CW - ABUSE. NONCON FINGERING. CAPTIVITY. FORCED PET PLAY. STOCKHOLM SYNDROME.
you have been a bad, bad dog. with each minute that passes, your heart beats faster and louder in your chest, natural reflexes choosing flight over anything. the closer the rumbling from toji's vehicle gets, the more you want to run and hide in the back of the closet, or shove yourself into a cabinet—somewhere that he can't find you.
it's unfortunate that your faults weren't even your own. one of toji's little friends—shiu, you think—used the spare key to break in and take a nasty little video of you. sent it to him while he was working, knowing good and well that he can't leave in the middle of the day. he had himself and a pet to take care of.
despite how incredibly enraged toji may be, you can't bring yourself to do much other than curl up on the floor in front of the couch. knees tucked under your chin, cheek resting on top and staring directly at the door. thick leather that encases your neck begins to feel like a noose, impending punishments weighing heavy on your mind—the leash that connects is laid lazily across the floor, waiting to be tugged.
sounds of keys jingle and the scrape of metal from the door makes you sick. there's a metaphorical cloud of anger around toji as he enters, may as well be steaming out his ears, but he takes his time unpacking his day before dealing with you. keys thrown on the wall, shoes toed off next to the door, work shirt covered in the day's baggage unbuttoned and thrown somewhere you can't see.
toji steps heavily toward you, irises staring daggers into you so hard you begin to feel pricks along your skin. he's looking at you with that disappointed look he used to get when you would express that you wanted out, but this time there's more anger behind it, like he's disappointed and wants to kill you off at the same time. the bones in his knee pop as he squats down and taps the floor, giving you a little whistle, instructing you without words—and no words are more dangerous than if he came in the door cursing at you. that's another thing you had to learn over time.
you scurry to him, tripping over your own clumsy limbs in a hurry, leash constricting around your arms as you crawl. tears already dot your lash line as you settle in front of him on your knees, hands folded in your lap, bottom lip quivering in a mix of emotions. your eyes search his face for a glimpse of what he's feeling, and his tight jaw and twitching eyelid are more than enough to tell you that you're in trouble.
you're surprised when you feel a hand rub against your cheek, stroking your jawline so sweetly that your immediate reaction is to lean into it, eyes closing and a satisfied sigh leaving your nose. at first, toji was a cruel owner. brute force and beatings, he had no patience to train or reprimand nicely. he's of the mindset that pain is what teaches a dog, it forces them into submission and forces them to listen. he started to come around over time—and like this, you forget all the pain and suffering you've been through to be this good.
with your cheek still resting in his palm, toji uses his other hand to fix your collar and untangle your leash, turning it so the embroidering rests right against your jugular. his finger drags to underneath your chin, making your head nod up to look at him.
"wait here, don't move."
toji gets up with a groan, turning on his heel and toward the hallway. doors open and close at the other end of the house, and your head tilts in inquisition, wondering what he's doing without you. normally—and as long as toji's in a good mood—you are attached to him the minute he walks through the door, following him like a lost puppy because that's basically all you are to him.
minutes pass as you wait, but you aren't scared anymore, that sense of security having come back after toji pet you for a minute. footsteps begin to get louder as toji makes his way back to you, closer and closer until he's standing in front of you. his jaw is still closed tight, eyes narrowed as he looks down at you—he's got your leash wrapped around his hand before you can process what's happening.
toji pulls you hard enough you collapse onto the ground, unable to do anything but flail around as he drags you through the house. your collar crushes your trachea, your heels dig into the floor below you and you curse the hard wood because there is no traction. instead, your hips burn as you're hauled down the hallway and towards the bathroom, your fingers coming to your neck in a desperate attempt to separate the leather from cutting off your airways.
the door to the bathroom is broken down as toji slams it open, two of his fingers digging directly into your collar and pulling you into the space with him. he uses his leverage and pure strength to throw you into the bathtub, ice cold water plugging up your sinuses and freezing your skin. water splashes over the sides of the tub as you try to gain footing, arms weakly pushing yourself up and your knees coming under you, assuming your natural position on all fours.
you try and cough up the water in your lungs back into the puddle toji threw you in, saliva dribbling down your chin into the ripples. it mixes in with the water and the sweat from your earlier struggle, all a nasty soup of shameful things you did today. fear is the only thing you can process in your head, along with the guilt that already begins to rear it's ugly head in the back of your mind.
a pitiful whimper falls from your lips when you feel toji's rough hand right over your mound, calloused fingers feeling all between your sore folds. his touch is not loving or soft like he's become recently, that sweetness was only granted after a long while of discipline—and you've done more than just broken his rules.
toji's grumbling something to himself so quietly you can't make it out between the sloshing of water and the ringing in your ears. something, something, clean the fuck up, something, something, fucking digusting. rough digits begin to breach your hole, scratching against your sensitive insides and causing you to whine even more. it hurts.
it hurts more when you hear toji grouse something else as he fucks three of his fingers into your cunt, an insult obviously directed towards you.
