#He got a twisted satisfaction knowing he was going to make them suffer and fight each other
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The Hell he’s been through;
The Knights have no clue of the suffering Merlin has endured… until one day, they do.
TW: Scars, panic attacks, nightmares, PTSD except they don’t have a word for that, non-graphic description of scars/injuries
Part 2(final part)
It was the height of summer, the bright blue sky was utterly free of clouds and the noon sun beat viciously down onto the training field.
Only the central six knights, their King, and Merlin braved the exhausting heat, the other knights had chosen to train later in the day, when it was cooler, so the field was empty of anyone else. Merlin was sat cross-legged in the shade of a tree, jacket and neckerchief removed (not that Arth- anyone noticed. Definitely not.), though his sleeves were still pulled low over his wrists and his tunic was fastened high up his neck. Despite that, the lack of an extra layer definitely displayed Merlin’s surprisingly broad shoulders more than normal (another thing that Ar-no one noticed).
The knights were shirtless, despite Merlin’s warning of sunburn, sparring semi-playfully with wooden dummy swords, the type squires train with, and no armour.
Merlin rubs absent-mindedly at the dull, almost gone ache in his ribs, just below his armpit, as he rolls his shoulder. The injury, if it could even be called that, had never been serious and hadn’t even hurt that much when he’d gotten it on the last patrol (a stray mace swing from a bandit just clipped him), at least, not compared to other injuries he’s sustained over the years, but it was an annoyance that made his shoulder stiff on occasion.
Unfortunately, the movement caught Arthur’s eye, and the King frowns, stopping his observation of Elyan and Mordred’s spar to lay a crudely hidden concerned gaze upon his manservant.
He’d fussed endlessly when he found that Merlin had bandaged his own torso after the fight, demanding that he let someone help next time; Merlin just rolled his eyes at that. The other knights had wisely chosen not to comment, knowing that the attack, and Merlin’s subsequent injury, had already put Arthur in a bad enough mood; though admittedly, the only thing stopping Gwaine from ruthlessly taking the piss out of Arthur’s mother-hen tendencies all the way home was Percival harshly clamping a hand over his mouth and pushing him away.
Merlin looks up to see Arthur staring at him, and the King quickly covers his concern with a look of annoyance when the manservant raises an eyebrow:
“If you’re not going to do anything useful Merlin, get up here, you clearly can’t be trusted to even cower effectively, so you’re going to have to learn to defend yourself.”
Merlin’s eyebrow just rises higher as the rest of the knights’ attention is drawn to the conversation. Lancelot and Mordred hide knowing smiles, well aware than Merlin was more than capable of defending himself, if he really needed to. Gwaine went to open his mouth with teasing grin, though quickly pouts when Percival punches him on the shoulder, and Leon and Elyan smirk at each other before moving their amused gazes to Arthur.
When Merlin doesn’t move, just stares at him disbelievingly, Arthur rolls his eyes and gestures at the half-empty rack of wooden swords:
“Come on, Merlin, up on your feet, grab a sword.”
Merlin just snorts in amusement and shakes his head, settling back against the tree trunk even more:
“Absolutely not. I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much.”
The knights (bar Lancelot and Mordred of course) raise their own eyebrows. Gwaine snorts out loud, stepping up next to Arthur and dropping an overly-friendly hand on his shoulder, much to The King’s displeasure:
“I know you can hold your own in a tavern brawl Merls, but that’s not the same thing as facing bandits and assassins and shit. Princess is right, it might be worth it for you to at least know how to use a sword.”
Arthur turns an accusing gaze on Gwaine, shrugging his hand off as he says:
“And I presume all the tavern brawls Merlin has apparently been getting into are your fault?”
Gwaine grimaces slightly before shrugging with a smirk, and Merlin hides his laughter with a cough before inserting:
“Entirely his fault. Gwaine starts the fights, promptly passes out, and I have to finish them.”
Arthur laughs incredulously; Mordred has to hide the angry clench of his jaw and Lancelot has to hide his sorrow when Arthur replies in a taunting tone:
“I’m meant to believe that you are regularly winning Gwaine’s unfinished fights, am I?”
Merlin shrugs in mock defeat, a grin on his face:
“Believe what you want, Sire, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing, I don’t need training.”
Arthur resists the urge to smirk at the appealing way Merlin manages to make his title sound insulting, and he instead raises his eyebrows:
“You’re not getting out of this, Merlin. I can’t have you bruising yourself every time we leave the city.”
Merlin takes in a deep breath, settling a disconcertingly assessing gaze on The King for a few moments before he sighs and stands up, walking towards the equipment and picking up a sword before turning back to Arthur:
“I suppose you’re right, I doubt any of the other servants would be willing to put up with you if I got too injured. Who would you like me to spar, My Lord?”
Arthur scoffs and shakes his head as the others step back, looking upon the whole scene with fond amusement, bar, once again, Lancelot and Mordred, who are looking an odd mix between concerned and proud. They know that Merlin is capable of more than he lets on, even with a wooden blade.
“You can’t spar with any of us, Merlin, that would be far too dangerous. We’ll start with some basic moves, and then maybe we can move on to a slow, choreographed spar.”
Merlin twirls the sword expertly in his hand, and he’s vaguely away of Gwaine nodding approvingly and Leon raising an eyebrow out the corner of his eye, though he pays them no mind, raising an eyebrow of his own at Arthur:
“Surely starting with a simple spar will tell you my exact skill levels so you can tailor the lessons? You need to know how crap I am before we start.”
Lancelot hides a snort behind a hand, knowing full well that Merlin is just trying to goad Arthur into letting the servant show off his skills without too much effort beforehand. Or without giving Arthur the satisfaction of thinking that he was the one who taught Merlin how to fight. Thankfully, Arthur takes Lance’s snort as a teasing one aimed at Merlin, as opposed to what it really is, so waves him into the ring with a smirk.
Merlin just rolls his eyes, moving to stand opposite his best friend and muttering, just loud enough for everyone to hear:
“Fine, but I’m not taking my shirt off, I’m not as arrogant as you lot.”
Lancelot widens his eyes as Arthur freezes, dread growing in his stomach at the knowledge that The King would take that as a challenge. Arthur turns slowly, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Lancelot grimaces as Arthur claps his hands together:
“Right! I wasn’t going to mention it, but you do have a point, Merlin, if you are to train, you must train as one of us. Come on, tunic off.”
Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine just laugh, but Leon rolls his eyes exasperatedly, and Mordred and Lancelot frown in concern. Neither of them have seen Merlin’s scars in their entirety before, but knowing about the servant’s secret second life had definitely made them more observant than the others, and they had seen hints of old injuries here and there. That’s not even mentioning the times he’s shown up in their chambers, bloody and bruised and in need of treatment, but not wanting to worry Gaius.
Merlin just flushed and stared at him indignantly and Arthur’s teasing grin grew:
“Don’t be shy, Merlin, I’m sure whatever horrific mole or ugly birth mark you’re ashamed of isn’t that bad.”
Merlin rolls his eyes, stepping away from Arthur when he moves towards him. The demand to de-robe, even partially, had immediately put him on edge, and he had gone from playfully annoyed to genuinely irate in a split second. He crosses his arms over his chest protectively when Arthur gestures at him demandingly:
“I don’t have a weird mole, Arthur, you Clotpole, but unlike you lot, I’m not all that keen to show off my old scars.”
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Merlin was hoping that mentioning his scars in passing would appeal to the knights’ warrior sides, would make them sympathetic to his… shy-ness. It did not. It just made them laugh, even Leon, and they all began to point out various scars they had on their chests and back, remarking that he couldn’t have worse than them.
Gwaine twisted to the side, patting a pink, jagged circle halfway down his back, a grin on his face:
“This beauty is from when I propositioned a lovely fella who was, apparently, already taken. Man’s wife smashed her bottle on the counter and damn near took my eye out with it.”
Elyan cackles at Gwaine’s story, pointing to a perfectly square burn on his shoulder-blade:
“Yeah, well at least you didn’t fall back into a red hot brand at the ripe old age of fifteen because a girl smiled at you.”
Merlin’s back-up plan, which was sneakily sulking off whilst the knights compared their most embarrassing scars, was cut short basically immediately when he heard Arthur yell out:
“Absolutely not, Merlin, I’ve already told you that you’re not getting out of this. Tunic off, spar Lancelot.”
Merlin huffs, annoyed, feeling rather like he was backed into a corner, and Mordred walks forward, to be between him and The King, quietly saying:
“You don’t have to Merlin, just fight with it on.”
Arthur narrows his eyes in suspicion, but before he can say anything, Merlin squares his shoulders and looks at him defiantly, dropping his sword to the floor as he begins unlacing his tunic, his words coming out harshly, his tone dark:
“No, no it’s fine. The King wants to see my scars, and we all know that The King gets whatever he wants.”
The smiles melt rather quickly off the knights’ faces as Merlin speaks, and Arthur flinches slightly at his tone, starting to realise with just a little guilt that maybe this wasn’t funny anymore. He opens his mouth to take it back, to tell Merlin that he was only teasing and he could keep the tunic on if he really wanted to, but before any words come out, Merlin is gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head swiftly and screwing it up before tossing it to the side, not once breaking his stare on the now pale King.
Arthur lets out a sharp breath at the patchwork of scars that cover Merlin’s chest, and he’s vaguely aware of the various low cries and gasps of outrage coming from the knights behind him. There are so many, some are large and some are small, some look to be from clumsiness, but others look like they should have been fatal. Arthur’s eyes can’t focus on just one, he’s barely taking in each scar before his gaze is drawn to another, and then another, and then another; it’s a little overwhelming, and it’s only when he starts to feel a little woozy that he remembers to breath.
When he finally comes to the conclusion that his brain isn’t going to able to process this for a while, he looks up to Merlin’s face, instead taking in his resolute expression and hard eyes:
“Merlin, what… what happened to you?”
Merlin raises a slow, mocking eyebrow before breaking his statue-like stillness and picking his sword up again, turning to face a distraught looking Lancelot. This movement only reveals the second mosaic of scars covering his back, but he speaks over the next round of gasps and muffled curses, his tone still unbearably dark as he gestures Lance to get into position:
“I told you, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing.”
The knights are so distracted by the myriad of scars covering Merlin’s torso that it takes the servant’s first harsh, well-aimed blow with his sword to break them out of their stupor. They watch the ensuing spar with morbid fascination, finding that not only can Merlin hold his own, he’s winning. Lancelot loses his breath and rhythm much quicker than Merlin does, and the fast-paced spar only lasts around three minutes before Merlin lands a strong punch to the centre of Lance’s chest and the knight stumbles back in shock, lowering his sword just enough for Merlin to step forward and trip him up.
The scarred servant’s chest rises and falls deeply, but not too rapidly as he lowers his sword and offers a hand down to the beaten knight. Lancelot takes it with a slightly shocked smile, patting Merlin on the shoulder as he stands. Merlin flinches away from the touch, no one misses it, clearly not too fond of people touching his bare skin, and Lance drops his hand rapidly, frowning only briefly before he smiles again:
“Bloody hell, Merlin. I knew you were good, but not that good.”
Merlin gives him a strained smile, grateful for the distraction. Everyone sees the moment Merlin’s mask goes up again; he gives Lance a smug grin and twirls his sword once again as he shrugs mockingly:
“I’ve been watching you lot train for ten years, and I’ve been in a few sword fights in my time. I picked up a few things.”
Arthur finally reacts, scoffing as he shakes his head in disbelief, scars momentarily forgotten:
“There’s no way that you can- that was a fluke.-”
He looks smug as he says it, like he’s figured out some great secret, and Mordred lets out a low, annoyed growl; no one notices thankfully, but Merlin shoots him a quick frustrated line across their mental link:
“Please try not to antagonise him any further.”
Mordred looks to him, keeping his face blank as he nods almost imperceptibly. Lancelot and Gwaine look openly disapproving of Arthur’s assertion, but Leon, Percival, and Elyan look almost convinced. Arthur nods decisively, picking up his sword once again and waving it in Merlin’s direction:
“-My turn. And once I’ve beaten you, you’re going to tell us about all of… that.”
Merlin’s eye twitches, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods slightly as he holds a placating hand out in Lancelot’s direction when it becomes obvious that his best friend is going to start trying to defend him.
Arthur takes Lancelot’s place in the ring and Merlin grips his sword tightly, his shoulders tense and his face showing only mild annoyance, despite the anger that Lancelot and Mordred were sure was simmering under his façade. At Arthur’s nod, Leon reluctantly counts them in, and the match begins.
This one is somehow even more fast-paced, though no one is surprised. The last ten minutes had caught Arthur extremely off-guard. An off-guard Arthur is a grumpy Arthur, and a grumpy Arthur is, unfortunately, still the type to take his frustrations out on others. Arthur wasn’t good at dealing with his emotions, meaning the disturbing mix of horror, guilt, and anger at Merlin’s scars, slight… shock, (because he refuses to call it anything else) at his deceptively strong physique, and surprise that apparently his servant can take out one of his best knights without all that much effort, all together have The King bursting with adrenaline.
He throws blow after blow, but Merlin’s defence is incredibly strong, and Arthur has yet to land a hit anywhere other than the opposing sword. After a couple of minutes, Merlin switches styles, and Arthur almost trips when he realises his servant has, in the space of a second, gone from fighting like Arthur, to fighting like Leon. The knights notice it as well; Gwaine lets out a low whistle and Elyan smacks Leon on the shoulder, pointing incredulously at a sequence of complicated footwork that usually only the First Knight can manage so gracefully. Apparently Merlin can do it too.
Arthur adapts to this quickly; Leon was his sparring partner most often, meaning that he was accustomed to switching between their styles, and they were the most similar fighters in all the group.
Another minute passes, and the pair still don’t slow, seemingly unbothered by their dumbfounded audience and the sweltering heat, and this time Merlin suddenly starts fighting more like Gwaine. Instead of staying on the defensive and trying to trip Arthur up, he goes on the attack, landing heavier and heavier hits as The King barely manages to defend himself in time.
Merlin is quickly growing tired, his stamina not nearly as good as Arthur’s, but The King grows complacent, even with the vicious pace, certain that he just has to wait Merlin out. He was wrong. Arthur finally gets an attack of his own in but Merlin dives to the side instead of blocking it, rolling and coming up to Arthur’s left before the blonde has time to regain his balance and turn around. He freezes in place when Merlin touches his wooden sword to the side of Arthur’s neck. He can feel it shaking, but it’s undoubtedly a killing blow, and when Merlin drops the sword to the floor in favour of bending over, one hand on his knee and the other on his side again as he pants, Arthur turns around faster than he thinks he’s ever moved before:
“How the fuck did you do that?”
Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights all clapping and shouting encouragement at him, but he doesn’t look up, just waves dismissively in Arthur’s direction:
“I told you, I’ve been watching you lot train for years. It’s easy to imitate you after a little practice.”
Arthur just stares at him in disbelief, but Leon hands the servant a water-skin, ripping his gaze from the whip marks on his back with clenched teeth before schooling his tone and face into something more friendly:
“Merlin, you switched styles twice in as many minutes… you beat the best swordsman in the Kingdom after already being tired from another spar, that’s… that’s incredible.”
Merlin drinks the entire skin as Leon speaks, looking up with another playful mask on his face:
“Well believe me, I’m so sore I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it again.”
Merlin’s smile drops when he realises everyone is back to staring at him, more specifically, his scars. He steps away from the curly-haired knight, who furrows his brows in concern and resists the urge to reach a comforting hand out to him. Merlin crosses his arms over his chest defensively, hunching his broad shoulders slightly as he frowns at the floor.
Lancelot quickly throws his tunic to him, and Merlin scrambles to pull it on as quickly as possible, but before he can even get his arms through the right holes, Arthur snatches it away, a stern, angry look on his face. Though every one of then can see the badly hidden concern as well:
“No, you agreed to tell us.”
Merlin makes a move for his tunic, but Arthur jumps out of his reach. The servant huffs, annoyed and close to tears all of a sudden as he petulantly replies:
“Actually, you said once you beat me, I had to tell you. I won.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow, taking another step back:
“I’m happy to go another round if you are, Merlin?”
Merlin glares at him angrily for another few moments before completely sagging, staring at the floor with sad, tired eyes as his arms drop to dangle at his sides. Arthur and the knights are completely taken aback at Merlin’s sudden change of disposition, though it heartbreakingly strikes them as less of a change and more of a... reveal. A reveal of some kind of sadness that’s been there all along. How did they not notice this??
Arthur’s breath hitches and his tight clutch on Merlin’s tunic loosens slightly as he all but whispers:
“Merlin... who did this to you?”
Merlin finally looks up at him, letting out a humourless chuckle as he rakes a hand through his sweat-dampened hair roughly:
“Does it matter? Most of them are dead, I-”
His eyes narrow and his voice lowers. The knights hear it nonetheless:
“... I made sure of that .”
Arthur lets out a huff of frustration, not bothering to hide the desperation in his eyes as he pleads:
“Please, Merlin, you’re my... subject, you’re meant to be under my protection. And don’t lie, none of these are more than eleven or twelve years old at most and you got here ten years ago, so they happened in Camelot, under my watch. Please, Merlin.”
Merlin sighs, walking towards the tree’s shade once again. For a moment Arthur panics, thinking he’d pushed Merlin too far as he turned away, knowing that if this conversation wasn’t had now, their relationship would never be the same. But before The King can say anything, the servant slumps back into place against the tree trunk, sitting cross-legged again and biting his lip as he looks at Arthur expectantly.
Before anyone else can move, Mordred and Lancelot take the places either side of Merlin, sitting protectively close. Lance gives Mordred a pointed look, to which the younger knight nods before settling a blank expression on the side of Merlin’s head. Merlin doesn’t look back at him, but pats the knight’s knee as the corner of his mouth turns up briefly in a barely-there smile.
Arthur narrows his eyes, but stores that odd exchange in the back of his mind to deal with at a later date before sitting across from Merlin; the other knights look to each other, worried, before settling in the empty spaces to complete the circle. The group is silent for a while, all staring at a statue-still Merlin who in turn is staring at the grass in front of him; he doesn’t move even when Lancelot brings his hand into his lap, stroking his thumb over the servant’s knuckles absent-mindedly.
It’s Percival that finally breaks the silence, asking in a quiet voice:
“What happened, Merlin?”
Merlin looks up suddenly, as if he had forgotten he had company, taking in a deep breath and tightening his grip on Lance’s hand. He gulps before once again running his free hand through his hair, shrugging slightly as he mutters:
“I don’t recall all of them in perfect detail, just ask about... whatever catches your eye I guess, and we’ll see what I can remember.”
The knights all nod, looking to each other expectantly, no one really wanting to go first. Eventually Leon clears his throat, his voice gentle:
“Why don’t we start with the whip marks on your back?”
Merlin nods, grateful that they were at least starting off with the non-magical injuries. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he speaks, his voice croaky and quiet:
“The newer ones are from Cenred, from a few years ago. He wanted information and I spat at his feet and told him to fuck off. He... he didn’t take too kindly to that.”
Gwaine lets out a quiet curse, and Arthur sits up straight, saying in a crackingly authoritative voice:
“Merlin, if anyone ever tries to extract information from you again, you give them anything. Everything. We’ll deal with the fall-out afterwards, it is not your job to withstand torture.”
The other knights nod approvingly but Merlin just looks up at The King with a raised eyebrow:
“Like hell. I can put up with a remarkable amount, I’d never sell Camelot, or you, out. Never, Arthur.”
Arthur huffs and resolutely ignores the tears gathering in his eyes, but Elyan beats him to the mark:
“That’s not... you shouldn’t have to put up with anything Merlin, it’s not necessary. You just... keep yourself safe. We’ll worry about everything else.”
The other knights nod again, but Merlin scowls and tenses even further, even as Lancelot squeezes his hand comfortingly:
“I’ve been through literal hell, multiple times, in order to protect my home and the people that are important to me. I’m not going to stop that just because it makes you lot uncomfortable, and you have no right to tell me to it’s not my place.”
Everyone looks desperate to argue, but they can’t deny that, after what they’ve seen today, in the last half a candle-mark only, Merlin is evidently a lot stronger than they’ve ever given him credit for. Both physically and mentally. Leon just gives Merlin a small smile and nods; he’s the only one here who has known Merlin just as long as Arthur, and he may not be as close to the younger man as The King or Lance or Gwaine or Mordred, but he’s seen his loyalty in action several times over the years:
“You said the newer ones were from Cenred. You’ve been flogged more than once?”
Merlin nods at the knight, grateful for his understanding and change of subject, even if said change of subject was back to his scars. His expression turns slightly guilty as his gaze moves to Arthur, and The King has a feeling he’s going to feel incredibly terrible at whatever it is Merlin is about to say:
“The others are from... uh.... Uther.-”
Arthur takes in a sharp breath as the tears he had just about managed to get under control gather again. The other knights just look angry, bar Leon, who, though miserable, looks as though he sort of expected it:
“-He didn’t like me very much.”
Arthur whispers his response:
“When? Merlin, when and why did my father have you flogged, and how did I not know about it?”
Merlin tenses his jaw, going from guilty to angry in a split second, snapping his response:
“Why do you think?!-”
Arthur recoils and Merlin closes his eyes briefly as he takes a deep breath, looking back to Arthur with a blank mask and speaking in a monotone voice:
“What did you think he would do every time I took the blame for you missing a meeting or a meal or a training session because you were entertaining a woman or pissing about with your knights? I had to walk into the council room and apologise for your absence because I slept in or I forgot to tell you or I sent you on a hunt on the wrong day. Uther was in the habit of burning people and chopping off an alarming number of heads, did you really think I would get away with it punishment free??
Arthur goes pale as a sheet and his hands tremble with the understanding. He shakes his head slightly as he looks to his lap, ignoring the tears on his cheeks as he murmurs:
“Merlin I am so sorry, I didn’t... I didn’t think... if I had known I would have duelled him in the damn town square to protect you.-”
Arthur looks up sharply, wiping his face clean as he settles an assessing gaze on his servant, ignoring Gwaine’s murderous glare as he slowly continues:
“-... which is exactly why you never told me, isn’t it?”
Merlin shrugs, a small smile on his face:
“You may never admit it, Arthur, but you were protective of me, even then.”
Arthur flushes slightly, before frowning again and shaking his head:
“You should have told me, it’s my job to protect you.”
Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly:
“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”
Arthur huffs and narrows his eyes again, good-naturedly this time, and Merlin just rolls his eyes before seeming to sag again, speaking quietly:
“Come on, next one.”
Elyan raises his hand slightly before pointing to the centre of Merlin’s chest:
“How the hell did you get a burn like that?”
Merlin tenses, rubbing a hand over the roughly circular, pink and white scar in the centre of his chest. The flesh looked melted in places, white scar tissue spider-webbing out from his sternum, beginning to fade just before it stretched around his sides, and stopping a few inches above his naval:
“Witch threw a fireball at me. Hurt like hell, but there was quite a lot of adrenaline at the time so I didn’t really notice the pain until later.”
Gwaine raises an eyebrow, evidently trying to control his anger as he asks, in a shaking, though forceful, voice:
“And what were you doing fighting a witch powerful enough to throw fire around?”
Merlin stops rubbing at the scar when Lancelot tugs his hand and Mordred mutters “You’re going to hurt yourself, Merlin.” in his head, curling his hand tightly in his lap instead and speaking slowly, as if he were choosing each word individually:
“Only Leon and Arthur were in Camelot for that. Arthur was dying from the Questing Beast bite, I... went to the Isle of the Blessed to speak to the followers of the Old Religion. There was said to be someone there who had power over life and death and I... Arthur was dying, I had to try.-”
Arthur’s eyes widened at Merlin’s words, mostly the mention of such a power, but stays silent, nodding at him to continue:
“-But the Old Religion requires balance, a life for a life,-”
Leon releases a deep breath, looking to the floor at the implication with his eyes closed, and Arthur lets out a whispered whimper, knowing the depths of Merlin’s loyalty:
“-I offered my own in exchange for Arthur’s. She, Nimueh, that is, accepted,-”
Arthur opens his mouth to say something, he’s not sure what, but before he can yell about Merlin’s self preservation, he notices the darkness on his dearest friend’s face and his voice catches in his throat. Merlin stares at the floor, his face drawn and angry and his voice stormy and clipped:
“-but she tried to trick me. I didn’t appreciate that, we fought, she died. Her life for Arthur’s: the deal was done.”
An audible gasp goes up around the circle, and Percival, who is (other than Merlin and Mordred of course) the most well versed in Magic Info, responds breathlessly:
“Merlin... Nimueh is a High Priestess, The master over Life and Death, she’s very very powerful.”
Merlin looks up at the gentle giant sharply, his gaze unforgiving and his tone harsh:
“Yeah, and she’s also very very dead, because she pissed me off.”
Percival gulps and lowers his gaze, but Arthur seems to have missed everything the two of them just said as he stares blankly at his servant:
“You’d barely known me a year, and I’ll admit that I was an arse back then, and you tried to give your life for mine. Why?”
Merlin looks at him curiously, not responding for a few moments as his anger dies down and his pride grows:
“I had it on good authority that you would become a Great King one day. It only took a little squinting to see it, you were a good man, a man I was, and still am, prepared to sacrifice myself for. You were an arse, yes, you still sort of are, but I have faith in you, always have, always will.”
Lancelot and Mordred smile fondly at him as the other knights stare dumbfounded, but Arthur clenches his jaw, ignoring the shaking in his voice as he says:
“Well, I... I forbid it. You are officially forbidden from sacrificing yourself for me, legally.”
Gwaine perks up slightly:
“Out of curiosity, do we all get the same-”
Arthur interrupts him with a forceful, though slightly amused:
“Shut up, Gwaine. And no, you’re a knight, your entire job description is to jump head first into danger so I don’t have to. I have every faith that you’ll die for me one day.”
Everyone lets out quiet snorts at that, bar Gwaine of course, who looks jokingly affronted before he nods and shrugs, quietly muttering “Yeah, fair enough,-”, the rest of his sentence (”especially considering you’re in love with him but not any of us.”) goes unheard and unchallenged.
Merlin chooses not to respond to Arthur’s demand, but everyone knows that’s his way of not committing to anything, knowing full well that Merlin had never listened to Arthur’s orders before, and sure as shit wasn’t going to start now.
“Next one.”
Merlin’s face had fallen slightly, knowing he wasn’t going to get away with explaining only two sets of scars, and Gwaine asks next, his eyes being drawn to Merlin’s gesturing hand:
“The red bands around your wrists and neck. They look like burns, but not very deep ones. How did they scar if they weren’t deep?”
Merlin looks down at the scars on his wrists, resisting the urge to absent-mindedly claw at the one he knows sits low on his neck. They’re about two inches wide, pale pink and almost impossible to see in the dark but impossible not to see in the light of the noon sun, even sat in the shade. The edges were clean cut and perfectly straight, and Merlin winced slightly at the memory of his magic being contained in such a way.
He looks around the circle, speaking easily. Though it was painful, it was no where near the worst Merlin has ever had, and even if he couldn’t tell the full truth, it felt sort of nice not to have to hide these ones:
“Some sort of enchanted chains, they drained my energy, made me sick and tired, but the magic in the metal sort of... stung, I guess. I don’t really know. I’d been captured by Morgause (is Morgana not mentioned in this entire fic but still Good? Yes.) again and I suppose she didn’t want to take any chances.”
Everyone looks shocked at his casual admission, and Leon is the first to break the tense silence:
“When were you captured by Morgause?”
Before Merlin can respond, Arthur pipes up incredulously:
“Again. You said again. Merlin, how many times have you been kidnapped by Morgause without anyone realising? How many times have you been kidnapped in general?!”
Merlin winces slightly, speaking in a slightly defensive tone as he stares at Arthur as though the answer is obvious:
“Arthur... I’m The King’s personal manservant. I have the power to overrule the Steward and the Housekeeper if I wanted to; as far as servant’s go, I have the most authority, even more than some low level nobles, especially when it comes to running the citadel. I’m sort of... a big deal. I have access to pretty much any information I could want, even more than this lot-”
He gestures to the knights around the circle. Mordred and Lancelot look a little proud once again, Leon is staring at Arthur, shocked that The King didn’t know this, and everyone else stares at Merlin, only just realising that... Merlin was right. None of them have considered it before, but he practically runs the castle.
“-most of the time, and I’m the only one who knows every single state secret, simply from my proximity to you and your council and your paperwork. That is rather... desirable to people like Morgause, people who want to attack Camelot.”
Merlin purses his lips awkwardly as everyone stares at him blankly, but Gwaine is the first to break the silence:
“... and we’ve just been letting you walk around, unprotected.”
Merlin raises as eyebrow:
“I think we’ve already established I don’t need protection.”
Arthur huffs and throws his hands up awkwardly:
“Well you obviously do, if you’re getting kidnapped so often. When even was this?? You haven’t disappeared for a while, and we haven’t had any trouble from Morgause in months.”
Merlin’s face falls, and the knights are taken aback at the reappearance of the... cruel darkness in his expression:
“Believe me, I know. She... won’t be bothering us any longer, I wasn’t fond of her repeated attempts to kill me or you so I... took care of it.”
The knights go pale at Merlin’s casual admittance of killing yet another High Priestess of the Old Religion. He smirks into his lap briefly until Lance once again squeezes his hand, as if reminding him of the mask he should be wearing. Arthur stares at his servant and long time friend, struggling to reconcile the clumsy ideal he has in his head with this... hardened, tortured protector:
“How? Nimueh and Morgause... just... how??”
Merlin’s eyes slowly move up to meet Arthur’s gaze, and The King gulps at the assessing way the servant tilts his head:
“Playing the role of clumsy rural idiot can be a little demeaning sometimes, but it also means that people tend to underestimate me. They think I’m an easy target, and by the time they realise I’ve played them, it’s too late.”
Arthur recoils slightly, and Merlin once again changes dispositions, shrugging casually and smiling easily, his tone light:
“You can get away with a remarkable amount when people think you’re stupid.”
The circle lets out an in-sync breath. All of them knew that Merlin wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but they didn’t realise just how smart he is. None of them would admit it, but Elyan, Leon, Percival, Arthur, and even Gwaine on some level, still subconsciously considered Merlin “just a servant” in the back of their minds. At least... they did.
(Not that that old thought process made them think any less of him, they just didn’t think of him as complicated, as a warrior.)
Merlin takes a deep breath, knowing that his friends would never see him in the same way, but sort of hoping that that was a good thing, gesturing vaguely to the circle once again. Arthur asks the next question, touching his hand to the back of his own neck softly:
“There’s a cut on the back of your neck. It looks deep, like it was reopened over and over, what is it?”
Merlin grimaces slightly, wiping his free hand over his face in exhaustion as Lancelot squeezes his other hand, and Mordred pats his knee comfortingly:
“That one was a few years ago, courtesy of Morgause again. She put something called a Fomorrah in me-”
Percival gasped slightly, harshly whispering “Gods.” under his breath. Arthur spares him a quick glance, making a mental note to question how his knight seems to know so much about sorcery at a later date:
“-so she could try to make me kill Arthur; it sort of... controls you. Makes you only able to focus on whatever instruction you’re given when it’s first put in you. Gaius kept having to cut it out of me, it wouldn’t stop re-growing until we killed the rest of it’s body, and that was with Morgause somewhere out of the city.”
Arthur looked a little outraged, hiding the worry of “I now know that Merlin could kill me without any trouble at all so how the fuck am I alive?”. Apparently he doesn’t hide it well; Merlin gives him a comforting smile and shrugs his shoulders slightly:
“I fought the compulsion pretty well, kept coming up with increasingly complicated assassination plans instead of just... stabbing you in your sleep or something.”
Arthur goes to respond, but he’s interrupted by Leon loudly cursing, his eyes wide as he stares at Merlin with flushed cheeks:
“I just... gave you a crossbow!! You said you were going to kill Arthur and I thought you were joking and I let you walk out the armoury with a crossbow and a handful of bolts!!”
Merlin chuckles, a blush of his own rising as he responds, rubbing the back of his neck again:
“Yeah... I don’t really remember it, but Gaius and Gwen filled me in on what had happened. To be fair, it’s kind of flattering that you never considered that I was the assassin, despite the repeated attempts being made on Arthur’s life and the fact that I admitted it to your face.”
Leon stares at the floor with wide eyes, seemingly trying to process the fact that he had pointed a would be assassin in the right direction, muttering something along the lines of “oh my Gods oh my Gods oh my Gods” over and over until Elyan awkwardly patted him on the back, breaking him from his embarrassed horror.
Arthur clears his throat, staring at Merlin with an almost unreadable expression:
“I did wonder why the attempts just... stopped?”
