#frenzy scribbles

The bite had cured Kai of his quirk but had bestowed upon him a new curse—an all consuming hunger that he could take no pleasure in satiating. Kai had always found quirks abhorrent but in the past few years, he had learned how truly vile quirks were. The irony was thick, he had once kept everyone at arm’s length, avoiding human touch at all costs.  

Now, Kai slunk after a lone figure in the dead of night. He’d put off feeding for so long that he could only hear their blood rushing, their little heart pattering in their chest. He could tell by it’s steady rhythm that you hadn’t noticed him. He felt nauseous, he didn’t remember the last time he fed, his last meal had been as disgusting as the rest. Kai put his hand on your shoulder. You looked up, startled but Kai was looking right through you. “Excuse me,” He said coldly.  

For a moment, you were too bewildered to say anything. “Yes?” You asked as you moved out from under his hand. Kai just stared. “Are you... alright?” Kai was breathing heavy, he had to fight back the reflex to hiss at you like a feral animal. “Sir?”  

“Yes,” He snapped. He could hear your pulse, he’d startled you. But that didn’t matter, he was already reaching for you. He had put this whole awful ordeal off for too long, all he was was hunger.  

How many times? Kai was at least efficient. He had enough sense to drag you off the street and into an alley before he shoves you against the brick wall. He had one hand against your chest, pinning you in place, while the other was over your mouth, tilting you head to the side and exposing your neck. “Stop struggling,” Kai mutters. “This is worse for me than it is for you.” His disgust was giving him goosebumps as he prepared to do what he had to.  

You cried out as he bit you, his fangs landing perfectly to puncture the carotid and fill his mouth with your blood. He ignored your attempts to pull his hand away from your mouth, in fact he barely noticed it. The second he tasted you, he saw stars, because you... your blood... was sweet. He pulled back, stunned, and starred at your face, as if he could tell the reason why just by paying closer attention. But you had no idea what was happening to you, you didn’t know what he was, just that you were being attacked. You stared at the pale face, its chin stained with your blood and a pair of golden eyes, glittering with interest.  

Kai could almost swoon from the head rush. He ignored your attempts to get away, he ignored your pretty tears, he just pushed you back against the wall. You wouldn’t be getting away. Kai goes for the throat again, stopping to lick the blood off your skin. You shrieked through his hand at the feeling of his barbed tongue. “Hush,” He said, annoyed. Kai latched onto the wound again. 

Both hunger and disgust had been vanished within Kai, your blood was honey, wine, jasmine, it was intoxicating. He felt more weight and he tilted his head, looking up at your face from the crook of your neck. Your eyes were half closed; your pallor was off, and your knees had buckled, he was all that was keeping you from collapsing. He licked you off his lips, panting. He had to stop, rationally he knew that you... were special, and if he kept going, he’d kill you. “Hey...” He swatted your cheek and your eyes fluttered but didn’t open. “Hey.” Kai grit his teeth. He could have drunk to his heart’s content... if he still had his quirk. Kai kept you upright as he looked over the street. “Come on. Walk.” You tried to push him away and Kai shoved you back, holding you against the wall. He ran his tongue across his teeth. If you were still conscious, he must have drunk less than a pint.  

Kai could almost moan when he tasted you again. “Calm down,” he said under his breath. “Just... just a little more,” Your head lolled to the side and Kai had to pull away as you fell into his arms. He took a moment to brush the hair out of your face. You were a precious thing to him now, he felt almost... high. His eyes widen slightly. Quirkless. You had to be quirkless. That was why your blood was unlike anything he’d ever tasted before. He swallowed, running a hand through his hair, his eyes darting wildly as he wrapped an arm around you and holding you close. This was rare and he knew what to do with rare things. There were others like him that wouldn’t be so gentle. Kai looked down at you as he licked the last of your blood off his face.  

You know immediately when Strade is home, the door upstairs slams and you jump. His footsteps are heavy and getting closer and your heart fills with dread; his excitement is never good for you. You try to will yourself to calm down but any hope of that is gone as he flings opens the door at the top of the stairs. Oh god, he went to the hardware store. If that’s the case, it’ll be a long night with you and whatever new toy he found to extract his pound of flesh.  

“Liebling,” He calls, his voice light and friendly. You can feel your heart in your throat as he comes into view. “I’m home, did you miss me?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. “I brought you something!” He holds up a pale yellow, paper bag and your eyes narrow. You can see the lavender tissue paper lining the bag, clearly it’s not from the hardware store. More like a little botique. He’s down the stairs now and he shakes his head. “Silly me, did I forget to tie you again after this morning?”  

“What did you bring?” You ask, your heart pounding. Just because it wasn’t from the hardware store doesn’t mean it can’t be used to inflict evil.  

“Aw,” Strade rubs his thumb over your cheek and you wince. “Do you wanna see your present, Hase? It’s almost Valentine’s Day, you know.”  

“Valentine’s Day?” That does catch you off gaurd. You have no way of knowing how long you’d been here but... Valentine’s Day. Febuary. Nearly a year. It’s staggering. His collar around your throat suddenly feels heavy.  

“Yes!” Strade beams. “So I brought you something... special.” He shoves the bag into your hands and looks at you expectantly. “Well? Open it!”  

The bag is light, which gives you some hope that it isn’t something to inflict pain. Still, you stall as long as you can before you have to look inside. “Valentine’s Day.”  

“Look inside,”  

You pull aside the lavender tissue paper and you feel almost... sea sick when you realize what he’s brought you. You take out a light pink baby doll dress and a matching pair of lace panties. There’s a slit going up the front of the dress, stopping just at the chest with a tiny ribbon bow The whole thing is made of soft, sheer fabric with delicate lace around the edges.  