"filthy fucking bitch."
your head snaps to look at toji, the sting in your chest outdoing the pain he's lashed upon you everywhere else. he's never called you that before, not even in the midst of your roughest training days—it was always bad girl or bad dog or something of the sort, he would normally let his actions do all the talking.
another scrape to your insides and you understand what your prized owner is doing, he's cleaning you, scraping out the evidence that another man was there. you let out a sob at the feeling of his blunt nails against your walls, digits roughly curling to scrub your insides from the filth of his friend, voice scratchy and small due to a long time of no use. pathetic tears are starting to roll down your cheeks, turning into full on blubbering the longer toji goes on.
filthy, digusting. bitch. the words repeat over and over in your mind as you cry into the depths of the tub, bad dog, bad dog, bad dog. you disappointed the one person that you always hoped to impress, the man who's best friend you supposedly are. you'll never be that again, you think, this mistake is a permanent mark on your record. truthfully, you'd rather be taken out back and shot rather than go back to the pound, but bad dogs don't deserve a comfy home and a loving owner like you've got.
the loss of toji's fingers brings you out of your guilt trip, then gently tugged back by your collar so he can take the stopper out the drain. you want to scream out, say no, clean me, please clean me, but your vocal cords can't push the words out. he stands up, watching the water drain and you curl back up into a ball, beginning to shiver from the cold, physically and mentally—but you'd never complain about that as long as he'd keep you.
"dry up," toji demands, throwing a soft towel at you and reaching for the door, "and go get me a beer, make yourself useful."
your ears perk up and his commands, warmth inside your heart rivaling the cold around your skin, watching your owner leave with loving eyes. his footsteps recede and you're beaming inside, he still has use for you, after all.
Thinking about a dark medieval fantasy au (fear and hunger vibes) with ghost
You’re shunned. It doesn’t really matter why. You are an outcast of the highest order. Which leaves your prospects limited.
You work as something of a keeper in the castle dungeons. You work under the resident torturer, making sure the prisoners are fed and bandaged so they do not die before they’re allowed to. You have heard all manner of begging, been bruised by grasping, desperate hands— all wanting mercy, freedom, or some manner of quick death.
There is one prisoner who never begs. He does not speak. He does not cry. If not for the fact that he bleeds, you might not think him human.
The food is not good. It is a tasteless, pale gruel that does nothing more than sustain. He eats it all. The tray is left neatly, no reaching hands, no cursing or spitting as you retrieve it.
This prison has changed him. It’s not just the torture. It’s the darkness. The ceaseless, unyielding darkness. It’s the forbidden magic being used to keep him alive so he might suffer that much longer. His body is hardened and pale, his eyes dark and shineless.
You do not realize it, but you have become his only tether to reality. The only part of his world without pain. Your appearance is the only way he can mark time. The only way he can remember what a human being is meant to look like. The only time he receives anything but punishment and agony. He will admit— he’s thought of throttling you and squeezing the last breath from your throat. To prove to himself that the nightmare is real. To feel something fragile in his palms one last time. To touch your skin and remember the sun.
But he also sees the mottled bruises on you and he knows that a beast without purpose or master must be put down. The gnawing hunger drips slow, like sap, through the grooves and crevices of his poisoned mind, eroding the riverbeds until all his wants meld into one flooding stream.
He wants food. He wants flesh. He wants affection. He wants sex. He wants sunlight. He wants blood. He wants revenge. He wants life. He wants death. He wants to taste burnt sugar. And he cannot shake the idea that all of those roads start and end with you.
The shackles that hold him and the stones they’re bolted in only grow weaker while his desire is making him grow stronger.
fairy captured by some stoner loser who keeps blowing smoke into the jar he's trapped it in, watching it's little cunt start dripping while it struggles to stand up..
the loser starts experimenting on it, trying to figure out what certain squeaks and clicks mean as he rubs the handle of a paintbrush between it's legs. for science, of course, not because he can feel himself stiffening in his pants.
Fandom: ACOTAR | Prompt: Backhand Slap | Azriel X Reader
Summary: Azriel has been strung up for the better part of a week when his captors send in a servant healer with strict orders: keep him alive— nothing else. She walked into his cell with nothing and no one, but she never imagined that she would find someone who was everything.
🌟 Author Notes: You can access the link to my Bad Things Happen Bingo Card, I am actively writing for The Fourth Wing and ACOTAR. 🌟
💓 Content Warning: captivity, torture, physical abuse, blood, emotional distress, violence
Please read with care 💓
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The air in the cell was thick with moisture. Azriel’s chin rested against his bare chest, heavy eyelids half closed as he listened to the steady drip of condensation falling from the ceiling.
