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epiclamer · 2 months

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This is the post you all have voted for… (i settled for smutty hurt x comfort since you guys were so close)

@save-the-villainous-cat happy two year anniversary baby <3

It wasn’t the end of the world, Villain had been injured in battle countless times before and it was never a problem. But, god, there was so much blood.

They weren’t a very optimistic person by nature, but things had never looked worse for them than at this precise moment. Stumbling blindly through friendly, neighbourhood complexes and past steadily blurring townhouses. Villain could practically feel their demise impending.

“Hey there, stranger~” The criminal gulped, eyes shooting around like a cornered animal looking for an escape. “You’re in pretty rough shape to be standing on two feet…”

Their eyes locked in on a figure—somewhere at the back of their mind they were flooded with a sensation of ease, though they couldn’t quite pinpoint why. They continued to stumble forwards and practically into the stranger’s arms anyways, for whatever reason it felt right.

“Easy— Easy there, Villain… just relax I’ve got you, I’ll take good care of you, huh?”

Warmth spread through the criminal’s mind at the sound of the other’s voice, then down into their muscles before seeping deep to their bones. They blinked and when they opened their eyes again they were laying in a tub, their feet resting at the tap where hot water poured down and into the bath.

For a moment they panicked, but a hand found its way to their shoulder and grounded them back to the present. They knew that hand, they knew that touch.

Hero.

“I’ve got you, baby~” They teased, grinning from ear to ear as they fiddled with the temperature to the water with their free hand.

It all came rushing back to the villain; the fight they had picked with their superior—on purpose—and whatever hope they had left dragging their feet to the hero’s house in a desperate attempt for attention survival.

Hero’s touch was warm where it laid by their collarbone, heating the skin to a feverish degree as it began stitching the villain back together. See, Hero’s powers only worked through touch (something the villain had learned a very long time ago purely on accident), but as much as their touch held only kindness, it did not extend to their healing abilities.

Because, god, did it ever hurt. Painful in some sick and horribly pleasurable way that Villain couldn’t seem to stop craving.

Their collarbone snapped back into place, the bone mending itself back together and their eyes flew open along with the sob that was wrenched from their throat. They flailed, partially to escape the hero’s torturous touch, partially to fall further into their grasp.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay… deep breaths remember?” The crime-stopper’s hand moved down their chest, giving their upper half the gift of a breath as they pained the rest of them.

The villain’s relief was only present for a fleeting moment, as they felt the hero’s fingertips trace the edges of the gash to their chest. Already the ripped skin pulled taught and their torn muscles seized up, under command of the other’s touch.

Villain knew what was coming.

They squirmed, the bath water submerging their legs in its warm embrace, Hero’s hand teasing at their wound, they couldn’t help but try and pull away. “Please—”

The hero shushed them, bringing their free hand to cup the villain’s chin. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” They pressed their hand flat against the gaping hole that should have been the villain’s abdomen, jolting them.

Villain screamed, it was dry and rugged, they recoiled from their nemesis but the only other thing there to hold them was the bath water. “Please, H-Hero, please—” Three more seconds and the criminal was sure to pass out.

Then it stopped. Before the villain could beg again, before they could lose consciousness, the pain stopped.

Cautiously, the villain’s eyes fluttered open, their enemy smiled sweetly back, fingertips now tracing the completely untouched abdomen of the villain’s. They looked normal, they looked okay, even after everything the hero had managed to restore them to their previous glory.

“You okay, gorgeous?”

Villain’s eyes met the hero’s once more, they were gentle yet somewhat mischievous. They nodded, brain completely fogged, maybe from the pain, most likely from the hero’s distracting gaze.

The area still pulsed with the ghost of a previous slash, but there was nothing, just the heat from the hero’s hands. It left a sweet aftertaste on their exhausted mind.

“Think you can handle another round tonight?” They waggled their eyebrows in emphasis, removing one hand to shut off the water to the bath as it began to cover the villain’s stomach.

Villain glared, but only for a moment, some of their usual snideness returning to their demeanour. “Can y-you be a little nicer?”

Hero hummed, eyes glued to their own hands as they made their way down to the inside of the criminal’s thighs, their hands beginning to resume their previous healing glow even under the water. “Really? I thought you liked it rough?”

The villain’s cheeks turned red, but they didn’t have time to retort before the hero placed their hands back against their skin and shut them up with a moan.

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wh3nturtlesfly · 1 year

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It was early morning by the time someone had found Hero. They had been left to die, blood caked in their wounds and clothing soaked with dew. Left along the riverbank, Hero was curled up tightly, shivering against the morning waves that lapped at their ankles. They were barely conscious when Villain had stumbled upon them.

Hero’s first response had been to fight back. The moment Villain reached out a hand, they sprung forward, raking their nails down the Villain’s cheek. They kicked and cried out, though their voice had been worn from their throat long ago. Soon Hero could do nothing but whimper, drawing back just before they slumped into the soil.

When Hero did wake they were feverish. Villain’s attention had been drawn over the moment they heard splashing, turning to find the crime fighter thrashing in the tub. They rushed over, readying a towel as if they could dry all the puddles that now doused the tile.

“Hey, hey,” Villain placed a hand on the small Hero’s shoulder and they whirled around, eyes wide. Like a spooked animal, Hero flinched back.

“It’s alright,” Villain placed their words carefully. Surely Hero knew that they were nothing short of enemies, and any wrong move could send the crimefighter into a frenzy. Villain couldn’t risk them getting injured worse. Their history meant nothing now. Not until they fixed this. “Breathe for me okay? It’s just a bath, I’ve got to clean your wounds or they’re going to get infected.”

Once the words had sunk in, Hero settled a little. The crease in their brow had faded, though the frown didn’t leave their face. Eyes drifting down to the bath, beneath the suds, their voice shook, “You-”

“Your old clothes were in tatters. Unsalvageable.” Villain saw the way Hero tensed and was quick to reassure them, “I didn’t look- you were wrapped in a blanket up until the tub, I swear it.” They looked away, opting for the cloth they had brought along with them rather than gazing into Hero’s tired eyes.

Villain raised the cloth and Hero immediately flinched away. They remained still like that for a moment. Two gazes locked in a silent conversation. One carried fear and mistrust, while the other held a determination to heal even though they could never understand why. Villain spoke before they could think.

“I’ll be gentle. You can tell me to stop at any time, but I figured you wouldn’t want to be covered in grime forever.”

Their hand remained poised in the air while Hero met their gaze. There was something hidden within all the fear. Relief? Maybe.

Slowly, Hero nodded, scooting closer so the Villain could reach them.

While Villain wiped the blood from their wounds they were careful not to disturb any inch of the Hero’s skin. The two were caught in a deep silence, but despite everything it was comfortable. Dipping the rag into the suds of the bath, Villain came up to the Hero’s shoulders and brushed away layers of mud. Beneath the skin was pale, though not as light as it had been when they had first found the Hero. Then it had been nearly translucent, veins the same deep shade of the bruises that no soap could wash from the Hero’s skin.

With the upper half of their body clean, Villain handed off the rag to Hero. A glance passed between the two. Hero would tend to the rest of themselves while Villain fancied themself with another task.

Hero squeaked when they felt fingers along the back of their head and nearly jumped out of the tub altogether. It took Villain’s quick explanation to reassure them. “Your hair is matted,” they said. “If you leave it now, it’ll only get worse.”

They waited a moment, still. Then, in the smallest mumble.

“Okay.”

Despite their earlier shock, it was an effort not to sigh from the feeling of Villain’s hand in their hair. They were careful, gentle in ways they had never been during battle. Hero found their eyes fluttering shut, the soft pressure on their scalp a heavenly feeling. Villain worked diligently to undo every knot. They brushed through each tangle and plucked away stray leaves and mud. Hero was about to protest when Villain had stopped, before catching onto a sweet scent.

The fizzing sensation of shampoo overtook Hero, mind filling with the smell of citrus. They leaned back into Villain’s touch without thinking, humming softly in contentment.

“It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

Hero’s eyes fluttered open, “Hm?”

“Since you’ve been cared for- you’ve melted into every touch.”

That broke Hero from their stupor. They pulled away on instinct and a pink flush made its way across their cheeks. Villain however didn’t appear to care. In fact, they even looked a little disappointed to see the Hero shrink back. “I-” Hero stuttered, “I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologize love.” Villain ran their nails along the Hero’s scalp, “You deserve to be cared for. When I found you-” they broke off. The soft smile on Villain’s face slipped away as their mind was filled with the picture of Hero. Bleeding. Shivering. Nearly dead along the river bank. Despite everything, Villain’s hands curled into fists.

“I’ll never let someone hurt you like that again.”

And again they fell into silence, Villain’s promise revealed and Hero left to contemplate the idea. The hushed pop of soap bubbles filled the space. Hero could feel the suds in their hair. It was nice, clean. Safe.

Deep breath in, Hero leaned back again. They felt Villain’s hand come to support the back of their head and their eyes slipped closed on instinct. Soon they felt the pressure return and with a whisper, they turned to their savior and offered a gentle smile.

“Thank you.”

#turtlewrites #hero x villain #villain x hero #whump aftermath #villain caretaker #hero whumpee #heroes and villains #heroxvillain prompt #prompts #writing prompts #hurt/comfort

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whoppert · 4 months

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Hands on the Ground! (König/Reader)

2,652 words

tagged: König protective stalker; non-con groping of MC by villain

AO3 Master Fic List

The new recruit has caught König’s eye. He's seen a lot, but this is new. He doesn't want to complicate her life, no, he will just watch her from the shadows.

It's just a crush. An obsessive crush. An addictive and feverish and all-consuming crush. Nothing more.

But when she has a problem, König takes it upon himself to find a solution.

König passes by the new recruits in the training area. It’s not often he particularly notices a recruit - sure, he’s incredibly observant. He’ll notice a change in breathing in an opponent in a fight, a slight change in the walking gait of a teammate when they’re hiding an injury, but rarely does someone actually make an impression on him.

He checks with the training leader and learns her surname. The leader says she has promise, and asks if König wants to meet her, but the king declines. No, he’ll just watch from afar.

That night he steals her personnel file. Just some light reading, a bedtime story. This is where he gets a full name, address and next-of-kin, her brother. A dishonorable discharge from a foreign militia is on her record, but there’s no explanation.

AO3

It wasn't a concern, KorTac had a high turnover in the lower ranks, so administration often ignored marks on people’s records when it came to new hires. From her records, König learns that she speaks four languages fluently, that she has pilot experience and the area she struggles in is sniper shooting.

König thought about her as he drifted off to sleep.

A few weeks pass.

He keeps to his internal promise to watch from afar, but that doesn’t stop him taking the long route to get around the base, just so he’ll have a chance to watch. She’s really something in combat and wins both of the hand-to-hand training sessions that König manages to watch casually as he strolls by. He can read the tension in the male recruits. She’s the only female who manages to win in a mixed-sex fight and it wounds their egos.

Good, König thinks to himself. He knows how men fight and the angrier they get, the easier they are to defeat if you can read the signs, which she seems to be able to, because she taunts them as she fights them, a verbal dressing down for their shitty behavior and arrogance, respectively.

Occasionally he’d see her in the mess hall when their schedules overlapped. She sits with two other female recruits, and smiles at them warmly, the group seemed to have an affinity to each other that usually signifies friendship. She isn’t shy about getting what she needs to fuel her body, she’s smart in that way.