“Oh... Strade,” You should be releived that he wasn’t planning on cutting you to pieces but the dress makes your stomach churn. “That’s... so sweet of you...” 

Strade was grinning at you like you were something to eat. “Put it on.”  

“What?” You choke.  

“The sale’s lady was very nice, she helped me pick it out. Now put it on.”  

You know that tone, it’s the same one he uses when he orders you to cut yourself. It means do it or else, even though to anyone else it would still be playful. You don’t want to put it on, the idea of making yourself pretty for him makes you almost wish for the hammer. “Okay,” You say quietly. 

“Ah, Liebling. Don’t look so sad.” He runs his hand through your hair and you shudder. “It’ll be fun, I promise.” 

You don’t like when he promises things but you know arguing with him will only make things worse. You take a step back from him and look down at the dress. It’s so strange... this is probably more expensive than anything you have ever would have been able to afford but as you put it on, the silky fabric makes your skin crawl. You stood before Strade in the dress and panties and he gives you that horrible smile again.  

“Oh, Hase, look at you,” Strade purrs, you can feel his eyes comb over you and you cross your arms over yourself, looking down. “Aw, is my Liebling shy, hm?” He laughs. His laugh is always bright, it’s only sinster because of how you know him. “I have another surprise for you.”  

Your heart sinks as he turns towards his work bench.  

“No, Strade,” You can’t keep the panick out of her voice as he opens a drawer and pulls out a handful of nails.  

He laughs again and as he works, he hums a little tune. “There’s no need to be so... nervous.” Strade turns around, hoisting a bright yellow nailgun in his left hand. 

Of course. It will never just be a pretty dress.  

You start to back away. “I don’t--”  

Strade doesn’t seem to care, crossing the basement in two strides and putting his free hand over your mouth. “Shush, shush, it’ll be fun,” He says again.  

You’re looking into those... strange golden eyes so you don’t see when he suddenly kicks you in the shin. You fall to the ground and in a second, he is on top of you; his knees on either side of your ribcage, digging in slightly.  

“There we go,” He says, leaning in so far you can feel his breath on your cheeks, his greasy hair hanging around your face. “That wasn’t so hard, huh?” 

Strade’s hand moves from your mouth down to your throat. He’s smiling down at you, he can see your fear and he knows you well enough to know when you’re holding back tears. He traces his fingers over your collarbone. “You’re just so... pretty.”  

You try to shift under him and his free hand jumps to your left arm, pinning you to the concrete floor. “Strade,” You try but you’re silenced when you feel the barrell of the nail gun pressing against the skin of your forearm.  

He grins when he sees the fear on your face, finally his eyes light up with that usual sadistic glee. “Hase,” He purrs just as he pulls the trigger. Your forearms explodes in pain as it cuts through skin and muscle to the concrete below. You don’t even scream, the sound you make is closer to choking on your own siliva. In fact, you don’t scream until the second nail hits bone. When you do, Strade leans even closer to kiss you, effecrively cutting you off. Your tears stream down your face and into your mingling mouths. He pulls back to mutter something in your ear (“Du gehörst mir.”), but you are barely aware of anything except the nails in your arm.  

He pulls away, your mouth feels dry. You turn your head towards your arm and the sight makes you ill; they’re long nails, at least eight inchs. Your breathing gets faster and Strade notices;  

“Excited, Liebling?” Strade asks, brushing the tears off your face. He brings the nail gun to your other arm.  

“No,” You say quietly, trying to shake your head. Strade brings the barrel of the gun to your wrist. “No, no, Strade--” He pulls the trigger and you scream again. You try to twist away but it only causes the nails to tear through flesh.  

“Oh... oh, darling;” Strade puts the forth nail in, right below the crook of elbow. He’s enjoying this, your screams and your refletive attempts to get away that are only bringing you blood and pain. He’s elated.  

You’re sobbing so hard you could barely see him. He flicks the nail in your wrist curiously and you can only whimper. He leans down and kisses you, it was slow and deep and it would have been... sweet. Strade pulls away slightly, kissing the collum and your throat and your eyes flutter closed. Maybe he’s done, maybe his bloodlust is satiated, maybe-- 

You shriek when Strade suddenly sinks his teeth into your collarbone and your eyes fly open. “Look at me,” he muttered, his face buried in your chest before he bites you again, even harder. His mouth is covered in your blood, he watches it flow down from the wound like a cat watches a bird. Strade drags his hands through it and you watch, horrified, as he starts to draw hearts on your stomach and throat.  

The sight of your red only spurrs him on. Strade sits back on his haunchs, no longer looming over you, but only to undo and pull off his belt. You know what’s about to happen, you knew the moment you saw frilly pink lace. You feel it, wrapped around your body like miasma.  

The sound of Strade’s zipper cuts through the haze your feeling, dull alarm bells go off somewhere in the back of your mind. Strade’s calloused fingers loop under the waistband of the pretty pink panties and pulls them down. He’s being careful, he doesn’t want them to tear, unlike soft skin of your forearms.   

There was enough blood on Strade’s hands for him to use it as lube, you watch with lidded eyes as he runs his fist down the length of his cock, staining it red. He disgusts you. In fact, you didn’t realize how close fear and disgust really are until you ended up here.  

Strade pushes his way into you but it’s the least of the pain you’re feeling. It almost feels... nice, until he ruts into you. You move with his thrusts, causing the nails to pull through your flesh; your forearms, your wrist and your elbow. You can’t help but cry and again; “St- Strade, please.”  

“Shush,” Strade looks... hungry. He thrusts in harder than before and you scream. “Yes, that’s it.” He says quietly. He grips your hips as he sheathes himself fully inside you, watching as your face twists in pain. “Does it feel nice? Do I make you feel good, Liebling?”  

