was hurting for your reaction.

× you sniffled again, getting on your knees, pain striking in your stomach but ignoring it; "Eijirou, come to me, please."

× and he did, all so gracefully, so fast and without a single wince; as if he knew pain more than he should've.

× your hands were instantly freed

× his silence killed you inside, it really did. This man, this amazing creature that beamed like the brightest star in the sky was now somber, dull...

× your phone was thrown on the floor as they tampered with it and you rushed, with trembling hands and uncertainty at his attitude to call the police; he was still to say anything, just staying on his knees in front of you, head low and teary eyes.

× he just muttered the location when they asked you about it but that's it; the operator asked questions yet you didn't care to answer them, just saying you need an ambulance too before closing the call to crawl towards him, taking his torso into your arms careful not to touch the wound on his back.

× he then cried harder into your neck, almost falling into your embrace, accepting it but his hands didn't move to touch you, laying unmoving on his sides.

× "I'm so—" he hiccuped. "I'm so sorry, [Y/N]." His frame was shaking more and more;

× "I love you, Eijirou." It's all you could say. Really, your brain just screamed for you to tell him that, as if you felt it's what he needed to hear the most.

× guilty; blaming himself; putting himself down;

× he shuddered into you as your hands, tired and sore, reached for his sweat soaked hair to stroke it gently.

× "You came for me. You saved me. Thank yo—"

× "Don't! It's all my fault—" his voice broke for a second, hands turning into fists and the only thing grounding him was your scent invading his nostrils. "You're hurt because of me..."

× you cried with him too, gluing his head more into you, peppering his face with shaky butterfly kisses.

× "It's not your fault, it was never your fault, Eijirou." you shook in place as you reassured him. Word by word, sentence by sentence, you let him know he's just as much of a victim being chased by his past, a past he was forced to have; he came for you, he rushed to save you, he took a bullet for you and yet again, he acted like it was nothing, as if the pain of putting you in danger was greater than any damage he could take.

× his hands encircled you and for the first time since you saw him after waking up to this nightmare, he winced in pain but did not let you go. Instead, he pressed your body into his, fearing you'd dissapear.

× you asked him if you should cover the wound, not really knowing what to do for now; you'd have time to talk, you'd have time to reassure him again and again and again, but now you had to make sure he was fine.

× he shook his head, feeling his nose tickle your neck in the process; "Leave it, I've taken worse." And with that statement you cried harder.

× the police sirens could be heard in the distance, accompanied by the ambulance one...

× —

× so much time passed; so many hours without sleep; police station, explanations, Kirishima almost getting arrested in the spot and being incarcerated, hospital, lawyers, more questioning...

× everything was explained, everything kinda settled for the never-ending day, knowing it wouldn't be the last time you'd have to visit said police station, already sure you'd follow Kirishima there without hesitancy to make sure he's treated correctly, but for now... home.

× the bullet didn't reach any vital organ even if he was hit square in the back and for a normal human it would've meant a hit in one of the lungs, but not for a hybrid—

× still, it didn't hurt less to see him in that state;

× your car was sealed and taken away as evidence, so a taxi home was your only way there.

× hands locked and much, so much to talk about ahead of you but one thing sure

× "I love you." You squeezed his hand, catching his attention, loving how his lips curled in a small smile, not as bright as usual, but still, his smile.

× "I love you more." Was his usual response yet this time it was shy, not looking into your eyes but somewhere behind you, out the window. You frowned and shook his hand to catch the attention fully.

× "No. You don't seem to get it." You led his big, strong, scarred hand to your lips, kissing the back of it softly. "I love you, Kirishima Eijirou. So much."

× the car ride was silent as he took in your words and you couldn't help but enjoy the way his eyes widened, now having his full attention as his cheeks reddened slightly, knowing he's been caught putting himself down.

× he let out a breathless chuckle, so small but with it his shoulders fell in relief. He nodded, watching his hand holding yours and gulped, your words repeating in a loop in his mind.

× Eijirou was so easy to read, so transparent and honest and it warmed heart to ser him accept your words, words you've said countless times before this incident and without a doubt in the future until they engraved permanently in his heart.

× he chuckled again at your expression, catching your gaze and holding it until a smile broke on his face, this time big and warm, just like him. The smile you wanted to see all along.

× he cried again through it, passing his free palm over his eyes for a second; "You're my everything, [Y/N]." he'd pull you into his chest, inhaling your scent. "I love you." he squeezed you close.

#kirishima eijirou x reader #kirishima x reader #hybrid!kirishima #hybrid!au #noire writes #kirishima headcanons

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obaewankenobis · 3 years

Text

for forever — obi-wan kenobi

pairing(s) : obi-wan kenobi x reader ( mostly focused on obi-wan’s character, not the relationship because i am a hoe for this man )

summary : after the fall of the jedi order, you can finally be together. alternatively, obi-wan needs therapy/deserves happiness.

word count : 2.1k

warning(s) : character death, a bit of angst i guess but it’s mostly fluff.

notes : roughly edited so i apologize if things don’t make sense, i honestly came up with this on a whim and have No Idea what was going through my head when i wrote this. the povs also switch a lot but enjoy </3.

The sand bit at his fair skin, the grainy winds of Tatooine ruffled through his auburn locks, peppered with strands of grey, as Obi-Wan Kenobi stood, rigid and grief stricken. Kind wrinkles framed his eyes, eyes weighed down by exhaustion and desolation, the memory of a thousand wars flickering in the brilliant blue reflection. Without speaking, the woman looking at him from afar knew he had suffered a lifetime of hardship and grief, his aching heart not given a moment to mourn the loss of those closest to him. The mahogany cloak billowed around his body, covering the burnt, tattered tan robes he wore, as the wind picked up, signaling there would be little time before the twin suns set and it was much too dangerous to be outside. Snuggled between the lone man’s arms, swathed in soft cream blankets to shelter him from the cruel and unforgiving weather, was a baby. With sea blue eyes and the sparse tufts of pale blonde hair, the newborn was the mirror image of his father — that in itself was bittersweet.

Fire. That was all Obi-Wan could remember, the smoldering lava confining him and his enemy — once his friend, his brother — inside a tight circle of flashing blue and blazing rage. Now, things were blissfully quiet, as if the universe was trying to give him peace of mind after what it had taken from him. With heavy shoulders and hollow eyes, Obi-Wan was a shell of who he used to be: a great warrior and an excellent negotiator, all gone. His last mission was here, on Tatooine, to deliver the baby to his aunt and uncle: Owen and Beru Lars. Then, he would spend the rest of his years wasting away in a sandy prison, languishing in his defeat.

“Is it true?” The woman from afar, who had taken to staring at him from a distance, finally approached him, awaiting his answer with bated breath — Beru. Is it true? The words reverberated in his head, as the reality came crashing down upon him. The woman in front of him needed certainty, she needed answers, answers Obi-Wan could not give her.

“Yes,” came the final reply. Who knew a single word could hold such heavy meaning? Yes. An entire government who’s history spanned hundreds of years prior collapsed within a single day? Yes, that had happened. His religion, who he had devoted his entire life to and poured his soul into, gone? Yes, decimated without a sliver of mercy. The baby’s father, the hero of the galaxy, the crown jewel of the Jedi Order, killed? Yes, murdered in cold blood.

Beru finally brought her attention to the boy nestled within the robes of the man. “Is he . . . ” She seemed to only speak in half questions, as if finishing the sentence would make it a harsh reality, and leaving the query to hang heavy in the air would somehow leave her life in a fairytale.

“Yes,” he replied again, nearly choking on his words as the boy let out a tiny coo, as if he sensed they were discussing him.

“Oh.” There was a pause, a flicker of hesitation, before the woman decided to continue her pattern of half inquiries to form her own story. “May I?” With shaking arms, Beruu reached forward to take the boy from Obi-Wan’s grasp and welcome the baby into her own warm embrace. Part of him didn’t want to let the child go, for once he did he would have no real connection to his past life. Letting go of the boy meant letting go of everything, from his first steps in the Temple, to his meeting with his apprentice on Naboo, to the countless, sleepless nights in a war torn galaxy, it would all be gone. The woman’s tender smile and patient gaze was nearly patronizing, she was trying to sympathize with something she couldn’t possibly understand. No one could. A wave of fury washed over him, trapping him in a cage of his own emotions. Obi-Wan had never felt such an intensity roll over his body, preferring to keep his temperament a tranquil, emotionless pit. But this raw, uncontrollable fury was soon washed out with an even more overpowering bout of sorrow, shaking him with such force it made his knees wobble and threaten to give way. For over thirty years he was taught emotions were the enemy, by being detached and aloof he would survive, and look where that had gotten him.

Another soft cry from the baby jerked Obi-Wan back into the present moment, as his tiny arms reached for the woman, drawn to her sunny kindness and comforting aura; he realized a place to call home or a comforting shoulder to cry on was never something he could offer as the baby grew older. The woman made a small clicking sound with her tongue, looking up at Obi-Wan with an expectant gaze, and yet his grip on the baby remained the same. Although his mind seemed desperate to listen to logic, to reason, his body remained motionless, following the dull ache and painful longing in his heart. The battle between his mind and emotions lasted a fraction of a second, and at last, as it had time and time again, his mind won.

Like he had done all his life, selflessly sacrificing himself for thee good of the galaxy, he let go.

The woman took the baby in her arms, and began her journey back to her homestead, pausing just slightly to exchange one last parting smile and a word of comfort. “I think someone wants to see you, Master Kenobi.” With that, Beru began walking, a happy baby in her arms, to her husband, just as the sky merged from clear blue to salmon pink and hazy orange, the twin suns beginning to disappear over the horizon rapidly. As the light dimmed and dusk settled in, the man could make out the shadowy figures of Beru and Owen Lars, holding Luke Skywalker in unmoving content.

Here to see me? Obi-Wan frowned, reflecting on the woman’s words. This was not his home, his very identity was supposed to remain a secret, who could possibly want to see him? Unless . . .

No, that was impossible. He had mourned your death just as he had mourned every other Jedi’s death the moment their own clones turned against them, and he would not allow even a tiny sliver of hope to crawl its way back into his heart. Because in the end, he could only cling to the belief that things would get better, and false hope in such a desperate time would be his undoing.

—

You wondered how long you could stand in the shadows before he noticed you, standing awkwardly by his dewback as he delivered Padmé and Anakin's son to his new family. Like Obi-Wan, you had suffered the loss of everything and everyone you knew, your entire life destroyed in the span of a second, and all you could do was stand there, watching everything burn. The Jedi robes you once wore with pride, robes that were once a symbol of humility and hope across the galaxy, now put a priceless bounty on the head of anyone who wore them.

“Obi-Wan?” The name was dry in your throat, mouth parched and lips cracked due to the harsh Tatooine heat.

Though he was always subtle, you could see his entire demeanor change, the way his shoulders became straighter, the way his hands, once balled up into fists of worry, were now relaxed and laying loosely at his side. In a moment, he had turned around and closed the distance between the two of you, caramel boots growing dull and scuffed as he stepped through the unforgiving desert surface beneath him. “You’re alive,” his voice came out in a hushed, cautious tone, disbelief still tainting the edges. “I thought — Yoda and I — the only ones left — ” his words grew more jumbled with each passing phrase that left his lips.

“But I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” you cut him off, the calm gentleness of your tone making him stop in his tracks. Slowly, each movement pained and deliberate, you stepped closer, inching your way forward until he was right in front of you. Neither of you could look away; with the Jedi Order dead, there was no reason to hide in secrecy now.

—

To realize he was not alone was comforting, but to know it was you he could seek company in was freeing. In that moment, with the distance so close between your bodies, Obi-Wan dared not breathe, his eyes fluttering shut as he let out the smallest of breaths — this was all he had ever wanted, and still, despite everything, it was something he believed he could never have.

He wouldn’t allow himself to believe it. Not after he spent all those years repressing the desire that burned so deeply within him it began to rot within his heart, trapped with no release in sight. At one point, he had every reason to deny the yearning stirring within him, but now? Now there was no war, no Council, no code, no nothing to stop himself from unleashing decades of pent up turmoil within him.

And stars, it was suffocating.

He couldn’t do this.

“You know you don’t have to push me away any more.” A suggestion more than a factual statement; voice thick and barely audible.

Was this a dream, a fantasy meant to be chased after in his sleep? Or some sick, twisted premonition the Force was trying to convey to him? So many nights he had spent languishing in his loneliness, dazed in a delusion that remained but a figment of his imagination.

“I know.”

“What?”

“The Jedi are no more. We . . . We don’t have to pretend we don’t have — ” The words were bittersweet on his tongue; even with no one there to watch and scold him, he could not betray his way of life so easily. That everyone I have ever loved, I have watched die in my arms? And throughout all of that, I have never been tempted by the dark side, but if I lost you, I would be afraid of my own morality? Those were not easy thoughts to formulate into a coherent sentence — there were no words Obi-Wan could say that would even begin to describe how he felt.

Instead, in a tender gesture of vulnerability, he reached out through the Force, and all at once it came crashing down on him.

This feeling . . . it was all consuming, and he was drowning, struggling to keep his head above water and not surrender to its frosty depths. He was submerged in an endless stretch of icy ocean water so frigid and numbing, that he felt nothing and everything all at once. It was terrifying to think — and let you know — you held so much power over him, but in the same instance, he felt at peace, like a weight he had dragged around for decades was finally lifted off his shoulders. I love you, rang as bright as the city lights on Coruscant and as clear as a Nabooian waterfall. I love you.

“I love you, too.” He heard your voice in a soft whisper, swelled up with emotion as you took in everything. Chills erupted down his spine; he couldn't quite tell if it was from the inky blanket being tugged across the sky as dusk descended into nightfall, or if it was the four word phrase that left your lips.

—

“I cannot live without you,” Obi-Wan let out a shaky exhale, breath fanning across your face just slightly, your foreheads making contact in the lightest movements. You felt dizzy, in a dreamlike trance, for you had never been this close to him. You could see every horror he had survived in his glassy blue eyes, notice every perfect imperfection that blemished his skin and made him all the more real. In a moment, his face had become blurred as he closed the distance and finally, finally, his lips were on yours, and you connected in a long awaited, eternally sought after kiss. You could feel his hands, calloused but gentle, cupping your face, as your own fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, the kiss grew more fervent and needy, every rule you had ever lived by crumbling as you melted deeper into his touch.

After a long moment, you broke away, breathless, your face still tantalizingly close to his.

“I will never leave you, Obi-Wan,” your lips parted in a determined vow, a promise you would keep to your dying breath. The Jedi were dead, and yet you never felt more alive.

#obi-wan x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi #star wars #angst #probably should edit this #obi-wan needs a hug #and some therapy too #post order 66 #revenge of the sith #prequel trilogy #star wars prequels #one shot

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gossamer-sky · 3 years

Text

Surrender

Me: opens requests

Also me: immediately rushes off to write 1k of angsty Yuki sex that no one asked for

Oops.

Yukimura x MC

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Cybird, not me!

