#Upper Slaughter

[vox-anglosphere]

The Cotswold Hills are dotted with timeless villages of great charm

[shima-draws]

Seething at one of the tags on that poll saying FMA is a military + genocide apologist anime have you even WATCHED it

[greatvaluegirlfriend]

r. f. kuang’s skill at writing a tight, gripping tragedy with an end you feel coming in your bones and yet cannot pull yourself away from, with a message about the infestation and horrors of colonialism that drills itself into your core until you cannot help but internalize its truths, with characters whose lives you want to explore and delve into so much you feel choked up when they’re cut short by the terrors around them…

it’s all why she is quickly becoming one of my favorite authors.

[maybeinanotherworld]

it's the fall term which means there's a bunch of first years running around campus and my only thoughts are a) who let all these children into my university? b) oh you sweet summer children

[li0nheartstories]

Author: li0nheart - ao3 // ffnet Series: Lion Hearts Fic: Golden (book 1 of 8) - ao3 // ffnet Chapter: Five - ao3 // ffnet Summary: An unwanted guest in the Cotswolds, a battle at the Natural History museum, and a mysterious new delivery at Fallow Farm leave Verity with more questions than answers. Honestly, trying to get any information around Foxglove Cottage is like pulling teeth! ______________________________________________________________ There was an ancient, sprawling Manor house between Upper and Lower Slaughter. Its oolitic, honey-hued stone stored remnants of the midday heat at its core - and an energy that was as old as the hills it came from. If walls could talk, this particular set would have many a secret to tell.

Colonel Edwin Brassey sat in his moth-eaten armchair, gazing out at the grounds of his family estate. His face told many tales; the lines of old age hid a litany of puckered silver scars. Though the battles of his youth were long since won, at this very moment, he was at war.

Something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew that things hadn't been 'right' for weeks. His thoughts were fuzzy, and they felt alien to him. Sometimes, his body simply wouldn't do what he told it to. He hadn't left his room in weeks.

This wasn't like Edwin at all. He could feel his fierce independence withering away, much like the body that betrayed him. To top it off, his staff had been useless as of late – it reminded him of that old film, Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

Edwin couldn't help but wonder if this had something to do with the arrival of his nephew, Thomas. By his own invitation, no less! Bloody rude he was, too. Turning up in the middle of the night, barking orders and swanning about like he owned the place. The chap had barely said two words to him since he commandeered the drawing-room all those months ago.

Grumbling, he rubbed at his dry, cloudy eyes. His father used to say, 'respect is earned, not given'. He would confront Tom later at dinner.

No.

Actually, no. He…wouldn’t.

Let it go.

He’d…let it go.

Thomas is family.

Thomas is…family, after all. ______________________________________________________________ A/N: If you would like to finish this chapter, head on over to ao3 or ffnet! 🥰 A batch of freshly baked cookies for anyone who guesses what the title means! 🍪 Book 1 is going through a mahoosive editing process, but I’m pleased to inform you all that chapters 1-10 are finished! 11-26 are still first draft; please don’t read those, it’ll be hella confusing. Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated! Feel free to drop me a line - I’m always on the lookout for more fic buddies. L🖤 xx

[cosmosis]

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - jealousy

miguel gets jealous possessive after a new intern flirts with you this is part of the same universe as my call oneshot!

Being 2nd in charge of the multiverse is... honestly not that hard for you. It’s mostly just co-leading, and being a secretary. Lyla helps out a bunch, but sometimes, a sassy AI can only do so much. 

Jess informed you of a new intern she recruited. Apparently, he’s having his first day today, which means you’ll probably have to do a quick run-through of things with him later. 

For now, it’s your fated duty to sit with Miguel at his desk so he doesn’t get all pouty later. He starts huffing and puffing when you aren’t near, takes it out on the kids sometimes. 

Thanks to your suggestion, Miguel invested in a nice desk and swivel chair for the office, so now it looks more like an actual workspace instead of a maniac’s plot room. (either way, he his one lmao)

Since Lyla’s gone for the time being, you’re standing up on the office platform, tapping away at a multitude of screens. Miguel lays lazily in the office chair, swiveled up behind you to rub his face into your upper back, as well as run his hands along your tummy. 

“Hun, you gotta let go. I needa tour the intern.” You mutter, closing in on an ID photo of the recruit.

“No.“

“Well, if I don’t do it, then who will?“ You ask. 

“Jess.“

“She’s busy on her break. Pregnant women need breaks, you know.“

“Ugh. I don’t want you to leave.“ He whines. squeezing you tighter. 

You start squirming out of his grip, pulling his pinky off of your stomach. Inching away, you push Miguel away by his head. Reluctantly, he starts letting you go, lazily running his hands onto the skin of your hips and lower thighs before letting go. 

“I’ll see you in a bit, baby.“ You say, scuffing up his hair with your palm. Gracefully, you leap down from the platform, somersaulting onto the floor and skating out the exit. You hop over a few stray cardboard boxes. 

Miguel watches you stroll away, and fixes his hair back into place. 

Lyla magically appears, phasing in and out with a different sly look each time. She snickers, flickering all around Miguel’s head. 

“Whipped.“

“Shut the fuck up.“

. . .

Miguel’s blood starts to boil as soon as you roll in with that stupid, bastard of an intern. He’s too close to you for comfort, so close to his arm nudging yours... Miguel’s teeth start to clench, his fangs close to drawing blood from his mouth. He’s paying too much attention to you, there’s a vibe he gets that he hates to his core. 

Everything about him is aggravating; the blonde hair, the snarky smirk, all of it.  

“...and this is Miguel’s office!“ You say, gesturing your hand to the majority of the area. 

“Sweet, nice to meet the bossman.“

Bossman, his ass. Miguel would only ever let you call him bossman. 

“Miguel! Come down!“ You yell, and his heart warms in his chest. He turns around from his standing form on the office platform, eyeing the intern in order to scare him a bit. 

“Hey, what’s up man! Glad to finally meet the man behind the slaughter!“ The intern exclaims, his hands rested on his hips. 

Miguel fights every urge to both roll his eyes and tackle the recruit, keeping a somewhat straight face on. He chuckles a little, not a single trace of a smile on his face. 

“Heh, yeah? Excited to meet the bossman?“ Miguel taunts, but it looks like the intern can’t tell he is. 

“Heck yeah dude! Where do I start?“

Miguel starts nodding a little, plastering on a face smile, chuckling a bit...

Before he throws the entire office chair at the recruit. Not to hit you, though. He’d never, ever hit you. 

Instantly, the intern turns away, shielding his body with his hands. In the nick of time, though, you latch your webbing onto the chair, slinging it away to side before it could harm anyone. You cross your arms. 

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry about tha- MIGUEL!“ You scream. 

And he throws a literal file cabinet at the man. Again, you latch it out of way without problem. 

“What th'heck, man?! What’s your fuckin’ problem?!“ The intern yells, spreading his arms out. 

“My fuckin’ problem is you nagging my wife!“ He roars. 

“Wait a sec- she’s your wife?“

Miguel then  leaps down from the platform, chin held up high in a sinister glare. Slowly, he steps over towards the both of you, fixing his eyes on the intern the entire time. 

Miguel’s tall, really tall compared to the newbie. He pokes his finger to the recruit, leaning in real close. 

“Stay at least 5 feet away from my wife at all times.“ Miguel utters, and you kinda feel bad for the new guy. 

You cross your arms. “C’mon, Miguel. He’s literally new, take it easy on him!” You say back, and Miguel pouts, whines. Possessively, he reaches over to you, pulling in you in by the hip to try to soothe you. It doesn’t work, and you present yourself from giving into his needy touches.  

And then, you turn around back to the newbie. “Gosh, I’m so sorry about that! He’s usually not like this-”

“Man, fuck this.“ The intern exclaims, taking a few steps back in agitation. “Take me back home, I ain’t dealin’ with this shit!“

He storms off, kicking a stray cardboard box on the way out. 

“Aw, crap.“

“Finally.“

You swerve back around, hands on your hips. “Miguel, that was uncalled for.”

“Yes it was! He was smothering all over you!“ He yells, throwing his hands up in the air like it was the most obvious thing ever. 

“Well, now thanks to you, we lost a recruit.“

“One of literally thousands!“

“And now, there’s papers everywhere on the floor!“

“Shhh, honey, I’ll clean it up later.“

Ignoring your frown, Miguel finally pulls you into him, pressing your lower back into his own with a nose into your hair.

“I saw the way he put his arm around you. He was flirting with you too. Hated it.“ Miguel utters. 

“When?“ You ask.

“On the surveillance.“ He says, and you sigh. He’s right, the guy was flirting with you for a bit, but you chose to ignore it so you could get over with the tour faster. 

“Eh, he gave me the heebie jeebies from the beginning.“ You say, and Miguel automatically squeezes you tighter into him, a deep grumble bellowing from his inner throat.

“I’m never letting you tour anyone ever again.“ Miguel admits.

“After that? Go ahead.“ You scoff, and finally, he sighs in relief. 

He tries drags you back to the office platform again, but then forgets that he threw the chair, grumbling in regret. Instead, he just hovers behind you for the rest of the day, occasionally pressing a smooch to your head. 

[pxob]

angel eyes

Genya Shinazugawa x Fem!Reader

Word count: 5524

Category: Enemies to lovers, slow burn romance, angst and fluff.

Warnings: Manga spoilers (if you squint), mentions of death, blood and injury and swearing.

Prologue 

Kanae-sama and Shinobu-sama had taken you in as a child after a demon attack had brutally slaughtered your parents. From that day on, you harboured a deep resentment towards the foul creatures that had caused so much pain and suffering, not just to you but to countless others as well.

Despite the trauma you had endured, your gratitude towards the Kocho family never wavered. They had taken you in, provided you with a loving home, and helped you heal from the devastating loss of your parents. 

While Kanao was timid and obedient, you were more like a replica of Kanae-sama's personality - kind, loving, and easy-going, except when it came to your deep-seated resentment towards demons. 

Your bond with Kanae-sama was as tight as any sibling relationship could be. Shinobu-sama recognised your deep connection with her biological sister and would even let her strict personality slip around you. From dawn until dusk, you trained with Kanae-sama and shared meals with her every evening. You were inseparable, to the point where Shinobu-sama had to physically intervene to separate the two of you. 

Until she died at the hands of Upper Moon 2. The news spread like wildfire, and you threw yourself into training with tireless resolve, determined to become the Tsuguko that Kanae-sama had hoped for. 

Kanao and Shinobu-sama were worried about you day and night, and despite Kanao's silent presence, she never left your side. She was aware of the hole in your heart that may never be filled again after Kanae-sama's death. 

A part of you, gone. 

“You’re not going to like this,” Aoi said as a way of greeting. She was standing at the sliding door of yours and Shinobu-sama’s research room. 

“Aoi-chan,” you looked up at her from your microscope. “What are you unhappy about now?” You teased. 

“Oh, it’s not me who's going to be unhappy,” Aoi said, giving you a knowing smile. You raised an eyebrow in curiosity as you heard a pair of unfamiliar footsteps approaching. 

Aoi stepped aside and introduced you to the boy. "This is Shinobu-sama's Tsuguko," she said, "She'll be giving you frequent check-ups, so please treat her with respect." Her words dripped with venom as she added, "And if you don't, I'll poison your medication." 

The boy stood in the same spot where Aoi had been moments before, his impressive height looming over her. He donned the uniform of a demon slayer, and his muscular physique strained against the tight sleeves. As you observed him closely, you couldn't help but count the numerous scars that littered his body. 

You also couldn't help but notice the unruly, unevenly cut hair on his head that resembled a rooster's comb. 