Merlin understands the question in his tone and nods slightly before replying:
“Hmm. Gaius and Gwen figured out it was me, found a way to paralyse the thing in my neck until I managed to get back to Morgause’s little lair and kill the main body.”
Arthur nods distractedly. How many times had this happened? “This” being something entirely ridiculous and/or incredibly dangerous right under his nose.
Percival clears his throat and Merlin looks to the nervous man, nodding at him to ask whatever it was that was on his mind, despite his growing discomfort:
“There’s... on your back, it looks like a stab wound but... worse. The veins around it are black and it looks painful despite it’s obvious age and... well... it looks like a Serket Sting, but it... it can’t be, right?”
Merlin tenses, back to looking as exhausted and scared and as ready to bolt as he had at the beginning of the conversation. Lancelot squeezes his hand again, tightly this time, and Mordred takes his other to stop him from clenching it too harshly, murmuring:
“You don’t have to, Merlin, not this one.”
Arthur clenches his jaw at the knowledge that two of his knights had known about this. Had known the collage of agony on Merlin’s body, had known what he’d been through and done nothing. Hadn’t prevented it, hadn’t brought it to Arthur, hadn’t protected him. But equally, with how protective and loyal and secretive Merlin is, and how heartbroken the two of them had looked when Merlin first took his tunic off, they likely hadn’t known the full extent of damage.
Merlin just sighs and shakes his head, sensing the curious stares of the others before rising to his knees and turning around, running a shaking hand over the scar briefly before dropping his hand to his side again. The others stare, astounded. They’d only caught brief glimpses of it before, but now they could see it properly it was undoubtedly a Serket Sting.
The deep puncture mark on his lower back had closed up, but the skin was still sunken in slightly, red and angry looking with hints of purple towards the middle. Percival was right: dark veins, as if permanently poisoned, stretched out from the centre of the wound, dipping below the waistband of his trousers and fading about halfway up his back.
After a few moments, Merlin turns around again and sits back down, placing his still shaking hand back in Lance’s lap without prompting. Arthur’s one-word question is whispered and cracked, and no one judges him for the tears in his eyes; most of them have tears of their own gathering and falling at their friend’s pain:
“How?”
Merlin gulps, not looking up as he leans slightly into Mordred’s shoulder. The young knight presses back, knowing how fond the servant is of warm pressure, not minding the sticky sweatiness of their still uncovered torsos in the noon heat:
“Morgause again. She got annoyed with me always ruining her plans, getting in the way. Left me chained up in the middle of a nest of... in the middle of a nest.”
Leon takes a deep breath, rubbing his eyes harshly and sniffing before asking, his voice strong despite the slight waver:
“How did you survive that? I’ve... I’ve seen men get stung by serkets and it’s not... nice.”
Merlin breathes shakily, his mouth open slightly as he stares at the floor, memories flashing through his mind and the scar on his back twinging uncomfortably. Again, Percival was right, despite it’s age, it did still hurt. He takes one last deep breath, clenching his eyes shut tightly before looking up at the curly-haired knight, not quite making eye-contact:
“I uh... a lot of screaming, and the help of an... old friend. I was out of Camelot for a few days whilst I recovered, my friend didn’t fancy being executed for helping me, for just existing.”
Arthur furrows his brows but the others, bar Leon, nod in understanding, looking only slightly guilty and not looking to The King as he asks:
“What do you mean? If someone has found a way to cure a Serket sting then they most definitely wouldn’t be executed for it.”
Elyan snorts and Mordred and Lancelot frown at the floor as Merlin stares at Arthur with poorly concealed contempt:
“Arthur... the cure for a Serket sting has been around for centuries, it just involves very strong, very complicated magic. I didn’t fancy dying in absolute agony, and my friend didn’t fancy being executed for the act of saving my life so we stayed away from the city whilst he treated me.”
Arthur looks at his servant, dumbfounded and confused, and the knights stay silent in their awkwardness. Leon, a lifelong citizen of Camelot, is the only other person to look surprised at Merlin’s explanation, though he nods after a few moments, conceding that it... makes sense. Of course it does.
Mordred frowns when he notices Merlin’s knee begin to bounce up and down slightly, but it’s the way he gulps and tightens his grip on Lance’s hand that has the two knights begin to properly worry. They share a quick look, obviously agreeing on something, before Mordred takes Merlin’s other hand and settles a soft touch on his vibrating knee whilst Lancelot looks to Arthur:
“I think we’re done for the day. This has been... a lot.”
Merlin is getting paler by the second and Mordred can sense the man’s distress, shooting Lance a desperate look before subtly trying to shuffle closer to Merlin, who leans even further into his touch. Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, looking annoyed at Lancelot’s assertion and rolling his eyes before moving his gaze back to Merlin’s quivering form:
“No, Merlin’s suffered and I need to know why. There are mace wounds on both your shoulders, I remember one, but not the-”
Arthur is interrupted by a low whine from the back of Merlin’s throat as he thumps his head back against the tree, eyes still shut tightly. His words out come quietly and broken, as if it were a struggle to breathe, let alone speak:
“Can we please stop now?”
Mordred ignores Arthur, moving to kneel in front of the servant whilst Lancelot glares at The King. Arthur just huffs slightly, though he obviously completely underestimates the distress his friend is in, looking concerned, but not letting up:
“Merlin, we’ve barely gone through a third of them, we can’t stop-”
Lancelot lets out a low growl, letting go of Merlin’s hand and moving towards Arthur, glaring as he says:
“Arthur, we need to stop. Now.”
The young King looks taken aback, though the argument is stopped in his throat when Mordred’s quiet voice interrupts him:
“Merlin, you need to breathe.-”
He peers around the young knight as best he can, but Lance’s still vicious glare stops him from moving too close. Mordred brings one of Merlin’s hands up, pressing it against his chest and continuing his soft instructions:
“-Copy my breathing, alright? Can you tell me where you are right now, Merlin?”
The knights all stare on in horror at Merlin’s pale skin and ragged breathing, staying still in their places when Lancelot gestures at them firmly. It’s Merlin’s next word, cracked and whispered, that trigger another round of tears to gather in their eyes:
“C...cave.”
Mordred shakes his head slowly and Lancelot curses under his breath, kneeling back next to Mordred and retaking Merlin’s other hand, holding it between his own securely. Mordred’s soft voice floats in the wind, and if the knights weren’t so distracted by their friend’s pain, they would think it sounds almost magical:
“No, you’re safe, Merlin. Think, listen, feel. Can you try to tell me where you are again?
Merlin shakes his head roughly, his still-shut eyes not stopping the tears from squeezing out as he flinches, strikes of lightening-like agony shooting out from the scar on his lower back. Lance worries his lip between his teeth, rubbing one of his hands up and down Merlin’s shivering arm; a nod from Mordred has Lance speak, his words soft and low despite the waver in his voice:
“Merlin, you know where you are, and me and Mordred are right here with you. You need to open your eyes buddy, tell us where we are.”
Merlin’s breathing instantly seems to calm a little at Lancelot’s voice, and he cracks his bloodshot eyes open, immediately sighing when his blurry gaze lands on the canopy above him, whispering:
“Tree... sky... Camelot.”
The others can see Mordred let out a relieved sigh, and they force themselves to relax slightly. Merlin’s body sags again and Lance frowns, but the young servant’s stuttering words as he stares blankly up into the tree interrupt any reassurance he could have offered:
“Please, I can’t... I don’t... please don’t make me-”
Lance stills his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, not even paying the slightest bit of attention to anyone else as he replies:
“No one’s going to make you, Merlin, we can carry on another day-”
Arthur’s interrupted “But-” is quickly shut down when Lance turns around to glare at him, a sharp “-I said we’re done for the day.” sent his way.
Merlin flinches again, the pain in his back getting worse and worse and making it harder to keep a grasp on reality, so damning the consequences, Mordred presses a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes and he mouths the words to a sleeping spell as quietly as he can. Thankfully, everyone’s attention is on the glaring contest between Lancelot and The King, so no one immediately notices the way Merlin falls forwards into Mordred’s arms, not until he nudges Lance in the leg and mutters:
“He passed out. We should get him to Gaius, he needs proper rest and pain medication.”
Lancelot nods his head firmly, back to ignoring Arthur and the others as he moves to Merlin’s side, pulling his arm over his shoulder as Mordred does the same on the servant’s other side. Mordred’s eyes scan over the knights, searching for whoever looks the most likely to help without question; his gaze stills on a terribly worried looking Gwaine:
“Gwaine, run ahead to warn Gaius, tell him that Merlin had a really bad episode and then passed out.”
Gwaine gulps but nods, gathering his tunic in quick hands and putting it on haphazardly as he sprints back to the castle. Mordred and Lancelot adjust their grips, standing and bringing Merlin up with them as they turn in the direction Gwaine had ran and begin the careful journey back to the citadel. The knights follow behind them closely, hastily dressing themselves and desperate to ask questions, but knowing that now was not the time. Elyan jogs ahead of them to open doors and clear a path, and Percival had grabbed Merlin, Lancelot, and Mordred’s tunics as Leon put all of the swords away before catching up.
Thankfully they don’t come across many people, though Lance and Mordred still do their best to conceal Merlin between them, knowing that he would be distraught if anyone else saw his scars. They make good time to Gaius’ chambers, and they find the Physician preparing a few strong pain potions and sleeping draughts as Gwaine paced.
Gaius looks incredibly worried, but unsurprised, and Lance and Mordred carry Merlin up to his room without prompting; the sick feeling in Arthur’s stomach tells him that they’re practiced at this. The King goes to follow them, but they kick the door shut behind them so they can have at least a little privacy whilst they settle their friend in his bed. They leave the covers off, knowing that he’d just overheat or kick them off in the nightmares that they know are coming. Lance nods knowingly at Mordred, and the younger of the two moves swiftly back into the main room, shutting the door behind him again softly, avoiding eye contact with anyone bar Gaius, even as Percival hands him his tunic.
The elderly Physician raises an eyebrow, and Mordred answers the wordless question quietly, though not quiet enough for the other knights to not hear him:
“Not yet, but soon, he’ll definitely need a sleeping draught to get him through it. It was his back, so he’ll need the strongest pain one you’ve got.”
Gaius nods, picking up two of the many concoctions he had prepared, not reacting to Arthur’s desperate questions, leaving the conversation to Mordred:
“What are you talking about? Get through what??”
Mordred sighs and frowns slightly, unable to get over all of his anger at the King for pushing Merlin so far:
“The nightmares. He always gets them, especially after an episode that bad.”
Arthur recoils, just a little horrified, but Gwaine beats him to the mark, asking in a shaking voice:
“Episode??”
Mordred moves his gaze to the worried knight, a little more sympathetic to the man he knew was more loyal to Merlin than he was to The King:
“Flashbacks, panic attacks. Merlin has been through... a lot. Chronic pain or difficult conversations sometimes trigger a sort of... breakdown, he struggles to differentiate between memories and reality. Normally he can just wait it out with a little help. When it’s really bad we put him to sleep, it’s the only way to stop him from hurting himself accidentally.”
Everyone looks horrified at that, their focus on Mordred rather than Gaius, who was stealthily ascending the steps to Merlin’s room, potions in hand. Arthur is the first to break the tense silence:
“How long? How long as he been getting these episodes, and why the hell did no one think to tell me?!”
Mordred moves his harsh gaze back to The angry King, glaring at him when his voice rose:
“With all due respect, My Lord, lower your voice. Merlin needs rest, he needs to not be disturbed.”
Arthur looks annoyed, though still heartbroken, but nods slightly, almost whispering as he responds:
“You didn’t answer my questions. How long, and why wasn’t I told?”
Mordred sighs, looking to the floor briefly as he crosses his arms over his chest . After a few moments of considering his answer, he finally looks up again, suddenly appearing exhausted and resigned as he replies softly:
“I don’t really know. He didn’t tell us, we just... found out. It took us a while to convince him to explain it properly and let us help. He didn’t want anyone worrying or treating him like glass; it doesn’t happen very often at all, and this is... this is the worst one I’ve ever seen.”
Arthur frowns and shakes his head slightly, but it’s Leon that speaks next:
“Why not tell us, at least? What if something had happened and you weren’t with us? We wouldn’t have known what was wrong.”
Mordred takes a deep breath and shrugs, nodding slightly, obviously aware that he couldn’t tell them about his and Merlin’s mental link:
“We tried telling him that, but he wouldn’t have it. We were maybe one more conversation away from convincing him to tell Gwaine or Guinevere, but I guess that’s not necessary anymore.”
Arthur pushes down the twinge of jealousy that Merlin had never even considered telling him, but it obviously shows on his face; Mordred scowls slightly, clenching his hands to try and cover his annoyance. Before either men can say anything, Lancelot comes back down from Merlin’s room, leaving Gaius with the young servant:
“It’s starting, Mordred we need to go, everyone else, out.”
Percival throws Lance’s tunic to him as the knights move to the door, albeit reluctantly, but Arthur doesn’t move, glaring down at Mordred angrily when the younger man stops him from going into Merlin’s room:
“He’s my manservant, I want to be there when he wakes up.”
Mordred narrows his eyes, and Arthur kicks himself for never realising how much Merlin meant to him before now, but before the knight can say anything, Lancelot steps up next to him, answering in his stead:
“No, me and Mordred will be there, that’s all he needs. You need to go, My Lord.”
Arthur gears up to argue, to pull rank, squaring his shoulders and snarling slightly, but an angry Lancelot is something he’s never seen and never had to deal with before, so he’s far too surprised to say anything when the knight interrupts his posturing:
“I said no, Arthur. He has to pretend in front of you. You’ve already done this to him,-”
He gestures angrily to the door to Merlin’s room:
“-he needs to not tense up and stress out immediately upon waking up.”
Arthur steps back slightly, but clears his throat, pushing through the slight heartbreak and guilt to argue:
“Oh, and he doesn’t have to pretend in front of you two?”
Mordred rolls his eyes, giving Lancelot a pointed look before stalking up to Merlin’s room, leaving the older knight to deal with the angry King. Lance clenches his jaw and lets out a harsh breath, looking away briefly, as if trying to stop himself from saying anything cruel, before giving up and glaring back at Arthur:
“No. He doesn’t. Because we, and Gaius, are the only people who actually know the first thing about Merlin, and he trusts us. He needs space, and time to heal, and comfort, not the demanding presence of a King whose already pushed him too far, who treats him like shit and forces him to think he has to hide who he is. For God’s sake, Arthur, can you please, for once, think of anyone but yourself.”
Arthur widens his eyes, and though Lancelot looks a little like he regrets what he said, he doesn’t back down, nodding to the door behind Arthur and not moving away until The King steps back again. Arthur takes a deep breath, turning to exit the Physician’s chambers before the knight could see the guilt on his face and the tears in his eyes. He leaves without looking back, ignoring the gaggle of knights waiting worriedly in the hall and stalking straight to his chambers, only just managing to shut the door behind him before the tears finally started falling.
Back in Merlin’s room, the servant thrashes in his sleep, whimpering despite Mordred’s comforting whispers in his head, Gaius’ hand in his hair, and Lancelot’s soft lap as a pillow.
This... was going to be a tough one.
~
The End of part 1!!!
This was legit supposed to only be one part buuuuuuut we can all see how that went. Part two will follow on really quickly, but it was getting far too long to leave all as one 😅
I hope y’all enjoyed it, link to part 2(the final part) at the top!! :)
#merthur#good morgana#bbc merlin#hurt merlin#good mordred#protective lancelot#protective mordred#merthur whump#king arthur#merlin/arthur#morgana#mordred#sir mordred#leon#sir leon#gwaine#sir gwaine#lancelot#Sir Lancelot#sir percival#percival#elyan#sir elyan#gaius#bbc mordred#scar reveal#ptsd#tw: ptsd#lots of angst#part 1
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Legally Incapsulated
yandere!Bakugou Katsuki x darling!reader
In a different, dystopian world, yanderes are allowed to run rampant and they make up 15 percent of the population. It gets a little interesting when Bakugou, a protective yandere falls for you, a taken darling.
warnings: dystopian society (ig?), yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, reader has a bit of an early stockholm syndrome kinda thing, blood and near death, captivity.
also hi, i came back from the undead with an update.
.........
Bakugou laid on the ground, bleeding profusely, cold and alone. The red liquid soaked through his clothes, painting him as an ugly manifestation of destruction and death. However, he did not welcome the latter yet, clinging to-hanging tooth and nail to the threads of life.
What cruel irony. To be dumped somewhere so public, yet at a time when no one would bother to come. To have the Hero hanging onto the hope that someone would visit the park at three in the fucking morning.
A brutal fight between him and a particularly vicious villain ended in Katsuki suffering not only the humiliation of defeat but injuries that will do him in soon enough from blood loss. All alone, with no back-up, Katsuki suffered possibly the worst defeat of his life, for it might cost him that very same thing. Fucker attacked him after he finished his night shift too when no reporters or anyone would be around, knocking Katsuki out and dumping him in a public park just for the mockery of it.
His head felt light and doozy, and he was starting to succumb to the feeling sucking him in when he heard a gasp amidst the fog.
With what little stamina he has left, he turned around, sharp red eyes spotting a petite woman heading towards him.
You quickly got to his spot beneath a tree, crouching down and inspecting him, your warm eyes becoming horrified at the blood pool.
“Oh no, what happened here?! No matter. I’m going to call an ambulance. You’re going to be ok.” You reassured, or tried to, for the words coming out of your mouth could only be taken as self-assurance when one notices the dampness of your eyes. He tried to concentrate on what you were doing, but the next time he was aware of what was happening around him was when you clutched his hand tight with tears streaming down your cheeks.
“You’re gonna be ok.”
He sure hopes he will be now.
“What’s your name?”
Despite the haze covering, his red eyes zeroed on you, calmly taking you in despite the battered state he was in. You froze.
You stammered, heart hammering as you finally had another person's attention for once. It should’ve made you really ecstatic, but it just made you feel like you were naked on live TV.
“It’s um-“ you nibbled on your lip as if unused to your name, Katsuki just got lost in the dainty, delicate sound of your voice.
And when you said your name, as if testing foreign words on your tongue for the first time, he couldn’t help but think it suited you.
So pretty.
Honestly, if the sight of you is the only thing he’ll see before dying, he’ll be content. Your hand remained in hold his, your warmth travelling to his frigid hand and warming his very soul.
But the sound of ambulance sirens broke him out of his trance, and you too, it seems. For you broke away from him in fright, he had to hold back from grabbing you and keeping you close. He would, had he not been injured.
“Whe-where are you going?” He asked brokenly, desperate to keep the angel that saved him close. You shook your head, frightened and frantic. Looking at the time, and seemingly getting further and further.
“I’m sorry-I—I’ve got to go. I’m gonna late, I’ll get punished if I’m late.”
His heart sunk with every syllable you uttered, feeling a pain he had never felt before, something not tangible enough to be compared to injuries and not comprehensible enough for a man like Katsuki to express.
You’re a darling.
You’re someone’s darling.
By the time the ambulance rolled in and took him, you were long gone…
But not for long.
……………...
Katsuki Bakugo: Yandere.
Classification: Protective
Darling: Unregistered
In a world where yanderes are allowed to go rampant with their love, an ordinary citizen doesn’t know when they’ll become trapped by a person who claims to ‘love them unconditionally’. Thus making them a darling. And from the moment that label is put on them, the law ceases to help them and they become entirely at their yandere's mercy.
Yanderes are often separated into their schools and housed in their specified yandere classification ranging from obsessive, possessive and protective, and if a person overlaps two during their classification test they get reign into which house to go to. At UA, the houses are split between those three types and are equally split.
Katsuki, who scored rather high in both protective and obsessive traits, chose to go with the protective unit where he met Kirishima, who’s currently blabbering on about nothing in Katsuki’s hospital room.
“You barely made it man, I still can’t believe it. One can never be too careful these days.” He said, for the hundredth time. Katsuki was topless, the nurse having just finished bandaging his wounds. The stark white stood out against his chiseled, muscular front, it had every nurse swooning but he only had one thing on his mind.
You.
Where were you? Who were you? Did you really have a yandere? How can he take you away now?
No, he doesn’t like you. He’s just curious.
He’s survived this long without a darling. He doesn’t need one, contrary to popular societal belief.
When babies are three, they undergo tests and scans to see whether they have OLD, obsessive love disorder, which is something about 15 percent of the population suffers from.
They go to their own schools and such, but their identity as yanderes won’t be revealed to the general public, making it easy for yanderes to take their darlings by surprise when the grand reveal comes.
Katsuki himself attended a yandere oriented hero school, but what the public doesn’t know is that the acceptance rate is so low because only yanderes are accepted. Yanderes rarely, but not never, go for other yanderes so it poses as less of a distraction.
And so, the talented in the 15 percent of Japanese yandere are carefully picked and honed.
And the separation only proves something. That darlings are a distraction. He won’t be like other wanderers, he’ll get a hold of himself.
…………..
Y/N L/N: Darling
Under yandere of classification: Obsessive
Yandere name: Nagisa Mura
Katsuki ground his teeth, red orbs staring viciously at his computer screen. Hypothesizing and being faced with the fact that you do belong to someone else. The distraction, unneeded angel who fell from heaven just to save him.
Poor you, he bets that piece of shit doesn’t treat you as good as he could.
After looking further into you, he found several allegations of sexual assault made towards Mura that got completely dropped after he captured you.
A flash of searing pain made Katsuki jerk back, narrowly missing scorching his screen to smithereens.
He...he hurt you. The fucker hurt his angel, his princess...he hurt you, he hurt you, he hurt you.
He thought of your pretty, kissable lips, making unsure, clumsy movements as you tried to vocalise your name.
No, Katsuki has to have you. He needs to save you. It’s the only way for both of you to be happy at this point.
And this, spurred on a thorough check at your yandere, and Katsuki delved so deep that when he found what he wanted, he couldn’t help but break out into a lopsided, sinister grin.
………………
Nagisa burrowed his face in your neck, breathing in your scent while you sat still and rigid, not wanting to move away and risk his sanity flying away.
“Did you enjoy it?” He asked softly, suddenly attentively look at you with his cat-like, loving, sick eyes. Your heart palpitated in fear for a second before you nodded.
“Oh, where did you go? You...didn’t talk to anyone right?” Your heart erratically hammered, thinking that he might’ve somehow found out you did, and even told him your name. You shook your head at the speed of a sewing machine, then thought that might’ve perhaps been too aggressive to be convincing.
“I didn’t. I walked to the park and came back home.”
He sighed in satisfaction at that, moving his dark bangs back to stare at you with his green hues.
“I knew night time was a better idea. There would be no one around at this time that you can’t deal with with pepper spray. Fewer people to talk to, fewer people who see you” he was smiling, not breaking eye contact once, and with each syllable, his soft voice seemed to get more sinister and sinister.
You only nodded, pliant as a lamb in his grip as he twisted you however he wished. He buried his nose in your hair, inhaling the scent of you as if smelling a rare fragrant flower.
“We’ve gotten so far since the days in the orphanage when you refused to share your dolls with me when we were five.”
Memories. Something that should fill one with nostalgia, only filled you with an unbearable sense longing to a freer, more easy time. When you only had to worry about Nagisa bothering you during breakfast, lunchtime, movie time, sometimes worship time and wash time.
Desperate for a sense of normalcy, you hugged him back, feeling icy cold in his embrace.
“Nagi, what are we having for dinner?” A twinge of regret pierced you as you lowered your guard for a second. His hold became stiff, and he didn’t bother to swipe back his bangs as he flashed you a blank face.
“You’re thinking about dinner while we hug?”
But you knew how to deal with him better by now, deflecting his anger and turning it into something more malleable.
“Oh no, it’s just that I feel a little dizzy. I don’t think I ate or drank well those past few days.” You paired the lie with a yawn for extra measure, and the ice of his face melted to reveal a familiar worried expression pouted lips and widened greeny eyes.
He carefully put you down, bundling you in a blanket before he rushed to the kitchen to prepare you some food.
The worry he harboured for your well being should’ve filled you with warmth, but instead, you were left twiddling your thumbs and rocking yourself back and forth, an unexplainable feeling of doom filled you.
The feeling of a hand touching you caused you to spring out of your reverie in fright, but the sight of the green hues staring back at you only calmed you a fraction. He put the food in front of you, which he brought back with some vitamins because he can’t have you getting sick.
“Thank you…” you murmured, feeling incredibly stupid and useless.
He insisted he feed you and that you go to bed early.
But as you laid in bed, thoughts of strange red irises and their bewitching beholder swarmed your thoughts along with the fatigue. You hope he’s alright…
You wanted to check on him, but if you asked or even implied to Nagisa that you met someone, let alone a man albeit injured or not, that he will opt to not let you out for a year again, or possibly longer this time.
Even in his injured form, there was something undeniably feral about him, as if ready to pounce any second and gamble his chances at life if the situation called for it. It frightened you.
You shook your head, willing comfort to return to you through the soft duvet and sheets enveloping your body. You better sleep before Nagisa comes to bed and finds you awake…
…….
Finally, Bakugou has the best reason to get that fuck arrested. And you? Poor you, you’re going to have your yandere taken away, and you can’t *just* be let free. You didn’t earn it after all. Well, you would have, had there not being a perfectly suitable yandere for you to be rehomed with.
Heh, to think of it, you might hate him a little for this...but he’ll show you that he can treat you better, in no time, you’ll be wrapped around his finger like he’s shamefully wrapped around yours.
Bakugou’s thoughts come to an abrupt halt when the L-word is mentioned, not noticing when his thoughts spiralled to that degree. His deranged obsession with you had been planted the moment you saved him, but Katsuki didn’t notice when he lost the wheel of his rationality to his heart.
Yeah, sure, he did background checks on you, felt a twinge of pain when he realised you grew up in an orphanage, felt a tornado of anger when he saw the assault charges that went nowhere after that obsessive fuck captured you. Yeah, ok, he felt proud when he saw that you were the valedictorian. But… where did the stone hearted Katsuki go? Where did the one who was afraid of getting close to anyone in case his true nature shows and distracts him from his dream go?
But then, he remembered your glassy eyes, staring at him in worry that no one ever showed towards him before, fumbling with his phone to dial the ambulance while holding his hand. Telling him he’ll be ok.
The moment Bakugo looked in the mirror, he knew he lost.
His cheeks were flaming hot.
Whatever, he better start preparing your room.
…….
It felt like preparing the room of a newborn baby, Katsuki bought enough stuffed animals and plushies to make it resemble a fluffy asylum, along with pastel pink sheets. Your name was also put on the wall, with cursive pink letters that had butterflies surrounding them.
Not to forget a dresser filled with all kinds of things you could ever desire. But his favourite was filling the closet.
Besides adding some of his own shirts, he stuffed it with all kinds of pretty dresser and cute clothes that he can’t wait to see you wear.
Bakugo dusted his hands, taking a sigh and looking at the finished guestroom, previously a spare but now your own room, it looked as if a sparkly fairy vomited all over it. Hopefully you’ll like it…
He wishes you were here to see it…
An unfamiliar sense of isolation invaded his heart, perhaps it was the realisation that he just finished a room to a person who doesn’t even live with him *yet*, or knowing what he’s missing out on with you, but he knew he desperately wanted you here.
He wanted to protect you from the bastard who has you in his clutches
……..
A day later
You sat on the sofa, munching on some popcorn while you sat on Nagisa’s lap, watching anime.
A rough knock sounded out, the sound so aggressive is sounded as if the wood itself was gonna break under the aggressive force. Nagisa tensed up, he wasn’t expecting any guests, in fact, he rarely invites anyone over. He disassociated the both of you from any acquaintances from the orphanage, and you weren’t allowed to mingle with anyone.
He saw your curious look, even without any verbal question, but he opted to simply kiss your forehead and put you on the sofa.
He quickly went to answer the door, but not without grabbing a dagger and hiding it somewhere discreet.
He turned the knob, feeling his chest tighten painfully, as if sensing a near, imminent loss.
Three aggressive, toned cops welcomed his sight as soon as the door was open. They forced their way inside, cuffing him and telling him things, words that were spoken too fast and went over his head as the only thought that went through his head aas you.
He turned around to where he left you, but you were suddenly standing besides one of the officers, not allowed near him. No…
“According to our database, you are a yandere who has a darling. This means that she will be permanently taken away from you and handed to an eligible yandere as part of your punishment.”
He swallowed, his gaze, which always seemed morbid to you, now looked panicked and morose, gaze moving like a boomerang between you and the officers, as if not processing what’s happening.
“Nagisa, what have you done?” He couldn’t answer you, he couldn’t speak a word. You were leaving him, and there’s nothing that he can do.
“Eligible yandere? But as far as I know, there’s no one after her besides me.” The thought comforted him. Maybe he’ll recapture you after he serves whatever sentence he has, even though he’ll have to do it on the down low now. It’s illegal for a yandere who had their darling taken away to go after them again.
“Well you thought wrong. Scum”
Bakugou felt like the star of the show, coming in to rescue his damsel and finish his quest, with you as the prize.
Your mouth was agape, the little hope that simmered in you that you might possibly be free is now crushed, confusion coming full force in place of it. His face was all too familiar, it was the face of the man you found on death's door only a few days ago.
Nagisa’s face blanked, turning to you with bloody accusations in his eyes, which made your vision narrow to only focus on him, afraid to make eye contact yet afraid not to. You almost felt the bile rise up your stomach as goosebumps covered your entire body at his familiar, haunting stare.
“(Y/n)...how does he know you?”
“I-“ you swallowed, unable to answer. Who is he?
The dots were starting to connect in Nagisa’s head, however, instead of his chilling rage, all you got was a sad, nostalgic smile.
“Very well (y/n), it’s ok.” You couldn’t feel relieved from his ambiguous tone. Your very gut screaming at you that something was wrong.
And your gut was right.
“It’s ok, I know you didn’t mean for any of this to happen, I’m sure of it but I’m sorry because if I can’t have you then nobody can.” In the blink of an eye, Nagisa charged at you with a dagger, with speed you didn’t know he possessed, while you were frozen in place in fear.
However, before he could reach you, the blond, brawny man moved like the wind, catching the hand that threatened you, firing an explosion at the wrist in a show of wrath, probably giving Nagisa third degree burns, then twisting his arms behind his back and pushing him harshly into the floor. The level of strength between them was visibly imbalanced to the blondes' favour, Nagisa was by no means fit or sturdy, not at all when compared to the wall of strength in front of you.
The officers, novices who should have expected this turn of events by all means, have proven to be useless until the very end of this spectacle, thanking the blond the blond profusely while handcuffing the hysterical Nagisa, who was taken kicking and screaming by one of the officers while one stayed behind.
“Miss (y/n), I believe? Sorry we couldn’t prevent this unsavoury turn of events, that criminal will be locked for good, you don’t have to worry about him.” The officer tried to reassure the frightened lady in front of him, disappointed that a yandere would try to kill the person he loves. That was one of the most prohibited laws, though what can he expect from a criminal?
“You don’t have to worry about your safety though, as it turns out, you will be rehomed with Mr Dynamight. This will serve as both a punishment for the offending yandere and a way for darlings who haven’t earned their freedom to stay with their next eligible caretaker.”
You nodded shily, overwhelmed by the influx of information directed at you. It didn’t help that you barely spoke to anyone besides Nagisa in years.
The officer took your agreeableness in stride, scramming quickly as he physically felt the burn of Bakugou’s stare.
Now it was just him and you.
“You ok?” He managed to mutter, not sure how to start a conversation with you now that he had you.
You nodded, not facing him. Are you ok?
You felt the moisture gathering in your eyes, making your eyes seem like gleaming crystals.
Of course you weren’t ok.
You just had the person who, for years, claimed they loved you, stole you against your will and forced you to adapt to a lifestyle that suited them try to kill you. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry but apparently your body did as it broke into a sob.
Your shoulders shook in failing effort to try to hide yourself from him-Mr Dynamight or something, but he felt his heart clench when he heard you sniffle.
You heard him kiss his teeth, and you had a half mind to apologise, having unfond memories of the sound, but he instead, to your surprise, brought his beefy arms around you and embraced you warmly.
Your crying halted, head turning up to fave him with a ‘deer caught in the headlights’ look in your eyes, making him blush and turn away from you with another kiss of his teeth.
“Stop crying.”
Why did his simple gesture stop your tears? Why are you not trying to make a run for it?
Most importantly, why do you feel something warm blooming in your chest instead of hate?
You looked at him, trying to channel all the hate you harbored for Nagisa for this newfound captor of yours, but all you could think about is when he saved you from Nagisa’s sharp blade— how strong and capable he was, really, shouldn’t you be thankful?