His mistakes your cries of pain for moans of pleasure, or perhaps he doesn’t care. Strade bares his teeth, the glint in his eyes is paralyzing. You can’t breathe, your tounge is heavy in your mouth. He kisses you hard as his hands creep around your throat without actually choking you.  

Strade is crushing you into the concrete, all you can smell is his him; sweat, beer, grease and metal. You can tell he’s getting close, no doubt your tears are helping him get there, he licks them off your cheeks, leaving your face coated in saliva. “Hase,” He breathes, his lips against your ear and he pants. He’s going faster and faster and you can’t hold back your desperate screams as the nails slash and pull through your flesh. “Mein süßer kleiner Hase,”  

One final thrust causes the nails in your forearm to rip further through your skin. He finishes as your scream echoes through the basement. You’re sobbing, your heart is pounding so hard in your chest you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it to. Strade lays on top of you, breathing heavy and hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You can feel his smile against your throat. “Oh, Liebling,” He just lays on top of you his head resting on your chest as you cry softly. He doesn’t seem to mind, he’s watching you as he reaches up to wrap a lock of your hair around his finger.  

You loose track of time. Eventually, he gets up off of you and your eyes follow him. Strade goes over to his work bench. “No” You say, your voice soft. “No...” he only laughs as he pulls someone off the pegboard. You shift your hips but you can’t do anything more. “Stop...” You’re almost whining at this point. He turns around, holding the hammer. “No,” you shift away as much as you can.  

Strade settles on top of you, keeping you caged between his legs. He brings his fingers to his lips and you fall silent. You don’t even blink and he grips the hammer. He brings his free hand to your left arm, pushing it down onto the concrete between the two nails there. He uses the claw of the hammer to pull out the first nail and you let out a strained choking sound as the nail pings against the floor.  

“Shush...” He purrs, prying another nail free from your flesh.  

He’s... helping. He’s hurting you but it’s only to help. You met his eyes and try to even out your breathing. You sound like you’ve just come up for air as he claws the nail out of your wrist and your fingers twitch. The sound of the nail bouncing off the floor echoes in your head. You barely feel the last nail as it’s exhumed from your elbow. All you can do is sigh as Strade collapses on top of you yet again. You feel his stubble scrape against your cheek as he whispers;  

He’d had two drinks – gin on the rocks—within half an hour. This wasn’t usual for Kento but he could handle his liquor. He dropped into an arm chair by the window, nursing his third drink as he looked out the window, not really thinking about anything. It was rare that he was able to completely clear his mind.  

And then his phone rang.  

Kento auditable groaned. No. He wouldn’t take any work calls. He was off the clock. He dug his phone out of his pocket, ready to decline but he paused. He paused, because you were calling, and you’d be occupying his thoughts on and off since you had been hired. Why would you be calling him now? 

He took a deep breath before he answered, hoping you wouldn’t be able to tell he was slightly intoxicated; “Hello?” 

“Mr Nanami!” Your voice had an unexpected effect, sending a shiver down his spine. “I’m so sorry to call, but I need your help,”  

Kento shifted in his chair. “Help?” He asked. “I... I would be happy to help,” He couldn’t help but feel slightly smug. Gojo was supposed to be your mentor but when you needed help you call Kento? He rested his hand on his thigh.  

“Gojo and I went on a recovery mission this afternoon,” as you explained, Kento closed his eyes, letting himself indulge in the sound of your voice. “It was successful, we came back with a cursed object. Gojo told me to file it but I’m not sure where it goes.” 

“Did you ask Gojo?” 

“That’s the thing,” Even through the phone, he could hear the usual nervous tone your voice always had. “Gojo and Miss Shoko left,”  

“He left?”  

“Yes,” You said. There was a pause and Kento could imagine you biting your lip. He had noticed that you did this during conversation to buy time. “It’s only a Grade 4, I really should be able to handle it myself, I just haven’t been walked through the filing system yet,”  

“Gojo should show you these things,” said Kento, his annoyance singeing his voice.  

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for calling you --”  

Kento’s free hand went from his thigh to his belt, stealthily undoing the buckle with one hand. The alcohol was getting to his head but he didn’t care. He was enjoying the sound of your voice, the words barely mattered. “No, no,” He said, pulling his slacks half way down his thighs. “Forgive me. I’m annoyed with Gojo, you did good to call me.”  

“Oh,” He palmed himself through his boxers as he heard the relief in your voice. “Of course. I just, um, I didn’t mean to speak badly of him, it’s just--”  

“What is the cursed object?” asked Kento. It didn’t matter, but he was already getting hard and he didn’t want to listen to you talk about Gojo.  

“It’s... uh, a kidney, I think?” Kento slipped his hand into his boxers, tentatively touching himself, running his hand up his length. “Maybe a spleen?” He tightened his hold around himself and slowed his pace, essentially teasing himself to the sound of your voice. “It’s... something gooey in a jar. We found it at a resort.”  

He brushed his thumb against his already leaking tip and he hissed through his teeth. “A resort? That’s unusual.”  

“It used to be a TB ward,” You went on to say, not noticing anything out of the ordinary. He moved his hand up and down, having enough presence of mind to keep his movements slow so you wouldn’t suspect what he was doing.  

God, you could never know what he was doing.  

“We didn’t even find the jar *in* the hotel, which was weird. All these low grade curses were manifesting in the hotel, terrorizing the guests. It took us a while, someone had thrown it down a well!” 

Kento smiled at just how excited you were, retelling the events of that afternoon. It was endearing. As you told him how you’d had to lower Gojo into the well, Kento continued to edge himself.  

This is wrong. They called you for help. They’re your subordinate. This is unprofessional.  