Word Count: ~1.2k

WARNINGS: Sexual content 18+ (Do NOT read if underage); major spoilers for chapter 7 of Yukimura’s route (that probably everyone knew about except for me lmao)

On AO3 here

Yukimura’s blood had frozen in his veins when he saw her behind Nobunaga on the battlefield. A dangerous mistake to lose focus while death creeps so close, waiting for a single misstep, but he was powerless to stop the wash of terror that rushed through him.

Now, alone in the forest with her, his racing pulse begins to thaw. He takes a deep breath in, sick relief filling his lungs at seeing her safe, at her adamant denial of being Nobunaga’s lover.

He has no right to this mitigation, yet he feels it still, sweet among the acrid taste of bitterness that lingers at the back of his throat.

Yukimura knew that the happiness he’d felt with her could never last, lies piling upon lies until he was nearly drowning in them - it crushes him, the realization that each blissful coincidence that had thrown them together was simply the cruel hand of fate weaving his own demise.

What an intricate and brutal design it is.

When she addresses him by his merchant name, “Yuki” falling with familiarity from her perfect lips, it hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Not Yuki.” He fumes, full of anger, raging at the gods for cursing him so. “I have always been Yukimura. Your enemy.”

He is, the truth burning his lips as he speaks it, sharp and vile on his tongue. Fists clenching at his sides to hide the way he shakes.

Yet she refutes him with passion curling in her voice, so radiantly beautiful in this moment that Yukimura nearly has to shield his eyes. Words that he’s been yearning to hear are abruptly said out loud, tangible in the air around them; part of him despises that this moment is tainted with the sting of betrayal.

He is desperate, so wildly out of control when he pleads with her to stop. Not knowing how the hell he will possibly cope if she utters one more word.

Yet she does, and he moves - jerking forward to catch her around the waist. His arms ache to hold her, the shape of her body fitting just right against his own.

It’s not enough.

The scent of her surrounds him, wreaking havoc on his muddled thoughts. Her touch on his neck, eyes beseeching him and he’s too weak to refuse her; body leaning down to press his lips to hers before his mind even fully registers the movement.

It’s heaven and hell all at once, soft mouth immediately parting for him. He’s never tasted anything so good in his life; frighteningly addicted to the feel of her, the whine she makes when his fingers tighten on her back.

Alarm bells ring in his head and he rips himself away, begging once more for her to go, to leave.

She must escape him now. He won’t be able to hold back if she doesn’t.

When she denies him once more, securing herself ever closer into his embrace, something inside him just-

Snaps.

They tumble to the earth below, Yukimura barely registering their surroundings. A touch on his cheek as she says his name, his real name, and fire blooms deep in him at the sound of it. He can’t keep his hands from her anymore, not for one more moment, a near-frenzy lighting through him; she clearly feels the same, fingers clenching hard in his hair, tugging sharp enough that it pricks at his eyes. He’s grateful for the pain of it, grounding him.

His mouth is bruised from kissing her, buzzing with it, lips swollen and sensitive. They’re tongue to tongue; just like he’s been dreaming about every night since the festival, his heart slamming against his ribs with such force that he wonders if she can sense it with how intimately they’re tangled together.

He fumbles at her clothes, so far from graceful that he would be embarrassed but for the way her movements stutter as well; both unwilling to separate from one another for long enough to do this properly. He has one hand entwined in her hair, holding her steady as he ravages her mouth; the other immediately seeking out the skin that has been uncovered.

She gasps into him when his palm finds her breast, nipple hardening under his touch. Her body jerks upward, his hips following her back down; a sharp grind has his thigh slipping between her own, and the whimper she lets out at this makes his head spin.

Pulling back just long enough to whisper out a desperate, “Please,” against his jaw, their fingers begin struggling in unison to finish divesting the remainder of their clothing.

There’s a painful sadness resting low in his heart. This isn’t how he wanted to take her for the first time. He wishes he could draw it out, revealing his own vulnerability as he reveals her body; committing every inch to memory.

They don’t have time to waste for him to dwell on that though. The caress of her skin on his is intoxicating; when her hand wraps around the length of him, he has to grit his teeth against a broken sound that threatens to leave his throat.

She guides him closer, until he’s rubbing against where she is so slick. His breath catches, and in the space of a blink he is pushing inside.

White noise fills his head as he bottoms out. She’s so tightwethot inside, like nothing he’s ever experienced before. It’s a long moment before he has the strength to move, nearly over before it’s even begun. Her legs wrap around him, urging him on as she frantically mouths at his throat; he thinks wildly that he could die like this, before he closes his eyes and moves.

He makes love to her there on the forest floor, the stars the only witness to their passion.

Her hand reaches down between her legs, breath shivering out of her chest, fingers managing a few tight circles before she breaks, head falling back on a moan.

It’s only a few more thrusts before he follows, the rhythmic clenching of her around him too much to bear; she refuses to let him move back enough to pull out, grasping his shoulders with all of her strength.

He shudders his way through orgasm, each thought of her taking everything he has to give only causing him to grind in deeper.

She kisses him before he’s fully come down from the high, shaking in each other’s arms.

When she falls asleep at his side, he stares at the glow of moonlight highlighting her features; mouth still red as evidence of their lust.

He’s in love with her.

He knows it, feels it from the top of his head to the very tips of his toes, even though he hasn’t experienced such a thing before.

She turns towards him and sighs in her sleep, seeking out the warmth of his chest. He closes his eyes and holds her, tries hard to forget what comes in the morning.

The light comes too soon, Yukimura not having slept a wink. He lingers when he wraps the hastily discarded kimono around her, eyes tracing every curve, fingertips brushing along the swell of her lower lip.

When he departs, he leaves his heart there with her, fragile and broken; slowly making his way back to camp.

#ikesen smut #ikesen yukimura smut #ikemen sengoku #ikesen yukimura #yukimura sanada #ikesen fic #yukimura x mc #yukimura/mc #ikesen yukimura x mc #ikesen nobunaga #my fic #lol i physically could not stop myself from writing this #this scene had me shOOK

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haddonfieldhalloween · 4 years

Text

some Michael Myers headcanons

these go out to @acidicsulphur (so you won’t have to combust) I have many thoughts, my head is full, so here are a handfull of them:

• Michael has big hands, not unnaturally so, but if you were to hold yours up against his, they would dwarf yours by far. They are all long fingers, the back of his hands defined, veins visible and knuckles red. His nails never grow long, he prefers it this way, cut short in the sanitarium and simply breaking off outside. Between nail and skin there’s old blood crusting, tainting them brown and red (he doesn’t care to wash it off, a constant, silent reminder of what he’s done). There are scars on his hands, small and littered, nowhere near as serious as the one crossing his eye, but they lay white against his skin, most visible when he curls his hand around a knife.

• He never speaks, it feels like a lifetime passed since he’s last said a word. He could, technically. (He has not heard his own voice for a long time, would words sound weak, coarse and unused now?) Michael will not, cannot, speak, no matter what Doctors attest to, because he breathes control and it has swallowed and chewed his tongue. His jaw is clenched and if he were to release, open his mouth, would he puke out his tongue? Would there be nothing but heavy breathing? Speech is a sacrifice he makes for the hunt, for the iron control over his body, his thoughts, the rage that burns fire bright inside of him.

• When he sleeps, it often is during the day. It is night-time when he feels most at home, and while out of Smith’s Grove, he uses the days to observe, at night is when his blood pumps quicker and his eyes see more. Michael takes rest in one of two ways: He either lays on his back, unmoving, arms at his side, as if a statue, fallen over. Or he has his face pressed to the pillow, limbs sprawled across the bed. Even in sleep he rarely removes his mask, it’s equally need and comfort that drives him to wear it at all times. When he does take it off it is not far away, close enough for a stretched-out hand to take and pull on again.

• Michaels eyes, one more so than the other, are bright. He watches through the holes of his mask, observes, like these eyes tear something out from within you and take it into themselves. If people describe eyes as deep pools, warm liquid, rich depths, Michaels eyes would be walls. As if he had stared at the ones surrounding him in Smith’s Grove for so long that they had crawled in behind his face, taken whatever had been there before. Looking at him, truly looking at Michael would be a deeply unsettling experience. Are his eyes simply a reflection of what you fear most within yourself? These parts of you that you pretend are not there? Could you catch a glimpse of the man he once was? Is? Could’ve been?

• Michaels determination is like a photograph, bleeding out at the corners until there’s but one face visible on it. Laurie’s. She is his sister and maybe there is a part of him, buried deep within teeth biting tongue and hands coated in blood, that acknowledges that. A part that, in whichever twisted way, cares for her, wants her home with him. But home has been ripped from him and over time he’s become focus, starring past the shape of Smith’s Grove, to Lumpkin Lane, to what remains of the things familiar to him. Until it moulded into a single, pounding, drive. Kill Laurie And then? Nothing? He sees not what comes after. He does not think about the possibility that it will not bring him satisfaction. That without this drive he might disappear into himself, simply crumble apart, like a dark shadow that has light cast onto it. Perhaps he is aware of that after all, perhaps he wishes for it. An End

• If you were to stand across of him, heart pounding, pulse in your ears, what would you do? His presence steals words from you like a hand gripping your throat, pushing the air out of your lungs. It’s not the way he’s built, strong and tall but not overly so, no movement to promise pain. It is the way he regards you, the tilt of his head, white mask, hidden eyes, that shakes you to the bones Can you see the way his hand curls around his knife, tighter? Do you imagine his face, underneath that thing he wears? He’s 21 and he’s the most dangerous person you will ever meet He’s 61 and he will never stop, so human it hurts and yet, so much more than that You stand across of him and your heart pounds So does his For a second you and Evil breathe in unison

Art/Writing requests are open!

#Michael Myers #Halloween #slasher #slashers #michael myers headcanons #michael myers imagine #halloween movie #The Shape #slasher headcanons #slasher imagines #dbd michael myers #halloween headcanons #haddonfieldhalloween.txt

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levisnackajack · 3 years

Text

The Wrath of War

Chapter Fourteen

Training had become Eden’s life.

She trained from the brink of dawn, up until Hange dragged her back into base for dinner. As the only member who had stayed behind from Levi’s Squad; she felt astonishingly stupid.

When Eden wasn’t running laps or working on building her muscle strength; she cleaned anything she could find, and until her fingers grew raw. The windows were invisible, the floor was glistening, the banister free of even a grain of dust. There were a few Scout members who had also stayed behind at the headquarters; but Eden did not find the power to strike up a conversation besides a meek “hello” and a friendly “good night”.

Her mind raced with thought of her last moments with the Captain. By the time she had woken up the following morning; Jean’s bed was cold and the atmosphere had altered into a grim, grey nightmare. Albeit sharing nothing more but a few hungry kisses; Eden felt both calm and guilt-ridden at the same time. Her mind was all over the place.

She avoided lingering anywhere close to Levi’s office, afraid it will bring back her dreadful memories to life. A stone-cold weight tangled around her heart, pulling at it uncomfortably as his dull eyes flickered in her mind.

Her muscles were constantly aching. Once the ache of her hard training began going away, Eden would grow exasperated and go train harder; whether that was going into the nearby forest and practice her ODM skills, or just finding any sort of exercise that would keep her mind at bay and her muscles in pain.

But this one morning, she walked through the empty corridors; the other Scouts all laughing and sparring outside as Hange locked herself in her own office- memorizing all the information Eren had bestowed upon her with his new powers.

Her dainty fingers curled through the thin fabric of her long skirt as her heart beat against her ribcage. She blinked twice before walking towards the Captain’s office, her hand coiling around the doorknob shakily.

His office door was unlocked. But of course, no one would ever dare walk into Levi’s office without his permission. Why would he care enough to lock the door when it was a known fact that the person guilty of entering his personal space would suffer horrendous consequences?

Eden’s eyes widened slightly when she saw the dim-lighted layout staring back at her. His office was in the exact same condition as when Eden had stormed out- a vortex of emotions reflecting in the mess around her.

She looked at the ripped map on the floor, the shards of china glittering across the floor from the cup she had thrown. Guilt washed through her as her lack of anger management scrutinized her.

Bringing all the cleaning products she could muster; Eden began tidying Captain Levi’s office quietly, her brows scrunching together when she bent over and picked up all the small pieces of the broken cup.

The girl decided to look for glue and then spent a long hour sticking all the pieces together carefully. Once she was done, she twirled the cup in her fingers, picking up a black marker and scribbling a small “sorry :(” on the cracked surface, shaking her head as she gently placed the cup back onto its tiny saucer.

There was something incredibly peaceful that had washed through Eden during the time she spent cleaning Levi’s office. It was like all the wrath and outrage etched within her had slowly begun fading away every single time she had successfully cleaned one of his shelves; or when his desk became as spotless as it usually was.

After spending a few hours locked behind her superior’s office door; she vaguely heard horse’s whinnies and people’s voices. Eden ran to the window, pressing her cheek against the cold glass as she tried to see the commotion. But, it must have been happening on the other side of the estate.

She went to pick up the cleaning supplies when the sound of boots echoed behind the closed door.

Eden froze.

Without any rational thought, the agitated girl fell to her knees behind Levi’s grand desk; her head ducking as she waited for the footsteps to fade.

But they never did.

The front door slammed open as someone hastily walked in. The sound of their boots came to a halt. There was a short moment of hesitation before any noise broke through the silence.

The door closed slowly.

Eden held her breath until her lungs burned uncomfortably. The thought of Levi finding her behind his desk made her want to throw herself out of the window.

She listened to rustling before a loud thud echoed through the room. The sleeve of his cream-colored jacket hung over the edge of the desk, brushing against Eden’s face. She pushed it away gently, heart stammering at the sight of dried up, unevaporated blood.

Had he been injured?

The rip of fabric and a low groan reverberated through the office. She peaked her head above the wood of the table.

Levi stood with his back facing her, hair tousled; fidgeting with the grey fabric of his shirt that stuck uncomfortably to his skin. He clicked his tongue in irritation, huffing softly as he ripped the cloth covering the right side of his ribcage, where a large gash stood freshly opened against his pale skin.

Eden rose to her feet, cheeks peppering with a faint blush.

Levi stiffened to the sound of movement; his head craning in her direction as he stared at her over his shoulder.

“Are you unaware of the term ‘knock before you enter’? That’s still a valid expression if you’ve decided to come through the window,” he said in a gruff voice, eyes narrowing as he watched her fidget behind his desk.

“I’m sorry, sir. I had no right barging into your office without your permission. I wanted to clean up before your arrival. I didn’t know you'd returned...” Eden offered in a low voice as she tried her very best to conceal the tremors in her speech.

Levi ignored her and walked towards his desk, the ripped cloth pressed against the wound as it soaked with his blood.

“You’re hurt,” Eden whispered, eyes widening at the blood. How could he walk around when it was clearly visible he was in no position to stroll around so carelessly?

Levi scowled at her before glancing down at his concealed injury. He huffed under his breath.

“Thanks for the heads up,” he snapped at her huskily, unfastening the ODM buckles wrapped across his torso. Eden could tell he was struggling to do so with one hand; but knew that he would never in a million years ask her for assistance.

So she decided it was best if she did not ask. Instead, she stalked towards him and gently brushed his cold fingers away from the metal clasps; brows scrunching in concentration. Ignoring the jolt of electricity that rushed through her when she touched him; she loosened the leather straps.