It had been almost a week.
A week of being strung up like a piece of meat; three ash arrows imbedded deep into the meat of his thigh, wings clamped and spread wide, and all his muscles quivering as they held up his body. He was clad in only a dark pair of bottoms, with bruises that littered almost every inch of his visible skin.
He was exhausted.
The shadows that usually danced around him were equally tired, pooling lifelessly around his ankles.
A long squeak echoes against the stone wall as the door is pushed open. Azriel’s muscles tense unconsciously, but he doesn’t lift his gaze.
“Just make sure he doesn’t die.”
It’s quickly obvious that his captor isn’t addressing him. The door slams closed and soft footsteps move across the room, stopping in front of him. His ears catch the small gasp of a female, and he’s barely able to stifle the flinch that threatens to wrack his body when he feels hands on his chest. The hands seem to sense the tension in his muscles, because they quickly disappear.
“I… I’m not going to hurt you.”
Azriel almost gasps in surprise at the warmth of the voice. His body tingles as the sound of it and the shadows at his feet begin to stir.
The voice is beautiful. Perhaps he’s dead. Maybe this is heaven.
He says nothing, but when the hands reach back out to his chest he doesn’t tense. He lets his gaze fall to the small hands in front of him as they prod at the broken skin across his torso. The female hums quietly as she begins to wipe blood gently from his chest with a damp rag. He holds his breath each time cool skin brushes against the hot, swollen flesh of his torso.
When there is only a twinge of red across his chest, the female lays her hands flat against his pecs— so carefully that they almost don’t touch— and a warm ember light flared from beneath her palms. It was faint, more of a glow than a light, but in the dim lighting of the cell it looked like a star on solstice.
Azriel sucked in a sharp breath as the light sank into him, threading torn muscle and flesh back together, knitting him together slowly. The light slowly dissipated and the shadows surged up, dancing around him to check on their master.
Then, her hands froze, slowly moving backward from his body.
Azriel nearly weeped at the loss.
“Oh… I—“
Her voice trembled and his chest striated painfully, despite just being healed, at the sound. The fear was evident in her words. She began to pull her hands back more, as if a fast movement would startle the shadows.
“They won’t—” His tongue shot out to wet dry lips. “They won’t hurt you. They know you’re helping.”
It took a lot of effort, but Azriel lifted his chin from his chest in an attempt to meet her eyes. He winced at the way his voice cracked, throat raw and dry from a week of holding back cries of pain. She didn’t meet his gaze, just sucked in an audible breath before moving down to the arrows that protruded from his thigh.
“I’m going to have to pull it out.” She says softly. “That’s why you aren’t healing.”
Before she does, she finally looks up at him. Hazel eyes meet deep pools of brown. Her eyes are wide, gaping at him through dark eyelashes as if she’d never seen a male before.
He takes a beat to drink in the sight of her.
Chestnut brown hair is tucked behind her ear, and each curve of her face is soft. Her lips are a healthy pink and eyes are kind; gentle in a way that made her stick out like a sore thumb in the dingy cell.
She blinked once.
Then there was a sharp pull deep within his chest. It was not gentle or soft, no, it was violent and definite.
Azriel groaned as the string deep in his chest continued to pull painfully until it finally snapped into place. His chin dropped back against his chest heavily, world spinning and leaving him gasping.
Mate.
The pain of the beatings, the chains, and the ash arrows were suddenly dull, replaced by the throbbing his his chest.
“No,” She breathed, backing away as if he had struck her. Each step she took backward ached in his chest, he pushed forward despite being bound— his body begging her to stop retreating. “No, no, no, no, no.”
The cell door slammed back open.
“What’s taking so long?”
Azriel watched as she flinched and the cloth in her hand fell to the floor, protectiveness swelled in his chest at the fear that glazed over her features. He could feel the terror shooting down the bond, so strong that it made him flex his wrists against the chains.
She met his eyes again, apology and shame swirling through the dark brown irises.
“If you can’t finish it, I’ll string you up next to him.” A male barked.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered, so soft that even Azriel’s fae ears almost didn’t catch it.
The backhand came out of nowhere. It cracked across his face, his head snapping to the side. It hurt, but despite the noise that bounced off the walls, there was no intention behind the blow.
The the agony that ripped through the bond was what made him groan.
Guilt.
Self-loathing.
Guilt.
“You’re lucky I’m even touching you. You’re filth.” She spit, reaching forward to grasp his chin in her hands. Her expression was fierce, but her grip on his skin didn’t match the fire in her eyes. “Stop moving, Illyrian.”
The male barked out a laugh, “Degraded to getting your next beating from a female. Fitting.”
The door slammed shut and they were left in the silence of the cell.