The next training session König watched entirely from the shadows. She wrestles well, though she doesn’t have the strength or size of her opponent so she is quick to recover from his grapple. She’s very quick. This opponent, a man with a dark cropped haircut is much better than her previous sparring partners. The rest of the recruits don’t talk through this fight like they did during the turns of the other pairs. No, this fight seems to be significant for all of them as a group. Her legs are strong, and she kicks her opponent just over his center of balance, sending him stumbling backwards.

In the second she took to right herself, her gaze flicked over and settled where König was watching, leaning against the edge of a nearby building, arms crossed over his chest. Bright eyes bore into his, the only visible part of his face. Today was another day he was glad to have his mask, the surprised expression rendered invisible to the outside world. It is only one second at most, but her opponent spots it.

The battle is quickly concluded, and her streak is lost.

König is gone before she’s even hauled herself up from the dirt.

Some nights later, König checked the schedule and found that she had booked a time at the sniping range to practice and that only one other soldier had booked an overlapping session. König made sure he was called for guard duty.

This is how he would make up for costing her the match.

The sky is grey and dull. He watches as she fires several shots, observing her form and then steps up to the neighboring practice spot. They do not acknowledge each other. She is too busy practicing to notice. She is by no means bad at it, just struggles with moving targets, which is costing her attempts. König is proud of his marksmanship, and knows that if he had that rifle he would have put down each of the targets in half as many bullets.

After another round she looks up at König from her seat, pulling her ear muffs off. He is sitting too, but even so she has to look up at him - everyone has to look up at him.

“You jerk as the gun fires,” he says. “You need to square your shoulders in order to support the weight of the rifle.”

She blinks, and considers his critique. Pressing the start button for the next round of moving targets, she hits every single one, only missing one shot. She rubs her shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

There is a pause.

“You’re the Colonel. König.”

“Yes. And you are?”

She gives him her name, though he already knows it.

“Good luck with your training, Lieutenant.”

König is called for a mission that will send him away for two weeks. Normally he welcomes the change of pace, but he mourns watching her each day. She is always in the back of his mind, and often in the front of it. He just can't stop himself from thinking about her.

When he returns, everything is the same on the surface, but she's different. Tense. König wonders what changed.

When he catches her sparring, there is a brutal ferocity to her movements, until she faces the only recruit who has ever bested her. König watches as she seizes up. The dark haired recruit easily takes her down, and his friends jeer. Perhaps it is a mental block?

A few days later, König collides with her - literally. He's making his way to visit a colleague when she comes out of a door, looking behind her, and smashing squarely into his chest. Strong hands grip her upper arms, so she narrowly avoids toppling over backwards. She's flushed, flustered.

"Forgive me," she stutters, glancing over her shoulder.

His hands don't leave her sides. For a second he short circuits. She feels so small compared to his large form.

"Hey," an unfamiliar voice calls from a familiar face as the dark haired recruit flies through the door after her. He stops suddenly, saluting. "Sir."

She seems to notice the breach of conduct and steps back quickly. König lets his hands fall to his sides.

"Is something wrong?" König asks, looking only at her.

“No. Sir,” she adds his title as an afterthought.

“Then you are dismissed.”

He didn’t believe her.

König had seen the growing tension between herself and this recruit. Naturally, he takes a look at the recruit’s personnel file as well. Adrian Meyer. No complaints. No formal military training, it seemed he’d been accepted to some relatively unknown private militia on a fluke. 24 years of age. Had left his previous employment voluntarily, but seemed to have made it into KorTac on the assurance that he was a quick study. It seemed true enough, his training showed exemplary marks - except in hand-to-hand. Always second place until recently. So he dislikes that she’s bested him, it creates tension, nothing particularly unusual, soldiers had troubles like this all the time. Still something doesn’t sit right with König. She had fought him a handful of times, and he’d studied her enough. She was always calm, collected, put together. Even first thing in the morning she’d report without a hint of exhaustion on her face. She could put on a show, hide her feelings as expertly as if she wore a mask, so what could have shaken her so badly the other day? Perhaps Meyer had said something to her, but what could he have said that left her so afraid?

There are hundreds of security cameras on a military base, with his clearance it was no issue at all to pull the footage. He isolated the record to about the rough time he’d run into her, and rewound from there. The video filled him with rage.

A few days pass and he watches the new recruits. She is shaken, making stupid mistakes and isolating herself from her friends. She eats lunch alone, practices alone and is easily defeated by opponents she had never so much as blinked at before. Meyer’s confidence grows each day, just continuing on as if nothing had happened.

König visits the trainees. She notices his approach, everyone else too deep in conversation, but as soon as she sees him, she turns her face away, refusing eye contact. He wants to tell her that he is going to fix this, but he doesn’t. König has said exactly forty words to her before, and he is not ready to add to the total.

“Meyer,” the training lead called out, König at his side. “The colonel is impressed with your training, he’d like a word.”

Meyer’s face split into a wide grin. “Knew it couldn’t be long before I started to get noticed.”

The pair step off to the side.

“Come visit me tonight in my office. 2100 hours. I want to discuss your future with KorTac.”

The smile falters momentarily. “Sir, I would love to, but I have guard duty-”

König interrupts, “I have arranged it. If you play your cards right, you’ll never have to pull guard duty again.”

Meyer is on time. He knocks on König’s office door at exactly 2100 hours. König invites him in, and at the sight of him Meyer stiffens.

“Relax,” König passes Meyer a drink. “This will be informal. I just want to get to know you a little better.”

König’s cheerful voice and the alcohol lulls Meyer into a false sense of security. The king is adept at this kind of hunt, he laughs on cue and flatters his prey with compliments, plying him with liquor, though Meyer doesn’t seem to notice that König has been nursing the same drink all night.

It’s growing late and still they talk. König knows the right time to strike is approaching because Meyer has started to talk absolute bullshit, too comfortable with the colonel.

“It’s just funny that you’re Austrian,” Meyer hiccups, swallowing the last of his glass.

“Why is that?” König makes sure the smile reaches his voice, since Meyer won’t see it.

“It’s just- to have an Austrian in charge of this place. Like shouldn’t you be running a farm or something?” Meyer laughs, and König pretends to laugh with him.

“You are a typical little Bavarian, aren’t you, Meyer?”

“I’m hardly little, I’m 190.5 centimeters!”

“You are little to me.” König replies.

The time is here.

König clears his voice. “Can I show you a video I found the other day? It’s hilarious.”

Meyer nods, pouring himself another glass.

König pulls up the security footage, pre-prepared and paused right before the crucial moment.

When Meyer notices, his eyebrows knit together. “Is this the security tape?”

König ignores him and hits ‘play’.

The shot is of one of the rooms used to take language lessons. It is completely empty until she enters. Moments later, Meyer follows her. He says something that causes her to freeze up, but unfortunately the feed is visual only. Meyer takes a step towards her and she takes a matching step back, her lips forming unheard words, her face pleading.

“What is this?” Meyer asks. He seems suddenly sober. “Why are you showing this to me?”

She faints right, breaks left, but it’s a move she frequents while sparring and he’s prepared for it, shoving her hard into the wall behind her. She struggles to regain her balance and throws a sloppy punch, which Meyer outmaneuvers, slapping her hard in the face and using the moment she is stunned to turn her around, pressing the front of her body against the wall as he presses himself against her back. One hand holds her by the back of her throat, her cheek against the plaster, the other runs down her body, groping the sides of her breasts and squeezing her ass before he kicks her legs apart and begins to touch between her legs. He is whispering something in her ear.

“It’s not what it looks-” Meyer stands abruptly.

“Sit down,” it is an order. All of the comradery König had exhibited early vanishes.

Meyer obeys.

Meyer is clumsy, too caught up in the moment. He releases her neck to step forward, sandwiching her body between his and the wall for maximum contact. He grinds his crotch against her, his lips close enough to kiss her neck, but she uses the second he is distracted and stamps down hard on the top of his foot. Immediately, Meyer staggers away, and she bolts. The camera shot switches into the hall as she bursts from the room, running straight into the Colonel.

The clip ends.

“Look,” Meyer pleads, “I know how that looks, but she came onto me, alright? You can’t hear her, but she wanted it. She’s been a tease for months, it’s not my fault is she panicked the second things got real, it-”

König does not care for excuses. “Left or right?”

The quest jars the recruit. “W-what?”

“I asked: ‘left or right?’”

“Right?” Meyer seems confused.

“Very well. Put your right hand on the ground.”

Meyer didn’t move. “Why?” There was panic in his voice now. He repeats the question when at first he doesn’t receive an answer.

“Because I am going to crush it beneath my boot.” There was a hint of sadistic pleasure apparent in the tone.

“Wh- no. No.” Meyer stuttered, cradling his hand to his chest. “You can’t do that.” Again he stands, but he does not back away, König stands between him and the exit.

“You touched her with both hands,” König said coldly. “It is by my mercy alone that your other hand has been spared. I have let you pick which hand you would like to keep, but you will be punished for touching her, Schwein. Do not disobey me. Put your right hand on the ground.”

“I didn’t know she was yours, I wouldn’t have ever-”

König steps towards him and this time it is Meyer shrinking back.

“Please,” he begs. “Please.”

But it is of no use. Meyer can see that. Face flushed and body shaking, he slowly kneels on the carpet, begging once more to no avail as he places his hand palm-first against the floor.

The next day, König walks past her like she was nothing to him. Like she didn’t consume every thought. He’d done what needed to be done and he had no regrets, but that didn’t mean he suddenly had a free pass to talk to her, she was his subordinate, that kind of fraternization would get him in trouble, and even if he got away with it, who’s to say she'd even want him? He could live in her shadow knowing that under his supervision she would befall no harm. He likes knowing that he took care of her little problem.

König watches her eating at the mess hall. Her friends rush to her, telling her something that he could not hear, though he could make out the excited tone they used.

“An accident?” She repeats.

“Yes, broke his hand. Doc showed me the x-ray, it was fucked. Crushed and twisted so badly he’ll be lucky if they can fit rods against the remaining bones. He’s resigned for long term medical care, but the doc said he’ll never shoot again.”

“What happened?”

“Apparently he fell in front of a Jeep and it ran his hand over.”

“That’s unlucky,” she says. For a brief moment she glances in König’s direction.

For an even briefer moment he holds her gaze, before excusing himself.

AO3

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lyralit · 1 year

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waking up... prompts

in a stranger's apartment

accused of murder in a police department

in someone else's body

to a hand clamped over your mouth

and the clock reads yesterday

in your mother's arms

in a casket

in a hospital

and you're in a new country

and people have mistaken you for someone else

and people have mistaken you for a god

in a fire

feverish, but someone holds a cold towel to your forehead

in a yelling stranger's arms

in the middle of the road, headlights flashing

and you smell poison

in the villain's lair

kicking and screaming to someone with a knife in hand

and you've missed the battle

#writing prompts #prompts #writing #fiction #fiction prompts #lyralit #waking up #prompt list #story prompts #creative writing

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queenendless · 3 months

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COMFY BIRDY

A/n: OVER A MONTH WITH NO FICS ON HERE! MY BAD!

Neurotic, ADHD, depression, finishing other shows, writing other stuff on my other platforms, writers block, etc.

Imma still working on new stuff at snail's place though so there's still hope!

Now period stuff helps even when it's hell.

AU Keigo Takami/Hawks x Fem Adult Reader, already established relationship, period stuff kinda, implied mature stuff.

*PLEASE DON'T REPOST PLAGARIZE STEAL COPY MODIFY AND/OR TRANSLATE MY FANFIC WORK. RATHER REBLOG LIKE COMMENT AND FOLLOW PLS N THNX U.

A rare day for you to be out.

You wanted some fresh air.

That and you were out on a mission.

Drooping into the nearby merch store, your emotionally hormonal self searched for something in particular.