Levi stiffened and watched her wordlessly, mouth pursed tightly as his right hand pressed against the bleeding wound. Eden hurriedly finished and headed towards the connecting room after inquiring whether that was a bathroom- earning a tight nod from the Captain as he leaned against his desk awkwardly.

After several moments, she emerged from the bathroom, bucket filled with warm water, a cloth and a bottle of transparent alcohol. Eden had also found a first-aid kit box filled with sterilized needles and thread and placed all of the items on the desk beside him.

She didn't have the time to stare at him; the defined muscles peaking through the ripped fabric of his shirt and his sunken, tired face because agony seeped through her at the sight of the smooth, red liquid tainting his skin. She submerged the cloth in the warm water, squeezing the remnant liquid out before pressing it against his skin.

The cloth grew red almost immediately as she continued cleaning the site.

Eden met his hooded eyes before pressing her lips together in a tight line. “I can suture the wound for you, if you want. It’ll hurt, but I promise I’ll try my best to be as quick as I can.”

Levi had not flinched once during the whole cleanup session. He had watched her intently, grey eyes leaving her face only when he wanted to check up her method of cleaning the wound. “Go for it, brat.”

The girl nodded in affirmation, urging her nerves to calm down as she reached for the needle. At this point her hair was messed up, her fingers were stained with Levi’s blood and her mind was spinning.

Never would she have imagined being the person tend to Humanity’s Strongest Soldier’s battle injuries.

Her heart spasmed rapidly as she closed the wound, Levi’s fingers snaked around the throat of the alcohol’s bottle. He took a long swig, eyes closing as the needle made intricate contact with his flesh.

Eden shoved the hair out of her face with the back of her hand; completely disregarding the wetness that smudged against her cheek.

When she was done, she bent closer to his skin, cutting the thread with her teeth as her fingers pressed against his lean chest. She pulled away, inspecting her good work.

She would never let him in on the fact that she had never sutured a human wound before. She merely had a passion for sewing from a young age and assumed she’d be able to stitch him up efficiently. Lucky for Eden, she was successful.

Taking the bottle out of his grasp, Eden sent him a gentle smile before tipping some of the alcohol over his stitches. She watched in amusement as Levi’s expression contorted into one filled with pure rage as he glared at her, jaw clenching tightly.

“Enjoy my suffering while it lasts,” he spat out at her, earning a breathy chuckle from his subordinate.

“It’s okay, I’m done now,” she replied gently as she patched a layer of soft, cotton gauze over the fresh stitches.

She glanced at him, smiling lightly as her blood began pounding in her ears. “There. Now you can go back to sulking and drinking tea.”

Levi stared at her intensely, his grey eyes fixating on a certain place of her face. Eden’s cheeks pinkened as she imagined what a mess she looked like; tangled hair, scrunched up clothes, wide eyes looking sweetly back at him.

The girl tried her best to keep the emotions away from her face as Levi reached over to grasp her jaw. Keeping her face secured in his grip; he tilted his own head to the side as his thumb grazed over her cheek. It moved slowly inward until his fingertip brushed against her lip.

Eden’s breathing hitched in her throat as she parted her lips lightly; mesmerized by his captivating eyes once more. It was as though she was in trance, unable to look away as the only thing she could focus on was his hand on her face.

She leaned into his touch ever so slightly.

A long pause settled between them. It was both comfortable and incredibly nerve-wrecking. Eden did not know how to feel in that moment.

She dropped her head when Levi pulled his fingers away excruciatingly slowly. Eden let out a low sigh before pulling herself to her feet, eyes searching his as he too, pushed himself off the desk.

“I’ll head out, I don’t want to bother you any further,” she mumbled, pushing her hair behind her ear as she twisted her body towards the door.

“I need to meet with Hange, anyway,” Levi replied in a cool tone, his indifferent mask back in place. Eden felt as though she could catch that mask crack every once in a while. Even if it was for a split moment.

He shrugged his cape back on; concealing the wound with the velvet, green fabric before opening the door for Eden thoughtfully.

Eden turned her head immediately as her blush deepened, clearing her throat hastily and thanking him under her breath.

They walked side by side as Eden made her way to greet the rest of the Squad whilst Levi headed to Squad Leader Hange.

Her hazel eyes widened as the familiar face of a boy always eager to see her came into view. He stalked up the stairs, cocoa eyes never leaving her face.

“Eden,” Jean greeted her softly, bending over and brushing his lips against her cheek.

The girl glanced at Levi would marched off; the muscles in his jaw tightly clenched. She blinked slowly as she watched him leave her sight; trying her best to brush the feeling of disappointment threatening to conquer her soul.

“Jean, are you okay?” She stepped back, checking his uniform for any signs of bleeding. He seemed fine.

“I’m alright. It was a tough couple of days- everyone in our Squad is fine. Can’t say the same about some of the other teams, unfortunately. You look...different.” he replied, looking away as trauma flickered behind his eyes visibly. Eden rubbed his arm reassuringly.

“Don’t think about it. It won’t do you any good. I’ve had nothing better to do but train, so thanks. Would you like to go for a walk?”

Jean searched her eyes in wonder, lips curling upwards as he played with a strand of her hair.

“Already trying to get me alone, Eden? At least wait till I shower.”

Eden scrunched her nose in distaste, shaking her head as she shoved Jean gently.

“I’m just curious about what happened? I’ve never been on a practically week-long expedition. Must have been horrific?” They walked together towards their usual training spot, Eden’s ears perked up as Jean began telling her all about the last few days.

Eden listened intently to the sudden, unexpected titan attack that ambushed their campsite on the second night. She hugged her knees close to her chest as the words of his memories trickled through his lips like a fairytale.

They had found a gap in the wall, practically concealed by a nearby forest, large enough for 12 meter and shorter titans to come through. Eren had spent an entire days trying to build up enough force to seal the breach with the broken remnants of the wall.

Finally, Eden had built up enough courage to ask Jean what has happened to Captain Levi.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. One our way back, a few abnormals intercepted us. Captain Levi told us to go; he wanted to handle them and have us reach safety, I guess. After some time, he just came back on ODM, bloodied up and moody. You know how he is; but I heard he had gone to rescue some of the fallen comrades from the other squad. I think that’s when he got injured.”

Eden’s skin dotted with goosebumps as she chewed on her bottom lip. How easy it was to be wiped out by a titan. Gone in the blink of an eye.

She felt like she was about to physically be sick.

“I want to talk about us,” Jean pulled her reverie back to the present; picking a chamomile flower and handing it to her. She took it gracefully, smiling warmly at him, eyes creasing.

“What about us, Jeanie-boy?”

He rolled his eyes at the nickname, readying himself to throw a snarky remark Eden’s way. But she was quicker, blocking his words before he could open his mouth.

“I really enjoyed the night we were together. I feel...safe with you. I can’t really explain it. But I feel like I don’t want to put a label on anything just because of the circumstances,” she replied meekly, resting her chin on her knee.

Jean smirked widely at her, standing to his feet and pulling Eden up from under her shoulders. “Fine by me, darling. But, this doesn’t mean I’ll be going easy on you during training.”

Eden’s own full lips curled into a mischievous grin, grabbing his chin before pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Thank the heavens, I was starting to think you’re going all soft on me.”

They began walking back to the headquarters as the sky grew painted with every shade of orange, pink and red whilst Jean told her about Hange’s celebratory surprise scheduled later that night.

It was a campfire night.

Hange had decided to treat her and Levi’s squad to a quiet night under the stars; in honor of Eren’s ability to seal the breach. They had plenty more information to uncover; but during the mission, it was established that there had been an extinguished campsite close to the breach. This led the superiors thinking that there must have been a few titan-shifting traitors amongst the ranks. And this could subsequently be tied to the female titan from a few weeks back.

Regardless, Levi’s Squad and some of Hange’s teammates sat around a large fire, the crisp nighttime air cooling their skin whilst the flames melted the cold away.

Eden and Jean came a little later because they both went to their respective quarters and took showers. Sasha and Connie snickered upon their arrival, her three childhood friends smiled at Eden tenderly, Hange was too busy speaking to her second-in-command whilst Levi sat looking as bored as ever.

Jean sat beside Eden on the bench surrounding the fire and Eden shifted uncomfortably. They had managed to sit down exactly opposite their Captain. So, wherever Eden looked, she would always be in his view.

Her palms grew sweaty as the chilly breeze kicked in. She let out a low whistle, awkwardly turning towards Jean.

“I’ll be back soon, I guess I should have brought my jacket...-”

“Here,” Jean shrugged his cream-colored Scout Regiment coat and threw it over her shoulders. Eden pursed her lips, thanking him under her breath as she looked down at her fingers in her lap.

She didn’t know what to do.

“Would you rather never eat potatoes or never eat meat?” Connie’s voice asked Sasha in a very serious tone.

“That’s outrageous. I can just choose one and then just steal the other food when no one is looking,” Sasha replied in an equally solemn tone, crossing her arms across her chest.

“I’d just choose meat and then beat the shit out of anyone who wouldn’t give me potatoes,” Eren responded in a cool tone, shrugging lazily when Mikasa shoved him with her elbow.

“Ridiculous,” Levi muttered under his breath, slender fingers gripping his teacup in his own, peculiar way. He tilted his jaw the the side when Hange slapped her knee beside him, pulling him into a conversation.

The fire crackled and Eden grew hypnotized by the swirls of fire dancing before her. Over the flames, sharp, grey eyes glared at her. Eden stiffened, holding his stare levelly, raising a brow slightly.

She jumped at the sudden motion of Jean’s arm settling around her shoulders. Looking up at him, Eden noticed the way his face was contorted into an irritated glower. Her arched brows bunched up together, her fingers flexing in exasperation. She cracked her knuckles, staring down at the tips of her boots, unable to brush the feeling of disappointment.

Eden wanted to ask him how he was feeling. Whether he felt any pains in his wound. If he wanted her to redress and clean the injury tomorrow. She wanted to ask him whether she can accompany him on the next expedition; knowing damn well she would be of much more use fighting beside him rather than waiting for them to come home like a bored housewife.

Most of all, she wanted to ask him why the hell she could feel his constant stares burning into her soul. Why his eyes were the only ones that made her feel like he could read her like an open book.

She wanted to know when the hell her heart started hammering in her chest every time his face flickers through her mind or when she hears his detached voice that perfectly matched the deadpan expression he constantly carried around with him.

Eden wanted to know why he kept looking over and why that made her insides burn with an unfamiliar flame that threatened to burn her crucially.

Big thank you to everyone supporting this story! Thank you for all the comments, reblogs, likes and follows! I appreciate every single one of you!!

Tags: @idiot-juice-enthusiast

Link to the story in AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28919136/chapters/70952145

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nyrocwrites · 4 years

Text

of curses and carrion (part 1)

A cursed!Tokoyami x mage!Reader fantasy AU from BNHarem Studios and produced on Garbage Mountain by an army of trash gremlins and too much caffeine.

Find the BNHarem Fantasy masterlist HERE.

Rating: M for dark themes, mild body horror (vines/tar), and brief distress/panic. Later parts will likely include continued elements of horror and sexual themes.

Words: 1800+

Notes: I really wanted to finish this prompt in its entirety before posting it, but it’s turning into an absolute monster so it will now be broken into parts. I’ve warned y’all I’m a trash gremlin. Nonsense should really be expected. Also, I’ve tried to keep Reader pretty gender neutral and ethnically ambiguous so as to be inclusive to many readers. Please let me know in the comments or ask box if there are ways that I can improve this experience, or if you’d like to be added to my tag list!

The darkness has no business in frightening you, all things considered. You do most of your activities in the dim and the grey, guided by the silver moonlight that filters through the rattling bones of trees long dead. You know every prickle bush, every berry thicket, every hollow tree perpetually collecting rainwater and brown leaves in a noxious grog you know better than to drink from. You know the heartbeat of the forest and the pulse of it around you. You know the murky feeling of the soggy bog beneath your feet. You know every burial ground, the planks of wood and slabs of stone so worn from the elements they’ve been impossible to read almost as long as the knucklebones of the bodies beneath them.

The darkness really has no business in frightening you, all of these things considered. Of course, that doesn’t mean it won’t ever try.

It’s not the snapping of twigs that alarms you at first—you’re well accustomed to the life that stirs in the woods. It’s the shift of the breeze, the way a prickling feeling washes over you in the crisp air, the shudder that rattles you all the way to your bones, and you find the atmosphere abruptly soured. It happens slowly at first, and then all at once. You rise from your knees and turn toward the source, your basket of foraged herbs easily forgotten at your feet.

There’s a stranger there, kept at the edge of the circle you had cast earlier, and there’s so much energy rolling out from under that black cloak it makes you shiver. Something desperate and hurting. Something else full of rage and cruelty. The auras are distinct and, worse, at war with each other, and it’s difficult for you to tell if the stranger bears you any ill intent.

It feels agonizingly painful and for the first time in ages, it makes you want to run.

But you’ve never been frightened by the dark.

“Are you here to harm me?” you call out. You can see the back and forth movement of their head beneath the deep hood. It could be a lie, but the fury in their energy is constant and tamped down. Controlled. You draw a dagger regardless because although you may not be frightened, you certainly aren’t stupid.

Red eyes are guarded as they stare at you from the shadows of the hood. The dagger pricks the skin of your little finger and you reach into the dark to smear the crimson liquid on the cheek beneath one of those eyes. Soft, you think, and withdraw your hand as you step away from that menacing aura.

“There.”

“Thank you,” the stranger says, and the voice is deep and smooth, not at all unpleasant. He rubs his hands on the front of his cloak, clearing his throat in a nervous manner. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Have you, now?” You’re not unfamiliar with people seeking your particular skills, but it isn’t often that they actually follow you into the woods.

“I’m told you’re a curse-breaker.”

There it is—the reason for the duality in his energy, for the fury bubbling just beneath the surface of his being.

“Depends on the curse,” you tell him, and you wish you could seem more nonchalant, but your voice betrays your curiosity.

He hesitates. It’s not often that the darkness is more afraid of you than you are of it. Still, he lifts his hands and draws back the deep hood of his cloak. His eyes glimmer red even through the grey darkness of the predawn, little mirrors dipped in blood that reflect the scraps of light filtering through sparse foliage yet unclaimed by winter.

A hum of intrigue rumbles in your throat as you tilt your head and lean slightly to the side to see him at different angles. The man before you blinks to help his eyes adjust to the light, ruby red and brimming with uncertainty. You can’t say he’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen—you’ve scooped far stranger out of secondhand cauldrons—but he’s still a delightfully interesting creature.

“Fascinating,” you find yourself murmuring. He’s regal and angular with black velvet skin on his cheeks, soft like down and smeared on one side with drying rust from your finger, and his hair frills in the back like the plumage of a raven. His face is carved into the likeness of a raptor; you find yourself idly wondering if his beak is sharp enough to pierce flesh. You’ve seen people before with avian curses, but none executed so precisely as this.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, apparently uncomfortable beneath the crushing weight of your scrutiny.

“Which of the gods did you offend?” you ask him as you stroll to one side to investigate his figure. You know you shouldn’t pry, or circle him like a hungry shark, but your curiosity is bottomless.

