#not in a cute way just downright imbeciles

[inazumafocus]

Seeing people already blasting and imposing their headcanons on characters that aren't even out yet is a bit 😬 yikes...

[yanderart]

He caught you when no one else did; defeated you when no one else could. Whether you liked to admit it or not, Eraserhead had clearly proven his worth.

So why didn't you prove yours, little villain?

Another portrait for my POV yandere series, this time of Aizawa. Got a few people requesting me to draw/write for him so hopefully y'all enjoy it 🖤

Below the cut, as customary for the series, is a longshot one-shot that delves further into the backstory (Aizawa x Villain Reader, nsfw, dark themes, 8k).

TWs: dub-con, graphic smut, Bad Bondage Etiquette, degradation/humiliation, brat (villain) taming, cumplay and slight bimbofication. Scumbag Aizawa is real.

— — —

   The day you met Eraserhead, looking back, saying your worries had been misplaced would be an understatement. With not being apprehended and losing street cred at the very top of your list, it was decidedly easy to skip over any of the other big red-lettered warnings.

   You first felt the tickle in your nape while you carried your acquisitions across downtown Musutafu, accompanied by the familiar presage of someone watching your every movement. The city around you was bustling, as was the norm, as loud and meandering in its complaints as a chronically diseased elder, yet the alleys you took as shortcuts grew quieter and quieter with each step. 

   It was eerie, alarming, and a platitude of other adjectives you shamefully chose to neglect. 

   “So this is the great V/N in the flesh,” the lazy cadence of someone calling out your alias froze you mid-step, the way his owner dragged each syllable telling you he hadn’t yet decided whether you were worth wasting his breath on. 

   Your body was responding before you even had a chance to properly process the threat, running on instinct and muscle memory as you twirled to face the mysterious man and prepared to...

   “Cute dress, kid.” Eraserhead in the flesh stood barely a few feet away, glowing scarlet orbs illuminating his preternaturally blank expression and transforming it instead into a visage of pure intimidation. “Didn’t pitch you for the frilly type.”

   The growing panic in your chest put a hitch in your breath as you stared back. Yet you couldn’t help but still try, fruitlessly hoping—hands clenched, nails puncturing your own flesh as you tried to force your dormant quirk awake. And all for naught, considering your efforts were only repaid by the hatchet of your sinking realization being buried even deeper. 

   Although, the Pro-Hero also appeared to notice your meager attempts, taking a few steps closer to your form with a condescending gleam in his otherwise somber features. 

   Before you were conscious of what you were looking at (and before you had half a mind to attempt a quirkless attack on the hero), you observed the weapon wrapped around his neck unfolding fluidly, the extensions of fabric reaching out to envelop you in a forceful embrace that left your arms tucked to your sides and your back uncomfortably straightened. 

   “Better to trap you before you get any wild ideas. It’s your fault you’re in this position in the first place anyways,” he was taunting you, prodding you and poking you as you found yourself completely at his mercy, uselessly struggling much in the same way many of your victims had surely felt in their last few moments at your hands. 

   "Eraserhead," his pseudonym resembled an insult on your tongue, your rage and resentment making for rather colorful enhancements. "Don’t you have anything better to do than trapping helpless girls with this weapon of yours? Didn't peg you for a pervert."

   Usually, you managed to reign in some of your nastier attitudes, channeling them into your quirk and the violence you could inflict with it…

   But tied up and under the influence of his own ability as you were? All you had was pettiness. 

   "You can dress up as a civ all you want. Won't be fooling me." He took several steps, closing the distance between you two with barely the hint of a smile morphing his stern expression.  

   You could see the faint stubble on his handsome face from this up close, blood-shot eyes that refused to blink as they studied you in ample detail. Could even see the scar carved onto one of his cheekbones, a textured promise of the fight he had survived and now wore as a medal. 

   Such was your luck, that the Pro to finally catch up with you had to be this rugged scumbag. 

   "I'm not even engaging in any criminal activities, Eraseridiot." Your insult was terrible, but you were never much of a verbal sparrer. Not when you could use your fists instead. "What are you gonna send me to the pigs for? I know my rights."

   And you did. So when the condescension on the lazy hero's face turned into a full-on expression of mockery as he approached your "bag of acquisitions," you audibly gulped. Goddamn stalker couldn't have been following you for that long? Could he? 

    If only you knew. 

   "Then," he held up the bag with an indolent brand of interest, the contents dangling tauntingly from his clutch. "How do you explain this over here? I reckon even dirt like you knows what stealing qualifies as." His other hand dived for the contents and before you could voice any protest, cheeks blushing furiously, a slow hint of a chuckle was bobbing his adam's apple. "It would be a fun thing to peg you down for, though."

   That damned weapon of his didn't give out an inch as you started to furiously struggle, becoming instead impossibly tighter with each futile attempt at freeing yourself.

   "You fucking psycho, is this your sick way of trying to pick me up or something?"

   But your quip did not deter him at all (if anything, it spurred him on). The hand inside the bag tensed for a moment before he was retrieving the sole object inside. To say mortification was written all over your face would be an understatement. 

   A dark pantyhose now hung from Eraserhead's nimble fingers, not a second being wasted by the Hero before he proceeded to bring it up to his face, carelessly stretching the garment until you could see every single one of his features through the sheer material. The way the moonlight caught in it, bouncing off and bathing his patronizing face, made for uncomfortably intimate imagery. 

   (Yet a part of you, one you would never admit existed if further questioned, also could not help but notice the striking attractiveness of it all, making you want to squirm for completely different reasons while the man continued to exert his quirk on you through the fabric of your fucking lingerie.)

   "Gotta say, didn't take you for a pantyhose kind of gal either. Girls like you…" He uttered the last part more like an afterthought, tossing the bag aside before his hands continued toying with the tights absentmindedly. "Are suited for something like fishnets much more."

   By that point, you were sure he was just playing with you. You were such a harmless joke, restrained and showcased like a prize for his viewing pleasure.

   "Reckon you must own quite a few pairs, uh?" He continued egging you on when you failed to give a timely enough answer. 

   (Perhaps the fact that he so easily guessed that detail should’ve been your first real warning, too.)

   Yet you couldn’t help how his condescension and the downright dirty way he stared at you sent dark shivers up your spine, the threat he represented turning strangely alluring under the dim street lights illuminating you both. 

   As a villain, you had robbed, murdered, set people ablaze, and even stolen a popsicle or two from some crying kids. So why were Eraserhead's words having such an effect on you? Why did, a part of you deep down, seemed enthused by the awful way in which he was speaking to you?

   "You don't have any proof I stole them. I just threw away the receipt after I bought them. Very environmentally unconscious of them, too, when electrical ones are a thing."

   Now you were just rambling. What an adorable sight. 

   "Hmm, never thought I'd hear "environmentally unconscious" being uttered by a two-bit criminal." He stopped stretching the lingerie for a moment, thoughtfully scratching at his incipient stubble with his free hand instead, "Are you really trying to sell me the good samaritan angle?"

   To his credit too, he seemed genuinely puzzled by your approach for an instant. Guess even an experienced pro like him still had room to be shocked. 

   "I'm not trying to sell you anything, imbecile." The snobbishly controlled tone of yours was back, the shaking of panic subsiding while you held onto your only hope of leaving this confrontation unscathed. "And my rights clearly state you need proof to apprehend me. Need causality to exert your quirk on me, too, or you would be the one breaking the law." 

   Now, Eraserhead wasn’t annoyed per se. You could tell from what little he had already spoken (and from the myriad of cautionary tales you had been told) that little could rattle the man at all, but your comment definitely appeared to intrigue him. It made you feel like an animal being studied, pinned down, and ready to be dissected for his own morbid curiosity.

