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ivymarquis · 5 months

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Garnish

Pairing| Alex Keller x F!Reader Rating| M Content/Warnings| Free use smut (pre-negotiated terms), dirty talk, a brief sprinkle of dummification

For @glitterypirateduck's Alex Keller Challenge!!! lmao idk why I was so intimidated writing this. I haven't really been the biggest Keller girlie so I had no idea where to go with his voice. Obviously the best way to try and get a handle on it was to write a filthy PWP :) "I bet the neighbors know my name"

Alex would know those earrings anywhere.

They are, without question, his favorite pair of hers. And while a part of him has hoped she would decide to don them after his return home, until this morning the jewelry’d remained sitting in her jewelry box.

Of course they are his favorite for a very specific reason.

The idea of roleplaying a free use housewife fantasy just scratches a deep seated itch inside the both of them. He's already got plans- one day in the very near future- for how he wants to put a ring on that pretty finger. Take the 'house wife' part out of the fantasy by entrenching it firmly in reality where it belongs.

But right now his thoughts are focused less on the engagement band and more on the pair of earrings dangling with every tilt and move of her head. She's taunting him.

The "rules'' are pretty simple. If she's wearing the earrings, Alex has full rein to treat her to like a personal fuck doll whenever and wherever the mood strikes him and she'll go along with it. When she's done playing, the earrings go back in the jewelry box and their sex life is the same as any other couples.

The second he sees her- having walked from the mutual bedroom to their kitchen where he found her upon waking up- he decides that today will be a lot more fun if he takes a slightly different approach to start.

He gives zero acknowledgement of the dangly jewelry despite the fact that he knows she knows there's no way he didn't see them. Just gives a half-sleepy smile and presses an affectionate peck to her temple while murmuring "Good morning, pumpkin." and it takes everything in him to not crack a grin at the indignant look on her face.

No doubt she expects him to jump the moment she gives the go ahead. To pin her down against the cabinets with one arm, lift her skirt with the other and have his wicked wicked way with her.

Oh no, dear heart.

They sit and have a perfectly normal breakfast. Or at least Alex does. His pumpkin looks wild eyed and a little suspicious at his newfound self control. Clearly not expecting it and doesn't know what to do with herself about it.

"Did you sleep alright last night?" he poses the perfectly innocent question. He's being an asshole- he knows it, but he's having too much fun. He knows damn well she slept fine last night because he wore her ass out. Could barely keep her awake long enough to clean everything up.

"Yes, did you?"

"Like a baby. You seem a little jumpy though this morning- might want to watch the caffeine."

Oh she's watching something but it sure as shit wasn't the coffee.

After collecting the dishes and placing them in the sink, Alex whistled to himself while getting ready for the day. Nothing too exciting- just a few 'Honey Do's, after he put his poor girl out of her misery.

She's finding any reason she can to be in the same room as him and it's adorable. Looking for this, needing to place that- she flits in and around like she's worried he'll forget she's there if not in his line of sight.

Eventually an actual task takes her attention off of Alex and that's when he strikes.

She's bent over in front of the dryer, no doubt fishing some far-flung sock that refused to come along quietly with the rest of the laundry.

Well fuck, he can't refuse a sight like that.

He knows her well enough that as one heavy hand lands to grab her wrist, the other fists the back of her hair with enough force to keep her from banging her head against the dryer in case she startles- which she does.

Huh. He'd of thought for sure that maybe a part of her was playing up the whole 'being bent in half in front of the dryer' thing, but from that reaction he's starting to think she was actually just focused on the laundry for a split second.

He doesn't miss the way she relaxes against his hold now that his little game is up. "What a desperate little thing you are. I haven't even done anything and you're ready to roll on your back for me."

Now that he knows she's not going to split her head open on the edge of the dryer he releases her hair, his newly freed hand now reaching down to flip her skirt up.

The sight that greets him is enough to draw a low whistle from the man. "No panties? Naughty girl. Almost like you were expecting to get fucked today." he teases, chuckling to himself as she nods and presses her hips against the stiffening bulge in his pants. "And here I was being a mean, mean man and making my poor girl wait. Surprised you didn't have to clean up your seat after breakfast this morning."

"I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to actually do anything today," she can't help herself but to lightly grouse at him.

"That's the fun of me being in charge of when you get fucked today, pumpkin. I might bend you over every singular solid surface that can hold your weight, or I might make you wait. Choice is all mine."

Well, until she says otherwise. Or if she outright safewords. But that is a given.

His pretty girl is getting spoiled though if she's got time to be grumpy about not being bent over to her satisfaction.

One hand trails over her hip, teasing the exposed skin as he revels in how twitchy she is.

It takes prep- always does, always will. But they'd been at it for a good amount yesterday and with her presently about to melt into a puddle of desire and neglect after this morning, Alex is mindful but not too apprehensive as he opens his pretty girlfriend up on his fingers.

First one, just to confirm his suspicions- she's primed and wants to go, pressing back against him in anticipation as one becomes two. He knows that two of his is something akin to three of her own, and that finally seems to settle her down as his fingers stroke that spot inside of her that has her grabbing at the dryer for leverage and pushing back against it to press further into him.

"That's it, baby. Nice and fucking wet for me. You know what your job is, hm?" he purrs behind her.

"Yes," she pants quietly. "Alex, please-"

"You're spoiled, you know that?" he still ends up pressing an affectionate peck to her temple again, pulling out of her warm body to work on freeing himself one handed.

She's all too eager to help get things rolling- standing on her tip toes and arching her back. It makes it easy to slide into her, taking a few shallow, rolling thrusts to work himself all the way inside.

Rewarded with the sound of her pleased moans, Alex is quick to settle into a pace that he knows will get the pair of them rolling their eyes in no time. At this point he knows how to get her going as certainly as he does to get himself off.

"Oh my God- right there," she moans, her own hands scrambling for purchase against the dryer to brace. Alex bands one arm across her waist while the other continues to knead her hip, keeping her close to him as he thrusts.

'Yeah? That's the spot right there pumpkin?" he asks despite knowing the answer. He just likes watching how she'll go from a smart, capable woman to a dumb little cocksleave desperate for his cum with the right kind of prompting.

"Ye-ye-yeah," she confirms as he stays steadfast in his tempo.

"Fuck,” he groans at the wet heat of her clinging to him like she never wants him to leave her.

Letting go of her hip with one hand but keeping his other banded across her waist, Alex is all too happy to grope at her chest. Fingers plucking at her pebbled nipples- rolling and pinching one before switching to pay attention to the other. Those hitching breaths work in time to his ministrations as he works her up just to pull his hand away from her bust in favor of her clit.

Now that got her attention, each thrust of his hips and slow stroke of his fingers being rewarded with his name a constant chant in her mouth- Alex Alex Alex Alex-

“That good, pumpkin? You gonna- fuck- make a mess for me? Come on, honey, ask me for it,” he goads.

She’s sputtering and scrambling to get her brain in working order- trying to be a good girl. Fucking adorable.

“Alex- fuck,- hgn- Alex- please! Let me- let me,” her brain struggling to play catch up.

“All ya gotta do is ask, honey. You can do that, can’t you?” Pressing another chase kiss to her temple, the dichotomy is not lost on him paired with the absolute filthy noises coming from where they’re joined. She’s gagging for it- literally can’t get the words out of her mouth in the right order. “Must be fucking you good if you can’t even talk properly,” he teases, a grin escaping him when she shoots him a glare over her shoulder. “I bet the neighbors know my name,” the uppity ones who seem to think they’re above socializing with any of the other tenants in the building- brushing off anyone who tries to get to know them.

God they must fucking hate Alex when he’s home after being sent out on mission.

“Alex please! Let me cum, please!”

His fingers kept up that maddening pace until his ears finally register that she did, in fact, use her words.

And Alex is nothing if not a man of his word.

He knows exactly how to change the quiet strumming of his stroking fingertips from the teasing touches meant to ramp her up, and the ones meant to drag her across the finish line.

Those pretty thighs are trembling as Alex plays her like a fiddle. She cums with a cry, seemingly caught off guard by how intense it is.

It doesn’t take much more to get Alex chasing his own end.

He finishes without much fanfare Pulls out, tucks himself away, pulls her skirt down and kisses her temple again before leaving a shaking mess left to sort out the laundry.

Much like breaking the seal on a night out of drinking- now that he’s given into the temptation he just cannot stop the rest of the day. The second his refractory period is up and he feels ready to go another round, he’s seeking her out within the house and can’t wait to climb on top of her.

He may or may not be the reason that lunch burns that day a few hours later. It’s a worthy reason though, and he happily orders takeout as an apology.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

#alexkellerchallenge #alex keller x reader #cod x reader #call of duty #my writing

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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 7 months

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Kinktober Prompt ~ Outdoor Sex

Ghost x City Girl Reader

During a friendly game of Capture-the-Flag, you and Ghost take things to extreme, after a bet turns into something not so suitable for work...

Future NSFW 18+, Part One, Eventual Smut, Shameless Smut, Porn w/ little Porn, Hatemance, Enemies to Lovers, Mean Girl/Bratty Reader, Sarcastic Ghost, Teasing, Flirting, slight Slow Burn, Outdoor Sex, Banter, Toxic Relationships

Author's Note: This was random. Felt like writing some dirty smut for Ghost and I liked Spice as a character, so here's a spin-off! Split into two parts so I can make the next chapter juicy. Please enjoy the build-up for now ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ"

Also! If you want to read it in conjecture to the other parts, this is after Part Two but before Part Three :3

NGMLTS Masterlist

Masterlist

It was meant to be a team building exercise; a friendly game of competition between you and your comrades. Capture the flag. Only the rules were a bit altered this time around.

The game went as plainly explained by your captain: one team has to collect the flags and bring them back to their designated checkpoint, while the other team has to stop them. Three rounds will be given, with teams swapping positions each time. Winning team takes all, including the bragging rights.

And as if a competitive sport between the Task Force's deadliest members wasn't already enough, Price figured he'd spice things up by having the games happen at the dead of night as well. Many of your missions as of recent have been late night ops, so he felt that the extra training was needed.

This means night vision goggles, zero comms, stealth utilization, and strategy. When the exercise started and you were left out in the woods to begin, it was up to you and yours to be alert enough to get the job done. And if your team does win, you'll get first pick on the next mission.

You couldn't speak for everyone, though your sure the sentiment is shared; you've always loved a little competitiion. You just hid that side of you well, only letting it show when it was needed. But beating your peers at their own game was a rush like no other, and that feeling never left you even as you grew older. In fact it increased tenfold. It was a rush better than sex half the time.

Competition keeps a goal in mind to focus on, and damn did it feel good to win. And right now, there wasn't anyone you wanted to beat more than the stealth master himself, Simon Riley.

If one thing had been known about the man, it's that his expertise in stealth and sabotage weren't in need of questioning; he's practically a living legend after Roba. Some missions he's even been able to pull off alone, given his size and brutish combat tactics.

He's quite literally a ghost. That's just simple fact. A fact that might intimidate some, but only made you want to call him out on his bullshit. You honestly didn't believe all the hype, even after having gone on a few missions with him already. If anything, from what you've seen, the guy's just got funny luck.

If you want something done quietly, you send Simon Riley. If he needed to enter a room without you knowing, then you wouldn't hear him until you've felt the knife in your back. If he had to stay out of sight, then you won't see him in the shadows until he chooses to make himself known.

You aimed to prove that point tonight, knowing it would make the perfect thing to hold over him any time he wants to give you shit. How you've dethroned him of his ghostly status and made a mortal man out of him, now not only in the bedroom but in the field as well. It made you giddy just thinking about it.

Tonight you'd been given the chance to put your money where your mouth is. By a random luck of the draw, you've been placed on the offensive team with Gaz, making you the hunter, and Ghost your prey. A unique position to be in, and one you hadn't planned on squandering.

"I bet you $20 you won't get a single flag," you taunted.

Your comment had been enough to make the man snort. No doubt he'd been a man up for a bit of competition himself. And what better reward was there than having the privilege to say he humbled you as well? Now that's a rare occasion.

Ghost finished retying the laces to his boots before standing back up into his full length, looming over you like a big, playful shadow.

The hallway grows dark and empty around you, a familiar setting as of late. Since that night at the club, situations like this seemed to spring up more and more often. Ones which involved the man standing just close enough for you to smell the scent of him, and for him to catch that lustful glint you hid so well behind your eyes. Had you not had places to be, he'd fuck you right here and now, you're sure.

"Why don't we sweeten the pot some," he adds. "You still throw in that twenty, but the loser owes the winner a favor they can't say no to."

"Ooo, I like the sound of that!" You smile, already picturing all the most humiliating things you were going to make him do. You could make him fuck you in that one position dangling over your bedpost that you liked (and he kept complaining about "having to do"). Or you could even make him do all your work for the day as well. Oh the possibilities were endless; it had you practically jumping for joy.

Ghost chuckles at your preemptive celebratory dance, letting you go on for an unnecessary amount of time with your gloating and teasing. It'll only make his victory all the more sweeter.

"Figured you might like tha'," he says. You can practically feel the man smirking underneath his balaclava. He extends a hand out to you, giving you a chance to shake it. "Is that a deal then, Spice?"

You take his hand and shake on it.

"You're on, Manchester."

As you shake hands, Ghost keeps his grip over you for a moment, holding you in place a little longer so you could hear him when he taunted you. "We'll see how good you are when we get out there, won't we?"

"I'll try and go easy on you," you purr.

"I wouldn't want that. Too boring," Ghost teases. "It's much better when I have to work for it."

"Spoken like a true dog."

You both would have continued going back and forth, had Price not entered the hall to retrieve you both.

"OK, wrap it up lovebirds," he teases, earning a respective groan from you both. "We're heading out to the course now, so no more dilly-dallying."

"Roger that, sir," Ghost says. He watches for Price, waiting for him to leave before he's left you with a final parting phrase himself.

"May the best soldier win."

(ﾉ･_-)☆ Part Two Coming Soon...

Author's Note: I've included the previous taglist just in case you guys also wanted to read this spin-off (I know it's been over a month (^^'). I can remove you from the second part if you're not interested though!

Part Two will be longer and will involve the actually competition before things get spicy. I haven't decided who's gonna win the game yet either so it'll be a surprise for all of us. But I'm planning on the smut to be worth the two part split. Stay Tuned ~

Taglist: @babygirl-riley, @homicidal-slvt, @deadbranch, @argella1300, @poohkie90 , @glitterypirateduck , @sarraa-26 , @quincessimus , @crazymela, @13thprogenitor , @joce2fine, @sapszilla , @dmitriene, @justherebecauseafarisucks, @zevrajalexxandra, @corvusmorte

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #call of duty #modern warfare ii #call of duty modern warfare ii #mwii #mw2022 #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #simon riley #Spotify

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furiousgoldfish · 9 months

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being around abusers:

high alert: you never know when the abuse is coming

hyper-focusing on the abuser's mood, you're only allowed to feel relief if the abuser seems to be in a good mood, distracted, or focused on somebody else

constant vigilance because they might decide to focus on you any second and you need to be ready

unable to focus on your tasks because you're tense and waiting to see if they'll want something from you, want to do something to you, or start to verbally abuse, provoke, insult, taunt, criticize or humiliate you

always aware of the physical distance between you and how much it would take them to cross it; reaction of panic if they turn your direction or show intent of approaching

quickly forced to think of an escape plan or a fight plan if they do keep approaching you because it is already an intimidation and likely to escalate in violence

anxiety if you're prompted to speak; you are not allowed to say anything positive about yourself or it will be challenged and mocked, you are usually asked to volounteer information and you will be attacked if you refuse. But if you do give info, it will be used against you.

constant effort needs to be put in controlling the amount of rage, or alternatively, helplessness you feel in their presence. You are not allowed to show any symptoms of it, or symptoms of panic

desperate use of logic and rationality in the face of senseless and cruelty of the abuse; you're trying to explain why the abuser should not say and do horrid and cruel things to you, and why you don't deserve it, only for them to do it worse and insist that they're 'saying the truth' or 'listing the imaginary reasons you do deserve it (you are not a person to them)'

attempts to defend yourself from the abuse or exploding and attacking back, only to immediately be accused of abuse and cruelty and 'lack of self control' while the abuser is not even affected by your attempts

the abuser getting anyone in the vicinity to side with them and to participate/enable the abuse, making you feel like your entire environment is hostile and dangerous, and like you are not a person to anyone

All of these can feel normal when you're used to living like that, or if you've grown up in this environment. Having to constantly defend and prove yourself and to have be hyper-focused on those around you and anxiously anticipate their every move, can feel like a normal experience if you haven't experienced any other home environment. This is not normal. If this is how you live, you are living in abuse. None of this should be inflicted at you.

#experiencing abuse #i thought all of this was just normal family environment #psychological abuse #development of cptsd #traumatic environment #child abuse #emotional abuse #fight flight fawn freeze response #long term abuse #long term trauma #abusive parents #abusive partners #living in fear #living in stasis of expecting abuse

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sapphorror · 3 months

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Short Moderate Length List of Small(ish) Things I Appreciate About The Wettening

Dib being conspicuously absent from the opening pan of the classroom, only to cartoon-teleport into existence at Zim’s desk the second Zim starts expressing mild apprehension at the sight of unfamiliar weather. This kid spends his time just hanging around staring at Zim, waiting for him to show the slightest sign of discomfort, confusion, or unease in order to immediately taunt him about it—and the surrounding chaos, if anything, is just an opportunity to come watch even more closely. We all already knew this, but it still kills me to see it in action.

Also, he’s animated popping up from below, and like… were we meant to interpret this as him just chilling underneath Zim’s desk? No, absolutely not—but is it funny (and, to add to the hilarity, miraculously somehow not completely unbelievable within the context of the show) to imagine that he was? Yes. Yes it is.

Zim confidently walking out into a downpour he has already confirmed to be acidic just because Dib implicitly dared him to—no one’s looking, Dib hasn’t even said anything or made a claim against his humanity, Zim just can’t stand to give Dib the satisfaction of seeing him vulnerable or afraid of something (which backfires pretty spectacularly, since I’m pretty sure ‘writhing on the ground shrieking in indescribable agony’ is a significantly worse look in terms of appearing vulnerable, but all’s well that ends in Victory For Zim, I guess).

Also Zim's little baffled gesture right beforehand like he's silently asking Dib to confirm he's not hallucinating the rain dance (he does not receive an answer)

Gaz presumably seeing Zim sneaking up behind her brother, saying nothing and making no reaction that’ll tip Dib off… only to immediately be made to regret her choices when she gets caught in another splash. Shows her for trusting Zim to be at least a little bit cool about tormenting Dib (honestly, we see her exact fitting justice on Dib at the end of the episode, but I cannot imagine she wasn't still planning to do something equally petty to Zim).

The faucet drip scene and the underlying awareness that this is just what Zim and Dib do to each other during class. Every day. It is, in fact, probably one of the least disruptive forms their constant warfare takes on a routine basis. Suddenly I understand a little bit of why their entire class hates them.

Also Dib’s happy face while he's terrorizing Zim into a shell-shocked stupor is absurdly cute and heartwarming. If I cropped that picture no one would ever guess what he's smiling about. This kid? A sadist? Impossible.

“I don’t even feel good about winning this one,” and it's said with his hands clasped together, practically vibrating with glee, his expression vaguely reminiscent of a teenager in the throes of hormonal infatuation (the hypothetical object in this case not so much being Zim himself as a personified abstraction of Zim’s suffering). If someone hit him with the Return of Keef happy goo in this exact moment, I am completely certain it would kill him. His statement is only true insofar that a more accurate term for his current state of being would probably be euphoric. I take back everything I’ve ever said about Zim being unreasonable in this episode—he was merciful.

Also this face the moment Zim gets up and starts threatening him. Zim still isn't even all that intimidating at the moment, but Dib knows he just fucked up. Maybe he's getting flashbacks to Dark Harvest.

Dib’s ridiculous water balloon device. Seriously. I feel like it gets (reasonably) overshadowed by the sheer absurdity of Zim’s entire operation, but it really is so amazingly stupid and pointless in a way that is… not dissimilar to the ultimate Irken water balloon. Not only is it really not necessary for the task it's meant to accomplish, it's actively detrimental in that it slows Dib down, blatantly telegraphs his attacks, and reduces accuracy by a significant degree. The only actual benefits I can think of would be the exponential increase in force and range and the instant accessibility of a water supply—the former of which is totally unnecessary in this scenario and the latter being possible to accomplish with a much simpler device (or even just… a water tank). To summarize, it is an incredibly impressive feat of both skill and creativity in design that is also completely and utterly useless! Which is just the perfect demonstration of what I mean when I say Dib really does share nearly all of Zim’s flaws, just to a less obviously ridiculous degree—he comes off just calm and clever enough to pass as moderately reasonable at a glance, and in some ways, that makes him more of a potential flight risk than Zim. At least that's a lunatic you see coming.

Irkens are collapsible, apparently

#invader zim #zim #dib #gaz #meta #just a little #my meta #iz posting #zadp #natterings #for the record i am not unaware of the irony in saying zims the lunatic you see coming #when the empire was ultimately surprised by the worst of his crimes enough times over that he was able to commit them all #and even now after impending doom 1 and the trial he is STILL consistently underestimated in the damage he can continue to do #whereas dib has spent his entire life being called crazy by literally everyone he knows (and many he doesnt)#all for ENTIRELY the wrong reasons #but hey #thats exactly the kind of counterintuitive comedy that the iz universe runs on #anyway i may or may not do this for more episodes as i rewatch with my sibling #or honestly just in general #because there is nothing i enjoy more than pointing out tiny details that are entertaining to no one besides me #i've always been especially fond of the wettening though #like literally always dating back to when i was 7 #probably earlier but my memories only go back so far #its very fun seeing how wildly the specifics of how i love this show have drifted over the years #favorite episodes. favorite characters (i mean always gaz on some level but the ones that plague me the most)#but it is sometimes even better to observe the very specific points that have remained constant #if still evolving in complexity

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thecameronchronicles · 2 years

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Oblivious

TW: Smut. Language.

SUMMARY: When JJ doesn’t get the hint, you make it painfully obvious what you want.

WORD COUNT: 1500

*Requested*

Anonymous asked:

Could you do a jj one where you’re friends with Sarah and since she’s dating John b you start hanging out with the pouges and you keep flirting with jj and touching him (like rubbing sunscreen on him or whatever) but he doesn’t think you’re seriously into him because you’re a kook until one day after y’all hang out he offers to take you home and you tell him something like my parents aren’t home so he’ll take the hint but he doesn’t so you’re like are you coming in or not he’s like FUCK YES I AM and you’re both so eager you don’t even make it to your bedroom so he just fucks you on the kitchen table

That’s kinda long and not sure if it makes sense at all but I really like your writing so I hope you like the idea 💜

Oblivious

The dutiful friend you were, had you constantly in attendance at The Chateau among The Pogues, your attention always focused on one in particular. The messy blonde strands in an effortless rest often found the edges of his rough fingers pulling it apart as you were quick to imagine those same fingers on your skin. It was really all you could do as you were forced into the alternatives of Pope's rants of medical knowledge and Kiara's berating everyone for using too much plastic. But it wasn't just his fingers that you'd fantasized about as he sat across from you, completely oblivious to how you'd fucked him in your head in every position, every scenario, at every time of the night and day. It was those lips, always wrapped around either the neck of a beer bottle or a blunt. It was his eyes that you imagined screwing shut to how you'd ride him into submission and tremors. And it was his voice that had spoken your name, usually in a tease, that would whimper as you brought him to that release. Not to mention the outline of his cock that would taunt you behind his trunks, the thick shaft at rest and just as intimidating as if in its full rigidity. The idea constantly making you lick your lips to know his taste. But he was completely oblivious.