“I don’t know. I was born like this.” He gestures halfheartedly to himself and you give him another once-over.

The frown that twists your features leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. So much for a lovely morning.

“I can’t break a family curse,” you tell him, and even the irritation from having your foraging trip interrupted is not quite enough to justify the pain you see flourishing in his eyes. You finish your circling and stop in front of him to glance him up and down. The cloak hangs from a thin frame, all lanky and brittle. Poor thing, cursed so young, but there’s nothing you can do.

You feel something in the air, like a shadow that kisses your skin: you feel the change in his energy as his disappointment shifts slowly to fear and then to desperation. That other side of his aura swells and it’s intimidating as it pushes into your personal space to make your stomach churn uncomfortably.

“Please,” is all he says, but the single word is enough to know that he’s barely keeping whatever other entity resides in him from ripping him apart at the seams.

You turn from him and kneel on the earth to resume your foraging with an, “I can’t help you,” that comes out in a far more callous manner than you had intended.

“You’re the only one left.”

“I know. I often am.” You aren’t exactly anyone’s first choice. You’re hard to find and even harder to bargain with. You wrap your hand around the base of a particularly large branch of sage and pull hard as you grunt out, “Doesn’t mean I can help you.”

He pleads with you again and there’s a part of you that wishes you could do something for him, perhaps a glamour so that he feels more passable, more normal in the world, but that’s hardly a solution to the real problem. There’s fiery rage at your back, toxic black cruelty that wants to swallow you up, and it’s all you can do not to cast him out of your circle on instinct. You can feel the pain that radiates from him in waves of cold that creep up the back of your neck. It only grows as the minutes tick by, and you hear the crunch of dry foliage when he falls to his knees behind you.

“I’m sorry, but there really isn’t anything that I can do for you,” you tell him as you turn to face him again. He’s in a sorry state with his ebony face pressed into ivory hands, and you watch as vines of sticky black tar crawl up his arm to his fingertips. They bury into his skin and his aura turns absolutely desolate. So much rage. So much hate.

So much darkness that it frightens you.

He rasps and then coughs. The inky tendrils are filling his mouth, strangling him in a painful vise, drowning him in the blackness which inhabits his shaking body. He squirms on the forest floor and struggles to breathe, and for a minute you watch him choke on his own tainted soul. It might be better just to let it consume him. He’ll die, or he’ll turn into a monster for you to dispatch, but it will end his suffering either way. You consider it as blood-drunk vines spread from beneath his cloak to constrict about his throat, but your thoughts come to a screeching halt as those red eyes of his fixate on you from the spaces between his fingers.

It’s not quite pity that makes you move, and not quite mercy, because the kindest thing to do would be to put this poor creature out of his misery, to let his curse die with him. This curse that makes him stink like carrion, makes his presence sickening to approach, makes your skin burn as you wrap your hands around his sticky-slick wrists and pull. They come away from his face with a grunt of effort; his grip is bruising as you lock your fingers into his and you feel your knuckles pop under the pressure.

“Breathe, little raven,” you instruct, and in time he does, raspy at first and then with more freedom as the inky tar crawls back beneath his cloak and sinks into his skin where it belongs. You nearly groan with relief when he eases his death grip on your hands. You don’t quite dare to let go. “There you go.”

It takes a while for him to regain his composure, and when he does, he sits back on his heels and finally releases your hands. You rub at the irritated skin as you regard him cautiously.

“What’s your name?” you ask him. He meets your gaze with tired eyes.

“Tokoyami,” he says at length. “Tokoyami Fumikage.”

“That’s a hell of a curse you have, Tokoyami.”

“Hell is accurate.” He drags his hands down his face, pushes his hair back, smears the dirt from your hands across the sharp planes of his beak.

“I’m sorry.”

He looks up at you, startled. Evidently expressions of empathy are unfamiliar to him. You push yourself to your feet and offer him a hand that he uses to stand; you can feel the bones beneath his transparently pale skin, thin and brittle, and the impression of them still lingers even as you brush the earth from your palms and stoop to collect your basket. The rising sun is starting to warm your shoulders, and it won’t be long before the dark of night is entirely banished.

“You’ll have to make amends to whatever entity your family slighted,” you advise, “though I don’t know if that will be enough to break your curse. The gods can be quite fickle.”

“Most of my family is gone. I don’t even know where to start,” he says. “How am I to know where to look?”

“You found me well enough. I’m sure an angry god will be far less challenging.”

He opens his mouth to answer, but the sun breaches the horizon, and you’re gone before the sound reaches your ears.

[Stay tuned for part 2.]

#tokoyami fumikage #bnha collab #bnha fanfiction #tokoyami x reader #reader insert #bnharem collab #fantasy au #fresh from garbage mountain #nyrocwrites #bnha x reader #of curses and carrion #bnha horror

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cinebration · 4 years

Text

Enough (Roman Sionis x Reader) [Addendum]

To celebrate reaching 200+ followers, enjoy this pain.

Tagged: @theblackmaskclub, @im-just-one-of-the-avengers, @obiorbenkenobi, @hoefordarknessrecreated, @whyisgmora, @writeroutoftime, @bellaisasleep, @bestbuds55

Warnings: language

Gif Source: saltybatman

The crisp evening air floated in through the window of Roman’s apartment, carrying with it the smells of the city—which he loved and hated in equal parts depending on his mood. Tonight, it smelled wonderful, in that his mood was up. He swept out of the apartment and descended the stairs into his club, the music thumping first in the soles of his feet and then within his very soul.

The new songbird he hired, Dinah, stood onstage, a beautiful canary with the best pipes he’d heard in ages. He shot her a kiss for everyone to see, mouth wide in a grin as he spun on his heels to face the room. Zsasz shadowed him as he maneuvered through the crowd, glad-handing and laughing and smiling insincerely.

It was a good night, perhaps even a nice one. He even had a face-peeling scheduled for the wee hours.

He took another turn around the room, glancing around without really seeing. A woman on the fringe of the crowd passed beneath his gaze. He suddenly snapped back to her.

Roman froze, arrested by your profile. Heart thundering in his chest, he felt like his soul would burst from his body. Could it really be you? Here? Looking for him?

He moved without realizing it, feet carrying him forward. You smiled and turned to your right, your back facing him. The woman beside you laughed at something you said. The sound was surreal in Roman’s ears, as though reaching him through water.

His gloved hand clamped down on your shoulder and spun you to face him.

Cold washed over him. The smile was wrong, the eyes not the right shape.

It wasn’t you after all.

Despair flooded through him, replaced swiftly with rage. The urge to strike this woman across her deceiving face, to knock the similarities out of her, overpowered him.

The woman stumbled back a step as she felt Roman’s fury.

His hand came up.

Hesitated.

Hitting her would almost be like hitting you. For a moment, a beautiful, heartbreaking moment, he had thought she was you. He couldn’t…

“Everybody out!” The scream tore out of his throat, silencing the crowd. They stood frozen, terror icing their veins.

“NOW!”

The crowd shifted into gear, scattering around him. The woman sprinted away.

Shaking, Roman raked a gloved hand through his hair, ruining it. A bitter taste flooded his mouth, made him want to gag. You had been there, just for a moment. His mind had been playing tricks on him.

My heart, he thought, and immediately felt himself tense at the thought, sickened further.

“Boss?”

Roman flinched at the sound of Zsasz’s voice. “What!?”

“There anything I can do?”

“Did I fucking tell you to do something? Then no! There’s nothing you can do. Get the fuck out.”

Hurt flickered across the man’s scarred face, but he nodded curtly and made for the door.

A thought struck Roman, chilling him. “Wait. You can do something.”

“Tell me.”

Swallowing thickly, Roman said, “I want you to find her.”

“Who?”

“Her.”

A pained look joined the hurt in Zsasz’s face. No matter what he did, he could never replace you in Roman’s mind. Nevertheless, he said, “I’ll bring her to you.”

“No! No, just find everything you can about her. Where she’s been, how she is…”

Zsasz nodded.

“And cancel the thing tonight,” Roman ordered, sweeping back up the stairs, almost tripping over the steps. He no longer had the appetite for it. Not when you had been within his grasp.

The fire burning in the hearth cast long shadows about the room, intimate and intimidating by turns. Roman sat on the couch adjacent to it, his face warmed by the light on one side and shadowed on the other. A mask of light and darkness, yet his real face all the same, revealing everything.

He stared down at the manila envelope in his hands. It felt heavy, though it wasn’t very thick. The emotional weight of it, however…

He had thought that if he ever saw you again, he would want to kill you for your betrayal. But in the brief moment where he thought that woman downstairs was you, he had been overcome not with hate but with elation—and fear.

Fear at what you instilled in him. Fear that you were there to reject him, to hurt him again—knowing he would let you, if only to see you and feel you against him once more.

Sending Zsasz away, unaware of the man’s sour expression, he fought with his fear. The answers to it were in the envelope. Yet he hesitated. Would his memories of you, the ones he treasured, be tainted by what he discovered therein?

There was only one way to find out.

Opening the envelope with trembling hands, he slowly pulled out the packet therein a few inches.

Enough for him to expose part of a photograph of you.

You were sitting outside at a wrought-iron table, the wind ruffling your hair. Absorbed with your meal, your eyelids were lowered. Roman’s eye caught the shape of your lashes, remembered how they felt against his cheek.

You weren’t smiling, but you weren’t frowning, either. Some lines had appeared on your face, matching his own. He looked for signs of happiness, serenity.

He couldn’t find any.

Were you sitting with someone? Had you found someone? Gotten married? Were you living the life you wanted? Or were you alone, hiding? Hiding from him?

The questions barraged him, overwhelmed him. His hands shook violently, a roaring sound filling his ears as his blood rushed past them, heart stuttering in his chest.

He didn’t want to know.

He couldn’t.

He flung the packet away. It landed on the fire. The flames ate at the photograph, slowly melting your beautiful face.

Burying his head in his hands, he cried.

The hot tears burned his face.

#Roman Sionis x Reader #Roman Sionis #Roman Sionis imagine #Ewan McGregor #Ewan McGregor imagine #Birds of Prey #bop #birds of prey and the fantabulous emancipation of one harley quinn

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jaxsteamblog · 4 years

Text

In the Moonlit Garden

“Roku said if you broke your promise, that I should kill you. Before you became like your father.”

Zuko paused, taking in Aang’s downcast eyes. He felt the hollowness of the words in his chest.

“You should.”

---

The slap was like an applause of rage. Zuko’s face turned with the shock of it, feeling a burn start in his cheek.

“Katara!” Sokka shouted.

Zuko closed his eyes as he felt her arm move back again.

“You idiot! Do you want to die?” Katara yelled.

Moving his head slowly, Zuko opened his eyes and watched as Katara wrenched her wrist from Sokka’s grasp.

“How dare you make such an agreement!” Katara yelled, pointing now at Aang and advancing on him. Aang held up his hands, taking a few steps back as her anger broke like tumultuous waves.

“He is your friend!” She seethed.

“Katara, you don’t understand-” Zuko started but his words cut short as she whirled on him. Her long hair went flying behind her like a spray.

“Understand what? That your bloodline is cursed or something?” Katara demanded.

“Ozai is not your only parent Zuko.” She continued, stomping back toward him. “Your mother didn’t sacrifice herself to have you die because you think you’re tainted.”

“My father-” Zuko was cut off again as Katara lashed at him.

“You’re not special Zuko!” She stated.

Zuko froze, standing back while his arms fell limp at his sides.

“You’re not some divine being that can turn into a monstrous devil. You are human, with human flaws. You are not special enough to be the worst person alive.” She hissed. Her words were thick and her eyes were watery. Her tears more than her words confused him.

Katara turned her face away and Zuko could see her jaw clench.

“How dare you continue to throw your life away when so many people need you.” She whispered, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Zuko said nothing; they all were quiet as Katara stormed off, slamming the massive door behind her.

They all waited a moment, for the air to settle back in the room. Aang left, walking slowly to go after Katara. Sokka and Suki went to Zuko. Putting a hand on his shoulder, Sokka and Zuko looked at the door while Aang slipped out quietly.

“She’s right.” Sokka said.

“I know.” Zuko replied. He had always known he wasn’t special, it was nothing new to hear.

His own tears, more than her words, surprised him.

“Zuko.” Suki murmured.

Zuko rubbed his eyes on his sleeve and turned away from them. Moving to the back of the room, Zuko found another door. It would lead into the servants’ hall and let him avoid the palace rooms. The places he didn’t want to be in anyway.

That night, he couldn’t sleep. Zuko often couldn’t sleep, but this night gnawed at him, looking for the marrow of his mind. So he went to the turtleduck pond, as he often did, and sat in the grass.

He could recall sitting with his mother by the pond. Ursa was often a distraction, playing with him to keep him from becoming preoccupied about his father. And this was their favorite place to play, to pretend that they were always this happy.

“Zuko.” Katara called and her voice was as soft as the night breeze. Zuko didn’t move, but listened as she walked closer. From the corner of his eye, he watched her sit next to him.

“I’m sorry, for slapping you.” She said.

“It’s okay, I understand.” He said.

“Oh shut up.” Katara snapped.

Confused, Zuko looked at her fully.

“It’s not okay for someone to slap you Zuko. Stop saying that.” She said.

“What?” He asked.

“You can accept my apology, or you can forgive, but you can’t say it’s okay that I hurt you. That’s why I’m apologizing, because it very much is not okay.” She explained.

From her tone, Zuko knew she was still very angry, and he kept quiet.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He said finally.

“Then accept my apology.” Katara paused, then looked down. “Or not. It’s up to you.”

“Of course I accept it.” He said.

“Thank you.” Katara mumbled.

They both fell silent and Zuko could feel the tension between them.

“You know why I had to make that promise right?” He asked.

“No I most certainly do not.” Katara replied darkly.

Suddenly nervous, Zuko cleared his throat before continuing.

“If I became like my father, or Sozin-” Zuko started. He was forced quiet as Katara suddenly shoved him.

“Shut up!” She stood while Zuko rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his arms.

“You are not like them Zuko. And you never will be.” Katara said.

Scrambling to his feet, Zuko felt his face burn.

“Look at Azula and tell me there isn’t a chance.” He shot back.

“There isn’t.” Katara retorted.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because Azula never abandoned her mission to join us. Because she never faced her father despite her fear. And be she never-” Katara’s voice cut off sharply and Zuko watched her.

Turning her face away, Katara grabbed her upper arms and squeezed.

“Azula would never have sacrificed herself for anyone.” She finished.

“Katara.” Zuko said softly, reaching out.

Slapping his hand away, Katara glared at him.

“You are never going to be like them Zuko, because every chance you get, you act in ways they never would even consider.” Katara’s jaw moved as she breathed, as she fought to keep from crying. “You were burned because you wouldn’t act like them.”

Shame washed over him with a chilled fire that left his skin feeling numb.

“Why do you even care?” Zuko asked suddenly. “I’m not special.”

“That,” Katara sputtered, opening her arms. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Katara...”

“You are special Zuko, just not in this mythical way you think you are. You’re not-”

“You’re right Katara, I’m not. I’m nothing. I barely have any family left, my own kingdom hates me, and soon enough you-”

Katara watched him and now Zuko turned away. He walked to the pond and bent down, retrieving a small stone. He turned it over in his hand, feeling the heat of day still baked into it.