At that moment, you experienced something that never happened to you in your years of being with Nagisa.
You blushed.
……
You stepped through Bakugou’s house, already having an idea of what kind of lavish place it is from the exterior, but you were nevertheless impressed.
The place is something out of a movie, extremely different to the small and cozy apartment you lived in. Everything seemed up to date and costly.
You didn’t notice Bakugou preening in pride at the impressed look on your face. He tried to appear nonchalant, but he was seconds away from grabbing your hand in excitement as he tours you around the place.
Still, he wanted some form of contact with you, so he opted to put a hand behind your back, excusing it as you being too slow when you turned to him with a quizzical look.
His hand felt warm on your back.
“This is the bathroom nearest to your room, but there’s one in your room as well.”
Your room. It felt strangely delighting to have something be your own, when previously everything was ours with Nagisa. Everything was happening so quickly, you didn’t know whether you should try to pause to catch your breath or pick up your pace.
“And uh, this is your room.” This time you did notice Bakugou’s redness, it was quite hard not to when his entire face was red. Of course it would be.
The room looked like it was something out of a barbie house. Soft, pastel rugs paired with baby pink curtains. Plush, stuffed dolls littered the place, some small and some big enough to engulf you. You slowly stepped inside, unsure how to feel about this interior, until you felt your bed. It was also a gentle pink, but the catch was how featherlight soft it was, it felt silky, and the mattress reminded you of when you’d dream of sleeping on a cloud.
“Like it?” He asked, not taking his eyes off your blessed face. That’s the first he’s seen this expression on you. He feels almost cheated, like he would have seen way more of you and learnt way more than he already knows if that piece of shit let you out.
You hummed to him in response.
“Good, ‘cuz it’s your nap time now.”
“Huh?” You straightened your back, looking at him in protest.
“But, I still have things to ask you! Plus, I don’t need a freaking nap-“
“Sleep now, questions later.”
The sun was starting to dip, giving the room a warm, orange glow which did make you feel somewhat lethargic. Bakugou closed the curtains, and shut the door, but surprisingly didn’t leave your room. He pulled the covers back, gesturing for you to slip under. You were afraid for a moment that he was gonna slither his way inside as well, uninvited. But he merely sat besides your supine form.
“Um-?”
“I’m gonna stay here ‘till you fall asleep.” You nodded mutely, not finding a point to objecting anymore. You never have a say anyways. But, this wasn’t so bad. He put his large hand on your head, caressing it and admiring its texture, and how amazing it feels beneath his fingers. You felt his touch to be invasive at first. Who does he think he is, touching you when you don’t even know him?
But you don’t speak. You instead relax and let the stress you built up melt away, and you welcome sleep.
…..
Your eyes slowly fluttered open to the feeling of someone lately shaking you. You were disoriented, glancing around the fluffy place in confusion, your eyes looking adorably lost and confused.
“C’mon dumbass. It’s time for dinner.”
Oh, right, you were living with him now.
“I put the clothes you’re gonna wear on your bed, and here are your slippers.” You glanced on the bed, seeing a comfy looking white, silky pyjama dress slippers at the foot of your bed.
“Ok.” You nodded, “I got it.”
He gave you one final final intense look leaving your bedroom.
…….
In the dining room, Bakugou had already set everything up. He made your favourite food, lit up some candles and sat down, anxious glancing at the door and waiting for you to appear. Will you like it? Will you ask him questions? Do you enjoy living with him so far?
If the answer to some of those questions is no, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He does know that you aren’t going anywhere though.
You quietly walked in, feeling the tension increase with each step you took.
You spied the contents on the table, salivating at the smell of your favourite food like a starved ogre, not even bothering to grimace at the memory of Nagisa’s poor attempt at making it.
Bakugou was salivating as well, but for different reasons. He couldn’t look away from your exposed skin, staring creepily as if he’s never seen a leg before.
The meal was consumed with awkwardness, neither party breaking the ice. You were afraid of confrontation, of asking too many questions and receiving nothing but anger and resentment in return. He seems so much nicer than Nagisa, you didn’t want him to hate you.
The silence reigned, and the dishes were cleared away and being washed by Bakugou, who insisted you stay near him but also insisted you stay unoccupied.
Every moment that passed felt like a moment lost, and you kept summoning your courage, but the words just wouldn’t leave your mouth. Maybe you should build up to what you really wanted to ask instead of jumping straight to it.
You saw his red eyes sneakily glancing at you, rapidly leaving your form when you noticed him, causing his ears and face to flush.
“So um, what do you do?” he quirked an eyebrow, looking at you strangely while his movements didn’t pause.
“You-you don’t know?!” he exploded, looking at you in disbelief. You just shook your head like a deer caught in headlights.
Oh, that shit must’ve not let you watch TV much.
“I’m a pro hero.”
Your eyes widened in wonder, the decadence of the place suddenly making sense.
“Cool! What’s your quirk?” he ditched the dishes, excitedly showing you his quirk and explaining how it works, delighted at your cute smile and interest in him. The air felt charged and lively, and maybe that’s what led you to ask the questions that have being nagging at you.
“So um, how did you-uh, how did you even find out anything about me?”
Your heart dropped when you saw the excitement on his face disappear, his usual scowl in place of it.
“You told me your name, that’s all I needed to know. I never stopped thinking about you ever since I saw you, I tried but I couldn’t. If even someone as strong as me can end up on death's door, then what would happen to you? I couldn’t just leave you.” At this point, he was caressing your face, looking at you with love stricken eyes. You were reminded of who you were talking to, you were talking to a Protective yandere, who took you.
You didn’t have to ask anything else really, pandora’s box opened, and everything you weren’t previously privy to is now made obvious to you.
“It sickened me though, knowing you actually fucking belonged to someone else. So how could I leave you? I had to save you like you saved me.” he had both of his huge hands on your face, looking at you with pure insanity, love, adoration and bloodthirst swirling and mixing in his irises. He was a yandere, he was the person every ordinary person should fear, he has you in his clutches, you should be trying to escape and regain your freedom, you saw first hand how easily capable of hurting you he could be if he wanted… So why weren’t you scared?
#yandere katsuki#yandere bakugou#bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki#bakugou#bnha bakugo katsuki#bnha bakugo#bnha bakugou#boku no hero academia#boku no hero fanfic#bnha#mha#mha x reader#katsuki bakugo imagine#katsuki#bakugou scenarios#bakugou headcanon#bakugou scenario#bakugo#bakugo fluff#my hero fanfic#katsuki bakugou
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Personal Demon
Summary: Because of a mistake, you're assigned a devil instead of an angel.
Pairing: Demon!Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader
Warnings & Conent: oh boy, here we go - language, mentions of suicide, mentions of self harm, mentions of rape, fingering, unprotexted sex, alcohol consumption, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of reader in an asylum, sliiiiight dumbification of reader, slight corruption of reader, Eren's a little shit
Word Count: 3.9 k
A/N: So I wrote this in, like, 3-4 days because I felt like it's pretty bad but not bad enough not to post it. I hope you still enjoy it, though!
You always felt it — breathing in your nape, moving in the corner of your room at night, whispering things you shouldn't dare think about. Your own personal demon. Most of the time you did a good job at ignoring it. Most of the time you abused substances to make it go away, at least for a minute. With the puff of weed or a bottle of alcohol, it stayed away, only watching from afar and never involving itself with you. Most of the time.
Keys clung in your hands, door shutting behind as you walked into your apartment, fingers wrapped around your grocery bags. Yet another night of drinking the voice away.
"Not today, Satan." You hummed, popping open a bottle of gin, nose scrunching at the bitter taste.
"I keep telling you, the easiest way to get rid of me would be to kill yourself." It spoke, this time outside of your head.
"And I keep telling you to stay the fuck away from me." You growled back.
"We both know that's not possible."
Another sip and you put the bottle down, hands digging inside the bag for a snack.
"You're gonna need something stronger than that."
There it was, the bar of chocolate you so eagerly starved for. The TV suddenly turned on. It was craving entertainment.
"Anything unusual happened today?"
No, it was craving attention and you were not about to give it any. You put the groceries inside the fridge and grabbed the bottle, plopping on the couch.
"How long are you going to pretend I'm not here?"
"As long as I need." You snapped back, eyes glued to the TV.
"Well, that didn't last long." It laughed. "Come on, Y/N, we've been together for, what, 24 years?"
"Can you just shut up? Disappear? Crawl back to Hell?"
"Nope. Waaaaait, I know why you've got your panties in a twist. It's because that Jean guy you like hooked up with Mikasa, right?"
It was impossible to deal with. Every single second, it was there. Since you've been born, it was there, always watching, always following you, always. You tried to go to a priest, a monk, anything, but nothing helped. The angel that was supposed to guide you happened to be a demon and there was nothing you could do about it. But you were not going to give it the satisfaction of ending your pathetic life, no matter how much you wanted to, because despite being a demon, it still had to keep you alive until your time came. It, however, did like to push you over the edge, push you until you grabbed a knife and slit your wrists, only for the knife to get shoved by some invisible force before you could finish the job. It tormented you and it loved it.
"I told you, not today, Satan."
"Ugh, my name's-"
"I don't care." Your head snapped into the direction of the voice, only to be met with a wall. "Let's face it, we shouldn't have been in this situation, so why don't you shut your mouth up and let me get on with my life?"
"What life?" It laughed and you could already picture the sneer on its face, flashing you fangs and a forked tongue. "That's not even what I look like."
"Get out of my head!" You screamed before grabbing the bottle and emptying half of its contents.
"Careful, Y/N, the neighbours might call the police and you don't want to end up like last time, do you?"
Last time... you were but a child, throwing plates at the wall only to make it stop talking when your parents admitted you to an asylum. You had to live with it for half a year before they let you out.
"Please, please stay out of my head." Tears pooled at your eyes as you clutched the bottle at your chest.
"Now why would I stay out when it's just so much fun in you?"
"God, I hate you so much!"
"Me or beardy up there? I couldn't quite get it." It laughed again, laughing at your damn misery as you got up from the couch and left the apartment.
The alcohol already made its way to your brain when you reached the ground floor of the building. Rain poured outside but you didn't care, you just ran as far away from it as possible and for the first time in years, it didn't follow you. Grateful and content, you slowed down, admiring the beauty of the city which you ignored because of the voice inside of your head. The smell of rain, the colourful buildings, the empty streets, everything felt new and refreshing, and you took it all in. Time seemed to slow down without itconstantly nagging in the back of your mind and you realised you were pretty far away from your home, an area unknown to you. Still, you knew how to get back, you hoped, but when you turned around, a man pushed you into an alleyway.
"Satan?" You whispered, dizzy from the lingering gin and smell of rain. The man pinned you to a wall and finally you were beginning to realise what was happening.
"Call me whatever you want, baby, just keep that pretty voice down." His hand moved up your thigh and panic seeped through your veins. "We don't want to draw any attention, now, do we?" He kissed your neck and you froze on the spot, eyes widening in fear and body shivering.
"L-let go of me!" You managed, the alcohol numbing your arms, rendering you unable to push the stranger away.
"Shhh, don't fight it." The man squeezed your arms, his fingers bruising the soft skin. Anger, sadness and pain coiled together in your chest and you couldn't breathe anymore. Oh, how you wished you never left your flat, how you wished you stayed back and listened to itconstantly yapping, like a maggot crawling into your brain. "Aren't you a pretty one?" He cooed, his hand travelling lower, lower, to the point where tears started rolling down your cheeks, mixing with the snot and rain on your face.
And then it happened — in the blink of an eye, your assailant was thrown against the other wall by the too familiar invisible force as you sank to the ground, eyes puffy and red, legs trembling.
"The fuck? What are you?" The man hissed at you, his hands holding his abdomen.
"I'm the devil." It spoke, voice inhuman and perilous, and you could only sneer at him. For the first time you were happy it was there. Sick, twisted thoughts invaded your mind and you wanted to watch him suffer, and itknew. It knew, because the devil was always in your head.
"You crazy bitch!" The assailant, now helpless and overpowered, did not know about your own personal demon, and he tried to get up, tried to leap forward at you and strangle the last bit of air out of your lungs, but he couldn't. Somethingwas holding him back.
"You want him dead?" It asked, but you know the devil took more pleasure in inflicting pain rather than swiftly killing.
"No." You grinned, eyes dark and dangerous. "I want him to suffer."
"That's my girl."
Blood-curling screams echoed in the alleyway. You didn't know what it was doing to him, but you knew for a fact that you were enjoying the sounds that came out of your attacker. His wrists contorted in a way you didn't think was possible, and the melody of broken bones reminded you that what was happening was wrong. For a moment, your brain was rational, telling you that it should stop, that you should both just leave and forget this ever happened. But... it also felt good, it felt like you've just been reborn, discovering a deeply buried part of you that ached to be exposed. Then, his legs twisted and the man winced in pain, so much pain, and your heart fluttered in your chest.
"More?" It asked and you nodded.
"More."
His arms looped, like a deformed puppet loosely strung, and it made him dance in the rain until his body gave up from fatigue.
"Aw, I was really hoping he'd be a feisty one." It mused, and you also clicked your tongue in disappointment. Before you left, you gave your assailant a good kick in the stomach, your boot stomping on his face with so much anger and force that what remained was unrecognisable.
Wet clothes piled on the floor, you wrapped your naked body in a blanket to warm yourself up. What just happened? What did you do? Why did you allow it to happen and more importantly, why did you love every minute of it? The questions jogged in your fuzzy brain, as you slowly sobered up.
"Why did I enjoy it, Satan?" You asked, lips quivering.
"I told you, my name's not Satan, it's-"
"Eren, I know. I remember." You could feel it quirk a brow, surprised and impressed by its name rolling down your tongue so naturally. "Why did I enjoy it? It's wrong and disgusting."
"Do you remember what happens when you say my name?" It sounded almost concerned.
"You physically manifest, I know. Now answer my fuckingquestion."
"What do you want me to say?" Itasked, fragments of muscle, skin and silk pulling together from thin air. First, its legs. Then, its upper body, draped in a charcoal-black robe. "That you're as sadistic as I am? Maybe it wasn't a mistake that you have a demon, not an angel." And finally, its face materialised in front of you — long dark brown hair falling down his shoulders and eyes so green, it felt like a forest was in them. It looked almost human, the hooked nose, the elongated ears, the deeply sunken emeralds and jagged mouth betraying its true nature.
"I thought you'd have fangs." Was your only response at the scene unfolding in front of you, blanket clutched at your chest. Any normal person would shudder at the demonic sight of Eren appearing in front of them, but to you, it felt comforting to finally assign a face to the voice you so desperately tried to ignore.
"And I thought you wanted to get rid of me." It scoffed, its facial features changing, becoming softer and resembling a human man, but those eyes didn't change an ounce.
"I don't know what I want anymore. If it weren't for you, I would've been raped and dead, probably."
"Just embrace it, Y/N. Just let go of that annoying voice in your head that tells you it's wrong." He encouraged. "There's no such thing as good or bad, right or wrong. It's just surviving, adapting or dying."
Eren looked unbelievably human and incredibly handsome in the dim light of your living room lamp. Maybe it was the alcohol that hasn't left your body yet, or maybe it was the fact that he saved you, again, but the truth was that the devil in your house was making you feel something you couldn't even feel for Jean — and you thought you were in love with Jean.
"Alright, let's pretend for a moment that I give into temptation." Your eyes found his and you felt hypnotised, the rational part of your brain slowly overshadowed by your instincts and feelings. "What then? Do you leave me alone? Do you go back to hell? Do Igo to hell?"
"Oh, I wouldn't call it hell. More like a demonic paradise." He shrugged, eyes bored and blank, devout of any emotion. You leaned forward trying to search for something in his darkened orbs.
"Why are you being nice to me? You're supposed to save me from death, not rape."
He clicked his tongue, your question drilling into his brain, repeating itself over and over again. Why did he save you? It's not like he cared, he only did his job, right? Right?
Wrong.
The demon you grew up with, the demon who tormented you, the demon who tried so desperately to ruin your life did, in fact, give two shits about you and your pathetic existence. Just not in the way you thought.
"Let's just say no one gets to touch you but me." Eren closed the gap between you two, his nose almost grazing over yours. He was absolutely intoxicating and you always fought with the constant need to let him control you. After all, he was always with you, he saw you hit your lowest points, he saw the best of you, he saw your naked body, he saw everything, ergo you were his. Your head quickly turned to the side before you leaned back, exhaustion written all over your face as Eren clicked his tongue. The thing about demons was that they couldn't physically interfere without their human's consent, only using invisible force to stop you from dying and he was just so close.
"Ah, but you can't touch me, though." You trailed off, brow quirked at his narrowed eyes. You've done your homework, you knew what he needed, but still, that side of you tried to prevail over the side that craved his touch.
"Yet." Eren snapped back before your drifted to sleep.
Once again you dreamt of it him, his cock buried deep inside your needy cunt as you screamed his name over and over again while you came undone. When you jolted up from your sleep, he was there, watching you, like a predator stalking its prey. Normally he wouldn't be there, but since you called his name, Eren was glaring down at your helpless body, famished for something only you could give him.
"What's the time?" You groaned, fingers rubbing your eyelids.
"Three in the morning." He answered, eyes glued to you. "Bad dream?" The demon sneered. You knew he'd been in your head again, you knew those dreams existed for a reason.
"They wouldn't be bad if you'd just stay the fuck out of my mind." You hummed with a fake smile.
"Alright then, look me in the eye and tell me, reallytell me you want me to leave you alone." But you couldn't and he knew it. "Stop fighting it, Y/N. For two decades you kept trying. Maybe you should stop being stubborn and just give in." Eren shrugged, his voice tempting and you only wondered if that's how Eve felt when the snake tempted her. You weren't a Christian by any means, but you knew the story well enough to figure out the consequences.
"I have work tomorrow. Please let me sleep." You got up from the couch, blanket wrapped around your shoulders.
And that's when Eren reached his limits. He followed you into your bedroom, something knocking the wind out of you as you fell on the mattress. Somethingpulling the blanket off of you. Somethingtravelling down your arms, goosebumps dotting your skin as he stood in the doorway.
"I can't touch you, but I can do so many things to you." He inched closer, his figure imposing and dangerous and you could feel your core burning. "I can smell your arousal, Y/N. I know you want it. You just have to say it." Eren demanded and you hated that he was right. Slowly but surely, the battle in your heart and mind was coming to an end the more he got closer to the bed. "Say it."
You whined and writhed in pain and pleasure, and in the blink of an eye your life flashed before your eyes as you came to the conclusion that you've tried so hard to stay away from the demon, but either he was too persistent, or you were too weak. Or you just simply wanted him to ravage you and you were okay with that. Your hands stopped moving, your body stopped fighting.
"Do it..." You half-begged, judgement clouded, vision blurry. "Please, do it! Touch me, break me, fuck me, please! I need you, need to feel you..."
Like some sort of spell had just been lifted, Eren felt relieved. The sight of your sprawled body, combined with the lustful look in your lidded eyes only fed his hunger and he was famished. Calloused fingertips grazed over your knees, up your thighs, sending chills down your spine as you arched your back, pulling the demon closer to your face.
"Kiss me?" You asked, voice sweet and needy and he crushed his lips onto yours. They were surprisingly soft, tasting of whiskey and honey and the flavour lingered on your lips after he pulled away. Your body quivered under his touch, yearning for more, hands tugging at his silken robe to expose the chiselled chest. Eren pressed his forehead onto yours, hot breath tickling your cheeks.
"I'm going to ruin you, Y/N." He dug his teeth into your shoulder, the imprint burning into your skin, all the pent-up frustration slowly being released with each movement. He dragged one hand over your breasts before settling on one nipple, fingers pinching it to earn a reaction out of you. A whimper escaped from your lips as you pushed your chest upwards, wanting him closer than the laws of physics would allow. Your slender hands tangled in his locks as Eren left a trail of purple marks and bites all over your neck and shoulder.
"Fill me up, please..."
"Patience." He mused. "I've waited so many years for this, you can wait a few more minutes." Head buried between your tits, his hand travelled lower until it found your wet cunt. Fingers grazed over your folds before he drove his index into your soaked pussy and that's when you knew just how much you craved him. Your silken walls clenched around his curled-up finger and your neediness made him add another one, moans drilling through his eardrums, into his brain. "Fuck, you're so wet..." Eren hummed, vibrations tickling your skin. You couldn't form a coherent sentence even if your life counted on it. All you could think about was that if his fingers stretched you, his cock would tear your cunt apart — and you reallywanted to feel that. Fingernails dug into his back and he hissed, his tongue flicking your nipple and all the build-up was too much for you.
"Eren, please..." You mewled, your chest rising and falling with each breath, with each touch, each lick.
"You want me to fuck you? Want me to tear you apart?" The demon growled. His sudden change in tone only further added fuel to the fire inside your core and you eagerly nodded.
"Yes, God — yes! But Eren, I want to see you, not this pretty face you put on." You pleaded, eyes teary and demanding.
"No." He simply answered and that instantly made you jolt up, forcefully pushing him off of you.
"Are you trying to screw with my mind again? You've literally been with me for 24 years!" You shouted, and even Eren was slightly confused. "You tormented me for two decades, put me in an asylum, constantly stopped me from killing myself and now I can't even see the real you?" You threw your hands at him and he caught your wrists with ease. "You owe me at least that, Satan." Tears freely rolled down your face and you could feel his hot tongue lick the salty drops from your cheek. Your pain was his pleasure, he was a demon after all, the embodiment of all evil, but he decided you were corruptedenough to at least see his true colours, which you only managed to glance at.
"You're right, Y/N," Eren kissed your forehead and you couldn't even notice the manipulative hints in his voice, "you deserve at least this." He pulled back, and slowly his face distorted, allowing you to look at his disfigured mouth, elongated ears and abnormally long tongue.
"Thank you, thank you!" You beamed with bright eyes.
The woman who battled her demon? Gone.
In her place stood only a shell of a person, whose sole purpose was to get fucked by the demon in front of her. You feverishly parted his lips with your tongue, touch-starved and desperate, and Eren threw you onto the bed, robe pooled on the floor. And you were right, his cock wouldtear you apart by the looks of it. Before he could do anything, you spread your legs for him, like a good little slut, mouth agape and nothing but lust in your eyes. The sneer on his face was unlike anything you've seen before, and it both terrified and aroused you.
"Eager to please, aren't you?" He climbed onto the bed, the velvety tip of his cock barely touching your wet slit.
"I'm begging you, Eren, please fuck me!"
The demon scoffed at your pathetic words, but he couldn't deny how much he loved to hear your needy voice. You wouldn't have to know that, of course. He ever so slowly pushed the tip in between your folds, your cunt greedily taking it all in while you whimpered at the foreign sensation.
"Shhh," Eren cooed at you mockingly, "you love it, don't you?"
"Y-yes, please, d-deeper..."
Was it really you speaking or was this another one of his demonic tricks? And more importantly, did it even matter that he made you say those things when his cock felt just so good inside of you? Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you as Eren thrusts became harder. Your tits bounced with every move, pleasure engulfing both of you and you never knew demons fucked so raw.
"Fuck, you're so tight." He hissed into your ear, the compliment only making you clench your walls around his impossibly hard cock. "Such a good girl." Eren praised you, knowing perfectly well how much you lacked appreciation from your parents, knowing perfectly well how your childhood traumas and frustration only aided him. He was your demon, after all. When your only response was to roll your eyes at the back of your head like a possessed woman, Eren picked up the pace, his abnormal tongue licking at your collarbone.
"D-do you l-like it?" You asked, concerned that he might not be satisfied with you. He wouldn't be fucking you so hard if he didn't, but you were so brainwashed that nothing made sense anymore.
"I do, doll, now be a good whore and rub that clit, will you?" The demon urged and with a shaky hand you complied, the friction mixed with his thrusts sending you into a frenzy. You were close and he knew it.
"Oh, f-fuck! Eren!"
His cock hit that sweet spot and you were done for, your legs loosened around his waist, falling onto the bed, but he kept on fucking you.
"My turn." Eren growled, his hands lifting your hips like you were some sort of ragdoll between his fingers. Your vision blurred, every word you tried to utter lost in your throat the more he buried himself into you, yet somehow you still managed to clench your walls. With one final thrust you felt him spill his hot seed, cum dripping out of your sore cunt as he pulled out.
Eren plopped next to you and you curled up in a ball, head on his chest. You were craving his attention, his care, but he responded by bringing his hands behind his head, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. He wanted to hold you tightly, he wanted to pet your head, but he couldn’t. And you were alright with that, because you knew that, no matter what, you would always have your own personal demon at your side.
#eren jaeger#eren smut#eren x reader#eren jaeger x reader#eren yaeger x reader#eren jaeger smut#eren yaeger smut#aot#aot x reader#aot smut#attack on titan#snk#snk x reader#snk smut#shingeki no kyoujin
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Prompt: Au where lwj marries wwx after the bloodbath at nevernight, taking him back to gusu and hiding him in the jingshi, just like qhj did with madam lan. Also presumably like madam lan, wwx did not ask for it, nor does he appreciate it. The difference: wwx has the power to do something about it - after all, you can seal qi, but there’s no way to stop someone from performing demonic cultivation. (and, the lan sect forgot that a prison would probably have quite a bit of resentful energy in it)
“So, about half of that plan worked,” Wei Wuxian said, and Lan Wangji had the grace to look embarrassed. “Didn’t think the second half through, did you?”
Lan Wangji refrained from commenting, but then again, he was Lan Wangji.
“They don’t seriously think I’m going to just sit here in this tiny room for the rest of my life, do they?”
Lan Wangji looked – long-suffering.
It was a good thing, Wei Wuxian reflected, that Lan Wangji had confessed his feelings quite so desperately in those brief moments they’d been alone in the cave, or else he would be really upset with him right now.
Well, he was a little upset.
But it was difficult to be too upset when Lan Wangji had looked at him with that gaze, said those words, pressed his mouth to his –
“Oooh, wait, are you supposed to stay in seclusion here, too?” Wei Wuxian asked interestedly. “That’s the precedent, right? We get married and both go into seclusion, and then churn out a few kids – I could definitely give trying to make kids a solid effort, if you know what I mean –”
Lan Wangji’s ears turned red when he was embarrassed. “Wei Ying!”
“Oh no, it’s too late now,” Wei Wuxian said gleefully. “You rescued my Wen sect, you married me, you told me you like me; you’re stuck with me now! And in our very own fuck shack!”
“Wei Ying!”
Wei Wuxian didn’t know what he would do if he’d recovered from the paralysis Wen Qing had put him in to find them all dead – he would have reacted terribly – instead of the whole cultivation world ablaze with the news of Lan Wangji having stolen them right out of the Jin sect’s hands. If that hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t have stopped to wait for news, confused by the sudden twist; he wouldn’t have encountered Lan Wangji, rushing to find him, wouldn’t have read the message he’d passed along from Jiang Yanli, wouldn’t have heard him confess…
Wouldn’t have married him.
Lan Wangji was looking at him like he was the sun, moon and stars again, just at the mention of their marriage, and the only way handle the emotions churned up by that was clearly to start chanting, “Fuck shack! Fuck shack! Fuck shack!” on repeat until Lan Wangji covered his face with his sleeves in despair.
Yes, Wei Wuxian had heard the story about Lan Wangji’s mother, how this had been her place to live after her own crime – how she must have conceived her two sons here.
Yes, he was aware that calling it a fuck shack was in terrible taste.
No, he didn’t care as long as it got him out of having to confront feelings.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” he said after a little while, laughing. “But seriously. What’s your sect’s plan here? Do they think that locking away my spiritual energy –”
Nonexistent spiritual energy, coincidentally.
“ – will allow them to keep me here forever? That’s not how demonic cultivation works.”
After all, there was plenty of resentment here to work with.
Wei Wuxian carefully didn’t think about how much of that resentment must have been from Lan Wangji’s mother.
“Unnecessary,” Lan Wangji said.
“So there is a plan,” Wei Wuxian said with satisfaction. “Well, not your sect’s, but you, yourself, have a plan. What is it?”
“Once matters calm, my brother will propose a debate with the other sects on the subject of my actions and yours, with the goal of agreeing that our punishment be left wholly in the hands of the Lan sect, the Tiger Seal sealed away or destroyed and both the Wen sect and you to be carefully monitored,” Lan Wangji said. “During that time, my uncle will come let us out.”
“Teacher Lan? Really?”
Lan Wangji didn’t repeat things, so he didn’t say anything, but he looked pleased – a little surprised himself, but happy to have had his suspicions proven right.
With both Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen on their side, it would be very difficult for the Lan sect elders to carry through their original plan. Lan Xichen would very carefully not agree to exactly what type of “monitoring” would be appropriate, allowing them to make their own assumptions, and if after everything had been settled the Sect Leader agreed that Lan Wangji could be the one to “monitor” Wei Wuxian, well, that was too bad for them.
An argument that would only be strengthened by the two of them being far away already, because to argue too much would be to lose face in front of the rest of the cultivation world - the only thing the Lan sect elders liked even less than his demonic cultivation.
“Huh,” Wei Wuxian said. “I didn’t think he liked me that much.”
“He does not,” Lan Wangji said. “If events were otherwise, he would have tried to keep me from you. But since things have come this far, he would prefer for me to be happy.”
“What happens after we leave?” Wei Wuxian asked.
Lan Wangji shrugged.
Wei Wuxian supposed that they could be rogue cultivators, staying at the outskirts of the other sects’ territories until the furor died down; with the Tiger Seal gone and Wei Wuxian technically under the supervision of a member of the Lan sect, they wouldn’t have much basis to argue. Travelling together – probably letting Wen Ning tag along – maybe with a donkey –
“We could have a farm,” Wei Wuxian said, brightening. “Just the two of us!”
Lan Wangji smiled.
Wei Wuxian’s heart skipped a beat.
“Yeah,” he said, a little weakly. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”
And maybe they wouldn’t need to fight the whole cultivation world off with his demonic cultivation to do it…although if that were necessary, he was willing and able.
No one was getting in the way of this marriage.
#mdzs#lan wangji#wei wuxian#wangxian#my fic#my fics#I couldn't resist going with the funny take on this#sssrha
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𝙼𝚢 𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝙱𝚘𝚢𝚜 (𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆!)
ᴛᴡ: ɪɴᴄ*ꜱᴛ, ᴛʜʀᴇᴇꜱᴏᴍᴇ, ᴛᴇɴᴛᴀᴄʟᴇ ꜱᴇx, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ, ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜱᴇx, ᴀɴᴀʟ ꜱᴇx, ʀɪᴍᴍɪɴɢ, ʟᴇᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ/ ᴄᴏʟʟᴀʀꜱ, ᴀɴᴀʟ ɢᴀᴘɪɴɢ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙᴅꜱᴍ (ʙᴏɴᴅᴀɢᴇ, ɢᴀɢɢɪɴɢ, ʜᴀɴᴅᴄᴜꜰꜰꜱ), ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴏʀɢᴀꜱᴍ ᴅᴇɴɪᴀʟ
𝟏𝟖+! 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈!
“Who are my good boys?” Arthur purred as he looked down at the two men situated at his feet. Two leashes were held firmly in Arthur’s hold, trailing down to where it connected with the black collars around his pets’ necks. He reached out to card his fingers through jet-black hair, then moving over to messy blonde, hearing them purr in contentment. Meliodas and Zeldris. The two demon princes that had destroyed his kingdom all those months ago. As Arthur finally awakened from his coma, he had gazed upon the strip of land that was once filled with bustling streets, the smells of freshly baked bread and leather filling the air.
It had all been taken away from him in what seemed like the blink of an eye. His cheerful, more jovial side had been replaced by a more sinister evil that resided in him thanks to the power of Chaos. Arthur had vowed to get revenge on his dead people, and hunt down the foul creatures who were responsible for their deaths. He had captured the youngest demon first, who didn’t go down without a fight. But in time, his mind had been soothed, corrupted into serving Arthur with whatever he had needed. He was absolutely obedient to the king now, as was his brother.
He continued petting their heads for a few moments longer, watching to see what their reactions would be. Zeldris was the first to break, whining pitifully as he swayed on his hands and knees. Arthur raised a brow as he looked at him. “Why the whine, my love?” he asked, his hand stopping its movements. Zeldris didn’t speak, his tongue hanging slightly out of his mouth as he continued. Arthur knew exactly what he wanted, but refused to say it. He wanted to see Zeldris suffer, growing desperate as his hips started moving, grinding into the dirt as he stared up at him.