Even as you had made it a point to touch him in every opportunity, he was almost indifferent, if not naive, to your advances. One moment in particular was one that made you almost feral in your own right as you'd been aboard the HMS Pogue as everyone else was luxuriating in the water, you having stayed on board to be alone with him. But once again, he didn't make even the slightest of attempts to act on this isolation, not that much could be done, but he didn't even seem to entertain the idea. So for this, you would comment how he was getting a bit too red as an excuse to smooth sunscreen over his muscles. But as you found this more as a form of torment for you than a means of seduction for him, you would accomplish your task and return across the boat, finding every excuse to rubbing away the friction between your thighs before you could take care of jt yourself. But eventually the fantasies weren't enough and his lack of noticing you had been less than cute as you may have found them. Now, you were desperate. Needy for the feeling of his touch. As you decided today was the day you'd act on it.

"I'll take you home…" He offered as Sarah was wrapped within John B as they swayed lazily within the hammock and Pope was fast asleep on the couch within the Chateau, Kiara having been stuck working the lunch rush at The Wreck, as you made some excuse about needing to be home, all so he would offer to take you.

Stealing the keys of The Twinkie from the counter of The Chateau, JJ led the charge before slipping behind the steering wheel and taking you home. Although the trip was brief as The Cut and Figure Eight were only separated by a bridge and a thick layer of pride and resentment, it was enough to make you consider a multitude of methods. Touching yourself or making his hands put in the work themselves. Telling him to pull the car over or giving him road head. But by the time all of the thoughts had run through your mind, you were in your driveway.

"My parents are gone until tonight…"

"Must be lonely in that big house all by yourself then…" He commented as you couldn't believe he was THIS blase, THIS clueless. Yet, for a moment you admired it as it made him seem innocent. But only for a moment as you craved him far too deeply to allow another minute to pass before acting on it. So you would turn to face him, leaning over the console of the rotting Volkswagen as his eyes met with yours.

"Are you going to come in and take advantage of the fact we can be as loud as we want or what?" His lips pulled into a smile as you pulled yourself from the passenger side and to the front door, hearing him utter something along the lines of 'better fucking believe it', before his hands turned you to face him as you crossed the threshold of your house. His foot kicked the door closed as you smirked beneath the kisses, even as you basked in his passion behind them.

"Bout time you took the hint, JJ…I was starting to think you didn't want me…"

"You joking?! I just didn't think you were interested…whole Kook thing…"

"I couldn't have been more obvious!" You pleaded as he smirked.

"Well now I know…"

"And what are you gonna do about it?" You challenged as he lifted you around him and to the closest surface, which happened to be the dining room table.

"Take full fucking advantage." He explained while pulling your shirt over your head, exceeding the patience you had while preparing each breast for his lips before tormenting you as he nibbled on the pebbled nipples.

"JJ, please-"

"I want to make sure you're wet enough for me-"

You took his hand between your thighs as his smirk was almost blinding from how brilliantly wide it stretched.

"Well then…" You helped remove his belt and reveal his cock to you, the beautiful shaft at attention for you as you took a moment to admire it.

"Like what you see, princess?" But instead of allowing him the dominance and reward of a quick insertion, you pushed against his torso before lowering onto your knees.

"Still think I'm a princess?" You asked while stroking him slowly, having used your slick for lubrication as his lips pulled apart on disbelief to how erotic that had been.

"A very dirty one…but yes…Even all pretty on your knees for me…" He spoke through clenched teeth as you made corkscrew motions of his cock, precum crying from his tip as you offered one swipe of your tongue before finally taking him behind your smile.

"Goddammit!" He cursed, your perfect manicure indenting his ass while you pushed beyond your gag reflex to satisfy him. The sounds of your name between curses and groans was nearly orgasmic to your heat as you moaned against his shaft as tears formed on your cheeks.

"Give me thst fucking pussy…" He commanded while lifting you onto the surface of the table and lying you on your back, lining himself up with you, and finally filling you with his dick. Bottoming out with each thrust, you winced to the pain of contact made to your cervix as he sweetened this by the play made at your nipples or flicks made against your clit.

"Jesus Christ, you're so fucking tight!" He groaned, hands finalizing on your hips to assist in the slide offered by the smooth surface at your back, working in your mutual favor, as you allowed your face to be contorted to the pleasure offered by his motions.

"JJ!"

"I know sweetheart, got me in quite a vice. Wanna feel you come for me…" He lowered himself over you, holding his weight to one palm as the other wrapped in your hair. His eyes fell in the space between you as he scoffed at the sight of himself moving in and out of you.

"Fuck, I could watch you take me all day-"

"I'm coming! JJ!" You winced as he burrowed his head into your shoulder at the arrival of his own release, your name being the last thing he spoke before filling you to the brim with his release.

"We need a code word or something for the next time…" His brows rose to your remark.

"Next time?"

"I've spent months trying to get you to notice me, JJ…a lot of naughty little fantasies to make reality." His smile returned.

"How long did you say your parents would be gone?"

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takeyourcyanide · 2 months

Text

Anguish

- Soul Eater

Notes: This has yet to be proofread. I have made references to age regression in a past fic, but I never actually wrote it. I decided to go more in depth with age regression in this fic.

Summary: Stein’s paranoia continues to bubble up until he can no longer take it.

Word count: 5 578

……

Paranoia followed Stein like his own creeping shadow, stalking him and subtly blatant in the sunlight. It sat within the recesses of his mind, never leaving him no matter how many times he attempted to soothe himself. It lurked and lingered, attacking him when he needed it the least. It was the backbone of every interaction he had with others, every word, everything. No logic or reason could ever fully diminish it.

It was a force more powerful than himself. It was himself. And he was so incredibly exhausted. He was so incredibly tired of always having one foot in everyone else’s reality, and another foot in his own. And he was tired of being forced to pretend that he didn’t.

He often wondered if it would’ve just been easier if he was one of those people without even a semblance of coherence remaining. There’d be no more battling with himself.

……

The bathroom mirror stood to taunt Stein, as did the room he scanned. The walls and the corners and the mirror itself felt almost as daunting and oddly intimidating as the menial task of showering - of which he needed to tackle. Stein was not the type to feel intimidated. Not by any person, not by anything. But after seemingly catching the floors beneath him breath from a certain angle, he felt suspicious.

The sound of Spirit wandering about in the kitchen, shutting cabinets obnoxiously loudly as he, presumably, searched for a small snack before school, startled Stein from his stupor, as a sense of dread washed over him. He was much too exhausted to deal with the chore of human interaction. He just wanted to be alone.

Stein turned back to the mirror, not missing the figure he’d seen from his peripheral vision. He, then, proceeded to glance at the shower curtain, a sigh shaking his frame. Every time he even so much as lived, he felt a presence following him, stalking him - including in the shower. He despised having to continuously turn around to check behind himself whilst simply trying to finish cleaning and rinsing his hair.

He begrudgingly trudged up to the curtain, yanking it open, half-expecting a person to be standing behind it, awaiting his arrival. He turned the handle of the faucet, sticking his hand underneath the flowing water. Once it had reached a satisfactory enough temperature, he turned on the shower, ridding himself of his comfortable clothes, and jumping in.

……

With wet hair and his clean, everyday clothes on, he opened the door, stepping out into the corridor, preparing himself for what awaited him.

“Morning, Stein,” Spirit shouted out, toast in hand, as he walked toward Stein. “You took longer than usual. Hurry up and dry your hair, I don’t wanna be late.”

Stein shot him an annoyed glare, moving to enter Spirit’s bedroom, as that’s where the blowdryer was located, along with a rectangular, hanging mirror. Spirit could be awfully vain at times, especially when it came to his precious hair.

He flipped the light-switch, grabbed the blowdryer, and grimaced at the noise it made as he dried his damp hair.

“Hey, you should really start putting heat protectant in your hair before doing that,” Spirit scolded for the thousandth time.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Stein shrugged his tired shoulders, continuing to make rounds around his head with the aforementioned blowdryer.

“It should!” Spirit playfully exclaimed. “How do you think I got these luscious locks,” he flipped his hair jokingly, smirking.

Stein rolled his eyes, a halfhearted chuckle escaping his lips as he shook his head.

“Yeah, that’s why you get all the girls, huh?” Stein snickered.

“You laugh, but it most certainly is. And my irresistible charm and amazing looks,” he teasingly replied, lifting his pointer finger as though he was making a thoughtful point.

“Sure,” Stein sarcastically said.

……

The fluorescent lighting decorating the DWMA’s hallways sparked suicidal desires within Stein as he marched to class with Spirit.

He silently wondered to himself why Spirit stayed by his side so often. Of course, he was his partners and it only makes sense, but why did he agree to partner with him in the first place? Pity? Obligations? A dare? Curiosity’s sake? What was his motive? What did he have to gain? What did he want from Stein?

“Earth to Stein,” a particularly large a hand waved in front of his face. “We’re here, let’s go in.”

Stein stood at his priestly little weapon, his red hair glimmering underneath the godawful lighting.

Was he perhaps a spy for Lord Death? A watchdog? Was he reporting his every breath to the god obediently?

A hand wrapped around his arm, tight, but not tight enough to be uncomfortable.

“Come on, dumbass,” Spirit teased, dragging him into the classroom.

“Is something wrong?” The weapon glanced at Stein as they walked up and over to their seats. He was met with a chilling silence, a chilling expression. Stein’s eyes were narrow and clearly examining his every movement.

“Dude, seriously, are you good?” He once again prodded. He seemed fine earlier. Well, to be fair, he never seemed quite “fine,” but it was “fine” enough for Stein.

“Have you hid any sort of camera or listening device in our apartment by any chance?” Stein asked, unsure of why he even did as such when he knew that even if Spirit was guilty of doing so, he would have absolutely no incentive to tell him.

“No? Why would I do that?” Spirit’s face contorted into a confused and utterly bewildered expression. He was entirely taken aback.

“To report back to Lord Death,” Stein begun smiling, as though he were simply joking. It was obvious to him that Spirit thought he was being stupid and weird again, and that it would be best to simply play it off.

“Don’t be so paranoid. I’d never do that,” he stated, sitting promptly in his seat.

“You would if Lord Death asked you to,” Stein bit back, the grin on his face doing nothing for how unsettling his tone of voice was.

Stein took his seat next to Spirit, staring intently at him.

Spirit spared a quick glance, only to ultimately face the front of the classroom, hoping to god Stein would do the same.

What was wrong with the kid?

……

The cacophonous, yet wondrous sound of the bell ringing shook the walls, promptly ending the never-ending chattering of the teacher and Stein’s classmates.

Stein would typically wait for his friends, but he, instead, rushed quickly off by himself. They were all meant to go to lunch together, but Stein could not handle the creeping feeling bubbling inside of him, festering just as his violent feelings do.

Why did he have to be this way?

He wanted to go to somewhere dark and quiet, somewhere he could be alone.

That fantasy was soon shattered by a hand tapping on his shoulder.

“Stein, where are you going?” Spirit questioned before Stein could make it out of the door. The rest of their little group was standing close by him.

“Nowhere now,” he mumbled, sounding almost sad.

……

“Come on, Spirit, tell us about Kami,” Marie pushed on.

“I saw you two practically making out a couple days ago,” Sid teased Spirit.

Spirit’s face flushed madly. He looked to be almost as red as his hair.

Stein listened to his friends go on and on over the most boring of subjects. He did, however, manage to find observing their conversation to be pleasantly entertaining.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t entertaining enough to distract him from the rambling in his head. He felt almost clouded, as though he could barely conjure up a proper thought. Well, other than “they’re lying to you,” and “there’s no point in being here. You’re not one of them. They’re only teasing you. You might as well be a caged zoo animal to them - something to take interest in and observed, but that is all.”

“Are you okay, Stein? You’ve seemed distracted all day,” Marie calls out concernedly. She was always so caring. At least she pretended to be, anyways. Stein was sure she laughed about how he probably fell for it to Spirit and Azusa and Sid and Joe whenever Stein was not present to bear witness to it.

“‘M fine,” he spoke in a hushed, hoarse, and slurred tone. He was looking through the girl as opposed to at her.

“Oh, okay…” Marie trailed off, clearly not believing him in any capacity.

Stein paid no mind to his own terrible lie, only able to wonder to himself why Spirit stopped him from simply going in his own for the lunch period.

……

By the time the school day had finished, Stein had earned himself at least a thousand curious and supposedly worried glances from his friends.

He did not believe their façade of worry. Something in him continued to scream at him how they were lying. He did not know precisely why they were, but he simply knew that they were. Perhaps they were all in it. They were all Lord Death’s spies. Perhaps they knew something he didn’t. It sure felt like it.

Stein was seated on the couch, watching Spirit as he cooked dinner for the two of them.

“Hey, Stein?” Spirit broke the silence. Stein merely let out a hum of acknowledgment.

“I’m going to invite the group over for dinner. Are you ok with that?” He asked, glancing repeatedly over at the visibly sleep-deprived male. He looked as though he might pass out at any given moment.

“You’ve never asked me if I was ok with it before. Why now?” Stein gazed with suspicion into Spirit’s blue eyes, said eyes revealing even more of that false concern.

“I don’t know.. You just.. seem a little off today is all. You’ve been even weirder than usual,” Spirit spoke with an air of sincerity, which only served to further confuse Stein. Was he honestly concerned or not? Was he just a good actor?

“It’s fine. I don’t care,” Stein looked down at his pale hands. He questioned whether or not they were real. And whether or not he was real.

Spirit jumped at the sound of harsh knocks, running towards the door.

“I need to get you guys some extra keys,” Spirit chuckled, opening the door for them and welcoming them in.

“Hey, Stein,” Marie waved in her usually friendly manner, skipping over to sit beside him.

“What are you cooking? It smells great,” Azusa asked curiously, a pleasant expression decorating her visage as she took in the intermingling smells in the air.

“Uh,” Spirit distractedly begun. “Spaghetti and garlic bread.”

“Oooh, that sounds great,” exclaimed Marie from the couch. From the corner of her eye, she examined Stein’s seemingly over-exhausted face. Dark circles painted his under-eyes, and his lips were unbelievably chapped. They appeared to be bloody in some areas. She had noticed long ago that he had an odd habit of biting them.

“That looks like it stings, Stein,” she sympathetically pouted, pointing at his ripped up lower lip.

“Huh? Oh. It’s fine,” Stein shrugged his shoulders, mumbling lethargically. He sounded just as distracted as Spirit had, despite not doing anything.

Azusa, Sid, Joe, and Nygus moved to take their seats on the sofa opposite to Marie and Stein. They were all happily conversing, laughing and smiling.

“What are you guys so giddy about?” Marie grinned, scanning the group in front of her.

“Oh, we’re just making fun of Casanova over there,” Sid tilted his head in the direction of the glaring Spirit. “Sid was telling us about how Spirit told Kami that she was ‘like the most beautiful angel he’d ever seen’,” Azusa spoke in a teasing, mocking tone of voice, placing her hand theatrically upon her chest.

“Oh, wow, Spirit, you really like this girl, huh?” Marie smirked, snickering.

“Yeah, I do, as a matter of fact. She’s great. And you have no room to talk. You fall in love with any guy who gives you the time of day,” Spirit bit right back, chuckling whilst playfully pointing out Marie’s hypocrisy.

Marie gasped in half-phony shock, yelling, “That is not true!”

She turned her head over to Stein expectantly, as he would usually chime in with his usual snarky remark. But he did not say a word. It didn’t even look as though he was paying any attention whatsoever. He was simply staring at the wall with a hollow expression on his face.

“Stein?” She said, elbowing him. “Aren’t you gonna make fun of me? Or Spirit?”

“Huh?” He whipped his head around, scanning the room. The entire group was staring at him.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” Marie continued, staring into his disinterested eyes.

“Say what?” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, an odd feeling he did not understand bubbling within him as he realized he did not have any sort of upper hand for once. He did not know how to react. He was failing to even mirror the group.

“Never-mind,” Marie forced her mouth into a lazy smile. She seemed to almost pity him. Stein did not want her fake pity.

“Food’s ready!” Spirit shouted excitedly. Everyone rose from their seats to get a portion. Everyone except for Stein.

……

“Stein? Are you done with your food? You hardly ate at all,” Spirit snapped his fingers in front of Stein’s face. Evidently, he had drifted off and forgot to pretend to have some semblance of an appetite.

“Wasn’t hungry. Was good, though,” Stein mumbled.

Marie stood, kindly and politely taking everyone’s plates and bowls and placing them in the sink.

“Are you sure you weren’t hungry? You didn’t eat much all day,” the weapon prodded, suspicious of the obviously lying meister.

“I don’t know,” he leaned his head onto the back of the sofa to rest.

Spirit sighed deeply, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Was he depressed? No, that couldn’t be it. That wouldn’t explain the weird paranoid question he asked him. What was bothering him?

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Even Joe began to question him. Stein wondered how much he was paid to worry.

“Yeah,” he replied, voice remaining quiet and strained.

“What do you guys wanna do? Play a game or something?” Spirit looked curiously around the room.

“We could all watch a movie, but someone doesn’t own a TV,” Sid teased.

“We can’t afford it right now. We’re saving up for it, though,” the redhead replied.

“What kind of game?” Azusa steered the conversation back to its original topic.

“Hm, I’m not sure. Stein, do you wanna choose a game?” Spirit turned the attention back to Stein. His eyes were closed as he breathed slowly in and out.

He lifted his head from the sofa, his eyes opening almost cautiously. “We could play-“

“Let me guess… Operation?” Azusa snickered, interrupting Stein.

“If it’s fun, it’s fun, Azusa,” Stein just barely smirked.

“It’s nice to see you.. sort of smile,” Marie beamed at Stein.

“We can play that, I guess,” Spirit shrugged. “Unless anyone has a better suggestion?”

“Not really,” Marie said.

“Well, it’s settled, then.”

……

“How are you so goddamn good at the game, Stein?” Marie exclaimed.

“It’s all those creepy-ass dissections,” Sid remarked.

The group packed the board game away, continuing their gleeful chatting in the process. Stein had enjoyed the game, it was visible by the focused and relatively more relaxed expression he wore, but it was also obvious that whatever was bothering him had not simply magically disappeared. Both Marie’s and Spirit’s stomachs churned with worry, both sparing knowing glances at one another. They were on the same wavelength at this point.

“Well, I’m gonna have to get going,” Joe begun, walking towards the door. “Thanks for the food. It was great!”

“Oh, yeah, us too, probably,” Sid said, referring to him and Nygus.

“Me, as well,” Azusa chimed in. “You coming, Marie?”

The three stood at the door, holding it open for Marie.

“No. I actually think I’ll stay and help clean up a bit,” she nodded.

“Oh, okay, then,” Azusa took another step forward. “Well, we’ll see you all tomorrow.”

Marie and Spirit both let out a hum of agreement, waving the rest of their group goodbye.

The moment the door shut, they stared holes into the male between them, Marie crossing her arms, and both of them preparing to interrogate him.

Stein glanced at both of them with a glint in his eyes that screamed how he was more than ready to run, his body tensing in response to what he knew they were up to.

“Stein,” Marie broke the awkward silence, distracting them all from the sound of the clock ticking above them. You could truly cut the tension in the room with a knife.

“Hm?” Stein huffed.

“What’s wrong?” She uncrossed her arms, appearing more open and friendly. Her head tilted with concern and curiosity.

“Why do you ask?” He looked her up and down, observing her every breath.

“What do you mean ‘why do you ask’? You’re my friend and I care about you,” she asked, bewildered.

“They were my friends, too, and they aren’t asking,” he crossed his arms, effectively curling in on himself. He looked similar to a turtle shrinking back inside of its shell when feeling threatened.

“Well, we’re closer,” she explained.

“Tell us, Stein,” Spirit decided to enact force upon his partner.

“Why?” Stein asked once more.

“Because we want to help you, Stein!” Spirit quietly yelled, his arms flailing in annoyance. Marie didn’t personally think Spirit’s methods were going to prove effective. She thought at least trying to be patient and trying to behave as non-threateningly as possible would prove to be the best course of action.

“No, you don’t,” Stein hissed, grimacing, and baring his teeth at the weapon.

“What are you talking about?” His eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re just going to tell anything I tell you to Lord Death. And if not Lord Death, then everyone else! For all I know, you could be recording this conversation to show it to everyone you know - or just Lord Death! I know how you people view me!” Stein didn’t exactly seem angry, but rather baffled and cornered like a stray.

“Why the hell you do you keep going on about that shit! Why are you so paranoid?! Of course people think you’re a case study, you are one!” Spirit shouted, his eyes widening wildly.

“Spirit, stop! That’s just unnecessarily rude!” Marie yelled right back, shutting him up before he could say any worse.

“See? You don’t care! You’re tired of dealing with me, you’ve made that obvious! And of course I’m going on about that, what other motive do you have to feign concern?” Stein glared daggers into the Spirit’s soul.

“Stein, do you actually think we’re lying?” Marie softly questioned, logically trying to get to the root of the issue and not just have a shouting match.

“You say that like it’s strange,” he avoided the question.

Marie shot Spirit an “I will rip your head off and feed it to the wolves” look before he could make some mocking remark about how it was, in fact, strange.

“No, I’m just curious, Stein,” she placed her hands in her lap, gazing at him with a gentle expression.

Stein looked back and forth, at Marie, then at Spirit, at Marie, then at Spirit.

“Well, let’s come back to that. Spirit, why are you so mad over this?” Marie felt as though she was playing therapist.

“I guess I’m just worried. And tired of the random, off-the-wall questions. And frankly, I’m hurt that he seems to think I’d backstab him,” Spirit spoke with a much more hushed voice, a genuine look in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Stein.”

“‘S fine,” he mumbled back. “It’s not about you.”

“But how could it not be? I guess you are sort of accusing everyone, but still,” Spirit was entirely confused.

“Please stop,” Stein tucked his head into his knees, pulling on his hair and rocking back and forth.

“What?” Spirit spoke.

“Please just stop. I don’t wanna say it. I don’t want anymore questions. Please go away. I want the dark. I want to be alone,” his voice sounded awfully hoarse again as he slurred his words together.

“I can’t stop, Stein. As your partner, it’s my job to help you,” he replied.

“So, obligation, then? That’s it, huh?” He begin pulling at his hair much harder than before. Marie grabbed onto his hands, attempting to ease Stein away from harming himself.

“Let go,” Stein looked up at her, his eyes redder as it appeared as though he might cry. “‘M not helpless. I can handle myself. Don’t take it personally, just go away.”

Marie did not budge.

“Stein, I won’t let you hurt yourself,” she declared sternly.

Stein’s movements ceased completely as he simply stared. His bottom lip jutted out in a particularly juvenile manner, and it began to quiver. His stomach twisted with paranoia, twisted with this odd feeling that he was longing for something, though he did not know what. He did not want to be vulnerable with them. They were forcing it in him. He just wanted control. He was slipping away.

Suddenly, he choked on a pitiful sob, his body shaking with fervor, as tears began to scorch his rosy cheeks.

“You’re all just like it. It won’t go away. I just want control,” he weeped, speaking in between sobs.

Spirit and Marie sat there for a brief moment, at a loss for what to do. Neither of the two had ever seen him so much as shed a tear.

Marie decided upon scratching up and down his back, playing with his hair at times, as he usually didn’t mind that. She didn’t want him to feel overstimulated by a full-on embrace.

“‘It’?” Marie prodded, hoping to god that it wouldn’t be too much for Stein, and that it wouldn’t make things even worse.