   "Isn't this just rich?" His tone was almost lethargic, words dragging on with a faint rumble. "Are you going to run off to the police, then? Tell them how a Pro trapped you and tried turning you in for a very obvious act of theft?", his eyebrows were raised, eyes more awake despite his monotone voice carrying on. "Be my guest then."

   Because of course you were all bark, no bite and he was more than willing to call you out on your shit. So instead of continuing down that route, you decided to veer for a new approach, switching from your assortment of insolent tactics. 

   "Do you get off on this, then?" Your voice morphing into meekness while you adopted an expression of distress, bottom lip jutting out with the sparkle of thinly veiled sarcasm glimmering in your eyes. "Do you like thinking of yourself as the Big Bad Hero, maybe?" And you could tell by the way the incipient smile froze on his lips that your question had caught him off guard. Made you wanna press even harder, "Do you like the idea of taking a defenseless little girl into an alley and showing her just how bad you can be? Maybe planned on teaching me a lesson, is that it?"

   His frown mimicked yours now, no longer any hints of cruel enjoyment on his part. His eyes still glowed red, but he was now squinting ever so slightly, zeroing in on you not only due to the limits of his quirk but also due to the words rapidly continuing to escape your impudent mouth. 

   "Does Eraserhead like to fuck his lays into being law-abiding citizens? Is the power over someone else what really gets you off, perhaps?"

   It was like a spell was cast on the both of you. He couldn't drift his attention, his eyes couldn't stop scanning your face — quickly flickering from the hatred coloring your gaze to the slight quiver of frustration shaking your lips. The hand which he still used to grab your stockings was now a closed fist, knuckles growing pale from the poorly contained strength.

   "Bet you plotted this entire thing, you creep. Wanted to take me behind an alley and show me my place." Your taunts were becoming increasingly more risqué, the anger blurring your sense of preservation—and the hint of something else too, a secret excitement you were unwilling to recognize. "Wanted to have me all submissive and obedient under you, surely. Show me what a scary hero cock can do, is that it?"

   But instead of earning another entertaining grimace, you had a first-row seat to the rapidly darkening expression on his face. Eyes squinted at the same time that the bandages settled even tighter around you, cutting off your breath for a moment before relenting just enough not to suffocate you. 

    And that's when you first felt it for the first time, just when your jests died on your lips and you drank on his foreboding reaction. The grip of Eraserhead's quirk, more constricting than any ropes, wavering faintly around the prison he had constructed around you; the distinct buzzing in your hands returning for a mere instant before flickering out again.

   Now that was interesting.

   "Should watch what you're saying," the pro-hero sounded gruff, voice tinted by a new kind of intensity.

   Like a shark smelling the smallest whiff of blood, you couldn’t help your instincts urging you to dial down. 

   "Always knew you hero types had a hard-on for the power trips. Bet you were using all of this as a decoy. Is this when you strip me and hold me down? When you plow me into the floor of this alley and tell me to "behave or else"?" 

   You knew your jabs were going too far, getting too brazen… yet as much as you enjoyed making the Pro visibly uncomfortable, once he decided to close the distance between you two there was little you could do to stop yourself from flinching. A fire inhabited his expression, the vivid brightness emanating from his stare not only intimidating, but downright frightening too.

   "Are you trying to rile me up?" His hand gripped your face with force, bandages shifting until they were enveloping your neck, holding you up and forcing you to reciprocate his glare, "What do you think will you achieve by antagonizing me even more, V/N?"

   You just looked at him through your eyelashes, still somehow managing to play up the innocent act through the layers of fear settling in. And as expected, it only served to further his irritation, calloused fingers digging even deeper into your cheeks and coaxing the claws of terror to continue trailing their nails all around you. 

   "I’m just trying to understand you, Eraserhead." The way you smiled at him was defiance personified despite it all, your tongue wetting your lips while you caught his eyes following the movement. There was the slightest give of his quirk again, a fluctuation in his concentration informing you that you were finally on the right track. "And I think, given the fact that I haven’t been cuffed yet, that we can both still come to a mutual agreement."

   Fingers twitched around your jawline, muffling your words while your sides were squished together harshly. But even manhandling you, the Hero couldn’t hide the spark in his eyes, an interest you foolishly believed to be ignited by your former comments. 

   "So you are indeed trying to rile me up then." It was an assertion, not a hint of doubt in his leisure intonation. 

   Instead of replying this time, you just slowly blinked his way, observing your imitation of meekness reflected in a gaze that refused to abandon yours. It had been so long since you last tried to play coy, so long since you needed to depend on anything besides your own strength and ruthlessness. You couldn’t help the thrill you got from playing the role. 

   "Think you’ll get me distracted enough to break away, I bet." He was whispering directly against your skin after getting dangerously closer, the heat from his cushioned lips provoking an involuntary shiver. "Do you believe nobody else tried this approach before, little villain?"

   You gulped, feeling caught before you even had time to properly set the stage. 

   "I wasn’t..."

   "Weren’t what, trying to seduce me?" There was a sense of levity hidden somewhere under his timbre, stored between words that kept dragging on in a mantle of aloofness. "Or did you not mean any of your words?"

   When you didn’t reply, you could feel the cruel smile resurfacing against your earlobe. 

   "If I lift your dress right now, do you think I’ll have my answer?" His question sounded almost casual, as weightless as your alias had been when he first called you out. 

   Your heartbeat sang in your chest, an anxious hummingbird trapped inside your ribcage. Because you knew the answer, you both did. 

   When the hand still clutching your bunched hosiery came up to press the fabric against your thighs, you could not help the gasp that escaped you.

   "I bet all those things you were just saying…" His tone drifted off as the stockings were slowly guided up the vastness of your legs, fingers barely grazing you through the thin layer of the stolen undergarments. He was thoroughly teasing you, enjoying the manner in which your expression contorted in response. "You just want me to do them to you, don’t you?"

   Even if you would’ve wanted to object, the pressure of his nylon-covered digits finally reaching your dampened panties was enough to kill any possible refusal. He traced the outline of your slit, soft touches running across it with deceitful lightness, and your mind became positively staggered as you were rendered overwhelmed by his actions. 

   You didn’t have to worry about his next move for long, either, because barely a moment’s notice passed before his entire palm was eagerly covering your crotch. And the new way in which he groped you was demanding, the heel of his wrist putting just enough pressure to drag a shamefully loud mewl from you. 

   The douchebag even had the gall to laugh at your reaction, the sound of his mirth prompting you to writhe even harder as he continued to feel you up through your rapidly soaking underwear. 

   "Knew you’d be a slutty one." His breath was hoarse against the side of your face, the stubble on his jaw scratching against your skin in a way which made you wonder how it would feel pressing elsewhere. "So fucking wet, it must hurt being this eager."

   He didn’t specify what exact kind of pain he meant, whether your growing need for release or the insufferable blow all of this represented to your pride. Somehow, though, you had an inkling that he was referencing both. 

   "Wanna show me just how needy you are?" His words echoed with each laboured breath of his, one of the few signs you had that he was clearly very much into the whole affair despite his detached demeanor. "Maybe you could show me more of your adorable little cries." 

   As Eraserhead rutted his palm against you another time, you found your hips lowering down to chase the feeling much to your own chagrin, more moans making their way out of your panting mouth while he coaxed you to sing the notes of his preferred melody. 

   It was true that you hated his guts… but another fact was that you hadn’t had action in a long while either. Even with the threat of imprisonment hanging over you, you could not deny how desirable the idea to get to cum against that veiny hand of him was, to grip those muscular shoulders as you reached the perdition he was so tantalizingly offering. 

   Decidedly forgotten was your plan of you being the one distracting him. For fuck’s sake, you really were a needy whore. 