Arthur’s hand reached out, cupping his chin as he whispered, “I think I know what you want. You want to skip this silly foreplay, and get to the real action, is that it?” Zeldris’ loud whimper in response gave Arthur all the confirmation he needed, and he leaned down to whisper in his ear, “You want to be filled, right? You want me to push you onto my cock? Make your brother watch as I pound your ass. Is that what you need?” Zeldris nodded, his eyes hazy with lust as he replied, “Yes, sir. I want it, I want it all.” Arthur’s gaze darkened as he stared at the youngest demon. “Get up.”
Zeldris immediately stood up, his hard cock in full view, no clothes on his body anywhere. He saw Meliodas’ eyes slide to the side, focused directly on his brother’s ass. Meliodas licked his lips subtly, but stayed silent as Zeldris walked forward into Arthur’s embrace. Arthur allowed Chaos to summon another arm jutting from where his other arm had been severed, trailing his hands down to rest on his backside. “You’ve been such good boys these past few days,” Arthur murmured in Zeldris’ ear, cupping his cheeks and bouncing them in his hold. His eyes trailed to Meliodas, who was watching intently, waiting for Arthur’s next command.
“You both deserve a reward for it,” Arthur said, his hands harshly grabbing Zel’s ass, wringing a cry out of him as he spread his cheeks, his puckered hole on display for Meliodas. The eldest wasted no time, and darted forward to shove his face in between Zeldris’ legs, his tongue working furiously against his brother’s anus. Zeldris shuddered in Arthur’s hold, his hands gripping for dear life as his brother ate him out. “Ah a-ah! B-brother, fuck you’re t-tongue feels so- AH- so fucking a-amazing!” Arthur allowed both men to chase their pleasure for a few more moments, before he reached out, pushing Meliodas’ head away. Without waiting for Zeldris to catch his breath, his hands gripped the underside of his thighs, lifting him up and situating him over his hard, aching cock.
With a swift move, Zeldris’ ass was seated against his hips, his cock fully inside his pet. Zeldris threw his head back, releasing a cry as pleasure raced through his body. Arthur shuddered at the feeling of his tight walls squeezing him, jerking his hips up to push himself deeper into the demon. After a few moments, he began bouncing Zeldris up and down, hearing him moan as he was constantly moved up and down on his master’s cock, constantly being filled by Arthur. Arthur looked down at Meliodas, speaking to him through his grunts and pants. “Such a g-good boy you are, M-Meliodas. So patient. You can pleasure me a-as well if you w-want.”
Meliodas stayed where he was, his eyes laser-focused on Zeldris’ ass, watching as it was pushed up and down. Arthur made a noise of realization as he looked at Meliodas. “You want more of your brother, I assume?” he groaned, watching as Meliodas nodded. He heard Zeldris groan in his ear at the mention of Meliodas also fucking him. Arthur turned to whisper in his ear. “You want both our cocks inside you? Filling you up to the brim with cum?” Zeldris whimpered in response.
Arthur leaned in closer, his warm breath fanning over his ear as he slowed his hips. “Do you want both me and your brother fucking you at the same time? Is that what you want? For your ass to be filled with both our fat cocks? You’re such a good cockslut, Zeldris. Wanting both our dicks inside your tight ass.” Zeldris moaned loudly as Arthur purred in his ear the naughty things the demon would get to experience. As Arthur watched his pet writhe in his arms, his mind changed, and a cruel smirk twisted on his face. He quickly lifted Zeldris off him, dumping him on the ground. Zeldris looked at him in confusion, a whine leaving his throat as he stared at Arthur in sorrow. Arthur smiled as he pet Zeldris’ head in reassurance. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, my pet. You’ll get what you want soon enough. But first it’s my turn.”
He grabbed the leash off the floor, tugging him so that he was face to face with his cock. “You know what to do,” he murmured, “If you do a good job, you’ll get a reward.” Zeldris licked his lips and quickly got to work, wrapping his lips over the head, slowly easing down to swallow the entirety of his master’s cock. Arthur moaned at the sensation, leaning his head back as Zeldris began swallowing around him, sending pleasure soaring through every nerve of his body. As the youngest worked, Arthur looked over to Meliodas, jerking his chin behind himself. Meliodas immediately took the hint, situating himself on the other side of Arthur, the head of his cock sliding between Arthur’s cheeks and pressing against his opening.
In one quick thrust, his cock was seated inside Arthur, the force of the thrust causing Arthur’s hips to jerk forward, slightly gagging Zeldris from the sudden movement, tears appearing at the corners of his eyes. Both brothers worked for a few moments, chasing both their pleasure as well as Arthur’s. As Arthur watched his pets work, he silently called upon Chaos to summon another thing that would aid in their pleasure. He watched as thick tentacles appeared in front of him, weaving silently in the air. Both Zeldris and Meliodas were too busy pleasuring Arthur, not noticing the tentacles as Arthur situated them both on the backsides of either demon. Twin gasps escaped both as the tentacles instantly forced their way inside their asses to the girthiest point of the appendage, forcing their asses to accommodate for the sudden intrusion.
Meliodas’ hands gripped Arthur’s sides, his fingers digging into his skin as he moaned loudly, feeling the tentacle slowly thrust inside him, spreading his legs underneath him to allow the tentacle to work its way deeper inside his ass. Arthur watched as his fingers slowly slid around his waist to grip Zeldris head, his fingers digging into his brother’s scalp as Zeldris continued to suck him off, albeit sloppily thanks to the sudden, but very welcome, intrusion to his backside. “You didn’t think that I would leave you to pleasure me without your asses being filled,” Arthur cooed between heavy pants.
All he received was lustful moans from both brothers. Arthur allowed himself to fall into pleasure, his ass being filled from Meliodas, and his dick being sucked by Zeldris. Soon enough, he felt his orgasm approach, and he began jerking his hips as he chased it. All three men moaned in tandem as all three were pleasured. It wasn’t long before Arthur felt his release crash over him, and subconsciously as he came in Zeldris’ mouth, he made the tentacles cum inside the brothers as well. He felt Meliodas’ fingers turn into claws of darkness, and he dug them into Arthur’s hips, snarling in satisfaction as he was also filled with cum. Zeldris also let out a gurgling moan, desperately trying to swallow Arthur’s release.
As Arthur’s breathing slowed, he felt both pull away from him, collapsing on the ground. Their stomachs were slightly extended from the amount of cum that he had allowed the tentacles to release into them. But he wasn’t done with them yet. He felt Meliodas’ release dripping down his thigh, and saw the pool of cum from Zeldris at his feet, and his eyes narrowed as he stared at both of them. “You came without my permission,” he growled, both brothers looking up at him as they realized the weight of his words. “We couldn’t help it, master! We were just in so much pleasure and-.” Zeldris was stopped as Arthur held up a hand.
He smiled down at Zeldris, leaning down to caress his cheek, staring into his wide eyes. “You came without my permission. Both of you did.” He looked over at Meliodas, grabbing his leash and jerking it, causing Meliodas to gasp as he quickly crawled over beside Zeldris. Both were silent, waiting for their punishment that awaited them. “Meliodas, get on your hands and knees, legs spread apart, ass facing me,” Arthur ordered. The blonde quickly did as Arthur asked, the king getting a clear view of his cum-stained ass, his anus stretched from before as cum dribbled onto the ground below. Arthur looked down at Zeldris, and told him to do the exact same thing, but face the other way.
Arthur called on Chaos again, making a makeshift cockring to put around both Meliodas and Zeldris, strapping their dicks together, forcing their asses to press against each other. In a few seconds flat, both were blindfolded, gagged, and handcuffed by the ankles as Arthur summoned a new tentacle. This one was even bigger than the last, and was pointed on both ends, serving as a double dildo. Arthur watched as it slowly worked its way inside Meliodas, hearing his muffled moans of pleasure, then forcing its way inside Zeldris. As both moaned and shuddered, Arthur began to talk. “This is punishment for cumming without my permission, boys. You won’t get to cum at all, while the tentacle penetrating both your asses right now will. Over and over again. All this will end when I come back. Then, and only then will you be allowed to cum.” He turned around, waving over his shoulder as the tentacle began to thrust and move inside both demons, hearing their moans as they started to receive pleasure again. “Have fun you two! I’ll be back in a few hours.” With that said, he walked away, the simultaneous moans of Zeldris and Meliodas echoing throughout the room as he made his way to his room.
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peccant pt.1
▹ pairing: lucifer x fem!reader, mammon x fem!reader, leviathan x fem!reader, satan x fem!reader, asmodeus x fem!reader, beelzebub x fem!reader, belphegor x fem!reader
▹ genre: smut, rut!au
▹ words: 6.6k
▹ rating: nsfw
▹ warnings: mc curses like a sailor and solomon has no filter, lucifer’s had a rough time, a pinch of grinding, mentions of masturbation, hickies, explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, rough sex
▹ notes: tadaa! this took a bit longer than I had originally planned (hence the big gap between the sneak peek and the full release) but I was determined to crank this out for @hornywrath‘s birthday! hope you enjoy a lil bit of mammon hun, and happy birthday! also, I guess this also counts for a 400 follower milestone, which we hit very recently! thank you all for being here, I hope the wait was worth it ;)
“Solomon, I’m about ready to fight someone,” you seethed to the sorcerer as you glared up at his ceiling from your comfortable resting spot on top of his bed.
The entire situation was ridiculous. The brothers had been actively avoiding you almost all week, which was annoying enough, but today they had cut off all communication with you entirely. No one came down to breakfast, no one was in any of your shared classes, and no one even bothered to text you so you’d know what the hell was going on. If they were going to give you the cold shoulder the LEAST they could do would be to tell you why.
Instead, you were left to wonder what you had done wrong because surely there was some explanation for their behavior. After a full day of scouring your memory during boring classes (in which there was no one to distract you, unlike usual) you were still drawing a blank on what exactly you had done.
This only meant one thing: you were 100% innocent in this situation, and the brothers would never live this down if you had anything to say about it.
When you were about halfway back to the House of Lamentation after class your D.D.D. buzzed. Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest seeing that the notification was a text from Lucifer. It was the first time any of the brothers had contacted you all day! With any luck, you’d finally get some explanation as to just what was going on, and (if you were lucky) an apology. The second one is highly unlikely given that it was Lucifer who had texted you, but you still had hope. That is, until you opened the message.
After class, immediately go to Purgatory Hall. You will be staying there with the other exchange students until further notice.
A second set of buzzes followed the first, in case one punch to your heart wasn’t enough.
Under no circumstances are you allowed to return to the House of Lamentation without permission.
Excuse you? Were you seriously just told that you weren’t allowed in your own house anymore? Sadly, yes, that seemed to be exactly what had just happened, and Lucifer isn’t the sort of person that you’d argue with about an order.
But come on, you hadn’t even gotten an explanation!
With no other choice, you turned your livid butt around and marched (read: stomped) over to your new home, ready to tell (read: rant to) your fellow exchange students of the injustices you had been served as of late. As if Lady Luck wanted to send an ‘F U’ herself, Solomon was the only one in Purgatory Hall when you arrived. Not the beautiful and benevolent Simeon, or Luke, who you thought of as an angelic younger brother, but Solomon, with a fox’s grin that was far too smug for your liking. And, unfortunately, the smugness only grew as you lamented about how abysmally bad your week had been thus far.
“Oh, y/n,” he said, a teasing coo woven into his tone. Your attention shifted from his incredibly interesting ceiling to his incredibly boring head that he was propping up on his desk with his incredibly boring hand. Solomon may be one of your best friends, but you’d be lying if you said he didn’t push your buttons all the damn time. “You’re so naive to the ways of the world.”
“Sorry I’m not a fancy pants magic bitch like you,” you grumbled with no real bite behind your words. Would you believe he then had the audacity to snicker at you? Because that’s exactly what he did. It took all of your strength plus a little extra from the Big Man Upstairs to not clock the white-haired menace into next week. “Solomon, explain to me what’s going on before I do something I won’t regret.”
Ever the fake pacifist, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, no need for violence. And, really, it’s your own fault that you don’t know about demon ruts.”
Silence filled the room, leaving you to sit there and drown in it as Solomon seemingly decided the desk itself would make a much more comfortable seat than his chair. With just those few words he had managed to switch your brain from operating on Google Chrome to Internet Explorer, and what is the next thing he does? Perches on his desk like it was normal.
After some time passed with you buffering and Solomon preening as if he had just been graced by God, you finally managed to spit out, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
More snickering. Try as you might, you couldn’t fight off the blush that had been steadily creeping onto your cheeks, so you instead gave in and decided to find out as much as you could. “You mean, right now, they’re at home—”
“Jacking themselves off on anything of yours that they can get their cummy little demon mitts on? Ding ding ding, you’ve guessed it! Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been in your room already. Having a—” calculating eyes swept your form from head to toe before continuing irritatingly hesitantly, “presumably fertile female so close is akin to torture when they’re rutting, so what remains of your pheromones are probably the only thing they can smell at the moment.”
Taking the high road for once in your little gremlin life, you chose to ignore the ‘presumably fertile’ comment and remained focused on the topic at hand: the brothers were going through a demon rutting period. “That is so unbelievably disgusting and hot at the same time.”
So some of your inner gremlin slipped out, sue you.
Solomon sighed as if he expected nothing more from you, white strands of hair falling onto his face as he pressed it into the palms of his hands. “Leave it to you to be turned on by the suffering of others.”
“Shut it, Solomon, you know what I mean.” Heat flared across your cheeks at the insinuation. You may be many things, but a sadist was not one of them; Lucifer had that title locked down anyway. “Dammit. What do I do, Solomon? Lucifer texted me saying that I can’t go back, so does he really expect me to wear the same clothes for however many days it takes for their ruts to end?”
“Probably. He’s twisted like that. Ooh, what if he’s getting off to the idea that you’re—”
Before you had a chance to cut Solomon off from finishing a sentence that would have undoubtedly mortified you to no end, a series of rapid-fire buzzes from your phone did it for you. You had patted both yourself and the area around you on the bed down thoroughly only for Solomon to dangle your phone in the air. Warning bells sounded off in your head loud and clear the moment you noticed his cheeky grin.
“I think you should put this one on speaker.”
With a flick of his wrist, your phone sailed through the air and landed on the bed next to you after you failed to catch it. Ignoring Solomon’s snort, you flipped your phone over to see who was calling you. The name, along with everything you had just discussed with Solomon, caused your pulse to pound in your ears.
It was Mammon.
Panic ran through your veins like liquid lightning. Should you answer it? There could only be one reason why he would be calling if he was rutting. Warmth shot straight to your core. Deep down, you realize that if he was calling you to ask for help, you’d say yes. Solomon cleared his throat and gestured at your phone, reminding you to answer before you lost your chance. Without hesitation, you answered the call, switching to speakerphone with a pointed glare from the man across from you.
Within seconds, breathy groans rang out from the phone. Your face flushed as you spared a glance at Solomon, who had donned a shit-eating grin, before your attention snapped back to the phone upon hearing Mammon’s voice. “Where are ya, y/n?” he whined. “I need ya so bad.”
Your teeth caught your bottom lip between them. “Lucifer told me not to come back for now, so I’m at Purgatory Hall.”
A string of expletives exploded from the speaker, although they died down as quickly as they started. When Mammon addressed you again, the pleading tone to his voice was in no way subtle. “Please. . . Please come help me, y/n. I need ya.”
“Mammon, babe, are you rutting?” Your eyes widened in horror while Solomon snickered gleefully; the question had fallen out before you could really even think about it.
You weren’t given much time to worry over it, though, as Mammon answered in confirmation, “Yeah. And everythin’. . . Everythin’ fuckin’ HURTS. It hurts so bad, y/n, please.” Images of some of your succubi and incubi friends flashed through your head. It would probably be best that a demon helped him through his heat. If you helped, you’d likely get hurt. You had just begun to offer to call one of your friends when your words were cut short with a growl. “No, dammit! I only want you! Only you, ya hear me, y/n?”
A milky-white hand clamped firmly against his mouth was the only thing preventing Solomon from alerting Mammon to the fact that you were not the only human hearing him at that moment, and that hand was getting dangerously close to not being enough to save the two of you. The thought of how Mammon would react upon finding the two of you out sent a shiver down your back. You could NOT let that happen.
Executive authority coursed through you as you turned off the speakerphone and brought it up to your ear instead; a curling lick of satisfaction in your chest was the only thing Solomon’s huff of discontent managed to elicit. “Okay, Mammon, I’m on my way.”
A pleased groan answered your words, followed by a click. You blinked a few times, waiting to no avail for anything else— he had hung up on you. Although you’re not quite sure what you expected (some thanks would have been nice) you couldn’t help but to notice how your body seemed to be thrumming with anticipation.
“Oh, you’re on your way, are you? You DO realize that if you go to help one of them you’ll have to help ALL of them, right? So are you stupid? Is that it?” the whirlwind that was Solomon accused, white brows furrowed in total scorn. “And here I was, thinking that you were a creature of intelligence. Oh, how it pains me to be wrong.”
Already on your feet, you pocketed your phone and smoothed out your clothes, ready to head to the House of Lamentation at any moment. After concluding that you were presentable enough to go have a demon rip your clothes off your body— a matter that you had grown incredibly serious about in a somewhat suspiciously short amount of time, as if the thought of being ravaged by the brothers had crossed your mind before— you turned to address the snarky sorcerer in the room. “You heard him, Solomon. He’s in serious pain right now, and he wasn’t going to accept anyone else’s help getting through it.”
“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it,” he said in exasperation. “He’s a DEMON. He’d say whatever he needed to in order to get you there!”
Arguing with him was clearly going to get you nowhere. Instead, you stared down Solomon, daring him to continue trying to change your mind. It was a battle of the minds, and luckily for you, you happened to be one of the most bull-headed humans to ever grace the earth. After what couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, Solomon relented with a burdened groan.
“Fine, just let me cast a spell on you so you aren’t impregnated and obliterated, for the love of God.” His eyes searched yours imploringly. If you didn’t know any better you’d almost think that he was worried about you, but that would be a ridiculous idea. Still, you agreed, to which he let out a breath of relief.
Without wasting any time he crossed the room and took your hands in his own. Low mutterings in a language you didn’t recognize left his mouth, so you focused on the feeling of his hands; they were surprisingly soft and a bit bigger than you had previously thought.
A faint warmth and a corresponding tingling sensation started at your fingertips and soon encased your entire body, the tingling somehow reassuring as it raised goosebumps to the surface of your skin. Your eyes flitted up to Solomon’s questioningly, only for them to widen in shock— his eyes had gone entirely white and were glowing. Just as you were about to admit that his magic was actually pretty cool, it stopped.
The warmth and tingling disappeared, and Solomon’s eyes blinked back to normal. The only effect of the magic that you could feel was a particular humming sensation in your lower abdomen. That, and you felt like you could take on Diavolo himself and win, but that wasn’t a new feeling; an uncommon one, sure, but definitely not new.
Satisfied with his work, Solomon staggered a few steps backward before flopping onto his bed. “You should be good to go.” He propped himself up on his elbows, fixing you with a squinted stare. “You’re lucky I enjoy our banter, y/n. Can’t let you go and get yourself fucked to death, now can I?”
“God, don’t phrase it like that,” you said in a strangled voice, to which Solomon cackled and dropped onto his back once again. Just when you thought the two of you might have grown closer, he had to go and say something as mortifying as that. With renewed vigor, you scurry out of the room.
Solomon’s silvery voice echoed through the open door behind you. “Like what, the truth?”
He just managed to catch your snort before you walked out of earshot, leaving the sorcerer sprawled out on his bed, his chest heaving in deep breaths of air. The spell he had cast on you had taken quite a bit out of him. Now, he struggled to even keep his eyes open as waves of sleep crashed over him.
Would it normally take this much energy to prepare a human body for a demon rut? He supposed not, although it wasn’t exactly something he did except on the rare occasion, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you wouldn’t just be dealing with one demon. There was something else, too. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Ah, well, it was sure to come to him after he had rested up again. The comforting blanket of sleep settled over him, as well as his own blankets after he slipped under their covers. Right before he entered dreamland, the vision of a glowing pact mark appeared in his mind. His eyebrows knitted together; was this a premonition?
However, the mark was soon swallowed up by the foggy mist of his mind, and Solomon drifted off to sleep.
x x x x x
Never before had you gotten to the House of Lamentation faster than you did today. Just going home wasn’t nearly the same level of motivation as going to get some demon dick, so you hauled ass in record time, weaving in and out of random pedestrians you encountered that were walking the paths around the Devildom. Your friends really were right: you had no hope of making it into heaven. The worst part is, they had no clue whatsoever how true that statement was.
You came to a halt in front of the dorm you had recently come to call home, your hands on your knees as you struggled to regain your breath. It took everything you had not to just collapse into a weary heap on the front steps, but the promise of what was to come was enough to keep you going. Instead, you took a minute to steady your breathing before climbing the steps and slipping into the house. Technically, Lucifer had forbidden you from coming home, so it would probably be best to not alert him to your unwanted presence.
Thankfully, you had plenty of practice tip-toeing around from all of the times you’d snuck out with Asmo to go clubbing. Lucifer would never know you were there.
As you snuck past the kitchen toward the hallway of bedrooms, the sound of the tap turning on freeze you in your tracks. With your heart in your throat, you slowly twisted your head toward the direction of the sound, hoping from the bottom of your sin-stained heart that the person responsible wasn’t who you thought it was.
There, his bare back hunched over the sink with a glass of water clenched tightly in his degloved hand, stood Lucifer. Although the mere presence of the man had you rattled, what he was wearing— or rather, what he WASN’T wearing— made you even more so. He had donned a pair of baggy grey sweatpants that rested low on his hips and had lost the rest, leaving little to be imagined. Little to be imagined of HIM, that is— the sight sparked plenty of thoughts on your part.
The temptation to slink away to Mammon before you were discovered was great, but the temptation of marveling this new side of Lucifer was greater; you steeled yourself and moved toward him.
His rut seemed to have taken quite the toll on him already, as his usually well-kept hair was now disheveled and somewhat damp as if he had just recently gotten out of the shower. A shiver ran down your spine as the image of Lucifer in his shower was plastered to the forefront of your mind. With much thanks to your abysmally short attention span, the thought was easily discarded when you noticed that his muscles rippled along his back with each movement he took: emptying his glass; placing it back down on the counter; pushing his hair back.
Even as he turned around and realized someone had joined him in the kitchen, you couldn’t find it in yourself to run for cover. Maybe you’d screwed up your survival instincts at some point?
“y/n?” Lucifer croaked, his gaze predatory as it raked down your form. Something akin to a harrowed smirk cracked across his face when you shivered at the intensity radiating off of him, yet it was soon replaced with a pained grimace. His hands clenched the edge of the counter behind him so tightly that his knuckles were white as he ripped his gaze away from you. “I believe I explicitly told you not to return here until you received further instruction. You disobeyed me.”
You’d be lying if you said that the commanding growl in his words didn’t turn you on. Hell, if anyone told YOU that you’d just laugh in their face because damn if that wasn’t the sexiest thing you’d ever heard. Not to mention the electrifying effect it had on your body; it was as if every fiber of your being was on edge right now, acutely aware of every single thing that Lucifer said or did.
You found yourself longing to press your body up onto his, to entangle your hands in his already messy hair and mesh your lips together while you hook one of your legs around his waist to keep him close as he slams you up against the counter—
The purposeful clearing of his throat snapped you out of your imagination. It’s odd for you to have become so withdrawn from reality, but you just chalked it up to it being a side effect from whatever spell Solomon had cast on you. Anyway, Lucifer had asked you a question, and while it may not have been the smartest decision in the long run, you were in no mental state to be pulling lies out of your ass. “Mammon asked me to come over and help him.”
“Oh really? So you’ve discovered our dirty little secret, but still came?” he hummed in thought, more to himself than to you. Some switch must have flipped in him as he had gone from very obviously holding himself back to slowly stalking toward you with a wolfish glint in his eyes. It was at that moment that your survival instincts kicked in and you took two small steps back for every one Lucifer took forward. Sadly, you seemed to have walked further into the kitchen than you had originally thought you did and soon found yourself pressed along the center table with nowhere else to run from the demon in front of you.
A pink tongue darted out from his mouth, wetting the bottom lip that it dragged along. Lucifer had you right where he wanted you. It took a total of three steps for him to close the gap between you two, his arms resting on either side of you to cage you in. Desire flickered in his half-lidded eyes as he stared you down. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be here?”
You hummed in response, too fixated on how alluring his slightly-parted, flushed lips looked. Due to your intense focus on said lips, you didn’t miss how the corners of his mouth quirked up before he leaned forward and out of your sight. Your breath caught in your throat as his heated breath fanned out across your neck while he spoke. “You’re lucky that you ran into myself and not one of my brothers. Unlike them,” his hips met yours and instantly began to slowly roll, “I can control myself.”
The hardness of his length and the waver in his tone seemed to suggest otherwise.
A devious thought pushed itself to the forefront of your mind, one that you were all too willing to go along with. One of your hands ghosted down his chest, your nails lightly scratching his pale skin while the other snaked upward and caressed his cheek. Lucifer shuddered into your touch and bit back a quiet groan, his hips grinding against yours with a tad more urgency.
“What happened to being able to control yourself?” you asked breathily. With any luck, you’d be able to get his self-control to snap and he’d take you right then and there. Your thighs tensed slightly as heat shot to your core at the thought.
Then he pulled away and your entire mastermind plan came crashing down.
Lucifer stumbled backward, fingers pinching his nose tightly shut as he glared holes into the ground. Wait, do you smell or something? You could’ve sworn you had put deodorant on that morning. A discreet sniff of yourself reassured you that you did not stink, so why the abrupt stop?
“I believe that you should find Mammon in your room.” He staggered backward with urgency; so much so that he would have clipped his side on the counter had you not warned him. Pink dusted his cheeks for a moment as he cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed from not noticing the counter. Your bemusement was cut short, however, when he fixed you with a piercing look that sent shivers down your back. “I expect to see you in my room once you are finished.”
Unable to stop yourself, you quipped back, “I’ll think about it.”
“By all means, do,” he purred, red eyes narrowing into seductive slits. Even as he backed out of the room, sweat beads beginning to glisten on his forehead, he somehow still made you want to do nothing more than hand yourself over to him completely. “But let me assure you that the actual thing will be so much more enjoyable than whatever you end up imagining.”
With that, he was gone, and you were left with nothing but yourself and your newfound neediness. You had half a mind to chase after the first-born, but the other half of your mind was insisting that you go to Mammon, as he was the one who had called you in the first place. With a small sigh, you headed off down the hallway toward your room. It was a short walk, as per usual, but the anticipation that had once again began to swirl in your stomach lengthened it a good bit.
What, exactly, did helping a demon through their rut entail? You assumed that they needed help finishing, but was that it? Of course, you’d help the brothers out with anything, ESPECIALLY if they were in pain because of it, but it was a little unnerving not knowing exactly what you had gotten yourself into. Thank God that Solomon had been there to help cast a spell on you (which you still had no clue what it did, but you trusted him enough to believe that you’d be fine) because, now that you’ve had some more time to think about it, there was no way you’d be able to walk away from this little excursion of yours unscathed.
You hesitated outside of your partially opened door for just a moment before stepping inside and locking the door behind you. As you turned around to once again face the rest of your room, quiet huffing and groaning alerted you of the demon in the room with you.
The sight that blessed your eyes ignited a white-hot fire in your core.
Mammon was sprawled out buck-naked on your bed, your sheets and comforter rumpled enough to lead you to assume that he had been wriggling around on them for a while. As a surprise to no one, your eyes immediately zeroed in on his hand— namely, how said hand was loosely wrapped around his length and lightly jerking it. His caramel skin glistened under a sheen layer of sweat from his exertions, and his head was tipped back against your pillow as he chased a semblance of relief.
You mindlessly take a few steps toward the sight. Had he not noticed you were in the room yet? Considering how tightly his eyes were screwed shut and how his breathing was getting progressively louder, it wasn’t impossible.
“Mammon?” you called out hesitantly, unsure if you should be interrupting or not. Although, he had called you specifically to help him with this exact thing, so maybe you were worrying about nothing.
His eyes snapped wide open the moment his name came out of your mouth; he really hadn’t heard you enter then. A shuddering inhale shook his form for a moment before he pushed himself up to a seated position and said in disbelief, “You really came.”
As if you could ignore his phone call. You rolled your eyes as you finished closing the gap between the two of you, your hands lifting to cup Mammon’s warm cheeks. “I said I would, didn’t I?” Unintelligible mumbling followed that you silenced by pressing your thumb against his lips. “What do you want me to do?”
Without a word, Mammon’s hands gripped your waist and guided you onto his lap, your knees on either side of him. His hot mouth instantly found your neck, the feeling of his hasty kisses and the occasional nip stealing your breath away. Not staying in one place too long, the kisses quickly trailed their way down toward your collarbone, only for the fabric of your shirt to get in the way. Aside from his annoyed grumbling, Mammon didn’t make any comments about it and simply tugged at your shirt, wordlessly asking you to take it off.
Of course you complied (because why would you not?) and freed yourself from the now-restrictive fabric. No sooner had you wriggled out of your top than had Mammon’s hands begun to roam all over your body, almost as if he was attempting to commit your form to memory.
Everywhere his hands went brought a tingling sensation to your skin. Eventually, one dipped low enough to fiddle with the band of your shorts, although it didn’t go any farther than that. As great as the makeout session was, a growing firmness pressing along the inside of your thigh and the unsteadiness of his touch reminded you of exactly why you were called in the first place.
“Mammon,” you tried, but your words fell on deaf ears as Mammon was too lost in the feeling and taste and touch of you to even register that you had spoken. Fog rolled across your mind as he found a particularly sensitive spot and capitalized on it, teeth gently scraping against the skin which was immediately followed by a soothing swipe of his tongue. Still, you found it somewhere within you to try again. “Mammon, wait.”
“Hm?” His lips buzzed pleasantly against your neck, eyes turning up toward your own.
Your stomach flipped at the sheer want pooling in their golden ichor. “I’m here to help you with your rut, but right now I feel more like we’re focusing on me.”
“Of course I’m focusin’ on you,” he harrumphed, a look of embarrassment shading his features. “You’re a human! There’s no way you’d be able to jump right on in without gettin’ hurt, so I’m… I’m tryin’ to warm you up a bit.”
You chuckled, running a hand through his hair reassuringly. “That’s awful sweet of you, babe, but I’m seriously fine. Solomon hooked me up with some magic before I came over, so I’m all set.”
His grip on your hips tightened at the mention of the sorcerer, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, his hands jumped from your hips to your shoulders, flipping you onto the bed with Mammon positioned between your legs. You’d never noticed it before, but his canines were slightly more pointed than a human’s; they’re all you focused on when a smirk crept onto his features. “You should’ve said somethin’ sooner.”
If before had been the warm-up, then the main event was the warm-up times ten. Your mouths crashed together, and you found yourself fighting to stay caught up with Mammon’s urgent pace. The bed creaked underneath the two of you as Mammon rushed to get the rest of your clothes off. It was impressive how he managed to slide off your shorts without breaking away from you, but you weren’t allowed to dwell on that thought for very long at all.
“You’re sure about this?” His breathless question warmed your heart. Even now, as his legs trembled with the discomfort he was surely in and his gaze grew hazy, he had the decency to make sure that you were sure. You hadn’t faltered from your original commitment once, but now you were certain you had made the right choice.
A cheeky grin split across your face. “I’ve never been more sure about something in my life.”
No sooner had you gotten the words out than had Mammon’s cock shoved its way through your entrance, his hips pressing flush against your own. The burning feeling of your walls stretching to take him in so suddenly proved too much to handle, your body arching into his own as a gasping whine tore from your lips.
For a moment— just a moment— he stilled, allowing you to adjust to his size. One of his hands hooked underneath your knee and pulled it closer to your side so he could get a better angle. A shot of pleasure ran through you as the repositioning briefly caused your muscles clenched around him. Seeing the shudder rack your form, Mammon rolled his hips into yours. Your head tipped back at the feeling of his swollen length dragging against your walls, and he wasted no time in leaving blossoms of orchid and rouge along the now-exposed column of your neck.
As your eyes rolled back at the feeling, you missed how he shifted above you, gripping the head of your headboard with his other hand for support. You didn’t miss how his hips pulled back and thrust up into you, nor did you miss how each thrust following that was just as strong.
Unrestrained sounds fell from your open mouth as Mammon launched into an aggressive pace that left you scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders or back so you wouldn’t hit your headboard. The moment your hands bumped into something protruding from his back, your eyes flew open to search for what exactly you had just touched.
At some point, Mammon must have shifted to his demon form, as his wings were currently curling over the two of you almost like some sort of shield. Your legs squeezed together at the sight, allowing Mammon’s next thrusts to find your g-spot.
“Fuck, Ma-Mammon,” you cursed, the demon on top of you growling lowly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.