You needed something soft to squeeze on.

In the grand shop, multiple rows of displays featured merch from all walks of media surrounded you.

You spotted your target area in the far back.

Tsums, round pillows, and varying sized plushies.

From the students to even the villains.

Yet as you skimmed through the pro hero plushies, your eyes stopped on the one you wanted.

The one you wished was here in the flesh.

Because right now, you missed your precious birdie.

You were surprised you were unbothered as you sat down on the plush bench seating, lost in murky aching thoughts.

You felt warmth and the mixed scent of the wind and AXE body spray enveloping you from above.

“Eyo. I got your texts.”

Incognito with a hoodie, worn torn jeans and sneakers on, only those familiar folded red wings was the telltale sign aside from that voice.

“Needed my Kei. Plushie form was the backup plan.”

“You're on your period now, right? You shouldn't be pushing yourself too much. You should be relaxing back home and let me pick this up for you on my way back from work.”

The moment you started sniffling and whimpering he stiffened in worry and immediately embraced you. “Hey, what's wrong?”

“I'm a neurotic, emotionally depressed mess, Kei, that's what's wrong!” You weeped in his scarred neck.

He gently rubbed your trembling back and massaged your pulsing scalp, shushing you. “Angel, you're perfect, messy or otherwise.”

“No, I'm not!” You mewled.

“You are to me.”

He jumped as your legs kicked up to rest over his thighs, his chibi pressed between your bellies, as you mewled. “I missed you so much!”

He teared up at that, nuzzling his face into the side of your face showing. “I missed ya too. So, ya want me to buy ya little ol me then?”

You nodded, sniffling, “Yes.”

He pecked your red wet cheek. “How's about some warm chicken soup for dinner?”

You whined. “Ice cream too.”

“M'kay. Anything else?”

“Cuddles, kisses, and binge anime together for the rest of the day.” Your pouting self looked up to him.

“For you, kid, your word is my command~”

The transition from there to your safe haven gets fuzzy because you're as drained as you are affectionately snuggling into your partner's chest as he easily carried you and his plush the rest of the way.

In your shared humble abode, watching him strip out of his clothes was always such a tantalizing turn on for you, leaving him in just his slim boxers. Spotting his scars from his cheek to his neck to even his very back. Everything about him was too mesmerizing not to look away, especially in your current bodily state.

“The scars … the shorter cut hair … even your new twin red steel swords … is it weird I find you hotter now?” You cooed.

Red tinted from his cheeks to his ears as Kei bashfully rubbed the back of his neck. “Can you say the same for my back scars?”

He trembled as his skin grew warmer at how gentle your fingers brushed the entire bank of his flexing muscles as well as your kisses turning feverish at how much endearing attention you gave the marked planes.

“You're perfect, scars or otherwise.” You smirked against his flexing strong back.

His wings fluttered out as he swerved around, hugging you before pulling in something with one hand, chortling a bit, hanging his chibi twin right in your face. “You do have good taste, after all.” Amiss empty bowls of soup and ice cream tubs, he laid you against him, the plushie nestled in between you two like your own baby birdie.

“Kei?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we have our own bird babies?”

He was quite taken back by your words. But, that initial surprise was taken over by smitten devotion. “Sure, when you get better. For now, though,” His wing draped over you to bring more warmth to you and your belly he caressed. “Let's get you through this first.”

“Mother nature, you cruel temptress.” You grumbled.

Keigo Takami kisses you passionately to quell your hormonal desires for as long as this monthly ritual lasts. “A world where a hero like me has too much time on my hands is one where I can start a family with you, the most breathtaking being I've ever known, so I'm willing to wait a little longer.”

“Hmm …” His lovestruck eyes and charming smile made you kiss all over his now warm filled laughing face. “Same.”

Plush Hawks stayed smiling resting between your wombs as you and Keigo Takami, your mate, stayed bundled together, the TV left running on and the couch being your makeshift bed for the night.

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sunnynwanda · 6 months

Note

Hi dear, how are you? hope you’re doing okay! Can you write a snippet where the villain is “drunk” and tries to seduce the hero? (At the end we find out the villain is not really drunk, but they just wanted to have fun)

Very vague, but i like your imagination so ik it will be a masterpiece! If it’s not a problem, make it spicy 🫶thankss

Under the influence

Part 2

Warnings: intoxication, slightly? spicy content ig

Hero rounds the corner, shuts the kitchen door and leans over the counter to steady themselves. The party is raging - and it's absolute chaos. If their growing headache is any indication, it is a success. They press the balls of their palms into their eyes to soothe the burning behind them. Hero feels feverish despite not drinking anything that contained alcohol - to their knowledge, that is. They did suspect one of the reporters had tried to spike their drink in search of a sensation, so they threw it onto the ground a couple hours ago and had been drinking orange juice.

The loud bangs of music clash against their eardrums again, returning them to the present when someone opens the door behind their back. Hero turns, about to snap at them to get out, but notices how crooked the smile adorning the striking dumb face of the intruder is.

"Hiiii, daaarrrling!" Villain's excited shriek is followed by an awkward wave. Hero quirks an eyebrow at them which Villain ignores. Their words slur when they speak again. "Happy Birrrthdaaayyy!"

"What are you doing here?" Hero questions, still wary. There's no way you came here to congratulate me, they think.

And Villain... giggles. They giggle!

Hero pauses for a good moment, taken aback by the inebriated state of their nemesis. When did this asshole get here to be this intoxicated already? And how come Hero didn't notice them before? Or anyone else, for that matter? A dozen questions flood their mind as they watch Villain sway when they try to lean against the door, evidently finding it difficult to stand upright.

"It's your birthday," Villain states matter-of-factly. They wave their hand in Hero's direction but are unable to focus their gaze on one thing. "Plus, you mentioned the party, so I thought..."

Failing to find words, Hero nods. They weren't exactly opposed to having Villain attend. In fact, this interaction was the most fun they had all evening. Partying wasn't exactly their thing. When the agency suggested throwing a party to celebrate their birthday, Hero paid no actual mind to it. Until they realised that it was not a joke, that is. They objected profusely for two whole weeks but were ignored for the sake of publicity. The amount of reporters present was a telling sign the event had nothing to do with celebrating them.

Seeing as they remain silent, Villain sighs, running a hand over their face. "I can leave if you want?"

Hero shakes their head. They can't help the soft smile that tugs at their lips when Villain does a little cheer dance in response. Except the idiot loses their footing in the process, and is about to plant face-first onto the floor. Hero catches them on pure reflex, wrapping an arm around their waist and grasping their forearm with the other.

"Woah..." Villain looks up at Hero, relying on their support to remain standing. "That was hot!"

Hero's eyes widen quite comically, so Villain giggles again, unbothered by the fact that they are still in Hero's arms. They are warm and smell of cinnamon and apple, so Villain leans in, sniffing them with a humm of appreciation. Hero can feel the heat rising to their ears and chooses to blame it on the air con not working properly.

"You're sloshed." The conclusion is obvious, judging by their flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. It's a shocking discovery, nonetheless.

Villain huffs, pushing against Hero's chest with open palms to detangle themselves from their embrace. "I'm not that drunk."

The claim fails to sound convincing because Villain hiccups halfway through it.

"Yes, you are," Hero can't help the chuckle that escapes them. They are flabbergasted by the absurdity of the situation and irritated by the fact that Villain manages to look stunning despite their state. It feels surreal. "Absolutely wasted."

"Am. Not." Villain's eyes narrow dangerously, and for a moment, Hero thinks they'll leave. They don't want Villain to leave. And that is another shocking discovery of the day. "Got it?"

"Okay, fine," Hero raises their arms in defeat, contemplating possible action. "You're not drunk, just incredibly silly."

Villain huffs again, crossing their arms over their chest but not objecting when Hero hooks an arm around their shoulders to lead them towards the sink. They pour a glass of water and hand it to Villain. There is no way they will allow them to drive; taking them home is not an option either - seeing that Hero has no idea where they live. And Villain would prefer to slam head first into a wall than reveal the location of their lair.

"Now let's get you in bed so you can continue not being drunk," Hero suggests, gesturing towards the stairs. Keeping the enemy in their home isn't the best solution, but at least they'll be safe. As well as the city.

"In bed? That soon?" Villain's murmur drags them out of their thoughts in a rather pleasant manner. "Impatient, I like it!"

"What?" Hero's ears turn an adorable shade of red. They shake their head vehemently as crimson patches begin to cover their neck. "That's not what I meant, I..."

Alas, it's too late. Villain springs forward with astonishing speed and latches onto their lips before Hero has the chance to react. They fail to protest due to shock and... well, desire to be kissed by the worst possible choice in their life. Not that they would admit to it, of course.

Hero dissolves into the kiss quicker than anticipated, kissing Villain back the second Villain's hand wraps around their shoulders. They lose all sense of self as Villain's lips ghost over their throat, leaving a rough kiss below their ringing ear. They can't hear the party anymore, though they assume it's still swinging somewhere far away. Their kitchen feels detached from the world, coursing through the silent void on the other side of the universe.

Villain fists their shirt, and Hero picks them up, taking a few steps forward and placing them on the countertop. Villain draws them closer by the buckles on their belt, wrapping their legs around Hero's waist and earning a growling moan from Hero's chest. They pull Villain closer to feel them flush against their own body and meet their parted lips in a hungry kiss. Villain smiles against their mouth, swallowing every short gasp that escapes them as they draw a hand down Hero's toned stomach, lifting their shirt and flattening their fingers into the muscles beneath.

The reality crashes onto Hero's head like a bucket of cold water. Their eyes shoot open in terror as their whole body goes rigid with scorching flames of shame that flood them. They stop Villain's hand and pry it off of them.

"No! Stop!" Villain grabs their face, capturing their mouth again, so Hero pushes them away, restraining their hands at their sides. Their voice fills with panic as they speak. "We can't. We can't."

"Why not?" Villain leans back to take in their face in the dim light.

The uproar of the party is still muted in their ears, despite their return to the real world in which Villain is a) their irritating yet beautiful archnemesis and b) too befuddled to consent to whatever they were getting down to.

"I can't do this," Hero whispers, although it comes out a whimper. They shake their head for good measure and step back to distance themselves from the ravishing menace.

This time, Villain does not try to stop them, shrinking under Hero's gaze. Their eyes are vacant, and they make it a point to look away. Hero fails to decipher their expression until they jump off the counter.

"I'm sorry," they whisper, biting into their lower lip to suppress whatever emotions are raging behind their empty stare.

"No, Vil, I am," Hero interrupts, but Villain ignores their apology altogether.

"I didn't realise..." They pause for a moment, running a hand through their hair and finally facing Hero. "I should have asked if you wanted it."

"Of course I wanted it!" Hero's pitch reaches an uncomfortable height, scratching their throat through every word - they cannot bring themselves to care anymore. "I still do. I want to kiss you. But not like this. Not when you're not fully conscious."

Hero's words wipe the hurt expression off of Villain's face, illuminating it with a cunning smile that sends Hero's heart aflutter.

"Except, I am," Villain claims, crossing their arms over their chest and watching their nemesis with unexplained curiosity.

"Hm?" Hero knows they are missing something important here - they can't grasp what it is yet.

"I am perfectly sound of mind," Villain shakes their head, chuckling softly. Hero looks positively lost. "In all respects."

It strikes them then that Villain no longer looks intoxicated. Their speech is clear, their movements are controlled, no longer stumbling or swaying, and their eyes are no longer droopy or musky. And when they stride towards Hero, their steps are firm and deliberate.