As soon as the wood of the door hit the stone wall, she released him like he was on fire. She didn’t speak as she reached down to his thigh, pulling out the three arrows in quick succession before quickly pressing her palm to the aggravated skin— wincing when he grunted in pain.
He watched as one single tear slipped down her cheek.
“You had to,” she muttered. “If they find out, the will hurt him worse. You didn’t have a choice.”
The agony in his leg began to dissipate and he lifted his chin, “You had to.”
Her hands stilled before she pulled them back, shaking her head and wiping the tear from her cheek, “I do not deserve your comfort, Azriel.”
His chest clenched at the sound of his name on her lips. She looked up at him again, her eyes glassy and her bottom lip wobbled. She reached a hand up slowly, pressing palm to the hot skin of his cheek and let the warm light of her powers soothe the skin that she had damaged.
Azriel couldn’t stop himself from leaning into her touch and when the light faded, she left her hand there for an extra moment to rub her thumb across his cheekbone.
Then, she sucked in a deep breath and took a step back, turning on her heels and making her way to the door to knock on it twice. It swung open and the Hybern soldier on the other side pushed through.
“Took you long enough.”
She moved to scurry around him to leave but he grabbed her by the bicep. Azriel gritted his teeth at the sight of the male’s fingers wrapped around her small arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
He didn’t wait for a reply, just shoved her roughly into the corner of the cell before waving in a few more soldiers.
The sound of her body hitting the stone echoed in Azriel’s ears.
His vision went red.
Cold fear crashed down the bond. His shadows were frantic, circling around him— waiting for a command from their master.
“The general will be not be pleased if you break his healer.” One of the soldiers chuckled.
“There are more healers in this court,” the other sneered. To make his point, he pushed forward, gripping her by dark hair to pull her up then shove her back down.
The pang of pain shot down the bond and his chest twisted.
“Stop.” He rasped. The words were raspy and raw, but the soldiers still heard him.
“Did you say something, filth?”
Azriel flexed his arms until the chains groaned as a response, “Weak males put their hands on females to feel strong.”
The metal squeaked and his shadows continued to bounce around until they came to rest next to her feet. Big brown eyes darted between the shadows that licked her heels and their master.
“I wasn’t able to heal him all the way. He’s delirious. Maybe if I try again—”
The backhand she received cracked against soft skin, and she didn’t hold back a small cry of pain— hand coming up to her cheek to ease the sting.
Azriel roared.
A feral noise ripped from his throat before he could stop it. The shadows that laid at her feet exploded toward the soldier, wrapping around his ankles and yanking his legs out from under him. The iron that bound Azriel’s wrists cracked where it connected to the ceiling and small pieces of stone rained down around him.
Her eyes flew to his.
“Stop!” She cried. “Don’t!”
He felt it again, the tugging at his chest— the fear. But this time, the fear was directed at him. Not at him— for him.
The soldier recovered from his spot on the ground quickly. He drew the blade from his side and in two strides he was next to her, one hand twisted in her hair and the other with the blade pressing against the soft skin of her throat.
“I’ll open her from ear to ear, Spymaster.” He said calmly.
Every angry muscle in Azriel’s body slowed to a stop— even the shadows that had been darting around froze. Hazel eyes still shinned with rage, and the chest that was now littered with fresh pink scars heaved.
When he meets her gaze, she isn’t looking at the soldier or the blade; she looked at him. Her eyes pleading with him.
Don’t.
The word sliced at his chest through the bond. Azriel sucked in a deep breath, forcing himself to go slack in his bonds and pulling his shadows back into himself.
The soldier withdrew the sharp metal from her throat, “See? Much better.”
He released his grip on her hair, shoving her down once again. He chuckled when her knees smacked against the stone.
Azriel’s shoulder muscles contracted slightly, but he quickly forced the tension out.
“You keep him alive— that’s it. I won’t hesitate to put you in his place.”
She nodded quickly, averting her eyes down.
The soldier turned on his heel to face Azriel, a sinister smile on his lips. The blade that had been pressed against her throat moments ago hung loosely in his hand still. He shifted it up, pointing the tip of it at the base of Azriel’s neck, where throat met collar bones.
“You have far too much fight left in you for my liking.”
Then, he pulled his hand back and drove the blade into Azriels side. He didn’t make a sound as the cool metal slipped into his skin. Despite the burning pain, he couldn’t help but be grateful that the weapon was no longer pressed to the female.
“You healed him too much last time— just enough to keep him alive this time. Do you understand?”
She swallowed hard, not making eye contact with the shadow slinger.
“Yes,” she breathed. “I understand.”
“Good, clean him up when we’re done.”
They don’t waste another moment.
One soldier drives a fist into Azriel’s ribs, only a few inches above where the blade had jut beaten. White-hot pain stole the air from his lungs, and he sucked in a slow breath. Another strike followed, this time on the other side of his torso. The raining of blows seemed to be never ending— fists, the hilts of daggers, boots all cracking against flesh that had just been healed.