“Don’ wanna say it,” Stein once again slurred his words like a drunkard. Or, rather, a small child.

“Is it paranoia, sweetheart?” She was also hoping that her words, dripping with sappy-ness, would in some way comfort him.

His eyes widened larger than anything they’d ever seen before.

“How’d you know?” He said in the smallest, most pathetic voice. If she didn’t feel so bad for him, she’d probably find it adorable.

“Well, honey, given all the things you’ve said and done,” she trailed off, pulling him in and petting his hair.

“I keep seeing and hearing stuff. Actually, all of my senses have been covered. I don’t feel good,” he said, remaining tense underneath her touch.

“I’m so sorry, Stein,” she spoke sympathetically.

Spirit reached over, rubbing his back in hopes it would soothe him.

Stein then lowered his head, attempting to tuck it away from good sight, as he stuck his thumb in his mouth, childishly suckling on it.

Both Marie and Spirit exchanged odd glances at one another, but did not say a word about it.

“‘S all too big,” he huffed around his finger.

“I’m sure it is, dear,” she hushed him sweetly.

Marie and Spirit acknowledged his odd behavior, how out-of-character he was acting. They supposed it could be attributed to the meltdown he was having, but he was behaving awfully child-like.

“Gonna hurt me,” Stein sniffled.

“Oh, sweetie, I promise we won’t,” Marie cooed, continuing her soothing ministrations. Stein only cried harder.

His eyes were all puffy and swollen, and even his nose was red. He shoved his face into the crook of Marie’s neck, his free hand moving to grip onto her shirt. Almost immediately, she felt his tears soak through her clothing.

She began rocking him from side to side, the motion gentle and calm. His eyelids were becoming too heavy to hold open, though he desperately fought to as he sobbed.

“I wish I could make it go away for you, love,” she whispered into his hair, one arm around his waist, the other on his head. Spirit still continued to massage his back, deep in thought and deep in worry and anxiety.

“It’s okay, you can rest now. It’ll be just fine,” Marie attempted to reassure him.

Slowly but surely, the tight contracting of his muscles released, as he went limp against her. His breathing evened out, his sobbing and sniffling coming to a close.

“How did you manage to do that?” Spirit admired her abilities, simply in utter disbelief.

“What? Put him down for a nap? I’m really good with kids,” she whispered half-jokingly, smiling and chuckling.

“I can tell. You’re really soaking up being able to treat him like one and baby him, too, with those pet names and shit,” he laughed in return.

“Of course I am. But seriously, why is he acting like this? I don’t mean having a breakdown or being paranoid, but..”

“You mean sucking his thumb?”

“Yeah! I mean, I get self-soothing, but that’s just not him at all!” She quietly exclaimed. “Why don’t you look it up or something while I enjoy this while it lasts,” she giggled.

Spirit rolled his eyes, picking up his phone from off of the side table and opening Google.

……

“Hey, I found something,” Spirit announced, grabbing Marie’s attention.

“What is it?” She excitedly asked.

“It’s called ‘age regression.’ It’s pretty in line with his behavior and what happened. Since he was under a lot of stress, he involuntarily reverted to, like, a child. As in, he is in the current mindset of small child, and we’re supposed to treat him how we’d treat anybody of the age he is feeling,” he elaborated, glancing down at his phone and back up at Marie.

“How do we know how old he’s feeling?” She questioned curiously.

“I suppose we could infer based on his behaviors. Or we could ask him whenever he wakes up,” he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know how long that’ll be, though.”

“How long can it last?”

“Erm.. anywhere from a few minutes, to hours, to days, to… etc.”

“I hope for his sake he’s not in that state of mind at school,” she peered down at the boy worriedly.

“Yeah, me too,” he agreed.

……

Stein began to stir in Marie’s grasp, groggily groaning.

“You don’t sleep very long, do you?” Marie adoringly spoke.

He had only really slept for about an hour, which was lucky in Stein’s book.

His head still felt fuzzy and he still felt rather small. Being rocked by Marie wasn’t helping that fact.

“How old do you feel, dear?” She asked, holding back a laugh. He still had his thumb in his mouth, despite being too distraught to suck on it.

He took his finger out of his mouth, maneuvering his hand in such a way that it formed a zero.

“Aw, you’re just a baby, then, huh?” Marie cooed once more, practically pinching his cheeks. Spirit rolled his eyes and snickered at Marie’s behavior.

Stein could not process anything. It felt as though he had clouds in his head as opposed to a brain. Even despite that, there was still that damning feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He whined, shoving his finger back into his mouth, along with his head back into its rightful spot between her neck and clavicle.

“So, we treat him like an infant, then?” Marie clarified.

“Yeah, I think so,” Spirit nodded his head.

Marie’s body shook with a thoughtful and emotional sigh.

“What is it?” The weapon questioned.

“I can’t help but feel responsible for his meltdown,” she glanced down at him with a guilty expression.

“It was bound to happen, you know that, right? He was starting to crack up,” Spirit reassured her.

“Yeah, I guess. But we did push him.”

“I guess.”

Marie sifted through his hair as she rocked him, whispering a quiet apology.

“I’m sorry, Stein.”

“Yeah, me too,” Spirit said, patting him on the back.

Stein turned his head, still lying on her shoulder, but better able to see his friends.

“I guess he is pretty cute despite how weird this all is. Never thought I’d say that about him of all people,” Spirit chuckled to him, rubbing up and down Stein’s back once again. He couldn’t help it, not when he could visibly watch as Stein melted into the touch. Probably the only time he would.

“Yeah, it is kinda weird, but I’d rather he suck his thumb than start cutting into himself again,” she began. “Plus, like you said, he’s kinda cute.”

“Yeah… He’s probably going to freak out again when he feels older, though. He’ll probably think we recorded this for blackmail or something,” Spirit shook his head.

“I hope not,” Marie pouted.

A grumbling sound startled Spirit and Marie, as they looked toward Stein’s abdomen.

“Are you hungry, baby?” Marie asked him, laughing a little. Stein nodded his head.

“How are we going to feed him?” Spirit asked. “I’m not sure he’ll accept actual food like this.”

“I know this isn’t exactly feeding him, but does he still have that sports bottle? Because if he does, can’t we put milk in it?” Marie offered, squinting her eyes in thought.

“You’re seriously going to bottle feed him?” Spirit snickered, not mockingly, but out of genuine surprise.

“What else are we supposed to do?” Marie laughed.

“Well, I’ll go get it. He does still have it,” he walked off toward Stein’s bedroom.

“Thanks!”

“Yep!”

Spirit soon returned with the bottle, going into the kitchen and filling it with milk.

He handed it to Marie, Stein whining in complaint when Marie ceased her rocking motion.

“It’s okay, Stein,” she shushed him, moving the both of them to a better position for bottle feeding.

“Stein is so gonna fucking kill us when he’s back to normal,” Spirit smirked, shaking his head. Marie returned the malevolent smirk.

She gently wrapped her fingers around his thumb, pulling it from his lips. Stein pouted, glaring at her the best he could in his current state. Marie laughed, lifting the bottle and placing the tip into his mouth.

Stein happily accepted the milk, drinking slowly as he looked around the room.

After he had finished a decent portion of the bottle, he pushed it away, groaning softly before Marie could place it on the coffee table.

She moved back into her former position, rocking the boy once more.

“Do you think you could fall asleep again, love?” Marie asked Stein, observing how hard he was trying to stay awake.

“I have an idea,” Spirit grinned. He grabbed his phone, tapping on YouTube, and pulled up a video of some doctors performing a dissection on a dead tiger.

“Should we really be showing that to a baby?” Marie questioned his methods.

“First of all, it’s Stein we’re talking about. We all know he came out of the womb watching this shit, and secondly, I’ve seen him fall asleep to videos like this a lot. I wanna see if it works, even if this state,” Spirit explained, holding up the phone horizontally.

“Look who’s experimenting now,” Marie teased. “Hey, Stein, look what we have.”

Stein turned his head curiously towards whatever they wanted to show him.

He was immediately hooked.

His eyes widened with pure elation, he started to kick his feet, and a huge smile appeared on his face for a short moment.

“See? He’s even fucked up as a baby,” Spirit grinned.

“Should we curse around him still?” Marie pondered aloud.

Spirit gawked at her, rolling his eyes, and snickering.

Marie continued to rock him as he watched the little video. It was actually quite interesting from an educational point of view.

His eyelids began to fall, and the sucking on his thumb died down significantly.

“We’ve got him down again, partner,” Spirit said, quietly high-fiving Marieafter putting his phone away.

“Hopefully he can actually get some sleep,” Marie, caring as ever, wished.

“Yeah, for real, if only,” Spirit said in agreement. “Should we take him to bed?”

“Yeah, I guess so. He’s not too heavy, is he?” She asked, preparing herself to lift him.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t eat too much,” Spirit shrugged. “I can help you if you need it. He’s a light-sleeper, though, so be careful.”

Marie placed an arm underneath his legs and wrapped another around his torso, lifting him up successfully. Being that he was limp in her arms, though, Spirit made himself useful and assisted her.

Once they had arrived, Spirit lifted the covers, and Marie placed him underneath them. The two managed to tuck him in and leave without waking him up.

“Yes!” Marie quietly cheered.

They walked back to the living space, sitting next to one another on the sofa.

“What are we going to do now?” Spirit asked exasperatedly.

“What do you mean?”

“We still don’t know how to help the guy,” he threw his hands up, allowing them to fall and smack his thighs.

“Yeah, true…”

“And it’s clear he’s not going to tell us willingly,” Spirit added.

“I guess we can only offer our support. Tell him we’re here if needed,” Marie suggested.

“Seems like our only option at this point,” Spirit sighed.

There was truly no way to know for them. Stein was never an open book, after all. And it’s not as though they understood what was even happening with him.

They’d simply have to patiently wait for him to feel ready to tell them.

#soul eater #franken stein #stein soul eater #stein #dr stein #marie mjolnir #dwma #spirit soul eater #fluff #hurt/comfort #age regression #sfw agere #sfw regression #sfw littlespace #sfw age regression

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yanderes-galore · 2 years

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Hi can you do a yandere erron black from mortal Kombat?

More Cowboys 💜 Sure, I'll see what I can do for the bounty hunter. I made this general, leaning towards MK X instead of MK 11. If you wanted me to talk about his future/past self in MK 11 then let me know.

Again, new to the MK fandom so if I get characters wrong I'd like feedback for improvement. He was a bit difficult as he doesn't really emote much from what I remember?

Yandere! Erron Black Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Threats, Murder, Possessive behavior, Gun mention.

- Erron Black is a bounty hunter, willing to do any task if you have enough coin.

- While his allegiance lies with Outworld due to being associated with Kotal Kahn, he could work with anyone if they offer him something.

- There's a few ways you could meet.

- You're part of Earthrealm and were captured.

- You're working with Kotal alongside Erron.

- Or an AU where you hire Erron as a bodyguard.

- Really any situation where you and Erron do business with each other would be a good way to meet him.

- Being a cowboy, he'd be one to taunt/tease you with endearing nicknames.

- From what I can pull from his persona, Erron is Serious, Intimidating, Determined, Manipulative, Flirtatious, and Possessive to a degree.

- Compared to other cowboys (Cassidy from Overwatch is the first that comes to mind for me) he isn't as flirty.

- Erron is more focused on getting the job done and taking his pay than flirting.

- Although if he does have feelings for you he may give a couple nicknames.

- His behavior relatively stays the same no matter how you meet, but it may alter a bit.

- For example, if you were kidnapped by Kotal he is more taunting at first.

- If you work with him, he is pretty neutral towards you at first.

- If you hired him he may be more teasing but knows when to cut it out, he's also more protective.

- Most of the time, Erron is serious.

- He wants to get a job done and is willing to do whatever he can to see it through.

- When he meets you in the beginning he isn't too focused on obtaining your affection.

- Fate made you cross paths, it doesn't matter if that's a postive or a negative change for him, he has a job to do.

- Erron has to see you often enough to fall for you.

- Even then he keeps it under wraps for the most part.

- Although someone like Kotal would notice his behavior odd.

- "You are around (Y/N) an awful lot, Black. Getting soft?"

- "... No. I'd never."

- He lies to himself and others about his attraction to you.

- Mostly because it can get in the way of the job.

- While his obsession is still growing, he shows it slightly with flirting.

- He isn't very open with his affections to you as there is never any time for it.

- He would definitely still get rid of rivals even if he wasn't very open, however.

- Erron is good with his guns.

- Getting rid of one extra guy or girl won't be much of a problem.

- He hates he can't be too open about his feelings for you due to his job, it also allows others to get all close to you.

- He starts picking people off while working his job to ease this frustration.

- Honestly, if you're captured by Kotal it only does him a favor.

- Erron seems like he'd be skilled in kidnapping.

- As a bounty hunter you should be ready for everything.

- He can be pretty ruthless and intimidating to those he goes against.

- As he is used to needing to be serious all the time, showing his feelings towards you is pretty hard.

- His hugs are stiff, he barely considers kisses, he'd need to learn how to properly show affection.

- He'd concern himself mostly with your basic needs and health if you're in his care (willingly or by force).

- Even if he isn't all that skilled in affection, that doesn't mean he dislikes it.

- In fact he enjoys it once he gets into it.

- You barely see Erron laid back, though.

- He would use threats against others to keep people around you in line.

- That or just shoot them if they really get on his nerves.

- He claims he isn't soft around you.

- But the way he acts when others give you attention tells you otherwise.

- His attraction towards you may just give others leverage over him.

- Like Kano or Kotal.

- That's why Erron likes to keep his love for you secret.

- Yet he will always find himself thinking about you during the job...

- He'd be damned if he let anyone else have you when he's not around.

- "Come on, Doll, scared of me?"

#yandere mortal kombat #yandere erron black

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merryfortune · 3 months

Text

Spectre the Friendly Ghost

Written for Respectfulshipping Week 2024

Prompt: Dragon | Ghost

Title: Spectre the Friendly Ghost

Ship: Respectfulshipping | Ryoken/Spectre

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Word Count: 3,287

Rating: T

Tags: Alternate Universe - Casper the Friendly Ghost

Exorcists, GhostBusters, and a construction crew.

They all tried and… they all failed.

All they had to do was get rid of a ghost or four.

Surely that had to be easy. After all, ghosts don’t exist. Or at least that’s what Ryoken believes - or believed. Right up until he moved into a certain house in a certain place with his Father who was vehement that he would do what those before him had failed to do: exorcise the ghosts of this mansion.

He wasn’t an exorcist, however, so he didn’t speak in tongues or prayers. Nor did he have the kooky technology of a Ghostbuster and he wasn’t about to go all demolition crew on this mansion either. No. Dr. Kiyoshi Kogami was a psychotherapist to the undead. Completely and utterly one of a kind - and out of his mind if you asked Ryoken.

Until six months ago, his Father was a normal, sane man with a normal, sane job in the world of science. Then, his wife and Ryoken’s mother, passed away in an accident and he became obsessed. He began to believe in ghosts, in life on the other side and he was going to prove it.

So far, all he had done was tatter his reputation and his relationship with his son. They were constantly in flux, moving all over the place, a media circus typically following because they wanted to know what the crazy ex-scientist was doing next!

Kiyoshi claimed he’d had successful clients and helped CBT ghosts to the other side but Ryoken wasn’t convinced. He hadn’t seen anything until right now.

“Hi, I’m Spectre, it’s good to meet you!”

Ryoken screamed. Then fainted. Then screamed again when he came to the ghost of a child was still hovering over him.

The most recent client that his Father had taken on was a woman who went by the alias of Queen. She had recently inherited a mansion through some obscure relative she hadn’t even known existed until she was notified that she was in the will. The mansion was old and abandoned but she wanted it cleaned up and when conventional methods hadn’t worked because of reported poltergeist-like activity, she called in yet more guns: Dr. Kogami and his son.

And now, out of all the cases they had seen so far which had been more busts than not, they had finally found a house which was well and truly haunted.

The mansion certainly looked the part. Tall and intimidating, filled with antique furniture and cobwebs, on the edge of a cliff. It looked straight out of a Stephen King novel but it wasn’t until they’d gone inside when they realised it was abandoned. It was still very much lived in. Just by no one alive.

Ryoken encountered Spectre in his room. Well, it was Ryoken’s room now but it had been Spectre’s up until he died. Kind of, considering he was still haunting it. Then, in the foyer, Ryoken’s Father encountered Spectre’s relatives: his two uncles and an aunt.

“It’s good to meet you.”

Spectre didn’t look anything like the ghosts on television. He wasn’t all that person shaped for a start, nor was he a boo ghost with a bedsheet over his head, either. He was translucent, though, and his colouration reminded Ryoken of the halo behind the moon: the silver, whites, and blues which were shifting and eerie. He had massive porcelain doll-like eyes, too, which were completely soul devouring.

Compared to his aunt and uncles, Spectre was sweet as pie. A little kid who just wanted to make friends.

His aunt and uncles were raising Hell for Ryoken’s father downstairs, taunting him that they knew someone who knew his wife. He tried not to take the bait and stay on task but where was the fun in that? Not when Dr. Kogami made for such a good chew toy. So it was apparent that they weren’t going to be convinced that positive self-talk would be good for them, that they should let go of their unfinished business and cross over to the other side. Though, they did find Kiyoshi amusing for trying. Looks like he was going to be in for the long haul for these three clients.

Ryoken didn’t know if he was terrified or thrilled. He was fully on board with ghosts now, living in a house full of them. But he could see that the actual drudgery of dealing with them was wearing his Father down, too.

Then there was Spectre and whatever his deal was.

He struck Ryoken as being a little bit younger than him. Two or three years, give or take. And he was infatuated with Ryoken, too, now that he had a playmate about the same age as him - and didn’t boss him around like his aunt and uncles, either.

They used him around the house more like a servant than a family member. Ryoken couldn’t believe that there was a personal connection between them. To him, it seemed more like a mishmash of people than not but hey. What did he know?

The names of the aunt and uncles - Baira, Faust, and Genome - were carved into the heads of the western style beds, after all. Spectre didn’t even have that but he did seem like he had the rest of the house. He was free to float through it but he didn’t really, he preferred to keep to himself and his room.

But he did have a special place.

“Do you want to see it?”

Spectre didn’t wait for an answer.

Ryoken screamed as he was taken out through his window and up, up, and away. It was cold and windy but so beautiful, too. The ocean was a navy blue as it expanded endlessly out over the horizon and Ryoken could swear he could see over it from this turret in the corner of the mansion.

They sat together on the edge, feet in the gutter, Ryoken’s bum on the tiling and got talking. About things, about life, and death, too.

“Do you think she’s out there?” Ryoken asked. “My mother?”

“Probably not… but that’s a good thing. It meant you and Dr. Kogami loved her so much, she didn’t need more time with you.”

That was one way to look at grief. Spectre would know better than Ryoken, he was just a thirteen year old fleshie after all. Ryoken hugged his knees tighter.

“So does that mean there was someone whom you didn’t get to love enough in life?” Ryoken asked. “Is that why you’re still here, as a ghost?”

Spectre shrugged.

Ryoken chewed his bottom lip. It felt gauche to ask yet appropriate at the same time. He glanced at Spectre.

“Why are you a ghost? Like, um-”

“How did I die?”

Ryoken nodded.

“I’m not sure either. I just remember that it was cold. Very cold… I don’t remember anything else aside from that. Not how old I was when I died, or if I had parents to miss me. Nothing…”

“Oh… I’m sorry.” Ryoken replied.

Seeing Spectre, the idea of Heaven, if that’s where his mother was at all, seemed a lot better than this post-death amnesia where he couldn’t stray too far from what tethered him materially. He couldn’t even remember why he was here. It was kind of a pity but he must have wanted to know too because the next day, Spectre invited Ryoken to explore more of the house.

It was a big, big mansion - nigh labyrinthian - so there had to be a hint. A clue. Somewhere he did not usually go and didn’t want to go which would elucidate more of why Spectre was a ghost at all.

Ryoken agreed to help and it didn’t take them long to find something. They wanted to avoid Spectre’s relatives as well as Ryoken’s Father. They were all clumped together in the main rooms around the foyer for their so-called therapy sessions. So, Ryoken and Spectre went sneaking around upstairs and in the attic.

Up there, they found a treasure trove.

No wonder Spectre didn’t typically hang out up there. It was full of precious memories and mementos from when she had been alive. Toys, clothes, and yes, even the newspaper article on how his untimely death drove his poor mother to madness and, allegedly, witchcraft.

Ryoken looked at Spectre as he absorbed what he could of the attic. The dust motes floated in the air, through musty windows with the battens hatched and boarded up. He had been dead for a long, long time and alive for just the blink of an eye really. It was a lot to take in, no wonder he had been subconsciously avoiding it.

“I wanted to see my mother again…”

Made sense.

Except. She wasn’t here. Clearly, she was in that other place. Well away from the mansion and her son and their other relatives to had stayed.

“She turned to witchcraft to… to… to find a way to bring me back to life.”

“But that’s impossible, right?” Ryoken asked but when Spectre turned around, he was grinning maniacally.

Clearly, Ryoken ought to know better than to call something impossible. He changed his mind on the existence of ghosts pretty quickly upon arriving at this haunted mansion.

“No, she found a way. I-In the basement, come with me. I remember now.”

Just as quickly as the night before, Ryoken was taken for a ride. Spectre grabbed his hand and they raced through the house. They passed Ryoken’s Father and Spectre’s relatives on the way. Huh, weird, they were in a kind of good mood now, leaving the house, actually so they could do something together. Strange.

Didn’t matter though. Especially since Spectre knew he was going to be up to no good, defying the conventions of life and death. With Ryoken in tow, of course.

Down in the basement, there were trap doors and other contraptions. It took them for a ride and then they arrived somewhere even further down than the basement.

“Wow, what is this place?” Ryoken asked, his eyes wide as he took in the bizarre surroundings, deep in a cavern scented with salt water.

“My mother’s laboratory.”

Spectre raced off and Ryoken followed along. He looked over dusty tomes and cluttered desks. It was all left in such disarray, free to age over the decades, abandoned by all who had died over the years.

All except something at the heart of it. A set of potions embedded in wooden holders, just one and it glistened, shinier and redder than a ruby. Spectre pointed it out as though it wasn’t obvious from miles away.

“This… This is the elixir of life my mother brewed.”

Ryoken wolf-whistled, impressed.

Spectre’s expression was frantic, excited, his eyes glittered then he spoke up again after hold this moment of relish which left Ryoken thunderstruck.

“There’s enough for a one time go. One ghost to become human again. All you have to do is put it in the holder and I go into the chamber and then presto.”

It all sounded so simple when put like that but Ryoken glanced at the chamber that Spectre mentioned. It looked unsafe to say the least. A monstrosity of wood and metal, bolted and boarded up, like a zero gravity chamber before those were even conceived of as being a thing.

“You can help me, right? I want to be human, again, just like you. We could go to school together and play games and-”

Ryoken laughed. He smiled. Spectre sounded so excited, how could he possibly say no? His Mother designed it and it's not like he was going to get any deader. If it worked, it worked. If it didn’t? Spectre would be heartbroken but they could still hang out and play together, just like they had been before.

“Alright, I’ll help.” Ryoken agreed.

Spectre grinned and he dived into the chamber.

Ryoken turned and he unlatched the glass potion from its wooden holder. His fingers grazed the surface and then he heard something. It made him jump out of his skin, it made him look up.

“Father?” Ryoken exclaimed.

His heart stopped.

He knew it had been weird to see his Father in a good mood around his clients. They were so good at dragging him down, through the mud and draining the life out of him. Not to mention, he was nothing if not professional.