“You’re fucken kiddin’ me,” were his first words. 

You smiled in realisation, remembering clearly where you first met this boy.

Upon reaching the mountain top, you both were met with the discord of yelling and bodies shifting aggressively on the cobblestone path. 

“This is for starin’ at me, ya yellow-headed freak,” the boy shouted as he grabbed the other young boy by his yellow kimono. 

The examinees were scattered, murmuring, yet none intervened. 

“I WASN’T STARING AT YOU!” He shrieked. 

Everyone held their breath, waiting to see what would happen next. 

“Ya were, dickwad,” the boy replied, his fist raised menacingly. 

Without hesitation, you swiftly made your way towards the boy, grabbing his wrist tightly. 

“It’s rude to assault strangers,” you said calmly, a smile plastered onto your face. 

"The fuck," he said aggressively as he tried to retract his wrist from your grasp, you tightened your grip even more. 

The yellow-haired boy fled the moment he saw an opening, tears streaming down his cheeks as he trembled uncontrollably. 

“Let go, bitch,” he spat out, face turning red. 

Kanao took a step toward him, a silent threat emanating from her. 

“It’s okay, Kanao,” you said kindly, “Some people are unfortunate to not have been taught basic manners.” 

The bystanders began to chuckle lightly. 

"One day, I hope he learns to be kind," you said, twisting his wrist firmly. "Otherwise, his attitude will be the death of him." You then took hold of his elbow, manoeuvring it into a lock and guided him towards the ground. 

A resonating thump followed as he hollered below you. 

“YOU FUCKEN BITCH I’LL SLAUGHTER YOU!” 

“Your attitude has not changed since then it seems,” you stood, slowly walking towards him. 

He had grown an incredible amount in the short time since you last saw him, a clear indication of Himejima's rigorous training regimen and, most likely, his constant consumption of demon flesh. 

"Thank you for bringing him here, Aoi-chan," you said, the boy was staring back at you with a bewildered expression. "You may go now," you added, dismissing Aoi with a nod of your head. 

“Please come in,” you said, turning and leading the way towards the working desk, where there were two chairs on opposite sides of the table. “Please take a seat,” you gestured towards one of the chairs, noticing that the boy was still standing by the door. 

"I'm not coming in," he declares, looking down the hallway, averting his gaze. 

"Why is that? I won't bite," you joke with a friendly smile. But the boy remains rooted to the spot. 

“What’s your name?” you asked politely. 

“None of your business,” he snapped back. 

“Okay, none of your business,” he scoffed at that. “I’m going to be putting my valuable time and efforts into you-” 

“That was your choice,” he cut you off rudely.

Classic 

“Himejina-san informed me all about your case,” You walked towards the cabinet, situated on the far side of the room, where you stored all sorts of medicinal concoctions. Your gaze scanned the shelves, searching for the specific one you needed, after a few moments of searching, you finally found the right vial and walked back towards him. 

As you approached him, you noticed he was watching you every step of the way. You held out the vial and said, "I've created this specifically for your special case. It's designed to help mitigate any extraneous effects that may arise." 

The boy's eyes narrowed sceptically as he glanced back and forth between you and the vial. He hesitated before finally speaking up, "What if you poisoned this shit?" 

"Don't worry," you said. "It's completely safe.” 

He took the vial and inspected it closely. "Should you ever feel overwhelmed with the powers of the demons you consume, this should help ease it," you explained. "I recommend that you drink a tablespoon every half day and come back to me every week to check in on your progress." 

You took a step back from him and flashed a teasing smile. "And maybe then, you'll finally feel comfortable enough to share your name with me!" 

His face contorted into an irked expression, and he turned to walk away upon hearing your comment. As he strode down the hallway, you noticed him tuck the vial into his pocket and observed his ears turning red. 

A few days later, a group of three new demon slayers arrived at the Butterfly Mansion and were granted the privilege of staying there. You recognised each one of them from the mountain top of the final selection. Among them was the yellow-haired boy named Zenitsu, who seemed to recognise you even more. He took a considerable liking to you, constantly fawning whenever he catches sight of you. 

But what surprised everyone was the presence of a demon among them. It was unprecedented to have a demon among the ranks of the demon slayers; however, despite this, you have taken a liking in investigating the demon named Nezuko. 

Kanae-sama had a goal of eventually living in peace with demons. If Kanae-sama were here, she would have loved Nezuko, a sweet young girl who can easily be seen as a younger sister figure to almost anyone. 

“Zenitsu-san, your drool is creating a puddle on the ground,” you said as you were training. 

He sighed dreamily, “You’re so radiant, etherial, powerful-” 

You promptly resumed your training as Zenitsu's words started to sound like white noise. 

As he continued to ogle over you, another presence approached the training grounds. He stopped immediately upon seeing you training, his eyes scanning over your movements with interest. 

He watched as you effortlessly destroyed every single bamboo target with just a few swings of your Nichirin blade. Your movements were so swift and precise, as if you were dancing through the air. He couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy and spite as he watched you move with such ease and grace. 

He wondered how many hours of practice and dedication it must have taken to reach such a level of skill. 

He could tell that you had been a Tsuguko for quite some time, likely honing your skills through rigorous training and practice. If you continued at this pace, he couldn't help but wonder if you might become a Hashira in a matter of months. And what was even more impressive was that you would be the second youngest among the Hashira, which made your potential all the more remarkable. 

The thought of someone else reaching such a high level of skill and potential while he remained stagnant infuriated him. It stung even more because he had always wanted to impress his brother, the only person he ever truly wanted to please. But seeing your abilities, he couldn't help but feel like he would never be good enough in his brother's eyes. 

You turned around, a smirk spreading across your face as beads of sweat rolled down your serene complexion. "Oh, didn’t see you there," you said with a chuckle. "I'm glad you came back."

Zenitsu's eyes snapped to where you were now looking and he yelped, "SCARY MAN!" 

The boy turned to face Zenitsu and said, "Piss off, creep.” 

His words made Zenitsu run to where his other two companions were within the mansion. 

You headed towards the engawa, where a carafe of water was waiting for you. As you walked away, he couldn't help but survey the damage you had done to all of your targets. It was clear that you had accomplished it all without using any specific techniques, leaving him in awe. "How did you do that?" he blurted out. 

As you finished gulping the water, swiping the rouge droplets from your chin you asked, “Do what?” 

He pointed towards the targets, now reduced to mere fragments joining with the dirt on the ground. 

You let out a small laugh, "How did I do it without using any breathing technique?" You walked towards his side, "You're quite observant. How about you tell me your name and I'll teach you a thing or two?" You teased. 

"Genya Shinazugawa," he replied straight to the point. 

You grinned and said, "I meditate for an hour every morning and night." 

He looked at you with disbelief and asked, "Ya kidding, right?" He visibly deflated and continued, "Ya tellin’ me you sit on your ass and breathe for two hours a day? That's fucken ridiculous," his tone laced with disdain. 

"You'll understand one day," you replied, a hint of amusement in your voice, and then pivoted on your heel. "Let's start your check-up, Genya-san." 

“Take off your shirt,” you instructed. 

Genya stuttered in surprise, “What?” 

As you reached for the stethoscope from the table drawer, you said, "I need to listen to your lungs and heart for any defects.” 

“Oh.” 

Respecting Genya's privacy, you continued facing the opposite direction as he removed his upper layers. You could hear the rustling of clothes and then the sound of them falling to the floor. Once you sensed that he had finished, you turned around to face him. 

You couldn't help but marvel at his physique. At his age, he was unbelievably ripped with muscles and scars that seemed to accentuate his sculpted form, as if he was crafted from the finest quality marble. You rubbed your eyes, pretending as if something had gotten into them and then looked at him, only to find that he was already staring back at you. 

“Please have a seat,” you gestured towards the chair beside the table. 

He complied, appearing to be more cooperative than before. You pulled a stool in front of him and noticed him tense up, every muscle in his body taut. 

You clenched your jaw, put on the earpieces, and carefully placed the stethoscope on his left pectoral, listening to the booming beat of his heart.

 "Why is your heart beating so quickly, Genya-san?" You prodded, looking up at him through your lashes. 

"Drank tea," he replied too quickly. 

As you removed the stethoscope from his pectoral and stood up, you noticed that he was staring out the window. 

"Are you nervous, Genya-san?" you asked, trying to provoke a response. 

He snapped his eyes toward you. "Fuck no," he said, his voice tense. 

You towered over him as he remained seated in the chair, observing the way his jaw clenched and unclenched and his hands balled up in fists. Maintaining eye contact, you slowly walked around to his back and brought the stethoscope above his scapula. 

“Genya-san,” you said softly. 

"What?" he said sharply. 

"Your lungs aren't expanding and contracting properly," you pointed out, a clear indication that he was holding his breath. "I'm going to need you to take some deep breaths for me."

Reluctantly, he complied and you listened carefully to his breathing. His lungs seemed to be contracting more than they should for someone at rest. 

You took a step back and removed the stethoscope, gaping at the size of his back. Quickly, you shook your head, trying to clear the improper thoughts that had crept into your mind. 

He hastily gathered the clothes lying on the floor and put them on. “Has the medicine been helpful to you in any way?” you asked. 

He responded with a grunt. 

“I need you to respond verbally, Genya-san,” you insisted. 

“Yes,” he snapped. 

"Very well," you said, making your way to the table and focusing on the array of ingredients on your shelves, trying to regain your composure. 

"You're healthy. I'll just need you to avoid drinking tea before our next check-up," you concluded. 

You heard the sound of the door sliding opening. "Please close the door on your way out," you said delicately, not turning around to face him. He did exactly that, saying nothing but walking out of the room. You swore under your breath. 

As he sped down the hallway, his mind raced and his heart pounded with a sense of urgency. 

He knew he couldn't deal with you anymore. The thought of being trapped within four walls with you made his stomach leap, a clear indication of disgust.

Your soft spoken voice, loving eyes and kind touches had a way of making him feel at ease. He couldn't help but notice how you treated everyone with kindness, even those who mistreated you. It was intoxicating and he couldn't comprehend how someone could be so selfless. 

Your angel eyes saw good in many evil, it was something that both repulsed and charmed him at the same time. He couldn't understand how you could be so forgiving and compassionate, yet he found himself drawn to it like a moth to a flame. 

As he rushed out of the mansion, he bumped into a red-headed boy, barely registering his presence. The boy yelled something after him, but all Genya could think of was getting away from you. He needed to breathe, to clear his head, because the more he allowed himself to be drawn towards you, the more his carefully constructed plan to reach his brother began to crumble. 

He knew he couldn't afford to let himself catch feelings for you. It would only make things more complicated and could jeopardise everything he had worked so hard for. But the more he thought about you, the more he found himself unable to resist your angelic nature. 

Genya's frustration boiled over as he ran his hands through his hair, yanking on his locks in anger. "FUCK!" he shouted, lashing out and kicking a nearby rock, sending it careening into the trees. 

Today was the day of another weekly checkup. 

You were prepared, steeling yourself to remain professional and composed despite the tension that lingered between you. 

As you waited for Genya's arrival, you reviewed your notes and made sure everything was in order. Despite trying to remain composed, you couldn't help but feel a tinge of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. 

It was a little late, later than he had previously arrived. You tried to push the feeling aside, reminding yourself that anything could have delayed him and it was better to wait patiently. 

The sun had already set and the night stars were becoming prominent outside your window. 

"Where is he?" you muttered to yourself, glancing at the clock on the wall. 

You couldn't help but wonder if he was deliberately avoiding the appointment, perhaps because of his stubborn nature or his reluctance to be confined in the medical room. 

So be it, Genya. 