He refused to scream.
This time, as they beat him, he didn’t let his chin drop to his chest. Instead, he kept it raised with his gaze on her.
Her body was crumbled in the same corner, knuckles white as they clenched at the fabric of her skirt. With each blow that landed, the emotion that pulled on the bond hurt more than the abuse to his body— he felt her horror, her helplessness, her anger.
Look away, he sent down the bond— once, twice, three times.
But she didn’t.
Blood from his mouth and nose dripped over his chin, spilling onto the stone floor. His wings twitched, throbbing as they pulled against their bonds. Blood streaked down his forearms where iron bit into the skin.
“Pathetic,” One soldier sneered at him, taking in his beaten body.
The soldier in charge laughed, reaching forward to grab his jaw. Azriel still didn’t look at him, his eyes locked on the female in front of him.
“I’m going to relish in your death,” He spat. “But for now, I must keep you breathing.”
They stepped back, looks of boredom on their face— despite the cruelty they just dished out.
The soldier turned to her, but similar to Azriel, her gaze didn’t even bother to meet him.
“If he dies, you die.” He said as he turned to head for the door, filing through with the other soldiers and slamming it shut behind him.
The cell was swallowed by silence once again.
She stayed on the ground for a a long moment, knees pressed up to her chest and her head bowed in shame. Azriel could see the way she trembled, the bond humming low in his chest— aching to reach out to her.
Finally, she lifted her chin and rose to her feet. Her legs were as shaky as her breathing as she crossed the cell, stopping in front of him.
Her hand reached up to touch the side of his face, soft fingers brushing along damaged skin. A low whine threatened to pull itself from his throat, but he pushed it down.
“I’m okay,” he rasped, feeling the way guilt radiated off of her. She looked at him for a long moment; head tilted to the side slightly. “It’s alright.”
“You comfort me when it’s you who is hurting.” It wasn’t a question, rather an observation whispered absentmindedly.
Her hands didn’t hesitate as they settled against his chest, the pressure was firm but still gentle. Purposeful. Warm glowing light bloomed beneath her palms; the light was bright— brighter than the dim shine that she had used earlier.
Power poured into him.
Azriel gasped as torn skin burned, mending itself back together. The relief was sharp and overwhelming as much as it was reliving. The bond flared with satisfaction as she felt his pain slowly easing.
It was when his wings shuttered, the ache of days being forced spread apart dissipating and feeling coming back into the sensitive membranes, that he realized that she was doing more than the bare minimum of keeping him alive.
“Stop,” he demanded, his voice still hoarse. “Stop it.”
She shook her head, jaw clenched with determination as the light under her palm pulsed brighter.
“Please, stop,” he repeated. “They will know.”
Her eyebrows knit together in concentration, “I don’t care.”
“You have to,” He grunted, trying to pull himself from her grasp to no avail. “They will see. If they see they will—”
“They will either way,” She snapped.
“They will hurt me either way. Let me do this for you. Let me help you, Azriel… Please.”
His jaw snapped closed, and he relaxed against her warm hands. The color began to return to his skin, the dark circles under his eyes disappearing and the torn skin of his side sealing cleanly.
He felt strength begin to follow, as if the poison of the arrows that had been stunting his healing was being drained from his body. She watched him carefully as the hollowness of his cheeks began to fill themselves back in, and the bond sang with relief.
Not his own, but hers.
She was smaller than him, significantly so, and when she pressed herself forward her forehead came to rest on the center of his chest. She breathed in slowly, taking in the scent of him.
Night-chilled mist. Cedar.
She allowed herself another moment to listen to the strong thrumming of his heart, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her own before she stepped back.
Azriel could have sobbed— begged her for a few more moments of closeness.
But she wasted no time moving her hands up towards his wings, stretching as far as she could to reach the iron clasps that bit into them with cruelty. He groaned when her fingers slid against the sensitive membrane, resting there for a beat before heat radiated from them again. There was a loud crack as magic flooded into iron and the clasps fell apart, smacking loudly against stone as the dropped to the wall.
“What are you—”
She didn’t give him time to finish, shifting her hands to his wrists— determination and effort taking over her features. Her teeth gritted as she forced more power into the shackles.
“Don’t.”
A drop of blood made its was from her nose, dripping over her top lip. Her tongue darted out to swipe away the metallic liquid. She grunted with frustration, swaying on her feet as the chains refused to break. The iron creaked with effort as they weakened.
He sucked in a breath, “You’re risking everything.”
The chains finally popped, dramatically falling to the walls like the clasps on his wings had. His arms dropped to his sides, and they stood there for a beat— chest to chest. She swayed again, and this time he reached out to steady her gently. His grip on her was firm, as if he could steady her enough to stop the exhaustion sending tremors through her. She looked at him, finally truly meeting his gaze. Dark brown eyes bore deep into him,
“I have nothing. They’ve taken everything,” She whispered. “They won’t take you from me.”