“There was a little accident, kiddo.”

“It wasn’t our fault.”

“He did it to himself.”

One by one, they all spoke up. Genome. Then Baira. And then Faust last.

Ryoken watched. He stared in anguish as his Father joined them. No longer alive, no longer flesh and blood like he but a ghost. Like the others. Strange, spectral figures who twisted and contorted what it meant to be human-like, in eerie shades of green, pink, and brown.

“We were going to do it quick.”

“Harpoon through the heart.”

“He chose to break every bone instead.”

Again, that same choir going down the line: Genome, Baira, and then Faust last. Then, together, in unison.

“He fell to his death in a pit!”

Ryoken flinched.

He didn’t even so much as wince when Spectre had revealed the snippets of his own death but this? This felt just like when he heard his Mother had been in an accident.

“And I have never felt more alive!”

Ryoken watched as his Father floated, looped and swirled through the air.

“What are you even doing down here?”

“I didn’t even know we had a down here!”

“Where’s Spectre?”

Sure enough, at Faust and company’s beck and call, Spectre was prompted. He drew himself out of the chamber and was just as slack jawed to see the new ghost in the mansion’s fold.

“Dr. Kogami!”

Spectre joined Ryoken at his side. Ryoken’s lower lip quivered but he was in such denial, he couldn’t shed any of the tears in the corner of his eye.

Ryoken couldn’t bring himself to ask. Spectre didn’t want to say it. But they were both thinking it.

“Are you sure it works?” Ryoken asked, his voice cracking.

He knew that Spectre wanted to be his friend in life and living again but.

He needed his Father.

Spectre swallowed thickly. A bluish colour swished through him.

“I’ll help. Anything for you, Ryoken.”

Spectre jetted off and glared at his aunt and uncles. They tried to stop him but this was the first time he had ever glared daggers at them. Not so much as a word as he ripped Dr. Kogami from their sides, grabbing him and dragging him down, down, down into the chamber.

Dr. Kogami rambled drunkenly. Ryoken put his hands over his ears. He ignored the cries and demands that he was being a partypooper from Baira, Faust, and Genome. He grit his teeth together and hoped that Spectre was right. That the magic potion his mother had made all those years ago did work.

“Ready?”

Ryoken wasn’t much use though. Spectre did most of the hard work as he surrendered the elixir to Dr. Kogami. Ryoken pushed aimlessly at a ship captain’s wheel and the machine came to life. It whirred and roared and when it finished, it made a ding like a laundry machine.

Steam poured out of it and the door to it opened.

A ghost had gone in but a ghost did not come out.

“Huh? Where am I?” Dr. Kogami asked. “Ryoken?”

Ryoken ran to his Father’s side and wrapped his arms around him tightly. Spectre hovered like, well, a ghost and disappeared just as quickly. His relatives booed and heckled but it had worked.

That’s all that mattered.

Ryoken, with his Father, staggered back up into the main part of the house. Dr. Kogami rambled about how… how… he still didn’t see his wife again. Ryoken was just glad to have his father still but poor Spectre.

There was only enough to save one and Ryoken had seen how that cherry red elixir evaporated into the mechanism of the machine. No recipe to be seen amongst the dusty tomes.

For the rest of the day, Spectre made himself sparse. He ignored his aunt and uncles’ demands to be “fed” so they could enjoy the farce of dinner and he ignored Ryoken’s plea to see him again.

Ryoken felt awful but it was the right thing. For that, Spectre ought to be proud of his selflessness. His Father certainly appreciated it after his maligned fall. He didn’t say much about it. The same could not be said for either Baira, Faust, nor Genome, however.

“Where is the brat?”

“He’s never late.”

“Wait, what’s that?”

The dining room was conjoined to the main foyer which ws, typically, the dimmest part of the house as it was covered by the storeys above, surrounded by doors rather windows which was why it was mighty peculiar that any light would come through it. Especially one as bright and angelic as this one.

Everyone ran inside, only to stop in their tracks.

“Sorry for being late…” Spectre said. “I, um, I’m out of practise putting clothes on.” He sheepishly admitted.

Ryoken couldn’t believe his eyes.

He had always imagined Spectre as being a dorky little kid but he actually looked older than expected, with silver-grey hair and of course those big blue eyes which looked dollike. Especially from afar and he was all dolled up in a flowy villager shirt and neat, black trousers.

He descended down the stairs slowly. He wasn’t used to walking, either. Too used to zipping and floating about as a ghost.

“How the hell-?”

“Uh-uh, not hell. Heaven.” an Angel interjected.

The voice came from further afar the stairwell’s main flight and Dr. Kogami couldn’t believe his ears, nor his eyes. He would know that voice and that appearance from anywhere.

“My love.” he gasped.

He raced up as he let Ryoken and Spectre congregate in the foyer, in the middle of the aged orange and brain tiles. Spectre made the excess fabric on his shirt’s sleeves twirl as he stopped Ryoken from following hot on his Father’s footsteps.

“Not yet.” Spectre said. “I… I want your attention first, please, Ryoken.”

“Oh, um, right, sorry, but - but that’s my Mother…?” Ryoken said, looking over and past Spectre’s shoulder impatiently before returning his attention to the human boy in front of him.

Spectre nodded, “It is. She, um, helped me out. Like a fairy godmother.” Spectre said. “Turns out my aunt and uncles do know someone who knows someone who, um, knows her and she wanted to thank me for preventing your Father from well. Becoming a full-time ghost.”

“Wow, really?” Ryoken’s eyes went wide.

“Mmhm.” Spectre mumbled. “But only for one day.”

“Like Cinderella.” Ryoken said. “Well, we’re going to have to make it worth it then.”

“Yeah.” Spectre smiled.

Ryoken quietened down and realised he had something he wanted to ask of Spectre, “So, um, what about your mother?” He asked in a tiny voice.

Spectre laughed, “In heaven. I asked your mother that too. It, um, turns out they’re friends.”

“No way.” Ryoken couldn’t believe the odds.

“So, let’s enjoy our time together though? Please? I’m so… so…” Spectre’s eyes began to fill up with tears of gratitude, his whole body trembled. “I’m so excited to have any time at all with you because um… I have a crush on you!”

Ryoken blushed. He couldn’t say he was surprised by the confession but he nodded. He wasn’t sure how, if it could work, but for now. Ryoken took Spectre’s hand and that was enough to feel like they were flying on cloud nine.

#respectfulshippingweek2024 #yugioh vrains #vrains #yugioh #spectre (vrains)#ryoken kogami #writing tag #spectre the friendly ghost #originally i was gonna go a bit darker so spekky's a bit ooc but puppydog with a crush spe is so cute #so i don't mind

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longtheriverrun · 10 months

Text

OF DIZZYING HEIGHTS: only up, twitch, gambling, and the pipe-dream of capitalism

Dilapidated favelas, densely packed. Concrete and rebar, vandalism and trash piled up, compacted. The latest Twitch phenomenon, Only Up, starts us here — the “humble beginnings” of our protagonist, a nameless boy.

Only Up descends from a lineage of rage games: experiences engineered for frustration, games which forsake traditional progression, or punishment & reward systems, offering instead an inherently infuriating gaming experience, often sending the player to the absolute beginning with even minor mistakes. Jump King, Getting Over It, all being huge hits in the landscape of gaming content. The appeal of these games is elusive; one would expect such an unfair and absurd experience would be far from ‘fun’ — other games which often frustrate, like from Fromsoft or of the roguelite genre include a system of progression or metaprogression, which allows the player to beef up their stats or abilities, before attempting the intimidating task before them. The games termed ‘true / real’ roguelikes lack metaprogression, but are still dedicated to a fair and rewarding experience. They reward knowledge, adaptation, reaction.

Yet these rage games more or less are designed for unfairness. They feature jank controls, unclear rules, and rapidly changing level design. It is impossible to predict or even react, especially if one is approaching the game blindly. Every player is going to fall at some point. The games taunt you with a seemingly intuitive ruleset and design philosophy, but the only static is surprise. Even so, these games garner millions of eager viewers, and many eager players.

Essayist Patricia Taxxon makes a vital observation of rage games: The thing to understand about Getting Over It is that it was at least partly made with an intent to be observed second-hand.

Perhaps the most surprising phenomena to many, at its inception, was the popularity of lets-plays. Many confused parents have asked their children the question: ‘Why aren’t you playing the game? Why are you just watching someone else play it?’ It’s a very Baudrillardian experience, watching someone else have an experience, as an experience. But, it’s also a very human experience, to live through the experiences of others, for both the experiencer and the observer. If one doesn’t share their experiences, have they really happened? Living vicariously is perhaps the most important human desire in regards to social media and our content landscape — in some ways, in our overwhelming and complex world where no one really has agency, the experiences of others are much more tangible and immediate than our own.

Baudrillard discusses the concept of “transcendence” in relation to the modern experience: a meta-referentiality that “dominates the trajectory of modern art, not only of art but also of all our deeper perceptions, of all our apprehensions of the world.” This transcendence is, inherently, denial, a denial of evidence: by stating something is irreal, and it becomes palpable to us, bearable. “The world has become so real that this reality is only bearable at the expense of perpetual denial.” His example being Magritte — Ceci n'est pas une pipe — without the “transcendence”, commenting and denying itself, the not-pipe doesn’t become a pipe, it just disappears — the pipe lives, reflected, in the commentary on the pipe.

Magritte’s surrealist denial of evidence itself – this double movement of, on one hand, the absolute and definite evidence of the world and, on the other hand, the radical denial of this evidence – dominates the trajectory of modern art, not only of art but also of all our deeper perceptions, of all our apprehensions of the world. We are not talking here about philosophical morals, we are not saying “the world is not what it should be” or “the world is not what it used to be.” The world is the way it is. Once transcendence is gone, things are nothing but what they are and, as they are, they are unbearable. They have lost every illusion and have become immediately and entirely real, shadowless, without commentary. At the same time this unsurpassable reality does not exist anymore. It has no reason to exist for it cannot be exchanged for anything. It has no exchange value.

In his book, The Intelligence of Evil or the Lucidity Pact, Baudrillard proposes what he terms Integral Reality, a state of hyperreality where everything becomes Real. He specifically notes that in this hypothetical state that everything would have a meaning, “whereas it is in the nature of meaning that not everything has it.”

Now, this state isn’t something that comes naturally, it’s specifically only achievable through a process, a task, the “undertaking of realizing the world, of making it technically, integrally, real” — giving everything a meaning, giving everything a metaphor, transitioning from reality (0) to reality (prime).

What we see now, behind the eclipse of the 'objective' real, is the rise of Integral Reality, of a Virtual Reality that rests on the deregulation of the very reality principle.

In T. Fleishmann’s essay “House with Door,” they comment on the tendency to experience words as metaphor rather than literal meaning, as exemplified by a statement a child makes to them: “I live in a house with a door!” Fleishmann points out how their first instinct, and all of our first instincts to this puzzling sentence, is to assign metaphorical meaning to this statement — Fleischmann illuminates the mundanity of metaphor, and how we seek out things that make us feel real and not a metaphor —“I shouldn’t have to think about [being not a metaphor], but thinking of the absence of a thing is still thinking about it.”

Right now, as I am writing this post, as the popularity of Only Up is growing with great ardor, the most vital recent news story in regards to gaming content is the competitor streaming platform to Twitch, Kick, and it’s tremendous bids, hundreds of millions dollar deals with many of the most popular streamers.

Kick has garnered considerable controversy for its finances, being linked to gambling money. Gambling itself has been, for years, a key puzzle piece in the modern content machine — from gambling on phase 4 doppler talon knives from CSGO to straight up gambling as done by streamers such as xQc — it’s a subsect of gaming / content culture that’s perceived as a bit embarrassing, yet is hugely important to how things are.

The appeal of gambling content is surprisingly similar to the appeal of rage games — it pits the inevitability of losing or falling with the possibility of success. The observer, the watcher knows that the gambler or streamer will lose, but they continue watching, just as the streamer continues, repeatedly, until the slim likelihood of a run with little mistakes or a gambling win happens. Which is in turn, similar to the appeal of the growth of high stakes personal investing such as that of Reddit board “WallStreetBets” — a communal experience where every individual has a low chance of winning, but the serotonin of seeing someone winning significantly, or even losing significantly, keeps people hooked. These intensely frustrating, high risk activities are long in a line of escalating stakes Content — in our mundane, boring world with little agency, watching someone win or lose it all feels Real, in a way many things don’t.

This economy of stakes is driven by another quality, of gambling, rage games, and investing — namely that it looks easy. Rage games have deceptively simple control schemes: For Getting Over It, the hammer mouse control looks easy and intuitive, but is quite unforgiving. For Jump King, the jump itself requires precision of timing, that seems simple but is again unforgiving, requiring trial and error. And Only Up perhaps has the worst control quirks of all of them — entirely predicated on a jank mantling system which is seemingly random and unpredictable.

For gambling and investing, the prospective player sees many losses and a few wins, and asks themselves “what if I won?” — the prospect and possibility of winning being infinitely more appealing than the cost & risk evaluation going in one’s mind. Similar to players of rage games thinking to themselves after observing other players, “what if I could easily beat the game?”

Even the losses provide an experience of reality, of real stakes and real experiences.

Only Up, specifically, is deeply ironic, in its connections to investing — the title itself is a reversal of the crypto / investing phrase “Up Only”. As has been pointed out many times, Only Up features many spray painted images of NFTs, including on the back of our very protagonist.

Only Up features a faux-realistic aesthetic, with tech demo-esque sunbeams and lighting, rolling off vaguely impressive-looking rusty structures straight out of a game engine’s asset marketplace. An AI voice calls over the favelas of the earth, rattling off platitudes and faux-profound statements about life, and childhood. The objective of the game is to scale to the top of a sprawling floating debris field, impossibly tall, reaching to the heavens, hanging above the favelas — when the player starts their journey, and start climbing, they come across countless floating vignettes, of train stations, factories, homes, schools; the boy’s ascent clearly representing a synecdoche of life.

From the protagonist’s beginnings in the visually impoverished favelas, he climbs rusty pipes and old railways — when he ascends, the vignettes become less dilapidated, more metropolitan, more modern.

At some point, luxury becomes the norm. The protagonist platforms over floating piles of money, personal helicopters — he weaves through highrise offices and through gold-lined hotel rooms.

And after this point, the images become increasingly stranger, more thrown together and abstract. There’s a giant anime girl with platforms built of innuendo around her. There’s a pirate ship. And on and on.

Something I have to address though — the soundtrack is scattershot, appearing at random, sometimes with the AI voice. The track selection seems to rotate between a few emotional tracks, but all of which have been lifted from other works — for example, there are tracks lifted from the anime Aria; one of the most used tracks in the game being Senoo’s “Shourou no Patori~Neo Venezia~” [鐘楼のパトリ〜ネオヴェネチア〜].

I just gotta point out the irony of this blatant IP stealing. I just have to. It’s so comically bad. Many other tracks are stolen but I fr just do not have the patience to watch this game again, im gonna be honest.

Only Up’s faux-profundities and it’s idealistic ruminations just seem to expose the fraudulence of its ideas. The dream of capitalism, of course, is vertical mobility. Starting from the bottom and ending at the top (insert drake voice: started from the bottom now we here). That’s the ideal at least. But the game is purposefully built to be unfair. It has inconsistent platforms. Some of which aren’t solid, for no reason. Some of them fall. It throws curveballs, even more unfair than the rest of the rage games. It’s deeply ironic, in regards to its idealization of this boy’s journey. It’s almost a sadistic relationship between the designer and player.

In Ayn Rand’s novel Fountainhead, the protagonist, Howard Roark is tried at court. The crime, you may ask? Blowing up an in-progress construction of a building he designed. The company constructing it however, went against his original specifications, and he decided that his individual idealism, weighed against everything else, prevails. In classic Randian fashion, Roark makes a speech about individuality and how Man will Prevail against The Things Trying to Crush Him. The courtroom claps and he wins the case.

Roark, represents a stubbornness and arrogance, exemplified by the action he takes, which is of taking the building down. It’s a fundamental disrespect for the construction workers who were working on it. Glory in destruction, in tearing down others for one’s personal gains. And likewise, Only Up tears down the players, leering with fake-profound dialogue. It is never fair, it is all spectacle. It is a journey in the way “venture” in venture capital is a journey. Only Up is the dream of capitalism, on full display, in all its unbecoming, illegitimate, unfair, and straight up criminal glory. But we can’t look away.

This was a bit of a rough, impressionistic essay I did in one day... there are so many ideas that i couldn't get into, and many of these have been swarming in my head for so long. i hope you enjoy!!!!

#essay #philosophy #theory #twitch #culture #media theory #criticism

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shiroi---kumo · 5 months

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.: The Devil's Toll :.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ He doesn't understand why his hair is getting stroked so lovingly but he also doesn't know why he's finding it so hard to pull away. There is a small hand brushing through white locks over and over and he doesn't quite know how he ended up leaning his head up on His Excellency’s chair like some kind of lounging cat but here he is doing just that nonetheless.

Words: 2.9 k Pages: 6 TW;; Depression, PTSD, Submission, Mental Illness, Survivor’s Guilt, gaslighting, possession, isolation, abuse, mental abuse, physical abuse, self blame, objectification, manipulation, injury, mental breakdown, intimidation, love bombing, dissociation, conditioning, punishment and praise, rewards, murder

His stomach twists in disgust as he realizes the true stakes of the situation and now if he moves wrong that hand in his hair will turn into a variable claw in the matter of a few moments. He hates how he can't remember ever laying down like this and quite frankly he can't remember waking up this morning either.

It's becoming more and more frequent in recent days. He's missing entire chunks of time and he doesn't quite know what to make of it. He's missing chunks of time and he can't remember when was the last time His Excellency killed him. Somehow this seems like more of a bad thing than a good thing for as strange as that sounds. Shouldn't one want to be spared the pain of death? Well yes, and of course he does too but this also means that when the time comes that he inevitably messes up again, when His Excellency makes a move for punishment it will be the most severe one he's received to date.

He's not stupid. He knows how this game works. Praise and Punishment walk hand in hand with this little beast and right now those same hands are in his hair and he can't move. He can't pull away no matter how much he wants to and he can't even flinch or breathe wrong unless he wants those small but deadly fingers ready to tear snow colored locks right out from his head.

It's always such a wretched sensation.

Nothing is worse than the feeling of his hair being pulled. He hates it. He hates the feeling and he hates the way it makes him feel so vulnerable. How the pain of it will bring him to his knees and have him fighting back the tears at the sensation. You would think one who has died as many times as he has would have more pain tolerance for something seemingly so simple but the sensation of even the root of his hair going taunt is enough to send his nervous system into overdrive.

But what he hates the most is how he can feel himself start purring. He doesn’t know why he does it. He tries to tell himself to stop but he can feel those fingers grow softer as they stroke through snow. The louder he purrs the softer they get and he hates himself for finding so much comfort in the sensation. He hates himself for finding peace in this. He should be running away from this beast as quickly as his body would carry him. He should be fleeing at any chance he gets but instead he allows himself to sink into his place on the arm of this chair as that little monster continues to comb through fluffy spikes with a gentleness that could only be described as care.

That can’t be right.

That’s just not possible, and he hates how many times he feels like he’s had this conversation with himself as of late. The beast does not love him. The demon does not care. The little devil felt nothing for him but yet those lips part and purr out affections of their own.

“You’ve been so well behaved as of late, Precious.” The small emperor sounds as his hand continues to work. “You’ve done your tasks so well. I’m proud of you, my Little Cloud. You’ve been such a good pet. Perhaps you deserve some time out of the castle? I think you’ve earned it.”

He only increases the volume on his purring in response as if doing so will show his gratitude for such a notion but his lips are hanging in a frown behind the thin metal covering his face as the boy of pink continues.

“You can go with Herba the next she leaves.” The Tyrant offers as he finally pulls his hand away and out of the Misterican’s hair. “But when she leaves you know the rules. Her word is as good as my word and you are to do whatever she asks of you. You understand, don’t you Precious?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“That’s my good boy. You’ve become so well behaved. I’m so proud of you, Makenshi.”

His purring only grows louder as those hands return to his hair and he doesn’t know how long he stays like that but it’s long enough that he doesn’t remember falling asleep. Did he fall asleep? He doesn’t know. He does know that he woke in his own quarters the next morning and he was met with Herba throwing her arms over his shoulders to bring him into a very tight and very unwanted hug and she leaned to try to push a kiss to his cheek and he could only lean himself the opposite direction so far to avoid contact.

“Makenshi.”

His name was trumpeted in his direction in a small but authoritative voice and it has the Misterican standing up straight giving this damnable woman the space she needed to push those poison painted lips directly to his cheek even if it was covered in metal. Dull jade is looking forward into the main hall with the entirety of his form tingling to both get away from this woman and get off the ground. The place just above the little demon’s head is calling his name because then he is both in eyesight but at the same time away from this gaggle of absolute morons.

If he could never associate with any of them for the rest of his life ever again, he’s sure he could find a way to be happy. If only Rorahm could finally wake up - but - jade moons downcast at the thought because at this rate his sun would never rise and he was going to be stuck here for the rest of said life. Should he make the most of it? Should he adjust?

No. No. Listen to yourself Makenshi. You’re falling for that monster’s tricks!

But are they tricks?

It’s been too many years and he doesn’t know anymore. He doesn’t remember the sound of his Mother’s voice and he can hardly remember his Father’s face. He tries not to think about them too much because he doesn’t want to get himself all upset and then in turn upset His Excellency. The Tyrant isn’t exactly one to be any form of comforting if he were to simply explain that he was thinking about home. In fact, he doesn’t want that little monster anywhere near anything to do with Misterica in the first place, so it would probably be for the best to simply forget it all anyway. If he can’t remember then the little beast can manipulate it against him.

He can’t seem to remember most things lately anyway.

He can’t remember going to sleep the night before and he hardly can make sense of the morning. He just wants this woman to get off of him but instead she lets herself sink down to wrap her arm around his and lean herself up against him like they were anything that could be considered close - which was comical in his mind when the closest he would like to be to this

woman would be to watch her burn.

Still he just adjusts to the feeling of her hanging off his arm as he focuses his attention on His Excellency instead because the only thing he ever needed to do was to keep the little gremlin happy and as long as he did that he’d keep his head. Why was the beast smiling at him the way he was? He doesn’t like it. It’s making his skin crawl almost as much as the feeling of the plant witch hanging off his arm is.

“Makenshi, I am assigning you to assist Herba today. I expect you two to cooperate while you’re out in the field. Herba knows what needs to be done, so you simply need to follow her lead, and I shouldn’t have to repeat myself with what we discussed yesterday, do I?”

“No, Your Excellency. I remember.” He sounds, raising his free arm to cross it over his chest to give this pink haired abomination a half bow. What he was saying he remembers, he doesn’t know. Quite frankly, he doesn’t even even the day before. Yesterday? He couldn’t tell you. Herba’s face was where his memory picks up and he hates that too because there is something about thinking about yesterday that is turning his stomach but he couldn’t tell you why.

So now they’re returning to that damnable airship and he hates being on it. It’s nauseating and the amount of pollen in the air is enough to make him sick. His stomach is twisting in knots As he takes a seat. He doesn’t feel well but there is the sound of jingling chimes in the air as he looks over to the open deck just to the right of him. Chimes blowing in the wind and it's enough to tell him to just focus on the sound of something pleasant for once as he lays his head down and tells himself to just go back to sleep. She’ll wake him when they get there. She always does.

And he’s sure it’s for something nasty. It always is.