"What the everloving fuck is this..." Hero's complaint is cut short when Villain cups their cheeks, silencing them with a kiss.

A smug smile blossoms on Villain's face as they pull away, resting their forehead against Hero's as they whisper to their stunned nemesis. "Happy birthday, darling."

Part 2

Masterlist

Hi love!

I'm doing okay, thank you! I hope you are well too. I had an absolute blast writing this and hope you'll like what this idea ended up as.

Thank you for this request :) I had so much fun writing it!

Sunny

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creweemmaeec11 · 5 months

Text

Sick and Saved

A story I wrote for Aura <3 Hope you enjoy it love! @thelazywitchphotographer Honestly, this is far from the best thing I've ever written... I'm clearly REALLY rusty. But I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Civilian stumbled, catching themselves against the brick wall of the alley as their world spun. They knew they should have stayed home today. But they were apparently much sicker than they thought. Their head was pounding, body alight with heat and their legs didnt seem to want to cooperate with walking.

They leaned forward, pressing the burning skin of their forehead against the cold stone, seeking relief. They finally gave up trying to stand, slumping down against the wall, closing their eyes. Their bag landed next to them. They felt nauseous. The world felt like it was spinning. Their joints ached.

"Are you alright?"

A voice echoed from the end of the alley.

Civilian didn't answer, barely cognizant of the sound over the pounding in their skull and shaking in their limbs. It wasn't until they heard the sound of footsteps approaching that they forced their eyes open.

And the sight made their feverish blood run cold.

Villain's feet padded quietly toward them, a strange expression of what looked like concern on their face.

"Are you okay?" They asked when they got a bit closer, assuming civilians hadn't heard them the first time.

Civilian tried to shift further down the ally and away from the approaching villain, using the wall behind them for support, but only made it an inch or two before their strength was gone. They felt so dizzy.

"Ple...please..." they managed, fear evident in their voice as they pushed their bag toward the villain who had just stopped a foot in front of them. "Just- just take-"

Civilian wasn't even sure how much money they had in their wallet, but they sure weren't about to put up a fight for it in their current state.

The villain slowly knelt down, pushing civilian's bag to the side and out of their way gently, "I don't want anything from you. But you look really unwell. Are you hurt?"

Civilian was straining to understand the villain's words through the rushing sounds in their ears. They didn't make any sense. Why would a well known villain be asking if they were alright? They knew they weren't in any position to argue, however.

"M'fine," they slurred, "Just a.... mine- minor cold,"

Civilian forced their eyes shut. Despite the obvious danger in front of them, their double vision was making them feel even more nauseous.

"This hardly looks like a minor cold," villain replied softly, looking over the civilian in front of them, "you're about as pale as a sheet, I can practically feel the fever you're radiating from here, your pupil's are dilated, your breathing is heavy and uneven, I don't think I need to go on."

Civilian shook their head, though they weren't sure what exactly they were disagreeing to. All they knew was that they didn't want any of this. Their vision was going grainy around the edges. Their head was starting to feel heavy.

"Hey, stay with ------------ is just around the block ------------- can ---- stand ------------------------- forgive -------------------------- help ---,"

That was the last thing civilian heard before their world completely faded into black.

Villain sighed, eyes wandering over the unconscious civilian in front of them. They'd gotten them home and tucked into the guest room, where they were currently sleeping soundly. The civilian certainly looked more comfortable wrapped up in the plush blankets than slumped in an ally, but that certainly didn't mean they looked *good*.

They were especially pale and shivering slightly. Their breathing was shallow, rapid and raspy.

The villain leaned forward, adjusting the cold cloth that was resting on civilian's head after brushing their hair out of the way. They were about to pull back when they felt something catch their sleeve gently.

Villain froze for a moment, "it's okay, you're okay-" they immediately began to reassure, remembering just how scared the civilian had been of them earlier and assuming they would be again now.

"Don't stop...." civilian whimpered quietly.

"Don't..." villain echoed in confusion. Only realizing what civilian was asking for when another tug on their sleeve brought their hand closer to civilian's hair.

Villain subconsciously held their breath, reaching forward to brush their fingers through civilian's hair again gently.

The villain may have been the convict out of the two, yet civilian undeniably incriminated themselves at the way the instinctively relaxed at the villain's touch.

The villain swallowed thickly. Civilian was clearly so delirious from their cold they had forgotten about their circumstances. Perhaps they should use it to their advantage now before their guest came to their senses.

"How are you feeling?" Villain questioned softly, fingers dragging through their guests tussled hair.

"Can we cuddle?"

The question came so abruptly it made the criminal's hand freeze. The villain blinked, processing what they'd been asked, only to then reprocess it again, convinced they must have misheard it the first time.

"Uhm-"

"Please?" Civilian blinked, looking up at the villain with pleading doe eyes.

Villain hesitated. When they decided to use civilian's delirium to their advantage, they'd meant as a way to *help* their guest. They didn't want to take advantage *of* them. If this is something civilian would never do while thinking straight, would it be wrong of villain to indulge them?

"Okay...." the criminal caved under the puppy eyes staring up at them.

Slowly, just incase civilian suddenly came to their senses or changed their mind, villain crawled under the covers next to them.

They hesitated before touching their guest, unsure, but luckily for them civilian made the first move for them, apparently being tired of waiting. They turned over, snuggling into the villain's chest.

The criminal in question nearly stopped breathing for a second. Slowly, they raised their hand, gently running it up and down civilian's back. Hesitantly at first, before slowly relaxing into the motion.

"Thank you...." Civilian mumbled sleepily, brain foggy and clouded. They held onto their host's shirt, snuggling in as close as they could get. They were so *warm*. It made civilian feel so safe and cozy.

The criminal opened their mouth to say something, but their guest was far too deep into dreamland to hear it.

They huffed, raising their hand to rake through civilian's bangs. It was nice, actually. The physical contact. It had been so long, they'd forgotten how nice it was, and perhaps stuck in denial of how badly they yearned for it.

So, they settled back. Surely it wouldn't hurt anyone to allow themselves to enjoy it, just a little bit.

Frankly, villain would be surprised if their guest even remembered this come morning.

------------------

When civilians cracked their eyes open, the banging in their head seemed to have subsided. They still felt awful, and thus were in no rush to get out of bed. They sighed, sinking back down into the sheets-

Wait. Sheets? They didn't remember going to sleep-

Villain!

Civilian bolted upright, the abrupt movement causing both memories and blood to flood their brain in equal parts. They'd been in an alley....

With difficulty, they blinked their eyes open, looking around the small but cozy bedroom that definitely wasn't theirs.

But.... they had the vaguest memories of this room.

It was so blurry.

They'd.... woken... villain had asked....

Suddenly, a wave of horror and embarrassment washed over them like a tsunami. They remembered, and it hit them like a truck.

Cuddling. They'd asked a *villain* to *cuddle* with them.

What was weirder? The villain had said *yes.*

Their heart pounded as they remembered being cuddled up to a villain's chest, being so cozy and safe feeling.....

Their face was on fire.

Suddenly the door to their room creaked open, and villain slinked through, holding a glass of water. Their eyes immediately fell to their guest.

"Oh! You're awake!" they exclaimed, "how are you feeling?"

Civilian choked on the words in their throat. They had so much to say. They had nothing to say. What *could* they say?

"I- uh-"

The criminal's features sobered as they misattributed the hesitation in the other's voice, "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. You don't-"

"I'm so sorry!" Civilians blurt out suddenly.

The villain furrowed their brows, tilting their head to the side, "Sorry? For what?"

"I- for.... for last- for the- for-" they stumbled, making aimless gestures with their hands.

The villain blinked, processing, before it hit them, and they chuckled quietly, "Oh, you actually remember that? I'm surprised. I didn't figure you'd recall anything during your sick induced delirium," they smirked, continuing to walk towards the other to set the water on the nightstand next to the bed, "But either way, you've nothing to apologize for, I didn't mind. Besides, even if I wanted to say no-" they reached forward, adjusting the blankets slightly, "kinda hard to say no to those puppy eyes of yours," they finished with a small wink.

Civilian somehow blushed even harder, heart thumping in their chest, "even if you wanted to say no...?" They echoed, eyes wide as their foggy brain struggled to catch up, "I- you.... *didn't want* to say no?"

Civilians had been under the impression their host had merely reluctantly indulged them.

This time, it was the criminal's turn to blush, a light pink dusting their cheeks, "aha- well... no," they shrugged, "It was... nice...." they turned away slightly to hide their face, "It had been so long, most people are too afraid to have any kind of contact with me... so,"

They shrugged again, making their way back toward the door, "Regardless, you were delirious, which is the only reason it happened anyway, so it doesn't matter now. But, now that you are awake, can I get you anything?"

"Oh! Uhm-" civilian strained, raising a hand to the side of their head, "A tylonal or two for this headache would be very nice," they asked sheepishly.

"Sure thing!"

A moment later, the villain returned, laying the bottle of pills on the nightstand next to them, "Just in case you need more later,"

"Oh, thank you! Thank you for.... all your help,"

"It's no problem," the villain replied, giving a small smile, "If you need anything else, just call out, and I'll be in earshot-"

"Wait!" Civilian called out, stopping the criminal as they began to make their way to the door.

"Yeah?" Their guest asked in confusion.

"I- uhm- well- its just-" they stumbled, tripping over their words and growing more and more red, "you- you said you wouldn't have wanted to say no last time- s-so, I was just thinking- like- if you wanted- then maybe-"

Villain's eyes widened when it finally clicked, "I- wait, really? Are you sure?"

"If you don't want to!" They started in panic.

"No, no, I didn't say that! I'm just... surprised," they fidgeted nervously, blushing slightly, "but yeah... I- I can do that,"

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barrenclan · 7 months

Note

is it weird i’m thinking about a werewolf cormorantpaw au?? is that normal to think about werewolf cats??

(This was my Patreon illustration for October 2023! Go check it out if you feel like giving me a couple dollars)

Okay so fair warning, I have slightly hijacked this ask to talk about my MHA AU instead! I came up with it in a feverish pitch on the Discord this summer. But it's basically a REVERSE werewolf AU so it's fine!! WEHEHEHE ANYWAYS

I'm sure all of you know the basics of MHA, everyone has superpowers and there's heroes and villains and whatnot. (I have my own problems with MHA but it is such a fun world to play around with. And it has Shigaraki, which is a notable point in its favor. Regardless) The backdrop for this AU is basically the human AU for PATFW - ratty small Nebraska town, Defiance is a secret cult in the woods, etc. You can read more about it in the 'human au' tag.

I didn't include descriptions for Cormorantpaw and Pinepaw's Quirks in the drawing because I wanted to explain them a little more - they're a bit complicated. Pinepaw's Quirk, Seeing Eyes, allows him to form eyes on any part of his body, and up to around 20 at one time. However, any more than that and he starts to get overwhelmed; and unbeknownst to him, he starts getting prophetic visions. Corm's Quirk, Beastform, lets him change into the design you see in the drawing, basically a big Set animal with heightened senses and strength. But since his Quirk activated, the longer he stays in the form, the longer it is before he change back.

(Daffodilpaw, Asphodelpaw, Slugpelt, Rainhaze, Nightberry, Deepdark)

These are the rest of the main characters that I came up with Quirks for, although I do have some vague ideas for a couple other characters.

Applying Quirks is the main AU thing that changes here, and it's a big one with Corm! So in short, Thrasher (Dustin Turner) in this AU would have been a thief villain whose Quirk was having wings and talon-like hands and arms, but eventually one of his wings gets ripped off and it destroys his career. So when he starts having kids with Hush Puppy (Hope Turner), he’s super Endeavor about it and begins testing them all for training. Cormorantpaw (Cesar) becomes his favorite because of his Beastform Quirk, so he really starts hammering on Cormorant and doing his canon typical horrible abusive training.