   "Why not show me how you cum for me in this alley, if you’re really that desperate?" His words kept getting cruder, his tongue tracing a languid stripe from your earlobe down to the side of your neck, a beautiful path of distractions threatening to dip your sanity even lower. "Be the dirty little villain that I know you are, doll."

   But just as soon as the stimulation was hitting you a second time, so it suddenly disappeared. One second fingers were flexing against your tender flesh, coated by your arousal through the layers of fabric separating you and fluttering with the promise of an impending release, and then the very next instant you were left to whimper (a villain like you, actually whimpering!) in the unbearable wake of their absence. 

   When your eyes searched for the Hero’s again, in his blown out pupils you could only dare interpret part of the enjoyment he was getting from watching you scram for his touch, beautifully bold handwriting spelling out arousal for all to read.  

   Watching you so easily betray your own ego after all of your lip service? More than simple music to his ears, it was an entire sonnet. 

   "But, now that I think of it, you were the one trying to walk away free from this. So why should you be the one getting pleasured?"

   Even in your precarious situation, you couldn’t help rolling your eyes. 

   "Are you fucking kidding me?" Apparently, your discomfort at being denied was enough to forego your better senses.

   The bindings contracted around you in quick response to your insolence, your neck being craned even further and your arms mishandled until they were behind your back instead of at your sides, a sharp pain blooming from your shoulders as you struggled to adjust.

   Treated like this, he really did make you feel like a helpless little doll. (Goddamn, that thought alone was enough to have your juices gushing again, the trails of your excitement starting to make a mess of your inner thighs.)

   "You don’t get it, do you?" He asked in a despondent voice, unblinking eyes still refusing to abandon your face as he elaborated, "you should already be on your way to some second-rate villain prison, cuffed and muzzled and someone else’s problem."

   At his reminder of what you believed to be your impending fate, the mocking pout on your face transformed into a retelling of real horror. Because your spotless reputation was the one trick in your book that had managed to give you a sliver of notoriety over the rest of the unremarkable criminals, much more significant than any quirk or grandiose crime. 

   So for someone like you to lose that? You might as well hang up the villain costume and retire, for all anyone would care. (And yes, you had been called an attention whore a lot throughout your life, but who could blame you when you couldn’t help but thrive on it?)

   Sensing your spiraling thoughts, the Pro raised his eyebrows in an almost pitiful stint, as if he was truly empathizing with the agonized look of your face. 

   "I know you don’t want that, doll." As his declaration dragged on, the grip that had been steadying your jaw was swapped instead for the peculiar feeling of damp fabric —your pantyhose being pushed against your cheek and spreading your own juices around, all while Eraserhead intently studied the new wave of disgust coloring your features. "So why not show me that even a villain slut like you can behave? Give me a reason to believe that and..." The slickered garment was now pressing to your closed lips, your eyes starting to water with the weight of the humiliation you were being made to endure. "Maybe then I’ll consider letting you go."

    You knew he was lying, had every right to doubt the sincerity of his promise and, in its place, conclude he just meant to take advantage of you in your desperate state and then leave you for the pigs to find anyway. 

    You knew all of that, and yet you still opened your mouth and allowed him to do as he pleased. When he worked the pair of soiled stockings inside, you had troubles recognizing the pathetic sight being reflected your way from the wild hue of his gaze. 

   For someone who had always prided herself in being a predator, you had never looked more like prey.

   "Fuck, that’s it, doll." He pushed the piece further with his fingers, forcing you to stretch your lips until your jaw started to hurt from the strain. His fingers swirled inside, pressing the soaked material against the flat of your tongue and instructing you to eagerly lick it.

   You had never felt as debased in your entire life, being forced to choose between savoring your own arousal while tied up in an alley or ruining a reputation you had fought so earnestly to maintain. 

   (And yet your thighs were pressing together now, attempting to create some meager friction to alleviate a yearning that did nothing but shift, demand, grow.)

   "Look at you cleaning up your own mess," he almost sounded proud of you as you kept dutifully sucking, his other hand brushing your hair away from your shoulders in a strangely consoling way. "Seeing you all obedient like this, one could be fooled into thinking there is yet hope for reform."

   By the time the Hero finally took his hand away, bunching up the stockings before fitting them into one of the hidden pockets of his dark costume, you thought you could discern a mocking smile through the clouds of tears.

   "But now, now, doll… are you gonna keep crying or do you wanna try and take proper care of me next?"

   Not finding it in yourself to raise your voice again, you instead opted to wet your lips hesitantly as you awaited for him to elaborate further. There was a question dying to be asked, struggling somewhere alongside the myriad of insolent retorts and insults you wished you could swing the Hero’s way without being harshly reprimanded. 

   "I wouldn’t call that proper exactly," a chuckle reverberated from the back of his throat, gravely and dark as he misrepresented your movements. Fingers still slick from your saliva caressed your bottom lip, massaging it in a way which played straight into the undermining tilt of his words. "Although I’m sure you must be dying to wrap your pretty lips around my cock. Would give you a good reason to stay quiet, uh?"

   You really had been intending not to fall for his obvious goading, not trying to give the Pro anymore reasons to be harsh with you (or even worse, give him an excuse to leave you alone and to a fate worse than his company ever would be). 

   Had tried so hard too, but the cocky villain in you could only take so much degradation before it snapped. 

   "Goddamn it, are you trying to fuck me or bore to death?" As for the slight quivering in your voice, you dearly hoped he wouldn’t pick up on it. 

   Predictably enough, that slip earned you another harsh tug from the capture weapon, your whole body pulled back until you thought you were about to be snapped. 

   "I was just about to praise you for being all sweet for me, V/N." The switch from his pet names to your alias felt like a bucket of ice being dumped on you, voice a slow drawl while he tugged once more from your bottom lip, but this time harsh enough to have you wincing. "I’m trying to teach you how to be a proper girl, so don’t make me regret it. Or would you prefer to go take a prolonged vacation in a holding cell?"

   He already knew your answer judging by the way his eyes coldly studied you, unearthing the secrets you uselessly attempted to hide with an ease that unnerved you (and, as much as you loathe to admit, fascinated you). 

   When he tugged at your mouth again, nails sinking just enough to be noticeable, you knew he was expecting a verbal answer. And a nice one, at that. 

   "Then fucking get on with it…" Words slurred at the end, caught up in the increasingly somber aura of your captor before you swallow thickly, quickly adding as an afterthought, "Please."

   At that, his scowl receded enough for some satisfaction to find its way back into his grimace.

   The more you struggled, the sweeter your surrender became.  

   "Not perfect, but better," he conceded with a thoughtful hum.

   If you had properly studied just who he was beyond his active Heroism, then you would’ve understood just how accustomed he was to insubordination. If anything, your act only served to make him feel more at home.

   You had barely any time to wonder about whatever he had planned next though, because in an instant that damned contraction of his was moving you around once more, twisting you until you were facing the brick wall of the alleyway with heaving breaths. 

   Your legs were now maneuvered until you were forced to keep them apart just a smidgen, the new inviting space between your thighs surely a most intoxicating promise for the sick man manhandling you. And your back experienced pain afterwards too, harshly pushed until you had no option but to allow yourself to be pressed against the dirty walls; As a result, you found yourself with your ass backed up and for the world to see, the frilly skirt of your dress caught somewhere between all the movements.

   Yet even being roughed up as you were, when a hand reached out to tug your ruined underwear away you couldn't help greedily rutting into it, too worried by the fire gathering in your lower belly to care about maintaining a semblance of the reluctance you would later claim to have experienced. 