He groaned quietly.  

“Mr Nanami?” 

His heart nearly stopped in his chest. “Yes?” 

“I’m sorry, I... I’m boring you. Could you tell me what exactly to do with this? It’s a Grade 4 cursed object.”  

“Yes, yes of course,” As he told you where these things were typically stored, he made himself slow down even more. His hand was barely moving but he he couldn’t stop entirely.  

You were so grateful for his instruction, so eager to do what he said. As you stumbled over your words to thank him, his mind wandered.  

Now undress. No, no, slower. Good, good. Just like that. Perfect.  

He had to stop, he was making noises again and it was just dumb luck you didn’t seem to hear. But he closes his eyes and leaned back in his chair and tried to imagine it was your mouth around his cock. “Mmmm...”  

“Thank you so much for your help, Mr Nanami! I’ll see you on Monday!” 

“I... I will see you then,” He croaked and just like that, you hung up.  

Cain had hurt you on more than one occasion, hurt you in ways that you should not have survived. He made even the bruises go away, leaving you to question your own recollection. The hatred you feel for him is cold and burning and frankly you are not impressed by Cain’s supposed divinity. You aren’t stupid enough to say any of this aloud, but you also aren’t very good at hiding it.  

You find him in the living room. He’s sitting on the sofa, reading a leather-bound book with a mug of something balanced on the armrest. Just as you turn around to amuse yourself elsewhere, you feel that invisible force wrap around you like vines and keep you in place; “Stay,” says Cain. He doesn’t look up as you’re dragged towards the sofa and stand before him.  

You can only move your fingers; your arms are secured to your side. You stare as Cain turns the page. You feel something wrap around your throat, just a reminder that he’s being nice by allowing you to breathe. After a few moments, he marks his place, closes the book and puts it on the sofa beside him. He looks up at you and when you try to turn away, the force on your neck increases. “I’ve hardly seen you,” He says. You feel the invisible thing slither like a snake around your tongue and pin it to the floor of your mouth; it’s hard not to gag. “A pet is meant to provide their master with companionship.” You can only hope your contempt shows on your face. Cain rises and you’re forced to look up to maintain eye contact. Cain reaches for your jaw, and you cringe, craning your neck as far as you can to avoid his fingers.  

You feel the grip on your tongue loosen as he says; “I thought humans were social creatures,” 

For a moment, neither of you say anything. You wet your lips; “If you want me to feel bad for you,” You say. “You should start by getting that smirk off your face.” You don’t care if it’s rude; you’ll give him nothing, not even common courtesy.  

The force around your body becomes a crushing weight and you’re shoved to your knees before him. “Cute,” Cain says. “Truly. But I’m not looking for pity. Especially from someone like you.” You glare at him before your head is pushed down. It’s like you’re praying. You feel his hand card through your hair as he laughs. “I can feel your loathing.” He tells you and you grit your teeth. “I bet you think you’re strong, that resisting me is somehow... admirable. It’s not. 

“You’re stubborn and childish, unwilling to accept a situation you cannot change.” Your head snaps up as his invisible hold loosens. The expression on his face is unreadable as he considers you. He cups your cheek. “Aren’t you tired of this game?” He asks. “It’s gone on long enough; I know you must be... lonely.” 

You turn your head and bite Cain’s hand, sinking your teeth in as he lets out a yell of surprise. His blood tastes wrong, almost bitter. When he shoves you away, you can only heave, trying to get it out of your mouth.  

“You little brat.” He doesn’t even sound angry, at least not as angry as you’d hoped. You watch as your teeth mark fade without a trace from his hand. Cain approaches you. “My patience is wearing thin, pet, and I don’t think you appreciate how dangerous that is.” Your knees start to ache as the weight increases on your shoulders. “You brush off my attempts at conversation and defy me at every turn, just what am I meant to do with you?” He kicks you square in the chest, and you topple to the floor. Cain rests his shoe on his sternum. “Most of pets try to win my favor.”  

“I’m not your pet.” You hiss.  

Cain starts towards the bedroom, his invisible grasp dragging you across the floor by your hair. You yell and try to twist away but it’s as pointless as any of your other rebellions. You’re lifted effortlessly onto the bed, and you hear the chains slinking out of the headboard. They secure around your wrists and all you can do is watch Cain; his back is turned to you as he prepares... something on the nightstand. You hear him strike a match and see him light a large red candle.  

“Mood lighting?” You scoff as Cain turns back to you. He runs a hand through your hair and you try to pull away.  

“It’s so grating having you fight me at every turn,” Despite what he’s saying, you can’t help but feel that he finds this whole situation amusing.  

You feel the invisible hands between your legs, and you watch as your panties are pulled down, leaving you completely exposed. “Stop--” You try but you cut yourself off with a surprised yell as you feel something hot drip down your arm.  

You look back to your chained wrists and for a second you somehow believe you're bleeding but no... It’s red wax, flowing down your underarm for a few seconds before hardening. “Relax,” Cain says, sitting on the edge of the bed with the red candle in hand. He tilts the candle again dribbling more wax on your stomach and you inhale sharply, trying to lean away. “This would all be so much easier of you relaxed.” 

You can’t even describe what you’re feeling as fear, it’s like something is buzzing within you; wasps swarming your insides. You are so angry, and he seems to be enjoying it as he pours more wax down your stomach. You’re breathing hard, trying to keep yourself from crying out again when you feel the invisible set of hands between your legs, the touch so light you shudder.  

Cain is noticing all your reactions as he looms above you, his smile only widens as he leaves another stripe of wax on your stomach, and you gasp. “You can’t resist me,” He says and he moves the candle. You scream as a drop of wax encases your left nipple. “You’re only human, after all.” As he says this, his wings unfurl, surrounding you both in his jet black wingspan.  