“You’re all going to leave me too.” He said and tossed the stone into the pond.

“Is that why you have a death wish? Because you’re going to be alone?” Katara asked.

“I don’t have a death wish.” Zuko retorted. “I just don’t want to hurt anybody.”

He stopped, turned, and looked into Katara’s eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He added.

“You did hurt me. When you decided that I would ever be okay with you dying, instead of letting me, instead of letting us help you.” Katara stepped quickly to him and Zuko took in a sharp breath as she got close.

“If you ever made a bad decision, you know we would help you.” She said.

“And if I didn’t listen? If I pushed you away and did what I wanted?” Zuko asked.

“Then we’d be here, like this, because you already did. And look,” Katara laughed dryly. “Look at what you’re doing.”

Zuko looked around, seeing nothing but the quiet garden. The lights in the palace behind Katara were out, and everything was quiet.

“When Sozin and Roku fought, part of the palace was destroyed.” Katara said. “We’re fighting and the worst thing that could happen is I push you into this pond.”

Zuko looked back at her and saw the small smile on her face. It didn’t amuse her, she was hurting.

“Katara...”

“You are special Zuko. You’re special to me.” Katara said softly, speaking over him. “You went from being my greatest enemy to...”

They looked at each other, and Zuko knew what she saw. The boy who had crashed into her village, who tied her up and coerced her, and who nearly got her boyfriend killed right after lulling her into a false sense of security with their shared pain.

“You saved me, multiple times. You got me closure. You didn’t have to do any of that.” Katara said.

“It was the right thing to do.” Zuko said.

“Do you think Sozin or Ozai gave a damn about the right thing to do?” Katara tilted her head to stare at him. “Or do you think trying to get you killed is the right thing to do?”

A cloud passed over the moon and the garden darkened considerably. The night blanketed them and Zuko let himself stare back at Katara, their gaze not quiet meeting in the blinding shadow. He studied her face, tracing the soft lines of her cheek with only his eyes. Then the cloud passed, and Zuko saw her unmasked emotions. More than angry, Katara looked sad. There was a pain that Zuko had never seen before in his life.

It was fear. A scared sort of pain when someone approaches with a brand or a rope. The fear of the inevitable, of something that cannot be escaped, and will cause someone to suffer. The fear of a pain that will linger.

“Katara.” He said, worried, and reached out to her again. Katara shook her head and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes while he lowered his arms.

“I saw Azula strike Aang, so I knew what it could do. I knew what you were running toward. I knew what could happen to you.” She said. Lowering her hands, she looked at him. “Did you?”

“I saw her in the catacombs Katara. And my own father tried to strike me.” Zuko said with some unfounded strength. “I knew.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Because you are special Katara.”

“I’m human, just like you.”

“But you’re special to me.”

Katara scoffed and turned her head.

“You would have done the same for Sokka.” She said.

“I would have done the same for any random person.” Zuko said and grabbed her hands, forcing her to look back. “But I didn’t ask anyone else but you to go with me.”

Katara was quiet. In the blue of her eyes, Zuko could see the tiny reflection of the moon. The twin spots looked like perfect pearls.

“I could have gone alone. I probably should have. But I needed you there. You were the only one I trusted.” He said. Looking down at her hands, Zuko squeezed them. “Because you are special.”

“Zuko.” She said lightly.

“I’m not a good person Katara. But you’re right,” He smiled up at her. “Maybe I’m not a horrible monster.”

“You are a good person, just-”

“A good person would not be thinking about kissing their friend in the moonlight while their boyfriend waits inside.” Zuko said in a rush.

Katara looked from his face to their hands, and Zuko felt blood rush to his fingers. He waited for her to take her hands away, to push him into the pond, or anything to back away from him.

“Then I’m a bad person too.” She said softly.

Another cloud passed over the moon and her face was erased in the darkness. But when she moved, he met her, putting an arm around her waist. The touch of her was fleeting and his lips felt like paper after.

“No moonlight.” She whispered and stepped back.

With the breeze, this cloud passed quickly and the moon lit up the garden.

“Never again.” He said.

Katara nodded and turned away from him. As she walked back into the palace, Zuko watched her go.

He wondered how she interpreted his vow. If what they intended was the same.

#zutara #fanfiction #jax writes

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legendoftheghost · 4 years

Text

Wild Embers, Offering Clarity (Ghost of Tsushima, 1/2)

Pairing: Jin Sakai x Yuna

Tags: Emotional Outbreak, Vulnerability, Emotional Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Intoxication, Past Trauma, Post-Ghost of Tsushima, Smut, Girl on Top, Friends to Lovers, Anal Sex, Penetration, Cuddling, Intimacy. (more tags to come)

Behind the burning hazel glow of Jin Sakai’s eyes, reel the recollections of tainted past. How feverish and demolished his mind had been, basking in Lord Shimura’s vivid crimson, soaking the entirety of his front. A permanent stamp seal, as his clenched fingers let go of the bloodied tanto, as his agony and torment echoed through the Omi Village, with the same bleeding whirling leaves scattered about the pasted earth. How emotions bled, like ruptured dam holding the excess rain, as he would howl and scream, quietly shedding torrents of salty tears as they would claw their way out even without Jin having to do all the work.

They come, spill over until the pained samurai couldn’t remember what the point of killing his uncle was in the first place, until he is lost and nothing would make sense and the only solution is to silently sob some more. And then he would plunge himself back to flashbacks, recollections of vivid memories of his youth, spending time with Lord Shimura, Yuriko, Ryuzo, Sensei Ishikawa and Lady Masako and the others who had lost in the tides of war and gained as not only his lifesaver, but a supporter of the Ghost and an anchor in his life.

Yuna, the thief who had saved him on Komoda Beach, Yuna, a brave warrior who watched him fail, humiliate himself as he plunged into the depths of the glacier water below. Yuna, the greatest ally who watched him sacrifice himself for the greater good, to stand up with people, not against, leading them towards triumphant victories instead of despicable defeat and massacre. She had coaxed him to embrace the true Jin Sakai, the Tsushima-bound Ghost.

For what is freedom without the rawest, truest part of him? He would let himself hurt until his tears are yet again, rushing down the softness of his cheeks and he’s left breathless without fear of what others will think. The reverse-E of the scar on his left cheek scalds, aches as the stifling heat becomes knives on his skin.

“You are still mourning for your uncle, Jin?” Seated cross-legged, she bares the color of the sunset against her back, as Yuna leans against the railing of the balcony, with a sake bottle in her hand. “Looks like you need this more than I do, and this is not a reenactment of the conversation we had weeks before.” A brief chuckle breaks the grim moroseness of the atmosphere, as Yuna’s circumvented gaze now hones against Jin’s profile.

“Lately, life has appeared to me to be more and more absurd and less and less sensible, ordered, and structural,” Jin begins, with the scattered jewel saturating the depths of his dark brown eyes. “I also wonder if my choice to grant him the honor he deserved was the right choice. After all.. He was the only family I have had ever since I lost my parents.”

Emotions, until now, was a containable concept in which Jin Sakai could wade quietly without a sound, but now, those torrential waves chase him down the ocean’s edge, and the entirety of his body hurts. The world did entertain itself in plunging Jin down to his brink of death, intoxicated with pushing paraphernalia and cloud him with a raging frustration stemming from all the consequences of his actions, that could exacerbate in further loss and death, the universality of torment and suffering.

“You and I - we have sacrificed so much. For we have seen shrouds of death pass by our very eyes. We have known panic and fear like no other. It dawned on me when I was so young.” Yuna takes a long swig, and hands Jin another bottle, when the samurai-ninja’s eyes plunge into the bone-dry bottle of sake. Perhaps that’s what it was, the world as a hazy dream, as if all the blood was rushing in and out of her arteries. For she’d lost the count how many times she’d starve, worrying over Taka, who never had enough strength and vigor, lest he beat around the metal and flaring flames would alight him brighter and concentrated without an ounce of worry. Perhaps it was exhaustion, or a finally a semblance of acceptation that had tied her red heartstrings to extend towards Jin. The one who had both liberated her, and yet see as an enigma under multitudes of veils.

How she wanted to undo those and expose the beautiful soul and body underneath it.

“What if I told you I want to savor you instead, instead of saving you?” Yuna would dare to tempt fate and bend their paths at her own will. For that’s how they adapt, evolve, and become, just as Yuna’s outlook towards Jin, an honor-bound samurai had been altered, as Jin grew to not only bend the code of the samurai, to make it universal for all people, not just loyalty and stuck-up rigidity that the thief very much so hated and abhorred. He was a living legend, the figure in folktale, with his indefatigable passion and drive to do better for all people, loyalty or not. She wished he knew that in his own heart.

The music, the poignant weight of her words, causes his body to feel evacuated, as if he were just simple stack of old bones held together by throbbing muscles. How it takes residence in him and causes the warm, dusty glow to push through the cracks of the scar, and suffuses through his flesh in radiant red. “It seems like you forget, you saved my life three times,” Jin breathes, “I thought that was enough, but you realize that you are all I have right now?”

The dribbling midnight glow sinks and penetrates in, the glowing moon becoming a swirling wash, basking both in an exquisite glow. And Yuna savors Jin in a comforting, extended caress; it begins at his knuckles, hiking up to his veined forearm, then rests on his shoulder, her fingers contouring through kamishimo, revealing the muscle-corded shoulder. “How your presence becomes heavy, sitting in my brain with weight, drawing me in like gravity. It’s no wonder why I fell for you.”

It’s all Jin can utter as diaphanous glow of his dark amber eyes reflect her features. For no sunlight or the tranquil radiance of the star-studded night would match his ardor and passion, rising from the depth of his loin. Jin’s own hand draws a light path over the ridges of her collarbone, as both slowly and steadily work their garments to fall before them. Jin feels the warm sake trickle down the line of his throat before descending over his sternum, and Yuna’s thumb is there to catch the transparent jewel, along with the faintest hint of salt, as she tastes it. It takes a while to realize that it’s Yuna’s lips, over the swells and dips of his throat, then trailing peppered kisses over his toned bicep.

“Wild embers, that’s what you are, offering clarity, Yuna.” How sensual, determined, unhesitant and with exuding magnetism she paints him whole. Burning ablaze beneath the symphony of sadness, yet how his heart ripples with a thrilling energy, that deepest longing of carnal desire he would so often have as his subconscious would be hooked on waves, and waves of quivering of flesh and muscles. And he feels the deep ache bubbling like the onsen’s surface, as his ridges and contours are entirely explored, while he’s busy working the arcs of her exposed breasts, the warmth of his calloused, yet well-cared hands trail gossamer strokes over the cinched waist, delving in. Akin to rustling leaves, they unwrap each other methodically and carefully, and by the time when Yuna undoes the tighthold of his hakama, his manhood stands fully erect, in response to the rest of his body. Keeping eye contact, Jin tugs Yuna’s half-clothed torso towards him, burying the fullness of his lips over her pulse, tasting traces of salt and the warm, rich flavor of the sake.

“I want you,” now becomes the current and desperation to his sharpened mind, for Jin would burst in blinding illumination, in an involuntary tremendous quivering descends his spine and anchors him still and motionless there. The melancholic tang of Jin’s tender voice finds steeled strength as a hand reaches her womanhood, still over her pants. “I want both of our world to stand in a standstill, with only you and I, as the night undresses us in our nakedness.”

#▬▬ι═══════ﺤ || the storm of clan sakai (headcanon)#▬▬ι═══════ﺤ || the legend of the ghost (iii)#▬▬ι═══════ﺤ || I wouldn't be here without you (jin x yuna)#jin sakai #yuna #jin x yuna #ghost of tsushima #(be kind.... this is my first ever writing a fanfic)

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thetorturerwrites · 4 years

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Puer Deus: Scars

This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @faestae-writes. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

***

Captured / Hurricane / Sustenance / Liar

Summary: You stand accused of something impossible.

A/N: 18+ only. Physical violence; sadism; references to abuse; smut; cutting; biting; bloodletting; lots of blood, ok; lots. Please take the content notes seriously, and thank you for coming with me on this ride.

Word Count: 7.7k

Day Five

At the Supremacy, Ren marched you from the shuttle and into the bustling hangar. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen, the sheer scope of it dwarfing entire star systems. The docking bay teemed with life, with a never-ending bustle of activity. It looked to be anarchy, but you could see order in the disarray, repairs being carried out, orders being given, shuttles and ships so close but quite unreachable.

Ren hooked his great hand around your arm, whirled you in between two ships, and pushed you at a waiting black guard. Lifting your eyes to this new person, all the blood drained from your face. It was one of the Knights of Ren, the most well-known, blood-thirsty body guards in the galaxy, and they towered over you. You were dumbfounded, eyes round as saucers, and trembling when the cold voice you knew so well broke through your haze.

“Take her to med bay and then my quarters. YOU are on her at all times.”

Your eyes swung between the two warriors, brow furrowed. Finally, you understood he was leaving, and you panicked because he’d fixed it so you couldn’t reach for him, couldn’t even stomp your foot to get his attention. He’d taken away every option you had to communicate in this moment except the one he wanted. He had rendered you a muted object to be seen and not heard.

Your mind reeled, and you balked at this new potential reality. You could endure his torment because it was him, because he’d been there with you every day, building it up. But what did it mean that he was turning you over to his thugs? What new torture were you being delivered to now? Groups of angry men together did bad, bad things, and you were a ripe target, a trussed-up gift from their leader.

The onyx void of a visor swiveled around to look down at you, and you shrank from what you knew to be ice in the gaze behind it.

“And have her sanitized,” his detached tone and robotic voice cut through you.

Your head jerked up and you glared at him, fuming. He’d all but fucking bathed you himself; and now, he was sending you to be sanitized like a filthy prisoner just come in from the desert. You did stomp your foot, irate and finished with being ignored, only for your knees to buckle as the pain shot up your calf and into your hip. Ren didn’t catch you this time, and you collapsed onto the hangar floor, barely able to stare at his boots.

Then, he was gone.

Ren was gone, and you were literally feet away from space with no way to get there, to get away. Benumbed, you stared at the gaping mouth of the landing track, unable to even put up a fight when your new guard manhandled you into standing. Somber, you stared at the stars just beyond your reach and wondered what it meant that you weren’t trying to fight your way out of this predicament.

Ren had left you here, confident that you weren’t going to get away. Was he equally confident that you wouldn’t be able to bring yourself to even try?

The guard’s gloved hand felt along your arms, working out where and how they were tied behind your back, and you winced at the rough pinch over the still-aching bite marks. Settling for a grip at your shoulder, they used it to walk you away from the departing crafts. You fixed your eyes upon the brightest star in the narrow field and held it until you were hustled around the corner and away, pleading with the unknowable that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d see stars.

The next hour was the most humiliating you’d endured in your entire life, and you knew, with absolute certainty, that this was punishment for your insolence.

At the med bay, you were inspected but never untied. The attending physician blushed beet red at the state of you, but she never spoke as she checked over and cleaned your wounds. Bacta patches were adhered to the soles of your feet; and then, she fled the room as fast as she could. You sneered in her wake, angry that she didn’t ask about the bruises, cuts, and spots littering your body, angrier that she accepted your imprisonment without so much as brief indignation on your behalf.