   It was almost comical for the Hero to observe the pathetic image you were now serving up on an ornate platter —especially when compared to the list of deviant crimes and horrors your spreadsheet of accomplishments preached. For all intents and purposes, you really were a horrible, messed up individual…

   So it was a wonder why his mind had kept supplying him with the same descriptor ever since he first saw you, the same sweet little word that he thought might as well be written all over your skin for how accurate it described you.

   A cute little doll (soon to be his cute little doll). Despite believing himself to be a fairly responsable Hero, the man had never wanted to play with anything as much as he did with you.

   The sound of a zipper being lowered was alarmingly loud in the emptiness of your surroundings, as loud as a wail to your sensitive ears. When you squirmed below your restraints, nonetheless, you could no longer pinpoint whether it was from unadulterated fear or a sick sense of anticipation.

   How easy it had been to break you, even if you would never recognize it openly.

   "Knew you were into it, and now watch your ass trembling in excitement for me." He was chuckling again, not pretending like the cruelty coating his words had any other intention but to degrade you further. It had been just his luck, to find the one villain who just so happened to enjoy it. "I really hit the jackpot with you, didn’t I, doll?"

   When the lewd sound of one of his fists pumping his cock reached your ears, you didn’t even bother disguising the whines of complaint refusing to be contained any longer. 

   "Stop..." Words spilled from clenched teeth, growled out with an annoyance that no longer sought to defy, "Fucking..." but to demand instead, "Teasing."

   "Hmm, that’s cute. Why don’t you try begging me though?" His cadence was growing as bated as his breath, littered by intermittent curses as his eyes dined on the sight of your glistening core, held up and offered up for him to do as he pleased. "Beg for me to use you, and if you put on a good enough show I might just let you off."

   Another shiver rampaging it's way through your body, an exhilaration that could not be entirely pinpointed. 

   "Please…" You started, rough intonation dripping with venom —But Eraserhead didn't seem to mind the sardonic nature of your pleading though, not as you heard the litany of damnations being spilled from his lips. Your shameful excitement, your bitterness, your hatred… he would feast on it all and do it gladly. "Get on with it, bastard. Didn't anyone tell you never to toy with your food?"

   A low murmur was your only response at first, followed by the lewd sound of his pre-cum covered cock being harshly jerked.

   "Hmmm, aren't you being a bit too demanding…" His steps echoed again behind you, his unoccupied hand coming up to massage your ass with a rather firm grip. "Even with the begging, I don't think you've learned your place yet."

    When he planted a slap in the same place he had been eagerly caressing before, sharp and flaring up your nerves with the sting of pain and humiliation, you couldn't stop your scream from turning into a wanton little moan halfway through. 

   Even if he was hitting you, it still meant he was touching you, and so enticingly close to the place you actually needed tended to.

   "Do it…" your breathing was too heavy to speak in full fluid sentences, body flushed and mind filled with the buzzing of desire. "Do it again, fuck."

   You were still not begging him like he asked, but it seemed like your choice of words still greatly pleased him. Another slap rained on your ass, his big warm palm massaging the same reddening spot right after.

   And he kept going, the spanking echoing through your body and sending both pain and pleasured shivers up your spine—lewd sounds mixing in with the increasing pace of his other fist pumping his cock. Even without directly touching you, your pussy clenched and weeped with each firm hit. 

   "Damn, it's my first time meeting such a masochistic whore." Punctuated by his most painful slap yet, the globes of your ass left trembling and a furious shade of crimson to match his lust-filled eyes. "I can see why you've managed to stay free for so long, little villain." The debasement, paired with the pain of his firm strikes, had you moaning even louder. You couldn't even recognize your own sounds, nor the thrills you felt at this entire fucked up ordeal. "Wonder how many other Pros you showed this beautiful sight to."

   Even through the fog of sensations impeding you from being wholly coherent, though, you still couldn't help but want to set the record straight. 

   "None, fuck…" Words merging into another expectant whine when you felt his hand gripping your flesh again, only this time he was kneading you in an oddly tender way —Urging you on, fingers creeping closer to your needy hole. "I'm not… usually in the business of fucking Heroes. Shit, I hate this…" 

   But you didn’t, and when you were surprised by the warmth of his naked erection barely grazing the sensitive outer lips of your cunt, you couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped you. 

   "Goddamn, V/N, even while you're an ill-mannered brat you still manage to know just what to say." 

   And then the older man was sliding his cock in the juncture of your thighs, teasing your core by pressing against it while grunts began to escape him. You thought you could cry from having him so close yet still not where you wanted him, but then his shallow thrusts against your legs proved to be much more stimulating than you first expected. 

   The fat head of his cock even managed to somewhat stimulate your puffy clit with its movements, pushing in its direction as your essence continued to leak out and cover you both. And It was so absolutely debauched, to think a Hero was using your thighs like a fucktoy while you were tied down and unable to stop it....

   But it felt so good. Even without him actually in you, you had never been this turned on before. 

   "More… ughhh," you were now screaming with the side of your face pressed flush against the disgusting brick walls, needy sounds filling the night and making it privy to your descent into madness.

   Another thrust, this time angled just precisely enough not to caress your pleasurable areas. Punishment, you feverishly thought while you attempted to wiggle your ass, eager to force more of that delicious friction you were quickly becoming hypnotized by. 

   "Now, V/N," his gruff voice had adopted a mocking tone of reprimand as he continued to rut against the soft skin of your thighs. "Haven't I taught you anything, yet? If you want something…" The hand returned to your heated skin, digits underneath you both spreading your pussy enough for the chilly night air to send shivers straight to your core. "You gotta say please."

   And say please you did. Screamed it even, so eager for more and already far beyond feeling any embarrassment. 

   He didn't fuck you, not like you really wanted, but suddenly his thick shaft was sliding between your lips as his capture weapon aided him in angling your body just right, pulsing against your hole while he found a new rythimn. When both of his hands returned, one of them held you back to make the process even easier while the other swiftly joined his cock in tending to your eager pussy.

   So lost were you in the new raw excitement seizing you, in the knowledge of just how messed up you both were for engaging in such debauchery —so distracted that you didn't even notice the faint buzzing returning to your arms, the vibrancy of an old frequency being reactivated and allowed to encapsulate you again.

   (You didn’t notice, but fuck if it didn’t made your orgasm all the sweeter.) 

   You were cumming like that, your moans resembling squeaks, your body feeling closer to a used fucktoy than a human being. The hero kept rutting against you, the joint efforts of his cock and hand mercilessly continuing to abuse your spasming cunt while your cries filled the space with their decadence. 

   You felt dirty, guilty, maybe even a little ashamed as the orgasm briefly gave you a clarity of mind your arousal had clouded.

   And yet, despite it all, it had been the best you felt in years, possibly ever. As the Pro now tugged your hair, forcing you to wrench your neck just enough to look at him over your shoulder, you couldn't help licking your lips in expectation of what he had in store next.

   "You're gonna show me your face next time you come, little villain." He gave you just enough time to nod, eyebrows drawn as your pleasure got impossibly dragged out by the stimulation he still bathed you with. "And you're gonna keep begging me, keep showing me why you deserve to stay free, okay?"

   It was commendable, how collected he managed to sound while thrusting into your thighs like that, the sounds of skin slapping against skin driving each of his words home. 

   "Yes, fuck, whatever you want…" Despite your senses shortly coming back earlier, you were still too far gone to rethink your poor choices. You just knew you wanted more, and so you asked for it. "Just give me more, please."

   So fucking obedient. If your parents could see you know, their failure of a villain daughter being all proper and learning to beg for what she wanted? Well, perhaps saying they'd be proud was a stretch, considering you were also the one getting fucked in the middle of a filthy alley. 

   What you hadn’t expected, however, was just how well your begging would work. 