Despite trying to distract yourself with training, your thoughts kept wandering back to Genya. It had been several days since you last saw him, and you couldn't help but wonder where he was and what he was doing. 

But you pushed those thoughts aside and focused on your role as a mentor to Tanjiro, Inosuke, and Zenitsu. You spent long hours helping them hone their skills and improve their techniques. Tanjiro, in particular, showed remarkable progress and you couldn't help but feel proud of him. 

"Tanjiro-san, you're improving at an astonishing rate!" You praised him. 

"It's all thanks to everyone here, including you," he replied with a grin. 

One of the things that made you happiest was being able to help others. You had a big heart and always went out of your way to offer assistance, even when it wasn't necessary. Seeing others improve and achieve their goals gave you a sense of fulfilment that was hard to describe. 

"You too Inosuke-san, well done!" You gave his arm a genuine squeeze, acknowledging his effort. 

Inosuke mumbled something behind his mask, but you could sense the delight in his tone. 

Zenitsu, on the other hand, couldn't help but interject. 

"But what about me,” he whined. "Am I improving too?" 

"Well, Zenitsu-san, you're definitely...trying," you said diplomatically. 

Zenitsu pouted, clearly hoping for more praise, but you knew he had a lot of work to do before he could truly become a skilled demon slayer. 

Despite his flaws, however, you couldn't help but feel a soft spot for him. You looked around the training grounds and realised you needed to get back to your research. 

"I'll leave you all to your training," with a wave goodbye, you turned and walked away while they bowed in response. 

As you strode, you heard the sound of yelling and pleading coming from inside the mansion.

Your curiosity piqued, you quickened your pace and soon noticed droplets of blood on the hardwood floor. Your hand instinctively reached for the hilt of your sword. 

Running, you followed the trails of blood and desperate cries, your heart racing with fear and anticipation. Finally, you skidded to a stop, frozen at the sight before you. 

Genya had always been aware of the risks that came with being a demon slayer. But this particular demon had been stronger than he had anticipated and had managed to inflict injuries that were more severe than he was used to.

Genya relied on consuming the flesh of other demons to heal his own wounds, but this time he had not been successful in consuming a single thing from the demon. This lack of regeneration made the wounds even more excruciating and difficult to deal with. 

Despite the pain, his first thought was to find you, the medical expert who could treat his injuries. He knew that he needed your help to heal and get back on his feet. With that in mind, he had managed to make his way to the mansion, gritting his teeth through the pain as he focused on reaching you. 

Naho, Kiyo, and Sumi trembled in fear as Genya strode through the gates of the Butterfly Mansion, paying no heed to his open wounds. 

He was stubborn to reach you. He trusted only you to treat him or even touch him. 

Blood dripped from his wounds, leaving a trail on the floorboards of the mansion as he made his way towards your office. He ignored the cries of the three girls, driven solely by the hunger to reach you. 

“You’re dripping blood on the floor, please stop!” Naho begged. 

“Let us help you, Genya-sama, it will only get worse!” Kiyo added. 

“Shut up,” he snarled. He didn't mean to sound so hostile, but he needed to reach you without distractions. 

The sound of the girls’ screams echoed in Genya’s ears as he shoved his way towards your office, ignoring the pain that shot through his body with every step. 

His hand left bloody smears on the door as he pushed it open, desperate to find you. But when he stumbled into the room, he found it empty. 

His vision was blurry, and he was seeing spots, the pain almost unbearable. He staggered backwards, using the wall to steady himself as he tried to call out for you. 

Suddenly, he heard the skid of someone stopping behind the three girls who were still screaming in terror. He turned his head, his eyes fixing on you as you stood there with your hand on the hilt of your sword. 

You were frozen in place, clearly shocked by the bloody and battered figure of him. 

“Genya Shinazugawa!” You gasped in shock, your hand instinctively flying to cover your mouth. 

You gently moved Sumi out of the way to reach him. As you got closer, you saw the bloody handprints on the door and the exhaustion on Genya's face. Your heart sank at the sight of his injuries. 

“Please prepare the first aid materials in the infirmary,” you commanded the three girls, they ran quickly. 

"Genya, what happened?" You asked, your voice trembling with concern as you took a closer look at him. 

“Demon,” he said softly. “In a lotta pain,” he added. 

You nodded, your mind already racing with what needed to be done. "Let’s get you cleaned up,” you said. 

You gently took Genya's hand and led him towards the infirmary, careful not to aggravate his wounds. Despite the excruciating pain he must have been experiencing, he stiffened at the sudden contact. You noticed this and quickly dropped your hand, apologising, "Sorry, I should have asked." 

Genya grabbed your hand and held it tightly. "No," he said, "I liked it." 

Your eyes widened at his bold statement, and a blush crept onto your face. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you led him into the infirmary.

After a few hours of tending to Genya's wounds, he finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell into a deep slumber. 

You sat by his bedside, watching over him as he slept. As you gazed at him, you noticed how peaceful he looked, with his breathing slow and steady. 

With your heightened senses, you slowly turned to catch a glimpse of a white-haired man standing silently by the door. 

He lifted his index finger to his lips, signalling for you to stay quiet. 

You nodded in understanding, still surprised by his unexpected arrival. 

He sat himself softly on Genya's bed and pressed a kiss onto his forehead. Your eyes widened as you pieced together the resemblance between the two of them. 

Sanemi Shinazugawa left a kiss on his brother's forehead. 

After Sanemi finished looking at his brother, satisfied with the amount of care given to him, he walked towards you and whispered in your ear, “Thank you.” He then walked out of the room. 

The next morning, you decided to bring breakfast to Genya, wanting to compensate for his sore body with a meal served in bed. As you entered the room, you found him sitting up and staring out of the window, watching the lush trees dance in the fresh air. 

"Good morning," you greeted him with a beautiful smile, holding a tray of food in your hands. 

"Mornin’," he grumbled, his voice still heavy with sleep. 

You couldn't help but feel a little flustered at the sound of his voice. 

"I brought you some food," you said, making your way to him. "May I sit?" you gestured towards the bed. 

"Feel free," he replied softly. 

You sat down next to him and placed the food on his lap, pouring a glass of water from his side table. Genya was about to grab a spoonful of food for himself, but you gave him a warning glance. 

"What?" he looked confused. 

You took the spoon from his fingers and guided it to his mouth, feeding him yourself. 

His face turned bright red as he promptly covered it with his large hand, grabbing your wrist. "I can feed myself," he whispered. 

"I know," you replied with a teasing smile. "But I can't help enjoy seeing you blush.” 

He stared at you intently, as if searching for something in your eyes. 

“You need to eat, Genya-san,” you reminded him. 

He opened his mouth and you brought the spoonful of food towards him. He gratefully accepted it and sighed in satisfaction after swallowing it. Then, you brought the glass of water to his cracked lips. 

Water escaped from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. You quickly wiped it away with your thumb, but as soon as your skin made contact with his, you felt a jolt run through you. You looked up at him and noticed that his eyes had clouded over and his ears were red. 

"I'M SO JEALOUS!" Zenitsu exclaimed loudly. 

"Shut up!" Inosuke swatted Zenitsu’s head. 

Genya turned his attention to the door, where Zenitsu, Inosuke, and Tanjiro were peeking in. 

"Get. The. Fuck. Out!" Genya bellowed, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"Nezuko-chan," you said while sitting on the engawa, gently smoothing out her hair. She was lying on your lap as the two of you basked in the moonlight. 

She let out an enthusiastic hum, and her small hands reached up to grasp yours, nuzzling her cheek against your palm. 

The gesture made your heart swell with warmth, and you couldn't help but think that this is how Kanae-sama must have felt when you were younger. 

You chuckled softly as you noticed Genya’s attempting to spy on the two of you from the hallways of the mansion. "Ganya-san thinks I can't see him spying on us," you said with amusement. 

He made his presence even more obvious by speaking up, "Ya know you got a demon on your lap, right?" he said. 

"I am most aware," you smiled at him. 

The moonlight highlighted your features even more, making you look ethereal. 

"Why do you smile," he asked, his curiosity piqued. "When you feel so angry all the time?" 

His sudden analysis caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but feel a little surprised. 

Nezuko gazed up at you, her eyes full of curiosity and admiration. You couldn't help but think of Kanae-sama and how she used to play with your hair in the same way you were now with Nezuko. 

Genya's words had stirred up memories of Kanae-sama and the pain of her loss came flooding back. Your throat started to tighten, and tears welled up in your eyes. "Fuck," Genya was taken aback by your sudden change in attitude.

Nezuko's sudden embrace took you by surprise. You cried hard on her shoulder, the memories of Kanae-sama and the pain of losing her flooded back to you. Your tears wet her kimono, but she didn't seem to mind. It was as if she understood your pain, despite being a demon. 

Genya watched with a mixture of confusion and concern. He had never seen this side of you before, and it made him realise how little he knew about you. He always saw you as the kind-hearted person with a beautiful smile on your face, always ready to help anyone in need. 

It was difficult for him to see you in so much pain, and he didn't know how to comfort you. 

He hesitantly placed a hand on your head, and you made a muffled sound of surprise from the sudden touch. You turned around and looked at him through your wet lashes, tears still running down your cheeks. 

“I got you,” he said, looking you in the eyes and giving you soft smile. 

He sat down next to you, allowing his shoulder to touch yours. You felt a flutter in your chest at the contact and didn't dare move, afraid the moment might end. 

You looked down to check on Nezuko, she had fallen asleep in your embrace.

Genya's took your hand in his, it was so warm in yours as he ran his thumb along your knuckles. 

You leaned your head on his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of being close to him as you both gazed up at the night sky. 

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” You asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Genya shifted slightly, looking down at you. "Yeah," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "So beautiful."

Two months had passed since Genya started his frequent check-ups, and your relationship had blossomed into something beautiful. You found comfort and joy in each other's company, and Genya seemed to have found a sense of purpose being around you. 

On this particular day, the two of you were sitting on the engawa, overlooking the stunning garden of the butterfly mansion. The fragrant scent of flowers wafted through the air, and the gentle rustling of leaves added to the serene atmosphere. 

You had previously mentioned to Genya that you would meditate for two hours a day, and he had expressed interest in joining you. 

Sitting in silence, Genya found it increasingly difficult to stay still. His legs were losing feeling, his nose was itching, and he was just so close yet so far from you. It was pissing him off that he couldn't hold your hand, kiss your forehead, or have you play with his hair. 

As he tried to resist the urge to sneeze, Genya's nose continued to twitch uncontrollably. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable sitting in silence next to you, struggling to maintain stillness during meditation. He wanted nothing more than to hold your hand, feel the warmth of your touch, or have you play with his hair. But he knew that any movement on his part would break the stillness of the moment. 

Despite his discomfort, he refused to touch his nose. He had noticed that you had an amazing sense of spatial awareness, and he didn't want to risk breaking the peaceful atmosphere with even the slightest movement. So, he tried to hold on as long as possible, hoping the sneeze would subside on its own. 

It did not, it only got worst. 

He slowly opened one eye, feeling a bit apprehensive about disturbing your meditation, but then he couldn't resist the urge to steal a glance at you. However, he quickly regretted it when he realised that you were already staring back at him, a small smile on your face. 

"Have you been starin’ at me all this fucken time?" he snarled. 

"Yep," you chirped. 

"You little-" Genya was about to say something but you jumped up, giggling, and ran towards the garden. 

As you both tumbled to the grass, laughter filled the air. You could feel the soft blades of grass tickling your skin as Genya playfully pinned you down, his weight making it impossible for you to move. You looked up at him, his chest heaving from the chase, his eyes burning with mischief. 