They don’t realize at first the limit on Corm’s Quirk, since it's super short and unnoticeable at first, but eventually they realize that each times he changes it gets longer to change back. Once Hush Puppy dies, there’s nothing stopping Thrasher and he forces Corm to constantly train and do crimes for him in his Beastform. So by the time that he’s dead, Cormorant is essentially stuck in his scary beast form, and everyone assumes he was just born with a really fucked up physical Quirk. And then he comes to BarrenClan town! That's where the "plotline" of this AU would kick in.

And I did have to throw in an actual werewolf Cormorantpaw drawing. Mostly so I can justify my unhinged anime AU.

#ask #anon #cormorantpaw #pinepaw #extra art #au #human au #also i know u did ask specifically about werewolf cats. but i was in A Mood

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helvegen-s · 2 months

Text

Rage, rage | two

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she knows who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: violence, injuries, description of injuries, PTSD, bad language, again The King of Hybern...

A/N: so here it is, the second part. I really hope that you're all liking it. It's starting to settle, our protagonists are meeting and it's getting more interesting!! As always, any kind of support would be greatly appreciated! Thank you all for your time❤️

Nimue stands in the middle of her enormous room: a chamber so deep within her father's castle, it is carved directly into the mountain rock. She doesn't see natural light, hear the ocean waves, or watch birds fly.

Not that she has ever seen them. She simply knows they exist, how they sound, how they smell, because the Cauldron has told her so.

She observes her own reflection in the huge mirror on the wall. The girl she sees is truly beautiful. She possesses an ethereal beauty that seems to emanate from within her, as if she were imbued with the same magic that created her. Her long, silky hair falls in wavy cascades of silver, with flashes of light that seem to dance with every movement. Her eyes are of a hypnotic color, like the whitest of pearls, shining with ancient wisdom and fierce determination. Her skin is pale as the moon, yet it gleams with a radiant glow that seems to illuminate even the darkest night. Her figure is slender and elegant.

The reflection the mirror returns is that of an ancient, wise, powerful being.

However, she only feels like a child, surrounded by things she knows from others' words.

When her father isn't listening, Nimue asks the Palace cooks to recount to her what the world beyond the walls is like. In particular, it's the words of old Ferlan that she enjoys hearing the most: she describes the landscape beyond the cliffs on which the castle stands, the dense enchanted forests, the fertile plains where people live in beautiful villages, the beaches of black sand and cold water, the cliffs where giants were said to have once dwelled...

It's those stories that comfort Nimue's lonely heart, that shed light on her shadow-filled world.

Before she knows it, she's wandered so far in her daydreams that she doesn't even know what time it is.

That's when she feels it in the air, even before hearing it. That sweet scent that accompanies The Voice...

"You have everything in your power to be free, child," it whispers in her ear. The scent, the presence, like a smoke-shaped entity, swirls around her, caressing her cheeks and tucking strands of hair behind her ears. "No one would dare stand in your way. Once you decide, the world will bow to your will. Your father will submit to your will..."

Nimue violently shakes her head. The Voice steps back, but when she becomes still again, it clings to her skin once more.

"But father... what has he done to me?"

The Voice laughs, and Nimue feels like she's going to be sick.

"What has father done to you? You're foolish, child. Foolish. Foolish. Innocent. Foolish," it spits out word after word, and Nimue feels them like daggers.

"Father brought me into the world, father gave me life. I owe everything to father, and he asks me to fight in his name. To protect my people from those who wish us harm."

Nimue clings to her own words like a mantra.

"Father loves me..." she whispers into the air, for The Voice is no longer there with her. She wonders if it was ever really there at all, or if it was just feverish imaginings to soothe her own loneliness.

Father loves her. But she knows he's not a good person. Nimue knows what lies beyond, and she longs to see the sunlight, to see the sea, to feel the rain on her skin...

Nimue knows her father isn't a good person. But neither is she.

She knows she has to kill her father. But where will she find the courage? She only knows these four walls that surround her. What will she do when she kills him? Will the Cauldron be angry with her? What kind of child kills their own father?

She spins, and spins, and spins with the same questions for years. Since the moment she gained enough awareness in her fae body to realize that her "father" wasn't the hero of the story, and she was just another puppet in his conquest game.

The only thing she was sure of was that she wouldn't be the good one either. That she wouldn't let her father win that game.

With light steps, she leaves her room and decides to wander around the castle for a bit. Curiosity is what moves her.

In these past weeks, her father's castle has been filled with various guests of all kinds, a very diverse selection. The legions of the attor, her father's elite soldiers, the highest-ranking officials, there were even two males from Prythian and a few simple humans.

Humans. Nimue had been smelling them for weeks in every corner of the castle. That stale stench that seeped into her pores.

She wondered what reasons the King would have to bring humans into the cleanliness of his castle, but as always, even if she asked, the answer would be the same: politics is not Nimue's concern. Nimue only fights, fights, fights.

However, today the hallways were surprisingly empty. Empty of humans, attor, and even the guards.

Where was everyone?

And it was right at that moment, in that desolate and gloomy hallway, that Nimue noticed the silence.

There were guards all over the castle. Magical guards isolating something, someone. There was something blocking her senses, and no matter how much she extended her magical perception, she couldn't feel the Cauldron.

The Cauldron.

Her heart skipped a beat when she realized she was alone without the presence of the Cauldron. If until then she had felt lonely, she realized it was nothing compared to the pressure she felt in her chest.

What was happening?

She began to run, like a lost child in an enchanted forest.

While she had never seen the Cauldron after she emerged, she had always lived with its constant presence in the castle. She knew it was there, it comforted her, it kept her company. Sometimes she even believed that The Voice she heard was the Cauldron itself, seeking to keep her company.

She kept running, and running, and running, not knowing where to. As she turned a corner, she felt the need to grip the white stone wall so tightly that she felt a nail break.

What was that pain in her chest? By the Mother, she had never experienced an arrow to the heart, but she imagined that's how it must feel. What was happening to her?

As soon as she caught her breath, she continued running somewhere, with that throbbing pain between her ribs.

And she heard it:

My creature, my sweet creature.

She stopped abruptly, all senses alert and panting like a racehorse.

Come, princess. I have gifts for you. Follow my voice, sweet girl.

Nimue almost sobbed. That voice, sweet, like a mother's... The Cauldron was calling her.

She finally saw it clearly: she knew which doors to open, which stairs to climb, which corners to turn. She saw it so clearly that for a moment she was blinded by all that power that the Cauldron emanated.

"I'm coming!" she cried, desperate.

She knew which door it was behind, and when she opened it, the wave of power that greeted her completely stunned her.

And then she began to process her surroundings: in the throne room, there were all the guards, all the creatures that formed her father's court. All surrounding a truly grotesque scene.

Nimue put on the intimidating mask she had practiced so much, while her gaze danced from figure to figure: an Ilyrian (an Ilyrian male, she hadn't seen any!) lying on the floor, its black and powerful wings now nothing more than torn limbs and patches of skin. A little further away, another Ilyrian male (by the Mother, two in one day!), this one with an arrow lodged in his chest and kneeling in a pool of his own blood, next to him a beautiful blonde female with tears streaming down her face.

She kept looking, there was everything in that room. When everyone recognized her presence and turned to look at her, she felt as if time stood still as she advanced, making her way among the guards' armors. With her head held high and her curious gaze, she tried to calm her own nerves and continued observing.

There were humans there, those women her father had once called queens. Queens of what? Also that hateful Jurian, with whom she had coincided a couple of times, enough to decide he was nothing but trash. And two females...

Her gaze returned to the group beyond, where behind the Ilyrian she found a pair of fae, and unwittingly she recognized him, his darkness.

Rhysand.

She frowned and continued walking towards her father, circling the whole scene while feeling all eyes on her, following her graceful movements.

Come, child. And look at the gift, look at it...

And she set her eyes on the Cauldron.

She forgot about that phantom arrow lodged in her chest, and stopped next to her father, her gaze fixed on the Cauldron.

She felt her father's accusatory gaze on her, but putting that aside, he spoke:

"You arrive at the perfect moment, my dear daughter," and after those words, she felt as if everyone in the room breathed again after her untimely interruption.

What the hell was going on there? What was the High Lord Rhysand doing in her castle? Who were those accompanying him?

"You arrive at the perfect moment to witness the miracle of the Cauldron. To witness the demonstration these humans will perform for it..."

Her father continued speaking, but Nimue completely ignored him. She just stood there, next to the King of Hybern, and analyzed the whole situation.

The two fae males who had been hanging around her house for weeks, the blonde and the redhead, bound by her father's magic. Weren't they allies? Why was her father imprisoning them?

A little further away, the two guards holding one of the two human girls began pushing her towards the Cauldron.

She heard screams, pleas, denials from all sides. The King spoke, the human Queens, the fae female next to Rhysand, some of them shouting at each other.

But Nimue only had eyes for the poor human they were pushing towards the Cauldron.

What were they going to…?

And as if she were a feather, they lifted her above the edge of the Cauldron and submerged her in a single motion, plunging her until she lost sight of her.

Nimue felt pure terror. Memories that weren't hers flooded her.

Skin dissolving, bones breaking, desperate screams.

She screamed into the air, bringing her hand to her mouth to stifle the sob that escaped her chest. Her father stopped her by pulling on the leash, even before she had thought of throwing herself towards the poor girl.

Rage, rage, rage, rage, rage.

Everything that happened afterward was like a blink.

The Cauldron spat the girl onto the flagstones as if she were a fish out of water.

Look, child. I have given you a sister. I have created a sister for you.

Nimue breathed so fast she thought she was going to faint.

The people present were saying things, shouting, crying, laughing.

The other human fought tooth and nail against the guards, her screams piercing Nimue's eardrums, who only let herself be infected by the rage of that poor human.

Her rage. Rage. Rage.

The rage that boiled in every nerve of her being. It bubbled at the tips of her fingers, beneath her skin, in her eyes, everywhere.

If she opened her mouth, she felt like her own rage would burst forth in torrents, like a river after the snows.

Her rage was going to burst out, all over her father.

The second human kept fighting. Nimue never imagined the human spirit could be so untamed.

And the hand of that woman pointing at her father made something change in the air.

Nimue felt her leash loosen, felt her father getting a little nervous.

And she saw the moment.

She saw the weakness in the air, the King's doubt.

And she embraced it.

The second human emerged from the Cauldron, transformed into something.

And Nimue exploded.

A beam of white light burst from her chest, throwing her father backward. The King's head hit one of the columns, and everyone present in the room recoiled at such a wave of power.

What rage. What immense rage. It consumed her inside, burned her. So much, so much rage.

She raised an arm and pointed at her father, feeling how, again, energy rose from her feet to the tips of her fingers. She struck the King again with all that rage.

"You're a monster!" she shouted. She shouted it again and again, while feeling that with every pulse of power she directed towards him, she was gradually breaking down his shields.

However, the King of Hybern laughed, kneeling on the flagstones and trying to regain his composure. A venomous, disgusting laugh that made bile rise in Nimue's mouth.

In a last attempt to take control of the situation, Nimue raised a shield in the center of the room, around the Cauldron. In two agile leaps, she positioned herself next to Rhysand.

"Show me a place," she demanded. Rhysand clung to the brunette female beside him, tears streaming down his face. His gaze jumped from Nimue to the Ilyrian males, from the Ilyrian males to the new fae females, and back to Nimue. "Tell me a place and I'll get you out of here! Quickly, show me!" the princess demanded again.