   Because the next thrust of his shaft was not between your legs, but aimed to finally breach your needy cunt instead, easily filling you up in one go with how utterly soaked in both of your juices you already were. The girth of him had you already clenching with renewed vigor, his hand stopping his assault on your clit just to give you enough time to truly savor the new intoxicating sensation.

   And when your eyes found his again, so drunk on the waves of pleasure you were that you also failed to notice the lack of scarlet coloring the orbs boring into yours, now inescapable voids of dark desire and a type of intense fixation you thought hadn't been there moments ago. 

   (Or maybe it was always there, and you had been too busy with your own turmoil to notice the clues being left by your so-called enemy).

   "Want me to stuff you properly?" His guttural question hit you at the same time as his sharp movements found your tender spot with experienced ease, walls tightening around him while your entire body struggled to continue holding yourself upright, relying more and more on the capture weapon to keep you from toppling over. 

   The binds still hurt from how tightly they wrapped around you, bruises sure to be left on their wake, but by that point you weren't so sure anymore the sting was an entirely bad thing. If anything, it just made the pleasure all the sweeter by comparison.  

   "Want me to fill you with so much cum that you reek of hero cock for the rest of the week?" He laughed while he regurgitated some of your words from earlier, the hand pressing against your lower stomach caressing you with a distinct sense of ownership as he elicited another loud moan with a sharp movement of his hips. 

   Noticing you reacting not only to his actions but to his quips, you could practically hear the self congratulatory smirk as he spoke next.

   "Bet the other villains would love knowing how much of a cockhungry whore you turned into too, doll. Talk about fraternizing with the enemy."

   And he was right, in a way. Because what would your fellow villains think, seeing you being wrecked by one of the most infamous Pros in the business, lowering yourself to pleading and screaming as he rearranged your insides. 

   Would you get called a disloyal whore or just a plain traitor? Not only would your spotless reputation and the myth you had fought to build collapse, but from its ashes your eternal shame could be erected. 

   A shame that would tower over you, looming around you while the eyes of your peers followed you everywhere. You could even picture the jests veered your way, the looks of utter disgust and ridicule...

   Somehow, the idea of anyone finding out only made your screams grow louder, impossibly more fervent. 

   "Fucking… get on with it."

   However, his rhythm was rapidly interrupted after your jab, his cock pulling out almost entirely as your core convulsed with the sudden staggering emptiness it was left to grapple with. More whimpers, struggling against the set of eternally unforgiving ties encasing your body. 

   "But you're making me do all the work, little one" Another slap shook your entire frame as it landed heavily on your still pained cheeks. You were so sore, both from the previous set of hits and from the sheer exhaustion starting to set in, muscles tight and resentful from the awkward positions your body had been manhandled into. "If you really want to continue this, how about you start doing some of the heavy lifting, uh?" Just like before, his palm started massaging the tender spot he had just smacked, fingers digging into your supple flesh being as close to comforting as the Pro seemed capable of. "Show me just how good you can be."

   And you could've argued, truly, could've even attempted to hold onto the last vestiges of your pride…

   You could’ve done a lot of things, but the truth was that when his weapon relented its hold at last, retreating from the underside of your knees and giving in just a smidge for the first time since you had been captured, you didn't waste any seconds before you were chasing after your high with renewed vigor.

   Greedily sinking into him with an obscene sigh, you audibly marveled at the curve of his member being deliciously imprinted in your insides. While you copied the cadence the Hero had previously employed, his grip on your lower belly fluttered, almost like he couldn't decide whether to take control back or allow you to humiliate yourself further with your own zealousness. 

   It seemed like the later prospect won him over in the end though, because he remained almost impassively still as you did all the work needed to bring you both deliriously close to your peaks. 

   The sight must've been spectacular, watching you, renown villain V/N, so thoroughly broken and willing to heed his every command. Impaling yourself on his cock, moaning and continuing to beg him for something you were already taking for yourself. 

   If he died right then and there, he doubted Heaven wouldn't have as much appeal as the scene still unfolding before his eyes. (But again, considering his actions, Heaven wouldn't really be the right place for either of you.)

   You were just about to reach your second orgasm, toes curling inside your shoes, fists clenched and a face that spelt poetic extasis. Angling the way you took his cock, every single movement driving him painstakingly deeper, slamming against a spot that made you imagine the stars falling from the sky all around you, their light being the one bathing you instead of the malfunctioning street lamps. 

   So goddamn close…

   Only to have him pull out again, this time completely. You were clenching against nothing, all stimulation stolen from you, and the bitterness of a ruined orgasm promptly dragged curses and complaints out of you before you could even think to stop them. 

   Eyes searched his, urgently seeking an explanation for his withdrawal only to find his glare fixated instead on that same dirty pair of stockings that had started it all. 

   Eraserhead must have taken the garment out of his pocket sometime while he fucked you, unfolding it from its scrunched up state until the crotch was visibly presented for both of you to admire, dark sheer fabric still stained from a mix of your arousal and spit. 

   When the Pro looked at you again, a beautifully dark smile topped his attractive face. He looked painfully content, the way he studied your own mortified expression reminding you of an artist studying his masterwork. 

   "Only the truly obedient ones get their cunts filled." You noticed then how his other hand was jerking him off again, erection rubbing against the nylon undergarments in a most obscene depiction. Too bad you were too frustrated to appreciate any of it. "I don't think you've… hell, you haven't earned it yet, V/N."

    You didn't even notice you were tearing up from the annoyance until it was too late. And maybe that was what finally did it, seeing you actually crying at his refusal to breed you like the slut you both knew you were, writhing in exaggerated despair as you found yourself feeling jealous of a stupid pair of tights, because not long after your pathetic reaction the man was letting out a pained groan of his own and spilling himself all over the damned garment. 

   But instead of rubbing your wailing in your face after he came down from his own delicious high, last few spurts of cum slowing down to a halt, you were surprised instead by the weapon that had been binding you for the longest time finally retreating.

   As expected, you unceremoniously collapsed to the floor, feet now unprepared for supporting your weight and your entire being wholly exhausted after enduring the roughest fuck you had ever experienced. It hurt all over, although you weren't sure whether your still present longing wasn't what pained you the most. 

   When you looked up to the Pro again, trying to find an answer to the new freedom you were experiencing, you were surprised by having the cum-dripped stockings thrown in your face. 

   And quite literally so, the still wet seed dribbling down your cheek and into your trembling lips, all before you collected enough wits to grab the offending item and pull it down with an expression of unadulterated disgust. 

   "Sorry, doll, but you were pouting so irresistibly," The Eraser user actually laughed, this time the sound coming with an untroubled merriment you did not think he was capable of.

   He actually looked worn out while he tucked himself back into his costume, accommodating the pieces of clothing until all hints from your ravenous affair disappeared. The bandages were wrapping themselves around his neck once more, looking more like an extravagant scarf than the most precise set of inmovilazing gear you had ever endured. 

   However, something about his attitude had you forgetting all about his newest slight, much too worried by a new cause of worry. 

   "Hold on..."

   Eraserhead looked down at you from his place after you raised your voice, urging you to continue as he finished getting himself presentable. The air of nonchalance around him was almost more intimidating than any of the actual threats or vulgar comments he had voiced prior. Almost.

   "Are you…" you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, voice still raspy and hoarse after what had just transpired. "Are you really letting me go?"

   The man just raised one of his eyebrows at that, eyes crinkling for the first time and looking strangely amused. 

   "Doll, I stopped exerting my quirk on you while I was still teasing you good and proper," he declared bluntly. When his orbs glimmered again, you now felt like an imbecile as you finally realized they had completely lost the reddish hue to them. "So you know what? I thought you deserved to get an out of jail free card for behaving yourself… even if you still need to work some more on your manners."

   To call your shocked expression dumbfounded would be a disservice. 