You playfully pouted, pretending to be upset that Genya had caught you, but your smile gave you away. 

Genya couldn't help but notice the pout on your lips, and his eyes flickered back and forth between your eyes and mouth. He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he should make a move, but before he could do anything, you took the initiative. 

You pulled him towards you and pressed your lips against his. 

He was frozen at first, hands grabbing chunks of grass in an attempt to restrict himself, but he couldn't resist your allure. You whispered his name, which undid him, and he responded by deepening the kiss. 

As the kiss broke, both of you were left breathless. Genya looked into your eyes, his gaze intense and filled with emotion. Without a word, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, while he pulled you onto his lap. 

For a few moments, both of you remained entranced in each other's presence, the world around you fading away as your hearts beat as one. 

[vonderful-time]

i want to see someone write or draw a scene of the dark urge getting dragged to a political event by enver gortash either as his guest or as his bodyguard, and they are just having the worst time — awful wine, constant annoyances in the form of the upper class, and a request from gortash to “not kill anyone.” they are counting down the time until midnight, where they can bail and head into the sewers to murder some poor slop that just happened to look like that patriar who referred to them as gortash’s “mutt.” then, gortash asks them to step away with him, heading to a place outdoors that can just barely hear the music from inside.

gortash asks the dark urge for a dance, and the dark urge refuses. after all, the child of bhaal does not dance, not when their knife-hand was made for slaughter. besides, they never learned to dance — no one had seen the point in teaching bhaal’s flesh and blood the meager act. yet, gortash insists on it, perhaps even citing a nebulous favor that he waited until just that moment to cash in.

so, the dark urge relents, and gortash teaches them to dance. and at the end of the night, after hours of silence and the closeness of flesh, the dark urge returns to their temple, aching to gore a fresh corpse. it’s only when the dark urge is drenched in blood, standing before a mirror before sleep do they begin to practice those dances gortash showed them.

the dark urge was never taught to dance, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t want to do well the next time they danced with enver gortash.

[sassydefendorflower]

I've just realized something about General Olivier Mira Armstrong.

Finally, I've come to understand the reason why she hates Mustang so much - and why she still respects his men.

Olivier Armstrong is a military woman down to her very core. In that she is an interesting character because she is in many ways complicit with the military dictatorship ruling Amestris while also condemning it. She's a political moderate, a mediocre politician, a fierce warrior, and a great leader.

We don't know much about General Armstrong outside of her military career - and her relationship to her brother. We know she's the only female general in the upper brass, we know she's been nicknamed "The Northern Wall Of Briggs" and "the Ice Queen", we know she cares greatly for her soldiers... and she despises cowards.

Now how does she define a coward?

That's were things are starting to get interesting. Because General Armstrong called her brother a coward multiple times because he failed to do what was right in Ishval - but, important to note, it wasn't the heinous acts themselves that she condemned (though it is implied that she does indeed condemn them) but the fact that her brother didn't follow his own principles. He didn't abandoned the Amestrian army to fight for the people he had sworn to protect even though he wanted to. He just went home. And that's what makes him a coward in her eyes.

This aligns with everything else we see about her. She calls Mustang a "sniveling coward" multiple times and notes his lack of a backbone. And yet her dislike of him doesn't seem to run as deep as her disappointment in her brother. Some of that might just be that Alex is family and that means personal relationships do indeed play a role... but some of it is probably the very simple truth that Mustang is trying his best to make up for what he did.

He also failed in her eyes, following orders he knew were wrong, but where her brother fled, Mustang had the strength to stay and look his victims in the eyes as he killed them.

Mustang's team on the other hand did something that General Armstrong very much appreciates: they chose Mustang and his goals the same way the men of Briggs chose her.

Mustang might be a coward and a fool in her eyes, but she can respect the choices his team made.

There is one scene near the end of the show that showcases that beautifully. In episode 58 (or 57) Izumi and General Armstrong get the general to confess the brass' plan to sacrifice the Amestrian people in front of a bunch of soldiers and - after hearing their own death sentence uttered by a commanding officer - the soldiers are unsure how to proceed.

And Armstrong gets angry at them.

Because they are simply following orders. They were killing her people and condemning her country - simply because of some orders that they never learned to question.

And in General Armstrong's eyes that's the actually unforgiving act. Killing and slaughtering for the army is not something she has any problem with (as evident by the Briggs soldiers bloody takeover during the Promised Day) but it needs to be an act of conviction. Looking away and hiding behind orders is what Armstrong sees as cowardly.

It's what Mustang did in Ishval and what his men failed to do when they followed him willingly. It's what Alex couldn't see through, but Olivier made sure her soldiers knew before joining her.

She wants to change Amestris and it's military, not because she's an idealist like Mustang, but because she wants a military in which each soldier is responsible for the people they kill.

It's fascinating because General Armstrong doesn't have the moral high ground - she doesn't see the military as rotten the same way Mustang does, and she doesn't see killing as wrong the way Edward does. She doesn't even contemplate her own kills with shame the way Hawkeye is prone to, or judge the system as harshly as Izumi does.

But she does have a strong moral core as a character, one that would perhaps even agree with Kimblee's famous quote: "Look straight at the people you kill; don’t take your eyes off them. Do not ever forget them because they won’t forget you." - and if you don't agree with an order given? It is your duty as a soldier to defy it.

That's why she can trust her men to plan a coup without her being there to lead them - because she knows every choice they make will be one they can live with. Just as every order they follow is one they can justify.

She is an interesting character because she questions the system while endorsing it - and that puts her at odds with both the military complex and Mustang and his team. It achieves complexity in what could very easily have been a simply narrative.

Olivier Mira Armstrong hates cowards - but she respects those who stand up for their believes, even if those believes defy her.

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

4. 𝓘𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓱𝓪𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓼

(Y/n) stirred in her bed, a faint smile of contentment gracing her lips as she slowly awoke from a restful slumber. However, as her eyes fluttered open, she realized she was in an entirely unfamiliar room.

The lavish bedroom enveloped her, featuring a grand bed adorned with light burgundy covers. Towering windows, concealed by beautiful curtains of the same hue, blocked any intrusion of sunlight. The walls bore intricate woodwork painted black, while an imposing black chandelier dangled from the ceiling. To her left, a set of shelves displayed a collection of exquisite porcelain dolls, the kind she only saw in the exclusive toy shops of the city.

Startled by the sound of a creaking door, (Y/n) snapped her head in its direction, memories of the horrifying events flooding her mind. She rapidly propelled herself out of the bed, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the approaching figure. Her back met the cold, unforgiving wall, and her eyes remained locked on the intruder, a monster wearing the guise of a man, who strode into the room.

"You're awake," the vampire noted, and she whimpered, her fear of a repeat of the brutality she had witnessed overwhelming her.

"Please," she implored, her voice but a whisper as she hugged herself for comfort. "Don't hurt me."

The duke halted in his advance, his face marked by a perplexed frown. "Hurting you, starshine ? That is ludicrous," he objected, almost horrified at the thought.

Unable to contain her fear, (Y/n) broke down. Hugging her knees to her chest, she wept. "You slaughtered my parents," she cried, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. "I will be the next, won't I?"

It was only when the vampire placed a gentle hand on her shoulder that she noticed his proximity. "Never," the monster replied, his tone far gentler now. "Do you not understand, doll? I took you in. You are my child now."

With uncertainty and fear etched into her expression, (Y/n) raised her head. "My parents..."

"Don't matter," he curtly interjected, his eyes narrowing as a possessive glint emerged in his eyes. "I shall be your father now."

⊱ ────── {⋆☾⋆} ────── ⊰

It had only been a few hours since she had woken up in this manor. (Y/n) had slightly calmed down, but the presence of the vampire, always somewhere next to her, was suffocating. The nobleman was delusional. In his delusion, he wished her to see him as her father, the very same father he had so brutally taken from her.

Her heart thumped as he brushed her hair with a sickeningly tender care. She sat before a black vanity, and he loomed behind her, treating her as if she were some doll to be played with.

In this moment, the vampire held the upper hand, his immortal capabilities making him the dominant figure. But (Y/n) understood that she had to bide her time, to either wait for him to grow tired of her or for an opportunity to escape. The being wanted a child, a girl to pamper, yet (Y/n) was eleven, and she knew that he would eventually tire of her. He would either let her go or kill her. She gulped as she thought about that alternative. The girl would have to behave, so that the duke would like her enough to not end her life.

"I cannot wait until your twelfth birthday," announced the man with a soft smile.

"What will happen on my birthday ?" She asked with uncertainty.

"Your turning," he replied with an unsettling excitement.

A chill ran down (Y/n)'s back. "Turning ?" She repeated. She wasn’t sure of what he meant by that, but she had a feeling this was anything but good for her.

"You will be turned into a vampire once you reach the age of twelve," he declared matter of factly. "I would have turned you now, but laws are unfortunately against it."

The human shook her head, and he tutted, his dissatisfaction palpable. "I don't want to be a vampire," she urgently protested.

"This is a gift, starshine," the man rebutted with insistence. Steadily, she stood up, and he sighed in frustration. Catching her wrist, he prevented her from getting away from him. "This matter isn't debatable," he hissed, his eyes narrowing in a display of authority.

His grip on her wrist tightened and she felt as if a coldness emanated from his hand, freezing the girl's hand. She cried out when she saw ice encasing her wrist and tried to free herself, her struggles a futile effort against his supernatural strength and abilities.

"You will stop your little fuss at once and will behave," he growled with fury, and she flinched at the dangerous look in his eyes. "Understood?"

With a slow nod, she reluctantly acknowledged his dominance, her gaze lowered in fear as she withdrew her hand and settled back into her seat, her trembling hands resting on her lap. The ice forming on it had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

"You foolish child," he hissed, continuing to brush her hair with increasing force, bordering on painful. "You don't understand the gift I'm offering you. Immortality, power, and wealth beyond your wildest dreams. You would never have to suffer or feel pain again."

The girl recoiled slightly as his voice grew more menacing, but she refused to give in to his words. "I don't want any of those things if it means becoming a monster like you," she said firmly, looking him straight in the eye through the mirror.

He used more strength and she winced in pain. "You're being ungrateful," he snarled. "You don't understand the power and freedom that comes with being a vampire. You'll never have to worry about death or weakness again." He leaned in closer, his breath cold against her ear. "And you'll never be alone. I'll always be there for you, to guide and protect you."

Trembling with fear, (Y/n) was repulsed by the idea of being eternally bound to this monster. "I don't want your guidance or protection," she stated firmly, her resolve unbroken.

"You are but a mere child," he scoffed dismissively. "You don't know what is best for you. You shall thank me for this one day."

The girl continued to tremble in fear, but she remained steadfast, determined to find a way to escape his grasp and safeguard herself from the monstrous creature before her. She knew little about vampires, but she was aware of their inability to withstand the sun.

Soon though, a crease formed on her forehead as she muttered to herself, "Vampires can't withstand the sun."

The duke's gaze locked onto her, acknowledging her statement. "Indeed," he confirmed.

Biting her lip, she continued, "But you can walk in the sun. I saw you do so before."

He acquiesced, lips quirked up with amusement, his eyes shimmering. His left hand rose, unveiling a ring adorned with a small orange gemstone. "This is a chevalier ring, an expensive and sought-after artifact that shields vampires from the sun's harsh glare."

"The ring protects you from the sun ?"she inquired further, wanting to know more about this item.

"More accurately, the carnelian within," he clarified with a nod. "Few possess the ability to craft them."

Tilting her head, she pondered, "So not many vampires have them?"

He nodded solemnly. "It is reserved for the more respectable ones. But worry not; I shall have one crafted for you upon your turning."