He won’t do it this time though. He’ll never kill again and he doesn’t care how badly His Excellency beats him to death for disobeying orders. He will not stain the Holy Blade with yet more blood of the innocent… He just needs to not think about it and sleep. He’ll fight with her when he wakes up. His Excellency might be able to get the better of him but Herba won’t. He will never let that woman -

“ ‘kenshi-darling? ‘Kenshi-darling, wake up you silly willy. If you told me you were tired, I would have gotten you a blanket, lovely.” She smiles at him with a face that is possibly dripping with more venom than it ever has before. Her smiles are always fake and they turn his stomach, but she is taking him by the hand and he’s letting her. He doesn’t feel like fighting with her.

It’s a quiet town they’ve found themselves in this time. It’s closer to the outer reaches of Wonderland but not quite all the way out. A town that has larger than normal buildings built up and a large building he wonders if it is a church of some kind on the other side of town. She has him by the hand as they walk, and the people of this village don’t seem to be paying them any mind. Children are laughing, the smell of fresh bread is in the air and the city itself seems at peace.

Herba is leaning herself in to cling to his arm as if they were some sort of couple and it is taking everything in him not to shake her off. She just seems to be happy to take a stroll with him and he doesn’t understand what the catch is. Why did His Excellency let him out of the castle if there was nothing wicked for him to do? Why let him just come take in the sights of Wonderland if they didn’t mean for him to cause some kind of havoc?

She’s strolling through the local bazaar with him as his nose catches the smell of sugar and it’s been so long since he has got to eat anything truly sweet. He sniffs once and then again and she’s making an Oooh? Sort of sound that he doesn’t like as she takes him by the hand to lead him towards the source of the scent.

“You like sweets, don’t you, ‘kenshi? I’ll buy you something. I’ll buy you something nice, for how good you’ve been lately. Tell me what you want. Anything and you can have it. We all deserve a little treat every now and then.”

Is she serious? She can’t be.

The Church bell is ringing in the background as she pulls him along. A grin slipping on her lips as she pulls him into the middle of the marketplace, only to look back at the Misterican with bright eyes and a poison purple smile.

“Anything you want, ‘kenshi-darling. Name it, and it’s yours.” She pauses to look towards the church and watches as the streets seem to fill as if the building is emptying further with each chime. “Must be noon.” She sounds returning her gaze to her companion only to watch as a pale hand reaches back towards the hilt of his blade to rock it free with a single click.

“ ‘kenshi-darling?” She sounds but still just continues to watch the man move. The swordsman takes his blade up into his grip and it is held out towards her at length as if extending the tip in her direction. Mist rolls out from behind bared teeth in plumbs when the devil growls. He’s pushing off a foot to take off in a dead lunge in her direction but instead of striking at the object of his absolute hatred, the man of white races past her directly towards that of an older man down the way of the lane of the marketplace and cleaves the poor soul clean in two.

More Mist rolls out from parted pale as his blade is swung to send a flood of white colored energy racing through the stalls like a spark on a wick until it reaches its destination and half the bazaar goes up in a massive explosion. Screams fill the sky as citizens start to scurry and scatter.

“The White Devil!!” They cry. “The White Devil has come for us all!”

Red stains window panes and runs along the cracks of the cobblestone as the carnage continues. The man of snow does not cease his hellsent symphony even as men and women alike fall to their knees to beg for their lives. Their lights are snuffed out regardless. Children struck down with little concern and explosion after explosion brings building of stone tumbling to the ground.

Before long the symphony of sayonara falls silent and the Maestro of the Massacre stands center stage, crimson dripping from the Holy Blade stained with sin once more.

Only one other life remains and a dangerous gaze of dimmed jade is turning to glare daggers at the plant like woman. He’s raising his blade and taking stance to charge her when she merely raises her hand in his direction and snaps her fingers together.

Jade eyes go wide before they start blinking rapidly and soon their owner is looking all around him with horror etching itself into his features. Anger overcomes him as he refocuses on Gaudium’s Lord of Plants and Potions only to scream.

“What did you do?! Answer me! You didn’t have to kill them!”

But he only gets a small laugh in response as she floats over to him to rest just over his shoulders.

“What did I do? I didn’t do anything. You did this, ‘kenshi-baby. This was all your work. You killed them all gracefully and you didn’t leave a single one alive. Truly expert skill.”

“You’re lying!” He hisses as his mind starts to reel at the possibility. Her lungs didn’t sound like she was lying.

“Am I though?” She asks coyly. “Look at your sword.”

And her hand is pointing a finger down causing jade eyes to drop along with it even if he’s scared to do what she’s asking. The Maken is in his hand and it is covered in blood. He’s covered in blood.

His hand is trembling as the Maken is released and a deep guttural scream escapes him from down in his belly as the Holy Blade clatters to the ground. His hands are flying up to slip into white locks in between his horns only for the scream to get louder.

What was going ON?!!!! This wasn’t right!!! He doesn’t remember ANYTHING!!!!

His entire body is shaking as his knees hit the ground. All he can do is scream. He killed these people. He slaughtered an entire town and he doesn’t even know how or why. He can’t remember their faces. He never knew their names. He slaughtered these people and -

Herba is wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she hovers there next to him for the moment, nuzzling her face in close to his own.

“ You did so good today, ‘kenshi-darling. Let’s go home and tell, His Excellency, about what a good job you did. I’m sure he’ll reward you. Oh and !” She’s letting her feet hit the ground to shuffle over to the now destroyed stand of the vendor from earlier that had been selling all sorts of sweet treats and she picks up what appears to be some sort of hard candy on a stick and extends it out to him. “I said I’d get you anything. A treat for doing such a good job.”

But he couldn’t eat anything now. Now it would only taste bitter.

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tabbycatto · 9 months

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Hello, would love anything Daud! thank you for doing this

Daud x gn!reader

warnings: very suggestive!!! (i'm sorry), swear words, kinda short

no use of Y/N

words: 683

You are a member of Whalers, Daud's group of assassin's. There seems to be a rather weird tension between you and your boss.

It was a chilly day in Dunwall, especially in the Flooded District. The blow of the cold, harsh wind only made you shiver and snuggle deeper into the whaler suit, not that it helped much. You were not build for this weather, not back from where you came from. The Serkonian blood remaining deeply rooted in your body even after years of not living there. You blow into the air painting it with white intricate patterns.

He did this on purpose, Daud, that asshole. He always does this, putting you on the watch, high in the air, knowing damn well your feelings towards the cold. Daud enjoyed tormenting you, sneering at your presence and giving you the most annoying tasks such as getting rid off the bodies or guarding some high and mighty dude. There was so much tension between you two, but it’s still a mystery to you if he wanted to skin you alive or fuck you into his bed. You must admit, that he is rather attractive, but his attidute matched the rough weather of Gristol and you hated Gristol’s climate.

You sigh as you feel your ass going numb from sitting on the cold stone for so long. You caress your thighs in a soothing manner, warming yourself up, keen eyes wandering over the area. Ah there he is! Daud is back from his mission, seemingly not losing a limb. What a pity. You scoff as you watch his attractive face and strong arms. Asshole.

He gathered all the Whalers, giving out orders and some briefing for the upcoming mission. You stand on Daud‘s far left, leaning your back on the wall, watching not really listening. Staring at him without a whaler mask is your favourite, so he can see the glare and know the hatred is mutual. He ended his long ass speech and everyone started to leave, you were left alone with him. You pushed yourself off the wall, but his hoarse voice stopped you in your tracks.

„Will you stop acting like a brat?“ You turn around, narrowing your eyes. He’s staring right back at you, arms folded over his chest and his face possesing a stern grimace. „And what is that supposed to mean, boss?“ you shoot back, mirroring his posture. „You know exactly, what i mean.“ Daud edges closer, his eyes strict. This proximity makes you dizzy and breath heavily, you feel your face going hot. Heart hammering against your ribs. Fuck fuck fuck…

„You’ve been acting like nothing but a brat. Complaining about everything, rolling your eyes, mumbling under your breath, glaring at me. You think i wouldn’t notice?“ He was really close to you, almost pressing his nose against yours, trying intimidate you. You set your chin up, not backing down. „I hoped you would.“ You ball your fists, trying not to shiver from his deep voice. „Hm.“ Daud’s face twists into a rare smirk. „Did you also hope for me to notice your lingering stare, your flushed cheeks or your blown out pupils?“ You don’t answer, your lips twist into a snarl. He swiftly grabs you by your cheeks,smushing them together. „Cat got your tounge, you brat?“ He pulls you closer, scaning your face and reactions. His eyes not giving away any emotion.

„No, i decided to stay silent and leave you in your delusions. Maybe you will feel better thinking i’m interested in you.“ You taunt him, which only results in Daud squeezing your cheeks tighter. „Why don’t you put your mouth to better use than continuing to mock me, huh?“ He’s not really asking, his features sharp and unforgiving, letting you know you overstepped a boundary there.

You, like the biggest fool in the Flooded District, maybe in the entire Dunwall, decide to challenge him. „Hmm and what are you suggesting, boss?“ You put an emphasis on his title, mocking him again. Daud visibly clenches his jaw and pushes you by your face on your knees. You stare up at him, wide eyed. He starts to undo his belt while he grins at you. „Let me show you, then.“

#daud dishonored #dishonored #dishonored 2 #daud x reader #knife of dunwall #whalers

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savage-rhi · 2 years

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Immortal Shield Chapter 8: Behemoth

**Let me know if you wish to be tagged in updates

**To read previous chapters, hit this link

Tagging: @seradyn

With the years of hunting Caelan had under her belt, she assumed tracking a wanted Behemoth would be effortless. Several hours into the hunt after conversing with the chocobo farmer and locals regarding the animals whereabouts, and neither she nor Ardyn had anything to show for it. To say she was frustrated in her abilities was an understatement. Ardyn’s sarcastic reassurances every so often were not helping either.

Behemoth’s were rather large and intimidating creatures, making them easy to spot once one picked up their trail. Caelan was beginning to consider the possibility that she and Ardyn were in over their head. Then again, the Behemoth in question they were after was on the younger side. Unlike it’s adult counterparts, this creature had more stamina and could easily escape the area once it picked up on a human scent. They were smart creatures. Many of them instinctively knew humans represented one of two things: danger or food. The fact Caelan still had no idea where Ardyn and she stood in that situation added further fright to the task.

“I hate to be that guy,” Ardyn started.

“Then don’t be him.” Caelan interrupted, sighing as she stopped and looked around the small valley her and Ardyn ended up at.

“You’re quite charming,” Ardyn mused while he rubbed the back of his head. A grimace ran over his features as he could feel how clammy his skin had become. The humidity near the Wiz area of Duscae was rather thick. He could feel his clothes sticking to crevices on his body that were most uncomfortable.

“Cahl, I’d like to suggest we head back towards the spring.”

“Ardyn, it’s almost the afternoon. If we can’t find the damn thing by nightfall, then we’re probably never gonna find it at all.”

“You’re being rather pessimistic,” Ardyn countered. “If it’s young like the locals back at the farm said, then there’s a possibility it will come to us if we stick to a singular spot.”

“How would you know that? You told me you hadn’t hunted in ages.” Caelan raised a brow. She could feel a shiver go down her arms at the way Ardyn smirked, as if he held a secret she’d never know.

“Like most young creatures, they’re quite haughty and believe they are indestructible. They feel that they have something to prove while trying their luck at where they stand upon the food chain. Every living being goes through that cycle. Including humans.”

“Why do I have a feeling this is a jab at me?”

“Oh don’t be silly,” Ardyn said in his defense but he didn’t lose that salacious grin. “Not everything is about you.”

Caelan rolled her eyes and shook her head. There was no sense in arguing with him, or keeping up their talk. That would be what Ardyn wanted, and Caelan wasn’t in the mood to give him the satisfaction. She couldn’t understand for the life of her why he had to be this complicated. One moment, Ardyn was quite civil and a pleasure to be around. The next, he’d be smug and self righteous. Caelan knew she shouldn’t have expected anything less considering who and what he is. It didn’t make things any less complicated when it came to how she felt about him as a whole. The month they’d been traveling together had brought on different layers to their partnership that she hadn’t anticipated.

Caelan shoved Ardyn out of the way as he let out a surprised grunt from her action. A few laughs rolled from his body while Caelan refused to turn around and look his way. She was quick to learn when Ardyn was trying to get a rise out of her. Not certain if it was due to boredom, nevertheless, she wasn’t having it.

“When we get to the spring, I’ll need to take off some clothes to rinse the dirt off. Don’t even think about sneaking a peek.” Caelan forewarned with a firm tone.

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Ardyn taunted.

Reaching the spring after a long trek, Caelan realized perhaps Ardyn had a point earlier suggesting they return. The cool mist coming from the water made the surface tempting to reach into. Walking over to the little creek that was pooling into the spring, Caelan crouched down with her back turned to Ardyn and started splashing water on her arms. Getting rid of grime that had caked onto her when ducking under rocks and rotten logs. Next her boots and pants came off after she rest her pack to the side. A slight hiss left her mouth, feeling some of the callouses on her feet burn when she initially dipped her toes into the cold water. The relief that came soon after made up for the initial discomfort.

The shuffling sound of clothes being tossed from afar caught Caelan’s attention. She nearly did a double take, seeing Ardyn shrug off his long jacket, fingerless gloves, and then took off his white dress shirt. She couldn't help but think his body looked rather nice. Her eyes pondered over his arms and shoulders then her gaze quickly averted the second she locked onto his eyes. Blood began to rush to her cheeks as she tended to her aching feet, distracting herself. Ardyn didn’t say anything, but he too crouched down to the spring and began wiping down his neck.

“How many layers of clothes do you even wear, don’t you think that’s much?” Caelan called out in his direction, still keeping her eyes to her space.

“It’s nothing compared to my Niflheim attire,” Ardyn said with a laugh. “There was a time I had to wear a jacket, vest, dress shirt, scarves, at one point ties and--”

“You can stop now.” Caelan sighed, shaking her head. She didn’t understand why she even bothered to say anything.

“But you asked--”

“Enough, I know what I asked! I don’t need all the details.” Caelan said bitterly. There was a pause before Ardyn piped up with a playful tone.

“Might I add you were looking at me, I thought we had an agreement. No peeking was it said?”

Caelan could feel her eyes widen at the call out, nevertheless she held her ground and after clearing her throat decided to counter him.

“It’s not everyday you hear and see a man take 10 minutes to strip versus a woman in 2 seconds.”

The chuckles from Ardyn didn’t help the embarrassment and brief shame that came over Caelan.

“I think that assessment says more about you than it does me.”

“Shut up.” Caelan muttered barely above a whisper. She went back to tending to herself, all the while ignoring the fact Ardyn moved a little closer to her area of the spring.

After chuckling darkly to himself once more besting Caelan in a battle of wit, Ardyn wiped down the sweat from his body. He only looked Caelan’s way when she made distressed noises. He hated that. How his instincts as a healer were quite strong in this incarnation.

The compulsion to tend to others was a trait Ardyn believed he had long cast aside, but it seemed to breach whatever walls he had thought were still standing. It wasn’t so bad at the Quay when he was on his lonesome, and then he met Caelan. The thought that she triggered his empathic nature had mixed feelings run amok inside himself. Ardyn knew he could never go back to that kind of life he had thousands of years ago no matter what delusions his brain entertained. However, it didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt him in some capacity.

Ardyn’s brows knitted as he started to feel angry at himself. He couldn’t help but glance at Caelan and took notice of a tattoo that was on her body, located at the hip. His eyes scanned over the ink, seeing it was the signature Lucian Crest. A skull draped with angelic feathers. He had seen such tattoos on crownsguard within Insomnia last he visited. His mind briefly reminisced about old customs from his time.

The once coming of age tradition signified that a young person was strong enough to protect the future kingdom of Lucis, and passed near death trials to obtain the mark. Nowadays bearing such a symbol was more for show than to further display loyalty to the kingdom. At least that was what Ardyn gathered during the few conversations he had with crownsguard and kingsglaive the day before Insomnia fell.

Ardyn could recall when sworn crownsguard were branded with the crest to show off their dedication to service. His nose twitched, remembering the smell of human flesh being burnt on such occasions. It was hard to believe that thousands of years later, he could still recollect such vivid scents. Not long after the memory briefly touched his mind, Ardyn had an epiphany he’d been gazing far too long at the tattoo and thus Caelan’s hips and legs. He felt his heart stammer, clearing his throat to get her attention.

“I didn’t take you for having body modification.” Ardyn said as she looked over at him. He gestured to the tattoo, then tried to keep his eyes from looking over her further.

“You make it sound like I was experimented on,” Caelan joked. “Everybody has tattoos nowadays.”

Ardyn smiled, appreciating the simplicity of her words. He let out a small laugh. “Maybe I should get one myself, to keep up with the times?”

“Maybe there are some folk who should remain in their old ways,” Caelan snorted. “Wouldn’t want you to become impure again.”

Ardyn made a face, knowing her statement was a jab at him being corrupted by the starscourge. A low blow in his eyes, but he didn’t give into anger. His tongue briefly licked his bottom lip, feeling emboldened as he smiled.

“That tattoo of yours is of the kings sigil, correct?”

“Yeah,” Caelan began and turned her head after drying her legs and putting her pants back on. “Most crownsguard get one when they turn 16. Why do you ask?”

Ardyn shrugged. “Technically, it means I own you.”

“What?” Caelan was mortified and in disbelief. Confusion soon crossed her features as Ardyn smugly met her eyes.

“I was the founder king of Lucis. If my dated brain remembers the old customs, everyone that receives the brand belong to the king and his blood for the rest of their days.”

“There’s no god damn way,” Caelan stated plainly, shaking her head at him. “You made that up!”

“Afraid not,” Ardyn laughed. “Technically, as law dictates, I can do whatever I want with you. And in the words you eloquently said to me when we played chess and you won, 'I own your ass'.”

“And I can put you back in your fucking crypt.” Caelan said out of retaliation. She glared towards Ardyn as his laughter grew.

“Oh, you’d enjoy that!”

Caelan was close to bolting to her feet and straight up tackling Ardyn. Whether it was out of play or she really meant to hurt him, would have to wait another time as a high pitched screech immediately had the two drop their banter.

Both of them glanced around the springs, ears trying to decipher the direction the Behemoth’s blood curdling roar was coming from. When the waves of the Behemoth’s vocals died down, Ardyn and Caelan sprinted to get their clothes back on and weapons ready.

The Behemoth wasn’t too far away from the spring. It’s lumbering feline form knocked down trees and anything smaller than itself. A ferocious determination ran through its mind as it prowled, claws scratching into the earth. The nostrils of the beast flared as it zeroed in on it’s targets, knowing there were at least two creatures roaming close to it’s territory. Nose to the ground, the Behemoth followed the trail and felt the urge of surprise taking hold. It climbed up a rather large tree, just above the spring. It’s shoulders rolled in anticipation as it’s lower jaw slacked, saliva pooling past its sharp teeth before it made the leap.

Landing near the spot where Ardyn and Caelan had been bathing, the Behemoth screeched and thrashed around, hoping to swipe at the unknown scents. When it didn’t feel the impact of its claws in fresh meat, did it still and rapidly look around the area. The creature was beginning to second guess it’s instincts until a primal scream bounced through it’s ears as they tilted up.

Caelan launched herself from behind a large rock, climbing the top of the boulder then slammed her body upon the Behemoth’s back with her spear out. The weapon plunged into its spine, and she gripped the staff for dear life as the animal went buck wild trying to thrash her off. Caelan could feel her body fling and jerk, muscles wanting to snap from how powerful the force was but she held on and pressed the spear into the wound further. Once she got her bearings, Caelan rapidly began to stab the creature over and over as her body took upon beatings from vegetation and rock each time the Behemoth body slammed into random objects to best it’s foe.

Ardyn from afar, conjured up three of the royal arms. He sent the phantom weapons at the Behemoth, the blades cut across the sides and legs of the massive creature. While the Behemoth was distracted by the sudden onslaught of pain and paused in it’s running, Ardyn teleported in a shadowy flash and appeared right in front of the creature with his signature Rakshasa blade. The red sword swiped up, tearing a gash into the Behemoth’s neck. He was about to teleport again, but didn’t foresee the Behemoth giving a counter swipe. The impact knocked Ardyn off to the side as he tumbled. With the wind knocked out of himself, Ardyn watched as the Behemoth slammed its body against the side of the cliff, taking Caelan and her spear down. His eyes widened, prepared to warp again to come to aid until Caelan recovered and started running towards him.

“We need to fall back!” Caelan exclaimed.

“What, why?” Ardyn was visibly upset as she took off past him. He did a quick double take between the Behemoth and her before he sighed and followed after her. “Cahl, it’s trapped! We can easily take it out now!”

“Ardyn, it’s too strong we need to tire it out! I can’t target it’s vitals unless I get distance and time it right! My weapon works best long range!”

“Cahl, I don’t know what sort of attachment you have to the damn spear but like I’ve said before in the car, you’re more suited for close combat. You wouldn’t have taken such a beating back there! You could very well put the thing down. It’s throat was slit, a few quick jabs and it’s over! Unless you like prolonging suffering!”

At Ardyn’s words, Caelan could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The images of blood and wheezing breaths came to mind followed by a strong smell of bile. Hollow eyes of shock and betrayal staring up at Caelan like an unconditional curse rapidly invaded her senses as she tried hard to keep her mental walls up. Yet the sinking sounds of skin at the throat being slashed over and over echoed and shook Caelan’s entire being. Then came the screams of men watching in disbelief.

“Cahl! What are you doing just standing there?! Run you idiot!” Ardyn’s yells had Caelan come back to her senses. Her brain registering the present danger as she came upon the realization she had stopped running and Ardyn was ahead of her. The explosive bellows of the Behemoth followed. Long striding thumps against the earth indicated the creature was drawing near, now fully chasing them after freeing itself from the rubble it unintentionally trapped itself within.

Caelan didn’t have enough time to get to Ardyn, and so she sought out the nearest tree. She climbed up several feet, then balanced herself on a large branch as the Behemoth tunneled towards their location. She once more jumped and slammed the spear into the creatures hide, this time miscalculating and ending up near it’s rear. This gave the Behemoth an upper hand as it flung Caelan off, her spear so far embedded into its flesh that this time around it didn’t leave with her.

The Behemoth snarled as it rapidly bolted around and faced Caelan, watching as she quickly got onto her feet and took out a smaller dagger. The creature, fully aggravated and beyond enraged at how it had been caught by surprise once again, pounced and slammed onto Caelan’s chest. It’s blood splattered on her clothes as Caelan screamed out and thrust the simple dagger at it’s face as it attempted to maul and maim. She cut the left eye out, followed by stabbing through it’s submental space, the blade piercing through the Behemoth’s tongue as it shrieked so loudly Caelan couldn’t hear anything for a time. Confidence began to grow within Caelan as she continued the onslaught, thinking in the back of her mind that Ardyn had a clear point when he said she was best suited for close combat. The aims were precise and as adrenaline further catapulted her need for survival, Caelan believed she had the creature down until a heavy weight seared into side as she was tossed away several feet. Her back slamming into the base of a nearby tree as she cried out.

The Behemoth grew distracted from Ardyn as he unleashed another set of the royal arms at the creature in a desperate attempt to get it off of Caelan. It’s muscles twitched from the series of deep cuts to its hide as it roared, launching itself at the other attacker. There was a poised look in the Behemoth’s gaze, the creature understanding it was to die soon and yet the primal call within itself, to take out at least one of it’s attackers compelled it to make its final stand.