You feel Cain’s second set of hands rub soothing circles into your hips and Cain drips wax across your collarbone. You arch your back, trying to move away from everything. You don’t like it; you feel more trapped than you ever have been. Invisible hands start to tease you as more wax is poured across your chest, it’s too much, anywhere you look is Cain and his wings, it’s like you’ve been buried alive.  

You don’t see him put the candle down, but he leans over you and starts to kiss your neck, slowly, softly, until you gasp, “How long do you plan on playing this game?” He whispers and you meet his horrible golden eyes. “Don’t you want comfort?” 

“I--” The invisible hands squeeze your thigh, and your breath catches in your throat. It was distracting... he was being gentle, and you don’t know how to respond.  

“I could give you that,” He says, using a manicured nail to peel the watch off your collarbone and pressing a kiss to the tender skin there as invisible hands creep further between your legs. You feel fingers ghost against your flesh and a fresh wave of anxiety hits you. "Happiness. Purpose, if you just--” 

“No,” You say, trying to move away from teasing fingers. Cain bites you suddenly and you cry out.  

“You can’t gain anything from defiance.” He says it simply. This is a fact. You imagine pulling out his feathers, one by one. Cain’s hand moves to your chest, circling the wax coated nipple with a forefinger. “I can feel your heartbeat,” He says, gently scraping his nails down your side. “I can hear it too, how it accelerates when you and I are in the same room.” He digs his nails further into your skin as the other hands start touching you more purposely. “I assumed you were angry or perhaps your hated was that strong but...” He gives you a chilling smile. “That isn’t it, is it pet?”  

“You’re a monster.” You say, only to scream as the hands below start to scratch your more sensitive areas.  

Cain leans down, whispering into your ear; “Does it really matter?” 

“Yes,” You say but you don’t sound so sure as Cain peppers kisses up and down your carotid. Your eyes flutter close as the hands return to their sweet touches at the apex of your thighs.  

The touches are feather light as Cain’s kisses travel down your throat to your collarbone. He pauses the wax off your nipple, his nail lightly scraping against your skin. He moves his face back towards yours so he can whisper; “Say my name,” Your eyes snap open to meet his gaze. “Say it for me,” The hand between your legs is touching you like it knows exactly what to do and Cain kisses you. You moan softly. “Say my name,” He says again as you move your hips to meet the phantom fingers.  

Your breath gets shallow as you get close, what you need is right there, but you never reach it, the sensations disappear before you can cum. You meet Cain’s eyes again, looking so very confused. “But--” 

“I told you to do something,” Cain says.  

“Please,” You shift your hips, but nothing is there.  

Cain holds your chin in his hand, his thumb lingering on your bottom lip. “If you want to be rewarded, you have to obey.”  

As you look up at Cain, the touches return between your legs, and it doesn’t take long for you to reach the edge again. “Cain,” You moan. “Please,” Again, the touch fades at the moment of your release and you jerk against the chains holding you fast in place. “No, Cain! Cain, please.”  

Cain peels a stripe of red off your stomach. “Please?” He asks. “Are you finally being sweet?” 

“Yes,” You breathe. “Cain...” You try to meet his eyes and sigh as the touch returns to you again. You’re brought to the edge again and again no further, you pull against the chains, only rubbing your wrists raw. “No,” You whimper so quietly you’re almost surprised he heard you.  

“Oh, look at you,” Cain says, occupying himself by peeling the remaining wax off your body. “All this time, I’ve wanted to see you like this, begging for my touch and attention.”  

The sensations pull away again and you cry out in frustation. “Please, Cain--” 

“Oh my, are you crying?” Cain is elated at the revelation. He brushes his thumbs across your cheeks, and you don’t have it in you to complain. “You are. How patheic you are, hm? What happened to all that delicious hatred?” 

You give him a pleading look. “Please... Cain...” 

“Please what?” He asks, trying to feign innocence. “Be specific. Ask for what you want, my pet.” Cain takes your face in his hand. “Confess.”  

“I want...” You say.  

“Tell me,” 

Your voice is airy. “I want you to touch me.” 

“Touch you?” He asks. “Is that all?” 

Your heart skips a beat. “I... want you.” You say. “Please, please Cain, I want you.” 

He grins, this is better than he had hoped. He has clearly gotten under your skin. “If I had only known this was all it took for you to give in to me, there wouldn’t have been need for all that hardship.” 

You’re barely listening, lifting your hips off the mattress and whining. Your pride can be ignored, if he only gives you what you need. “Cain,” You say again. “I want you.” 

“Oh, I know my pet,” He purrs, running his hand down your face. You lean into his touch. “Look how sweet you are, and I suppose you have begged prettily enough, I can grant you what you want.” 

“Please,” Your voice is soft and the phantom grasp starts touching you again. You moan. “Yes, thank you...” 

You watch as Cain turns to grab the candle off the nightstand again, you’re closer to your release than you’ve been all night. When the hands fade you almost scream in frustration before Cain pours wax over your chest again and you gasp.  

THE scratching of his pencil has permeated into your dreams, now you were not free of him even in sleep. Dr Crane is always immersed in his work, always writing something, the pencil always scratching. You don’t know how long you’ve been here, or even where here is. You maybe had some idea at first but that had been weeks ago, now the only thing your conscious mind had to cling to was him. Dr Crane, the Scarecrow.  

He is working on something big and for it, his chemical weapons must be sharpened to a horrifying edge. Only the best for the Bat. The colors of the toxin vary from orange to yellow to green, the doses change. Sometimes the injections go into your arm, neck or leg. Sometimes, he fits a face mask over your mouth and nose and just sits back as you’re forced to breathe in the gaseous state of uncut terror. The duration changes, it varies from a few minutes to long hours screaming your vocal cords raw. No matter what, the good doctor seems content to sit back and watch. The only thing that doesn’t change is you. His unwilling assistant.  