The guards pounded Nimue's white shield again and again, and behind her, she felt the King of Hybern standing up.

Her gaze met Rhysand's again, and the male, trembling, took Nimue's hand.

"To Velaris," he managed to whisper.

Nimue didn't know how, but as soon as she heard the name, she knew exactly where it was, what it was. She chose whom to take: the two Ilyrian males, the beautiful blonde fae female, the two girls who had been submerged in the Cauldron, the female clinging to Rhysand, and finally Rhysand himself, whose hand Nimue held when she let her magic transport her and everyone else away from there. Away from Hybern. Away from her home.

To Velaris.

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading

If you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know! Thank you for your support 🥰

#azriel x oc #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #rhysand #cassian #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you

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everythingelseisextra · 11 months

Text

You're Like Me

Part Twelve: Run, Little Girl

Description: A loose idea for saving you sparks conflict. Warnings: References to rape and torture, language, references to poor mental health Word Count: 2125 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @babayaga67 @look-at-the-soul @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28

When you were younger, trapped in a constant cycle of hotel rooms and hazy, feverish feeding frenzies, you acted as though love was a brutish thing, something to be brushed off and forgotten about. Like a bruise on your body left over from some client with more insidious inclinations, it only hurt if you thought about it. Love was performed, used in order to gain some gentleness, maybe, placed on your form like a costume. As soon as it was over, as soon as you could let it go, it became a brash, useless thing again, pointless. You loved a girl and you would never have been able to make something out of it. That was the beautiful thing about it; you were doomed from the start, and yet, you still dove in without holding your breath. You tried to nurture a still-born. You wanted to love yourself and you looked in a mirror and you weren’t sure who that was. It’s hard, you think, to take such a risk as to love. In your years on this earth, you’ve looked at love from afar and thought you could never have it. As a child, you looked at anything kind and saw darkness underneath it.

You are Eve and you’ve taken a bite from the apple, and now you’re aware, far too aware, of the evil in the world. These are things you have said and done, and most of them make you a victim or a villain. These are the people you have been, and most of them are sad.

Now, though, you are starting to see the good too. Because a white horse prances through the arena and he stands beside you and watches with soft blue eyes and his head tilted towards you, just slightly. Because when you wake from a nightmare, or from fitful half-sleep, and you call him, he always picks up. Because on the few nights you have together now, you share a bed, and he does not touch you. Because he is the closest you’ve ever had to safety, and you’re not sure what you fear more; the circumstance of it being taken away, or the possibility of it staying and learning who you are without the trauma making you a survivor.

There is a quiet battle happening in front of your eyes. They are trying to locate you. There are men, he says, who prowl Birmingham with hungry eyes and dirty clothes, and they don’t settle. They pace and provoke and pester until people fall prey to their pressure and answer their questions, all too vague to pinpoint, but too pointed to be for anyone else. Descriptions of your younger self float through the city, and you find yourself face to face with who you used to be. That person who held fast to life when everything around her asked her to want to die.

How does one kill a hydra? Tommy struggles with this, pacing back and forth in the bedroom. You lie back on the bed, your legs dangling off the side, and stare up at the ceiling. If he tries to take down the current lead, a man named Liszt, then another will simply take his place, and they’ll know where the threat comes from. A web of men dangle around Liszt, prepared to fight for him and what he stands for, and targeting one of them would likely wipe out the Shelbys, powerful as they are.

“Money?” You turn your head to look at him, your eyes drifting over him. He wears a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, and a black vest and pants, accessorized, of course, by a gold chain and finely made watch. “If we could somehow stop their revenue, that might do something.”

“Lead the girls out on strike and watch them get shot?” He shakes his head, continuing to pace. His head rolls back on his shoulders, stretching out his tired muscles, and he looks up at the ceiling, pausing. “You’re not gonna like this.”

“Oh God, okay.” You sit up, one arm supporting you on the bed while the other toys with the belt you wear. “What is it?”

“Only way I can think of is to infiltrate. Report back to my connections. Take them down from the inside.”

You blink slowly at him, unbelieving. “And you’re suggesting you go into that world and— and what? Pretend to be one of them? Tommy, you know that line is thin.”

“Arthur’s not careful. John doesn’t take things seriously. Can’t ask Pol or Ada. Who else?” He looks over at you, eyes flicking to your hand on your belt, then back up to your face.

“No.” You press your lips together, staring him down. “I won’t let you”

Knowing what he’d say as soon as he opens his mouth, you shake your head. “Because I don’t want to see you put into positions where you’re forced to rape and torture and use young girls like who I used to be. I don’t care the reason why you’d be doing that, you’d still be doing it.. Intention doesn’t matter when it’s going to affect someone for the rest of their lives.”

“I wouldn’t be doing all that.” He gives you that infuriating, searching look, like he’s unsure how he should proceed and wants you to tell him how.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t start out doing that, but you’d get deeper and deeper. Boiling a frog.”

“I’m not a frog.”

“No shit, Sherlock. It’s a metaphor.”

“No, I’ll know when I get too deep.”

You resist rolling your eyes, both wanting to express your frustration and also maintain the mutual respect you serve each other. “You’ll know when you get in too deep like I knew I wasn’t actually being sent to a boarding school?”

The sentiment hovers between you, tense in the air, and you become deeply conscious of the rise and fall of your chest, of the way your fingers fall still on the belt. He will get in too deep, you think, and by that time, it’ll be too late to back out. It’ll be too late to change anything. He’ll be stuck, like you were, in a loop of being forced to do something you would never choose, would never wish on anyone.

“It’s the only way.”

“That’s a cowardly argument and you know it.”

“You’re afraid to take the risk that’ll ultimately save your life.” His voice raises slightly. “I’m not the fucking coward.”

You bristle, standing up and stalking towards him. “Why are you so desperate to risk your life for me? What does that say about you, huh? Do you care about me or hate yourself?”

It was a low blow. You said it without thinking, without realizing the effect it might have. His eyes widen slightly, and his jaw tightens, and he takes a step back, then another, then turns and starts to walk out of the bedroom.

“Tommy, wait.” You follow him, socks sliding on the wooden floor. “Wait, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes. You fucking did.” He’s bitter, not giving you the time to explain yourself.

Your heart pounds in your temples.”Thomas, you know I don’t think—”

“You do. You do, and you’re right. You’re fucking right.” He turns and points a finger in your chest, rheeling on you. “I’m fucking— I’m not right in the head, and you know it, and you’re like everybody else in this damn family and look at me like I’m the worst thing a human being can be. I’m getting fucking tired of it. For once could someone treat me like I’m not a liability?”

“First of all,” you snap back, a hollow sensation filling your chest and something cold spiking your heart. “I happen to quite like you, so whatever you’ve got in that head of yours about me looking at you like the worst thing ever is all you. You’re not right in the head, and neither am I, and I don’t blame you for that, so we can move right on from what I just said to you. That was bullshit and I’m sorry. Lastly, and this is probably the most important,” You take a step towards him, leaving about a foot between you. “Who the hell told you that having feelings and vulnerabilities made you a liability?”

He straightens, the furrow in his brow loosening, the anger in his face turning to something tensely thoughtful, the expression someone would take when doing difficult math or strategizing. He considers you, taking a few deep breaths, then looks away. “Probably me.”

You nod slightly, reaching out a hand to take his. “I’m sorry I said that. I got heated at that moment. I didn’t mean it.”

“You still said it.”

“Yeah. And that’s on me. It wasn’t right to say that to you.” You squeeze his hand, peering up at him, trying to read his expression. “Are you ready to move on?”

He nods slowly, eyes staring off over your shoulder, mind clearly elsewhere. You gently tug at his arm, leading him back to the bedroom.

Once the door is closed behind you, you let go of his hand and cross your arms. “What?”

His lips purse in an almost-pout and he shakes his head.

“Out with it.”

His lips twitch up and he stares at you, as if waiting for you to speak.

“Thomas Michael Shelby, is this funny to you?” You step towards him, resisting smiling back and failing miserably.

His smile widens, and you catch a glimpse, for the first time since you met him, of the boy he used to be, all charm and sleepy eyes. Your heart flutters and you feel your cheeks heat slightly.

“Oh, so it is funny.”

“I’ve been with a lot of women, and—”

“Oh boy, I’m so excited to hear what comes after that absolutely stunning start to a sentence.”

“Do you want me to talk or not?”

You incline your head, trying to hide a grin.

“I”ve been with a lot of women, and they all wanted Thomas Shelby. Except Grace.” His tone sobers. “Not Grace.”

You stay quiet, tilting your head, letting him have the space to speak. Grace’s name serves as a kind of silent message between the two of you; that he wants, or needs to be able to speak his mind without interruption, no matter how long the pauses take, no matter how shy or uncertain he seems. You don’t speak until it’s over.

“I’m a broken man. I’m no fucking joy to be around, and there’s no great reward for knowing me like they always expect. I’m heartless, cold, and called the Devil. But you—” He looks away from you, swallowing hard before he speaks. “You don’t give a shit who I am. Just yelled at you in the hallway and you didn’t fucking flinch. You’re brave. Or— or not smart enough to know better.”

You shake your head, chuckling slightly. “You know I’m neither, Tom. If you’re asking why I stick around, I’ll tell you.”

He looks back at you, giving you a slight nod.

You step forward, placing a hand on his chest, just above his heart. “You say you're heartless but you’re not. You say you’re cold but you’re not. You’re like me. You’ve adapted to live in a world that isn’t fair to you. You’re ashamed to admit that your heart beats like mine does. And I— I love you for that.”

Slowly, his hand lifts to cover yours on his chest, his eyes slide shut, and he speaks his next words in one long breath. “There are better men—”

“And they’re not you.” You smile, slipping your hand up his chest to hold his face, stroking his cheek with your thumb. Eyes still closed, he leans into you, and his whole body seems to shift, to relax, to move to you. “I choose you, Tom. Like you chose me.”

He nods, his soft eyes opening to look down at you, pupils a little larger than before.

You shift your weight forward and kiss him, and he melts into you, lips soft and pliant, allowing you to take some control. Your other hand rests on his waist, gently pulling him towards you. You fit together, entwined, his hands resting on your hips, delicately holding you. You pull away to rest your forehead against his, and you sway in silence, an almost-dance.

“Stay the night.” It’s not a question.

You chuckle. “I have to do the horses in the morning.”

“Fuck the horses.”

“Maybe don’t.”

His hands, hesitantly, pull you to stand flush against him. His voice is breathy. “Please. Stay the night.”

You exhale slowly. “Alright. Alright, we can— we can try.”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaker blinders fandom #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy x grace #only the wild ones #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders fanfic

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anonymous-dentist · 9 months

Text

It’s two in the morning, Cellbit is sulking his way back home from yet another attempt at the Federation’s air vent system, and it’s snowing. Christmas is in a week and a half; Richarlyson’s present, a pack of those fancy art markers that cost twice what Cellbit makes in an hour, is in Cellbit’s backpack nestled between a packet of stolen documents and a handgun. He’s tired, he wants to go home, and-

“Stop.”

It’s quiet, a hoarse whisper from a nearby dark shady alley. But Cellbit stops because it’s a kid.

Dying, he hears. Cucurucho, dyingdyingdyingdying-

Cautiously, he looks around. Empty streets, snow piling up in inches. Fucking cold, ice flying in the air. It’s gonna be a nasty storm, so he should really be getting home. But-

But it smells like blood.

So Cellbit hikes his bag up on his shoulder and steps out of the storm and into the alley, and he almost steps on a tiny dying hero.