She looked at him for a long moment, trying to etch the sight of him into her mind. He grimaced, a grunt finding its way out of his mouth, as he folded his wings in and she reached out a hand to ease the ache, but he caught her wrist before she could.
“Don’t.” He breathed. “They are just sore; I’m not in pain.”
“Go.”
The words were whispered, as if she was trying to convince herself to send him away.
Azriel didn’t move other than a small grimace at her words. Rejection twisted in his stomach, and she must have felt it, because she reached a hand up to cup his cheek,
“I want you to be safe. I need you to be okay.”
He looked at her for a long moment. She looked smaller than before. Her skin was pale and her chest rose and fell quickly with effort. She didn’t repeat herself; she just grasped his hand in hers and pulled him toward the door. She pulled it open slowly, peaking her head out briefly then opened it wider and dragged him through the threshold to the end of the hall until they reached a window.
“Go, Azriel.” She said again.
The bond pulsed, taught with tension, as he met her gaze. She brought a hand to his still bare chest, not to heal him this time but to remind herself of the rise and fall— to remind herself he was alive.
“If you don’t leave now,” she said quietly. “I don’t know that I have it in me to ask you to go again.”
His chest tightened painfully and he murmured, “You’re still shaking.”
She breathed out a laugh, her palm still spread out over tight muscle, “You were strung up for a week and beaten, and you’re worried about me being tired?”
He didn’t reply, just looked at her for a long minute. The bond screamed at her to melt into him, to allow him to take her from this wretched place— she knew he would, that his eyes were practically begging her to let him. But with a deep breath, she took a step back.
“You don’t get to choose me over leaving—” she said. “Over living.”
“And what, you get to decide that you’re disposable?” His voice was low, but she could feel the pain in his words. It made her shudder harder, almost breaking her resolve.
Almost.
“Don’t make this about me.”
He stepped into her space, craning his neck down to force her to meet his eyes again, “Why break the iron for me if you intended to stay?”
“Because I couldn’t bare to watch anymore.” She whispered. “And that’s what it would have been, until your court found you.”
“Let me take you,” He murmured. “They won’t catch us.”
“They will,” She clenched her jaw with finality. “They will and they will string you back up and they will beat you worse.”
He opened his mouth to protest, to deny it— to tell her that he would take a million beatings for just a chance to not have to leave her here.
“…and next time they won’t let me help you.” Her voice cracked.
And for some reason, the tug of the bond— the pain and the fear— hit harder than any blow or blade.
His jaw tightened.
She took a large, deliberate step back, prying herself from the warm comfort of his space.
“You’re asking me to leave you in this place.”
“I’m telling you to live.” She shot back.
The bond flared with violent disagreement, the raw refusal threatening to take the breath from her lungs. She reached out a soft hand to grip his hand, squeezing gently in an attempt to provide some comfort.
On the far side of the hallway, boots echoed against stone and her heart stuttered with anxiety. She reached into the pocket of her skirt, pulling out a small roll. It looked like it may have been there for a day, slightly flattened. It was nothing. Plain. A servant’s portion.
She held it out for him. His gaze dropped to it and then up to her.
Understanding flickered and the bond tightened.
“For your travels, Azriel…” She whispered.
She lifted her chin, even as her hand trembled, she reached out to grasp his.
She placed the roll gently into his palm, pressing his hand closed around it.
An offering.
Her throat worked once but she didn’t break his gaze. It wasn’t a request. It was acceptance. The bond flared, the tug of it pulling at both of their rib cages as the string between them settled.
Certain.
“You understand what this means,” he murmured.
“Yes.”
The sound of boots was now joined with barks of laughter and loud voices.
He grasped his other hand around her wrist, pulling her forward and resting his forehead against hers as his wings engulfed them— granting them privacy in this moment.
“You’re choosing this?”
“I’m choosing you.”
His fingers closed around the bread as if it were something precious— not as if, it was.
“Promise you’ll wait for me,” he breathed. “Promise you’ll live for me.”
“I will.”
He shifted slightly, moving to press cool lips to the warm skin of her forehead. She closed her eyes, sighing as she tried to drink in every second of comfort.
Then he stepped back, his shoulders were squared and his face determined, but his eyes soft.
Pleading.
As if he might beg her to go with him again. She hoped to Gods that he didn’t because she didn’t know if she had it in her to deny him.
“I am Y/N.” She breathed, filling the silence that stretched between them before he could.
He repeated her name, tasting the way it felt on his lips. The bond pulsed again, pulling her to melt into him again.
But she clenched her fists instead, giving him a soft smile.
He didn’t speak again, stepping back toward the window and disappearing into a swirl of darkness as the shadows seemed to swallow him whole.