“You’re so tight,” he groaned before pressing a firm kiss along your jaw. “You’re doin’ so good for me, y/n.”
You answered with a keening moan, as you were sure that you wouldn’t be able to articulate any more actual words— not while Mammon kept plowing into you at this speed, anyway. Tension coiled tightly in your abdomen, each thrust drawing you closer and closer to your peak. You couldn’t tell how close Mammon was, but with as ragged as his panting was growing, you assumed he wasn’t all that far behind you.
With every passing moment, your body grew more and more flush with heat and your moans increased in volume, which Mammon encouraged with more whispered praise. One particularly strong smack of his hips against yours triggered the release of a loud whine from your throat, and you were sure you wouldn’t be able to last much longer. “Just like that, sweetheart.” His lips brushed tantalizingly against your ear, making sure that you heard him over yourself. “Let ‘em all know who’s makin’ you feel this good.”
A few more solid thrusts were all it took to make you unravel, your toes curling and your body arching into Mammon at the utter bliss engulfing you entirely.
“Mammon!” you wailed, all other words escaping you as stars danced behind your eyes. Your walls clenching down on him pushed Mammon over the edge as well, his hips stuttering before pressing as deep inside of you as he could, release spilling into your throbbing core. A groan tumbled from his lips as his teeth sunk into the crook of your neck, the sharp stinging drawing a soft whine from yourself.
After a few moments of deepening his mark, Mammon flopped onto his back and rolled you on top of him, his arms wrapping tightly around your body to gently hold you against him. The bliss from orgasming was now wearing off and was being replaced with exhaustion. Tension seeped out of you in waves as you relaxed against Mammon’s heaving chest, his skin cool against your warm cheek.
Laughter soon met your ears, and the shaking body beneath you made it pretty obvious who it was coming from. Drowsily, you pushed yourself up to a sitting position and let Mammon slip himself out of you while you threw an inquisitive look his way. The eyes that met your own were no longer ones of a demon in rut, but ones filled with total admiration. “What are you laughing about?”
“You,” he answered simply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear while his other hand rested loosely on your bare hip.
Your heart fluttered at that, but you played it off with a small smile and a tiny slap against his chest. “Why are you being so cheesy?”
He said nothing, only answering with another laugh as he leaned forward to pepper your face with soft kisses. His laughter turned out to be infectious as you, too, began to laugh, leaving the two of you giggling into each others’ mouths before he pulled away, resting his forehead against your own. “I’m just so happy you actually came, y/n.”
“Me too, I was starting to get worried there for a bit,” you snarked, the teasing lilt evident in your tone. Mammon scoffed at playfully rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist as the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk.
“Sure fooled me. You sure sounded like you were enjoying yourself.” Now it was your turn to fake being offended; you gasped indignantly before turning your head away in a fake pout.
“With this much disrespect, maybe I’ll just show myself out.”
“Woah there, let’s not be too hasty.” A thumb and forefinger grip your chin and turn your head back toward Mammon, who had a peculiar twinkle in his eye. It was something warm and knowing and light, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. The odd look didn’t leave when he pulled you against his chest for what felt like the hundredth time that day, nor did it leave when you tangled yourselves up in the other while you cuddled, just taking time to soak the other in.
Eventually, Mammon gave himself over to sleep, his light snores rumbling softly against the side of your neck as he unconsciously wriggled himself impossibly closer into you. You were just about to as well until two short sets of buzzes caught your attention.
Twisting around carefully in Mammon’s arms, you were just able to see your D.D.D. flicking off again after receiving the messages. Luckily, your shorts had ended up getting thrown onto your nightstand, so it wasn’t too much of a challenge to snag your D.D.D. from your back pocket without waking up the sleeping demon latched on to you.
Flicking it open, you saw that the messages had come from Levi.
come over please. I know your with mammon right now
I need help too y/n, please
You cast a glance over your shoulder at the said demon, guilt gnawing at your heart as memories resurfaced of how sweet he had been earlier; however, those memories were soon replaced with ones of Lucifer, disheveled and leaning into your touch, and of Solomon, warning you that you’d end up helping all of the brothers out. With a sigh, you tapped a quick reply to Levi that you were on your way and eased yourself out of Mammon’s arms.
As you got to your feet, you were surprised to find that you weren’t sore in the slightest, despite how rough Mammon had been. Solomon’s magic really was no joke. It didn’t take you long to slip back into your clothes (granted, you didn’t bother putting your bra and underwear back on because you’d just be taking them off again) and you soon found yourself staring down at Mammon.
You were still guilty about running off to go fuck his younger brother while he was sleeping, but at the same time, you’d feel even more guilty about only helping one brother and leaving the other six to deal with their ruts by themselves. Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, you finally steel yourself and commit to your decision, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before turning around and marching yourself straight out of your door. You don’t look back, because you know that if you do, the rest of the brothers would end up suffering through their ruts alone.
#obey me#obey me: swd#obey me mammon#obey me smut#obey me mammon x reader#heat!au#obey me fic#obey me lucifer#obey me leviathan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor
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Hope on Board
Chapter 9 – Making it Official
Chapter 1 Chapter 8
“What the fuck is with all the stunts?” Red Hood griped, landing his punch on the fourth of Scarecrow’s henchmen in the last minute. Luckily, this area of the hospital gave them enough room to maneuver. Unluckily, the pharmacy where the rest of Scarecrow’s henchmen were barricaded had entirely glass walls. Good to get in. Bad for stealth. The henchmen inside knew they were coming, but then again so did the hostages.
“What do you mean?” Nightwing asked innocently landing his triple flip on top of a henchman and using his momentum to swing into the man next to him, knocking him out as well. He bounced from that to spin into a punch, the velocity from the spin adding force behind the punch, making it powerful enough to break the henchman’s jaw. He surreptitiously glanced at the hostages before ducking the haymaker thrown by another henchman.
“He means you’re being extremely extra right now. Wait… oh my God! Which one is she?” Signal exclaimed, excitedly searching the hostages while he kicked one henchman in the chest hard enough to send them into a far wall, dodging another’s punch to punch him back in his unprotected side.
“The baby mama is in there?” Red Hood cut in. “Which one is she?”
“Hood! Not having this conversation right now,” Nightwing reprimanded sternly.
“Oh, calm down. All these guys are out,” Hood dismissed him.
“But the extensive amounts of surveillance cameras are not,” Nightwing hissed out.
Red Hood rolled his eyes. ��Oracle?”
“On it. Five seconds of video gone,” Oracle’s voice sounded over the coms.
“Thank you,” Nightwing sighed.
“Okay, now that that’s taken care of, let’s go save your baby mama,” Signal responded with a grin before jumping through the window at the far side of the room, as far away from the hostages as possible, tackling two of the henchmen in the process.
“Back away or I start shooting with this one,” the lead henchman growled, holding a gun to Marinette’s head.
Nightwing froze. His eyes widened in panic. Red Hood and Signal took note of Nightwing’s response and quickly turned from laidback to tense. “Alright, calm down. Think about this. You shoot her, I shoot you,” Red Hood snarled. “Only I won’t kill you right away. I’ll do it slow and painfully. One shot at a time in the most pain inducing spots possible. Believe me when I say I know all of them.” The henchman looked over to the other vigilantes discretely. “They won’t stop me. I promise you.”
Signal nodded slightly to show his agreement without taking his eyes off the other five henchmen in the room. Three of which were standing in front of the other hostages. The other two were shoveling the last of the drugs they came for in their bags.
The lead henchman narrowed his eyes and pushed the gun harder against Marinette’s temple. She swallowed a whimper of pain, refusing to give him that satisfaction. “Sounds like she’s important to you then. So it seems like as long as I have her, I have my escape,” he jeered back at Hood.
Hood growled in response, but made no move to get closer. Marinette’s mind was reeling. This was now a standoff and she was the keystone. Someone had to do something. Maybe if they could get away from the other hostages she could do something… she just needed to figure out a plan, which would be significantly easier if she was familiar with the bats and how they usually thought and acted. She would use her nausea to throw up on him if she didn’t think he would just shoot her for it.
“Boys, grab a hostage and let’s go,” the lead hostage commanded.
Damn it! She no longer had time. She needed to act. Some of those hostages wouldn’t be able to move and there were children in the group. She stuffed down her fear. She felt nothing. She was empty. Except she wasn’t she had a baby now, she wasn’t just risking herself, she was risking the baby too so she couldn’t just fight and take the attention all onto herself. She needed a diversion. She sent a furtive look to her purse on the far side of the pharmacy and made eye contact with Tikki. She gave a slow nod and watched Tikki fly off to one of the racks of drugs. She tensed in anticipation.
She waited for the sound of whatever she was going to do and acted as soon as she heard it. She only spared a second to note a rack of drugs falling over taking out one of the henchmen. Having expected it, she recovered considerably quicker than the rest of the people in the room. She used the lead henchman’s momentary lack of attention to grab the hand holding the gun against her head and push it past her head while twisting under his arm to shove him toward the vigilantes. She yanked the gun out of his hand as she shoved him.
She took a second to take stock of the situation. Four henchmen left. All had dropped their bags of drugs to focus on getting out alive. Two headed for the vigilantes. One headed for the henchman under the rack, must be a friend or relative, she thought vaguely. It was the fourth that concerned her though. He was heading for the little girl tucked into her father’s side, probably still seeking a hostage to get away safely. She turned the safety on the gun, or at least that’s what she hoped she did, and threw it at his head as hard as she could.
The gun made contact, offsetting his balance. He struggled to recover and Marinette slid into his legs in a heroically miscalculated gesture. He fell back instead of forward and landing with his legs on Marinette. She had enough time to curl into a ball protecting her stomach before he kicked her in anger, the impact pushed all the air out of her lungs. She felt the pain radiate throughout her back.
“You fucking bitc…” he never got the chance to finish his insult. Nightwing’s hand was on his throat lifting him up and away from her in an instant. Marinette looked up in awe for a moment and scrambled back over to the other hostages to make sure they were okay. Within a few minutes, the room was flooded with police and the henchmen had been hauled away and were getting put into police transports while the hostages were brought out into the atrium of the hospital to wait to give their statements.
Red Hood helped Marinette up gently and personally guided her out to the atrium after all the other hostages had been led out. “Thanks for the help back there. Impressive job keeping calm and taking advantage of the distraction.”
Marinette hummed. “Thank you guys for saving us. You were very intimidating.”
Jason hummed back. “Yeah, I’m good for that. I’m the bad boy of the bat boy band. Now, interesting use of a gun and all, and I’m really glad it worked, but why, and I can’t stress this enough, the fuck didn’t you just shoot him?” Hood asked bemused.
“I’ve never fired a gun. He was between me and the hostages. If I missed, I might have hit one of the hostages. I’m better at throwing. I knew I wouldn’t miss if I threw it,” she shrugged, still catching her breath. “If I couldn’t get to him after the hit, I knew one of you would.”
Red Hood nodded in contemplation. “Solid reasoning. I’ll go with that. Remind me to teach you to shoot someday.”
Marinette rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Next time I see you, we’ll set it up,” she said dismissively and let out a strained chuckle.
Red Hood grinned. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
Marinette nodded slightly, her face took on a look of concentration and she started breathing deeply again.
“Woah, wait. That’s her?” Duke exclaimed, peeking around the corner to take a look. “Damn, you did good.” He repositioned so he could properly size her up without being too obvious. At which point, she promptly turned to a trash can and threw up. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that.”
“She has really bad morning sickness. Shut it.” Nightwing growled, handing off the last henchman to the police.
“And that’s why I’m going to pretend like I didn’t see that,” Signal explained like he was explaining to a child.
Nightwing huffed at him and quickly moved over to check on Marinette. He reached out to rub her back like he would normally, but pulled his arms back at the last second. That was too familiar for him right now and she might not appreciate a stranger touching her. Plus he didn’t know how hard the guy had hit her. Her back might be bruised for a while. He would have to check it out later. “Are you alright, miss?”
“Miss,” Red Hood mocked him quietly, but made sure the coms could catch it as he followed the police cars taking the henchmen they had captured to prison.
Nightwing looked up to glare in his direction but didn’t respond. “It’s okay. I’m not contagious. I’m just pregnant.” She waved his concern away before moving toward a bench to sit.
Nightwing helped her sit with a charming smile. “Congratulations. I’m sure you and your boyfriend are very excited. But, are you alright after being held captive? How is your back?” His voice got nervous seeing her react by cocking her head to the side for a second before frowning and turning away. “…Are you not?” he asked carefully.
“Hm?” she hummed in question. She looked back up at him with a confused scowl before the realization spread across her face. “Oh! No, yes. Yes I’m fine, or will be and I think I’ll just have bruises, nothing broken and we’re very excited.” She gently laid her hand on her belly. “I just realized I don’t know what we are. We haven’t had that discussion. Ugh. I need to lay down for a second. Excuse me.” She walked herself back down until she was lying flat on the bench with her eyes closed and breathing deeply.
“Of course, sorry miss,” Nightwing responded awkwardly. He just realized he thought of her as his girlfriend, but they hadn’t discussed their relationship at all. They knew they wanted to parent together, but not how they wanted their relationship to go or where they were. He was fine with letting the relationship progress naturally without titles, but she might want something more concrete.
“It’s okay. At least this suffering is productive. I’m going to get something amazing out of it.” She offered him a weak smile without opening her eyes and returned to breathing deeply.
He smiled gently and answered quietly. “That’s a good way to think about it.” He wanted to brush her hair out of her eyes and kiss her, but he reminded himself he couldn’t. He backed off to check on the other victims, glancing back to her every few minutes. She had finally sat back up and her eyes were now open, but that hurt more. Instead of the bright, hopeful eyes he was used to, they now looked pained.
He wanted to hold her so badly it physically hurt to hold back. But he couldn’t do anything, not right now, not like this. He wasn’t her boyfriend right now. He wasn’t Dick Grayson, he was Nightwing, who she’d only just met. The distance grated on him. It burned his chest. He needed to leave. He wouldn’t be able to stay this close to her for much longer without hugging her and comforting her. If his eyes caught on her unsettled, worried eyes one more time, he was going to slip.
He clenched his fists and set his jaw. He had to act now. He looked over to Signal, catching his eye and nodding to him. Signal nodded back in understanding. Nightwing snuck out past the police and grappled a few buildings away. He tucked himself behind a half wall and changed back into his civilian clothes. “Hood can you please grab my stuff on your way back?” he called over the coms.
“What am I? Your errand boy?” He groused.
“Please, Hood.” The vulnerability in his voice was so potent, Hood felt guilty teasing him any further.
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed.
“Thank you,” he called as he ran back to the hospital. “Marinette!” Dick yelled pushing his way through the people standing around waiting for the police to take their statements and let them leave.
“Dick!” Marinette leapt up from her seat and ran to him, jumping into his arms.
Dick held her tightly, cradling her in his arms and stroking her hair. He’d known she was fine. He had just been there not a few minutes before speaking with her about her and the baby. He knew she was fine, but holding her in his arms was different. He hadn’t realized how fast his heart had been pounding until it started returning to a normal pace with her in his arms.
“How did you know?” she mumbled into his neck.
“You had an appointment here a little bit ago and weren’t answering your phone,” Dick explained, pulling away to check her over. He needed to see for himself she was okay. He patted down her arms and legs and ran his hands over her chest and belly, reassuring himself she was fine before he finally let out the breath he had been holding.
“If you wanted to feel me up, I’m sure we could find an empty office,” she smirked at him.
He spluttered a bit and blushed. “I wanted to see for myself that you were okay.” He pulled her back into his arms and buried his head in her neck, breathing in her scent. He kept her in his arms for a few minutes before speaking again. “I’m going to have to give a new answer for my favorite hero from now on,” he chuckled.
Marinette froze and pulled away, fear evident in her eyes. “What?”
“After your heroics earlier. I have a new hero.” He looked at her with mock awe. She rolled her eyes and pushed his face away, but stayed firmly in his arms, still too dazed to think about what he had said. “You’ve met the Gotham heroes now. Ready to change your favorite?”
“I did mention the very many times Chat saved my life, right?” She reminded him with a strained voice, playing along with the attempt to lighten the atmosphere, but only just.
“But Nightwing saved your baby. Chat can’t say that,” Dick pointed out with a grin, playing up the joke, but it had the opposite effect. Both of their faces went slack at the comment. She launched herself deeper into his arms as tears started falling. He tightened his arms around her. “I was so worried about you.” He pulled away just far enough to cup her face and stare in her eyes. “I was scared I wouldn’t get to see you again or you’d get hurt or lose the baby. What were you thinking?”
“I… I was thinking once they took them hostage, someone was going to die, maybe all of us. I was thinking there were people who couldn’t move well no matter how much they were threatened or hit. The henchmen weren’t going to put up with that. And there were kids that could be easy hostages. I couldn’t let them take them. I had to do something. There was an opportunity to do something and I could. Someone had to. The bats couldn’t without me getting hurt so it had to be me.”
Dick’s heart clenched tighter. He understood that motivation. They all did. That was one of the reasons they did what they did. They couldn’t just not help if they had the ability to do so. And he understood why it had to be her. But at the same time, he couldn’t watch her in danger like that. His heart stopped when the henchman she hit turned to attack her. And when the man had a gun to her head… He laid his forehead on hers and squeezed his eyes shut. All the panic and fear he had pushed down in order to function came to the surface and the tears started falling. “Please don’t… please don’t do that again. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, either one of you.”
“Hey, hey,” she wiped away her tears to gently bring his face up to hers and give him a hopefully convincing calm look. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Nightwing and Signal and Red Hood were here to protect me. I mean, how could things go wrong?”
Dick’s face fell and he held her closer because he knew exactly how it could have gone wrong. All the many ways it could have gone wrong. He’d already envisioned all of them, every unlikely, preposterous, ridiculous way it could have gone wrong, he’d pictured it. “Marinette, stay with me tonight. Just to cuddle. Just so I can know you’re okay.” He rushed to add anticipating her reaction. “I just… I want to know you’re okay. Just so I can feel you in my arms. If it’s too much…”
“Okay,” she interrupted, brushing his face with gentle fingers.
“Okay?”
The hopeful look in his eyes just about broke her heart. She didn’t think she could deny him anything when he looked at her like that. “Okay,” she confirmed. “I’m still a bit shaken too. I’d like to spend the night knowing you were right there with me, protecting me.”
He crashed his lips into hers and God, he wanted to deepen it. He wanted to taste her, but he knew he couldn’t yet, not with her nausea as bad as it was. He settled for gently biting her bottom lip and pulling on it. She groaned into it. He could feel her falter like she was holding herself back from more as well. He broke the kiss instead before either of them could do something that would make her sick.
He pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers. “Okay, let’s get you home then. Maybe we can pick up a snack for you on the way. You hungry?” When she nodded, he stood up and guided her out of the hospital. “Commissioner Gordon?” He waited for the man to respond before continuing. “I’m going to take my girlfriend home now. She’s in no state to give a statement right now.”
Commissioner Gordon raised an eyebrow. “She looks fine to me.”
“She just threw up and she’s getting weaker.” Dick motioned to the trash can she had used earlier.
“Sounds like she should stay in the hospital then and get checked out,” he commented critically.
“They can’t really do much more for morning sickness than we can at home,” Dick answered quietly.
Commissioner Gordon’s eyes bulged out and he looked down to her stomach and back up. “Ah. Okay. Make sure my officers have your information before you leave. And congratulations to both of you.”
Marinette smiled weakly at him but Dick gave him a wide grin. “Thank you. We greatly appreciate it. And we aren’t telling people yet, for obvious reasons so if you can keep it under wraps, I’d appreciate it.” Commissioner Gordon nodded and waved them away.
They stopped to speak with an officer on their way out to make their way to a bakery nearby before heading to Dick’s car. As soon as they were out of earshot of the people around Marinette finally spoke up. “So… girlfriend?”
Dick grinned down at her. “I was hoping so anyway.” He stopped and cupped her face again so their eyes could meet. “Marinette, I’m already picturing my life with you. I already know I want you there in my life, which I realize is crazy because it’s so fast. At the same time I know girlfriend doesn’t sound like much considering… everything…”
“Yes!” Marinette kissed him again. “That sounds perfect for where we are. And… I’m already picturing my future with you and the baby too. I like those daydreams.” She wrapped her arms around his neck with a tired look. “Now how far exactly is this bakery? I’d really like to just get back to your place and curl up on the couch with my boyfriend and some delivery and watch a terrible movie.”
He smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, encouraging her to cuddle into his side and led her into the bakery they were standing outside of. “That sounds like a perfect night with my girlfriend.”
“Hey, Marinette’s boyfriend, next time you’re going to be disgustingly cutesy, turn your coms off,” Jason grumbled into the coms. “We don’t need more people in the family throwing up.”
Chapter 10
Tags:
@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @golden-promises @trippingovermyfeet @emimar7 @laurcad123
#maribat#Dickinette February#dickinette#platonic jasonette#platonic adrienette#Hope on Board#Knocked Up AU#prompt - stunts
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Afternoon Delights
A/N: This is my first 18+ piece EVERYONE IS 18 or older in this piece
TW: Sex, giving oral, handjob, Smut
Word Count: 2k
It was normal for you to hear the door slam. In the mornings and early evenings when your boyfriend left for and came home from work. The townhouse you shared with your boyfriend was your little haven. It was always a good feeling being home. You never really took notice of the time and assumed it was early evening.
“Hey! Dumbass!” Bakugo shouted at you. You turned your head to your boyfriend’s barking voice. You blinked in surprise and noticed that the sun was still high in the sky. Bakugo never came home early.
“Kaa-chan, what‘s wrong? Why are you home so soon?” You asked, surprised. You were worried something terrible must’ve happened. Your heart was beating fast, and your mind was racing.
“I called your phone 10 times. Also, I sent a bunch of texts. Is your phone broken?” He asked angrily. The sneer that formed on his lips made your stomach fall.
“It’s probably dead or you were ignoring me.” He stopped for a minute and exhaled hastily. “More like trying to get another boyfriend,” Bakugo said sharply.
“I am sorry. My phone is on silent. It always is when I am working or doing research.” You replied not understanding where his anger was coming from. “I‘ll look at the messages if you’d like.”
He shook his head and clicked his tongue. He glanced at you up and down. The look in his eye didn’t match his attitude. You were genuinely confused. You picked up your phone and started looking at the messages you received from him. You rolled your eyes at him.
“Okay, Bakugo, what is going on?” You asked him with attitude. He ignored you and started walking away. He could definitely be infuriating when he wanted to be. You heard his footsteps on the stairs and decided to follow him. You were going to make him talk to you.
As you came up the stairs and into your shared bedroom you saw Bakugou. Completely naked on the bed waiting for you. There was a venomous smile on his face as you looked at his naked form. You couldn’t help yourself. You felt yourself growing wet looking at him. He was a masterpiece. He had those toned arms that you loved feeling around you at night. His six-pack always seemed hidden beneath a slightly loose shirt. Those legs that you knew held you up when he pinned you against the wall. Your mind had begun wandering to the last time you two were together. How long had it been since you two were intimate? A couple of days, right?
“Hey, you know this cock isn’t going to cum by itself,” Bakugo yelled at you. His dick was a sight to see. It was standing at full height when your eyes grazed over the length. He grinned at you. He knew exactly what he did to you. He could tell how wet you were for him.
You walked into the bedroom as casually as you could, but the only thing you wanted was to feel him inside you. “What do you want me to do, first?” You asked nervously as you walked into the room, trying to read how upset he was. Hopefully, though after some lovemaking he’d cool off.
“Strip. Everything off but your panties.” He demanded. You did as he asked. He was just as dominant in bed as he was when he was being a hero. He grabbed you and pulled you down onto him. Your clothed, wet sex directly on his hard cock.
“You look so good. I couldn’t stop thinking about you while working today. A week really is too long” Bakugou’s hands held onto your hips pinning you down. His smug grin made you want to moan out loud. You wouldn’t give Bakugou the satisfaction of knowing how much you wanted him. He forced you to grind yourself on his hardened length. He moaned deeply from within. You knew he was so needy for you right now, and you’d love to make him crave it.
“Let me feel how wet you are for me.” He said his voice filled with lust. It was more of a statement than asking. He was going to have you no matter what you did. He took two fingers, pushed your panties to the side, and slowly entered your slit. He groaned indistinguishably. That malicious grin he wore meant you were in for it. As he slowly sped up his fingers, plunging them in and out of you, you couldn’t help the soft moans that escaped your throat. Bakugo growled at your moans. He knew he was growing feral at your moans.
“Fuck Princess, you are soaking wet. I haven’t even gotten my hard cock in you and you’re already this wet.” Bakugo teased. He roughly pulled his fingers out leaving you feeling empty.
“Let me taste you, it’s been way too long since my tongue has been on this pussy.” He told you as he flipped you onto your back and ripped your panties off of you.
“Bakugo, those were my favorite pair!” You pouted at him, crossing your arms and legs denying him.
“I’ll buy you one hundred more.” He smiled at you as he kissed your pout away and slowly made his way down your neck, making sure to suck, bite, and lick you. As he moved further down to your collarbone he made sure he left marks letting everyone know that you belonged to him.
He took notice of your erect nipples and sucked at one roughly while rolling the other between his thumb and index finger. You gasped at the pleasure, while he chuckled, and switched sides.
When he moved on down to your stomach, this caused you to twist and giggle because it was your ticklish spot. You saw a soft smile on his face as you giggled. He continued his trail of kisses downward. When he settled between your legs and you felt his tongue slide in you and you couldn’t remember the last time he’d just make you come undone like this.
“If you don’t come while I am down here, I’ll just punish you.” Bakugo looked you dead in the eyes. This wasn’t a threat, it was a promise. You weren't sure if you wanted to know what punishment he was going to dole out for you. Either way, you know he’d leave you satisfied. You felt him sucking and teasing you, the guttural moan that escaped your throat let him know you had just cum.
“That’s my good girl listening to me.” He said as he gave you his trademark smirk. He pulled himself on top of you and eyed you.
“You look absolutely ravished and I hadn’t even used this dick yet.” He was full of himself, but you knew he had every right to be. Bakugo’s lips caressed yours softly for a moment before he went into a deeper more lustful kiss.
“Baby, please.” He whined into the kiss, he was asking for consent. You put your hand to your chin pretending to think about it. You decided that you’d make him suffer for a bit. Just because he was being an insufferable, horny asshole earlier.
“You know Kaa-Chan, you weren’t very nice to me. I don’t think I should allow you to continue.” You told him shrewdly.
“ Please, Y/N. I am sorry.” He pleaded with you. The one thing you knew about Bakugo is when he was wanting release he’d beg and plead and give you almost anything you wanted.
“I think I am good.” You told him coldly. You saw his face fall.
“Please, anything at all. It’s yours. I just need you, I need to cum. I am sorry, I’ll become a villain if you want. Anything at all. Please. Baby. It’s been a week since I’ve been inside you. I missed you. I love you.” Your heart skipped a beat at the last sentence he spoke. Sure, he was hot-headed, loud, and could be selfish in the lovemaking department. When he told you he loved you, you knew he had meant it every time.
You pressed a kiss to his chest and smiled at him.
“Thank you Bakugo, but I don’t think so. I love you, but that doesn’t mean you can be rude to me.” You spoke as you propped yourself up on your elbows.
“Y/N. Please.” He pleaded one last time in hopes of you changing your mind. If he knew one thing it was that you were stubborn and unmoveable about the attitude. One last huff escaped Bakugo’s lips as he rolled off of you.
“I understand.” He said completely defeated. You stretched your legs and arms out, noticing Bakugo fighting himself internally, which led to him softening. You turned over to face Bakugo and decided he’d had enough of your teasing. You took your left leg and swung it over Bakugo’s body straddling him.
He gave you a confused look. You placed your hands on his face and kissed him. You slid your tongue over his and deepened the kiss. His hands gingerly caressed your body as you kissed.
“Y/N. I thought you said no.” He said furrowing his eyebrows together. You let out a small chuckle.
“I was just teasing you. Making you pay for saying I’d be trying to get another boyfriend.” He looked down in embarrassment. This vulnerability he showed you wasn’t something you got to see often, but when you did get to see it, you’d fall harder for him.
“Y/N, I am-” You placed your finger to his lips to shush him. With your free hand, you took his cock and started to pump it. When he had hardened again you lined him up with your entrance. The devilish look returned to your boyfriend’s face and he entered you slowly, placing his large hands back on your hips.
“Damn, you look so fucking hot from down here.” He said as he sucked in a breath when he slid into you so effortlessly. A moan escaped from both of you. You leaned forward a bit to adjust for his hardening length.
Bakugo grabbed your hips and pressed them tight against him, as he did a loud smack echoed throughout the room. The stinging of your butt cheek let you know that Bakugo most definitely left a mark.
“ You’re mine,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck as he started kissing, and biting you. A shiver rushed through your body as he started moving faster underneath you.
“Katsu, I-” You felt your insides knot into a ball. The way his cock was hitting all the right spots inside made you ready for urgent release.
“Princess, I know you’re close. I can feel you clamping down on me. It’s been too long since last time. Please, just let go. Enjoy the feeling.” Bakugo panted into your ear. He increased his speed to what he thought you needed. You had to admit that he always knew exactly how you wanted it. His thrusts were coming faster, his grip was getting tighter on you, and your moans grew louder.
“Katsu, I- I- can’t. I’m-” you stuttered breathlessly. The knot inside uncoiled as your insides clamped down on Bakugo and you released. You tried to get your bearings as Bakugo kept his speed up.
“Y/N” he was completely out of breath, “I’m- I’m”. He stammered. You felt him release hard and deep inside you. You collapsed on top of him.
You didn’t dare ruin the moment. Bakugo stroked your hair while you listened to his heartbeat wildly. You close your eyes taking in this moment. After a few minutes, you heard Bakugo snoozing. You decided to curl up and nap along with him. There’s always time later for a second round, you thought just before falling asleep.
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Together 4: Glass.
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CW: explicit language and content, torture, captivity, wounds, implied sex work, strangulation, choking, suicide (hanging), suicidal thoughts/explicit planning, mouth whump description (bleeding, asphyxiation, choking), breathing, attempted noncon, bruises, beating, conditioning, dehumanization, noncon touching, drugs, alcohol, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, whumpee as caretaker, letmeknowifimissedany
August once asked what they do to me. Mouthed it, like he couldn’t stop himself from forming the words, but didn’t bother voicing it out of horror or just because he knew I couldn’t answer. I wouldn’t fucking know where to begin anyway.
Probably down on my knees.
At this point, our situation boggles my mind even more than when they trained me to be silent. That was logical when you psychoanalyzed it but shit got fucked sideways when August came into the picture. It’s just senseless now, an unending labyrinth of manipulation and control. Double the captives means double the fun. I was lucky to be alone for so long. There were two others before him but never like this. In the grand scheme of things, they’re all mere drops of water in the swimming pool of my time here. It was another woman first, although I never learned her name. She seemed like a Tiffany or a Heather and was really pretty, too but never trusted me. Wouldn’t even look at me, as if I wasn’t just as much of a prisoner as her.
Poor thing was in the wrong place at the wrong time and saw something she shouldn’t have. She didn’t last long at all. Unraveled faster than you can say, “Money’s on the table.” You’d think she’d have a little more grit. I mean you hear stories and can only imagine the shit they put up with in that industry, but it was like something out of an exorcist movie. Crying hysterically, throwing herself at the walls and doors, and trying to strangle the life out of me like I was sitting on a key. They came in and intervened but not before she’d purpled my neck so I could barely breathe. That was the only time they ever took the shock collar off. She spent the next bit catatonic and then one day when they brought me back, she was dangling by her own diamond-studded jeggings from a pipe on the ceiling, toes just a few inches from the ground. Damn slow way to die. They took out the pipe.
I’ve given it a hell of a lot of thought myself. She’d obviously been trying something similar with smacking herself into the concrete walls, but that will only get you a concussion that makes it feel like you’ve gone a few rings deeper into Hell. No, thank you. My choice would be the naked lightbulb on the wall, next to the door. If I shoved it far enough down my throat before it broke, I’m pretty sure I would asphyxiate before they could do anything. The key would be to bleed enough into my bronchial tube and inhale enough shards of glass to shred my lungs a bit. A little internal bleeding down my esophagus wouldn’t hinder the cause but certainly wouldn’t be fatal on its own, never mind the risk of just cutting my tongue and mouth to ribbons if it breaks too early. In that case, I’d be fucked. That’s why Wyatt leaves it there, uncovered, even though other lightbulbs down the hallway have metal cages screwed over them. Tempting me to risk it. He also knows that, now, I’d never leave August. I feel responsible and that’s why he holds my life in his hands. The torture will never stop and August is better off with me to take care of him in whatever way I can, even if it doesn’t even come close to reparation.