Fear took hold and her body went cold with dread once again.

“Smile, dear,” he urged, as if what he planned to do to her was something to celebrate. “This is for the best.”

[whiskersz]

Oooh, someone who writes for Husk! May I request an x reader where, during the extermination, Husk finds and spares a(n exterminator) reader who is hiding and crying because she did not have the courage to kill anyone? It's her first time as an exterminator, so she is terrified. Specially because it was not the noble cause she was made to believe it was. She eventually returns to Heaven, but promises to keep this act of kindness in mind. Thank you!

Hello there! This is rather short, and I also decided not to write it in simple present as I usually do, but perhaps...

...you guys would enjoy a longer, more detailed Part 2?

Let me know! Hope you enjoy this on its own nonetheless, at least for now ;)

━─━────༺༻────━─━━─━────༺༻────━─━

Husk x Exorcist!Reader

Husk panted, taking advantage of the rubble left in place of the Hazbin Hotel to hide and take a breath in the midst of the battle.

He had to admit that if they had been able to stand a chance against the exterminators it was only thanks to the residents of Cannibal Town, who were still out there slaughtering who was probably going to be their next meal.

 His wings fluttered, dust dissipating into the air, and he adjusted the hat that was miraculously still on his head, kept in place by his ears. Nothing like fighting with style, he thought, quickly grooming the fur on his arm.

About to come out of hiding and get back on the battlefield, his ears perked up as the slightest noise made him stop in his tracks. Was someone after him, and had they just been waiting for him to turn around and let his guard down?

Husk unsheathed his claws, his tails swaying from left to right in anticipation.

With a bunch of confident steps he reached a pillar; whoever was behind it was trying to be as quiet as possible, but nothing escaped his acute hearing as they shifted and emitted the same sound he had heard initially.

As the corner of his eye caught a splash of black belonging to the armour of an Exorcist, Husk hissed, throwing himself at the figure before they could do it first; his claws were about to come in contact with their skin before they weakly grabbed his arm and began pleading.

“NO! Please, please don’t hurt me! I wasn’t going to attack you, I-I swear!”

Husk assumed that his eyes must’ve been busting out of his sockets in surprise. He lifted his body from the Exorcist’s, who pathetically curled up on herself and clawed at her own upper arms’ skin, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Her mask wasn’t covering her face, rather it was broken, long forgotten several feet away from where the two were positioned.

The bartender took a few steps back for personal safety and frowned at her;

“You...what’re you doing here? Maybe I shouldn’t be reminding you this but...” he gestured at the Angelic Spear thrown on the side, “Aren’t ya supposed to be doing your job? Trying to kill us?”

He waited for the Exorcist to calm down, her sobs slowly coming to a stop after what felt like the longest minute of Husk’s life, bombs exploding in the background and making the ground shake.

“I’m...” she started, clearly trying her best not to start sobbing again, “This is the first time I come down here, they’re shit at explaining! I-I don’t know what to do, I don’t want to hurt anybody! Adam made me believe this would be worth it, but I don’t...have the courage to kill anyone...”

He let her rant, fur flattening as he began calming down. He let out a groan, to which she looked down, most likely ashamed of herself.

“Look. I don’t know you, but do me a favour...” he looked around, making sure nobody was listening in, “Stay here, should be safe enough for ya to hide until the battle’s over.”

The Exorcist’s gaze travelled back up, meeting the demon’s.

“And once you’re out of here, leave that good for nothin’ army, if you’re as good as you claim to be.”

With a flap of his wings, he was gone. She knew that, had it been anyone else, they would’ve probably killed her with no remorse. But the soul she had come across was kind, selfless. Perhaps not all deserving of residing in Hell. He had no time to stay and console her, of course, but she would’ve been thinking about his words a lot.

The chilling screams of her Exorcist companions in the distance brought her back to reality; she collected her mask and spear, and hid further into the rubble.

[signedeclipse]

Hello! I was the one with the cannibalism request. 🫣 I really loved the headcanons you wrote! 😊

I would like to make another headcanon request for Kokushibo, Hantengu and Kaigaku with a reader who's blind. They could see when they were much younger, but now most of their vision is lost, and they have difficulty navigating at night. At first they didn't even recognized the other as a demon but were very accepting when they found out. Now they hate to be away from their demon partner and would rather spend every minute with them. I can also see them utilizing their condition to lure in victims (by asking for help) for their demon to eat.

Thank you in advance and I hope you have a great day! ☺️

Hantengu | Kaigaku | Kokushibo [X Reader]

In which their s/o is blind, and helps them lure humans in for eating.

Hantengu

Ever since he met you, alone and lost, he felt pity that you had been left to nothing for something out of your control

Of course, you were just like him, so he would protect you if it meant protecting his own ego

But you were so kind, and you didn't say anything cruel or judgemental to him, he could go as far as to say you depend on him

He liked that a lot, it made him feel special

Being apart of him, the clones didn't touch you either, either amused by your lack of sight, feeling pity, overtaken by anger at those who wronged you, or liking having something so new around

Fortunately all their eyes were different, save for Hantengu and Sekido, so it was easy to tell them apart if not for their personalities

In no way was the Upper four weak, but sometimes he was a bit...scared

He noticed how you attracted people to him, and how easy it was for him to kill once secluded

So you did it more so he could kill, instead of his clones

You empowered him and all of his egos, fueled him and made him far more powerful

God forbid someone you're luring try to harm you, they'd be dead before they can even realise what's happening, and left to rot

Him and the clones don't find trash all that delicious

Kaigaku

He found you quite pathetic all things considered

Lost with no one around, stumbling and trying to find some kind of light so you could gather your bearings

Those electric blue eyes of his, they pulled you into a false sense of hope

But through your words, so unknowing of who he was, you convinced him to humour you for awhile, as if playing a game

Kaigaku gets attached similar to how you do, but far more possessive and jealous

In a messed up way he likes that you can't see well because it means you'll only ever know him best

The fact that only he can protect you and keep you safe gives him a superiority complex, but he rarely beats down onto you about it

Your kindness is hard to combat, but he does act like he hates it

In his months as a demon, it was hard to find people to kill without making a scene, and when you saw him starving like that, you convinced yourself you could bring someone back

And with a false story about someone robbing you, three men were lured into your shared home for the slaughter

He kept it clean so you wouldn't get sick- not that you'd really notice- and since then encouraged the behaviour

Once he heard a group of people bullying you for falling in mud after you slipped

It was the only time he decided to make a real mess, leaving trails of organs across the street for all to see

You had to move but he found a better place anyways

Kokushibo

Kokushibo can be very quiet, so when you call out to him or he feels the need to say something, it usually scares you half to death

Once caught your arm moments from hitting him because you felt something on your neck and figured it was an insect- it was his breath

Tends to be unhelpful because he wants you to adapt as much as you can, and to remain independent

But on the rare occasion he'll allow you to cling to his sleeve and step slowly through darkened places

Might let you get minor injuries from walking into things but he would never allow you to gain a scar

The first time you lured someone, it was an accident

He had left without telling you, and in a panic you yelled out for him while falling

A hunter heard this and came to your aid, but Kokushibo had them handled moments before they even touched you

It happened mostly by accident

But if he was ever weakened, upset, or having trouble getting someone from a crowd?

He'll just say he needs a favour, and then leave you stranded in the street until someone comes prancing

If anyone does the opposite of helping and tries to harass you, he'll make sure their death is prolonged

Consider a thousand deep-ish wounds, so they can bleed out till morning

Authors Note - Honestly so rare for a Kaigaku request which makes me sad cuz ahhh I love him! He's really great and deserves more fanfics... But thank you for coming back Shrew (if i can call you that), your last request was such a hit I think ive written 2-3 extra requests off of it already haha!

Please enjoy and come back soon!

[peachdues]

Wreckage

(Sanemi x F!Reader)

A/N: written back at the start of the month.

CW: angst • all hurt, no comfort • reader death • violence/death/blood

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It had lasted through the night, that bloody war.

The sky above them was gray and wet; rain had long since dampened the earth, mixing with the carnage strewn about the remnants of the crimson-soaked battlefield. Though daybreak had finally arrived just a few minutes prior, the muted sunlight still working to chase away the smoldering remains of the demons slain, Sanemi felt as though he’d been wading through the slaughter for hours. His legs ached and his lungs screamed at him to stop, to sit and wait for the Kakushi to arrive and render first aid, but he could not; he had to find her.

A horde of demons had sought to feast upon an entire village, one with known ties to the Corps. In a desperate attempt to avoid mass casualties, the Master had sent three Pillars rushing to the scene, though many lower-ranked skaters had already been lost.

It seemed the Hashira almost had the upper hand, until he’d arrived.

Muzan Kibutsuji’s right-hand monster had deigned to grace the battlefield with his presence, ominous and lethal. Even other demons had cowered the moment he’d unsheathed his hell-sword, some choosing to flee rather than be caught in the crossfire.

Sanemi had been cutting through demons one after another, when he’d caught sight of the Lunar Hashira launching a defensive attack on the Upper Moon, in a desperate attempt to shield a group of younger slayers from the beast’s attack. He’d desperately moved to help her, but before he could reach her, Sanemi had been forced to defend against an aerial strike, and in so doing, he’d lost sight of the Pillar.

Later on, Sanemi managed to briefly engage Upper Moon One, though at the cost of a deep wound to his thigh. The battle only ended once the sun began to bleed through the sky, forcing even Kibutsuji’s highest-ranking demon to retreat into the shadows to avoid daylight’s punishing reach.

And so, the demons had left the surviving slayers to wade through their wreckage.

Sanemi was half-dragging himself through the limbs and entrails of his comrades, his right leg rapidly growing numb from the oozing gash he’d sustained from Upper One, but he paid it little mind. He persisted in his trek, even as he sunk to his knees amidst the mud and blood, because he had to find her — even if it meant hauling himself across the field with his bare hands.

By some miracle, even his color-blinded eyes could recognize the back of her familiar-patterned haori, only a few feet to his left, half-lying a top another fallen swordsman.

Sanemi felt relief, coarse, and sweet, pulse through him as he dragged his bleeding and broken body faster towards her, her name on his lips. He realized, as he drew nearer, that she wasn’t moving, and he called for someone — anyone — nearby to come help the fallen Pillar, to get her quickly to Kocho or the Butterfly Mansion for treatment.

He could see the thick, dark stain that spread across her tattered haori, but that did not dampen the flutter of burgeoning optimism he felt. Because, while he was covered in blood as well, they’d made it — and he could chew her ass out for getting so injured once he helped her get all patched up.

A scarred hand stretched out to grip her shoulder and he turned the motionless Pillar towards him. Sanemi loosed a breath of relief at the sight of her open eyes, because that meant she was conscious.

“C’mere, baby,” he grunted, sitting up and hauling her partially into his lap, helping her to sit against him. “Where’d he get you? Your shoulder?”

Sanemi looked to where he cradled Y/N against him, hands on either side of the woman’s waist, and could see the blood beginning to stain his skin. “Damn, sweetheart, he got you good.” He pressed a kiss against her rain-cooled forehead, to comfort her. “We’ll get you help soon, baby. I’ve got you.”

Y/N said nothing, her head merely thudding against his chest, and he worried that her injuries had sent her into shock; after all, the Wind Pillar could not remember the last time a demon had even been able to draw her blood, let alone wound her. A tightness bloomed in his chest, and Sanemi cast his eyes around, frantically scanning the battleground for any sign of the familiar butterfly-patterned haori of the other Hashira who’d been dispatched with them.

Sanemi’s gaze finally landed on the young doctor, only a few yards from where they lay as she limped away from helping another slayer.