Ardyn felt his body quake from the usage of the royal arms. His vision began to fade in and out as he teleported back several feet and stood his ground. He knew despite not being at his peak in strength, he could do it. He could put an end to this. He was too prideful to let this fail as he braced himself, preparing to summon his primary weapon. The ferocity in his eyes briefly gave way to fear as he glanced in Caelan’s direction, seeing her struggling to get up. Her being coated in blood, further added onto his unease, not certain if she had been truly mauled or not. The Behemoth screeched and he let out a gasp.

Ardyn greatly miscalculated the charge of the Behemoth. His overconfidence began to sway as the beast barreled closer to his location. Ardyn was quick to summon Rakshasa, the crimson blade that tore through many who tried to take his life in the past. The great sword thrust forward at Ardyn’s command, the tip meeting the Behemoth’s thick skull in between its eyes as it pierced through and struck the core of the brain. Despite the direct hit, the body remained adamantly poised to strike Ardyn down. The Behemoth’s final war cry echoed through Ardyn’s ears as it lunged forward with the last of its strength.

“Ardyn!” Caelan screamed out, watching from afar the entire grotesque scene unfold. It happened so quickly that she barely had time to register the full weight of the situation. All she saw was Ardyn’s body flung into the air, the Behemoth crashing onto its side kicking up debris and rock, and a wave of blood accompanied by a limp body tumbling onto the ground.

From Ardyn’s point of view, everything came to a grinding halt as he saw the horn of the creature begin to sink into his chest. He could hear the crunch of his bones. An intense tingle at the point of entry radiated through his upper chest as he was flung to the side. A deep sting pulled at his chest, feeling pieces of his skin being taken away by the Behemoth’s massive horn.

Ardyn wasn’t sure how many times his body rolled over itself, but he ended up landing on his right. A thick warmth pooled in his mouth and he could taste his blood. Gurgled wheezes and pained moans immediately fell past his lips while he attempted to breathe and move. He covered his mouth out of instinct to not lose blood but lost the war as it spattered past his lips. A sharp gasp finally made its way through the back of his throat as he sat upright, his head bowed as a trembling right hand reached for his heart. He couldn’t help but stick two of his fingers near the wound entry, trying to gauge how far the horn had gone. He backed off but clasped the palm of his hand to it in a losing endeavor to somehow keep his body from losing more blood than it already had.

Ardyn’s temperature fluctuated. On one hand, the opening to his wound felt searing hot. As if someone had poured molten lava straight into the cavity of his chest. The farther in felt cold. Like his nerves had been kissed over by ice. Never in his years had he felt such conflicting sensations happen all at once in his body. Ardyn had died many times, and every time he came back he became more resilient to pain. A terrorizing thought came to mind that he hadn’t the need to reconcile with before: there might not be a next time for him. Maybe this was it. His immortality had run its course. His body could recover from injuries, but maybe not to this extent. Not with how the horn of the Behemoth literally pierced the organ that was his heart. He could feel it flutter erratically offbeat.

At first, Ardyn could feel himself panic. The body’s natural way of attempting to get its host to keep fighting for survival. However, this was what he wanted to begin with. Ardyn’s reason for traveling to Insomnia to confront Noctis was for this very purpose. He wanted to die and remain dead. Whatever it took. At the realization, Ardyn felt the corner of his lips turn into a smile as he fell onto his back. He closed his eyes, knowing it would all be over soon.

“Ardyn! Ardyn!”

Caelan’s screams caused Ardyn to open his eyes, watching as a blurry figure began to approach. He could feel the ground underneath him shudder as she fell and skidded to his side, hoisting him upright. He groaned, trying to push her back with a bloody hand that she slapped away.

“Ardyn, stay with me. Stay with me, please. Ardyn, please you need to let me see. Ardyn--Ardyn. Oh, gods,” Caelan was struck with horror seeing the damage. The gaping hole in his chest continued to ooze with blood and other fluids. His mouth, throat, and clothes had been tarnished by deep shades of red. Her hand that wasn’t supporting him pressed tightly to the area, trying to offer a tourniquet while she gently pushed him back down and desperately rummaged through the small pack on her side to pull out medical supplies.

“C-come here,” Ardyn murmured, using what was left of his strength to pull Caelan to him. His bloody hands cupped her face, fingers shaking as his thumbs carded against her skin. He blinked a few times, his almost lifeless eyes staring right up into Caelan’s.

In a state of delusion, Ardyn saw Aera crying over his body. She looked beyond morose for the nature of his circumstances. Tremendous guilt etched across Ardyn’s features as he lifted his head to meet Aera’s lips with his own. It was a weak and gentle kiss, but even in death, he couldn’t bare to see he caused this kind of suffering to her. She already had been through so much because of him. More than anyone should’ve.

“A-Aera, don’t be--” Before he could finish, everything became black.

Caelan was beside herself. Her eyes filled with shock as the warmth of Ardyn’s lips and his own blood were left upon her mouth. Her own pulse began to beat heavily against her ribcage, her mind froze in disturbance until Ardyn seemingly passed out.

“Ardyn?” Caelan shook him several times, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Ardyn?!” She shouted, nearly screaming right at him to wake up.

Cradling him in her arms, she started sobbing. Not able to help it. She knew the fault of his death wasn’t her burden to carry, he had been the one to put himself in harm's way to keep the Behemoth from destroying her. Alas, it didn’t absolve her of guilt. If Caelan hadn’t agreed to this Hunt in the first place, if she had listened to him before about finishing the creature off, he wouldn’t be dying in her hold. She screamed out loud, pressing her hand more tightly to his chest to keep the blood from spilling loose.

“Damn it! I’m not going to be responsible for someone else’s death!” Caelan shouted.

Caelan shut her eyes, her teeth gritting as she could feel a powerful vibration radiate from her fingertips. Revelation and alarm traced over her features as she gasped. A quick burst of pain traveled down her arm and a faint hue of yellow illuminated from where she had pressed onto Ardyn’s chest. She was fearful. The trauma of seeing the state Ardyn was in along with this strange phenomenon was enough to make her want to pull away. However, there was a voice in the back of her head telling her to apply more pressure. To keep her hand at bay and let whatever this was, do its job.

Scared out of her wits Caelan pushed her palm to the wound more. The numbing pain that traveled down her arm grew worse, but she wouldn’t relent. Not until her body gave out, would she dare. She closed her eyes, straining her voice as the pain ebbed and flowed through her arm like a vice. As soon as the light began to fade from her hands did she hear the burst of breath escape through Ardyn. His eyes remained closed, yet Caelan could hear the faint whispers of his breath leave his nostrils. He was alive. He was still alive.

Retrieving her hand away, Caelan swallowed as she pulled back more of his bloody and torn shirt to reveal his flesh. Most of the gape had been sealed, save for some small pockets. The blood had receded, and she couldn’t see any bones or internal organs threatening to come out. His skin remained pink and scratched up with faint outlines of her fingertips, but it was as if Ardyn had never been impaled.

“Holy shit,” Caelan breathed out, looking down at her hand and then back to his chest, now moving up and down without issue as he slept. Somehow, a mere mortal such as herself had healed him. Caelan had healed Ardyn with magic.

This wouldn't have been a problem if not for one thing: Caelan didn't possess any magic by herself. She was terrified at the implications as she held Ardyn close, looking around before deciding to make her next move.

#ardyn #ardyn izunia #fanfic #fanfiction #story #ffxv #final fantasy xv #ff fanfic #original characters

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wkemeup · 3 years

Text

Play Pretend

summary: When Bucky is injected with a substance that leaves him desperate for release, you offer your help. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 7.8k warnings: smut (18+), sex pollen (with as much consent as one can have in a dub/con trope)

“What in the—” you slammed an elbow to the nose of the assailant behind you, “holy,” a quick right jab to another coming up on your left, “godforsaken,” a knee plunged straight to your ribs and you kicked to the assailant who managed to get one up on you, “hell, Rogers!”

Another body fell to the ground and settled at the collection at your feet.

Dripping in sweat, heart pounding in your chest, and your body short of giving out completely, you slumped a shoulder against the cold frame of the wall. Down the hall, at least a dozen more Hydra agents were barreling towards you.

There was no response on the coms; not that you expected as much. The Hydra base in Munich you were tasked with rigging to blow was meant to be abandoned. Nothing left but a dozen empty cells and decades of barbaric research no one should ever lay eyes on again.

Seemed Captain Roger’s intel was just slightly off. Tell that to the series of bodies lying in your wake.

“You better send backup, Rogers, or I swear to God I’ll haunt your star-spangled ass for all eternity,” you grumbled to the broken transmission as you attempted to square up. Fists out ahead of you, swaying slightly on weakened legs, a dizziness in your vision making it hard to tell exactly how many men were charging straight at you.

“What? I’m not enough for you?” Bucky suddenly appeared on your right, chuckling to himself as he released the empty magazine from his weapon and quickly replaced it with a new one. Blood was soaked into his hair line, mixing with the sweat beaded on his forehead, and he brushed the back of his hand against his face to smear it back into his hair.

“About time you showed up. Making me do all the hard work myself,” you scoffed, shooting him a teasing smile as you eyed the hallway he came rushing in from.

He insisted you’d be out in time for movie night back home if the two of you split up, divided the C4 amongst you and met back at the quinjet in twenty. Not even his super soldier instincts could have predicted this place would be overrun with stray Hydra agents looking for a rematch.

One of the agents opposing you whipped out a handgun and Bucky jumped forward, using his left arm as a shield. The bullets ricocheted across the room, puncturing into another Hydra agent who collapsed to the ground clutching his knee.

You exhaled a heavy breath, the edges of your lips dipping down into a frown as you watched more agents stepping over the bodies of their colleagues and advancing down the hallway. You glanced up at Bucky, watching as he weighed the rifle in his hands, bouncing it lightly. It was running low on ammo.

“You get anyone on coms yet?”

“Nothing. We’re on our own.” Bucky gritted his teeth, firing a few rounds down at the mass of Hydra agents swarming their way towards you. It knocked a few of them down, at least.

You started to take a few steps in their direction, yanking a knife from the spine of an agent on the ground before you whipped it down at the ones ahead of you, knocking another to the ground. The echo of gunfire tore through the cramped hall again and it left a pile of men at the front lines.

Four left.

“That was my last round,” Bucky grunted, tossing the weapon to the floor as he tugged a small blade from the holster on his thigh. He smirked as he glanced over at you through the corner of his eye. “Who do you want?”

You shrugged, studying the four agents who came to a slow halt at the opposite end of the hallway. The two on the left looked about as you’d expected from Hydra agents; tall, dark haired, with shoulders twice as wide as their hips and a vicious kind of look in their eyes. Then, a blonde-haired woman who couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from Bucky, a hand resting impatiently on the knife against her hip. Last, a man who towered at least two feet above the others with a long, jagged scar covering most of his face.

“I’ll take the two on the right.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, glancing between you and your chosen assailants. The taller one cracked his neck to the side and bared his teeth.

“You’re sure?”

You feigned offense; a hand pressed your heart as you took a few steps forward, sliding the batons out from the holsters along your shoulder blades and twirling them between your fingers. “You underestimate me, Barnes. You think I’d let you have all the fun?”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head as he jogged to catch up with you, disregarding the battle cries of the Hydra agents as they advanced as if it was only ever the two of you in the room. “Not a chance in hell, sweetheart.”

The blonde woman stared to advance on Bucky, eyes trailing him up from his boots to the top of his head with a devilish kind of look in her stare. She licked at her lips hungrily, as if she was ready to take a bite into him, though he paid her no mind as he rushed at the two men to her right.

“Hey, Barbie!” you called, waving a baton in the air to grab her attention. “Looks like your stuck with me.”

She glared at you, pausing in her strut for only a minute, but it was all you needed. You sprinted towards her, using the wall as leverage as you jumped up against the frame to propel yourself into her. Baton at ready, you slammed down into her collarbone as she let out a yelp and fell down to the ground. It didn’t take her long to get back on her feet and when she did, her knife was nestled tight into her grip, a new kind of intrigue on her face as she stared you down.

“Need any help over here?” Bucky called out from the end of the hallway as he ducked under the right hook of one of his assailants. He clipped one in the knees, sending them spiraling to the floor with a pained shout, before he smirked over in your direction.

“Mind your business, Barnes!” You rolled your eyes as a smile crept up against your lips.

Barbie took a single glance back at Bucky before her eyes returned to you and there was something darker within her stare you didn’t quite notice, or perhaps you simply mistook it for enemy territory. Either way, when she raised her arm with knife in hand, you whipped around the baton in a backhanded strike, sending the knife flying down the hall. Unarmed, she stared at you with wide, fearful eyes, until you knocked her out with a final hit to the side of her. Nothing fatal, but it would keep her under until backup arrived to hull her in.

Bucky was still fighting off his second attacker as you approached the man leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest, patiently waiting. He pushed himself off the wall, cracked his knuckles between his palms with sharp snaps that echoed down into the hallway.

“Think you can take me, little girl?” he taunted, voice low and thick, like it had gone years in disuse. He made a show of the way he settled into his stance; fists held out in front of him, shadow boxing in an attempt to intimidate you. It seemed to catch him off guard when you rolled your eyes.

“It’s been a long day,” you shrugged, “and frankly, I’d like to go home. So, let’s make this quick.”

The arrogant smirk dropped from his face, replaced quickly with a wash of rage that a woman half his size would dare mock him in such a way. But he was clumsy in his stance and in his swings, so you saw each of his moves coming a mile ahead. With every right hook, you slid under his arm and stepped out behind him. In every jab, you side stepped out of reach. He exhausted himself while you made little effort in your defense. Without a single offensive throw, he was panting in a matter of minutes.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” he bellowed, loud enough to make Bucky pause for a moment and you winced as his assailant took advantage of the moment to get in a punch to his jawline. He recovered quickly, giving you the security to face your own attacker head on. The Hydra giant was dripping in sweat, red in the face, teeth bared and near feral. “Fight me!”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

As he threw his next swing, you met it with the brunt of your baton, stilling him in his stance. He stared at you, wide eyes and jaw slacked, as you winked at him and dove under his legs. Before he could manage to turn around, you flicked at switch at the bottom of the batons which emitted an electrical pulse from the top edge and plunged it into the man's neck.

He convulsed, gargling out a few incoherent words, before he collapsed to the floor at your feet. You grinned, sliding the batons into the holsters at your shoulder blades.

“Alright, I take it all back,” Bucky’s voice chuckled from behind you. “You don’t need me at all.”

You laughed, shaking your head as several strands fell down into your face, lost to the bun at the top of your head in the struggle. As you turned to face Bucky, you found him standing with his hands planted on his hips and the brightest smile on his face, one that took him years to find again since you first met him and damn if it wasn’t one of the most beautiful sights you’d ever seen.

But then, there was a sudden rush of movement on the ground. One of the Hydra agents wrestled back up to his feet behind Bucky, a malice imbedded deep into his glare, a determination as he rushed forward.

There was little time to think as you lunged for the knife you broke free of the blonde agent’s hand and whipped it across the room. It plunged straight into the man’s jugular and he fell backwards, hands sliding out from around Bucky’s neck as blood coated the tile floors.

“Shit,” you panted, hands on your knees. “You okay?”

Bucky didn’t respond.

Slowly, heart pounding in your chest, you glanced up to find him pulling a syringe from his neck. He stared at it for a second, stunned as a few stray droplets dripped from the edge of the needle before he dropped it to the ground, letting it slip out from his fingers limply. The vile was empty as it rolled along the tile and settled against the dead body of its owner.

“Bucky?”

There was a sudden, paralyzing dread that swept over his features, one that seemed to worsen as his eyes fell upon yours. Then, his knees started to buckle, his stance falling unsteady and you rushed forward, darting under his arm to catch him before could lay amongst the bodies of Hydra agents. He was shaking, hands trembling, and you could feel the sharp rise and fall of his breath as you held him steady.

“We have to get you out of here,” you said, trying to push down the panic etching its way up your spine, but Bucky shook his head.

“No time.” It was all he could mutter out.

“Bucky, you've just been injected with God knows what and we need to get to you a medic or—”

“There,” he grunted, pointed to an open room at the end of the hallway. With a thick, metal door and dozen locks lining the outside, it was more of a cell than a room. You started to shake your head, but Bucky gripped tight to your arm. “Y/n, please.”

You watched him carefully, noticed how he couldn’t seem to meet your eye, how sweat was beading at his hairline more profusely than it was in the midst of a battle, how his breaths were broken and trembling on every exhale.

“Okay, okay. Hold on.” You slowly guided him to step over the bodies at your feet, most unconscious, others not as lucky, and swiftly led him into the cell. It seemed to put him at ease as you aided him to sit on one of the metal chairs at the center of the room. As you released your touch from his arm, a rush of what appeared to be pain twisted into his facial features though he tried to hide it.

“So, what do we do now?” you asked. “I could try to find the lab. They could have counteractants to whatever this is. Or I could try to fix the coms... but we all know Parker’s a lot better with that stuff than I am.”

You laughed, trying to ease the tension in the room, but it was so thick you could have cut through it with the blunt edge of your baton. Bucky’s eyes were glued to the floor, his hands curling around the undersides of the chair until the metal warped under his grip.

“You need to leave.”

Your smile dropped. “What? No, are you crazy? I’m not leaving you alone after—”

“Go!” His voice boomed against the walls and you tried not to let the shock startle you.

“Bucky, stop. That’s not happening.” You dug your fingers into your hips as you paced back over the door, stole a quick glance in both directions. It was still empty save for the bodies lying in your wake. It seemed you and Bucky were entirely alone. You pinched the bridge of your nose. “We’ll figure something out, okay? We always do. This can’t be worse than the time we were buried in that old chevy under twelve feet of snow in Alaska last year, can it?”

You shot him a grin, hoping to ease him, though it did little use. His face was red, jaw stoned. He looked like he was barely breathing.

“You’re not hearing me,” Bucky groaned, his voice molding into something darker. “You're not safe here. You need to leave. Now. Before I... Before I can’t control this. Before I hurt you.”

You paused, narrowing your eyes. “What are you talking about? Do you… Do you know what that stuff was?”

Bucky clenched his jaw, turning away from you the best he could. He let out a pained groan and kicked the chair out from under him. It slammed against the wall with a harsh clash and forced a skip in your heartbeat, a hand darting up to your chest. Bucky leaned over the table, trying to find support, but he ended up gripping onto the sides hard enough to dent imprints in the shape of his hands.

You rushed forward, desperate to help because you couldn’t stand to see him in so much pain, and placed a hand on his shoulder. It touched upon the thick straps of Kevlar for only a second, and still, it was enough to elicit a visceral reaction. He whined, something between a moan and cry, and he slumped down out of your reach.

“Don’t touch me,” Bucky warned, though his voice broke in the effort. His breaths were labored and heavy, and still it seemed as though he could barely get one in. “Please. You—You have to get away from me. I’m— I’m begging you.”

Bucky choked back a cry, biting down hard on his lower lip, and it was then you noticed his right hand palming at the hardened outline nestled tight against his thigh. He pressed the heel of his left into his eyes, shame burning hot against his ears and cheeks and trailing down in red patches along his neck. He tried to hide behind his hair, hide from you, but it was enough; you recognized what this was.

It was a serum created by Hydra in the seventies, meant to create inhumans of their own design when the clinical measures were proving unsuccessful. It was created to induce a euphoric state, a primal need beyond personal control, to put its host through hell until Hydra had what it wanted: a viable chance at an inhuman child.

“Bucky,” you called gently, though all you earned was a whimpered grunt in response. Slowly, you crossed the plane of the room to him and laid a hand against his collar. His eyes fluttered shut in response, his whole body keenly alert to every touch.

“You should leave,” he warned again, his gaze slowly drawing up to meet your own; a glossy shine shielded over a stunning ocean blue. “Let me... let me take care of this on my own. I’ll be f-fine.”

“It’ll be agonizing,” you told him, having remembered the speech Tony gave a few months back after the team first encountered the serum in Peru. “It won’t kill you, but it will feel pretty damn close. Nothing you do on your own will relieve it. It doesn't work like that. You need someone to help you through this.”

He shook his head. “No. I won’t-- I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You don’t have to,” you replied gingerly, drawing your hand up along his arm, tracing over swells of muscle as watching the way a shiver followed so tenderly in your wave. You rested your hand along his cheek, brushing your thumb under his eyes. He was scorching hot. You smiled at him, something soft and gentle, something sad. “I’m offering, Bucky.”

“No,” he grunted out. “I—I can’t. I won’t.”

You nodded, letting your hand fall to the side. It was remarkable he was able to hold himself back this long, let alone decline an offer when presented to him. You’d heard the stories of men to devolved to a near primal state, who attempted to jump the first person they saw and fought their way to release. Bucky was determined to spare you, even as you offered, even knowing that turning you down would put him through a world of pain.

“Okay,” you conceded. “Tell me what you need. Tell me something I can do, Buck, because I can’t just watch you in pain like this.”

Bucky stared at you, pupils blown wide, almost as if he could see right through you.

“Need to get this off,” he finally admitted, eyes drifting down to his suit.

“Okay,” you replied steadily. “Do you want help?”

He shook his head, his stare glued to the floor, but you could see the way his hands were reaching out for you, how he had to keep himself in check and hold them firmly at his sides. He tried to unfasten the buckle at his chest himself, but within seconds he let out a hallowed cry, dropping his head in defeat.

“Hurts,” he exhaled, and slowly his eyes came back up to yours. He forced out a halfhearted smile the best he could. “Can you...?”

You returned the nervous smile, as you took a cautious step forward. He followed your every move as your hands extended towards his chest, fingers clipping the buckles easily as they unsnapped down his jacket. Each one left a new breath of relief in its wake, like he was just on the edge of the surface, under only a few inches of water.

Your hands slid under the seams, helping to slip the sleeve down his right arm, and Bucky choked back a moan. His eyes fluttered shut, lips parted just slightly, and you jumped back.

“Sorry,” he muttered. His cheeks were near on fire.

“It’s alright, Buck. It’s not your fault.” You reached out for him again. “Here, let me help with your belt.”

“No, no, I’ve got it.” His hands were shaking as he started to fidget with the buckle. He swayed on his feet, trying to find some relief. As he unfastened the latch and unbuttoned the hem of his pants, his eyes flashed up to you. He exhaled a heavy breath. “Can you... Christ... can you turn around?”

The look on his face, the shame radiating from every ounce of him, shattered you right to your core. You nodded quickly, turning your back to him and making your way to the door. He needed privacy – of course, he did. He didn’t need you around to bear witness to the consequences of Hydra’s newest attempt to leave him powerless and vulnerable.

But just as you approached the door, Bucky called out quietly, “don’t go.”

You stilled in an instant, though you didn’t dare to turn around.

“It, um,” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “I think it helps if you’re here. If that’s alright.”

“Need something to look at, huh?” you laughed, trying to make light of the impossible position he was in, and you were thankful for the short chuckle you heard behind you.

“Don’t flatter yourself, doll. You’re the only one here,” he replied, a teasing back in his tone, and no matter how tense it was or how forced it felt, it made your heart skip a beat.

You smiled, shaking your head. Leave it to the two of you to find the humor in a situation like this. Biting down on your lip, you tried to suppress the grin, though it did little use.

Then, you heard the soft fall of his shirt to the floor. Quickly followed by the pants of his suit, dropping to the ground in a heap. He exhaled a breath that sounded as though he hadn’t done so in years and you found yourself wondering what he looked like standing there behind you, naked and aching, harder than he’d ever been in his life.

“Swear you won’t tell Sam about this.”

You shook your head, chewing on the inside of your cheek to hold back another laugh. “No promises.”

“Y/n.”