   When his now bottomless eyes bore into yours for one final time, all you could do was stare back in dazzled shock. Your quirk was back, the Pro himself had just confirmed it, and yet you were still nailed to the spot, still anticipating his next words without even thinking of attacking him in the meantime.

   One little tumble and you were already his brightest pupil yet. He was now so glad to have waited that long, it only made the outcome all the more fulfilling. 

   "You don’t need to be so surprised, Y/N, we'll be seeing each other soon,” He kneeled in front of you for an instant, both hands reaching out to hold up your face in a gesture more resembling a lover than… well, whatever the hell you two were. So entranced you were then, that the use of your real name barely even registered. “It’s been difficult to keep you away from trouble thus far,” his acknowledgment reverberated in the alley, its meaning something else lost to you as you couldn’t help but become entranced by the new peculiar softness he addressed you with, “but getting you like this now, seeing you break so easily… fuck, I’ll mold you right back up, doll, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about anything else.”

   And just then, for the first time you realized, the Hero’s lips were brushing against yours gently, uncharacteristically careful as he kissed you slowly. Even his hands were tender while they guided you, treating you as if you truly were a doll that could just be snapped with a mere wrong movement. As if he hadn’t just been treating you like a dirty hole for him to use and abuse just short instants ago. 

   But at least he did not seem to care about the mess that was your face at the moment, about the cum stains or the still damp trails of tears. And, for whatever reason, you found yourself returning the gesture in kind, melting into the oddly affectionate touch of a man you were still halfway sure you loathed. 

   Even after he left you, alone and a mess still toppled over on the floor with the shadow of humiliation cloaking your shoulders, your fingers couldn’t help but touch your lips with a bizarre mixture of bewilderment and horror.

   He told me I would see him soon, your mind supplied as you found yourself irreparably fixating your stare on the pair of now completely ruined tights you were still holding onto. The fact that you felt any type of excitement about the notion did not fail to mortify you. 

   God, even for villain standards you were fucked. 

But it was okay, because misery loved company and, with time at his disposal and the right amount of coaching, Shouta was sure he could teach you to properly crave his soon enough.

— — — 

And, 8k of foul smut later, if y’all read through that whole thing... drop by my ask to recieve your congratulatory gold stars! ⭐ (jk but I do appreciate hearing y’alls thoughts, it’s what keeps me halfway productive 🖤)

Last but not least, very special thanks to my best pals @reinawritesbnha​, @snappysnapo​ and @drxwsyni​ (who actually proof read this and helped me out immensely with her Big Brain Feedback. A TALENTED ANGEL). 

[marvelous-maximilian]

[AO3]

Tony not-so-subtly wrinkles his nose, and Howard can’t help but empathize. He, too, is beginning to lose his patience, and would quite literally do anything to get out of this conversation as quickly as possible. Their audience, however— a senator who knows just enough about rocket science to bullshit his way into looking like he knows what he’s talking about— isn’t really giving the Starks an opening to hightail it out of the interaction. 

Obadiah had been getting on Howard’s case, recently, for rather understandable reasons. He was the CEO of a multi-million dollar company, whose wife had recently died, and he had vanished from the public eye for months. The longer he stayed in isolation, the more people wanted a story, and many have already begun to weave conspiracy theories and outright slander. After a certain amount of months, the story that he was busy ‘grieving’ seemed too flimsy to the public, apparently. The board was getting restless, a point Obadiah kept making, and so Howard had no choice but to accept an invitation to a charity event. One that Maria would typically be the one to attend.

Of course, many had expected Howard to come alone, like he usually did when he went out to make connections. Instead, he had taken a leaf from his late wife’s book and brought along Tony, and went even further to bring along Peggy and an agent of hers by the name of Nick Fury. He can’t understand why people would be surprised by this. There’s no way in hell he’s letting his son out of his sight, not even for a single night. Besides, Tony was always seen at charity events alongside his mother. Howard may not be Maria, but he was still Tony’s parent, and there was nothing wrong with keeping this unofficial tradition of attending charities together alive.

Unfortunately, not everyone seemed to agree with that line of reasoning. While a good half of the attendees were charmed with Antonio, having met him before on many occasions and were quite used to his quick wit and abundant intelligence, the other half that Howard was more familiar with were... Condescending at best. At worst, they were downright insulting.

The amount of times the Starks had to endure blatantly false accusations of Howard buying Tony’s way through his schooling, from both business rivals and supposed partners, was enough to really get their blood boiling. Many were too caught up in their own egos to catch Tony’s displays of higher knowledge. Some even laughed and called him ‘cute’ when he attempted to open a discussion on artificial intelligence.

(Howard can already tell that Tony is going to take those personal insults and use it to fuel his ambitions. He doesn’t know where, exactly, his son got it into his head to pave the way for real, fully-functional artificial intelligence, but from the few comments the boy had made, Howard had no doubts that he will succeed. When Tony was focused, practically nothing could shake him out of it until he was finished with the job.)

This senator in particular seemed to be among the variety who wasn’t attempting to be insulting, but certainly came off that way. He spoke like he was the smartest man in the room— which, considering the amount of scientists in the room, he most definitely was not. He had continuously brushed away every attempt at conversation Tony made with a shake of the head, pointing a look towards Howard in a ‘kids these days, they think they know everything’ sort of expression.

As if Howard would agree. Christ, it really had him grinding his teeth.

Things really came to a head when the senator ruffled Tony’s hair. 

Let it be known that Antonio Edward Stark did not like being touched by people unless they were either family, or had explicit permission to do so. He didn’t like hugs from strangers, he didn’t like it when old ladies pinched his cheeks, and he very much did not like having his hair tousled by grown know-it-alls who can’t help talking down to people who are smarter than them.

“You should carry a plant around,” Tony said, fluttering his eyelashes in that all-too-innocent way he does before he says something that’s bound to make Howard lose his marbles. Big eyes paired with his now mildly messy hair, he looked like the picture of sweetness. 

As a businessman, Howard should probably make some attempt at stopping his son from insulting any of the other guests, regardless of how absolutely infuriating they are. Especially when they’re someone in such a high position of power. As a father, he’s rather looking forward to whatever his kid has to say, regardless of the many scrutinizing eyes on them.

Fatherhood wins out, so he stays quiet, letting the senator dig his grave as the man leans down and starts to talk like the patronizing imbecile he is.

“And why is that, young man?”

“To replace the oxygen you waste whenever you talk,” Tony replies, grinning back sharply. Beside Howard, Peggy chokes on a sip of apple cider, and starts coughing.

Around them, the noise of the other guests decrease in volume, many having overheard. The coughs seem to echo a bit in the silence, so Fury guides Peggy away from the center of attention, blending into the crowd, but keeping an eye on the Starks. Neither agents want to end up with their faces plastered in the tabloids, but they still have a job to do.

The click of a camera goes off.

“Tony,” Howard scolds, putting on the act of a disappointed father. “I’m so sorry for my son’s behavior, if you could excuse me for a moment—”

He picks Tony up and into his arms, then walks away, not bothering to wait around for Senator What's-his-name’s remarks. As soon as they’re far enough, out of earshot and away from the majority of the eyes that had witnessed the interaction, Howard leans towards his son’s ear.

“Do you have any idea,” he whispers, “Any idea, how difficult it was not to laugh?”

Tony giggles, and buries his face into his dad’s shoulder, body shaking in a way that, to those peering from the outside, made it look as though he were crying.

“Seriously. Fantastic performance, Tony,” he continues to whisper. “You’d do pretty good as an actor. I think you deserve a reward.”

“Make it something that looks like you’re trying to shut me up,” Tony suggests, mumbling into Howard’s coat.