“Kocho! Here!” Sanemi yelled, voice hoarse after hours of yelling and fighting.

The Insect Pillar looked around, trying to see over the piles of corpses and parts as she scanned the carnage for her fellow Hashira. Violet eyes met his, and Sanemi felt the suffocating tightness in his chest ease as she advanced towards them.

“I can’t tell where she’s bleeding from,” the Wind Pillar explained as Kocho drew closer to the pair. “And I think she’s in shock.”

Kocho made it to Y/N’s feet but drew short with a sharp exhale, her eyes widening as she looked over the Pillar gathered in Sanemi’s arms.

“Kocho ,” Sanemi urged, the edge in his voice appearing finally to inspire movement in her as she came around and crouched down by Y/N’s side.

“Shinazugawa,” Kocho whispered, and Sanemi looked at his fellow comrade in confusion.

“Please, Kocho, she needs help,” he repeated, trying to lift her towards the doctor. “So help her.”

Wordlessly, the Insect Pillar’s pale, bloodied hand trembled as she reached out towards Y/N. She hesitated slightly in mid-air, before she brushed her fingers gently over the Pillar’s eyes, closing them.

Sanemi gaped at the pale, shaking woman. “What’re you-?”

But the wounded Insect Pillar only continued to stare at him, her eyes filled with an inscrutable sorrow that vexed him, as she shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Sanemi’s own head began to shake on its own accord, parroting that of Kocho’s. “No, no, just — see,” he muttered, shifting Y/N in his lap again so that she lay across his thighs, her face turned towards him.

“Y/N,” the Wind Pillar said gruffly, “Y/N, you’ve gotta — you’ve gotta tell Kocho where it hurts.” Sanemi jostled the unmoving woman in his arms slightly, insistent. “Wake up, Y/N.”

The Lunar Pillar remained utterly still in his arms, and Sanemi felt his heart quicken.

He brought the hand he’d had supporting her lower back up against her face, lightly slapping her cheek in a desperate attempt to make the woman he loved open her eyes again.

“Y/N,” Sanemi growled, his vision becoming blurred not by the cold rain, but by tears as his heart began to accept what his brain could not. “Open your eyes, dammit.”

“Sanemi,” Kocho’s voice was soft, dangerously soft, as she brought a gentle hand to rest against his shoulder. “She’s gone, Sanemi.”

Sanemi did not look up — could not, as he pressed his forehead against the Lunar Pillar’s temple. His fingers trembled as they brushed back the blood and rain-soaked strands of Y/N’s hair from her face and caressed the cooled expanse of her cheek.

“Please,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers, over and over. “Please, Y/N. Let Kocho fix you.”

Still, the Lunar Hashira did not move. He felt as though he were suddenly submerged under water, a dull ringing echoing in his ears, as Sanemi stared down at Y/N in horror. His breath came fast and hard through his mouth, and his vision was nearly obscured by the tears that fell hot and fast from his eyes, splattering onto Lunar Pillar’s frozen, ashen face.

Shinobu hung her head as Sanemi Shinazugawa slumped over the corpse of his deceased lover, cradling her head in his hands, forehead still pressed against hers, as he began to wail, broken and lost amidst that bloodied battlefield.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

😇

Also I made my own icon for the first time so that’s cool!

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 11

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Happy Father's Day and early Juneteenth! In honor of the holiday weekend, here's an early chapter update. 😘

Word Count: 4,000 Tags/Warnings: Violence and peril, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Part 11: The Lion’s Den

“Where is she?” Ben asked, once he and Frank were loaded in the car. 

Loco and his team had to stay behind as their distraction for escape. If they weren’t slaughtered, they’d be taken into custody. 

Ben knew he could’ve wasted all of them, Butcher, his team, the CIA, but the nuclear power in his chest had refused to cooperate…

Anyway, Black Noir hadn’t been there. So it was all the more useless to stick around. The real plan was with you, and he was very surprised that you’d stuck to it…but maybe he shouldn’t have been.

“She was brought to the Tower,” Frank informed him.

Ben smirked. “Good. But pretty fucking stupid of Stan to stick around there when he knew I’d be coming.”

He looked over and noticed Frank’s frown as he drove. 

“Unless he’s not at the Tower,” Frank said. 

Ben’s smirk fell. Why would that prick take her there if…

“We have to be open to the possibility that his Chief of Security is taking the matter of his daughter into his own hands,” Frank said. “Or she’s improvising.”

Ben frowned. 

That didn’t change when they arrived at the Tower, and attempted to use the entrance through the back garage to avoid attention. But it didn’t matter. 

The entire squad of Vought security, included what looked like some added muscle (hopped up on what smelled like V24), met them when they reached the lobby of the building. Now that the Seven had been disbanded, there was no pretense of “good guys vs. bad guys.” It was just defense and siege. 

And in front of them all was Black Noir. 

“There you are,” Ben said, but the other supe didn’t even tilt his head in greeting. He was a still statue, an attack dog given a single mission. 

When Noir surged forward, Ben ran to meet him. It was a clash of blade to shield, fist to fist, grappling and reflexes that only Compound V could endow. The match tore through the lobby, then up the large staircase as Ben continued to fight his way up to Stan’s office. 

Frank was already on his way up to you, but it would take him time with Vought security crawling all over them. He was good, and temporarily a supe, but he was still just one man. 

Meanwhile, Ben and Noir’s fight spilled into the upper floors, through walls and offices and screaming employees trying to get out of their way. 

Once they reached near the floor below Stan’s office, Ben got an arm around Black Noir’s neck, and with his free hand tried to unmask him. He wanted to know for sure what lied underneath it, if it was actually the Noir he knew. Or if it was something else entirely.

But Noir twisted with superior reflexes and flipped Ben hard over his shoulder. In the process, he ripped off Ben’s helmet. His brown hair hung over his brows as he pushed to his feet, deliberately taking his time.

When he turned, Noir was standing there with the helmet crunched in his hand. Rolling his neck, Ben prepared to jump back into the fight, but a new sound reached his ears. 

He heard you on the floor above. And you were fighting someone…

Ben pressed a finger to the comm in his ear. 

“Frank, you got eyes on her?”

V24 had endowed the man with x-ray vision. A moment later, Frank patched through while he struggled and fought.

“She needs help,” he said gravely.

Ben took his hand off the comm, gritting his teeth. Black Noir was still waiting on him, attuned to Ben’s every move as the other supe brandished one of his blades.

Shit, Ben thought. He needed to end this. 

Right fucking now. 

That resolve helped him take a deep breath, then summon the energy inside him. He focused with the aim of blasting a clean stream of power at Black Noir; not enough to take out the whole building, but enough to take out just him.

His insides felt molten when the power collected, and finally released at his target.

Noir covered himself at the last moment with a piece of fallen debris (a half-crumbled wall), but it only created a small buffer. The force of the blast itself pushed him down the hall and through the side of the building.

Meanwhile, you were holding your own…but you were also getting beat to hell. 

You were battered, with blood dribbling down the corner of your mouth from a particularly bad hit. 

You were still standing though. 

“You’ve gotten soft,” Jon remarked. He’d broken a sweat, had some bruises, and was panting for breath just like you. But he was more in control as he swatted a well-aimed, yet ultimately weak fist as your strength waned. He used his own to smack you down again. 

“I gave you time to come around, and this is what you did with it,” he said, shaking his head. “Disappointing.” 

When you tried to stand on shaking legs, he kicked you in the dead center of your chest. You felt your ribs crack as you fell back into the glass coffee table. 

You gasped for breath, turning onto your side as glass pricked at your back, your sides, your arm. You coughed, wincing at the agony of knife-like pain near your lungs. Blood flecked from your mouth onto your arm, and for a moment, you stared at it in a daze.

But then Jon was above you. You tried to swipe at his face, but he bat your hand away, his brows furrowed angrily. He turned you back onto your back and wrapped a hand around your neck. Your eyes flew wide with panic. 

He squeezed with enough pressure that it wouldn’t crush your windpipe, but it was sure to knock you out eventually. You slapped and clawed at his hand, but he only shushed you. 

“What you need now is what you’ve always needed. A firm hand,” he said. “But I’m going to help you. I promise, I will.”

The fight drained out of you as it became impossible to breathe, and harder still to block out his words from entering your brain. 

But then, the vice around your throat was gone. Oxygen poured back into your lungs as you gasped, then coughed again when your fractured ribs protested. 

Your eyelids fluttered open in time to see your father thrown hard into the far wall. You heard the sick crack and breaking of bone as he landed.

Still, you struggled to breathe. 

Tears leaked from your eyes when you looked up and found Ben. His helmet was missing, and he wore a furious, steely frown. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out except for more coughing, and more blood.

To your surprise, he tucked his shield on his back and bent down to scoop you up into his arms. 

You cringed, uttering an agonized sound when he tried to move you. 

Ben hesitated. Looking down at you, some of his anger drained. He made a slower ascent as he straightened to his full height. 

And without a word, he carried you out of the room and down the ruined hallway. All the while, you stared at the side of his face. His jaw was still clenched, his brows knitted, his eyes set dead ahead. 

You wondered why he had to wait for moments like this to show you who he truly was. 

“What are you, some kind of hero?” you managed to quip, offering a small smile. 

Ben glanced down at you, and gradually smirked. “Something like that.” 

When his foot slipped on a piece of debris, he righted himself quick. But the jerking movement jostled you, eliciting another pained whimper. Your hand gripped at his chest, digging into the grooves of his suit.

“Hold on,” he murmured. His lips briefly pressed to the crown of your head. “We’re getting the fuck outta here.”

Your eyes closed at the tender touch, and a few more tears spilled down your cheeks.

“He…knew,” you managed to say. “Knew I was lying.”

“I know,” said Ben. “I should’ve fucking known better.”

You marveled at that near apology. Your lips trembled as you rested your head against his chest. You just couldn’t help it anymore.

“Was my idea,” you admitted.

“Yeah, well, evidently not all your ideas are aces,” he said. 

You could’ve gotten angry, but you saw the way he moved with care, trying not to slip again for your sake. You tried at a smile. 

“Guess not,” you said, though you bit your lip at the pain that seemed to radiate through your entire body. Ben seemed to notice. 

“Just relax,” he said, a deep rumble. But there was a soothing note to it, you thought. Or maybe, you just liked the sound of his voice. 

Then silence fell between the two of you, both comfortable and tense as Ben focused on potential threats in his surroundings. 

All the while, you continued to rest your eyes. Instead of your pain, you tried to concentrate on his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.

“It’s about fucking time,” you eventually heard Ben grouse. 

You opened your eyes and were relieved to see Frank exiting the stairwell to meet you and Ben. His face and black tactical gear were splattered with blood, but he looked fine, more or less. His gaze roamed over you with his usual stoicism, but you thought you saw a glint of concern.   

“I take it Stan Edgar isn’t here,” said Frank. 

“You could fucking say that,” Ben snarked. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“Sir.” Frank saw something ahead, behind you. Ben turned to find Black Noir silently standing in the middle of the hall, with a large, suspicious-looking gun in his hands.

Without taking his eyes off Noir, Ben gestured to Frank. He came up beside you, and Ben passed you into Frank’s arms.

“Get her out of here,” Ben ordered. With a nod, Frank carried you back the way he came, towards the staircase. You tried to peer over his shoulder.

“He shouldn’t face Noir alone,” you said, even though every breath was a challenge with the sharp pain in your chest. 

“He’ll meet us after,” Frank told you. But as soon as he started down the stairs, a fresh team of Vought security and police came to meet you.

Meanwhile, Ben stared down the hall at his opponent. Black Noir activated the strange gun, which lit up with a blue energy. 