“You’ve got to be in crippling pain, Buck. You don’t have time to be embarrassed right now,” you shot back teasingly. “Stop edging.”

“Fine, okay,” he grumbled back, though you could hear the light in his voice, even if it was a little tense. “Just… give me a second.”

The room became impossibly quiet, painfully so, and you waited under bated breath for something to happen. The smile slowly left your lips, fading into a restless frown as you listened intently to his labored breathing, the tight groans of pain, until finally, his hand circled around the base of his cock.

The whine that left his lips was near sinful, and you felt your own breath hitch in your chest as you listened to soft whimpers parting his lips as he stroked himself, covering his length in the precum dropping at his tip. Heavy breaths and wet pumps of his closed hand around his cock, and you clenched your thighs together, wondering how his eyes might travel over your frame.

But God – those sounds he made were beautiful. You could picture him tugging his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut, his shoulders slacking, knees falling a little weak the harder he gripped at himself. Little murmurs of ‘oh god,’ and ‘fuck yes,’ and ‘please’ as he fucked his fist.

You didn’t know how much time had passed by, but your lip was nearly chewed raw, nails indented into the palms of your hands. You could hear how close he was, how his movements picked up in pace, how his breaths labored, how his moans filled the room higher and higher until – it stopped.

Sudden and aching, he lost it before the fall and your heart broke as you heard him cry out in pain.

“Bucky?” you called softly, not daring to turn around to face him after he asked you not to. Your heart was pounding in your chest, hands clenched tight, and you swore your knees would buckle out from under you if you unlocked them for even a second.

“Fuck, I… I can’t...”

“Bucky, are you okay?” you tried again, worried. There was a panic in his voice that wasn’t there before, a desperate longing etched into every syllable, and it scared you.

“I can smell you,” he said simply, achingly.

Your breath hitched and you squeezed your legs together. There was a throbbing there, an emptiness you couldn’t quite shake. “Do you... Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he replied quickly and you could tell he was contemplating his options. He was growing desperate and that lingering sense of control he maintained was slipping through his fingers. “No, I— You were right. I can’t do it on my own. I need—fuck. I need…”

“Just ask,” you offered again, head tilting just enough to the side that he could see your face but you kept your stare to the wall. “I’m here. I’m saying yes. Just tell me what you need.”

“You.”

It surprised you as he said it; a little lower, a little darker, but certain.

Slowly, you turned to face him.

Sculpted by Michelangelo himself, Bucky carried the most beautiful lines across his body; divots along muscles and carvings of delicate design. You could tell he expected your eyes to fall straight to his shoulder, to the mess of scars and metal he loathed, or to the vulnerability standing hard in his grasp, but instead, you kept your gaze focused on his eyes.

Bucky stood completely naked before you, his right hand still pumping slowly around his cock as you edged forward. He watched you, biting at his lip as he flicked his thumb over his tip. Eyes trailed down over your frame greedily, hungrily, as if the act of simply looking was enough to draw a twitch from his cock. He tugged his lip between his teeth, tightening his grip around himself.

As you came up beside him, you reached up and sat your hand against his right shoulder, watching how he closed his eyes in response, how his jaw slacked. His lazy thrusts evened out, slowing down, as you traced your hand down his arm, simply lost in your touch. Your hand slid down his bicep, over raised muscle, along his forearm to his wrist, and then, you gently nudged his hand from his cock and replaced it with your own.

His lips fell open, a slight tremble in his breath as you gripped him. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, leaning against you as he caged you to what appeared to be an interrogation table. You felt the warped metal against your thighs from where he’d clutched at it just moments earlier.

Steadily, you began to pump him in your hand, careful to spread the wet of his precum down his shaft. He was hard within your grasp, painfully so, enough that you could feel the crystal outline of a vein running up along the underside. You pressed your thumb against it as you slid your hand up to his tip and brushed it over his slit. The whine he released against your neck was the most beautiful sound you ever heard.

“This okay?”

“S’good.” He nodded meekly against your collar but you could feel the strain in his shoulders, the restraint that left his jaw wired shut and breaths tight.

“It’s not enough, though. Is it?” you asked gently, though you knew the answer. You knew what he needed and your hand, or even your mouth, would not be enough. The Hydra scientists knew what they were doing when they designed this. It had a very specific purpose and it would not yield for anything less.

“You don’t have to, Y/n,” he said, stronger than you’d heard his voice since he was injected. It took nearly all his strength.

You smiled, letting your free hand cup at the side of his face. He leaned into the touch, seeking more, almost instinctively. Bucky was a complicated man; capable of light-hearted jokes in the middle of a warzone and an immeasurable guilt and shame that had not left him in his years since he was freed from Hydra. He was your closest friend, your partner in the field, a man that you trusted above all others, a man you cared for in ways he would never quite understand.

“I’m here, Bucky. I’ve got you,” you whispered sweetly, but you could still feel his hesitance. “Listen to me, I’ll leave if you really want me to. I’ll stop if this isn’t what you want. But please, don’t send me away and leave you suffer through this alone because you think I don’t want you. I do, Buck. I want you. I want to make you feel good. I want to take away your pain. Let me.”

He stared at you for a moment, a strange mixture of disbelief and longing upon his features. Slowly his hands lifted from the table and felt for the clasp at the back of your suit. You nodded at him, and slid the zipper down your spine, exposing perfect, untouched skin. He pealed it down along your shoulders, over your chest and down your waist. You helped him remove it down to your feet and kicked it off to the floor beside his own.

His eyes drifted to your chest, hands itching to reach out, but he held them firm at his sides.

“It’s okay, Buck. You can touch me,” you told him, reaching behind your back and releasing the clasp of your bra. The straps fell down your shoulders and you let the fabric slip from you. Bucky swallowed, his eyes drifting to your exposed chest. A smile started to curve upon your lips the longer he stared at you, like you were something to revere.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured quietly, almost to himself, as if saying it purely for the state of fact.

Your heart skipped a beat, lips parting in a slight shock, and you wondered if this was what it was like for the women he brought home on cold, lonely nights from the bar. You’d seen the content smiles on their faces in the morning as they sauntered out of his room with messy hair and a blissful kind of look in their eyes.

Bucky wasn’t the cold, calculating man the papers made him out to be. He was kind, exceptionally sweet, and a selfless to a fault. You didn’t suspect he was any different in a bedroom.

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I never thought this would be how—"

But then— his face started to contort and suddenly Bucky was keening over. He clutched at his stomach, digging his nails deep into the muscle and he nearly collapsed to his knees.

“Bucky!”

You grabbed a firm hold of his right arm, just enough to keep him steady, and even the smallest of touches alone seemed to ignite something in him. Goosebumps littered his skin and a sweet kind of whine escaped past his lips as you ran a hand soothingly along his spine.

“Come on, we don’t have a lot of time,” you warned gently. It was a miracle within itself he was still on his feet. This serum had put ordinary men into shock within minutes if they didn’t find release. Never enough to kill them, but just enough to make them wish it would.

Bucky followed you back to the table at the center of the room, his hand clasped tightly in your own. It was the most physical affection you’d shown for one another, a tenderness outside of the rush of foreign chemicals in his veins, and you tried not to think about the fallout you were bound to find after.

He helped to guide you onto the table, resting your back against the cool, metal surface. Then, slowly, he crawled on top of you. His eyes drifted down to your panties and you lifted your hips for him, giving him the permission he needed to pull them down your legs.

His hand slid down along your curves, drawing goosebumps in his wake, until he swiftly slid his fingers between your thighs. Dipping into the wetness at your core, he spread his fingers around, lubricating himself until he slid two easily inside of you.

“Oh, Bucky,” you moaned, back arching as he pumped them against your walls. “God, that feels—so good.”

His left hand was curled tightly into a fist near you head as he propped his body weight up against the arm; gears whirring, the scars at the base of his shoulder red in the strain of it. One quick glance at the tension coating his muscles, the sharp breaths in his chest, the whine as his cock touched your thigh, and you were pulled swiftly from the clouds, a startling reminder why you were doing this in the first place.

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” you told him, a little breathless as he added the third finger. “I’m fine, Buck. You need to come. This isn’t about me.”

He shook his head, determined. “You’re not ready yet.”

You chuckled, a heat of embarrassment washing over you, even as he scissored his fingers, stretching your walls. You had to choke back a moan and the urge to clamp your thighs together around his wrist.

“I’m more than ready,” you said, voice a little higher, hands clenching at the sides of the table as you felt your walls tightening around his fingers. “Trust me, Buck. Just listening to you touch yourself was enough.”

You laughed again but the room was thick in tension, almost unbearably so. Bucky could hardly hear you. His hair had fallen down to shield his face, his gaze focused on where his fingers were lost to the most intimate parts of you; determined.

“It has to be good for you,” he muttered out slowly. You narrowed your eyes on him, growing worried as he seemed to retreat within himself. He was distant, his mind far away from his body. “It has to be good… it has to be good for you otherwise… otherwise I’m… I’m...”

He wouldn’t say it but you knew what he meant.

“Bucky, come back to me.” You reach up and grabbed a firm hold of his cheeks, thumbs at his jawline, and drew his attention to your eyes. It took him a moment to get there, but you found ocean blue again, even if it was clouded in dark, stormy skies. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about how I feel, alright? Just do what you need to, I’ll be fi—”

“I won’t use you like that!” Bucky snapped defiantly, startling you. “I don’t care that it feels like my skin is on fire and there’s knives carving through my body. I don’t care that I feel like I’m going to pass out and everything in me is fighting to force my way onto you and take what I want regardless of what it does to you! I don’t care! You’re my best friend and I… I…” He was panting, red in the face, and he couldn’t seem to find his words. He swallowed, though it looked as though it burned. “It has to be good for you, okay?”

You nodded, running your hands gently along his arms; his left, solid metal, unwavering, and his right trembled deep within the tissue – the gentle movements of his forearm pressed up against your stomach, his fingers searching out a pleasure he so desperately needed you to feel.

“I…” he started before he clenched his jaw. A heavy exhale followed, a drop of his gaze, and he muttered out weakly, “I need to pretend this is real.”

Your lips parted in shock; heart stammering so painful in your chest you wondered if he could hear it. Before you could say anything, before you could ask him what he meant by that, Bucky let his fingers slip out from between your legs, resting slicked against your thigh. The emptiness was startling.

“I think you’re ready for me now.”

Bucky nestled himself between your legs, lined his length your entrance with a gentle sweep of his top through your folds. He shivered, something near violent as it shook through his spine, and you were reminded again that Bucky was suffering, that he had a foreign chemical in his veins that ripped away his control and left him powerless to Hydra.

His skin was flushed red, sweat beading on his forehead and down his neck. There were sharp marks in the palm of his right hand where he dug his own nails into his skin. His breaths were coming in quickly and uneven.

“Look at me,” you ordered, stern enough to draw his attention. “Don’t hold back. You need to get this out, okay? I will tell you if it’s too much.”

It took him a moment, a breath of contemplation, before he nodded; slow and hesitant. You could see the strain in his jawline, the tension in his shoulders from how much he was restraining himself. It must have been agonizing, but Bucky had been through worse in his life. You supposed pain had become a familiar friend, one he learned to tame and control, even when it ripped him apart.

The moment he pressed his tip past your entrance, as he bottomed out in one thrust, as he felt your walls squeeze tightly around him for the first time, Bucky nearly came on the spot. He gasped into your shoulder, sucking marks against your skin as he rolled his hips against you. Slow and steady at first, reveling in the feel of being consumed whole, of being taken so well, of a rush of endorphins and pleasure he’d never felt even in the peak of sex. Everything was heightened, every touch was immaculate; he could feel your heartbeat through the walls squeezing at his cock.

“Oh, f-fuck,” he moaned against your ear, breath hot, voice dangerously low. “Fuck you feel so good, sweetheart. So fucking good. Goddamn perfect.”

You nodded, arms circling up around his shoulders as you rolled your hips to meet his own. You could still feel the stone carved tension in his muscle, how much he was holding back from what he needed. He was trying to be gentle with you, loving in a way the serum was not designed for, but it was testing him. He wouldn’t give into it, not in the way you asked him to, because Bucky had already lost so much to Hydra, already lost pieces of his mind and body, he would not let them take his soul, too.

“Just for you.” The words passed through your lips before you could quite catch onto their meaning. Your hands slipped down his chest as you brushed your thumbs against his nipples. He moaned, hips picking up in pace. He needed the encouragement, you realized. It was the only way he’d allow himself the release he needed to free his body of that serum.

He needed to pretend it was real.

He needed to pretend that you weren’t laying upon a cold, unforgiving table in an old Hydra base, that maybe this was something more than the consequences of a vile he didn’t ask for.

The line between the fantasy and reality was painfully thin.

“F-fuck, you’re so tight,” he mumbled breathily. The table began to squeak with every snap of his hips, with every drag of his cock at your core, the brush of his tip to the sweetest spot. It was easy to lose yourself in him, to forget that you were in an abandoned Hydra cell, that he had a foreign chemical in his veins determined to destroy him. He felt like heaven.

“S’all yours,” you whispered, drawing your hands down along his waist, slipping over his hips and gripping into the soft flesh of his ass. You pulled him deeper into you, daring him to go further. His pupils were blown so wide, you could barely see the blue in his eyes. He was slipping, barely holding into the restraint he so desperately clung to, and you rolled your hips at just the right angle, squeezed him enough to draw a mangled cry from his lips.

You kissed at the dip of his collar, sucking sweetly as he all but purred in response. Your lips mapped a path up his neck, along his jaw line, over cheekbones and at the tip of his nose, until you paused at his mouth. His heart was pounding, thunderous in his chest, and his hips seemed to pick up in pace with every kiss.

It wasn’t until you captured his lips against your own that Bucky lost the last ounce of control he had been clinging onto.

Something like a growl purred against your lips, a sound near feral, and the gentle push of his hips like ocean waves against you turned into quick, harsh snaps. He pulled his lips from you, trailing hot, wet kisses down your neck, until he found the place he was looking for and sunk his teeth to the crook of your shoulder.

“Ah, Bucky!”

All consuming. Feverish. A man untamed and he did not relent, not as your walls tightened around him like the twist of a coil, or as the sound of skin and wetness between your legs echoed high into the room, or when his fingers touched at your clit and rubbed harsh, quick and pressured circles until you were crying out so loudly, it must have carried through the whole base.

“Fuck! Ah, God, Bucky, don’t stop!”

Bucky groaned against you, sucking a mark where his teeth had met your flesh. You could feel the vibration of his voice against your skin, the pulse of his cock in your cunt, the thick vein that ran along his underside as it added so sweetly to the pressure at your entrance. It was wild and unhinged, but God – it was good.

“Y-yeah, baby, right there,” Bucky moaned, his thrusts falling uneven, haphazard, needy. “F-fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna—ah, ah, f-fuck—”

The heat of him, the way he filled you so perfectly, the rush, and it pushed you over the edge. White hot and intoxicating, the wash of it broke open in floodgates and swept through you. His fingers did not let up on your clit as you squirmed and withered below him, his thrusts falling lazy as he chased the end of his release.

Breathless and a little dizzy as you came down from your high, you felt his heartbeat inside of you; quick, but even. The serum had done its work. It released him from its hold.

Bucky was panting, the full of his weight having fallen onto you. His hair was wet with sweat, messy and untamed, and the room smelled distinctly of sex. But more than that, it was unbearably silent.

Slowly, Bucky began to pry himself off of you, allowing his softened cock to slip from between your legs, slick and satisfied. He swallowed, a blush creeping onto his cheek as he pushed his hair behind his ear.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You chuckled, propping yourself up on your elbows as you watched him quickly tug his pants back on before he bent down and picked up your suit for you, handing it gingerly to you upon the table with a shy sort of smile.

“Alright? I’m great.” You grinned over at him, glowing in the aftermath of your release. “You feel okay now?”

He nodded, a nervous smile tugging on his lips as he watched you jump down from the table and step into your suit. His eyes must have lingered on your thighs where his cum was still slick along the skin from his release because his smile began to fall, his jaw tightly clenched.

“SHEILD has me on birth control, Buck. Don’t worry about that,” you told him softly. You tugged the sleeves back up your arms, though it proved difficult with the lingering sweat on your skin. You flipped your hair over your shoulder and turned your back to him. “Do you mind?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling forward to zip up the back of your suit. He brushed a few stray strands of hair over your shoulder, the gentle sweep of cool metal a relief against the hot flush of your skin; impossibly tender for a man capable of the things he was.

“So,” he started, a nervous chuckle in his voice as he grasped hold of the zipper, “should we talk about this or—”

“Bucky? Y/n? You guys read me?”

Steve.

“Seems the coms are back on,” you sighed, stepping to the side after Bucky finished zipping your suit. He was still holding his tactical vest in his hand, along with the one-armed jacket. His hair was untamed, cheeks flushed, and you imagined you looked of the same.

“We got you, Steve,” Bucky replied, though it seemed rather reluctant. “Where you been, man? You dropped us in a warzone.”

“Yeah, I figured that out,” Steve grumbled back. “Get to the jet. We’ll debrief on the way back. Don’t forget to rig the place to blow on your way out.”

“Right,” you rolled your eyes, grinning at Bucky as he slipped his jacket on. “Certainly, can’t forget the one thing you sent us here to do.”

“Unless you’ve got more Hydra agents hiding in the wings?” Bucky added on and you could practically see Steve deadpan from the cockpit.

“Just get out of there before I come get you myself.”

You laughed as you slid the batons back into the holsters at your shoulder blades.

It was strange, how quickly it felt as if nothing had changed at all. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it was a quick release and you were simply helping a friend. Maybe it was something neither of you would speak of again and you’d go right back to being partners, friends, as if it never happened.

But as you turned around at the edge of the room, a smile wide upon your face, you found Bucky watching you with a kind of look in his eye you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t one you recognized, wasn’t one you’d seen in him before. It was something new.

His eyes flickered to your collarbone where a mark upon your skin was growing discolored; bite marks and bruising where his mouth had been. A strange mixture of remorse and longing, affection and need, all rolled into one.

“You ready, Buck?”

He nodded quickly, snapping himself from his gaze with a pressed smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, though he tried. He met you at the edge of the room, trailing a few steps behind you, and you turned around to find him staring back into the cell, like he was trying to preserve a memory of some kind.

You realized as you watched Bucky clear his throat awkwardly, turning back to you with a gentle blush of pink in his cheeks, that there was no pretending you hadn’t crossed a line together. There was no going back.

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part 2

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes X you #bucky x reader #sex pollen #bucky barnes smut #tw dubcon

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drakenology · 3 years

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the yakuza wife - yakuzaboss!bakugo x housewife reader - inspired by @hanji-is-life ‘s sexy ass.

yakuza au

tw: violence, sadism, mentions of blood, smut, cum, cussing, daddy/ddlg kinks undertones, mentions of guns, very much harley quinn and joker only joker actually loves harley in this ya know?

“where the fuck is my money?” bakugo asks this bludgeoned man tied up to a metal chair in some god forsaken warehouse god only knows where.

“please sir, i’ll get it to you as soon as I can! please stop!” the man pleads, flinching when bakugo raises his fist to land a mean left hook into his jaw with a dark chuckle.

“you know you shouldn’t borrow from people if you have no intentions in payin’ em back. it’s fuckin’..” he pauses before taking a crowbar and bashing the man in both his knees, blood curdling screams filling the empty space. “rude!”

bakugo smirks as the man begs for mercy, pulling a set of pliers of his pocket and holding them up to the man’s face to tease him, grabbing by his neck to make him meet his intimidating gaze.

“shoulda thought of that before trying to playing me for a fuckin’ fool.. hey, I wonder how many teeth I can pull outta ya before your weak ass passes out.” he grunts, waving the plier in his face until the sound of his phone ringing stops him from doing anything.

“you’re lucky I gotta take this.” he mumbles, taking a piece of dirty cloth and shoving it into his mouth to keep him quiet.

bakugo turns away and rolls up his sleeve, setting up his tools for torture as he answers the phone.

“hi baby!” you chime, at the mall having the time of your life with his credit card.

“hey. ‘m workin’ whaddaya want?” he says, holding up his pliers and sitting them down on the table as his hostage screams in the background.

“just checking on you, dummy! whatcha want for dinner, hm? i know you haven’t eaten yet.” you say, holding up different dresses to your frame to imagine yourself in them. “hey, pink or powder blue?”

“pink. and ‘m not hungry. you’ve got security with you, right baby?” he asks, kicking the man onto the floor with a loud thud.

“of course. you won’t let me leave the house without them.” you respond, not even paying attention to the muffled screams you hear in the background. you’ve learned not to ask too many questions when it comes to being a yakuza wife.

“gotta keep my baby safe, right? listen, princess I gotta go. i’ll be home before 9 okay?”

you suck your teeth and roll your eyes, “fine. be careful okay?”

“always am. love you baby.” as he hangs up and returns to his task.

the difference between you and katsuki was night and day. everyone knew you to be so sweet and kind; unbeknownst to them all how you ended up with a cretin like Bakugo. even though Katsuki was immoral in many ways, he knew marrying you was the right thing to do. who else would want to dress his wounds and pick out his suits for the day?

katsuki demanded you quit your job. in fact he came with you to put in your two weeks notice, tough scowl staining his features as your boss signed the approval with shaking hands.

from that day on he ensured you were well taken care of and that marrying him and becoming his housewife came with many perks.

for starters, your husband was loaded. all those years of extorting and money laundering paid off every time you come home with a couple shopping bags from the mall.

katsuki loved lavishing you in the finest of everything, adoring how you look in designer. so much so, he fucks you by the bay window of your luxury penthouse, the Chanel dress he just bought you hiked up over your ass as his calloused fingers make way into your mouth. you’re pinned to the glass, bare breasts pressed against the window as he railed you from behind. and he wonders why you turned out to be a spoiled brat.

your gifts always made you stand out above the rest. many men fawn over you and he knows this. just a small price to pay for having a fine ass wife. but if anyone ever forgot their place, if anyone ever got to close. well. that’d be the last time you’d ever see them. course you have no idea why. but even though katsuki loved you with all his heart, you could be a real pain in the ass. you were so bratty, especially when he was busy.

one day you came trotting into his office in the middle of some business deal. whatever. your jimmy choos popped and you needed a new pair before the yacht party you were attending started.

“daddy’s taking care of business right now, okay? go wait outside.”

“no! you promised we’d go shopping! I need new shoes what the fuck am I supposed to do with these?” you whine, pouting like usual to get your way. bakugo’s brow raised, walking towards you and gesturing for the meeting to continue without him. his hand rested on your lower back as he escorted you out.

he fucked your brains in in the next room for disobeying him, panties around your ankles, your charm anklet jingling as he picked up your legs.

“spoiled fuckin’ brat. told you to wait didn’t I? hm? or did you make a scene ‘cause you wanted my dick?” your head hangs back as your hips are held down by him, thrusts brutal as you cry for him to slow down, face turned away from his. he grabs your chin and turns you around harshly with his scarred and calloused hands, bruised knuckles turning white with a tight grip.

“look at me when i’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you.”

he came inside you when he was done, pulling your panties up for you as it dripped down your leg.

“now.. back to what I was doin’. tell the driver to take your ass home.” he huffs with a zip of his pants and a shake in his sleeves to fix them. bakugo leaves you on the desk, leaving the door cracked for you to leave when you got yourself together. and when you did you could hardly hold yourself up, holding your high heels in your hand as you limp to the car waiting outside for you.

having a yakuza boss as a husband was always exciting. something in you liked the danger; the thrill.

you tell this tale to your other socialite girlfriends and they almost never believe you.

you were out with bakugo on a date when work called. to your dismay, he had to get up and leave. you insisted on being brought along, hating being left alone in that big house that was often empty without him. he agreed but only if you promised to be quiet like a good little girl.

when you arrive at some warehouse (the same one mentioned earlier), a man was already hog tied on the ground, muffled screams behind a piece of duck tape as bakugo ripped it off. you sat by a table, legs folded in annoyance. this interrupted date night? you scoff and fold your arms.