“Oh,” he softly says, his body losing all its tension as he takes the kid’s broken appearance in. “Hello.”

The kid glares up at him. He’s… small. Just a bit bigger than Richarlyson, maybe. Standard Junior Hero uniform, mask over his eyes and nose, and a lot of blood.

“Stop staring,” the kid huffs. His teeth are chattering, and his lips are blue from the cold. “Just call the Feds for me.”

“Oh, sure,” Cellbit lies. He shuffles to the kid’s side to try and block out the worst of the wind, and then he crouches just a little, just enough to try and see what the damage is. But the kid scowls and curls in on himself, wincing as he moves.

Ribs, then. Cellbit recognizes that flinch, he’s seen it on enough of his victims.

Wounds are fresh, fresh enough for the kid to still be alive, anyway. Torso wounds suck. Easy to give, harder to make lethal.

Cellbit sighs and pulls out his phone. “Which one are you?”

He doesn’t have the Federation’s app downloaded (because fuck that), so he texts Forever instead; he’s the mayor, he’s gotta have some kind of Federation of Heroes Hotline going on. He’s probably awake. If not, well. Maybe the police can actually do something useful for once.

The kid’s chest puffs out despite the pain, and he says, “I’m Thorn, duh.”

He’s a child, that’s what he is. And he’s a fucking terrified one- Cellbit doesn’t need to use his ability to feel the fear coming off of him in waves. Because he’s a little boy who probably hasn’t seen his parents in years and he’s all alone in a storm dying and the villain who did this to him is still out there waiting.

Forever texts back: ‘🤬🤬🤬’

So he’s told the Feds, who probably have an evac team on the way. Because this is the leader of the most recent Junior Hero graduating class, and it’d be bad PR to let him die alone in a ditch somewhere in the city.

But, well… he’s a kid.

So Cellbit slides his phone back into his pocket and presses the back of his hand against Thorn’s cheek. Thorn hisses- fucking hisses- and tries to scoot away, but he can’t get too far with whatever injuries he’s got.

“Calma,” Cellbit says, letting his ability do its work, “I’m just checking for a fever. My son gets them all the time, I know exactly what I’m looking for.”

And, yeah, Thorn’s feverish. More importantly, though, he’s calm. His heartbeat evens out, and so does his breathing.

Thorn stares up at Cellbit in shock. “You’re a dad? No way!”

What the fuck?

“Of course I’m a dad!” Cellbit protests. “Look at me!”

He drops his hand from Thorn’s face and gestures towards his t-shirt, hand-painted by Richarlyson and reading, “World’s Okayest Dad”.

Thorn is not impressed. “You look homeless.”

And technically Cellbit is, but he isn’t just going to say that! Not to someone who’s technically his enemy.

So he huffs and crosses his arms and plays at being dramatic. (He’s got plenty of experience after dealing with Forever for so long.)

“Whatever,” he sulks. “You’re the one in a stinky alley. At least I have a shower.”

The kid’s lips twitch into a very hesitant little smile. Mission accomplished.

“Yeah, but you don’t use it,” he counters.

It’s a shame Richarlyson hates the Federation almost as much as he hates showers, because he and Thorn would probably get along pretty well. (Maybe Forever can set up a play date…)

Cellbit makes a show of smelling his jacket- clean, freshly washed. He makes a face, anyway, and Thorn giggles, and it’s kinda hard to hate the enemy when they’re made up of literal children.

“I never said I do my laundry,” Cellbit sniffs. “Do I look like I have that kind of money?”

“No!”

“Hey!”

The kid laughs, head thrown back. And then he grimaces and doubles over, eyes briefly squeezing shut.

Cellbit takes another look around the alley. Nobody’s there but the two of them, which makes sense. What kind of villain would stick around after supposedly killing the Federation’s Junior Hero poster child?

With a sigh, he settles down into the snow next to Thorn with his back against the chilly wall.

“You called them, right?” Thorn asks.

“I did better than that. I texted the mayor.”

Thorn snorts. “The mayor doesn’t have any friends, pendejo. He’s too busy being the mayor.”

Ouch.

“I’ll be sure to tell him you said that.”

“Tell him that I’m gonna beat him up, too.”

“What?” Cellbit gasps exaggeratedly. “Why would you want to do that? He’s the mayor.”

“He’s stupid. He wants to put the Junior Hero Program into schools so all the babies can join it.”

Thorn frowns. He’s not scared, Cellbit made sure of that, but he’s worried. A bit different, and unfortunately out of Cellbit’s wheelhouse.

“My son wants to join,” he says.

Thorn shakes his head. “Well, get him out of it. It’s not worth it, man. Too much homework.”

“I thought you were gonna tell me it’s too dangerous.”

“Nah, it’s pretty chill.” (Now that’s a lie.) “I spend most of my time doing paperwork.”

Cellbit frowns sympathetically. “Yuck.”

Thorn sticks his tongue out. “Yuck.”

And it keeps snowing. The colder it gets, the closer Thorn gets until he’s pressed up against Cellbit’s arm shivering. Hesitantly, slowly, Cellbit puts that arm around Thorn’s shoulders and lets him try and huddle for warmth as best he can.

“You’re a weirdo,” Thorn mutters.

“I’ve met weirder.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Cellbit rolls his eyes. Yeah, he and Richarlyson would be very good friends.

It’s quiet, and then:

“Can you make me scared again?”

Cellbit’s heart stops. “What?”

Thorn turns his head to give him an unimpressed look. “I’m not stupid. I won’t tell anybody, but it’d be weird if they show up and I’m super chill, you know?”

“But-”

“I’m a hero, man. Nothing scares me.”

He’s also a child.

Cellbit gives him back his fear, anyway, this time with a simple worried head-pat. Thorn grumbles and leans away from the touch, but he got what he wanted.

Cucurucho, Cellbit hears, and, for once, he agrees.

Tires from down the road. That’ll be the Feds.

“You’re a brave kid,” he says. He squeezes Thorn’s shoulder with an assuring smile. “Stay safe, okay?”

He stands, and he helps Thorn up as well.

“Whatever,” Thorn grunts. He swallows the pain and stands up straight and tall as the Federation’s van pulls in front of the alley and slows to a halt.

Cellbit watches Thorn get helped into the van, and he watches the van drive away, and he stands there in that alleyway until he’s cold enough to become a Cellbicicle.

Then, and only then, he looks down at the single red rose poking out of the snow where the kid had been sitting.

(Rumor has it Thorn only grows roses in honor of his parents, reportedly both deceased. Cellbit doesn’t know if that’s true or not, but he leaves the rose be, anyway.)

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#deli superhero au #oh bobby

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chaotic-orphan · 5 months

Text

INTOXICATING FEAR — PART IX

Read part one here

Continued from here

TW: overall content warning, very uncomfortable, forced self-harm, self-harm, mentions of self-harm, explicit self harm, gory self harm, blood, cuts, knives, cutting, explicit detail of blood/wounds, gross depictions of blood, torture, threats of violence, hopelessness, sadistic whumper

This one is even a bit squidgy for me at parts so take care of the warnings and of yourselves! Enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

“Wakey wakey, Hero,” Villain sang. That was their only warning before a slap echoed around the room and Hero’s eyes shot open in shock. Villain was crouching in front of Hero, red lips tilted up into a half smile as Hero jerked forward. They didn’t get very far though.

Hero’s arms were kept restrained awkwardly behind them, bound tightly wrist to wrist. Hero frowned at Villain in question.

“Where’s Superhero?” Hero asked, voice erring on cautious. If Villain had managed to subdue or god forbid kidnap Superhero and use them as their own little puppet toy play thing then there really was no hope for either of them.

“Oh don’t worry your pretty little head about Superhero, Hero. They had to nip out on an errand which gives us some much needed alone time,” Villain said, their voice too high and pleased with themselves as they spoke, but their eyes… Hero swallowed the lump in their throat at the pain they promised. “Ah, there you are. There’s my scared, timid little Hero. You forgot yourself before, it’s okay. You can admit it, it’s only the two of us here after all.”

“I didn’t forget myself,” Hero snarled, bearing their teeth at Villain and jerking forward in the chair as far as they were able to. “I am done playing by the rules of your sick twisted games.”

Villain tilted their head to the side, dark eyes drinking in Hero’s threat. “Did seeing Superhero make you brave, Hero?”

“They’re going to see right through you,” Hero sneered, “and when they do I’ll be there. Watching as they beat the—”

Villain jumped at Hero, one hand going to their throat while the other pressed a knife against Hero’s cheek. Villain wrenched Hero’s head up so they were staring directly into Villain’s eyes with that cute little defiant look. Villain revelled at how still Hero went once Villain introduced the knife to their face.

“You won’t be able to watch if I pluck out those pretty little eyes, Hero, would you?” Villain mused. Hero struggled to free their head from Villain’s grip but Villain tightened their hold and pressed the knife in deeper until Hero stopped. “Ah, ah, ah, Hero. Play nice or my hand might just slip.”

“Take my eyes!” Hero spat, their voice taking on a feral growl to it, as they struggled furiously at their restraints. “Take whatever the fuck you want because you will fuck up sooner or later and it’s only a matter of time until Superhero finds out who you really are! So go ahead!”

Hero craned their neck up further, pressing into the knife that Villain held. Daring.

Bold.

Villain pulled away, dropping all contact from Hero. Hero let out a scoff as they dropped their head and rolled their shoulders.

“Yeah, thought so.”

“You know, Hero,” Villain said with a sigh, pressing the tip of the knife against their index finger and twirling it thoughtfully. They turned their back to Hero, walking towards the front door.

“You’re right. I didn’t really think the whole sickness thing through, if Superhero comes back and you’re still as feverish as you were, well,” Villain said inclining their head, with a wan smile: “they’d probably recommend a hospital or a healer… both of which I have no need of.”

Hero remained silent, they just glared at Villain as they continued.

“So, while you were out of it I was trying to think of a way to get Superhero off our backs and I had a little lightbulb moment, Hero,” Villain said, and looked over their shoulder at Hero with a grin, “you wanna know what it was?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.”

“You’re so un-fun, but I will,” said Villain, turning to face Hero now. “Sometimes stress manifests itself as illness, Hero.”

“Well I am sick of you, so that makes sense,” Hero grumbled and Villain laughed.

“And sometimes, it manifests as mental illness.”

Hero’s brows furrowed in question. Villain smiled. “Don’t you want to have a guess at what I mean by that?”

“Not particularly.”

Villain shrugged. “Good. So we can begin then.”

Hero tensed in the chair as Villain walked purposefully towards them, and then around the chair out of sight. Hero turned their head, but Villain pushed it back so Hero was forced to stare forward.

“Hey! Hey! What’re you—”

“Oh, not so brave now are we?” Villain asked, sarcasm dripping from every word.

When the cool metal pressed against Hero’s wrist they jerked forward, trying to get away but Villain said: “stay still,” and the sludge like command melted Hero’s brain until they were forced to remain completely still.

The metal pressed against Hero’s wrist again and to Hero’s surprise, Villain cut them free of the ropes or whatever was tying them to the chair. They still couldn’t move but for some reason being free didn’t exactly make Hero’s heart sing with joy. Something like dread settled at the bottom of their gut instead as Villain walked around the chair again.

“Now, Hero, illness… sickness, physical sickness can be treated by a healer or a doctor but mental illness? Especially from stress, perhaps… oh I don’t know, work related stress of being a Hero, for example. That is treated by time away from the stressors.”

Villain paused just to let their words properly sink into Hero brain. Villain didn’t speak again until Hero’s wide eyes met Villain’s with a panicked kind of hatred.