—
The next guy was probably mid-thirties and built like a truck. I can’t begin to imagine what he did to wind up here. He didn’t take to captivity well either. Everything they’d put into him, he’d let out onto me. The first time, he was angling to get a sweeter kind of release than just wailing on me. I was pretzeled around one of the legs of my bed frame, while he punched and clawed at me, so hell-bent on not letting go, I was screaming my head off for help despite the collar. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Wyatt doesn’t like anyone to touch me. That went over like a lead balloon. Playing off his proclivity like somehow I had any right to decide not to be raped. Wyatt would have stopped it anyway and I could have saved myself the next few days of my bunkmate beating the living shit out of me undisturbed as long as he left it at just that. As soon as Wyatt decided I’d learned my lesson, or was sick of seeing me limping and bruised, that guy was fish food.
The second bed was empty for a long time after that even though I’m sure there were others. Wyatt has a list a mile-long of people he’d like to get his hands on for one reason or another, but I never saw them. Wyatt would still bring me out to toy with me in his usual ways. The buffoons would bring me out when he wasn’t around for entertainment but they know better than to touch me more than cursory shoves to keep me cooperating and even then, more often with their phones or other inanimate objects, rather than their hands. To them, it was endlessly entertaining to get me high out of my mind and mess with me or make me play Emma Fortyhands until I puked all over myself. I should have known Wyatt wasn’t wasting any time during this plateau of suffering. From what August says, he was here for a handful of days, maybe even two weeks, before they made us roommates. Wyatt just talked to him, drilling him for hours. He had been screening him, looking for the perfect match before binding us together in torment.
They always take me first and bring me straight to Wyatt. He likes to talk to me about what he has planned for August, trying to get a rise out of me. Like I’d be dumb enough to think that any amount of disgust or fear on my part would make a lick of difference for August. If anything, Wyatt would double it just for my reaction. Next, Wyatt makes sure I’ll make it through what he has planned for me without passing out. The humane thing would be to give me a second meal or something but instead, he gives me whatever his henchmen have lying around. An unpredictable twist added to my slow destruction. I’m lucky if it’s an energy shot or some gross drink that tastes like fruit-flavored battery acid and leaves me shaking. More often, it’s “just a bump” of something that makes my heart race and the whole session so unbearable I’m screaming in my head at the top of my lungs until I come down.
One time, he gave me a tab of acid. His favorite kind of experiment, the ultimate demonstration of his success. To no one’s surprise, I’m conditioned enough that I still didn’t speak and followed every instruction. That was, no contest, my worst day on this fucked-sideways merry-go-round. I was tripping so hard. Too slow and too fast at the same time, no distinction between myself and everything around me. Wyatt’s barbaric plan turned into a barbaric fuck-up. A small part of me understood what I had done even before I came down and when I stumbled out, I was met by silence instead of the usual dumb peanut-gallery comments. They threw me into the shower after, like always, but left me there for hours since I was still tripping. I was hysterical by the time they let me out. By some miracle, or just Wyatt perversely delaying the end, he had actually called a real doctor.
—
Today, Wyatt hands me a double shot of whiskey because it’s “cute” to watch me struggle when I’m tipsy. I knock it back in one swallow, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that frightens me. He finishes getting me ready and then smacks me on the ass to get me moving. Once I’m in the room, he starts feeding me instructions even though I already know what he wants from me today. This way, he’s in control of my every action, like he’s thinking for me, while I just focus on getting air into my lungs, fighting through the alcohol hitting my bloodstream and burning in my empty stomach. I can throw it up in the shower later if I need to. I just need to survive this.
By the time I stumble out, I’m inevitably a mess. Crying, shaking, and covered in sweat, even on the days I get the raw, straight edge experience. One of the baboons walks me to the small concrete room, empty except the industrial-looking shower head in the ceiling above the drain. The controls are on the outside of the room which is how they make sure the water is ice cold and stays on for exactly five minutes. They take the collar off and I get a bar of soap before they lock me in. It used to be orange soap bars that made my skin feel dry even wet. After that, it was green with the same problem but a stronger smell that clung to me all the time, which wasn’t half bad. Lately, it’s a white, rounder bar, that’s distinctly feminine, and leaves my skin soft, which would be concerning if I wasn’t already too balls-deep in my worst nightmare to care.
I used to dance in and out of the freezing shower while I soaped up but now I stay under the whole time. It’s the only thing that makes any damn sense anymore, the one small touch of reality in this shit storm. I stand under the frigid water and then shake and shiver once it’s turned off until the cold becomes a buzz on my skin and in my veins. Depending on the day, I wait for seconds or hours until they toss me a small, scratchy towel and clean clothes. The waiting is part of it. Not because I’m covered in goosebumps, muscles cramping so that I have to curl in on myself for heat, but because of what I know is waiting for me next.
When they finally let me out and lock me into the collar, it’s all I can do not to run back to our basement hole as fast as my legs will carry me to make sure August hasn’t bled out or gone into shock while they kept me from him. It’s all I care about anymore, helping him survive, making him as comfortable as possible. Honestly, it is the least I can do. It’s my fault he’s here at all, kept to be part of a set. Not to mention the heinous torture. If I had known, I would have done my damndest to kill him before it ever even started.
And I would have inhaled that fucking lightbulb immediately after.
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Taglist: @deluxewhump
#whump#whumpees#multiple whumpees#caregiver#hurt/comfort#mouth whump#is mind whump a thing#captivity cw#dehumanization cw#torture cw#angst#drugs cw#suicide cw#alcohol cw#emmas a badass#emma and august
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ok hi guys. it’s been a while. i wrote this analysis back when Mag 187 aka Checking Out aka The One Where Helen Dies first came out and literally ever since i’ve posted it i’ve wanted to redo it because it feels. lacking. listen if there’s one thing i hate it’s incomplete media analysis and i must right my wrongs lest i be forced to look upon myself and crumble from within. that being said, i’ve been putting off this rewrite for a long long time bc Life Gets Weird. tldr this was written over the course of several months so i apologize for inconsistent quality. anyways let’s get into it!
part one: recap!
it’s been a while! let’s just go over what happened. the scene i wanna focus on in particular is this one:
VICTIM
You’ve got to help me!
ARCHIVIST
[Angrily] Don’t touch me!
[THE ARCHIVIST PULLS AWAY, AS THE VICTIM FALLS AND IS CRYING]
HELEN
Oopsie. Not so easy, is it? Keeping up your humanity?
(187).
that being said i’m gonna be kind of all over the place but! i do think that’s a good jumping off point.
part two (part one): disparaging everyone’s problematic fav
in my original post my point was that in reflexively reacting to a victim with disgust and anger jon inadvertently reveals the nature of his dedication to helping victims as ego driven, especially because this line is directly preceded by him asserting his moral high ground over helen as being a “protector” as opposed to her indulgence in destruction. what i’m saying is homeboy has a savior complex. honestly there’s a lot of evidence to support that claim but i think the most obvious example would be jordan kennedy. like.
JORDAN
…Yeah. But wrong. Sick.
What did you do to me?
ARCHIVIST
I helped you.
JORDAN
Helped me? I don’t feel right, I, I just – Ah! No I don’t – argh! I don’t want this!
(184). to be clear it’s an action with a good intent! he just wants to help someone who once helped him! BUT it also demonstrates a lack of conscious empathy. i feel like i don’t have to argue this since jordan Literally vocally said he didn’t want this several times throughout the scene but the point remains that while jon’s intent is good the actual application of his saviourism removes the autonomy of those he affects. i’m not gonna touch on the “is it objectively immoral to become an oppressor for the sake of self preservation while existing within an extreme system in which all are oppressed regardless of your individual status” query mostly because i do not have the brainpower available rn to come to my own conclusion about systems of power and the way they’re represented in tma (which is a whole other rant tbh) but jon DOES rob jordan of the ability to come to his own conclusion in this debate and make his own choice, thereby removing his autonomy. you know. autonomy. free will. the thing that is central to jon’s internal conflicts. huh.
anyways i NEED to stress that i’m not saying that he’s the same as jonah or the web or even annabelle (although annabelle is a victim. no i don’t take constructive criticism). i just want to point out that his actions reflect a lack of understanding. while he’s able to empathize with the pain others experience and is eternally hyper- aware of it he is unable to view that pain through any lense besides his own and uses it in his cycle of self pity and blame, minimizing it at any point possible in the quickest way and Not prioritizing the wishes of the victim but instead the efficiency in decreasing his own guilt. anyways back to 187- both the victim and jordan are treated as props by jon (and helen) and once they serve their purpose in reaffirming the two’s sense of self are cast aside and ignored. ok from here i’m gonna get conceptual and self indulgent bc it’s my analysis and i get to bring up vague convoluted philosophy.
part two (part two): part two
let’s talk about the distortion for a sec. i refuse to believe helen and michael were both completely gone and it was just the distortion piloting their visage, mostly because… like that’s not what the text would indicate
HELEN
Michael isn’t me. Not now.
ARCHIVIST
What happened?
HELEN
He got… distracted. Let feelings that shouldn’t have been his overwhelm me.
Lost my way.
(101). it’s heavily implied that there was SOME remainder of michael in there, even if the being wasn’t him. maybe i’m way off base here but the way i interpreted the implosion of michael was that it was driven by his inability to maintain the repressed resentment and anger he had for gertrude. like it’s pretty clear that some warped version of michael’s feelings were trapped inside of the distortion and i’d go as far as to say that they were integral to his formation as it. i’m gonna operate on the assumption that michael and helen are two separate beings here for a sec even though we know they’re not. As opposed to michael’s resentment for the archivist, helen actively sought refuge in the institute and from the small amount we saw of her Pre-Distortion it seems like her paranoia is internally directed. i think you could even say that while michael was caught in an eternal battle with the concept of connection, helen is caught in a battle with the concept of self. the point is that she thinks of jon in a less “The Archivist” sense and more as just That Guy who she had an intense connection with that one time.
ARCHIVIST
So… S-so what do you want?
HELEN
I don’t know. Helen liked you, so… there’s a lot to consider. But I will help you leave.
(101). i would also like to point out that helen’s emergence as the distortion coincides with jon coming to terms with his identity as the archivist. parallels, baby! SO helen is a newly formed being that is grappling with the concept of her own existence and jon is reevaluating his understanding of identity as he comes to terms with the fact that he is turning into the thing he’s fighting against and this is all happening at the same time. live laugh love. stay with me here, i promise i’ll get back to 187. Throughout seasons 4 and 5 helen attempts to validate her own moral decisions via jon who she once saw herself in. conversely, jon sees both an image of what he could become AND arguably a representation of his past failure in her.
ARCHIVIST
It did. I think… I mean, you remember how I was back then, how paranoid. The Not!Sasha was there, and I could sense something wasn’t right, but I just couldn’t place it. It left me a suspicious wreck. Then when Helen Richardson came in, it seemed like… she was in the same place I was, but worse, further along. I thought, maybe if I could help her, that would mean… maybe I wasn’t beyond help?
(188). helen and jon lie at opposite ends of the same spectrum. both of them derive pleasure from the suffering of others
HELEN
Oh, John! This existence can be wonderful, if you just let it.
ARCHIVIST
[Sadly] I know.
(187). needless to say that a LOT of jon's arc and the themes surrounding him focus on the concept of autonomy and addiction and i think it'd be fair to say that this component is an aspect of that. repressing these qualities is both a way of reaffirming his control and also just.. him trying to be what he perceives as Good, and season 5 is the point at which this comes to the forefront of his character- particularly the line between what is intrinsic and what he truly has control over. a battle of the concept of the self, if you will. while the two share similar traits, jon is intensely moralistic while helen indulges in a twisted sense of hedonism and both are fueled by an inability to expand their viewpoint. helen fully immerses herself within these qualities and intentionally blinds herself to any concepts of morality (indulgence), and jon actively pushes back on this as hard as he can and follows black and white moral framework (repression). this means that in order for their relationship to function he must either accept her, choosing to let go in his personal battle with autonomy OR she must break out of her worldview and conform to standards of human morality which goes against her own nature.
part three: questions i do not have the answer to
so. what does it all mean. WELL. 187 is the boiling point of all this tension. we know that helen relies on jon to validate her sense of self and we know that jon sees himself in helen, both past and present
HELEN
But that doesn’t make any sense. You barely met her. You had half an hour together, and she spent most of that ranting about mazes! She was positively delirious with paranoia!
ARCHIVIST
True. But as you’ll recall, I was pretty paranoid myself at that point.
HELEN
So what? You saw yourself in her? A sad reflection? A possible future?
(187). I’d argue that 187 is demonstrative of jon’s inability to either fall into complete indulgence in intrinsic values that lack moral validity vs. maintain and image of self that does not conflict with the values he attempts to uphold in order to find internal satisfaction and yes both of those concepts are inherently egocentric as he bases his moral judgement on what he can justify to himself instead of what can be calculated via empathy. however. paired with the alternative (helen). is that BAD. is it inherently selfish to do what you perceive as good in order to feed your own savior complex? and if so, is it inherently selfish to indulge in destructive qualities as to not delude yourself? is honesty vs deception a black and white question? if not, where does helen even fall? in not deluding herself does she achieve a moral high ground? IS she deluding herself by denying the potential to be facetiously benevolent at the detriment of both her personal enjoyment and her honesty? does helen even posses the capability to repress her violent qualities? if she doesn't, does she have any autonomy? if she and jon are both inherently selfish and intentionally resistant to introspection, what makes them different? i do not have answers but i do think the text is meant to invoke these questions. i mean,
MICHAEL (STATEMENT)
There was a great evil, she said, and Michael was going to help her fight it. Am I evil, Archivist? Is a thing evil when it simply obeys its own nature? When it embodies its nature? When that nature is created by those which revile it? Perhaps Gertrude believed so. Michael certainly did. He believed everything she told him.
(101).
part 5: conclusion
so once again. what does it all mean. well! even post helen’s death jon continues to fight for autonomy and preserve his moral worldview so. i think that probably indicates something good.
MARTIN
Huh. She couldn’t help what she was, I guess.
ARCHIVIST
She didn’t even try.
(188). i honestly don’t have a thesis i just find it incredibly interesting how the themes surrounding these two intersect and play off of each other. anyways looping back to 187 i do think in a broad sense jon killing helen is representative of him choosing to stick by his convictions and keep fighting. i don’t have any good way to end this but thanks for sticking around during my self indulgent rambling!
#also apropos of nothing but#this scene reminds me of a clive barker story#truly that has nothing to do w this analysis i just wanted to throw this in the tags#anyways! hope this makes sense#i had a friend who’s never listened to tma read over this to make sure that it’s coherent#and she said it was fine so.. alice ty#this was fun! i have lots of Thoughts on tma and i should write them more often#the magnus archives#mag 187#jonathan sims#the archivist#helen richardson#helen distortion#michael shelley#tma meta#the distortion#the spiral#tma
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Anonymous requested: While on a walk to clear his head, Alex is attacked by Caleb as a warning to him and his friends. Shaken, he refuses to tell the band what happened, but he does tell Willie who is furious and protective. Fluffy ending. (This was edited/simplified just to make it shorter.)
Oooh, this was a really good request! All the details were really helpful too, so thank you for that. I really enjoyed writing it, especially the fluff at the end. I really hope this is the sort of thing you were after. Thank you for requesting it, I hope you like it!
TW: injury, blood.
Tripwire
It was safe to say that since Alex and the boys had left the dark room there had been a lot to process. Being dead, for a start. Adjusting to being a ghost had been a whole other ordeal too. Meeting Julie, forming the band, everything that had gone down with Caleb. Willie. Throughout those few months it had been non-stop, one thing after another, and Alex hadn’t had any time to slow down or take a break, not one single moment to really think about what was going on.
Now, somehow, all the difficult stuff was over and done with. Nobody had seen Caleb in weeks, Alex had managed to free Willie from the stamp, and the band had five more gigs lined up, plus a record deal on the horizon. While things were still definitely busy, it wasn’t so constant anymore. Alex finally had the time to just take a breather – or whatever the ghost version of a breather was, seeing as he couldn’t actually breathe. He had settled on his tried and tested method of going for a walk to clear his head to take the time to wrap his mind around it all.
The freedom of teleportation was nice, but it was definitely one of Alex’s least favourite ghost abilities. He couldn’t help but worry he’d somehow end up in the wrong place every time he did it, or that he’d poof out and never reappear anywhere else. It didn’t have the safety of walking through walls or being heard and seen when the band played together. And it might have been freeing, but it wasn’t nearly as freeing as just walking. Walking was slow and repetitive and methodical, rhythmic in a way that was relaxing. When Alex walked he didn’t have to think about where he was going – he could just let his feet take him there while his mind wandered elsewhere.
So that’s what he did. As he walked through the streets of Hollywood, Alex let his mind wander. He thought about everything that had happened since they came back, everything that might have happened in the twenty-five years before that, and everything that could happen in the future. Alex didn’t often think about the future; he didn’t like dwelling on things that were out of his control and the future was certainly that. But as he thought about it then, it didn’t seem quite so daunting – after all, nothing bad had happened in weeks.
As he was nearing the Orpheum, Alex suddenly felt as if something was wrong. It was an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach, a bad feeling that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Dread, maybe. Or perhaps just the intuitive feeling that something was coming and it couldn’t be anything good.
Ahead of him, no more than ten feet away, a mist was gathering, a light lilac cloud spinning faster and faster until it was so thick that Alex couldn’t see through it, growing taller and taller, wider and wider. The cloud spun so fast that Alex could feel wind rush past him from the movement of it, but it was gone as soon as it had come. The cloud dissipated with a soft whoosh, leaving behind a few sparkles drifting on the breeze it had created, and stood where the cloud had been was Caleb Covington.
While he wasn’t happy to see Caleb again after so long, Alex was glad to see he hadn’t lost his flair for the dramatic.
He knew he wouldn’t have time to get away, but he still considered it. Maybe if he ran instead of walking he could get away. He considered poofing out, but his mind had gone completely blank of places to poof to – all he could think of when looking at Caleb was the Hollywood Ghost Club, and going there was nothing short of the worst idea he could ever have had. So he stayed put, staring Caleb down, trying to stop the shaking of his hands and the hammering of his non-existent heart.
“Hello, Alex,” Caleb drawled. His hands were folded atop his cane and he wore a purple suit so dark it almost looked black, his cape wafting ever so slightly in the breeze, his top hat perched neatly on his head. Childishly, Alex wondered if he had the courage to walk up to him and knock the hat off his head. “Long time no see.”
“What do you want?” Alex demanded, trying to sound as if he wasn’t desperate to run away. He was aware that Caleb probably knew just how scared he really was, but if he didn’t show his nerves then he might have been able to convince himself that he wasn’t really frightened.
Caleb tutted. “Come now, is that really how you greet an old friend? I might have expected it from Luke but certainly not from you, Alex. I’m only here to see how you’re getting on without me!”
It felt like a trap, but Alex didn’t know what tripwire he was supposed to avoid.
“We’re doing fine,” he said firmly. “We don’t need you.”
“So you keep telling me,” Caleb replied. He flexed his hands, still grasping his cane. “Tell me, Alex – how did you and your little buddies manage to free yourselves from my stamp, hm?”
“Why should I tell you that?” Alex spat. It was a braver way of saying ‘we have no idea’.
“Oh, I don’t think you should,” Caleb admitted. “If you told me how you did it there would be dire consequences for you and your friends, but it would be extremely helpful to me. If you want to keep this newfound freedom with your silly little band, you shouldn’t tell me how you got the stamp off.”
“Then I’m not telling you,” Alex said.
“But,” Caleb continued, a malicious twinkle in his eyes, “if you want to walk away from this little chat unharmed then I suggest you tell me everything.”
Up until then, Alex thought he had been doing a very good job at standing his ground, maybe even looking a little intimidating. But the threat broke him. He felt himself freeze, his mind halt, and suddenly he was far weaker than the man in front of him.
“Unharmed?” he repeated. “What do you mean ‘unharmed’?”
Caleb cocked his head to the side like he didn’t understand the question. “Isn’t it obvious?” When Alex didn’t say anything, Caleb chuckled darkly. It sent shivers down Alex’s spine and made his stomach twist sickeningly. “Alex, if you refuse to tell me exactly how you got my stamp off, I am going to hurt you. And let me tell you, you’d be surprised just how much you can make someone hurt even after they’re dead and gone.”
Alex’s mind was spinning. There was no good option here, no way out. Caleb had trapped him in yet another impossible situation. He cursed himself for not poofing out while he had the chance.
But it didn’t matter how scared he was now, he would not let his friends suffer just to stave off his own pain. He had to take one for the team, even if he was dreading it. The smirk on Caleb’s face said that he knew he had won this round no matter what, smug and self-satisfied. Alex wanted to slap the smile right off his face, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of a fight.
He steeled himself, set his jaw, tried to look like as much of a threat as he could. “I’m not telling you anything. Nothing you do can make me talk. Do your worst.”
Caleb raised an eyebrow, looking almost amused, but he nodded. “Alright then. You’ve made your decision. I can’t say I’m surprised – you’re not as weak-willed as you look. But you’re still weak. I can still hurt you.”
He tucked his cane under his arm and stalked towards Alex. Too late, Alex wondered if he could have taken that brief opportunity to run away, but he would never know because Caleb grabbed his wrist. It was just like how he’d put the stamp on, a quick touch and a slight sting. When he let go, Alex looked at where his hand had been – there was a blood red mark there, swirling on his skin. Its shape constantly changed, but Alex was sure he picked out a blade before it twisted and morphed into something else.
“What is it?” he asked Caleb.
“You’ll soon see,” he replied, already walking away. He threw the words over his shoulder as he left Alex alone. “Consider this a warning to you and your friends. Willie, too. It isn’t over. There is plenty more I can do to make you suffer. It’s up to you to decide whether you’re willing to put yourselves through all of this just to stay away from me. I’ll see you soon, Alex.”
And he was gone.
For a moment, Alex was confused. This stamp, whatever it was, didn’t seem to be doing anything. It was just moving about on his skin, as fluid as water, like a cool tattoo. He wondered – hoped – if Caleb’s spell hadn’t worked.
But then it hit him. It felt as if he’d been struck by lightning and hit by a bus at the exact same time, unimaginable pain slamming into him and knocking him right off his feet. It was infinitely worse than the pain of the jolts Caleb had inflicted on them before which should have been impossible because those felt like death. And yet there he was, lying on the ground, winded and light-headed, pain surging through his body, unable to move.
Another one. This time it felt like he’d been kicked in the temple and had his face stamped on. He was sure his nose was broken even though that probably shouldn’t have been possible. He lifted a weak, shaking hand to his face and touched his upper lip – when his hand came away, his fingertips were drenched in blood. Alex had been sure that ghosts didn’t have blood, so he wondered whether he’d been wrong or if this was some sort of sick illusion Caleb had created. He decided it didn’t matter, not when he was vulnerable and hurting, in agony worse than dying.
Again, like being stabbed in the gut.
Again, like he’d broken his legs.
Again, like a knife twisted in his back.
It went on and on, attack after attack, pain after searing pain. It hurt too much for him to even scream for help, not that it would have done any good. All around him, lifers walked by without a care in the world, not knowing that he was right there, a snivelling wreck, bloodied and bruised. He curled in on himself and waited for it all to be over.
Eventually, it finished. The last jolt came like a punch to the jaw and when nothing else happened for fifteen minutes, Alex began to come to his senses. He opened his eyes and eased himself up into a sitting position. Even that hurt like hell. He studied his body – his legs, even though they felt like they had been snapped in half, seemed fine; there were a few bruises on his arms, but nothing major; every aching joint was killing him and his head was pounding; again, he touched his upper lip and felt blood crusted there, but none of it was fresh enough to be wet.
He could only imagine how pathetic he looked.
How was he going to explain all this to his friends?
Never mind an explanation – he needed to warn them.
Slowly, he picked himself up off the ground. He regretted it immediately as his head started swimming, he swayed on his feet, almost slumping right back down to the ground. He wouldn’t let himself be beaten by this, he wouldn’t show anymore weakness. His vision blurred (by pain or unshed tears, it was impossible to tell), he focused as much as he could on the studio and forced himself to poof back there.
The feeling of teleportation was uncomfortable at the best of times, but in such a state Alex couldn’t have imagined anything worse. He landed in the studio, his feet hitting the floor with such force that it sent shockwaves up his spine, nothing compared to what he’d just been through but still unbelievably painful. Distantly, he could hear his friends stop talking, muffled and indistinct voices crowding all around him, their faces swimming in front of his eyes.
“Alex,” came a voice. Maybe Julie’s, maybe Luke’s, maybe Reggie’s, maybe none of them. “Alex, buddy, you alright? Come on, speak to us, Alex. What happened? Alex? Alex?”
There was little strength in his arms, but he used it to push them all away and staggered his way to the couch. He collapsed onto it, suddenly feeling weak, somehow more vulnerable than he’d felt lying on the ground as Caleb’s stamp beat him bloody. He checked his wrist now – the stamp was gone.
He came back to himself a little at that; if the stamp was gone, he couldn’t be hurt anymore. He was alright now, he was with his friends, Caleb was nowhere to be seen. But knowing that didn’t stop the tears pooled in his eyes from sliding down his cheeks or his hands from shaking so intensely they might fall off his body. Someone – no, not just someone, it was Julie – crouched down in front of him and gently laid a hand on his knee.
He jerked away from the touch like it burned him.
“Alex,” came Julie’s soft voice. “Alex, please look at me. What happened?”
All he could do in response was shake his head and curl in on himself, body heaving with every sob he was too weak to suppress.
“Alex,” Reggie tried. Alex felt the couch cushions depress next to him as Reggie sat beside him. “It’s alright, man. You’re safe here with us.”
“You’re not alone, Alex,” came Luke’s voice. “Just tell us what happened. Who did this to you?”
But still Alex could only shake his head.
No one said anything for a while. The only sound in the studio was Alex’s laboured breathing and ragged sobs. He’d never felt so pathetic in all his life and death – he could make it through torture without crying like this, and yet just being around his friends after the fact was enough to set him off. He felt useless, he hadn’t even tried to stop Caleb in any way. He’d let this happen, he was the reason he was hurt. This was all his fault.
After a while, he heard the sound of one of the boys poofing out, presumably Luke because Alex could still feel Reggie sat beside him. Only a minute or so later, there was the sound of someone poofing back in, but Luke wasn’t alone now.
“Alex?”
His haggard breathing stopped altogether as Alex opened his eyes to see Willie in front of him, crouched down where Julie had been before. There was a soft smile on their face, reassuring, but Alex wasn’t blind to the tears in their eyes. Alex timidly reached out a hand to him and Willie interlocked their fingers.
“I’m here,” Willie said, his voice wavering. “I’m here for you, hotdog.”
At that, fresh tears began streaming down Alex’s face. He pulled Willie to him, wrapping him in a fierce embrace, holding them so tight that it made his new injuries sear with pain, but he never wanted to let go. The pain was worth every bit of comfort that simply holding Willie provided, every moment, every second, everything.
“We’ll give you guys a minute,” Julie said quietly.
“What?” Luke protested. “No way, I want to find out who hurt Alex and I want to hurt them.”
“Luke,” Julie said, gentle but firm. “That’ll come later. I’m sure we’ll find out everything, but right now we shouldn’t surround him.”
Alex, still holding Willie like his afterlife depended on it, heard the three of them reluctantly leave him and Willie behind. He was grateful for the most part, but a little bit of him still wanted them there. It would have been harder to tell them all what had happened at once, but he would have preferred not to repeat the story.
Willie just held him. They didn’t press for him to talk, didn’t let go before Alex was ready, he just held him in his arms and occasionally whispered, “I love you. You’re safe. I’m here.”
Alex couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have someone like Willie care for him.
Eventually, he pulled away. It hurt to see Willie’s face streaked with tears, especially knowing it was because of him. Alex softly tucked a lock of hair behind their ear.
“I was out for a walk,” he rasped, his voice strained from crying. “Clearing my head. Like the day we first met. Same place and everything. Then there was this weird cloud and Caleb appeared. He said if I didn’t tell him how we got the stamps off then he’d hurt me.”
“Oh, Alex,” Willie breathed. Alex could see their heart breaking.
“I wouldn’t tell him. It’s not like we know anyway. So he… he put this other stamp on me – it was like, red and swirly and it looked like…”
“Death,” Willie finished for him. Alex nodded, looking at the ground, trying to still his breathing again. “It looked like death.”
“It felt like it too,” Alex said dryly. “Or worse.” He choked on his words, remembered it all, broke again.
He fell limply to the side, but Willie caught him, pulled him into a hug as he cried. There were images racing through his mind, one after the other – Caleb’s mirthless laughter and sly smirk, the stamp dripping across his skin, himself lying on the ground covered in his own blood. He still hadn’t figured out if that blood had been real or an illusion, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore because right that moment he felt as if he couldn’t breathe and his legs were numb and the walls were closing in and he was losing his grip on reality and losing his grip on Willie and–
“Come back, Alex,” Willie said, his voice cutting through Alex’s hopeless thoughts. “You’re not there anymore. It’s over. You survived. You are in Julie’s garage, I’m holding you, nothing can get to you. Come back, Alex.”
Slowly, Alex dragged himself down from his thoughts. He focused on the feeling on his hands clutching Willie’s hoodie, the tickle of Willie’s hair against his cheek, the warmth of Willie’s hands on his back. He focused on Willie and it brought him back.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t apologise,” Willie told him, sounding almost outraged. He watched as Willie took a moment to collect himself, and when they spoke again their voice was much calmer. “You have nothing to apologise for. None of this was your fault. Please tell me you know that.”
Alex couldn’t have truthfully said so, and he wouldn’t lie to Willie. Bottom lip trembling as he held back yet more tears, he remained silent.
“Alex, this wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known Caleb was going to attack you. You couldn’t have predicted any of this. And it could have happened to any one of us. We all would have done the same thing. You made it through, Alex. This wasn’t your fault and you’re not weak for getting hurt.”
After a moment’s pause, Alex weakly repeated back to them, “This wasn’t my fault.”
Willie pressed a kiss to the top of Alex’s head. “Good. Please remember that. You don’t need to feel guilty about this, alright?”
All he did was nod, closing his eyes and resting his head on Willie’s chest.
“I can explain the stamp if you want,” Willie said, carding his fingers through Alex’s hair. “It has some fancy Latin name that I can’t remember. When Caleb uses it on someone, it takes the most pain they’ve ever been in, and it multiplies it by a thousand. It’s a good thing he can’t use it on lifers because if he did it would kill them with the first jolt.”
“I’m not surprised,” Alex deadpanned.
“The first time he used it on me I thought he was trying to kill me. Again. Or force me to cross over somehow.”
At that, Alex sat up and stared at Willie, wide-eyed. “The first time?”
Gently, Willie pulled Alex back to his lap and laid him down again. “He would use it on me if ever I stepped really out of line. The last time was the day you guys performed at the Orpheum. But I’m free now, so as long as we avoid Caleb it’ll never happen again. If we all avoid him – me, you, Luke, Reggie – then none of us have to get hurt.”
“I don’t think we can avoid whatever he’s got planned,” Alex mumbled.
“Maybe not,” Willie admitted. “But let’s not think about that now. Right, hotdog? I mean, you made it out today. Let’s focus on that. Is there anything you want to do?”
Alex thought for a moment but all he came up with was: “I just want to sleep. And I want you to hold me.”
He could hear Willie’s smile in their voice. “Of course. Whatever you want, Alex.”
Alex felt his eyes drifting closed, sleep catching up with him all at once, the exhaustion being a by-product of the agony. He didn’t mean to say it, but he heard his tired voice breathe, “I love you.”
And just before he fell asleep, he heard Willie whisper back, “I love you too, Alex. Sleep well.”
#tw injury#julie molina#willex#jatp#alex mercer#reggie peters#luke patterson#julie and the phantoms#willie jatp#willie x alex#alex x willie#caleb covington#julie and the himbos#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#jatp fic#willex fic#hurt/comfort#emotional hurt/comfort#fluff and angst#angst#writing#my writing
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I'd die for you, come kill me
Kinktober Day 11: restrained
Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader
A/N: This one goes for my good friend followers celebration. So happy for your milestone, @msmarvelouswinchester! Divider by @talesmaniac89.
@stillintheimpala said: i have a fic idea. demon!dean stuck in a chair on handcuffed to a bed with those demon proof handcuffs. he's completely at your mercy. you get to dom him. (I put ropes instead of handcuffs because of the gif)
Prompt: Remember how I said I'd die for you.