From there, you were dragged through familiar territory, the cell block. The expanse was shocking, dominating, and you felt tiny, wholly irrelevant in comparison. This was the sort of prison, you thought, where people disappeared, swallowed up by misery, never seen or heard from again. Sobered back into survival mode, you picked out details, making a list of where the door was, what numbers were painted on the walls, how far you’d come from med bay.

Jarringly, you were tossed into a processing room, and a team of cleaners descended upon you like scavengers. The chemical smell was overpowering, the very air infected by it, and your eyes and nose burned. Untrussed and untied, you were chained to the wall and blasted with a water cannon so strong you choked at the frigid punch. You were thoroughly, harshly cleaned from stem to stern, hair and teeth washed and brushed, and checked for stars-only-knew-what. You seethed with contempt, though, when the razors descended, shaving away all hair save what sat upon your head.

Fucking sanitized.

Your Knight guard brushed away the paper uniform brought for you to wear and re-tied you in the same manner Ren had left you, tucking the cloak back around your shoulders.

You boiled with rage, ready to murder every single person on this galaxy-sized ship and dance on their bones.

You were led through a staggering number of turns before being jostled through the door at the end of a long hallway. It was blessedly dark on the other side, and you sagged slightly, relieved. You were becoming more dependent upon the dark than you liked, but the harsh overhead lighting of the ship proper made you queasy, as though it cast too much light upon your lack of modesty, the way you unfurled under Ren’s hand.

Hastily, you were pushed into a chair and tied to it, the reprieve on your wrists and arms was so brief you barely had time to wiggle your fingers before being anchored down. Taking their orders very strictly, the guard posted at the door, standing right at its center on the inside of the chamber. Any hope you had of doing, learning, or stealing anything withered.

The guard stared straight ahead, the helmet visor betraying nothing, just as Ren’s betrayed nothing. The Knights of Ren were legendary for their destructive ability, but you didn’t know that they would anticipate their Commander’s will so exactly.

The rest of the day passed exactly like this. You couldn’t speak, and your guard didn’t speak. From your observations, you couldn’t even positively say they breathed. The only aberrations to this stand-off were when you were released to eat and relieve yourself, which you had to ask for by pointing to the adjoining room, the very gesture feeling foolish. It was allowed, but you were shadowed into the bathroom like a fucking child, and you bristled with humiliation.

You were finally dozing, chin tucked into your chest, greedily snatching whatever bit of respite you could, when the door slid open with a faint buzz. Not a single word was exchanged between Ren and his Knight; and a moment later, the guard was gone.

Drawing in an already exasperated breath, you lifted your head to fix a defiant stare upon your captor, prepared to refuse and deny and fight, ignited by the need to kick and snarl after what he’d put you through today.

The sight of him astonished you to utter stillness, however, stealing any desire you had to rampage your way out of here. He’d come in without his helmet entirely, and his shock of jet black hair was swept across a flushing, red forehead.

And his face, his beautiful, magnificent face, was bisected by dark surgical tape, running from forehead to cheek and disappearing down into the neck of his shirt. Your eyes trailed it, and his lip quivered when your scrutiny lingered there.

But it was his eyes, his wild eyes, that strangled your breathing. He was seething, barely containing the war within, and his pupils were blown wide, the only thing marking his turmoil.

“You did this,” he sneered.

You were thunderstruck. How could you have done this when you’d been right here the whole time?

He moved further into the room, setting a small kit down onto the table, and you tracked him, already fortifying your mental wall and willing your breathing into an even pattern. You pressed your lips into a firm line at his silence, biting down on your tongue as he neared, invading your every sense with his presence. His smell, that smoky tinge of death, was tainted by something medicinal, foreign; but then, you thought, so was yours.

You lifted shining eyes up at him when he stepped in front of you and wrapped naked fingers around your throat, unable to stop the immediate gulp his touch kindled. You could feel him tremble with barely-repressed rage, and you clenched your fists tight, refusing to show him how his unnerving silence affected you.

Loud, wailing Kylo Ren promised a beating. Silent, stalking Kylo Ren promised to flay you alive.

You stared, eyebrows drawn together as you studied this new accentuation of his face, wanting to reach out to touch it, trace it. It occurred to you, suddenly, alarmingly, that with a wound like that, he was hurt elsewhere also. You had no earthly idea why you should care if he was unharmed, but you sought the reassurance anyways, wide eyes seeking evidence of further injury hastily. Your gaze lit upon a hole in his shirt, but the skin beneath seemed to be already patched.

He was intact, mostly unharmed, solid and strong as ever you’d known him to be. Visibly relieved, you dropped back against the chair. When you looked back into his eyes, he was studying you, a strange look upon his face.

“The only wounds I’m bearing right now, trader, are this one,” he gestured at his cheek, “and yours.”

His voice was liquid acid, and you knew that your face relayed your confusion because you had no idea what he was talking about. Arching a brow at you, as though annoyed by your stupidity, his long, agile fingers tugged his shirt overhead, and you stopped breathing. Your mouth dried out completely, remembering the last time you’d seed him shirtless and the graphic thoughts you’d had trapped beneath him as he force fed you.

He pulled the dark fabric away from his shoulders and tossed it across the room. You followed it with your eyes, watching it slide against the floor. Your thighs clenched tight to quell the ache already building, and you bit down hard on your tongue. You were absolutely convinced, terrified, that if you looked back at Ren, you would be lost to the world, content to let this statue of a man consume you in every way he saw fit.

Ren reached for you, tucking his fingers around your cheek and pushing his thumb into your watering mouth, the idea of his naked torso having tempted your glands to respond. Your chest buckled, torso hunching slightly, because that action, that simple thing, set your cunt to throbbing, never ceasing to electrify you. He used that crude handle to turn your face to his and stroked the underside of your tongue, playing in the pooling saliva. You still looked away, eyes fixed on the jumble of fabric in the corner.

With any other person in the galaxy, you thought, this could have been a tender moment, something delicious between lovers. His low voice could be promising the stars, demanding sinful sighs and moans. But he was talking to you, and you had defied him the last time you were together. You had also, apparently, wounded him in battle.

“Look at what you have done.”

He crouched before you, and the command in his tone brokered no resistance. You obeyed, blowing out a nervous breath as you fixed your eyes upon his face, unwilling to concede more than this, idiotically defiant. Ren slid one hand up your neck and into your hair, fingers curling tight against your scalp. He tipped your head down, forcing you to his will, to look where he wanted you to look.

Ren had lain his forearm in your lap, the lightly-freckled underside turned up to your survey; and on it bloomed a large, mouth-sized bruise, punctuated with small squares of red and purple.

Teeth.

The thought dropped on you like a bomb. Horrified, you wrenched out of his grasp, but he simply switched one harsh hand for another and showed you the similar affliction on the other side.

You’d never gotten the chance to inspect your own arms, but you knew, to your bones, that his bruises perfectly matched the ones he’d left on your body.

"One blow to this arm," he spat, "one fucking blow was all it took for you to do this to me."

He shoved his face into yours, and you could feel his feverish breath. You lifted your unbelieving face towards the ceiling, tears suddenly trailing down into your temples with the emphatic shake of your head. No, you thought, you hadn’t done this. This was one of Ren’s manipulations, a ploy to get you to concede you should be punished for his failing in battle, that your very existence somehow distracted him from a world away.

You jerked against the tight lashes at your wrists and tried to stand. If he wanted to take his ire out on you, you would endure it, but it wasn’t your fucking fault, and you weren’t going to accept his blame.

“Is this why they sent you here? Infect the First Order from the inside and wound me before I ever set foot outside my ship?”

His voice faltered in its ire, and he stood, tearing bits of his own ceiling away, baring a beam that could be wrenched apart and manipulated into a hook. Absent his attention for the moment, you were trying to push against the polished floor to scoot your chair away, but you couldn’t gain enough purchase on the overly-polished tiles. He turned his eyes back to you and halted your plan with a malicious look.

A tight grip into the cloak tore it away from your body, and you jumped, flooded with mortification at everything that had been done to you today. Your body flushed from ears to toes, and every inch of you tightened under his perusal. You pressed your knees and thighs together, hoping to hide the melting of your insides, but your breasts swelled high and tight, sore and starving for attention.

He stepped behind you and untied your arms, the rope sliding against each groove left in the sore skin until you hissed. Circling, Ren planted his boot upon your pelvis, forcing your thighs apart and pressing down into your pussy. You grunted and contracted under the weight.

Flustered by his nearness and your body’s response, you pushed at his knee, twisting beneath him, only for him to capture both of your hands and re-bind them. In seconds, you were hauled onto injured feet and hung from the new metal hook in the center of Ren’s chambers, toes barely sweeping the floor.

Eyes glazed and head tipped back, you grappled with self-control, your body familiar with this pose, this swirl of anticipation and dread. You forced your chest into a pattern of deep breathing, preparing for what came next. You knew, too well, there was nothing you could tell him to satisfy his paranoia. He would take his proof, his retribution, from your flesh.

When Ren next stepped into your line of sight, he was wearing only loose trousers, all hard form and vigor, having abandoned anything else that could impede his destructive impulses. Charcoal tresses framed his pale face like a halo, and the tape splitting the skin only amplified the sculpt of his nose and brow.

He was wide, hulking, long, and lean, a gorgeous, gruesome monster. You drank him in openly, brazenly, knowing that this might be the last time you were offered the option.

You could all but smell it in the room, hanging in the air like heavy spice. Kylo Ren was about to lose himself to his sinister desires. The Child God was coming to demand your invocation, your absolute worship.

Drawing in a steadying breath, you met his assessment head on, watching as his dark, angry stare travelled over every inch of you and flushing crimson in its wake. He grazed the backs of his fingers down your arm, over the tight tip of one breast, across the soft swell of your belly. Holding your stare, he slid his wide hand between your thighs and cupped your newly-shaven sex. You were convinced he could feel the clutch of your pelvic muscles, but you dared not look away.

His nostrils flared, and he drew in a shaky breath, fighting to maintain his discipline. He didn’t look away, fixing his eyes upon your parted lips, and your insides smoldered, dripping down onto his fingers.

His upper lip curled, and he leaned in, his face hardly a breath away. You desperately wanted to hear his voice, knowing full well it would only be a threat, a promise of the persecution to come.

“Today is the day you break.”

He all but whispered it in your ear, and a bolt of terror shot fissures through your calm veneer. Kylo Ren had never lied to you, and your guts twisted with that absolute fact. You tried to wiggle away, but only swayed in your bondage. You tugged and tore at the column of rope lashing your wrists, desperately attempting to yank down the bit of rebar he’d hung you from.

Futile; all of it was completely futile.

Abruptly, Ren sank to his knees, and you gaped, confounded and mesmerized by the sight of him there. He was exquisite, and he looked up at you with such a hunger it stole your breath.

His fingertips skimmed up the calf of your right leg, and you shuddered, skin raising in gooseflesh, shocked he was capable of such a soft touch. You watched as he lifted your leg and pressed his mouth to the inside of your knee, inhaling the scent of you and trailing his lips in until they lingered at the inside of your thigh.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t process. Kylo Ren was kneeling before you, his face inches from your hot, leaking core, and you could do nothing but watch in abject horror.

No part of you thought what came next would be pleasant, but your body still hoped for it, yearned for him to bury that angelic face between your legs and suck the life from your body.

Your breath hitched as he bent your knee over his shoulder, shame diffusing your body a new shade of pathetic as a long bead of arousal dropped onto the floor. His lips parted, hot breath dancing; and suddenly, your instinct kicked in, and you knew what was about to happen.

Ren’s mouth opened wide, and he sunk into the vulnerable flesh of your inner thigh, all teeth and jaw. You had to look away, it was too tantalizing, the sight of his dark crown latched onto your body tempted you to wicked thoughts, and you shook.

Tipping your head back, you wailed, gruff and warbled, as he chewed on your trembling leg. You could feel the pulse of your heartbeat amplified by his dental perimeter and him lathing his tongue across it before spreading his jaw wider to suck in more of your battered flesh. Tears that would only fall at his bidding rose, and you thought he would absolutely tear the offending chunk from your body.

When he finally pulled back, you ripped your leg away, barely suppressing the urge to kick at his shoulder. Heaving, you hung from the ceiling, a bruised and battered tapestry to decorate his otherwise drab surroundings.

A troubling haze slipped over you and settled, familiar and scandalizing; your body burned for him, blossomed beneath his brutality as though you were created for it. You turned your face into your arm, hiding the scarlet flush as a new surge of your arousal perfumed the air.

“One more, girl.”

Nononono.

Shocked back into awareness, you shook your head, looking down at him through a watery lens. Your mind was screaming, straining to comprehend. This wasn’t even the planned torture. Your face darkened, brow knit, as you realized that you were still making up for yesterday’s escape.

He knelt there, silent and watching you, waiting for the comprehension to spread across your face and stroking the mark he’d just left on your thigh with his thumb. Concentrating on his features, you realized you couldn’t feel his touch. The area was so lost to numb throbbing that you couldn’t pick out the slide of his flesh, and you lamented the loss.

Biting down on your tongue, you looked up at the ceiling, gripping the pieces of rope you could get to tightly, bracing yourself for the next punishing bite. There was no escape, only endurance.

He tugged your left leg into position, and you squeezed his shoulder tight, unable to stop yourself from trying to change his course, to beg out a few more seconds before the unthinkable happened. As with your arms, knowing what was coming made it worse, and you tried to use the leverage of his shoulder to lift up, push away, anything to prevent him from claiming the skin with his vampire kiss.

Impatient, Ren captured your body in both hands, sliding one to the outside of your thigh and gripping tight. The other ventured between your legs, and he nudged his thumb into the searing wet of your slit, crooking it in. He splayed large fingers over your ass, pushing your body forwards.

Your brain stuttered, discerning that he’d hooked his thumb into your pussy to hold you the same way he often hooked it into your mouth. Your reaction to this obscene restraint was immediate, consuming. You whimpered and gulped in air, open-mouthed and laboring. You were suspended in this building vortex, both electrified and gutted.

The storm was coming, but you were already soaked to the bone.

The ferocious bite rocked you to your core; it was violently intimate and shockingly effective. You wailed, knee squeezing his shoulder tight, body fighting to decide whether to draw him in or kick him away. You were entirely untethered and floating, lusty and lost to all else but what was happening at your legs. His relentless teeth pulled at your skin, tugging it taut. You could feel his growl when the skin tore, offering up pinpricks of blood to appease his appetite.

The sum of your existence was reduced to the parts of your body under Ren’s assault, thumping and pulsing with what could only be his heartbeat. Yours was lost, silenced with all the rest of the world.

In suffering...

You heard the loud snarl as he wrenched back from your leg and shot to his feet, but it was far away. He wrapped angry, tense fingers around your throat and squeezed, his stare bitter and demanding, but you were on the way to gone.

Four days of build-up, four days of unsatisfied lust and anticipation of violence had tipped you into flight, and you blinked up at him dazedly, drifting to where he could not reach, wholly apart from your body and tucked far down deep into your mind, where the darkness was your savior.