“ah. good seeing you old friend. remember me?” he asks, taunting him a little with a gun in his hand pressing it against his jaw as the man let out muffled pleas for him not to shoot.

“you tried stealing from me. fuckin’ idiot. my boys caught you in some hotel with your little girlfriend. did you think you were gonna have a victory fuck after you made off with my money, hm?” bakugo asks, hitting him upside the head with the butt of his pistol.

you jump at the sound of the blow, a small part of you turned on watching your husband beat the crap out of a complete stranger. your pussy starts to ache when you peer over at bakugo’s strong tattooed arms as he flung his jacket aside, rolling his white sleeves up to ensure his expensive suit doesn’t get soiled.

“oh fuck, where are my manners? this is my lovely wife, y/n. say hi baby.” he coos at you, a switch from rough to gentle when he spoke to you. you smile and wave, the hostage sobbing out a weak greeting when bakugo demands him to.

“anyways. what’d you do with the money, asswipe? gonna tell me or are you gonna make me fuck you up in front of my pretty wife. god, look at ‘er, ain’t she gorgeous? you know I was about 30 minutes from railing her before you had to go along and ruin our night. I should kill you right here.” bakugo turns his head towards you with a sick look in his eye.

“whaddaya think, princess? what should I do to this motherfucker, huh?” he asks.

“smack him again. he ruined date night.” you grumble, folding your arms.

“he sure did, baby.” bakugo says, punching the hostage in his jaw. he gestured for his men to crowd around him, all of them taking turns kicking and beating him with metal bars. katsuki walks towards you and pulls you into a passionate kiss, a bit of blood on his knuckles as he pulled your hair. god, this whole situation was sick. but why was it so hot?

bakugo carries you away to the car, tells the driver to fuck off somewhere while he rails you in the back seat, knowing his men will take care of the rest of what he started inside the warehouse. you straddle his lap, bouncing up and down on his stiff cock as the car rocked back and forth. the car windows fog up as your body heat commingled throughout the space, your hands pressing against the glass to gain to balance as you rode his fat cock.

“fuck, daddy. you’re so hot when you’re handling business. ooh, you’re dick’s so hard.” you purr, bakugo’s hand pinching and playing with your breast as his hips thrust upwards. He smirks at you, almost a bit shocked you got as turned on as he did from the pain he inflicted.

“hmm, I know baby. god, you’re sick. getting this wet from watching me beat up some punk. dirty fuckin’ girl.” he huffed into your hair, leaving sloppy kisses on your neck followed by harsh nibbles.

truth is even though you were so sweet and caring, you had a dark side no one knew about. I mean why else would you marry into the yakuza?

you were both fucking insane.

#bnha smut #bnha bakugou #bnha imagines #bnha headcanons #bnha todoroki #bnha kirishima #bnha x reader #bnha bakugo x reader

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liitlesunshiine · 3 years

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Villainous Taste

(Detective reader x Villain Bakugo)

Warnings: NSFW, smut, mentions of death, degradation, manipulation, very bad bad stuff, dubcon, noncon, assault, sub/dom themes, don’t read if sensitive to violent themes

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You sighed in frustration at your desk that was fully covered with a mountain of papers. It’s been over year now since you’ve been assigned to the notorious Bakugo, Katsuki case; and you’ve made little to no progress on catching the pesky fucking villain. You were losing your patience by the day. Especially since it felt like a personal attack on your ego that you still haven’t managed to pin this guy down. The great detective Y/N, Y/LN getting played and taken a fool by the villain himself. It’s not like you’ve made no progress though. There were times, many instances in fact, when you managed to pin the villain down. The constant face to face encounters only ending with the villain toying with you and taunting you. It’s honesty a surprise that you’re still alive considering all the chances he has had to kill you. Condescending dick, you were sure he was getting off by the chase. This all seemed to be a game to him and it infuriated you even more since you were practically entertaining it. He was thriving off the little interactions with the quirkless detective.

The way he would cockily stride his way to you with that big smirk smeared across his face. Eyes devouring your body that left an unsteady chill run down your spine. His presence held such power and intimidation that you couldn’t help but take steps back with every step he took forward. You always felt like a deer in headlights whenever he swaggered towards you. No amount of experience or expertise will ever get you accustomed to his predatory gaze.

“Go figure they’d send a quirkless bitch my way. They must really hate’ya.” He said with a rather amusing look, never breaking his eye contact with you. He grabbed a piece of your hair twisting it softly between his fingers, as if he were inspecting it. You could’ve sworn he was sniffing it too.

Yea, you were quirkless but you managed to hold your own ground. Having to work ten times as hard, having to prove yourself among your peers and having to earn the respect and position you have worked so tirelessly for years. While being quirkless was a hinderance or handicap as some would say, it was a mountain that you decided needed to be climbed. You reached its peak and planted your flag years ago. This title wasn’t given to you mindlessly. You dedicated tears, sweat, and blood to get to where you are now. Gained recognition from higher up heroes themselves and even managed to get assigned to Bakugo’s case; the most wanted and powerful villain in Japan. Now, you weren’t in denial either, you were well aware you stood no chance against the hero toe to toe. Hell, even the top tier heroes themselves barely made it out alive. You were simply here to pinpoint his locations and set up an area for his arrest. What seemed to be a simple task ended up as a wide scale massacre with Bakugo skimping through all the heroes nonchalantly. It was a complete blood bath. All the pro heroes who were posted for defense that day were to be blown up to pieces; the graphic scene till this day haunts you in your sleep. Sleepless nights and paranoia became a norm, with the image of him dripping with blood casually stalking towards you was something that you have not been able to shake out of your head for months now.

He had forced you into an alley that day. You were trying your best to steady your breathing and figure out an attempt to get the fuck out of this predicament. Your eyes skimmed for any opening, avoiding his intense gaze, looking anywhere but his blooded face.

You felt your back hit against the wall. He was now sickly close to you, you placed your head down in shame looking at his shoes rather than his face. Knowing damn well there was no way out of this situation. Beads of sweat ran down your back and colored your forehead. He slammed both his hands against the wall, causing you to jump, your head now trapped in between his forearms. His body hovered over, the smell of blood forcing its way into your nose. The intense body heat radiating off of him, had your head spinning. You felt frozen in place, every worst case scenario rushing through your mind, trying to stay steady while silently sobbing to yourself.

“My eyes are up here slut.” He gripped your chin roughly forcing your eyes to meet his. You took in the rough image of the villain in front of you. You saw the spiky unruly hair sticking out in every direction, some parts drenched in the blood of his victims. His sharp facial features looked even more intimidating under this light, little scars freckled his skin here and there scattered throughout; and his 5 o'clock shadow appearing in patches. It was his eyes that took you by surprise most. None of the pictures posted online, none of the documents you saw ever matched what appeared in front of you. The dark ruby colored eyes stared curiously back at you, analyzing your every move. The stare felt strangely intimate, and it probably would’ve been considering the circumstance. Y/N wasn’t sure if she was really fully conscious of what was happening, but having him so close was making her feel unnerved. Hell, even as a villain there are many people who admire and drool over the criminal. But seeing him this up close drenched in the blood of your peers was when the fear and guilt washed over you and you quickly snapped out of his trance. You were brought back to your senses and reminded of your current predicament. The images of the heroes fighting and dying at the hands of this animal quickly flooded in. Anger now overwhelming your sense. You reminded yourself that you were quirkless, not helpless. And with that thought, you broke your intense gaze away from him, slapping his hand off your chin and quickly spitting in his face. The action caught him rather off guard and you took this delayed response to knee him in the balls and bolt for it “FUCKING BITCH!” He roared.

Ever since then your encounters with Bakugo have been rather odd to say the least. You didn’t really know how else to describe it. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking. There were instances where he would get rather “touchy” and others where he would straight up just physically hurt you. It was a wind whirl of emotions and odd behavior whenever you encountered him. You didn’t know what to make of it either. He could’ve killed you months ago and the fact that he hasn’t, has left you feeling uncomfortable and confused. You felt yourself wanting to avoid him now, you haven’t been prioritizing his case anymore and you’ve lost all the spunk and passion you had in the beginning. Continuously failing to catch him and having countless of pro heroes dying at the hands of his explosions was something you no longer had the heart to bare.

Especially now that whenever you found him he’d just toy with you. It was beginning to seem as if he's looking forward to these little encounters, like he’s waiting for you. You began to notice the issue when he was becoming purposefully sloppy in hiding his tracks, it was if he was screaming to be caught. And after working his case for over a year Y/N knew his actions, how careful and precise he could be when he wanted to. A perfectionist in his own right but now, now he was practically waving a flag yelling at you where he is and to come and get him. This was a total 180 from his usual behavior and tactic and with each encounter becoming more unseemly; Y/N thought it was best to take a break from the scandalous villain. You decided on no longer participating on the missions. You couldn’t shake off the eerie feeling of this situation and where you were once so headstrong stepping into the battlefield, your courage and pride was stripped from you. Now the only thing you prioritize was staying the hell away from him. So with whatever information you did find on the villain was quickly handed over to the hero agency without any hesitation.

After a few months of you steering clear from the villain, his crime scenes were becoming more brutal and graphic by the week. His killing sprees drastically increasing and the victims were piling up. Y/N couldn’t help but to let guilt consume her. Thoughts of Bakugo infiltrated Y/N’s mind. From the moment she woke up, to while she’d desperately attempt to sleep. You felt yourself slowly going insane. As if your movements were being watched at all times. Your mental state began taking a toll on you and was affecting your work. You could no longer focus on anything for a span of time without the mere image of a bloodied Bakugo appearing in your head.

His case was one you guiltily found compassion in. One of the top students in UA Academy showing nothing but absolute potential to become a top ranking hero crumbled and fell to villainy after his long time friend Izuku Midoriya, was killed trying to save him. It appeared the guilt ate him up inside and as a result, Bakugo quickly blamed the heroes for being weak and unable and decided on taking matters to his own hands by killing everyone involved that day in Midoriya’s death. This paired on with him living in an abusive household led to what he is now, at least that’s what Y/N assumed. Y/N’s heart felt torn in two feeling somewhat sympathetic towards him due to his rough upbringing and traumatic past but either way it did not excuse the atrocities he was committing now. You felt yourself falling deeper into the rabbit hole because of this man. You finally decided this couldn’t continue on any longer. You requested a transfer, figure you cut your losses with Bakugo’s case and move on with your life.

It had been two weeks since you’ve transferred departments and moved into the inner city of Tokyo. It was new, it was adventurous, and it was a step forward. A perfect way to start fresh and move on. You felt the withdrawals from Bakugo’s case every now and then, mainly the guilt consuming you at night or whenever you saw the news appear on TV with a new crime he had committed. You did your best to avoid those emotions though. He was no longer your problem and you did everything you could anyways. Regardless, your attempts at catching him always resulted with blood on your hands.

It was a particular long day at work. You decided on staying later than usual setting up the finishing touches in your new office. You figured you’d also catch up on some cases to avoid getting swamped on Monday. By the end of it you came to realize it was a quarter past midnight. “Oh shit, I gotta get the hell outta here,’ you mumbled to yourself while you quickly got your personal things and organized the remaining loose ends in the office. You locked up everything and exited out the building, deciding on taking the metro home since you felt exhausted and couldn’t commit to the 2 mile walk.

You weren’t used to the metro being so empty and silent, but it was rather peaceful you thought. While the doors open you took no notice in the looming figure behind you. Exhausted and empty minded you walked in, to the doors behind you closing. You were instantly snapped out of your daze when you got shoved against the pole and a hand quickly covering your mouth to silence your scream.

“I’m real upset quirkless.” You immediately recognized the voice and a chill ran down your spine. You looked up to see the reflection of Bakugo off the window, he was staring at you dead in the eye. His signature scowl heavily evident on his face.

“Are you trying to hide from me? Made me follow your ass all the way to Tokyo now? Come on quirkless, you know I hate being teased.” He positioned himself to have his crotch lined up with your ass. You felt the pressure only getting bigger with each word he spoke. Your heart was racing by this point, you tried to wiggle your way out of his grasp but he only gripped you harder as a result. He pulled your hair forcing you to look at him once again through the reflection.

“What happened slut, got bored of me? Am I not important enough anymore to catch? I’ve killed hundreds of people ya know, why did you stop trying to arrest me? Don’t tell me another villain got your attention. I don’t mind killing off the competition babe.” He gripped your hair even harder to the point where your skull was becoming numb, your cheeks already salted with tears.

“Fucking slut, I should seriously punish you. You’ve been making me work overtime.”

The train did a gradual stop and the doors open once again with two individuals walking in. Y/N felt a bit of hope wash over her until Bakugo moved to sit down on the opposite direction, forcing you on top and both your backs facing the two people who just walked in. Since he was wearing a hoodie no one would be able to recognize him from this angle. Right now the situation looked like two people who are just foundling on the train. You now sat directly on top of the villain’s lap. His hand still covering your mouth harshly. When you felt the bulge in his pants fully erect is when you began to whimper.

“Awe, did my slut miss me? Don’t worry detective, I’ll give you some nice warranted attention.” His free hand began to stroke your exposed thigh. The action immediately had you squish your thighs together and attempt to get away. But he simply responded with gripping you tighter.

“Try anything and I’ll fucking take you right here, right now. I’ll blow up everyone in this fucking train. Try me bitch.”

He placed a testing hand on your thigh and tapped it softly as if waiting for your reaction. You stayed still not daring to move. “Come on baby, open up for your favorite villain.”

You silently nodded your head no, more tears springing out. He gripped your thigh roughly.

“Y/N, I won’t ask again. Fucking open.” The authority and venom that came from that demand left you having goosebumps. The fear reached you and before you knew it, you had your legs opened and spread for him.

"Atta girl.” He hummed satisfied and began stroking your inner thigh. Absolute shame and guilt overtaking your senses, you felt completely out of control and held prisoner. Your mind trying to disassociate itself with the current reality you’re in right now. But only to being brought back with his rough hands violating you and his threatening tone looming over you. “Now, I’m gonna release my hand from your mouth. If you make any fucking noise, I’ll kill everyone in this metro and make you watch while they beg for their lives, m’kay.” You nodded rather quickly, you wouldn’t be dumb enough to even dare to do such a thing. Too many people have already fallen victim to this animal, you refuse to take part in anymore blame for it. You’d figure you just let him use you and quickly get over the situation and forget it ever happen. Maybe you’ll set up an attempt to try and kill him yourself. Either way, the sooner this is over the sooner you get to go home and ball your eyes out and come up with a plan. He hummed again with your response.

“Good girl.” His hand slowly and hesitantly left your mouth and snaked its way to your thighs. He gripped both of them and forced your legs to open wider.

"Really liking the skirt baby. Makes accessing you so much easier.” He chuckled in your ear, mocking you. Ironic considering this is the first time you’ve worn a skirt in over a year. Your fucking luck. This whole thing was just entertainment for him, bastard.

His hands slowly made themselves lower reaching the inner most part of your thighs. He pulled the skirt up, completely showcasing your thong and pantyhose. You practically heard him salivating behind you. You tried to close your legs feeling painfully embarrassed.

“Tsk. What did I say Y/N” he forced your legs apart once again but with more aggression and speed, that lead you to buckle your hips onto him. You instantly became flushed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks at the realization of what you just did. You heard him groan.

“Such a fucking tease.” He ripped your pantyhose apart, giving him full entrance to your underwear. The cold air had a cooling sensation on your inner thighs and you felt yourself softy throb. You let out a silent whine and he quickly shoved two of his fingers in your mouth while the other started doing soft circles on your clit.

“Fuck quirkless. You’re so wet, always knew you were a fucking whore for me.”

Even to your surprise you didn’t expect yourself to be this hot and ready for him. You felt completely betrayed by your body but you couldn’t help in relishing in the sensation. It felt so good to finally be touched by someone even if it was someone as vile as him. Is this what it feels like to have the most dangerous man about finger fuck you on the metro train? Maybe you can just pretend you’re getting touched by Jim- the cute and quirky coworker of yours, but with every flick even that was seeming to be difficult already. You were sucking and licking his fingers shamelessly and subconsciously grinding down on his erection. You were definitely disgusted from yourself. But you’d be lying if the thought of fucking this villain hasn’t crossed your mind. Especially with the constant harassment you faced whenever you crossed paths, how he’d violate you but never to this extent. Always leaving you in an array of emotions. Even now you’re having a hard time understanding what exactly is happening.

Your eyes snapped right open when the fingers in your mouth left to slap your pussy. You glared at him with a concerning look. He only smiled in response, the sadistic kind.

“You seemed distracted baby. Got me doing all this work and you’re not even paying attention.”

His wet fingers hooked your underwear and causally pulled them off. You were now completely exposed and the reality of the situation was settling on you. “Bakugo please don’t.”

“After you were sucking and grinding on me? Don’t act so innocent now bitch, you’re fucking soaked. Pussy is practically begging for my cock.”

He slipped one finger inside slowly, as if he was exploring the inside of your pussy. His fingers were thick and scarred due to years of using his quirk. The sensation alone was enough for you to throw your head back on his shoulder, opening your legs wider for him. You couldn’t grasp the reason for your actions. Here you were shamelessly opening yourself up and enjoying the fingers of a villain who has caused so much destruction and brought about so much pain in your life. How is it that you’re enjoying this? You really are a terrible person.

“Fuck baby, this is quite the sight.”

Any attempt in trying to hide what you and Bakugo were doing was completely thrown out the window by the sloppy and lewd noises from the villain fingering you. You began to bite your bottom lip in attempt to hold back the moans trying to escape you when he added a second finger.

“Don’t hold them noises back, let these people know how good you feel from just by my fingers slut.” By this point you couldn’t control the soft noises coming out of you even though you were trying. He was fingering you with such expertise, you were feeling yourself beginning to melt under him. When was the last time someone had touched you liked this? Are you so touch starved that you’re about to cum from out of all people- Bakugou Katisuki? Your mind was spinning.

The train reached its second stop. You tried to close your legs and compose yourself before the doors had open but Bakugo didn’t stop his assault. “Bakug-“

“Keep them open baby. We’ll put on a show for whoever sees. I don’t give a fuck.”

The only two passengers who were on the train walked out rather quickly and with no one else entering, it was just you and this villain inside. You couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or bad but at least the risk of him hurting someone else isn’t looming over your head. Instead of taking this moment to escape you threw your arms up gripping Bakugo by the neck. Might as well and try to get this over with. Sooner this ends, the sooner you get go home and bleach your skin clean and pray for forgiveness to whichever god decides to listen. This action did indeed catch him slightly by surprise but he stopped fingering you momentarily and ripped your shirt off revealing your bra to him. He quickly gripped both of your breasts massaging them in his hand.

“Turn around.” He huskily said into your ear. Already lost in the sensation of how good he was making you feel, you quickly got off him to then get back on straggling him. You were now back on him facing him with your cunt completely exposed, skirt crumbled up to your waist, and your breasts directly in his face. He was smirking down on you. He gripped the center of your bra and activated his quirk leaving the bra in shreds.

“Any idea how long I’ve been wanting to fuck this pretty little body of yours?” He gripped your neck, choking you slightly while his mouth made his way to your nipple. “Way too fucking long. Gonna devour your little cunt. Gonna make you pay for all the trouble you’ve been causing me.” His hand left your throat and began squeezing and pinching your nipple. The action causing a moan to rip out of you. “Fucking bitch, you’ve been such a distraction.” You were gripping and pulling his hair now while grinding furiously against his crouch in a desperate attempt to feel some type of friction. “Bakugo-“

“Katsuki,” he corrected, “we’ve been past the formalities for a while now”

You blushed, you rarely call anyone by their first name but Bakugo could be the exception. Besides it’s not like he wasn’t fingering your pussy like a jackhammer on a public train 5 minutes ago, not like you were grinding on him like a desperate dog in heat right now...

“Suki,” you said hoping the cute pet name would be enough to grab his attention, you attempted to sound as desperate and needy as possible, “please make me cum already.” You pleaded while placing your hands on his shoulders. Makeup smudged from the tears and sweat, lipstick smeared on your chin from him covering it, clothes all ruined and your hair a mess, you already looked so fucked out, Bakugo just ate the sight up. He had his hands gripping the side of your hips caressing them. You leaned in wanting a kiss until he quickly gripped your face squeezing your cheeks together preventing it so. “On your knees baby.”

While still squeezing your face you slowly get off his lap on your knees in between his legs.

“Open your mouth and show me your tongue.” He released his tight grip but kept his hand in place, you opened your mouth and slowly stuck out your tongue. He gave a devious smirk, in which you saw something enlighten in his eyes. The bright red color seeming more mahogany now. He leans in lining his mouth above yours and spits on your tongue. He nods his head allowing you to swallow, which you complied easily to. You now waited patiently for his next orders, your full submissive side completely taking over, not like you have much of a choice anyways. Regardless, the desire to please him and the desperation from under is consuming your every thought and sensation.

“Go on slut, suck daddy’s cock.” He leans into the seat with his legs fully spread to you. You slowly unzip his pants with shaking hands allowing his dick to spring free. You nearly drooled at the sight wanting to taste him badly. He was completely erect, a huge vain running down the base of his cock, the tip already covered in precum looking swollen and red. You lean in his dick using your hands to pump him, you slowly bought the tip towards your mouth giving it small kitten like licks. As you began sucking the villain in front of you, he lets out small grunts and groans throughout. He eventually pulls your hair and shoves his dick entirely in your mouth forcing itself to hit the back of your throat. 10 seconds pass by and he hasn’t removed his hand, 11, 12… your eyes begin watering and you’re desperately attempting to get fresh air. You begin pulling away only for Katsuki to laugh and hold you down tighter. “Aha’ha choking on my dick detective? Such a cock hungry whore… this outa teach you a lesson, maybe I’ll get some hand cuffs late-later on and treat you like you really deserve, yea-yeah. That sounds soo good.”

While Bakugo goes back and forth with himself, you begin getting red faced and losing consciousness he pulls your hair up forcing you off and you while you take this opportunity to weed in gaps of air desperately and choking, he quickly shoves himself back inside your mouth. This time he moved your head in up/down motions, you attempted your best to slurp and suck with minimal oxygen entering your system, but it was proven to be very difficult, luckily enough you notice the villain becoming slower and sloppier with his movements. You brought yourself to deep throat his cock once more until the warm liquid has finally entered your mouth. The taste sour and sticky inside, this is what sin must taste like you thought.

As on cue, the metro did a halt and you instantly recognized the location. You gave a side eye to the villain next to you who also knew this was the stop to your neighborhood. He self confidently got up and immediately zipped his pants. He took off the hoodie he wore only leaving the black tank top underneath and shoved it over your head. The hoodie was long enough to cover your whole body and you were thankful since your current garments were in shreds across the floor. It also smelled strangely sweet, odd, like burnt caramel? Maybe the lack of oxygen is making you slightly delusional? You assumed, well hoped- this is where you would go separate ways with the villain. Have this memory go to the grave with you and forget it ever happened. But to your lovely surprise he picks you up bridal style and carries you out the metro. You looked at him questioningly, the feeling of dread looming over and suddenly becoming overwhelming just waiting for his response. He simply smirked.

“You’re clocking in overtime tonight detective.”

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