Warnings: angry sex, p in v, riding, restraints, power play, smangst, angst, kind of hopefully ending (?), demon!dean acts like demon!dean
“Where is he?”
Sam sucked in a breath, moving his shoulder uncomfortably as he straightened his posture. The youngest Winchester's features contorted into a grimace, and you couldn't tell if it was because of the look on your face or him jarring his dislocated arm. “He's in the dungeon, but Y/N-”
“He isn't himself. I know that. Kinda noticed when he threw me against the wall and said he couldn't wait to rip my throat out with his teeth.” You gave Sam a humorless grin before you gestured to the wound on your shoulder. “This is a good reminder as well.”
“We'll cure him.” Sammy nodded at you, wrapping his words with faith and determination; he was always a believer.
You arched your eyebrows. “Then what are you waiting for?”
You two were still standing in the living room as Dean's howl rushed through the air. He sounded more like a beast than a man, yet he was smack dab in the middle of those polarized states. He was human enough to know where to strike and animal enough to relish in the attack.
Sam's gaze softened on yours.
“I know he hurt you. He hurt both of us, but Dean is my brother. I can do it alone. You don't need to-”
“Sam, he ran away once, and you just got your arm yanked out of your socket. You won't be able to fight him. You need backup,” you interrupted him. Despite your conclusion being completely rational, there was more to it than that, but Sam didn't need to know about it yet. “Besides, it's Dean.”
The hunter glanced at you. Gentle eyes watching your jaw harden, he pressed his lips together and nodded. “Okay.”
Dean's demonic self had been throwing insults like a man feeding his dog shattered glass. He was full of them, not caring about hiding his satisfaction when he hits yours and Sam's weak spots.
A couple of seconds ago, he had called you an easy pussy that saved him the job of having to go out and get some. That display rewarded him with a thicker needle that pierced much deeper than it needed to. The pure human blood spread into his veins as a holy wash, like soap over a flesh wound. Dean growled in pain and went quiet for a while.
Your eyes abandoned the demon for once, directed now to his brother. Sam's earthy brown eyes were drawn in concern, mouth sketched into a frown. His healthy arm was onto his shoulder, obviously physically hurting.
“Sam, go. I can do it. It’s just two more needles. He'll probably pass out once it's done,” you pleaded in an attempt to catch Sam's rational side that always saw the order in chaos. His hazel orbs settled on you, and you knew he didn't want to leave his brother. You can't blame him for that. You didn’t either, but if Dean was in his right mind, he'd want that. And you needed some time alone with this demon version of your boyfriend. “Please.”
You didn’t know if it was something in your cracking voice or if the fact his brother regaining control meant he’d have even harsher words to spit, but when the tall man’s eyes swept from you to his brother and back, he sighed. In that moment, you knew he accepted it.
“If he doesn't pass out…”
“I call you right away. Don't worry, and please take some meds for your pain.” You offered some tenderness to him in the middle of the violence through a lovingly smile. In a matter of seconds, the only traces of Sammy in the room were the boot-clad clamor of his footsteps growing quieter and quieter.
“Now you have me all to yourself, sweetheart. What are you planning to do?”
The lopsided grin was still attached to his face, and those were still his teeth. Still, something about Dean's smile made you want to rip him apart with your nails. How did he let this happen? How did the situation escalate like this? How did everything get so bad so fast?
“Shut up,” you hissed through your teeth, boots clicking on the floor as you approached him. Dean glanced at you shamelessly; the pretty little bruise on your skin proving that he had succeeded in breaking you. It twisted his guts in both good and bad ways — the bittersweet contradiction among lovers.
“Feisty, huh? I always liked that on you. Who would guess that you were a bottom in bed?” Dean appeared to find your fury entertaining as if he relished any emotion he could instigate inside you.
“I said shut up.”
“Or what? You are gonna sting me with a flimsy syringe needle like I did to you with my cock? Go ahead, sweetheart.”
The idiotic nickname burned your insides. As your and Dean's relationship got more serious, he'd stop calling you that. You weren't just a fling or a woman he'd leave the next day, and the Winchester only called you that either sarcastically or during an argument now. Was this how the demon saw you? Just another sweetheart?
Dean smirked at your quietude, poking the bear once again. “What? Demon got that smart tongue of yours? It's embarrassing, really. You get all worked up, pretending to be that tough gal, but you can't hurt me. You didn't even fight back when I tried to kill you. How weak is that? You’ve always been a liability. Just another woman I had to protect to get inside her.”
You warned him, the words coming out more like a groan than anything else: “Shut up!”
Yet, Dean persisted. He had discovered your weakness, and he couldn't wait to see how much you could take. You'd end up giving in to him, thrashing headfirst into a fight, and he'd escape again. The demon was counting on that. “A waste of time, really. At least you had a nice pussy, but I scratched it open. It's useless now, just like you.”
The dismissal in his words laced with the cynical chuckle that left his mouth made you hit your breaking point.
“I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!” You grabbed a syringe and stung Dean like a scorpion, right in the jugular. He wanted to set you on fire? Good, you'd make sure he got burnt too. “I said I'd die for you. Remember how I said I'd die for you? And you tried to kill me.” You grunted, throwing the empty needle away. Dean's normally forest green eyes went black as howls of outrage escaped his mouth. The blood of saints that coursed through his body was a good way to either turn the beast into a man again or kill him completely. Knowing this, he screamed and struggled in the chair, as desperate as a rat stuck in a mousetrap. It made you doubt the cure. Perhaps a good thing couldn't save him now, the whispers of sulfur that colored his heart black too intrinsic to eradicate without killing the host. You couldn't bring yourself to care about it now. The demon was suffering, and he deserved it. You wanted your own hurt ricochet back to where it came from: him. “Now you are sitting there talking about me like I'm your bitch or something like that, but I'm not. I can take care of myself, and I don't need you. I chose to stay here.”
Dean blinked, and suddenly everything was in place again. His face softened like it usually did when you two were alone, and an actual smile conquered his features. All the oxygen in your body caught in your throat.
“You're right. You are a strong, independent woman, and I should feel lucky to get myself a keeper like you.” His voice filled the dungeon with light-hearted relief. Your cheeks were hurting as you scooted closer to him. “I missed you so much.”
He was saying all you wanted to tell him the minute he left. Your eyes got glossy, and you threw yourself on his lap, clutching to him like devout patron to her bible. Dean was here. He came back to you.
A quiet gasp of praise left your mouth: “Dean-”
He interrupted whatever you were about to say, replacing your words with a kiss. A sweet one — sweeter than anything you might imagine. It was the kind of kiss shared for two lovers in the dark, recognizing each other’s bodies by touch alone. You, of course, allowed yourself to get lost in the sensation of belonging. You shouldn't have. You should never just jump into someone, or you might drown. It's hard to find corpses in a black river.
Yet, your soul was tied to the righteous sinner, so you kept pressing your lips to his while he devoured your mouth softly.
“Sammy doesn't understand, Y/N,” he said. When he pulled away, you nuzzled into his neck. The heated tang to his murmured sentiments remained there, but his voice, less gruff than usual, fooled you. “I finally don't have the weight of the world on my shoulders. I'm free. I never thought I'd be happy after that night…” Dean wore the façade, even gulping at the thought. He didn't know if it was because the human blood was slowly coursing into the core of his being, but he wouldn't waste time on it. “But I can now. We can run away together, leave Sam behind. Just me and you.”
What did you expect? He was a demon. The blame was on you for expecting repentance from the ashes of hellfire. This isn't a fairytale where the hero suddenly is hit by true love and everything is solved with the ultimate kiss. This is a hunter’s tale, and there's just one ending for those stories: the prey dying.
You lifted your head. “Dean would never leave Sam behind.”
Dean burst into laughter as if your hope was some sort of funny joke. He adjusted his hips in the chair, smirking at you with cruelty.
“Bet it almost got you. I could see your eyes shining with hope. You were ready to get on your knees and suck my cock. You’d be screaming Dean, Dean, Dean, and inevitably fall for some stupid lies.” He shook his head with disappointment. “You're too easy, Y/N.”
“Who do you think you are?” The indignancy in your tone only drew a malicious grin out of Dean. This was too good. He could feel his cock hardened in his pants. He might fuck you before killing you only to make good use of his time.
“I'm a demon. What about you? Oh, wait! I know the answer to that one.” He licked his lips, savoring the moment. “You're a little-”
Smack.
The palm of your hand met Dean's cheek harshly, transferring some of your anger into a red mark on his right cheek. The eldest Winchester's head was tilted to the side from the impact. He clenched his jaw before turning his glare at you, eyes back in black as he spoke: “You shouldn't have done that.”
Every syllable that left his tongue was imbued with a threatening crimson rage, but you didn't care. Not now.
You weren't scared of him.
“You shouldn't be a demon, but here we are,” you remarked, summoning a smarmy leer and wearing it like one of his flannels. “Shut up. I know you're not my Dean. You are just all he hates in himself wrapped with his skin. You're disgusting, cruel, and selfish.” It didn’t make any sense for your body to be as heated up as it was, but it was. And Dean didn’t care. Fuck him. “You’ve spent so long aiming at our Achilles’ heel that you forgot you have yours too. Stupid.” You chortled, grinding your hips on his. At this point, both your panties and emotional stability were ruined. “Look at you, all hard for the girl basically torturing you with poison, huh?”
“You-” He attempted to speak, to put you down so he can climb over you. You stopped him with a hand inside his pants.
“Language, Dean,” you groaned at him. It wasn't unusual for you and Dean to blow off some steam with sex, either after a fight or a hunt, but, this? It’s a whole new level of fucked. Yet somehow, your pussy didn't seem to mind, and neither did his cock. You got his length free, and his stiffened cock slapped his clothed belly. “I don't wanna hear something that makes me angry because if I get mad, then I won't let you come inside my pretty pussy. Understood?”
He groaned in response, trying to move his hands to show you who the real alpha was here, but the rope kept him in place. Silence lanced through the air because you knew you didn't want to waste time on something as exciting as foreplay; he did not deserve that, and you didn't want this. You just lifted your red skirt and slid your panties to the side. Your pussy swallowed his cock painfully slow.
The demon that ate your lover didn't offer mumbled protests at the fact you were still wearing clothes. Your Dean always tried to get any piece of fabric away because he liked to see all of you. This Dean, though, gulped and glared at you. Pleasure flushed his cheeks only he can’t deny the physical pleasure. It’s clear that, even as a demon, he could never reject the carnal appeal of your body and your sweet, soaked pussy. Hands pinned behind his back with the restraints, you two in the middle of a big demon symbols on the ground, he was completely at your mercy. He was helpless.
Dean bucked his hips to get all of his hardness inside you right way, to show both you and himself that he still had the power here. You barely blinked before moving your hips up, restricting him further entrance into your cunt. Dean was always eager when it came to sex, but you knew this wasn't about just fucking you anymore. You were in control.
Placing your hands on his shoulders, you murmured in an increasingly sultry bite: “I'm the one making the rules here. Take it or leave it.”
“Fucking a demon? That's why you told Sammy to go with all the crap about caring for his arm?” the former hunter remarked. You and he both knew Dean wouldn't — couldn’t, not with half his cock being squeezed by your tightness — leave your pussy, but he still very much had the capacity to bite.
“Unlike you, I worry about the people I love.”
“I don't love,” he snarled, watching you swallow the malcontented lump in your throat. “Hear that? I don't love you.”
“Then at least be useful and fuck me,” you groaned, finally resting wholly in his lap with all of his dick inside of you. Dean whimpered, overthrown by the sensation of your heady tightness encompassing his cock. He tried to break free again, starved to grab your thighs, your ass, any part of you he could get his hands on, but the rope limited his range of motion. The raw polyester and nylon mix around his wrists was a contrast to the warmth of his lap. His eyes closed, blinking only back into wakeful blackness because of your promise disguised as a hissed threat: “No, forget it. I'll be the one fucking you.”
There was something delightfully mercurial about the way you rode Dean. The dungeon once filled by his pained screams had now become the perfect studio for your flexing thighs slapping against his, your breathless moans camouflaging the raw hurt of your heart, and the unique sound of Dean's cock sunk to impossible degrees inside your needy cunt. He leaned in for more.
This was no longer about the sexual release for him. It was for the tiny part of Dean that always craved an order to follow. It was the small piece of him that craved carrying the weight of responsibility heavy on his back like the burden Atlas had to bear. It was the liberation of the heavy chains that held him down since he was a child, even if his hands were — appropriately enough — tied behind his back. As a demon, he didn’t have to worry, and neither did he when submissive to you. For you, it was expelling your revenge on this devilish version of the man you loved. He had it coming.
“I hate you. I hate having to save you. I hate caring about you.” You huffed, nails sinking in his clothed shoulder. The ghost of your touch was enough to make his dick twitch inside you. Tears brimmed in your eyes as the goosebumps rose your spine, and every time you sunk on his cock brought you closer to collapse. All Dean did was to praise your name with a moan. “I hate how good you feel inside me.” You sobbed, increasing your rhythmic and going fast and rougher on his cock. Your walls were tightening around his dick. Your untouched clit rubbed against the fabric, but it didn't matter. This wasn't about pleasure. “I hate that it’s you and not him.” That's not my Dean.
That caught his attention. Dean’s shoulders grew rigid. He was ready to catch a glimpse of warring emotions of hatred and disgust on your face, but he wasn't prepared for the crushingly forlorn refraction of loss and dispair he found there.
The knight of hell should feel satisfied. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? Destroying you, turning the woman the human version of himself loved into a walking catastrophe so you wouldn't dare bring him back.
Apparently, the priorities changed. Maybe the blood was really effective, slowly disintegrating his armor into flesh again. It was the only explanation for all the humanly emotions he was experiencing.
Dean felt the conflict building as if hurting you was physically tearing him apart. His eyes contracted into livid green again, shining like the moon with tears he didn't dare drop. He was still a demon, bratty heart or not.
Yet, there was only so far a man could control himself. His lips were treacherous for your name, echoed more like a plea than anything: “Y/N-”
“Shut up! I don't wanna hear your voice. You said I'm your little bitch, nothing but a whore to you, huh? Guess what, asshole. You are my bitch now, and you’re gonna like it.” The little monster in you hummed happily to your authority, glad to finally punish someone for the incitement of agony inside your guts. You closed your eyes, riding Dean ferociously.
Dean Winchester might have been a cage to your feelings, but at least it was golden.
You said you'd be here. You said you wouldn't leave me. Your thoughts corroded your wearied heart as you tried to fuck them away with Dean's weeping cock. You could feel he was close, and you were constantly hitting your G-spot with eagerness, your sweat and harrowed feelings gushing over. You said I didn't need to leave. You said we'd find a way through this. You lied, you lied, you lied.
I trusted you, and you destroyed me. You hurt me and Sam, and I can't even blame you for it. He knew all your enemies started out as friends. He knew how much it would hurt you if he got the mark. He knew how it would break you if he said those words, demon or not. And you know you can't put this blame on Dean’s shoulders, but you were suffocating and needed fresh air. The sacrificial game wasn’t always a virtuous act. So, you dropped yourself down hard, appreciating the way his cock hit the right spot over and over again. It forced your body to feel good despite your restless mind. I hate you. You made me go crazy. And I miss you.
What was the saying? Man makes the promise, and the demon makes him break it.
Dean's fixated you. He wanted to get free of his cuffs and cup your cheeks, see you lean into his touch so he could wipe away the tears that started to fall and haven't stopped in minutes. He wanted to tell you he was here, not completely, but he was here. He wanted to apologize and make it better, but he didn't. His white skin was burning red because of how hard he was trying to move his hands, hair moving by your movements and his. The semi-human groaned like the remainder of the beast clutching his strings when he hit his orgasm and spread his seed inside you. You whined like a broken toy as you came all over his cock.
It felt good, for a while. It was nice, feeling good.
You stayed there a little more, gaining control over yourself while he softened inside of you. Dean was doing the same in an attempt to stifle his human emotions from surfacing. He wasn't going to be weak anymore. He couldn't be because for once in his life, he hadn’t hated himself.
You coughed, using the chair to hoist yourself to your feet. His cum dripped from your pussy, dampening his still-clothed thigh. You sniffed, grimacing a little when you noticed that your face wasn't wet with sweat. You’d been crying.
That only made you madder at yourself.
“Fuck it,” you groaned, putting his dick back into his pants before zipping him up.
Dean smirked in a final attempt to turn the table and get on your nerves again. “That's what we just did.”
You didn't waste more of your heart on him. Taking the last needle, you sunk the devil into his sharp skin and pressed the plunger with all the fervor of pulling a gun's trigger. He screamed like the rush of humanity flowing into him was a shot to the heart.
Your legs were trembling when you threw the object away and hugged yourself, focused on Dean's fragile body in front of you.
He looked down, eyes shutting a few times as if he was waking up before lifting his head to look at you.
“Y/N?” His voice was back to its gruff drag, but it was carrying a strand of vulnerability and care that he had only ever directed at you. Dean frowned, confusedly watching you and the place around you both, not to mention himself. “Y/N, what happened?”
He didn't remember anything. He didn't remember the terrible things he’d done. He didn't remember the words said.
You gulped, the back of your hand pressed against your wet cheeks. “I'm going to get Sam.”
The demon may have gotten teary-eyed, but the human Dean was the one letting the tears slide down his cheeks as you turned around and left, almost running to get away from him. He didn't even know why.
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And he said “nope” - Part 2
Deal with the Devil
Hisoka x weak!reader; soulmate AU
Ok so we decided to go with a light and fun story! I suppose it isn’t what’s expected of a Hisoka x reader but with Ari we had so much fun imagining different scenarios where both are forced to work together, it just started to take life on it’s own! I hope it won’t be disapointing for you and that you’ll like this serie as much as we do! @kuuredere
-Yasu
Previous chapter / Next chapter
TW: none
Writer: Both of us ! (Ari and Yasu)
Word count: 1965
This is how your "contract" began with Hisoka, with one simple deal: to continue with your life without being disturbing each other, as if you two never met. You would never work together anyway. You had morals and Hisoka was… Hisoka.
But strangely, since then your life had seemed to take an ominous decline and you were starting to wonder if the Universe had something to do with it. Too much had happened in too little time: losing your car, having your apartment infested with cockroaches, and finding out that your partner might be having an affair. Well… it couldn't be worse, after all.
" You are fired. "
Ah. It could, actually.
You were sitting on a bench somewhere in a park, with a big box full of your things lying at your feet, trying somehow to reach your partner on the phone. After the fifth call, you gave up. They must have been busy ...
You clapped your hands over your eyes, sighing loudly, twisting in your head everything you could do to find a job that paid as well as your last but there were very few options and the remaining ones didn't appeal to you one bit. You weren't desperate enough to striptease yet, that's for sure, and going back to babysitting was a big no.
"Maybe they were right in the end," you mumbled in your despair. “I'm not meant to be a Hunter and I'm not made for the big city.” A sad chuckle escaped your lips. “A real little peasant, haha. "
As if trying to mock you, the sun and the sky were extremely bright that day. Or maybe it was to support you...
" Well! I got this! I will not be discouraged for so little! "
You got up on your feet, determined, and then sat down again almost instantly.
"I have nowhere to sleep."
You expressed yourself with yet another long sigh. If only you hadn’t met this Hisoka, if only you hadn’t gone to see that damn battle at Heaven Arenas with your friends, if only you had said no, your life surely would have just as chill, like it used to. Seeing in color was fun but not necessary.
"I don't like pink," you thought as you saw a kid make a big bubble with his chewing gum.
"My, it looks like my kitten is doing badly ~," said a voice you recognized all too well.
Slowly turning your head to the side, you could finally confirm your fears: Hisoka was looking at you with a big smile, a hand on his cheek and mocking eyes.
"Hey, Satan," you answered instinctively.
He laughs at your words.
"I’m pretty sure I’m even worse, but thank you nonetheless."
“Go away. I don’t have time to mess with you. And like, don’t you have a fight today?”
Hisoka shrugged.
“The guy isn’t worth my time, that’s all.”
“So you thought about stalking me?”
“I thought about watching children play but I found you like you would find a wart,” he said nonchalantly.
You just started at him, genuinely creeped out.
“Get out of here, pedo.”
He laughed again.
“Make me.”
“The sexual innuendo of this sentence is way too big so you better stop using it unless if you want to bang me,” you said, unphased. “But there’s a hint: you ugly.”
“Wow!” Hisoka placed a hand to his heart, a pout on his face. “You didn’t seem quite so aggressive last time. Something bad happened?” His eyes found your box and his smirk came back. “Fired?”
You said nothing, but the displeased expression gave him confirmation.
“Your fault.”
“How’s that? Oh, let me guess,” his finger taping his lips in the most frustrating exagerration of his excessively dramatic self. “You couldn’t stop thinking about me and got distracted from your work, so of course, your boss told you to never come back because of your uselesness. Tragic love story!” He sighed. “But then again, who could resist me? I feel sympathetic for you. <3″
Your disgust grew just at the thought of being in love with Hisoka. He annoyed more you at every word he spoke, at every breath he took but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing this. You prefered playing his game and use your sarcasm to counter his and perhaps, distract yourself from your harsh reality.
“Well, if you’re so sympathetic, you could buy me a house-”
“Nope, <3″
You tried, at least!
“My apartment have been infested with cockroaches, so honestly, I really need a house. If you know a place, tell me.”
Hisoka eyed you for a second.
“Are you really unclean to the point of having cockroaches in your whole apartment?”
“What ? NO!” you yelled.
He just laughed again, shoting his head back. You bite your lower lips in embarassment as you saw the eyes of everyone else in proximity glaring at you. Your cheeks burned in fluster.You’ve been too loud.
“I have an idea!” you said to Hisoka after chacking your burning face away. “We could swap houses! That way, you could live with your family!”
His laugh died and he looked at you, pleased that you started playing with him.
“They said they missed you, you know? That you shouldn’t have run off and left them without saying anything,” you continued.
“I,” started Hisoka through a shit eating grin, “hate you so much and I urge to kill you but it would be no fun with you.”
“I think one of your brothers at my house is called Steve. Steve really, really misses you.” You smiled. “I feel like you two were very close.”
You liked insisting on each and every word of your sentence.
“Impossible. I’m too sexy to be related to Steve.”
“You’re sure? I thought you were twins. I could barely tell you apart!” Your voice sounded more and more amused with each syllable leaving your mouth. It felt so natural. “Wow.”
Honeslty, playful bander with Hisoka was fun. A real game, a match one of you had to win; he was never phased by any of your words so you kept sending sly insults back and forth in this oddly lively and convivial disgust you shared for each other.
Unfortunatly, everything must come to an end, right? You stopped quick in your teasing when you saw a familiar number appearing on your phone. Your smile vanished in less than a second and the atmosphere wasn’t so light anymore. Your partner was calling you, but in all honesty, you didn’t want to answer now. Or more like you didn’t have the heart to.
Hisoka raised one eyebrow.
“Lover?”
“I guess.. They’ve been cheating for a while, so no, not really anymore,” you said, trying your best to seem nonchalant about it.
“And you’re okay with that? You don’t seem like the type who’d have an open relationship.” His voice sounded like he took great joy in your suffering.
“Well, they found their soulmate. I know them,” you gulped. “I know them more than I know myself. It’s been hard on them and they aren’t ready to talk about it but I’m aware of what they’re doing at night. I saw their messages by accident.” You shrugged. “I’m only waiting for when they feel like it’s time.”
You stared at the number until it disappeared.
“Liar.”
You looked over to Hisoka again, slightly disoriented.
“You can dump them since you found your own soulmate.The break-up wouldn’t be so hard on them if they knew this.” He chuckled. “You’re just slowing down the inevitable fate of your couple. You don’t want to be alone and that’s all there is to know.”
You glared at him, now. Your heart was beating loudly against your chest, in pure anger. How could he read through you so easily? You didn’t like that one bit and you were disappointed in yourself for oversharing. He’s your soulmate, yes, but he’s still Hisoka.
“Please. Not now.”
“Sucks to be you, love.”
An awkward silence fall upon you both, or at least upon you. While you were frantically texting your best friend to ask for a place to stay, only to be met with a lenghty apology, you searched for other ways to find a place to sleep tonight. The motel rooms prices were way too high and you didn’t know how long you’d need to stay, nor how much it’ll cost to have your appartment clean again. You couldn’t face your partner and you were too ashamed to call your family. Your pride would end you but you prefered sleeping in the streets than having them look at you disapprovingly. Your whole world was falling apart and you blamed it all on Hisoka. And yet...
Hisoka’s eyes didn’t leave your figure. His mind was racing and it seemed like it was the only thing it did since he met you. He didn’t speak when he saw you frown and sigh and type desesperatly on your phone, swipping through your contacts, hesitating over a room price, checking over and over again if anyone could help you. His mind was still racing when he told you:
“I guess you can come to my place for a while.”
You were utterly speechless and goggled at him for a few seconds. It isn’t like Hisoka at all to propose help. He had something in mind, you knew as much, but you couldn’t help but feel floored.
“Who are you and what the heck did you do to my soulmate-?”
“Awww, you refer to me as your soulmate, that’s adorable.”
“ANSWER-” Honestly, you didn’t care about the volume of your voice at this point. You were too shocked.
Hisoka just laughed it off and looked at you, openly condescending and still smiling. Does he ever stop doing so ?
“I will have to take on a mission so I won’t be at Heaven Arenas for a while.” He pointed at you. “You can take my room there while I’m gone.”
You were too confused.
“But why? You gain nothing by doing this!” You frowned and wrapped your hands protectively against your body. “I won’t have sex with you!”
“Don’t worry, I’d rather die,” he rolled his eyes. “I let you take my room because whatever happens to you if you sleep on a bench in the parc happens to me as well. And even if I’m pretty sure I can manage, I don’t want to wake up in the morning with a hole in my belly. You got it, darling?”
“Wait, what do you mean everything that happens to-’
But he didn’t let you finish your sentence: he took your box and walked away without giving you any other explanation.
“Hisoka, wait!”
Well, at least you got a rather interesting piece of informations. You didn’t know everything about soulmates but you sure knew that even if you were linked by fate, Hisoka wouldn’t do this without solid motives. Everything about him screamed to you to never trust him but you needed your box and you needed a roof over your head. You wouldn’t let your guard down for now. You probably couldn’t beat him in a fight but he didn’t seem like he’d kill you so that was already a good point.
You made a mental note to look more deeply into all of this and untangle the mystery of his help and quickly followed your jerk soulmate.
“I said wait, asshole!”
“What, miss me already? Do you want a goodbye kiss?”
“Don’t say such repulsive things,” you replied, gagging. “I’ll need the room’s key.”
“Here,” he tosses it to you before adding “just don’t go looking around my stuff too much~”
This was going to be... interesting.
#hunter x hunter#hxh#hxh x reader#hisoka x reader#hisoka morrow x reader#hxh hisoka#hunter x hunter imagines#hunter x hunter x reader#hisoka imagine#hisoka morrow#hisoka morow x reader#imagines#hxh 1999#x reader#hxh 2011#hxh imagines#soulmate au#imagine a soulmate au w/ a weak s/o
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“With Teeth” Chapter One
((click here to read on ao3!!!!))
Izaya is in the middle of this third all-nighter in a row, buried in his files and flicking back and forth between tabs to confirm and add to his information. He's going to send this to Shiki as soon as it's done, and then he's finally going to get some well-deserved rest. In all fairness, no one is making him work so tirelessly, aside from himself. He leans back in his chair, lifting his arms above his head, a soft noise of satisfaction leaving him when his joints pop. A low growl comes from the direction of the couch, but Izaya doesn't turn his gaze away from his screen.
“You're in my home. Feel free to leave if you're so bothered by me,” Izaya calls to the looming figure. Another growl is sent his way, this one louder than the last. Izaya finally lifts his head and smirks up at the monster occupying his space.
No one else would be able to recognize Heiwajima Shizuo like this, but it's becoming a regular sight for Izaya, who never hides his disgust or enjoyment at seeing Shizuo in his true form. Hollywood has really romanticized werewolves in the past few years, painting them as large, overgrown puppies, but Shizuo is anything but romantic right now, his body stretched and twisted, his skin dark and leathery, covered by wisps of wiry fur in places. Shizuo has so many sharp, jagged teeth they can't fit entirely in his mouth, and he's leaving drool in his wake, but Izaya will only have Namie clean it in the morning. She'll complain, but she doesn't often ask too many questions.
“What is it? You look angry,” Izaya drawls, making a show of giving Shizuo his full attention. Shizuo snarls at him, more drool escaping his mouth. “Could it be the bloodlust is worse than normal tonight? How tragic for you.”
It's been this way for about half a year now, ever since Shizuo was bitten. Shizuo came to Izaya, defeated, overwhelmed with the desire to kill, to maim, his violence only growing more and more as the full moon approached. Izaya took pity on him, helped the monster when he really didn't have to, but Shizuo refuses to look at it as anything resembling benevolence. Izaya's potion helps keep Shizuo in his own mind, and it stops him from acting on his desires, but it can't do much to stop the desire to bite.
Izaya is only a witch, after all, not a miracle worker.
“You could always go out, you know? Bite some poor bystander. You'd bring me more business, anyway.” He laughs delightedly when Shizuo lunges at him, and he moves swiftly out of the beast's way, lifting a hand up and clenching his fingers. Shizuo's body straightens immediately, his arms snapping flat as his sides, powerless against Izaya's magic. His expression doesn't change, however, and Izaya loves knowing how much Shizuo wants to kill him right now, how Shizuo wants nothing more than to tear out Izaya's throat with his jagged teeth. “Relax, would you? The night is young, and you've gone through this too many times to lose yourself now.”
Shizuo relaxes a little at the reminder that if he kills anyone, even Izaya, it's only proving what a monster he's become. There's a haunted look in his eyes, a certain dark shadow that says he's gone through every stage of grief already and settled on helpless, begrudging acceptance. Shizuo needs Izaya now, and Izaya is completely in love with it.
“Good boy, Shizu-chan. We'll civilize you, yet,” Izaya purrs, releasing Shizuo from his grip. Shizuo huffs before going back to pacing a hole in the floor, and Izaya returns to his desk, moving the mouse so the screensaver disappears.
Business as usual.
***
Six months ago, Izaya was completely fed up.
His enjoyment with his work was stagnating, and he was more bored than he'd ever been. Worse than that, Shizuo was becoming closer and closer with that woman, and he was paying less and less attention to Izaya, not rising to the bait Izaya would set out. It got to the point that Shizuo walked past Izaya on the street one day, not even bothering to look at him, and that was the final straw for Izaya, who refused to be ignored. He made some calls, opened old wounds, arranged a meeting.
It took less than half a day to ruin the rest of Shizuo's life. How laughable.
After the initial bite, given by some higher end Yakuza who held a personal grudge against Shizuo, or at least against his reputation, Izaya decided to sit back and wait. He knew Shizuo would come to him eventually, as all monsters inevitably did. Shizuo lasted longer than Izaya thought he would, to his credit, but he grew weaker, more haggard-looking as the days progressed. Rumors were flying around the city, most of them speculating whether or not Shizuo had some sort of terminal illness, and days went by where the monster wasn't seen at all, and Tom and Vorona were handling work without him.
Finally, a few days before the next full moon, there was a soft knock at Izaya's door, far too gentle to be Shizuo, but Izaya knew it was Shizuo even before he answered. Shizuo's eyes were dark rimmed, like he hadn't slept in days, and there was something about him that made him seem almost helpless, an adjective Izaya never once thought to apply to Heiwajima Shizuo.
“What did you do to me?” Shizuo asked before Izaya could say anything.
“What are you talking about?” Izaya replied, his voice smaller than he would've liked. It was a little unsettling, seeing Shizuo so weak, so sickly. Shizuo was always able to surprise Izaya, but this was something different entirely.
“You fucking know what!” Shizuo shoved Izaya then, and his usual strength was there, the force of it knocking Izaya clear across the room. He caught himself before he could hit the floor, and he reminded himself no matter what Shizuo looked like in the moment, he was still a formidable predator, more of a monster than ever before. A knife was in Izaya's hand before he was even aware of drawing it. Shizuo's dark eyes moved from Izaya's face to the knife, then back up.
“You know what,” Shizuo said again, and his face crumpled in pain and fear. Izaya lowered the knife, fighting back a smile as he observed his mortal enemy.
This was more like it.
“I haven't even seen you. I haven't been to your city. Why are you here?” Izaya asked, and Shizuo growled before marching forward, his teeth bared.
“What the fuck was that guy? What did he turn me into? I know you sent those assholes after me.” Shizuo looked down at his hands, clearly fighting with himself on whether he should admit any of this to Izaya. “The dreams, the blood— fuck. Izaya, what did you do to me?”