“Great idea. Let’s go get you some juice, yeah? You’re probably thirsty, I bet.”

“Orange juice?”

“I don’t see any spread out, but I’ll ask one of the staff.”

They don’t have orange juice, but they do have banana milkshakes, for whatever reason, and although that isn’t what Tony was hoping for, he takes it anyways. A flute of champagne is also offered to Howard, which the man isn’t too happy about, but he still accepts it with a smile. It’s not like he has to drink any of it, right? 

Tony seems to have the same idea, because after a small sip of his milkshake, he clearly decides that he hates it. The boy doesn’t show it in his expression, but the carefully blank mask is just as much of a tell as scrunching up his face would be. 

“Don’t like bananas?”

“I do,” Tony assures, slightly turning his nose away from his glass. “I don’t think I like it mixed with milk though.”

Howard chuckles and pats his son’s head.

“You don’t have to drink it, then. C’mon, let’s go get Peggy and leave. We’ve been here long enough, and I’m sure we’ve got some orange juice at home.”

After abandoning the milkshake and champagne, they find Peggy and the younger agent, Nick, not too far, the two having been watching the Starks from the crowd. The journey home is not necessarily long— not even a full hour away, in fact— but it’s long enough that Tony ends up falling to sleep against his father’s side in the car. It’s not the first time Tony’s fallen asleep beside Howard, but the novelty of it never seems to wear off whenever it happens.

When they roll up into the driveway, rather than waking his son, Howard lifts him up and carries him towards his room, walking past SHIELD agents who aren’t all that great at pretending they’re not completely amused by how adorable a sight the father and son duo make. Or maybe they just think Tony is adorable, which would make sense considering they’re all wrapped around the kid’s finger.

Halfway towards the bedroom, Tony blinks himself awake, grumpily squinting up at his father. Howard gives him a fond smile, about to tell him to go back to sleep, when things suddenly go to shit.

Tony’s face twists up in pain, and he starts crying.

“Antonio?!”

Immediately, Howard kneels down and sets Tony onto the ground, and SHIELD agents begin to crowd in.

“Papá,” Tony groans, wrapping his arms around his stomach. “Papá, fa male.”

“Maybe it’s food poisoning,” one of the SHIELD agents suggests, which makes the universe decide to prove them wrong, evidently, because that’s the exact moment Tony turns on his side and starts vomiting blood. 

Howard freezes up, breath stuttering to a stop. He sees Maria and Tony’s faces side by side, and it’s like his world is crumbling around him. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know if he can do anything, and the panic taking over him is drowning out the voices and chaos.

“Out of the way!”

Peggy pushes past the SHIELD agents, clapping a hand on Howard’s shoulder, forcefully turning him to look at her.

“Howard, pick him up. We’ve got to go.”

“What?”

“The hospital,” Peggy explains. “Pick him up, we’re getting back in the car and driving to the hospital. Now.”

Her instructions bulldozes through his panic and has him spurned to action. Not even a minute later, they’re speeding towards the nearest hospital.

[zer0pm]

Imagine taking care of V after a night of heavy drinking.

Based on one of the first asks I’ve received by anon:

If you’re reading this, I hope you enjoy it! Thanks again for the request!

.

.

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You: “I still can’t believe you fell for Dante’s plan.”

V: “He said just...one......drink...”

You: “It’s never just one drink with that guy!”

After the Devil May Cry crew reigned in another victory, growing closer and closer to their goal, the head of the demon hunting family Dante decided to treat everyone to some booze. Well, some turned out to be several caskets. Apparently the man had several hidden in random locations throughout the city and the team happened to be nearby one of the castes. V, who admits himself to be a light drinker, accepted one pint. Dante wouldn’t have any of that and kept on filling the tattooed man’s cup.

V tried to be responsible and refused of course, valuing self-control over lack of, but Dante was sneaky. His personal brew was particularly strong and as he watched V conversate with you, waiting for him to loosen up in your exchange, the man in red shoved the pint into V’s hands and helped him gulp it the alcohol down. Now V was a staggering mess and you had to pull him away from crew for the night, supporting him over your shoulder. Dante in his drunken stupor called after you with a pout.

Dante: “Wait! Where you going? The party is just getting started!”

You: “The man can’t see straight, Dante! I’m gonna tuck him in.”

Dante: “But he was going to recite some Flake!”

V: “Blake, you...uhh...imbecile.”

Amazing, drunk out of his mind and he can still recall his readings.

V: “I curse my stars in bitter gri-”

You: “No, don’t even start! We’re leaving.”

You practically had to drag the man away, hearing the boos from Dante and Nero, hearing a whistle from Nico, while Trish and Lady were too busy laughing apparently being the only two that actually held their liquor.

It was a short trek to the trailer, the vehicle sitting under the moonlight’s cast. There weren’t any demons around and the night was quiet. You would have liked to enjoy this peace if it wasn’t for the stumbling man struggling to stay standing beside you. Despite his slender frame, V was surprisingly heavy atop you. He can feel your strain in supporting him in his dull haze.

V: “You’re...not drunk?”

You: “After drinking with that crazy guy Dante for so long? Yeah, I’m a heavyweight.”

V: “I see. Am I heavy?”

You had to bite back your laugh at how adorable he sounded.

You: “A bit, but I got you, V. Don’t worry.”

V: “Not worried... Just...”

You feel him lean further into you, forcing you to adjust to keep him upright.

You: “H-Hey! You okay?”

V: “...Yes.”

He said that so quietly you almost couldn’t hear or believe him, but he must have realized how close he was to you and straightens his posture slightly, pulling the warm air of his breath away from the back of your neck. A warm air you that didn’t realize had left a tingly feeling upon your skin until it was gone, leaving the spot to cool. You shivered.

V: “I can walk...”

You: “Not gonna happen. Besides, we’re just about here.”

You were careful to make sure he did not stumble over or fall as he climbed into the trailer, you followed closely behind and led him to sit on the sofa right next to the door.

Grabbing his cane from his hand and setting it aside, you move to help him get comfortable, starting with undoing the buckles of his shoes. He tried to protest by bending over, but you swat his hands away and glare at him pointedly.

You: “Let me, V.”

He narrows his green eyes at you back despite the daze within them.

V: “I am not a child.”

You: “Not treating you like one, I just want to take care of you.”

V: “Why?”

You: “Because I want to. Is there any other reason?”

He tilts his head to the side, the way he does this made him look incredibly cute despite him being a grown man. A grown, often serious and aloof man. You took a moment to admire the way his long, dark hair sweeps across his forehead. Because he was angling his head in his attempt to keep a steady gaze on you, his hair also covered his eye, making the green in the other that can be seen stand out.

V: “Hn...”

V was apparently one of those drunks that likes to sway and you see his frame rocking slowly from side-to-side. You grabbed onto his shoulders to keep him steady.

You: “You okay?”

He peers at you beneath his dark lashes and the lump in your throat tightens at the sight of how charmingly handsome he was with that heavy-lidded look.

V: “...Sleepy.”

You: “O-Oh? Right.”

You return to his shoes, effectively slipping them off. You look up to see V fumbling around with the ties of his vest. Watching with humored interest at his lack of success and almost giggling when you hear him huff in frustration. You stand on your knees in between his legs, grabbing his hands gently and placing them down before moving your own to the laces of his clothing.

You: “Allow me.”

This time he did not protest, adhering to your command and offer. You can feel the weight of his eyes upon you with piqued interest and although you blamed it on his drunken gaze, the fact that he was staring at you so intently burned a growing blush upon your cheeks. You made sure to bow your head low so that he couldn’t see it despite it being relatively dark in the trailer. When it came undone, you let him take off the article of clothing by himself. He had a bit of a hard time at first but eventually V managed to take it off completely, leaving him in only his dark pants and the small accessories that hung around his wrist and neck.