“You can bring out any kind of fancy artillery you want, but it’s not going to stop me from killing you,” Ben taunted.

Noir remained silent, of course, but he aimed the gun and fired. It shot a potent, crystal blue beam of energy that ate through Ben’s shield, and eventually hit him in the chest before he could finish revving up his own power. The blast from the gun, it wasn’t hot. 

It was ice cold. So frigid that it extinguished the heat that had been building in his chest, but it wasn’t diffusing his power completely…it just made it even harder to control. 

And the resulting backlash was overwhelming.

Ben woke slowly, like wading through molasses. Usually his mind was sharp, even when he woke from a booze-induced coma. Now he felt groggy, and it was hard to focus or even force his body to sit up on the hard cot he was laying on.

Glancing down, he realized he’d been changed out of his suit. He was dressed in a plain gray shirt and matching pants, no shoes. He knew a prison outfit when he saw one, just as he now knew where he was: a white padded cell. 

Fuck.

At least it was better than a frigid coffin…but in his mind, not by much.

He slid his legs over and managed to push up onto his feet. 

Why’s it so fucking misty in here? he thought, waving his hand through the smokey air. And why was he so tired?

He soon got his answer when he realized who stood at the large window at the front of his cell. 

Stan Edgar. 

The man himself, dressed in a well-tailored navy suit, was watching him with crossed arms. 

“We did hope you would remain on sabbatical,” said Stan. “But I had a feeling you would return, and come directly to us.”

Stan gestured to the large cell. “This was our contingency plan.”

Ben made his way, with difficulty, closer to Stan, who pointed at the air vents above that were pumping in a gas of some kind.

“A light mist of Novichok,” Stan explained. “Enough to keep you docile.”

“And if I’m not?” Ben asked. His voice was edged with grit, and the promise of retribution. 

“We can up the dose, put you to sleep indefinitely,” Stan replied. “But you have my attention. What would you like to discuss?” 

“The conversation I planned on having was…a little different,” Ben said darkly. “But first, let’s start with what you used to clone Black Noir.”

“I suppose there’s no real harm in telling you,” Stan said. Even his voice was grating on Ben’s ears, the smug prick. 

“We kept some of Homelander’s blood as an insurance policy. But, we’ve learned from our mistakes.”

“Right,” Ben scoffed. “How’s that?”

“This Noir is not a carbon copy, but nor is he a megalomaniac. He’s under our control,” Stan said.

“Until he isn’t,” Ben snarked. If he thought about it, that was something you would say. Maybe your penchant for smart-ass remarks had gotten into his head.

“And that new gun?” he asked. “Don’t tell me your little lab rats put that together just for me.”

Stan’s lips made a wry turn. 

“It was a breakthrough project. Temporarily destabilizes the energy you generate when you charge up like a Power Puff Girl.” Stan thought for a moment, then inclined his head. “A reference, I realize, which may be lost on you.”

“So what’s the play here?” Ben said. He was getting impatient. “You know, when I break out, things aren’t gonna be pretty.” 

Stan didn’t seem bothered by the clear threat. 

“In the meantime,” he said, “you won’t be alone.” 

Stan stepped back and revealed the cell right across the hall. Through the window, Ben could see you, lying unconscious on a shitty cot in similar gray pajamas. His brows crunched as he narrowed his eyes, trying to peer in closer. You looked like you’d been bandaged up, at least.

“You also managed to put my Chief of Security in Intensive Care, but his daughter should be fine…if a bit worse for wear,” Stan informed him. 

Ben glared back, his lips curling. Sloppy of him. He should’ve made sure that bastard was dead. 

“That’s cute, considering he’s the demented fuck who beat her to hell,” Ben said. 

Stan rose a solitary brow. “And at whose behest did she enter the lion’s den?”  

Ben had nothing to say to that.

You woke with a pained groan before your eyes even opened. Your body felt like a walking welt. 

Your brain pounded like bongo drums, your chest felt tender with every infinitesimal movement, but you realized that you’d been seen to medically, at least. Your head was bandaged, and you felt that the blood had been wiped from your face and arms.

You looked up and found, with a sigh, that you were indeed in a cell. But you softened when you found Ben through the large glass window, in a cell of his own. He was sitting on his bed, arms crossed, with his back against the wall. His eyes found yours, and his lips twitched.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

He sounded off. Tired, you thought. And you noticed a steady mist being piped into his room. 

Shit. Novichok, you surmised with a frown.

“You okay?” you asked. 

Ben chuckled a little. “You’re the one who looks like hell.”

“Why, thank you,” you replied wryly.

There was a pitcher and a cup of water on a tray, a small paper cup of what you assumed were painkillers, and an ice pack next to you on the cot. 

You hesitated on the pills, but in light of your incredible pain, you had no choice. You took the pills, drank the water, and grabbed the ice pack, pressing it against your sternum. You sat up all the way with a slow gait and a pained groan.

“Go slow,” he warned. “Bet you’re missing that Temp. V right about now.”

You rolled your eyes at him. 

“How’d you get caught?” he asked.

That succeeded in dimming your mood. You explained that Frank had been forced to set you on your feet when you were confronted by more security and a police squad. 

The man had been a one-man weapon; hopped up on V24 as he was, he managed to fight his way down to the garage, where you slowly, painfully crept down there.

You and Frank had almost reached his car, but you held him back. You were stubborn about waiting on Ben, even considered going back for him.

That was when the shot rang out, hitting Frank point blank in the chest. 

Before you could even bend to help him, you were taken, dragged back into the building, and knocked out before you could take your captor’s gun. 

You tried in vain to wipe away fresh tears while you retold the story. 

Bottom line: Frank’s death was your fault. Though while he frowned in disappointment, Ben didn’t seem to hold it against you.

“Good on ya, Frank,” Ben murmured. “You went down fucking swingin’.”

“What about you? What happened with Black Noir?” you asked after a moment. Sniffling, you met Ben’s eyes.

He eventually told you about the strange gun Vought had commissioned just for him. And the more you listened, the deeper your frown became. It sounded impossible.

“Makes you wonder what else they’ve been cooking up in that lab,” you muttered. 

“Other than Noir?” Ben quipped. He told you about that too. 

“We can figure this out,” you said. “If nothing else, my team, the CIA, they’re looking for both of us…if for different reasons.”

Ben scoffed at that. “A silver lining there. Make no mistake, we’re getting the fuck out of here. Just…need a minute to think.” 

But he was starting to wane. It was taking all his energy to concentrate on your voice, to even keep his eyes open. The steady stream of gas being pumped into his cell made it damn near impossible, and it was frustrating beyond belief. 

Because if he fell asleep now, there was no telling when he’d wake up. And fuck if Ben would ever admit to the panic he felt welling up into his chest.

“Aaah, fuck!” he growled, pounding a fist against the wall.

You noticed, biting your lip in concern…until an idea made you smile. It was something you used to do to distract your sister when she was little. 

“Why are colds bad criminals?” you asked. 

Ben just blinked at you. “What?”

He asked not because he understood what you were doing, but because he was genuinely confused.

“Because they’re easy to catch,” you said, making a drumming motion with your hands. “Buddum-ch.”

Your neighbor just stared back at you, unimpressed.

“Okay, not a fan of that one. Let me see…okay,” you raised a finger. “What does a baby computer call its father?”

Ben’s eyes narrowed, like he couldn’t tell if you were serious.

“Data!” you said, biting your lip at an embarrassed smile. It curved Ben’s lips, but he was stubborn.

“Why was 6 afraid of 7?” you asked. 

“Jesus Christ, enough…” he muttered. 

“Because 7’s a dick, that’s why,” you said. And your straight face lasted for all of three seconds before you ended up giggling. It hurt your bruised body, but it lightened you to see the reluctant smile tug its way onto Ben’s face. 

“All right,” he said at last. He briefly closed his eyes, trying to remember a joke he’d heard Loco tell. “How do you make a pool table laugh?”

You smiled. “How?”

“Tickle its balls,” Ben said. Your answering snort deepened his smile into a smirk. 

“Playing bridge is just like sex,” you said. Ben shook his head. His grandmother used to play fucking bridge.  

But regardless, he took the bait.

“How’s that?”

“If you don’t have a good partner, you better have a good hand,” you said with a smirk. 

Ben made a sound of amusement, though it wasn’t quite a laugh. You traded these back and forth, each trying to make the other crack with progressively dirtier jokes (though you suspected Ben was just trying to disgust you). 

You considered yourself the winner when Ben finally chortled a deep, belly laugh that showed his charming smile. 

It made you smile in return. 

Ben rested a hand on his chest, but when his mirth died down, he realized just how tired he was. Still, he wasn’t ready to let go of this. His connection with you tethered him to reality, even if reality sucked dick right now.

His gaze met yours. “Why don’t you sing something, crooner?” 

You bit your lip once again. “Like what?” 

Ben’s eyes closed.

“You know the one,” he said. A softer smile graced your lips, though he couldn’t see it. 

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age,” you teased. He chuckled. 

“Just sing, for fuck’s sake.” 

His brows were knitted, like he was trying all he could to stay awake. You took pity on him.

“If I didn’t care, more than words can say…” you began to sing softly. “If I didn’t care…would I feel this way?”

Every extended note was painful, but it was worth it to see his face relax.  

Stan Edgar’s lips pursed, and he set down his cell phone on his desk. Victoria was screening his calls.

Disappointing, he thought, but not unexpected. He surveyed the cleanup crew wiping up debris, glass, and blood from the lounge area with a dispassionate gaze. 

This was going to take a while.

So after drumming his fingers on the mahogany surface, Stan decided to push up from his desk and head downstairs via the elevator. It took him all the way down to Level 0, the home of one of Vought’s most secure R&D labs. 

There his most trusted scientist, Dr. Tonya Baker, was at the helm with her team at work on various projects. Most of which were not sanctioned by the government. 

Stan folded his hands behind his back and reached her side, and she set down a beaker filled with a green, buzzing liquid. 

“Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted. 

“Tonya, you know what I’m about to ask,” he said. She bobbed her head and turned to face him in her rolling desk chair. 

“We’re still working on solutions. Without his cooperation, safely extracting Soldier Boy’s DNA is a tricky thing,” she said. 

“You don’t say?” Stan said dryly. “What are our options?”

“Well, needles will only break, as you know,” said Dr. Baker. “The scientists in Russia found that only Soldier Boy is strong enough to break his own skin.”

“And I doubt he’ll open a vein for us,” Stan said, “even if we threaten to put him to sleep.” 

He didn’t even think leveraging with the girl would aid, more than complicate their goals. While it was something to consider, Stan would rather find the path of least resistance here. Soldier Boy was…volatile at best. 

“How much of Homelander’s blood remains?” he asked. 

“None,” the doctor replied. “We used the last of it to clone Black Noir. And a hair sample is not enough to create additional subjects…at the very least, a urine sample. Even Dr. Vogelbaum managed that.”

Stan sent her shrewd look. If only he still had Dr. Vogelbaum in his employ. If only the man were still alive.

What a waste of a talented, resourceful man.

“That will be a problem,” Stan said. 

“Not necessarily.” Dr. Baker adjusted a monitor screen at her desk. It displayed the feed from Soldier Boy’s cell. 

She pointed to the toilet in the corner of the cell. Then she called over one of her assistants.

“Tell Maintenance to cut the water, and then a section of the pipes.”

AN: Okay. 😅 I know I'm gonna get some mixed reviews on this one (Let me know what you thought!).

But despite the teaser, I think you'll enjoy where the story's headed next...

Next Time:

They wheeled in what looked like a large metal casket. You had only seen one of these in pictures, but it had to be a cryochamber.