Izaya put his knife back in his pocket then, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. Shizuo noticed it, snarled openly, but otherwise did nothing.
“You came to me,” Izaya said as he moved towards Shizuo. “Why would I ever help you?”
Shizuo's expression hardened, but his eyes remained just as helpless. He seemed to be struggling to answer, but Izaya knew already. All monsters made their way to him eventually. It was instinctual, just something they knew to do.
“Congratulations, Shizu-chan,” Izaya said, and his smile grew into a leer. “You're less human now than you've ever been.”
***
Izaya groans as he stretches again, rolling his shoulders. They're stiff from being in the same hunched position so long, but he's finally done with work, and he's looking forward to sleeping the rest of the day. He might even call Namie and tell her not to bother coming in. He closes everything and turns off his computer, his attention caught by the brightening sky, hues of pink and gold beginning to fill his apartment. He looks over at Shizuo, who is back in his human form, just sitting in a heap of limbs on the hard floor, panting heavily.
“Oh, good, you're back to normal,” Izaya says. “Now get out.”
“Give me a fucking minute!” Shizuo snaps, his voice strained. The transformation is incredibly painful, Izaya knows. Shizuo isn't his only werewolf client, after all, but he's the only one who insists on making Izaya babysit throughout every full moon. Shizuo is rightfully terrified of what he is and what he could do. Izaya just enjoys seeing him suffer.
“Fine, but you could at least gather yourself quietly. Listening to you pant and whine is giving me a headache,” Izaya says, leaning back in his chair and grinning when Shizuo glares over at him.
“Just make yourself a healing potion then, witch.”
It's said like a slur, wielded in a way meant to offend. Izaya is used to this by now, as he's been aware of what he is for most of his life. Creatures come to him, needing help, but fearing him. Witches are rare, even more so in the human realm, and the others who exist here aren't as powerful as Izaya is, aren't able to provide the same services. Most of Izaya's clients hate him and would like to see him dead.
Par for the course, really. At least most of them are upfront about it.
“I might just do that! As soon as this rotten, smelly monster is out of my space, I might just do a lot of things.” Izaya stands, moving towards Shizuo and kicking his pile of clothes towards him. “Get dressed, and get out, before I send you flying out the window.”
The hatred is palpable between them, just as it's always been, and Shizuo isn't looking at anything but Izaya as he slowly begins pulling his clothes back on. They're in a truce of sorts, Shizuo needing Izaya too much to kill him, and Izaya taking pleasure in Shizuo's misery. They'll still fight in public if they cross paths, but here, behind closed doors, Izaya knows Shizuo is in the palm of his hand.
They both know it.
Shizuo finishes getting dressed and limps towards the door, his mind a whirlwind of angered static that he seems to be projecting. He barely manages to cross through the threshold before Izaya slams the door behind him. Izaya listens to Shizuo's steps fading, and he can't help the laughter that spills from his lips, growing louder and louder until it has Izaya falling to the floor, holding his sides as he cackles with delight.
For the first time in his life, Izaya loves what he is.
***
It started early, too early for Izaya to truly remember the finer details. He had dreams, and then he saw things. It was chalked up to an overactive imagination, especially since he was always reading, very advanced for his age. He'd say things, and his parents would compliment him, would tell him how smart he was. For a while, he believed them, and he loved the attention he got, would strive to do even better and learn even more, but it only lasted so long. His parents started spending less and less time at home, and Izaya went from staying with his grandparents to occasionally having them look in on him. He spent the majority of his time alone, and that's when the dreams turned into reality.
Spirits would visit him, wanting help, and they'd terrify him, would clatter about the house and lurk around corners, waiting to be acknowledged and saved, and Izaya didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do for them. For a while, he tried to hide from them, would tune them out by blasting the TV as loudly as it would go. The neighbors started complaining about the noise, and after a stern phone call from his parents, Izaya was forced to sit on his own and listen to the voices of the dead.
After the twins were born, and his parents were around more, Izaya started to relax a little. It was better having other people around, though the spirits remained. Gradually, his parents started spending more time away from the house again, and soon enough, Izaya was left to care for his baby sisters. He was thankful they couldn't seem to see the spirits that lingered around the house.
The first time someone referred to Izaya as a witch, it was spat in a derogatory way, definitely meant to harm. It was an older spirit, a man frustrated with Izaya and his inability to help. The man couldn't accept he was dead, and he couldn't seem to figure out how to pass on. He took all of his rage out on the house, slamming cabinets, breaking things, and the twins were crying in fear, toddlers by that point. They couldn't see the ghost, but they could see their belongings being tossed around and smashed. Izaya tried to calm them down, which only upset the man even more.
“LISTEN to me, you fucking witch!”
Until then, Izaya had never really had a term to describe himself. He knew he was different, but he never knew why. He put the twins in their room, telling them to play with their toys, and he moved to the man's side, his jaw set in irritation.
“What did you call me?”
“A witch! All of you are scum, but I'm stuck with a little brat on top of it.” The man looked at Izaya with such disgust, such judgment. Izaya was so very tired of being looked at that way. He found himself lifting his hand, and a moment later, the man was writhing on the floor in complete agony, tears streaming down his transparent face. Izaya watched him for a long time, a small, satisfied smile on his face as the man pleaded with him to stop, please, stop.
“Let's try this again,” Izaya said, kneeling down. “Ask me for my help, and I'll see what I can do.”
Something changed that day. Izaya was fed up being stuck trying to care for everyone. He poured himself into research, learned to use his abilities, and while the humans in his life seemed to understand him less and less, the other world delighted in him. Word of his power spread, and soon enough it wasn't just the dead coming to see him, but the undead as well.
“I just think it's so cool!” Shinra said one day. The sun was setting outside, lighting the empty classroom in an orange tint. Shinra's glasses reflected the sunset, hiding his true expression. “I don't see why you wouldn't want everyone to know.”
“Well, you spend all your time spouting nonsense about Celty, and everyone just thinks you're insane. I'd rather not be lumped in with you,” Izaya said, holding a dead plant in his hand. With a thought, he brought it back to life. “Stop letting these die, would you? It's messing with our data.”
“Sorry, I get distracted!” Shinra scribbled something down on his notepad and then looked up at Izaya once more. “I'm glad you told me, Izaya-kun.”
Izaya shrugged. “You live with a fairy. You already know about the other world. It's not like we're bound together in secrecy.”
“But who did you get it from? It's genetic, isn't it? Your parents—“
“Have no idea, and I'd like to keep it that way. My sisters don't know, either. I seem to be the only one who has these abilities.”
“Your grandparents?” Shinra asked.
Izaya shrugged again. “As I said, it seems to be only me.”
“Hmm.” Shinra put his finger to his chin in thought. “It's possible it skips generations. If magical abilities passed down continuously, it wouldn't be as rare as it is.”
“Lucky me,” Izaya murmured, setting the flower pot down with the others.
“Yes, lucky you,” Shinra said wistfully. “I'd give anything to be involved in the same world as my Celty.”
“She's hardly herself at all without her head,” Izaya reminded him. “If she was complete, she wouldn't be sticking around with humans.”
“Oh, I know. If I have my way, she'll never have her head.”
Izaya snorted, a smile appearing on his face. Shinra was the only person he knew that could say such selfish things as if they were normal.
“You want her to be incomplete for the rest of her existence, and you're calling it love. You're twisted, Shinra.”
“Being incomplete with someone else is better than being complete alone!”
“It's not, and you're an idiot.”
“Well, either way,” Shinra said, and he put an arm around Izaya, who shrugged him off. “Celty wants to meet you! She can't believe I know one of the few remaining witches!”
“Ugh.”
“And I want you to meet my other friend! He's not magic or anything, but he's insanely strong. To think I'd ever have such extraordinary people in my life!”
Izaya tuned him out, thinking to himself that Shinra was enough for him. The less people he had to explain himself to, the better.
***
Izaya wakes much later, face-down in his pillow. He groans, rolling over, his entire body sore. He looks at his clock and finds he's been asleep most of the day.
“Welcome back,” says an irritatingly familiar voice in the corner. Izaya groans again and covers his face with his pillow.
“Why're you here?” he slurs, his voice thick with sleep. “The sun's up.”
“Yes, but this corner is dark enough. Your blackout curtains hide the worst of the sun. I'm here for my usual potions.”
“It's been a month already? I've lost track of time,” Izaya says, finally looking over at Tsukumoya. The vampire looks amused, as always. And far too smug.
“You'd think it would be easier to keep track of, seeing as I always come the day after your dog stays the night,” Tsukumoya lilts. “Am I correct in assuming you stayed up all night with him again?”
“You make it sound like we were having fun.” Izaya grumbles and rolls out of bed, padding towards the corner where he keeps his finished potions. He lifts a box and hands it to Tsukumoya.
“But it is fun for you, isn't it? Your dream come true, Heiwajima Shizuo at your mercy.”
“I'm really not in the mood to deal with you today. My patience is already thin because of Shizu-chan,” Izaya warns, and Tsukumoya laughs at him. The vampire has always been good at getting under Izaya's skin, seems to think of Izaya as a toy of sorts.
“Fine, fine. I'll leave you be until next month. Of course, if you'd like to chat sooner, you can always reach me.”
Izaya waves him away, and Tsukumoya disappears, probably to go back to his usual lurking. Yawning, Izaya considers going back to sleep, but he's already wasted too much time. His stomach rumbles, reminding him of its existence, and he frowns to himself, considering that Namie isn't here to cook for him, and he has no desire to cook for himself.
“Takeout it is!” he says aloud, dressing hurriedly. He's reading over food options near him on his phone when his it rings, obscuring his search. He rolls his eyes as he accepts the call, making his way out of his apartment as he does so. “Yes?”
“Izaya-kun! How was Shizuo-kun's transformation last night?”
“Same as it always is,” Izaya says, pulling his hood up as he steps outside. It's a gloomy day, rainy and chilly. He zips up his coat. “Why don't you talk to him about it yourself, Shinra?”
“Believe me, I'd love to, but he still doesn't want anyone to know. He hasn't even talked to Celty about it!” Shinra sighs loudly, and there's rustling on his end, like he's working as he talks. “I can't believe he's actually confiding in you about it. I'm his friend!”
“I'd hardly call it confiding. He doesn't care what I think, and that's all. Besides, he knows I can help him.”
“I'm sure you're making it especially hard on him. Please, pretend to be a kind person, for once, and take care of him. Celty is worried about him. She's known what happened since he was bitten, but she doesn't want to invade his privacy.”
“Oh, invade his privacy all you want. Take it from me, it's lots of fun.” Izaya splashes into a puddle, his mood brightened by Shizuo's misery. Of course the monster would isolate himself from his little friends. Shizuo has always had a habit of making himself be alone, even when he had plenty of options.
“I'm still suspicious that you had something to do with this. It's going a little too well for you, isn't it?”
“Shinra, you give me far too much credit. As much as I wish I could be the mastermind you think of me as, I'm not involved in everything. Shizu-chan has enemies who aren't me, and some of them are incredibly powerful. It was only a matter of time before he pissed off the wrong person.”
“Right, right. You're just the worst person I know, so it makes sense to blame you. Anyway, call me if anything changes! I'll tell Celty you were as secretive and unhelpful as always.” Shinra hangs up then, and Izaya puts his phone back in his pocket, his mood still too good to be sullied.
He decides to go to a local Taiwanese place for takeout. As much as he would love to pop into Ikebukuro, he still has work to do, and he slept most of the day away. Takeout bag in hand, he skips through the streets, waving happily at those who stop to stare at him. He splashes through a few more puddles on the way, thinking to himself that he can't remember the last time he felt this good.
As he exits the elevator to his floor, he scoffs at the sight before him, reaching into his pocket to finger the handle of the knife hidden there.
“Why are you here again, Shizu-chan?” he asks.
“'S getting worse,” Shizuo grumbles, lifting his head to glare up at Izaya. He's sitting in front of Izaya's door, his knees pulled up to his chest, his expression defeated.
“It isn't getting worse, you idiot. You're half a year in.” Izaya releases his knife, realizing Shizuo isn't here to fight him. He pulls his keys from his pocket, unlocking the door and leaving it open behind him as he waltzes inside.
“It's fucking worse!” Shizuo barks, following after Izaya, as always. “I almost killed a man today!”
“You say that like it's surprising. You're always almost killing someone.”
“Flea!” Shizuo shouts, gripping the counter as he leans over it and snarls at Izaya, who gives him an extremely unimpressed look. “I wanted to tear a man's throat out with my teeth, and you're telling me it's normal!”
Izaya rolls his eyes. “I didn't say that. I said your condition isn't worse. I can't rid you of the bloodlust entirely. You know that already.”
“It's never been this bad before!”
“It has.” Izaya sighs and pulls his soup dumplings out of the takeout bag. “Shizu-chan, you can't be this stupid. You're a werewolf. You're always going to want to bite people. It's part of the experience.”
Shizuo growls at him, his grip splintering Izaya's counter.
“Besides, I don't know what you expect me to do. Even if it was getting worse, which it's not, there wouldn't be anything I could do,” Izaya continues. “I give you the tools you need every month to control yourself. If you can't do it, it's your problem.”
Shizuo roars in rage, so loudly the windows tremble. Izaya merely keeps pulling his containers out of the takeout bag, practically ravenous by this point. He forgot to eat dinner the night before, and he slept through breakfast and lunch. He pauses as a sudden thought occurs to him.
“Have you eaten today?” he asks.
Shizuo is breathing hard, clearly trying to reel himself in. He still bares his teeth at Izaya when he replies with a strangled, “no.”
“You're an idiot. I keep telling you, but it appears your skull is too thick to listen to me. You're not getting worse, you fucking neanderthal. You're just hungry.”
Shizuo opens his mouth to argue, and Izaya sends a dumpling soaring across the space between them so that it lands on Shizuo's tongue. The beast blinks in surprise, seems to consider spitting it out, and then chews thoughtfully, seemingly placated for now.
“I hope it burns your tongue off,” Izaya lilts. “Now get out.”
Grumbling loudly, Shizuo turns around and stalks towards the open door.
“By the way,” Izaya calls, “try not to bother me every time your stomach growls. I hate you, you know?”
“As if I like talking to you!” Shizuo snaps back.
“Yes, but you have to, don't you?” Izaya purrs. “You need me.”
Shizuo slams the door behind him, so hard it cracks the frame, but it hardly matters. Shizuo didn't have a retort, because there's really nothing left to say.
Izaya has finally won.
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Detectives by Chance: Chapter 8- The Final Bow
Series Summary: It was supposed to be a usual weekend for the four. Coffee, fun, friends and love. But an unexpected case changed their lives in a way they had never imagined. A mystery - a murder - many secrets… Will Ethan, Pooja, Alexandra and Mark, be able to survive? Or will the circumstances twist and break their lives forever?
A/N: This is the end. The end of the first ever series, the first ever fanfics I ever wrote. It's melancholic you know? Bidding adieu to Open Heart and Detectives by Chance all at one? Anywho, I hope you enjoy this piece💕
Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)
Rating: Teen (to be safe)
Warnings: Blood, Murder, Swear Words, Gun Violence
I would recommend reading the previous parts first, because I am sure this makes little sense without knowing what happened previously.
Read the previous chapters here!
The trail from the crumpled door to the back ground felt likes hours of navigating through the blazing desert, no one in sight.
The scarlet memoirs of the wounds that now covered her skin did not give her much relief either. Blood soaked into her shirt, colouring it red from cream at a steady rate. Lazy tracks formed as solitary drops slipped down to meet the ground.
Papers clutched with a death grip, her resolve did not waver. After all the goose chase she had done in the manor, she was sure she could do this. But then again, there was not much of a choice there.
Ethan's POV:
A hazy screen appeared before his orbs as they slowly, timidly, fluttered open, as if scared to look around. A blackness had spread around him, and his mind could not make out if it was a musty old dungeon or some place else.
Soft scents of the intoxicating vanilla and bluebell perfume gently let him know of their presence, and he sighed in relief.
Wherever he was, he was close to her.
And with that knowledge came a subtle sense of calm, a realization that as long as he was near her, he wouldn't mind even dying.
He just wanted her, his strength, with him.
He tried to get up, and the wince of pain came almost immediately. His legs ached due to the cramped position in the short space of wherever. As he managed to pull himself up from the sleeping position, a very faint jingle of keys could be heard in the background of his groans.
Then with a click, the front door flew open and he unclearly made out a thud of some kind of folder in the front passenger seat. Soon the driver's seat was occupied as well, and the engine was raved to life.
The scent of vanilla and bluebell grew strong and he knew it was her.
"Pooja?" He whispered so lightly that for a second he wondered if he had even spoken it aloud.
"Ethan! Oh thank fucking god you are- Ah!" She was cutoff mid sentence by a horrifying but muted shriek which had escaped as she tried to close the door.
"Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay!" Worry laced his tone as her other hand painfully completed the supposedly easy task.
"You are okay and I've everything we need to save Lex & Mark. That's all that matters, E."
"What about you?"
But her attention had already shifted to the driving the automobile. She had always been like that, too unconcerned about herself. As well as he knew her, he was sure she had been biting her lip a tad bit harder with every moment just to keep painful screams at bay.
"It doesn't matter."
A shrill roar suddenly invaded the eerie, uncomfortable silence of the abandoned area. The voice was human, but the intensity of the sound reminded them more of an enraged tiger trapped in a cage, ready to pounce at the chance of freedom.
Staying here for a second more could be a dangerous idea.
A slow pain spread though his forehead, an after-effect of whatever that was forcefully injected during his investigation of the murky place, too dishevelled to call it even an office, let alone a hospital. The ache became all-too-consuming, his struggle to keep his eyes open turning futile. The blackness grasped him steadily as consciousness bid adieu and the dangers of the world in front of him, at bay.
End of Ethan's POV
Pooja's clutch on the steering wheel was so hard that the fingernails that dug into its material left deep moon shaped indents, as a mark of their visit. The teeth pressed so deep into her lip that it had drawn blood. The gap of the missing tooth felt like an aftermath of the reckless rescue operations she had led at the building.
Why did her mind refused to cooperate with her now, when she had finally made her way out?
Another line of thought began to form, but before it spread it's being, a second horrifying scream broke through the audible silence like a dagger.
Sweat of hardwork was now the cold sweat of fear. A sense of great danger that lingered now completely flooded every chamber of her heart & she refused to stop.
Digging her teeth into her lips, tears streaming as every movement made her want to shriek and wail in agony, she revved the engine, turned the steering & fled out of there.
————————————
A rash drive followed. She sped through the roads, going straight without a turn until she was sure the they were not being followed.
A safe distance away, she stopped. Every moment was precious now, but she was done. She could not do this anymore.
Hell, she could not do anything anymore.
The left portion of her shirt that she wore was now soaked in scarlet, the stench of blood growing on her. She doubted that if she wasn't a doctor, she would have thrown up or passed out by now.
Pooja looked behind, the scarce daylight making it a difficult job to be done. She was quite sure that Ethan had been overcome by another bout of unconsciousness and the feeling of helplessness spread through her chest, forming a hollow through its path.
Her head felt light too. The injuries were starting to show effects, although the overwhelming sense of failure and danger had already numbed their pain.
Taking a deep breath, and another, and another, she tried to centre herself, though not to much avail.
Something she had realized was now, the necessity to keep moving was a need & not a want.
A slow kick on the gas pedal & she carried on her journey to the final destination.
————————————
At the police station, the unfolding of events occurred like a film sequence set on fast forward.
Pooja had barely made it there, an urgency ringing through her mind, a constant worry that she was late, too late. But thankfully, she wasn't.
Dragging her foot (her entire body, at this point) she entered and almost fell face down on the station floor.
Hastily handing over the evidence she had meticulously collected and suffered all the injuries for, she tried to explain what she had found.
Officers repeatedly asked her to calm down, but she refused. The three of them, Ethan, Alex and Mark, They were her family. They always mattered more than her. They always will.
At last, all she managed was to point a finger at her car, before her body gave up on the fight. A small smile of satisfaction decorated her tired, overworked features. It was a win. A well deserved one. A strange sense of pride, overwhelmed her as she slowly faded into unconsciousness.
————————————
It has been 36 hours since the ghastly raid of Miles's manor.
The evidence collected opened a lot of tied knots, the page from Miles's diary, even though muddy, serving priceless for the investigation. Almost everything got crystal clear from it.
Pooja underwent a major surgery, and was still under bedrest. Minor to Major, there were a plethora of injuries that needed to be treated. Recovery was going to take a long time but her response had been up to the mark.
As for Mark and Alex, the court deemed them not guilty for any of the charges made against them & they were released. The very instant they rushed to the hospital, tears streaming down endlessly both in gratitude & in worry.
Miles Danvers, as expected, was not found. The manor was investigated after the release of Mark & Alex, a big mistake, and nothing was left behind except a few beeping machines & broken furniture. The investigators now await Pooja's recovery for interrogation & to close the case as soon as possible because stories of a deranged murderer roaming around the dark streets doesn't exactly spark a rush of serotonin through the citizens.
Meanwhile in a dark, gloomy alleyway:
It had been seconds too long. The man's pace faltered at slightest sounds, fingers fidgeting the two ring that shone under whatever little light reached the area.
Why were they not here yet?
But his wait was cut off soon. Muffled footsteps echoed like, every step closer increasing their intensity. Even though he had been expecting them, his heart leapt up his throat, which tightened in fear.
He turned around, not being able to make out their faces. But at the time, he found it to be a blessing in disguise, because he was sure he would have thrown up from the fright of being the cause of their anger.
A hand extended out, the silver bracelet dangling from it gleaming in moonlight. It gripped the lapel of his coat, and a scared murmur escaped him without caution.
The person on the other side, let out a slow growl of rage, boiling blood coursing through their veins. The man's teeth chattered, the cold pressing against his skin even more as a chill ran down his spine.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, the touch of cold metal against his neck made him shudder.
It was... It was a gun.
"Thi..s, Th..., This w-was not what, w-what we plann-nned upon." He quietly muttered, shocked that sound still escaped through the dryness of his throat.
"What were you supposed to do?" The person, no, the man, That man, growled, the evil of his heart almost visible in the spoken words.
The man stood soundless. It took two hard knocks of the metal to make him speak.
"K-K-Kill"
"And what did you do? Let her escape with a bagful of evidence." The words were being hissed now, with so much intensity that the man was surprised that he hadn't peed his pants yet.
"And since" The gun was displaced and he let out a sigh of relief. "You did such wonderful work, you deserve to be rewarded."
And before the man could even process what just happened, a single shot pierced through the fog settling around, and hit right in the forehead.
Seconds later, his lifeless body met its origin & any sign of life in the alleyway seized to exist.
End Note: Open Heart ended and it feels unreal. I have had a weird, wonderful journey with it. I would have never come to tumblr, make edits or write fanfics if not for it. It is a series which many of us, me included, hold close to our heart.
Firstly, I would like to thank everyone who provided their precious thoughts over the past chapters of this series. I always have & always will hold Detectives by Chance close to my heart, because it has some of my earliest fanfics & it was the beginning of a wonderful journey for me. So if you took your time & have followed this story from the start, I am so very grateful for you. Thank you❤
With OH ending, many have chosen to continue in this fandom & some have decided to move on. Whatever your decision may be, I hope you be happy & have a good time ahead💕
Detectives by Chance gets a Bonus part, with no relation to the storyline, like not an epilogue, but something that will answer the lingering questions. As for if this is really the end of DbC or not, I will let you guys decide that😉
Tags (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed or if I forgot you):
Perma: @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @udishaman @aestheticartsx @twinkleallnight @schnitzelbutterfingers @sophxwithers @sweatyrysconnoisseur @nikki-2406 @choicesfanaf @trrfanaddict @starrystarrytrouble @gardeningourmet @parkbarks @mvalentine @lovablegranny @mercury84choices @helloayz
Open Heart (All fics and edit): @lucy-268 @maurine07 @bellcat2010
Ethan x Pooja (fics): @aleynareads @stygianflood @choicesaddict5 @mysticaurathings @jamespotterthefirst @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey
@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics
#pixelberry choices#playchoices#choices stories you play#open heart#choices stories we play#choices#choices open heart#choices oh#my fanfics✒#pixelberry#pixelberry studios#open heart mc#open heart oc#open heart ethan#ethan ramsey#ethan x mc#ethan x pooja#pooja sharma#oh mc#oh ethan#oph choices
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Human Again
For @amonthofwhump’s March Madness for the whump trope: choking
Here’s my whumpee Zach having a very bad wake up call. I know the previous four Zach pieces have been post-escape but, and hear me out here, he was just in need of some whumping. So have some out of context, out of order, pain. (Read more high up the piece for vaguely referenced thoughts of noncon)
Warnings: Forced nudity, implied torture, implied past noncon, choking, noncon kissing, shotgunning cigarette smoke, smoking, cigarette burns, manhandling, antagonistic language, blindfolds, captive whumpee, nausea mention, food mention, prisoner denied food
Zach woke up naked. He woke up stiff and sore, and though he knew he was on the thin mattress that was granted as his bed—he could smell the musty stink of it—he had no idea how or when he got there.
The two things combined were enough to turn his stomach, and bile crawled up his throat. There were fuzzy memories, blurred indistinct ones of beatings and being bent over a table… but was that the last thing that had happened? Or was there more? Was that even yesterday, or two days ago? It all mixed up together, and he couldn’t work out what had happened when, or which thing it was that had made him lose consciousness. Was it drugs again? An electric shock? Or just the accumulation of pain and fatigue and he’d passed out naturally?
He only knew he must have been out a while to have been brought back to his cell. Not knowing if anything more had happened while he was unawares he shivered and curled up, wishing for a blanket to cover himself with. As he moved he felt the protest in his bruised ribs and moaned as he clutched his side.
“Ah, he lives,” came a smarmy, grunt of a voice.
Great, Mack, of all people, was here.
Zach opened his eyes to better defend himself against whatever Mack had in mind and found something still blocked his sight. He groped for his face, arm numb from his own dead weight crushing it.
“Leave that,” Mack said. “Don’t you fucking dare touch it, that’s your first rule of the day.”
Zach swallowed, groaned again and pushed himself to sit up, hyper aware of every inch of skin on display. He smelled Mack’s cigarettes before he heard the man move, felt the stale smoke waft over his face and another roil of nausea that it brought with it. He lifted a hand to rub his nose and coughed onto the back of his hand to try and rid the smell and the almost-taste of it from his body.
Mack’s hand—probably, unless someone else was here too—caught his wrist and squeezed painfully. “You deaf today or some shit, I said don’t touch your fucking face.” Mack twisted his hand until the skin pinched beneath his grip, and the joint protested. Zach hissed in pain and lurched into action to try and grapple his hand free, digging nails into the back of Mack’s hand.
Mack held on for a few more long moments before he shoved Zach, freeing his wrist, and he scooted further away from where he thought Mack was crouching.
“Actually you said not to touch the blindfold,” he replied tersely. “Try thinking before you speak it might help you get your point across.”
Mack grabbed the back of his neck, fingers curling into the ends of his hair and yanked his head back. Zach hadn’t known to brace for it and the jerk sent a wave of pain that ricocheted down his neck and jarred something in his aching hip. “Far too mouthy you little shit. If it were up to me I’d sew that mouth of yours shut.”
“But then how would we have these little chats I know you love so much?”
Another puff of smoke rolled over his face and he wrinkled his nose, stomach churning. He needed food, water... he needed proper rest, not just to pass out after some torment or other and wake up bruised and sore. Resigned to not getting enough of any of those things he focused on the slight sense of satisfaction of irritating Mack instead.
He heard the hiss of the cigarette being dragged on and hoped it was nearly gone. It was fruitless hoping when fingers gripped his jaw until his lips puckered, the heat of the cigarette sizzling far too close to his skin, held in the fingers that gripped him. Then Mack’s lips were on his and he sucked in a breath of surprise only to inhale a mouthful of smoke.
He sucked it down, drawing it into his lungs in surprise, hoping and hoping for clean air to come on the back of it. Mack’s lips were a seal over his own that breathed the filthy, cloying stuff from his own mouth—expelled it forcefully right to the back of Zach’s throat.
Zach’s lungs grew tight and full and he needed to exhale but Mack’s mouth was still smacked over his own and his tongue was in Zach’s mouth too, invading and claiming and bitterly acrid. Zach grew dizzy, swayed forward as his lungs tried to force the shotgunned smoke back out, he coughed and wheezed and batted at Mack weakly. Over the sound of his own hacking coughs he heard Mack’s laughter. Why was it always funny to these pricks? Why did they have to delight in making him suffer or making him ill?
The weight of it all was enough to drive him flat back onto the mattress, gasping for breath, aware he wasn’t going to catch a break here. Not even given a moment to try and process and remember the previous day’s horrors before the current day’s began.
“Your mouth has other uses too, I guess. Wouldn’t want to miss out on those,” Mack’s shoe nudged him.
He was about to respond when Mack’s heavy weight descended on top of him, driving more air from his lungs. The hand was back and it caressed his jaw as he grew tight as a bow string, muscles locked like he could fight this, change whatever was about to happen by being ready. Mack’s calloused hand slipped lower and closed around his throat... and squeezed.
It trapped the air in his lungs, stopped the coughing in its tracks and he arched up, kicking his legs looking for the pressure to lessen. Mack held him on the knife edge of breathlessness until he went limp, allowed him a precious few wheezing breaths and then closed his hand again while he blew another round of smoke into Zach’s gasping mouth.
Zach squirmed as his chest failed to expand and his lungs didn’t fill, the black behind the blindfold going haywire with flashes of light and colour and then fading to grey. There wasn’t room for breathing or thinking, he was only animal—desperate, hungry and directionless with the fear that came hot on the heels of being pinned down and choked out.
He clawed and kicked, begged with soundless words as he tried to make the shapes and couldn’t find enough air to give them voice.
Mack pressed tighter one more time and then released. Just as Zach thought it was over a burning, blinding pain sparked to life on his shoulder. He writhed, still sputtering inhaled smoke while a scream—half surprise as well as pain—was forced out of his throat. He smelled his singed flesh as well as the ashes of a cigarette on his shoulder. With a heavy hand he blindly flicked the hot ash from his skin, feeling it smear on his fingers with intense heat. He knew the scent would linger on his hands for a while, like some sick sort of reminder of the mornings activities.
“I’d miss that scream too, oooh man, you’re like a little girl sometimes. Can’t handle a little ciggy?”
Zach grit his teeth while tears swelled hotly behind his eyes and he only hoped to keep them at bay. He felt sluggish, no idea if it was from whatever knocked him out, or the lack of breath in his body, or just the general exhaustion and constant suffering. He almost began to laugh, and caught it before it turned into a pitiful whine. Drawing more attention to himself for being strange wouldn’t help him now.
“Think fast,” Mack said and a thud of something heavy landed on his chest with a slosh and a thud. “Drink up. Boss wants you in the training rooms today.”
Grateful for the fresh bottle of water, and hating that he was, Zach fumbled to screw the cap loose. The water soothed his abused throat, settled his stomach a little. Made him feel, briefly, more human.
Mack pulled him off the mattress and to his feet and shoved a pair of loose trousers into his hands, holding him steady with a thumb pressed firmly on the spot Zach had just been burned. Zach steeled himself and ignored the sharp pain. He stepped one foot and then the other into the trouser legs, leaning on Mack for balance while he couldn’t see.
“Now you’ve got your modesty let’s fuckin’ get on with it, step to it Griffin, time to go see what else you’re good for today.”
With tired, heavy feet Zach followed where Mack steered him. Whatever dregs of human decency he was given were always taken away sooner or later. He wondered if today would be a day he remembered, or if it would fade and be lost to some indescribable pain like the day before. He shuddered, unsettled by the idea that maybe it was kinder if he forgot; if the memory was choked out of him into oblivion so he could sleep deeply and soundlessly. If all the days bled into one, would he really be living them? Or could he float through them like the moments he drifted, lacking in oxygen, somewhere between consciousness and sleep.
He hated that that seemed appealing and wrapped a tentative hand around the bruises forming on his throat and pressed down, just because he could, just to feel the pain because he chose to for once; just to remind himself he was still very much alive, awake, and human, and that was worth fighting for.
#amow march madness#amowmm.b1#choking tw#forced nudity#implied torture#referenced or implied noncon#noncon kissing#smoking tw#cigarette burns#manhandling#blindfolds#sensory deprivation#captive whumpee#food mention#denied food as punishment#nausea cw#cigarette smoke#strangulation tw#whumpee and whumper#captivity whump#out of order writing#bad language#derogatory language#defiant whumpee#exhaustion#Zach and Archer
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