Your body is covered in needle pricks and track marks. Your cheeks shine with dried tears that Crane hasn’t bothered to wipe away. One of his formulas had made you hallucinate things crawling under your skin, leading you to scratch your arms until you bled and then some. Another had filled you with blind panic and you had kicked Crane so hard in the chest he had deemed it necessary to wrestle you into a strait jacket. Now, as he strips away your sanity with each round of treatment, you can only lean against the wall of the Scarecrow’s makeshift lab.  

“Did you hear me?” Your head lolls to the side and you try to hide your face in your shoulder. He’s standing above you now, towering over you. “You’re awake,” He says. He has to tell you these things, otherwise you’d have no way of knowing. The syringe in his left hand catches the low light. Orange this time. The last one was green. The one before that... you can’t remember.  

The good doctor kneels in front of you. He takes your jaw in his hand so he can look at you, stare directly into your eyes and though you know it’s purely for diagnostic purposes, you don’t like it. “You are awake,” He repeats. Crane moves the syringe closer, and you pull away from his grip so fast you hit your head on the wall behind you. He lets out a sigh; “None of that,” He threads lithe fingers through your hair, gently scraping your scalp, and pulls your head to the side. You cry out as the needle pricks your neck. “There we go, nice and easy,” He says, his voice completely devoid of all emotion.  

Your heart begins to accelerate. This part stays the same. Your vision is going dark around the edges, you twist in the strait jacket; trying to escape the dread crashing around you. What will you see? Monsters? A family member? Will disembodied laughter fill your head? The walls close in? Or will it just be blackness, blinding you until he deems it time to administer the antidote? You start to hyperventilate.  

Crane lets go of your hair and leans back, watching you closely. His face begins to contort, twisting into something somehow even more vile. In your mind’s eye, you see his face stitched into burlap, a horrible creation of the doctor and the Scarecrow. His mouth is somehow both stitches and far too many teeth. You turn away and the horrible face is still there, a monstrous patchwork with eyes gleaming orange no matter where you look. Your blood is rushing in your ears, you barely hear it when he asks; “What do you see?” 

You shake your head.  

“What do you see?” The voice is horrible, it’s like its sending glass through your veins, it comes from everywhere. Crane reaches for your face, and you cringe, pushing yourself into the wall behind you. It’s ike you’re in a kaleidoscope, his hands are everywhere, reaching for you. He takes your face again and the need to scream grows in your chest like fire. “Tell me,” 

“No... nothing,” You say.  

He waves his hand in front of your face, and you flinch. “Tell me,” 

The distorted image of him is almost pulsating in beat with your heart. You can’t focus on anything except the fact you don’t want him to touch you. You barely hear your own voice through your own thundering pulse; “Scarecrow,” 

You can tell that he’s smiling, the mess of burlap and skin spreads in such a way that indicates his pleasure in this answer. “Scarecrow? Are you afraid of the Scarecrow?” He touches you, bringing his scarred hand to cup your cheek and you let out a short scream as though his touch burns you. His laughter shakes your bones. You haven’t heard him laugh since you’ve been here. You bury your face in your shoulder as the laughter echoes in your head. Crane runs his hand through your hair, his touch is gentle. Soft.  

A shudder runs through your body all the same.  

If he has been testing you all this time, tonight you finally have the right answer; gone is the apathetic doctor who gives you your medicine and watches with detached curiosity; now Crane is leaning in close, enjoying the way you flinch and relishing when a fresh wave of tears stream down your cheeks. It’s all for him, after all. He brushes the hair out of your eyes so he can better see your face contorted in terror, he holds you in place so he can enjoy every micro expression with that horrible grin. These almost sweet gestures are so at odds with the hot, all- consuming dread racing through your veins just as the toxin does.  

 Crane takes every excuse to touch you just to see you flinch and cry out in protest, you can’t do much else but even if you weren’t restrained you don’t know if you’d have it in you to do anything but cower. This toxin was designed to take down people much braver than you. You are no Batman.  

You feel his fingers ghost against the column of your throat and you jerk back, toppling over and falling to the floor. Your head is swimming, and you feel Crane lean over you, positioning himself on top of you. Your fear... and knowing you’re afraid of him. It’s addicting. He holds you still with one hand while his other goes for the throat, checking your pulse with his middle and forefinger. “Look at you,” His voice has taken on a purring quality and your drug addled mind makes sure to compensate, the thing above you has a mouth full of blood stained canines and deadly sharp claws like an animal, playing with his prey before the final strike. Your fear is crashing around you as Crane leans forward, pinning your body with his own. He’s trying to get as close to your eyes as possible, he’s all you see.  

You have stopped screaming, opting instead to cry and twist in the jacket, the straps digging in sharply into soft flesh. You’re convinced you’re being flayed as the rough canvas rubs your skin raw. Your breath catches in your throat as the strap between your legs goes a little higher. Crane’s grin spreads across his face as he takes account of this reaction. As you continue to struggle, you do nothing but push yourself to the line between horror and neediness. Arousal is arousal and you’re having trouble distinguishing right now.  

“Oh dear,” Crane chides. He’s all you can see; your vision has been narrowed to a pinprick. “Is someone getting their lines crossed?” You feel his hand pushing the strap further into your sex and you can’t help but moan as you grind yourself into it. “Do you want more?” 

Yes. No. More what? More teasing? More fear? More pain? It’s like your mind is breaking. Panic spikes in your chest, wetness pools between your legs. It feels good, you want to be anywhere else. “More...” You are more aware of your lips moving than the fact you are speaking. The hand disappears from the apex of your legs, and you complain; “No...” 