By the time the soldiers rounded the corner, she was alone at the end of the hall. She didn’t even register it as they glanced between the open door of the cell, their missing prisoner, and her.
Standing calmly with her hands folded in front of her, trying to bask in the feeling of him. She didn’t flinch as they rushed toward her, rough hands on her arms and loud voices demanding answers.
The bond just burned steady in her chest.
Villain waited for other Hero on the rooftop. They had met a few times and each time other hero, despite their greatest efforts came back empty handed.
They scanned the horizon again clicking their tongue.
They were late.
They should've been here three minutes ago.
Villain chewed at their lip and started pacing again.
They looked at the horizon again crossing their arms while waiting.
…
No other Hero.
They stomped off to the other corner of the building.
Didn't they know punctuality existed? Couldn't they be more considerate of other people's time? Or wait-
What if something happened to them? What if they got hurt? What if superhero caught them? What if they found something they shouldn't have?
No no.
No.
Other Hero was just being their unpunctual self. They were going to show up fashionably late without any consideration or guilt over any time that villain had lost.
They huffed and looked at their wrist and frowned.
Four minutes.
They glared at the horizon. How dare they.
They heard a *woosh* behind them and their neck snapped.
The verbal lashing they were about to subject other hero into died on their tongue the moment they saw Other Hero bought someone with them.
Villain pulled out their gun before they could blink. “Explain.”
The stranger aimed a gun right back.
“Can we all put our guns down?”
“No-”
“I said explain.”
Their voices overlapped.
Other hero sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose.
“Why did you bring someone without telling me?” Villain drawled without breaking eye contact with the stranger
“It was a last minute decision.”
“You're not allowed to make last minute decisions like that. What-”
“Anyway! Villain, this is Vigilante. Vigilante, this is villain. We are all on the same side so can we please put the shooties down.”
The two stared at eachother guns still aimed at one another.
They both lowered their guns, grumbling.
Villain looked this person - Vigilante - over with a critical eye. They looked like they crawled out of a sewer.
They narrowed their eyes at other hero. “Why are they here?” Their voice was sharp.
“Because they can help us.”
“I don't see how?”
“I knew Hero way before you were even in the picture, shortstack” Vigilante interjected.
Villain did not like this person.
“Other Hero. I would appreciate if you answer my question.” Villain said looking away from Vigilante and crossing their arms over their chest.
Other Hero sighed. “We used to be in the same team along with Hero. They know Hero, Superhero, and the base well enough to avoid being caught. I've already checked all the places I can without being suspicious and that's where they-”
“And I have a hunch as to where Hero might be.”
Other Hero and Villain stared at them.
“Have you been to the retraining room other hero?”
Other Hero shuddered. “Yes I have and I already checked there. Hero isn't there.”
“There's more to the retraining room inside a hidden door.”
“What?” Other Hero's eyes widened.
“Wait wait. What's the retraining room?”
Other Hero looked at Vigilante.
“You tell them what you know then I'll elaborate.” Vigilante nodded at other Hero.
Other Hero pursed their lips and looked at villain. “The retraining room is… well… okay so sidekicks, new heroes and even the old ones sometimes make mistakes and sometimes they don't follow the rules for one reason or the other. The retraining room is the place where the… disciplinary action happens. Sometimes a few hours but… the last time I was there I think I was there with superhero for two days. But uhm I didn't know about this hidden section.” They looked to Vigilante who had found a wall to lean on.
Vigilante shook their head. “To put it bluntly, it's a torture room.”
“It is not a torture room.”
“What did they do to you in the two days you were there for?”
“I… well…”
“Exactly. So in this torture room there is a hidden part. I've been there. I was there and that's why I left. Because after witnessing that… I had some questions about where my allegiances lay.”
Other Hero gulped. “So that's why you left…”
“So what you're saying is… Hero might be in this hidden torture room?” For the first time in a long time, Villain's voice was shaking.
Vigilante nodded.
__
“So… What happened with Hero?”
Superhero was at the meeting with the rest of the heads of the League. That particular question was directed at them by Plasma.
Superhero sighed. “Honestly I don't know. They were… they were my second in command. When I retired you all know they were the one who was going to take my place.”
Gravitrix pursed her full lips. The smile she would use on civilians to calm them down was nowhere on her face. “We know.” She said. “But we need to know what led to this superhero. It was a massive breach. The whole centre was knocked out.”
Kronos piped up. “Massive breach? It felt more like someone handed over the blueprints of the fucking base itself. Listen superhero. Hero was one of your crew. We know you had a soft spot for them but tell us what happened. We won't hurt them. You said they were already in retraining but we just need to dissect what actually happened.”
Superhero sighed shaking their head. “Hero was having an affair with villain. I knew. I could tell something was up. But I let them. That was my first mistake. I thought, they're young. They'd get a few braincells when they finally figured things out. We've all been there haven't we Gravitrix?” Superhero looked to Gravitrix pointedly who in return scoffed.