There is…

“You haven’t suffered nearly enough yet, puppet.”

Trading one slit for another, he hooked his thumb, tart with your taste, back into your teeth and jerked your head forward. He slid long, thick fingers against your tongue and into the back of your mouth until your body wretched and heaved of its own volition. You spat onto the floor on a pained wheeze, and he dropped his hand to your chest. Pushing on your back to arch you up, Ren ground punitive knuckles into your sternum until you cried out and thrashed, your mouth impotently begging him to stop.

When he was satisfied that you were here and present, Ren snatched your chin into a harsh grip, forcing you to look at him, groggy and shivering but aware.

“You’re staying right fucking here.”

The venom in his voice stoked your panic, but there was no place to hide. Your body throbbed from chest to heels, every inch of you bearing Ren’s stamp of ownership.

Shaking away the last of the reverie, you drew in a fortifying breath, closing your eyes to concentrate on rebuilding your dark wall, separating what he wanted from what you needed.

His large fingers stretched across your cheeks, squeezing and pressing in until your teeth parted; he shook your head until your eyes opened and pinned you with his stare, shooting daggers when your eyes strayed to the surgical tape.

“This body is mine,” his voice was steady, quieter than before but full of sharp edges, rattling you.

Your lips quivered, but you couldn’t respond. Every inch of you was at war, and it played across your ruddy face. You wanted to be near him, to have his callous hands on your body. And you wanted to be away from him, to be free of men who would use and abuse you.

He would never understand, you reasoned; and further, he would never care.

The little black case he’d brought in flew into Ren’s outstretched hand, and he produced a single, silver scalpel. Your eyes flitted to its curved tip and narrowed, dulled, too acquainted with what came next. Closing off, you slumped against the rope, abandoning all desire to feel, to be here, to struggle.

You should have known better; no man wants an object that fights back. You’d given him more credit than he deserved; there was nothing new here.

You had thought that Kylo Ren was unique, his ability to ignite you different, unexpected, and unnerving, but he was just a man, exactly the same as all the rest.

“You’re disappointed,” his voice slid over you, caustic, surprised.

He tucked the very tip of the blade into your chin and forced your face up, looking down at you with dark scrutiny. You didn’t look away, but you also didn’t give him the fear he wanted. You couldn’t; he had played his hand, and you’d already survived 100 scalpels.

Lifting the blade tip from your chin, he wiped the drop of blood against the swell of your lower lip, washing it red. He studied your face, leaned back to further inspect your body. You saw it in his eyes, the moment his decision solidified in his mind.

“You remember who gave you every one of these scars, don’t you? Every moment?”

He knew that you did; this was just another manipulation, a calculated move to draw you out. Ren’s warm hand stroked the largest scar at your thigh, the battle-tough pads dragging. It was a gentle touch, meant to stir you back into responsiveness, but you had nothing else to give him. You looked away, not wanting to see his beautiful, bitter, frustrating face.

“Who gave you this one?”

His voice was low, nearly a whisper as he brushed the puckered skin at the front of your thigh, fingers tracing the edges. You jerked your chin away, eyes pinching tight shut, your brain overrun with the image of Santcha and his hunting knife, the first time he’d hobbled you for displeasing a customer. You spent every day and night fighting to keep the images from bubbling over, and Ren was now dredging it all back up.

“Look at me,” he crooned, clearly aware you'd remembered, exactly as he wished.

Grimacing, ready for him to get the fuck on with it, you lifted your eyes to his just as his scalpel broke skin at the bottom of the scar.

Your lips curled on a curse, but you were unable to move lest you do greater damage yourself. He held your leg in place and opened the scar from knee to thigh, retracing the path of the original wound. You felt the viscous heat well up, bulge out, and spill over to slowly trickle down your leg.

He captured your face, smudging blood onto your chin, and growled out the word.

“Mine.”

You suppressed a shudder and chewed the inside of your cheek, dark lashes sweeping down against mottled cheeks. You were certain it would be weeks before you could walk properly again, so fixated was Ren upon your thighs.

In the next breath, bloody fingers pushed past your lips and flattened your tongue, catapulting you into a sputtering cough. Jerking your head back, you shot an angry look at your tormentor, gnashing your red-stained teeth.

“You fucking look,” he snarled, pressing his thumb into the freshly-made wound until you whimpered and twisted.

Gasping as his grip loosened, you fixed your eyes on his ebony nimbus, tracking individual curls and waves to blot out the idea that perhaps you’d been wrong. Ren wasn’t intent upon making new scars, contriving some nonsense excuse for hurting you. He was hurting you because he wanted to, because he delighted in watching you suffer; and he was doing it in exactly the way he had been since you arrived.

He was using your body against you, corrupting what was already there and claiming it for himself.

At your back, he traced the most prominent scar jutting along your shoulder blade with his fingers, drawing your mind to conjure its origin. You didn't want to think of the time Santcha had stabbed you with a piece of twisted metal, but you were unable to force down the memory.

Burning tears raced down your cheeks, emulating the blood that now ran down your back, Ren’s blade having claimed a new patch of your skin.

The terror you’d lost came trickling back in. You were covered in scars, head to toe; and if he meant to cut each and every one open, you certainly would not survive the endeavor.

Your chest seized, and you had to fight to breathe, panic rising up into your mouth, swelling your tongue. His hand settled on the ripe curve of your hip, his touch somehow steadying, galvanizing, and you realized you were also brimming with something unknown, unnamed.

Who better to offer this bloody supplication to than Ren?

You quaked with the internal conflict, wanting him to stop this pain, this pointless exercise, and wanting him to free you from the burden of your past. He would never make you clean, but he could wash away the memory of every man before him by spilling every drop of your blood on his shining floor. If you died here, at his hand, you would be free of them, free of him.

Suddenly, the argument you’d been having over whether or not it was cowardly to die in this captivity was ended. If Kylo Ren wanted to snuff out your life by obscuring every person you’d ever known, every painful moment of your life, you would willingly let him do it.

Your Child God demanded a sacrifice, and you would answer that demand.

“Child God,” he mused, lips at your ear, “Is that what you see?”

Sternly, you shook him from your head, determined to die just as you’d lived for so long, alone with yourself.

As though he felt your wall go back up, Ren picked up his pace, slicing all of the scars along your upper arm open one after another. He didn’t care who gave them to you now, only that he would annex every single one into his bloody kingdom. You wept, feeling that every new cut, every new gash inched you towards the divine, the unknowable.

Sluices of claret life ran down your arms, legs, back, dropping onto the floor with a tick tick tick. He brushed his hands through it, caressing the sticky curves of your body. He nudged the tip of his nose into it, inhaling the rich scent and groaning in return.

When you could bring yourself to look, you gaped at the ravenous look rolling across his features. He looked to be starving, long-parched and empty, and your offering, your pliant suffering was the only thing to satisfy his famine.

Reaching up, he pressed the whole of his blood-stained hand at your face, the stick of his palm settling over your lips. You shuddered, the heady iron scent overpowering your senses. Choking on a sob, you arched up, pressing your face against the demanding cover with a groan, remembering how he liked to feel the vibration of your lips.

You were drunk on his brutality, his absolute ownership, a delirious fog settling over you, and you nodded against his palm.

Yes, keep going...

An appreciative sound rumbled in his chest, and you opened glassy eyes to stare at him. His scalpel and fingers were covered in your blood, and you watched them lift up to the delicate flesh of your inner arms and carve open each indentation he found, first right and then left. You moaned and shook, a wave of heat surged through you from toes to eyelashes, and you yearned for it.

Please...

Ren was meticulous. He and his demanding lancet searched out every crater, every scratch that had ever been made upon your body and reclaimed them, anointed them with his will.

Your blood pooled on the overly-polished floor, crimson and slate blending together to make raven puddles through which he trudged, leaving inky footprints wherever he stepped.

He made your body holy, carving out every sin done upon you until there was only him.

Kneeling, he brushed away crimson trails to uncover the large scar at your abdomen, and you jerked awkwardly, a modicum of strength rising and making you suddenly alert and fearful. You couldn’t give him that, couldn’t have him know that, and you tried to twist away.

No, please no...

He demanded that you look again, but his voice was muffled, far away, and you blinked slow and heavy, trying to focus as he expected. His thumb brushed the distorted, puckered scar, and the memory of your Master plunging the hot knife into your young belly, purposefully ending any chance you would ever have at bearing fruit, sprang to your mind.

The world stilled, and you watched Ren blink at your middle for a moment, as though he were startled by it. You thought that he was the most beautiful you’d ever seen him, kneeling in and covered by your blood, weapon in hand, ready to obliterate you.

Turning your face into your bloody arm, you bit down upon the abused skin, flooding your mouth with liquid iron, just as the blade stabbed into the corner of the first and most difficult of your punishments.

You concentrated on the track Ren’s blade took, searing the picture of him on his knees before you into your mind, imagining that, in another universe, you would lay your hand upon that scar and think of him and not what was taken from you.

You screamed into your arm, wailing in utter anguish until you could only heave for breath. Your head fell back, and you sagged in the bonds, struggling to remain conscious in the face of such overwhelming torment, feeling, and blood loss.

Why did you...No god wants a broken thing…

You hadn’t noticed that he stood, nor had you felt that he was pushed up against you, flush against your gory mess. His strong hand slid into your hair, cradling your scalp into his rigid grip. Ren lifted your head and nudged your dirty chin with his nose. His dark eyes searched you over, barely clinging to reality and so far down the deep cavern of yourself.

“Look.”

He commanded softly, almost reverently, and you struggled to comply, letting the weight of your head fall to him completely to support. You had no strength left to obey bodily, but you did manage to open your heavy, heavy eyelids and look at him. The pleased sound you were rewarded with vibrated against your breast and bolstered your desire to stay here in this moment, to wallow in this depravity a little longer.

You marveled at him, at the way such torture ignited him. His eyes burned charcoal black, and his cheeks were flushed, sweat prickling his hairline. He was brushed and spattered with your blood, and it was stark against his white skin, as though you’d bled upon priceless marble. He nudged your chin again, cupping one large hand around your backside and tucking the length of your body into his.

“One more,” he murmured, eyes falling to the stretch of marked skin at your throat.

You swallowed on reflex, but you were too far gone to tremble, to be afraid. This was the moment, you thought.

Yes, you offered, slit my throat, end all of this.

Yes, you begged the unknown, make all of this go away, spill my traitor blood and let me slide into the void.

You pictured Ren cleaving open your throat from ear to ear and wondered if he would finally be satisfied.

Staggeringly, you could still feel the scalpel, feel it rest at the juncture of the two slash marks stretching over your larynx. You pictured Santcha holding you down, staring at you with hate-filled eyes and spitting into the gaping hole he’d just left at your throat.

Your lower lip trembled anew, curled up with emotional upheaval, and you breathed out a tremulous breath, somehow grateful you were going to die at this madman’s hand instead of anyone else’s.

The sharp edge pierced your skin, and you broke, just as he said you would, wracked with sobs that reverberated as little more than raspy hiccups. Every single moment, from that day to this, had been excruciating, exhausting. You had learned to survive, to endure, but every single day had been so interminably hard.

And here was the end, you thought, and you were relieved, eager.

You howled your pain, heartbreak, and anger out into the air, abandoning all desire to be strong, to hold back. You were about to expire, and this was your death rattle, this expulsion of everything you’d been forced to swallow down. You gave it all back to the universe.

Accepting your fate, inviting it, the last vestiges of your fortitude bled away, rolling down your body in thick droplets, mingling with sweat and tears. You had been rendered, completely, a dirty, crippled, pathetic wretch of a thing.

Kylo Ren had annihilated you, and you were grateful to him for it.

Wrecked, you collapsed, hanging limp and nearly lifeless from Ren's rafters. You skirted the edge of unconsciousness, vacillating between light and dark, sound and silence. Your body, your spirit, was ready to let go, but Kylo Ren, it seemed, was not ready to allow it.

Tossing the scalpel to one side, Ren wrapped both hands around your hips and lifted you into his body. He curled your legs around his waist and instructed you to hold on, repeating himself until you registered it and squeezed, slowly hooking your feet together behind him. Standing on his toes, he lifted your bound hands from the bar and draped your bloody arms around his neck, bearing the slump of your weight against his chest.

The feel of the bed at your back was both wonderful and disastrous. Your exhausted, aching body wanted to sink into the mattress forever, but your traumatized, flayed skin didn’t want to touch another thing ever again. You grimaced and grunted softly, displeased by all of the jostling but unable to do anything about it.

You felt Ren’s fingers at your cheek, smudging already bloody skin with new streaks, and you wondered if he would burn your body, hold you a funeral, or just toss you into the compactor.

“Come back here, puppet.”

The feel of his hard knuckles on your sternum again pinched your face into a crumple, and you choked on a breath, recently mobile hands coming up to clutch at his wrist, trying to push him away. You huffed, panting and wheezing until you realized he was knelt between your thighs, looming over you and blotting out everything else.

I’m here. Fuck, I’m here...

You pushed at his hands again, not recognizing that you were throwing your thoughts out for him to catch, or how his eyes flashed something dark, demanding. You looked up at him and watched as he licked his lower lip, smearing red into pink.

He reached for the rope still binding your wrists together and slowly lifted them over your head. Your heart rate kicked up, lips parting on a shiver.

Ren shifted so that he was lying beside you, one hand stretching the rope high over your head, taking note as each movement of your body spurred a cut into a new line of angry red. His eyes raked over you hungrily, and you pressed your legs together tight, willing yourself not to undulate or beg for more of his touch.

His hand came down at your chest, fingers pressing into a gash just beneath the collarbone until it produced a new offering For him, and you hissed, squinting in an attempt to process the sting.

Scooping up the viscous reward, Ren dropped his hand to your breast, brushing bloody fingertips across your nipple, lubricating the hardening tip so it rolled and slid between his fingers. You gasped and arched upwards, abandoning your decision to not do exactly that, and pressed further into his touch.

“You do suffer beautifully, puppet.”

His voice was nearly tender, and you stilled at this new name. He had said it before, but you had been too enthralled to notice.

Again, he pushed down on your weeping laceration and gathered up the thick fluid. Lifting two fingers to your mouth, he slid them past your chapped lips, feeding you the very blood from your veins. Your hips did rock for him this time, your eyes rolled back into your head, and your tongue curled around his fingers ardently, mouth reverberating on a moan.

Stealing his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, Ren dipped his head and licked at your lips, drawing a lewd whimper and a jerk against your restraints that you didn’t get more than that. He practically purred at your display and brushed your nose with his.

It didn’t occur to you that he was distracting you until you felt the fingers that had just been in your mouth push into the gaping wound at your thigh.

It was sinful, vulgar, and you shook with the realization that he was stroking the wound slowly, up from the bottom, the way you imagined he would stroke your pussy. You surged forward into a shameless arc, straining to be nearer to Ren’s chest, his face, anything that was right fucking there but so far way.

Please…

The growl rumbled in his chest, and your hips danced for it, punching down into the mattress to create a perfect cradle for his body, his hand. His strokes became more insistent, fingers pushing into the wound’s edges, and you grimaced and twisted, imagining the way his fingers looked dipping down into your blood.