Crane takes care as he unbuckles the strap going through your legs. He’s amused, he can tell his toxin had had... a rare effect on you. “My, my,” You don’t have it in you to be ashamed. His fear toxin had reduced you to your base instincts. You somehow feel disconnected from your body while also being painfully aware that he isn’t touching you. You don’t even think as you spread your legs slightly. Your rational mind is eclipsed but when this is over, you’ll tell yourself it was the toxin that was making you act like this.  

You sigh when his hand returns, you watch him with lidded eyes. It’s hard to believe the thing before you even resembled a human being. Instead, there is a demonic face that looks like something Mary Shelley would come up with; stitches and teeth and eyes glowing orange like the fires of Hell. You don’t care. His thin fingers are making you moan.  

It’s hard to say how long you were lying on the floor with the good doctor. The entire time you feel like you’re on the edge of something while your heart beats madly in your chest and your blood rushes in your ears. Time ebbs and flows, it feels like it takes hours but you’re close and you couldn’t have lasted that long.  

STRADE would kill you. What was once a far off possibility was coming any day now. He didn’t spend as much time with you, it was almost a blessing but your time with him had taught you how to recognize a dire situation, Strade was losing interest.  

“What’s wrong, liebling?” Strade stood before you, his weight on one side and knife in hand. You’d lost track of how long you two had been at this today, when his hands got too soaked in blood, he’d just wipe them clean on your face or hair which was now sticky and crusting to your scalp. Most of it had come from your stomach, he’d tried carving a design into your tummy copied from one of his tattoos but put the idea aside when you started to get too woozy. He’d also at one point decided to sheath his knife in your thigh, halfway to the handle, before pulling it out back out again. Indeed, it had been a long day and you were starting to wish it would end. You shook your head and Strade’s eyes crinkled as he smiled even wider. “It’s so cute how shy you are!”  

Your mouth felt impossibly dry. Crying would only spur him on. “Please. No more.” It sounded so... pathetic. Broken. Maybe because you were. Deep inside, where your pride had once been, there was only fear of this man. 

“Aw, Hase,” He pet your hair before sliding his palm down to your cheek. He was always warm, every inch of him. You closed your eyes, leaning into his palm without realizing it. You knew from experience how sweet it was to curl up beside him and be lulled to sleep by his heartbeat. His voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s not my fault, you’re just so beautiful when you’re bloody and begging.” You shuddered as Strade kissed your forehead. “You understand, I know you do. You’re a smart little thing. I wouldn’t have to do this if you just weren’t so perfect.”  

Your tears started falling as Strade turned around, going to take a sip of his drink from the counter behind him. You were outright sobbing by the time he turned back around and stalked back towards you. The knife at his hip gave him an extra bit of saunter as he loomed over you and you cringed in on yourself on the floor, as though you could protect yourself.  

“How about I let you decide what game we play, hm? Would that make you feel better?” You couldn’t see his face, covered close in shadows, but the tone in his voice was almost sweet and it made you sick. “We can do anything you like, Hase. Would that maybe get you to smile?” 

“No.” You tried to sound tough but the word was eclipsed by your tears. Strade crouched in front of her, the knife catching the light and gleaming. You flinched away on instinct. “No! You sick, fuck, get away from me!”  

Strade didn’t even seem bothered, he beamed at him. “I was only trying to be nice,” He was close now, finally close enough to touch you if he so desired and you spit at him. It landed on his cheek and for a moment, he was stunned but a slow grin spread across his face like cut. “Oh, liebling,” His purring voice dripped with unexpected lust. “How filthy.”  

“Don’t--” 

“What?” Strade grabbed your jaw, pinning your head to the pole behind you. He leaned in so close you could smell the beer on his breath and your expression visibly soured. “I’m not angry. And I said... we’d do anything you wanted.” 

Strade rested his hand on your thigh, his other in your hair. He shifted his weight so all of it was resting on the gaping hole he’d left in your leg and you couldn’t hold back your scream. Strade peered down at you with lidded eyes. “Strade, I’m sorry--” 

“We’ll play any game you like.” He looked like he wanted to eat you as he crawled further between your legs. You could feel the blood flowing out of your leg again and it came with more pain that just served to make things fuzzy around the edges. Strade plunged two thick fingers into your wound and you cried out suddenly. “Aw,” He drove them in deeper, up to the second hairy knuckle and then further until the heel of his hand was flush against your thigh and you let out a deeply anguished wail. Strade leaned in, his lips against your ear as his stubble scrapped your cheek.”What sweet noises you make for me.” 

He started moving his fingers, scissoring them apart as far as he could and you could only groan in protest. You leaned against the pole and closed your eyes for only a second before Strade’s hand jumped from your hair to your throat. Eyes on me. This was for you as much as it was for him, he was putting on a show. “Strade,” Your voice sounded strained and when his honey colored eyes met yours it died completely. Under his gaze, you shifted slightly, expecting what was to come. You’d been here so long you’d basically been trained to associated violence with sex, he’d rewired you to be a dutiful little masochist. Even if you hated him and what he did to you, you were getting hot.  

You shifted your hips again, you would’ve rubbed your thighs together if Strade wasn’t positioned in-between them, you were craving friction. He pulled away from you only slightly, enough for you to his near-sinister grin and you realized you hadn’t been as subtle as you thought. “Enjoying yourself?” There was a teasing tone to his voice that made you want to cry. Strade dragged his fingers out of your leg as slowly as possible and you made a noise close to a growl. His blood soaked hand cupped your mound through your thin underwear and chuckled darkly; “My, my Liebling, ready for me already?” 