“So I let them have their little rendezvous and little meet ups. But then we got the intel on the Supervillain base. The Polath. We got intel that it was just *there*. And Villain is our key to that. So. I took Villain in and had Hero interrogate them. Which was my second mistake. I accept that. But I didn't know Hero would go as far as to plot with Supervillain.”
Blindside, who had been quite this entire time in her seat leaned on to the table. “That's all great and all superhero. But how is hero's retraining going. Last time you said they were spitting and cursing at you.. if that's still the case we can't have them in the base anymore, let alone have them in the League.”
Superhero bit their lip. “Okay… I'll be honest. It's not going good but don't worry! There's some progress. I think that Hero is not really Hero right now, in the sense I feel someone is controlling their mind.”
Blindside smiled. “Well why didn't you say so superhero? You know I can go in to people's heads and weed things out.”
Kronos smirked. “That's right. If it's some serious mind control we're dealing with here, there's no one better than blindside to check it out.”
Superhero forced a smile. “You are completely right. I only figured that mind control thing out last night. I wanted to bring this up today actually. How about I bring hero in for our next meeting? And you see for yourself.”
“If that is all for today. Meeting is adjourned. If not raise your hand.” Pulse interjected.
The table was quite.
“Alright. Next meeting will be tomorrow at 10:30pm. Hero will be brought in and then we will decide.” Pulse concluded. His voice as steady as always. It made Superhero's blood boil.
__
“You know… you're broken now. I don't really want you anymore.” Villain's voice rang through to Hero's ears.
They tilted their head with great effort to look at them.
They couldn't muster their voice to apologise.
“You look so damn pathetic. How did I ever have feelings for you.”
Hero watched them roll those beautiful eyes.
Villain moved to lean over them.
“Even in your dreams I hate you. Can you imagine how much real me can't stand you? You still think I'll save you huh? That's fucking pathetic.”
“Villain's got a point Hero.” Other hero's voice bled through from the other side of the room. Hero tilted their head towards them.
They were in a hospital gown covered in bandages and bruises leaning on a crutch.
“Even I'm not coming to find you. I'm in the hospital. I'm hurt. Because of you. Because of your stupid selfish behaviour.”
They closed their eyes, not strong enough to see the only people in their life like this.
“Look at me!” Villain's voice pierced through the air forcing Hero's eyes to flutter.
Villain was in the rough pale prisoner uniform again.
“Look at what you've done to me you pathetic rat! Don't you dare fucking close your eyes! I'm suffering because of your stupid feelings!”
Hero couldn't cry. Didn't have the energy to heave out a sob from their broken, aching chest. It was true. They were right. They were always right.
They were always right.
Superhero practically burst in to the room, making villain and other hero disappear.
Hero's eyes drift to them. Their hair was sticking out and they were panting. Face red and slick with sweat. Hero had never seen them like this. Maybe it wasn't real.
They came to Hero's bedside and pulled out a syringe. “You. Are meeting with the league tomorrow.” Am I? “Blindside is going to look at you.” Oh.. Blindside is nice. Hero felt the all too familiar feeling of an injection pricking their skin. “Get up. We need to get you ready.”
Hero felt something. For the first time since being in bed. Hero felt like they can move.
When they first saw me, they couldn't resist. So I spent days on end, chained to a radiator in a cold dark basement. I learned quickly that they are now my only source of warmth, food and social interaction. They don't want me to even think of anyone else.
Some days are soft. They force me to sit on their lap, hold their hand, hug them or kiss their cheek. They expect me to tell them that I love them and prove it too.
Other days they need to be rough. They bite, hit, bruise me. On those days they pull me closer by my hair while they push themselves inside whatever hole they want to use. They put me in whatever position they want me in with the only goal being to lay their claim on me. They are only satisfied once I'm crying, bleeding and dripping with their cum.
They'll pull me close, caress my new marks, whisper praises in my ear about how well, I've done for them, that they love that they're the only one seeing me, that they won't ever let me go. That we're meant for each other. Forever.
Did he leave without deadbolting the basement door? You weren't going to risk it, until the black phone rang. "Go," the voice urged you. "NOW." You dropped the phone and scrambled up the stairs. As you neared the door, you paused, heart pounding in your ears. It was cracked open. You pushed near the hinge, and the swing of it gradually revealed a shadow on the kitchen floor. Your stomach turned as the unmistakable horns took shape. Your face burned at your stupidity, and your eyes stang. "It's okay, kitty," he cooed. "C'mere." Obediently, you crawled toward the chair where he had patiently awaited your betrayal. "I'm not mad," he reassured you. "Just disappointed." You sat back on your heels to look at him. He tilted his head, then a deafening snap of leather made you jump.