His skin was illuminated under the pale light of the moon, accentuating the marks that flowed across it. He truly was a slender man, not muscular at all, but he had enough definition that made him look rather attractive. With the tattoos on his skin, the tones of his lean physique was only brought out more. To top this off with those heavy-lidded eyes, V looked downright seductive.

V: “You’re staring.”

You blushed.

You: “Sorry! I’ve just never seen you with your vest off before.”

V: “Hmm...”

He looks like he meant to say more but instead he is swaying again, leaning dangerously to the side and you were quick to help him slowly lie down. You felt him shake.

V: “Ahh!”

You retreat your hands once you were sure he was fine.

You: “Sorry, again! Are my hands cold?”

V: “No... You’re warm.”

Suddenly you feel his hand upon your wrist and with surprising strength you didn’t know he had, he pulls you atop him on the sofa. You held yourself up with the elbow of your free arm against the cushion and your knees on either side of his hips but it left you exposed to him and your face dangerously close to his. V must have read your thoughts as he lifts his head up slightly to caress your nose with his, his lips ghosting against yours. You gasp, feeling his knee softly rub against the junction between your legs.

You: “V-”

V: “I want you.”

At these words, you nearly felt yourself become undone. The desire to surrender yourself to his charms and abandon all inhibitions to be lost in each other’s pleasure. But then you remember, the heavy daze within his green eyes. He’s not all there. It took all of your willpower to pull away from him, to remove your wrist from his hand to push his knee back down. It nearly broke your heart at the sight of his frown, the dejected expression of pain evident. You shake your head at him.

You: “Not like this, V. Please.”

He seems to have regained himself slightly, remaining lucid enough to realize what he was doing. There was a flash of shame on his face before he sighs, restreating to lay back down on the sofa.

V: “Yes, yes... Forgive me. I am not entirely myself. Please, forget this.”

Wait. But you didn’t want to. You didn’t want him saying that he needed you and not mean it. It had to have come from somewhere. You didn’t want him to think that you were rejecting him. Almost desperately, you lie down, resting your body against his, your head stop his bare chest. His body tensed beneath you and you ran a hand across his smooth skin comfortably, tracing the patterns of his tattoos before lying your palm flat against where you felt his beating heart. Beneath your fingers, the thumping was fast.

You: “I want you too.”

There was a silence between you two, a tension that can be cut with a knife. You were growing nervous. Now that you admitted it out loud, was he going to reject you? The thought was dashed away when you realized that his heartbeat was slowing to a serene pace and you watched his hand reach up to weave his fingers with yours, keeping your hand in place.

V: “With you I feel...protected.”

That took you off guard. What an odd choice of words. It left a mix of questions in your head as well as strange emotions. Did V ever felt unsafe? He was an incredibly capable devil hunter in his own right and he handled powerful enemies with such a calm composure, you looked up to him as someone who was unafraid of anything. Yet he practically admitted to have been vulnerable. You wanted to ask when he felt like that. You weren’t sure to what end but it left you a strong urge to actually protect him. When you looked up to question him about this, you notice that he fell asleep. His eyes closed and his breathing shallow. He passed out...

With this, you smiled and made sure that he was comfortable as you both laid together on the sofa. Made sure that he knew you were there by giving his hand that was still woven with yours a reassuring squeeze, one in which he subconsciously returned. The two of you had each other wrapped in the other’s arms as you slept peacefully for the rest of the night.

[kibanafuji]

thrusting one's arm betwixt the jaws of a dragon is not brave; only foolish. ↪ a stranger taunted: Why bother with Bede? He’s a bully and a brat. All he’s good at is looking cute and making people feel sorry for him. He’s manipulating you like he manipulated Rose and Opal, and I can’t believe you’re falling for it.

"..."

he can't help the smile that draws across his lips in his amusement.

"right, first of all, mate, i'm well aware bede's lookin' to mooch off me one way or another," he chuckles--- and it's genuine, too. "an' i don't 'ave a problem with it. because i'm an adult, an' kids should rely on adults, at least to certain extents. obviously there's an issue when there's far too much reliance--- an' there isn't any mental or physical issue that means they can't help relyin' on 'em so much--- but that isn't the case with bede. bede's strong, an' independent. always 'as been independent--- had to be. an' that's exactly why i'm 'elpin' out now. just fillin' in what was missin' from childhood, innit."

raihan tucks his hands into his hoodie pocket, still smiling calmly.

"kids who get abandoned or orphaned real young don't get the luxury of 'avin' a family growin' up if they don't end up in a good orphanage. an' some of 'em might not get a family even if they do get adopted. there's a lot of love an' care an' nurturin' missin' there. there's things, material objects you can't get either, like toys, food, sometimes specific kinds, sometimes not at all, an' expensive clothes an' that.

you shouldn't give a kid everything they ask for, sure. but kids need to be able to be kids. they need things to play with, friends to talk to, family to care about 'em. they need warm clothes, an' they need happiness. it's not a want, that's a basic an' important part a' developin' things properly, mentally speakin'. me givin' bede gifts 'ere an' there, that's not outta pity, an' it's not outta gettin' manipulated into it. that's me seein' a little flowerbud growin' by the pavement an' thinkin' i'd like to see it bloom, an' givin' it a sip from my water bottle. givin' it the nourishment necessary to growin' up strong an' 'ealthy, because it 'asn't rained in a while an' it could use a little boost."

"... an' you know, if you think of all people, rose an' opal are gettin' manipulated... by... by a teenager in a big puffy coat, who looks identical to the knifecat meme..."

a pause.

"i. i c. i---"

PFFFFFFSNRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRK

"man, you--- you REALLY don't know anything about those two, do you?"

he keeps laughing to himself as he continues.

"nor anythin' about BEDE, for that matter. it's honestly an insult to all three of us that you think we're so dumb bede's flyin' under ANY of our radars when it comes to tryin' to 'sneakily' get somethin' out of us."

raihan's tone is fond, and it gets fonder as he continues.

"bede's a little shit, i'll give you that. but... if you thought i didn't know that, either, you must figure i'm a bloody imbecile, an' you definitely know jack shit 'bout me. bede bein' a bratty little gremlin is the entire reason i'm so fond of the tyke! yeah, sure, went a bit too far talkin' shite about hop right to 'is face, i'll give you that--- but that isn't unforgivable. an' if bede 'asn't apologized yet, then i'll make sure that 'appens."

... there's one more thought that lingered in his mind from the moment the stranger began talking that he doesn't speak. one about a specific little ribombee.

she's. she's. her. she's. she.

when the stranger first spoke, raihan had to hold back the twitches and twinges that prodded him with every wrong pronoun spoken like little static shocks.

he has to keep his promise. bede hasn't given the okay. she hasn't told him it's alright to start using her correct pronouns with strangers. he has to keep his promise and not tell anyone, and that includes not outing her by using "she" and "her" in reference to her when he's not speaking to someone who she's already come out to.

... but it's downright torturous standing here unable to defend her from this attack. because regardless of whether it’s intentional or not, this is an attack--- misgendering is an inherently violent act, and it's one he wants to protect her from, but he can't.

even the act of not correcting this stranger feels to him as if he'd just slipped up and used the wrong pronouns for her himself, and he knows, he's known that he'd never be able to keep using the wrong ones now that he knows that they're wrong--- and thus, when he speaks, he steps around using any pronouns while talking about bede, whenever possible.

he's glad his speech is so casual that one wouldn't even notice it if they didn't have incredible perception, and even if they did, it's so innocuous that questioning it would be pointless and strange to an onlooker.

he may not be able to protect her from this sort of attack yet, but at the very least, he'll never consciously point his claws at her.