He had done nothing but torture you since he’d returned to this room, and you were practically coming undone beneath him, the exquisite agony of it all inching you nearer and nearer an orgasm you were certain would eviscerate you, empty you of everything but Ren’s perilous legacy.

Each brush and push of his fingers loosed a new surge of blood, until you were sure his whole massive hand was covered. He was watching you shake, your eyes wide as you descended down into this frenzy with him.

He leaned down to your ear at the same moment his bloody fingers pushed between your swollen labia, sliding into your aching cunt with no resistance at all, slick from your debauched need and the blood he’d fucked from your thigh.

“Cum for me, puppet. Now.”

Shot into the heavens, there was nothing for you to do but obey on a cracked, scratchy wail. Hot sparks sizzled across your brain, and your body spasmed, clenching impossibly tight around his thick, pumping fingers. Battered thighs spread apart, the neglected chasm of your pussy opening wide for his command, and you quaked in deference to his order. Your hips rode that manic wave, circling and bucking until the tempest crested, leaving you to stunted tremors and spotty vision.

You slumped against the mattress, debased and exhausted. Tears burned your eyes, and you shook your head, positive you couldn’t endure any more. Ren’s fingers slid from your core, and he fed them to you again, coated with your slick and gore, the pungent, coppery taste sliding along your tongue.

He tucked a finger beneath your chin, lifting your face and gaze to him, and waited, still and patient, until your throat worked and you swallowed. You burned with humiliation and lusty abandon, wondering if there were no limits to which this man could push you.

You blinked at him, eyes crinkling, concern blossoming. You couldn’t really see him clearly anymore, the details blurring to just a shadow, a figure hovering over you.

You were fading fast to darkness. Part of you wondered if this would truly be death this time, if Ren would actually let you go.

“No. You are mine."

His voice, his claim, was the last concrete thing you registered, and you nodded your agreement, let loose a satisfied sigh, and slipped into oblivion.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren x you #kylo x you #puer deus

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katsukikitten · 5 years

Text

Rouge

A/N MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING. if you are easily triggered to spiral please DO NOT READ ANY further. If you want/ need to know the actual trigger warnings pls dm me before reading.

If you could kill yourself without anyone finding your body you would.

And honestly you may have found a way.

To turn your body into nothing but particles on the wind.

Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

Your heart swells at the thought, its simple, easy really, this new solution.

No one will have to deal with the trauma of finding you.

No one will say "I never knew" at your eulogy while fighting back tears when the signs, although extremely subtle, were there.

They will only say your "great" life was cut short too soon as they look longingly at the one and only photo of you smiling that was enlarged for all to see.

As if that's how you looked majority of your life.

Content.

Happy.

You joined the hero course for the sole purpose that it put your life at greater risk adding to it the perk of what would be viewed as an honorable death.

And maybe your departure would be less sad for some, if anyone would even be upset in the first place.

The only problem was making your "accidental" death look good. It did not help that you were at a disadvantage with your quirk.

You were the unlucky soul with the rare quirk of adaptability or as others deemed it, instant evolution.

Literally giving meaning to what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

You should know, you've tried, doing nothing but worsening the situation for yourself.

And tried countless times at that.

Grey knives drawing grey blood while grey skin snaps back together forever closing the open wound.

Grey bones jutting at odd angles punctured through grey skin snap back into place as everything rights itself.

So hero work was your only option. Someone somewhere would HAVE to have a quirk you could not adapt to.

So every mission you decided to put yourself in dangerous situations and not for the sake of others.

At one point you thought that, maybe over time, saving others could help deviate you from your search for the end by another's hand.

But even after almost a decade of hero work you have yet to change your mind. Stead fast on the idea of resting six feet deep at the ripe age of 25.

What better irony that it cannot fix the emptiness that gnawed at your innards.

You're not sure why you feel this way. It's not as if anything traumatic happened to you. You had a loving family, a quirk, everything to be thankful for.

One day you woke up feeling an ache in your chest that over the years turned into a weighted emptiness.

Almost like a phantom feeling of knowing something should be there and suddenly you realize it is not.

As if living your life like you were the foot that fell asleep.

With the slow absence in your chest the universe began to present itself differently. Not as if turning itself at an odd angle, no it turned itself into a painting that had faded from overexposure in the harsh sun. Colors bleeding into depressing tones of grey washing with it your ability to feel.

None of this stopped you from making friends or taking some lovers, you were well liked, popular even. Plus the internet said these things would help ease the dull ache that weighed heavy in your ribcage.

But the internet was wrong. If anything it amplified your desire for that sweet embrace of Death. Every single relationship was tainted with a greasy film, making them hazy in your eyes. A camera lens fogged over from heated breath capturing still moments of superficial dull feelings.

Everything forever diluted in those heavy tones of grey.

Until one day luck was on your side when you spotted potential in someone.

Someone who became blindingly vibrant even in their hues of grey as they reached their dried flesh outward, hair white as snow.

You often dream of the following moments.

It all happened in slow motion, his fingers slowly curling around the arm of a hero that called you for backup. Suddenly you felt something in your chest, it beat with a ferocity you hadn't felt in *years.*

Others would read into your frozen form as fear but honestly it was shock, *pleasure*, as your plan began to form into something tangible. Eyes fixated on the forgotten hero that slowly turned to dust. Grey ash carried on a heavy summer wind.

Abrubtly your life had been given purpose.

"OI Y/LN!" You look to see a grey haired man approaching at blinding speed, his fingers spread wide, palm facing outward telling you with his faint crimson eyes to move.

But you cannot if you want this villain to aid you later. You swallow thickly as you think of a good plan to fuck this up. You pretend to be too stunned and Katsuki has to waste his blast by hitting the ground by your feet to jump over you.

You do not know that he's fought this villain before, having transferred well after USJ and the kidnapping. You watch as greedy flaked hands reach out towards him, hungry to devour as dry lips pull too wide over white teeth. All the while Bakugou steadily closes the distance.

Something grips your stomach as your mind replays what happened just moments ago.

You jump with enough force that the pavement buckles beneath your powerful legs. You catch up to Bakugou with ease pulling him back by his skin tight shirt. You yank harder than you intended and the two of you return to the Earth with sickening cracks. Toppling over one another until you land on top of Bakugou. Instantly a warp gate opens up and the white haired man steps through it. Disappearing for now.

Not exactly how you planned it but effective.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Katsuki explodes beneath you and you take the massive explosion point blank. Blinding pops of white and grey while you land on your feet like a cat. Not a single burn in sight.

At this point you've pretty much become immune to his attacks from being forced to train with him at UA and the other countless "accidental" explosions that have kissed you with white hot heat during missions. Rage and resentment fuel his actions.

Katsuki jumps to his feet giving you a deadly glare when he cannot spy what you've deemed your new found hope he lunges for you. Forcing you back with a barrage of explosions until your shoulders slam into brick. Indenting your thick shape into the dudty wall, causing you to question the integrity of the structure.

Would the weight of a crushed building be enough?

No you already tried that.

When the smoke clears you're met with burning red ember eyes. He leans close, pressing his forehead against yours as he glares at you with such malice. If only he could act on that malice, especially with how it worsens everytime the two of you cross paths.

You're an ugly reminder that someone can withstand him and his deadly assaults.

"Stay the fuck outta my way." He growls and you say nothing, you just hold his heated faint scarlet gaze.

Tonight you cannot dream your wonderous dream instead numb tears fall down your cheeks like a movie star during a dramatic scene. Lying in the dark, mind plagued with two things.

One being hot ember and the other being a greyed hand.

It keeps you up and this endless sleep lasts for longer than you'd like.

A week and a half longer than you'd like, though you have survived longer without.

Learning the hard way that you can go *months* without eating, drinking, or sleeping.

As if you're some living statue in the renaissance representing the entire purpose of mortality as you lie in the dark. Moon light cascading over your shimmering cheeks.

Black night lightens to a grey sunrise just to pull the sun back into a deep pool of darkness once more.

All the while you sit at the agency in front if your messy desk. Working but not, it's more as if you're AFK in real life. You look at yourself almost in third person as you watch yourself stare at your screen and your mountain of paper work that you've been avoiding.

About six months worth and it's exactly why the Director has you in the office today. Its quite in the office, which is normal for seven PM.

Although thanks to winter it looks like midnight out. The darkness envelops you but it does not protect you from the weighted emptiness.

Its the loud footsteps that pull you into reality. Blinking furiously to soothe your burning eyes as you pick up your pen trying to bullshit your way in case it's the director.

But it isn't, instead its Bakugou who pauses at your open door with an ever present irritated snarl, still draped in grey. Cruel blood red eyes rove over your pitiful form.

"Oi, Director told me to check on you like I'm some sort of fucking baby sitter. So are you working or fighting a fucking possession?" He growls and you blink a few times, unsure how to answer.

Normally you were a master at the facade, of donning the mask appropriate at the time. As sadness was not always needed.

So for someone to notice your odd behavior was off putting. Worrisome. You would have to step it up a notch.

"I'm fine." You smile widely, sure to make it seem as if its reached your eyes. Like you've practiced countless times in the mirror. When he makes no move to respond you scribble on one of the reports, pretending to write. Doing anything to bullshit your out from under his scorching gaze. His maroon eyes narrow in suspicion.

"I'm leaving so get your shit done."

"Yea." Is all that you say, it must be good enough of a reply for him as he takes his leave.

Soon your body becomes stiff as you hardly move for the next hour and a half, slumped over inky paper. Truly staring through the reports on your desk. You blink slowly as you try to ease the pain in your eyes.

Maybe Bakugou was right. Maybe you were fighting off a possession but before you can give it a second thought your hero phone lights up with an alert.

Indicating you're the closest hero to whatever villainy is transpiring in the cold icy streets.

*"White haired suspect spotted by civilian wandering around the old warehouse district. Believed to be Tomura Shigaraki heavily associated with the league of Villans. Use extreme caution quirk decay."*

Decay.

The word sends a shiver of ecstacy down your spine.

Tonight was the night, tonight you would finally get your dance with Death.

You lunge, loading the rest of the report as you fly down the stairwell two steps at a time. Before breaking out into a full sprint.

How lucky could you be that your agency was only seven blocks away from the old warehouse district.

You silence your breath and your foot falls learned from years of practice as you near closer.

Opting out of standing in the dim light of the street lamps, that illuminate nothing more but spooked rats and rotting trash.

Oh this was just getting better and better.

The setting was perfect, late at night, pitch black alleyways that were narrow to boot.

Honestly you couldn't have asked for a better place for him to be spotted. It would be easy to fuck this up. You may not even have to force his hand considering he would have ALL of the advantage and all he would need to do was reach out of the darkness to touch you.

Wrap those five grayed fingers around you.

Your ears pick up on scratching. Not the type a rat makes where claws dig at brick or trash. No, that unique sound of nails scrapping into flesh.

You smile wildly, thankful you actually read the full report for once, the sound comes from two alley mouths away. It seems to be the only sound on the whole block.

You walk past the first one, practicing how you will look. Eyes shifting to the left alley then to the right, body language reading guarded.

Careful.

The things you were actually supposed to be doing but couldn't bring yourself to do. You could hear the soothing lullaby hummed through gnashing teeth and bones.

By the second alley you've perfected the look. If there are any still functioning cameras in this are their black glass eyes are sure to see it all. Your perfect final scene.

Because it has become too hard to continue to live the lie.

It becomes silent as you approach the mouth of the alley that the scratching came from. Too silent, confirming your initial thought, that he lies in the dark watching, waiting.

You peek to the left as you did the past two times before peeking to the right coming face to face with pitch black. The alley resembles a vacuum, greedily swallowing all light and sound in its wake. Fear prickles up your spine and your primal instincts tell you to run.

But they are dull, still draping the world in that damned veil of grey so they are easy to ignore.

You take the plunge as if jumping into cold water taking another step, turning away as if you did not see the gleam of his teeth.

Crusted lips again stretched too far over white.

He reaches out, fingers slowly curling onto your bicep as your boyd and your mind declare war with one another.

One demands that you fight, that you do anything it takes to get out of this situation while the screams of how tired it is.

How it can no longer go on.

Four fingers are wrapped tightly around you like a miniature snakes and your heart races with anticipation of the final finger.

You turn his way, eyes locking onto his. Savoring the motion of his middle finger getting ever closer to your sweet skin.

That is until the feeling of the grip is ripped away from you as a new vice grip pulls you into their direction. Strong arms wrapped around to you protectively, strong hand smoothing over the skin that was just touched.

"No." The small gasp escapes you as you turn to face whoever dared to deny you your one true wish only to be met with poison apple red.

"What the fuck were you doing?!" A nasty snarl and a shake before you're shoved to the side. Explosions propelling him closer to the target once more.

You fall to your knees in anguish, fat droplets dripping down flushed cheeks. You are barely able to register the scene in front of you as a trap is activated, pulling Katsuki's arms behind his back with a sickening crack. It echoes in the alley way but it does not reach you.

Cannot reach you as you mourn.

You had fucking tasted it, the sweet end just to be denied.

The ropes pull tighter, Katsuki yells out and suddenly sweat is falling from his grey face.

How long had he been in this position?

Ten?

Twenty minutes?

You weren't sure, time was painstakingly slow and blurring fast all at once.

Glowing red eyes cut to you in the night, demanding, pleading, for help.

You fail to see anything more that what you had once had. Reliving the moment where you felt most alive.

That special, promised hand reaches out for Katsuki, slowly curling itself around his throat.

Slowly enough that grey skin cracks to reveal angry vivid red.

Wait.

Red?

Where else had you seen red?

*Red* muscle tissue beneath sunkissed skin?

Suddenly a certain man is blindingly vibrant against the black back drop of the alley way. Ash blonde hair dampening and darkening with sweat as a rare emotion mixes with the rage in his eyes.

You lunge faster and harder than you ever had before. Quickly enough that there is a delay before the asphalt that was once beneath your feet ruptures, ripping open several feet deep.

Your hand is on a dry wrist that you twist away from Bakugou. You move without thinking as you take his hands into your own. Wrapping delicately strong fingers around two separate middle fingers. Bringing them back until they touch the top of his forearm.

He falls to the ground and for good measure you kick him square in the face. Shinning tooth arching with a red blood trail that slowly fades to grey.

You turn to Katsuki, the color draining from him like a dying star, cutting the ropes of the trap. You keep your hands pressed harshly against his arms as he tries to snap them back.

"Slow." You say sternly watching the ashen blonde of his hair dull into a light grey as he brings hyper extended arms back into their normal positions.

Nothing remains of his color as he shoves past you, forcing Tomura's arms behind him before securing his wrists with a zip tie. He heaves him onto his shoulder like a sac of potatoes and begins to walk away.

Almost leaving you to regret helping him.

After all he did take what you've always wanted, you stare after him as he walks away before he abruptly stops.

"Oi. Y/N." He calls out, "Let's fucking go."

He looks over his shoulder and you see it still there although it is just a flash before he begins walking again once your make way to follow.

Vivid scarlet red cuts through the dark of the night.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bnha kacchan #bnha katsuki #bnha bakugou #bnha au #bnha imagine #bnha angst #bakugou angst

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