“No,” Hero said. “No! You can’t—”

“Oh, yes, Hero. Yes I can.”

“Superhero would never… they wouldn’t—“” Hero blubbered before furious eyes met Villain’s dark ones. “They would check on me everyday—”

“Would they? A good soul like Superhero? Or would the guilt of having maybe pushed you too hard, or not seen the signs earlier prevent them from coming regularly?”

“Wait, Villain. You can’t do this!”

“Oh I can,” Villain chuckled.

Hero’s mouth screwed up desperately, their breathing coming out a bit faster than necessary. “But— but, I won’t be as fun if you can’t fuck with me when I’m at the Hero tower, and you won’t learn about anything or be able to take down the Heroes from within, or— or—”

“Oh relax,” Villain said with a wave of their hand. “This isn’t going to be permanent, Hero. Just a long enough break away from the stressful environment of being a Hero. Some good old fashioned R&R with yours truly will set you right.”

Villain bit back a grin when they saw tears gather behind Hero’s eyes as they struggled to try and fight Villain’s compulsion.

“Please, Villain. Please! Anything but that, please. I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you want. Please, I’ll stop fighting you. Please just don’t— don’t—” Hero cried, cutting themselves off with a heartfelt sob, sniffing as the tears started falling down their cheeks.

Villain moved closer then, cooing at Hero’s pathetic display of desperation. Villain pressed a cold hand against Hero’s cheek, and brushed the tear streaks away with the coarse pad of their thumb. A sympathetic smile on their stupidly too-red lips.

“It’s okay, Hero. Everything will be fine. Come on, walk with me to the bathroom. The blood will be easier to clean off there.”

To Hero’s horror their body obeyed Villain’s command. Every neuron in Hero’s brain was firing at them to stop, to not go with Villain, to fight, to regain control over their own body but it was all in vain.

Hero stood from the chair and followed Villain across their living room into their bathroom. Villain turned on the light, and turned to grin at Hero, holding out a hand.

“What?!” Hero barked, wiping the angry tears from their eyes.

“Well you have two choices Hero, you either; step into the bath or hold your arms over it,” Villain said, leaning their lower back against the sink and crossing their long legs. “The choice is yours, it doesn’t really affect me.”

“Is it?” Hero asked, coming to stand in front of Villain, their heart thundering against their ears. If they could stall for time and wait for Superhero to come back, they could catch Villain in the act. They’d know that Hero was suffering at the hands of a fucking tyrant.

The corner of Villain’s lips quipped up. “Knock yourself out, Hero. Enjoy the freedom.”

“Except it’s not freedom cause either way you’re going to make me do one of them, aren’t you?”

“Well obviously,” Villain blinked, then smiled wide, “but I can wait if you want. We can wait until your precious Superhero comes back and instead of hurting yourself you can hurt them too. Would you like that, Hero?”

Hero swallowed, eyes narrowing into the points of a sharp dagger. “You said you wouldn’t read my mind anymore. Takes the fun out of it, have you changed your tune?”

Villain rolled their eyes and stood to their full height, stepping forward and knocking Hero back a step with their shoulder. Hero’s eyebrows rose in surprise as they stumbled back, forgetting that Villain was taller than them.

“Honestly Hero, I try,” Villain said with another step. Hero matched it with one backwards, still glaring up at them. “But sometimes it’s so rare that you think anything in that little noodle of yours that the thoughts are too loud for me to ignore.”

Villain pressed a finger into Hero’s forehead and tipped them back another step before Hero batted their hand away.

“Real funny, Villain. Hah-hah!”

“I try,” Villain said, flashing a charming smile. “But you’re right. I have decided. In the bath is better than out.”

Without pausing Villain pressed their palm flat on Hero’s chest, fingers spread and shoved Hero backwards. Hero hadn’t realised how close they were to the bath and with the hard push Hero was forced back, their thigh hitting the edge and they reached out to steady themselves but fell off balance. Villain getting further away as Hero fell, their head smacking off the tiles as they landed awkwardly in the tub.

“Motherfucker!” Hero cried, rubbing their head with a scowl as it pounded from the whack.

Villain shrugged leaning back against the sink again, arms folded across their chest. “I did give you the choice to get in the bath of your own accord. This one’s on you.”

“Maybe I want to lean over it,” Hero grumbled, fumbling to right themselves. When they settled Hero glared up at Villain from the tub. “Well we don’t have all day. Force me to do whatever you want, I don’t care anymore.”

“Hero,” Villain chided. “Don’t have that attitude, come on. Make it fun for me. Struggle a bit.”

“What’s the point? You’ll just use your powers on me and get what you want eventually. Let’s just cut through the bullshit.”

Villain shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Villain leaned off the sink and handed Hero the knife in their hand. “Hero, I want you to take the knife and roll up your sleeves and cut your wrists.”

Hero felt the blood drain from their face.

“What?” Hero whispered as their hand reached for the knife against their own wants. “Wait! Villain, you can’t want to kill me I thought—”

“Oh hush, Hero. Don’t be dramatic. Make the cuts horizontal. Not deep enough to bleed out or need stitches but enough to leave scars.”

Hero was rolling up their sleeves as Villain spoke. “Villain, wait please. Please! Wait! Stop! Why can’t you do this to me? Cut me? Make them believable? Please?! Villain please I don’t want to do this.”

Villain crouched so they were eye level with Hero, looking into Hero’s too bright eyes that were already tearing up at the mere thought of Villain’s command.

“What makes you think I care about what you want, Hero?”

Hero let out a sharp hiss as the blade sliced through their skin. Hero didn’t look down. They didn’t want to see what their body was doing to itself. Instead they stared at Villain as they cut and Villain stared at Hero, never dropping eye contact for a second.

That was until the third cut which hurt like a bitch. Hero sucked in a sharp breath as they banged their leg against the wall of the bath, wrenching their head up to stare at the ceiling and breathing slowly out through their mouth with a pained hum.

“Alright there, Hero?”

“Never bett— AGH! Fuck!”

This time Hero looked and they wished they didn’t. Sticky blood surrounded their wrist, thick and dark and gloopy looking. Hero couldn’t even tell where the cuts were because the blood from the last cut had washed over them all and left streams of blood racing down Hero’s palm. Splashing down onto the white floor of the tub.

Hero was going to be sick, but there was no time as their arm mechanically moved back to slice again. Hero looked up pleadingly into Villain’s dark eyes and found nothing but their own pathetic reflection staring back at them. Hero bit their lip to stop crying out on the last cut before Villain moved.

“Okay, Hero. That arm has enough. Mo—”

“Wait,” Hero croaked, licking their lips. “Waitwaitwaitwait, wait…”

Villain paused, tilting their head, eyebrows arching at interruption. They didn’t punish Hero though, or chastise them so Hero took that as an opportunity to continue.

“The… the blood— my knife will slip. I need to—”

“Okay Hero,” Villain said softly. “We can wait while you fix yourself.”

“Thank you,” Hero breathed, dropping the knife onto the tub floor with a clatter. Hero’s hands were shaking violently as they wiped the blood on their tracksuit bottoms, biting their lip to quiet the pained whimpers.

Villain clicked their tongue and said, “Hero stop. You’ll ruin them. Use the water.”

Hero blinked up owlishly at Villain, eyes glazed over as if the thought of using the bath hadn’t occurred to them. Hero nodded dumbly and reached over to the tab at the end of the bath and turned on the cold tap. The water was freezing. Before Hero could talk themselves out of it they grit their teeth and plunged their arm under the tap.

Hero let out a startled gasp of pain, making their other hand a fist and beating it off the side of the bath because the cuts stung under the icy water. Hero bit their lip and rubbed the sticky coagulated strings of blood from their arm and hand. They did their best to not watch them slither down the drain and instead focused on turning the tap off.

Hero looked down at their arm to see fresh bright red blood surface in their cuts. None of them too deep. Just exactly what Villain wanted.

Hero pushed themselves back to the middle of the bath, their tracksuit bottoms wet as they scooted across. Hero found Villain’s eyes with their own as they wiped the fresh streams of blood on their tracksuit, half to dry their hands, half to fuck with Villain just because.

Hero grabbed the knife and got comfortable, balancing their knees against the inside of the bath, feet planted on the bottom of the tub. They cocked a brow at Villain, as if to say I’m waiting and Villain had to laugh inwardly at the gall.

Villain’s lips quipped up at the simple defiance. “Okay, Hero. Now cut your other arm.”

Villain relished Hero’s shaking hand as they drew the knife over their skin. They wanted to record all of Hero’s micro reactions in their brain just so they can think on it whenever they’re feeling down. It was intoxicating.

To watch Hero’s hand shake, their body fight against Villain’s power and not be able to do a single thing to stop them. They could feel Hero’s mental resistance trying to fight Villain’s compulsion off them as they made the second cut. Villain drank in their expressions, every muted wince that they tried so hard not to show Villain.

It was pure turmoil they put Hero in, and it was addicting to watch. They could watch it all day, and never get bored but that was just with Hero.

Most of their other victims had a weak constitution and gave in a few days into Villain’s mental assault, in hopes that Villain would get bored and let them go, or maybe out of sheer weakness but not Hero. How long had it been now? Weeks? Months? And Hero was still fighting them.

Even if it wasn’t fighting Villain’s powers mentally it was their little looks of defiance, their unwillingness to concede even if it would make life easier on them. No… Hero was a fighter and Villain couldn’t get enough of them.

Their favourite part was coming up now… ah yes. After the third cut, Hero bit their lip to stop the sudden cry. A deeper cut. They brought their head up and stared Villain directly in the eyes, that defiance still evident through their pain filled, glassy eyes on the verge of tears.

It felt like Christmas and Hero was a gift for Villain to toy with, to batter and break and fix and break again, but a toy doesn’t give you that same satisfaction. The euphoria of seeing Hero’s white knuckled grip tight around the handle of the knife as they sliced through their flesh against their will, and tried to hide the pain in their expression. Trying and failing to hide it, but that just made it all the sweeter.

Villain leaned forward. “Two more, Hero. One deep, one shallow.”

“Nn— no,” Hero whispered, their hand shaking harder now. “No…”

“Remember little Hero, what you are. You’re my little puppet. My play thing, you don’t get to say no to me. Now, deep enough to hurt but not deep enough for hospital.”

“Fuck you,” Hero whispered venomously as they sliced through their arm deep. Hero cried out loud this time, craning their neck back to glare at the ceiling and Villain leaned closer. Observing the strain in Hero’s neck, their jaw their voice.

“FUCK! Ughh!” Hero groaned, stamping their foot against the wall of the bath again, trying to exert the pain in their arm and transfer it to the bath.

“Look at it, Hero,” Villain said, and Hero shook their head.

“Go fuck yourself, Villain.”

“Hero. I said, look at the mess you’ve made.”

Hero fought the command like they always did but still their head turned down against their will and their eyes fixed on the massacre of blood on their arm again. Villain watched as Hero visibly paled at the sight with a soft smile.

Hero made another cut while they looked at their arm and then Villain plucked the knife from Hero’s hand. Hero glared up at them. Villain just grinned.

“Clean your arms with the water, then change out of those clothes and put them for the wash. I’ll get the blood out of them, Hero don’t worry.”

“You’re so gracious,” Hero spat. Villain looked over their shoulder at Hero.

“Hero, slap your cuts for me.”

Hero barely registered the command but the sharp sting had them letting out a diminished howl through gritted teeth.

“You fucker!” Hero screamed after Villain, but Villain had already walked out of the bathroom laughing at the good of it. “I hate you!”

“I know, sweet Hero.”

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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