A doctor in her mid-fifties accompanied them, giving directions on how to safely enter Ben’s cell. Your eyes widened.

“What the hell are you doing?” you shouted.

Panic trilled down your spine as the guards fitted themselves with special suits and gas masks. The doctor turned toward you as the guards led you out of your cell and into the hall.

“You’re being transported,” she informed you.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann83 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @beautiful-life-coded @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

[lunaria-the-storyteller]

Why not try Murder Drones characters? We have:

May or may not become god

Cinnamon roll oh wait he’s slaughtered hundreds

Totally healthy coping mechanisms (massacring dozens)

Jock but he’s a million times better than high school boys

Popular girl that has. Basically cheated death multiple times

Other popular girl that got Foxy’d

Yeah he sucked at first but now we love his pathetic ass

Upper body go byebye🥰

Walking heart with terrible taste in men

Got Michael Aftoned

Godchild

[corazondebeskar-reads]

all I did was what I had to - part one

all I did was what I had to miniseries

part one: all I did was what I had to

series masterlist | part one | part two | part three

dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: A newcomer to Joel's group of raiders makes a pass at you. Joel reinforces his dominance.

Warnings: DARK. dead dove do not eat. raider!Joel is not a good man, dark!Joel Miller, mention of past assault (not by Joel), dub-con due to power imbalance and implied captivity, reader can have a little stockholm syndrome as a treat. watersports, piss drinking, canon-typical violence, gore, piv intercourse, unsafe sex, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), bit of both game and show joel, sorta d/s dynamics I guess, not RACK compliant

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 4 - Overstimulation / Human Urinal, inspired by this prompt list from @absurdthirst and this gifset from @a7estrellas. I did not come up with raider/hunter!Joel or dark!Joel and many great writers have built in this sandbox before me.

also on ao3

You’d like to say that six months ago, when the group of raiders “took you in,” you would have fought tooth and nail to avoid this situation. You wished you could say you ever really fought back at all.

But after Joel Miller had found you in a supply room during a raid, sobbing and struggling under a FEDRA officer, you had never even so much as told him no. Not after he pulled the man—your husband, who had been starving and abusing you since your wedding night three weeks ago—off your aching body and pummeled his face into the ground. When all that was left was pulp, he had helped you to your feet with bloodied hands. 

“You okay?” he said. His furrowed brow and cold eyes told you he was dangerous more than the corpse on the ground, as his concern was for you alone, entirely barren of remorse or disgust. 

You nodded, but the tremor of your hands betrayed you. He shucked off his jacket and helped you into it, numb as you were, and zipped it up. It was long enough to give you the illusion of modesty since your clothes were nowhere to be found.

He had led you down the stairs and outside, crowding you into the passenger seat of a dented, rusty pickup.

“Wait here,” he said, shutting the door. 

And you had. 

Now, you were knelt between Joel’s heavy boots in the living room of the main safe house. He was sprawled on the main sofa, beer in one hand and the other on the back of your head. The others were milling about, drinking shitty moonshine, and enjoying the spoils of today’s raid. 

You had an old, soft flannel on and Joel’s thick cock in your throat. He was holding you there, motionless, while your eyes stung and watered. Every so often, he’d guide you to bob up and down or shove your face down to lick his balls. He was dragging it out, savoring it in a rare display of luxury. 

Their haul today meant easy living for a couple months after striking an unfortunate band of Fireflies. After the slaughter, they had returned with crates and cases of supplies. You, however, had spent the last two days locked in your room upstairs.

The upper floor of the house was Joel’s. The door at the foot of the stairs locked from both directions, the sole key to which never left the chain around his neck. Your little room had a mattress and a door to a Jack and Jill bathroom. Joel’s room, where you actually spent most of your time, was on the other side. But it had been locked, and you had been left with plenty of food and water but absolutely nothing to do. 

So when Joel came home in a better mood than you’d ever seen him, you jumped at the opportunity to go downstairs. He didn’t like you down there most of the time, didn’t like anyone seeing you but him, unless he was putting on a show of dominance.

Like now. Your quiet obedience on full display, a reminder that even in a time of prosperity, Joel Miller was still the king. 

He took the last swig of his beer and handled the bottle off to a lackey (you didn't see them enough to tell them apart, or care enough to learn their names). He let go of your hair and gave your cheek two sharp pats, smirking when you scrambled to please him. Your hands had been clasped behind your back where they belonged, but he was ready to cum, so you wrapped one around the base of his cock and massaged his balls with the other, using your throat as roughly as he would.

This was second nature, now. The only days you went without his cock in your mouth were the days he was away on raids. When you had woken that morning without the ache in your jaw and throat, you had been sad. (Whatever that said about your life now wasn’t something you wanted to think about too hard.)

Saliva coated your fingers where they grasped the very root of him, smearing on your face as you buried him as deep within you as possible. Tears scorched your cheeks as you gagged and struggled to remember to breathe through your nose. 

He snapped his fingers in your face, drawing not just your eyes to his but capturing the attention of everyone else in the room. He held your gaze and your head in place as hot ropes of cum shot down your throat. 

Drained, he let you up, a lazy grin spreading as you coughed and sobbed for a moment. 

“Shit,” said one of the newer recruits, too young and stupid to survive for long. “I call next.”

The tension in the room was immediate. One of Joel’s smarter lackeys stepped away from the splatter zone. He was, after all, sporting a new denim jacket from the haul. 

Joel held your eyes for a moment before slowly looking up at the offender. He rose, forcing you to scramble back a few inches to make room. His flaccid cock was eye level with you now, but you didn’t dare look away from his face. The satisfied grin had sharpened, his dark eyes clear and dangerous. 

“Yeah? You want her to suck you off?” Joel drawled.

How this man had lived to his mid-twenties astounded you. He was making eye contact with a predator with apparently zero awareness of the danger. 

“Fuck yeah, man,” said the future corpse. 

Joel dragged his eyes back down to you. “Open up, sweetheart.” 

The other man made to move toward you, but Joel raised one finger and waited while you opened your mouth, tongue out. Your heart was racing. You didn’t believe he would actually let someone else touch you, but there was still a sharp jolt of fear.

Joel took himself in hand, lifting your chin up with the other. He cocked an eyebrow at you—not seeking permission, but granting a warning. You realized what he was about to do right before it happened, tensing every muscle to fight the instinct to snap your mouth shut.

It wasn’t the first time Joel had pissed in your mouth, but that didn’t make the acrid stream any more pleasant. It burned your raw throat on the way down. He didn’t look away from you, thumb stroking your jaw gently. When he finished, he held his cock out for you to lick the tip clean. You pressed a soft kiss, offering forgiveness he didn’t require, and sat back on your heels.

He looked up at the other man, waving a loose arm in your direction. “Ya still want her?” 

“You’re fucked up,” the newcomer said, shaking his head. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

Joel laughed and pulled your head to his thigh, one ear pressed against it and his large palm over the other. You squeezed your eyes shut just in time as he drew his pistol and shot the man in the crotch in one fluid moment. The bang still jolted you, and you pressed your face harder into Joel’s rough jeans. 

He took his hand off your ear to stroke your cheek. “Get him out of here,” he barked at one of the others, who immediately dragged the screaming, writhing man out of the house. 

Joel squatted down, hands on your shoulders. “You okay?” He inspected you, brushing his hands over “your” shirt to make sure none of the viscera had reached you. 

You nodded, though you were shaking a little and forcing slow, wavering breaths in and out. 

“That’s my girl,” he said, brushing a thumb over your swollen lips. He stood up and helped you up, leading you upstairs without another glance at his men. 

Your hand grasped tight in his rough, calloused palm, and he led you to his room, where you sat on the edge of the bed, eyes downcast.

He toed off his boots and slid his belt out of the loops of his jeans. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll wash the taste outta your mouth.” 

You looked up to watch him shuck off his gray t-shirt, captivated by the way it peeled off his biceps and fluttered to the floor. It was followed quickly by his jeans and boxers. His cock sprung free, hard again already after the thrilling turn of events.

You made to slide to your knees, but he clicked his tongue at you. “C’mon, I ain’t that mean. Lay back, sweetheart. You did so good out there for me.”

You obeyed, ass perched on the edge, knees bent and legs spread wide, braced against the footboard. He stepped between your legs, running a hand over your stomach.

“Look at you, princess, you’re soaked.” The crooked smirk returned as he lightly dragged a finger through your wet folds. “You liked that?” 

A wretched flush overtook you from your face to your chest, ears burning. You looked away, but the sharp tsk brought your eyes back to him. 

“Don’t hide from me,” his voice pitched low and dark, the drawl always thicker when he was stalking prey. “It’s a good thing, baby. Tell me why you’re dripping.”

“Felt safe,” you murmured, blushing harder. “I like bein’ yours.” 

He grinned and pushed his thumb down on your clit, watching as you gasped and jerked.

“Good girl,” he said and sank to his knees.

He chuckled, watching your eyes grow wide. He didn’t want to spoil you, so this was a rare treat. He spread you with two fingers, licking a wide stripe from your cunt to your clit. Your hips jerked, and he lay an arm over them, pinning you down as you sobbed a long moan. 

A rare treat, but a divine one. He ate you out like you were the first oasis in the desert. Licking and sucking, plunging three fingers deep into your pussy until you fell apart on his tongue. And he didn’t stop, teeth nipping at your clit until the aftershocks of your orgasm crested smoothly into another. And another. You were sobbing full out, thrashing to pull away from the suffocating pain and pleasure, but he held you in place until the sixth orgasm left you sprawled, loose-limbed, eyes dazed. 

“That’s it, baby,” he crooned, standing up and raising your knees to your chest. You hadn’t the strength to move where he wanted, but he was more than happy to manhandle your pliant, soft body. 

Your eyes fluttered open when he notched the fat head of his cock at your entrance, only to roll back and shut again when he pushed into the hilt in one smooth stroke. You were slick, and he had stretched you with his fingers (another luxury you weren’t always awarded), but the sheer size of him never failed to take your breath away.

There was no slow, gentle sex with Joel. Only the rough, demanding pace he set immediately, hands bruising your already mottled hips. It didn’t take long, him having already spent once that day and your body in no condition to handle a long session. When he began to flood your cunt with his warmth, he reached down and pinched your clit, twisting cruelly. Your scream was loud but broken, rough with overuse, as he ripped another orgasm from you. 

He slipped out and crawled onto the mattress, gently moving you up to rest against the pillows with him. “Open,” he said, tapping at your jaw. 

You let your mouth fall open, not a spare thought in your brain, as he made good on the promise to wash the taste of his piss out. Reaching between your legs, he scooped up a glob of your mixed juices, bringing them to your tongue. You automatically closed your lips around him, sucking and licking. He repeated the motion twice more until he was satisfied, then pulled you in for a deep kiss, chasing the taste of both your pleasures. 

It wasn’t until after he lulled you to sleep, brushing the sweat from your brow, that he pulled his clothes back on and crept out of the room.

Outside, his men had tied the injured sonofabitch around the wrists and slung the rope over a solid branch, his feet just barely dragging on the mud below.

He jolted alert as Joel approached and began sobbing in fear. Joel spit at his feet.

“Shame you didn’t bleed out already,” Joel said, drawing his finger along the blade of his favorite knife. The blood pooled on Joel’s fingertip, dripping down to his wrist. 

The other man watched, eyes wide with terror, and began screaming around the rag in his mouth. 

“I mean, a shame for you,” Joel said, with a shrug and a quirk of his lips. “I’m gonna have a real good time, though.”

*title from "There's No 'I' in Team" by Taking Back Sunday.