You leaned into his hand, straining against the ropes to do so and met his eyes just as Strade leaned back, out of your limited reach. He moved his hand slightly closer, still barely touching you, teasing you through the fabric with that irritating grin. You knew the look on Strade’s face, the joy that only your discomfort brought. “Please,” you breathed.  

“What what that?” He asked, oh so innocently. “I’m sorry, precious one, I just can’t hear you.” The sound you made was undignified and could only be described as a whine. Strade cocked his head, taking his hand back from in between your legs entirely. “Use your words.” 

Begging usually got you nothing with Strade aside from more condescension in his voice but your lips parted all the same. “Strade, please.” You met his eyes; he was hanging on your every word. “Touch me more.” You spread your legs a little wider, trying to seem inviting. “I... I want you, Strade.” 

You could never tell what was going through his head behind that smile of his. “You want me?” He purred. “Someone is certainly eager.” He slid the knife off his belt and your breath stuttered.  

“I... I want you, Strade.” You repeated, eyes fixed on the serrated blade of the hunting knife that you’d become far too intimate with in the past. He slid it between your thigh and the edge of your panties, you went rigid in case he accidentally cut you. That close to your femoral and you’d be dead. But instead of skin, he cut through the fabric, reducing your underwear to shreds and pulling them off your body.  

Strade closed the space between you, once again looming over you before gliding his forefinger into your entrance, assisted by the blood still on his hand that hadn’t quite dried and your slick. “Like this?” He asked, adding a second figure before you had chance to answer.  

Already you were holding back a moan but when Strade started fingering you with as much enthusiasm as he had with your wound you had no chance of keeping quiet. You clenched around his fingers and cried out as he picked up speed. When the heel of Strade’s hand made contact with your clit you were done for, leaning against the pole behind you and closing your eyes, moaning loudly.  

Strade buried his face in your shoulder, breathing in deeply. You felt his teeth as he littered your neck with bites, going down your chest and none to gentle. Neither you nor Strade knew if your cries were from pleasure or pain as he broke the skin of your left breast, blood running down your chest, into Strade’s mouth and staining his hair as he moved down to his carving in your stomach.  

YOU slept better than you ever had with Thomas Hewitt next to you. Your sweet Tommy. You would always curl up to him, like he was just a big teddy bear, ignoring the sweat and grime and blood that would cling to his skin. Summer was over, but no one had told the oppressive Texas heat, although Luda May insisted it would get cooler soon.  

Tommy wrapped his arms around you, holding you to his chest. You lnew he was always careful with you, careful not to crush you, careful not to graze the scar on your back, careful not to scare you. Careful to lock the basement door when he left. Careful to chain you to the bed when he was working. It should have made you sick when he caressed you with fingers practically dripping with someone else’s gore but instead you welcomed it. It meant Tommy had someone else strung up on those chains, and it meant that he was choosing you. Each and every time, he was choosing you. Again and again, over and over.  

Your sweet Tommy. 

You’d gotten good at reading his expression under his mask. The slight changes in those deep brown eyes. He didn’t speak, they were all you had to go by but you felt you understood him. Since being in the Hewitt house, your world had become very small, the only danger had also become your salvation. You used to feel powerless, like Tommy saw you as a pet. Entertaining for the time being but hardly a permanent fixture in his life until one night when you were deep in dreams, Tommy woke you up.  

You were moaning before you were even aware of what was happening, all you had was the feelings of being stretched as Thomas slowly entered you. Before your eyes had even fluttered open, you cooed; “Tommy,” He stopped moving when you met his gaze.  

When you saw his face.  

Neither of you moved, Tommy’s shaft halfway in and already, his size made you nervous and a shudder whipped down your spine. His hands were on either side of your hips, holding his above you and his mask was on the end table.  

Those sweet cow’s eyes were in a face unlike any that you’d ever seen but any fear you felt was replaced by excitement as you, barely awaked, begged for more; “Tommy, please.” 

Tommy pushed even further into you and you arched your back, crying out only for Tommy to shove two fingers into your open mouth to silence you. You had been dead asleep, it was the middle of the night and this far out in the country, the night didn’t make much noise. Still, you wound your tongue around his digits and tasted yourself on them. He had tried to prepare you for him while you were still asleep. You sucked on his fingers, your eyes holding his and Tommy grunted.  

Being heard was clearly a concern because Tommy didn’t fuck you. Instead, he held onto the headboard above you and peered down into your face as he rocked his hips, slow and shallow thrusts that had you squirming to meet him and trying to whine around his fingers.  

His face hovered inches above you, in all its grotesque glory. Tommy watched closely, your every reaction as he snapped your hips to meet yours, fully sheathed inside you. A cry escaped you and his pushed his fingers further down. You understood his discretion, you two weren’t alone in the house and he wanted to spare the both of you the embarrassment if Hoyt were to hear. But now was not the time for logic. You felt good, you wanted him to know he was making you feel good. Drool wet your lips, his hand and the pillow beneath you, Thomas started to thrust --always so careful-- before he took his hand out of your mouth to hold your hips down with both hands, his grip spanned across your stomach, his strength could be devastating if he wanted it to be and the idea thrilled you. 

The bed was creaking and Thomas’ brow furrowed, slowing his pace even further. “No,” Your voice had a breathy and desperate tone. “Please don’t stop. Tommy please.” He stared down at you, his large eyes searching for an explanation. You took your hand off the bed, it was your turn to be careful, and cupped his scarred cheek. Tommy flinched but he didn’t pull away; “Don’t stop. Please make me feel good Tommy.” He melted into your hand and jutted into you, suddenly full of feverous fire, driving him.  

You took your hand away and in a second, Tommy’s hand was on your wrist, pulling your hand back to cheek. “Oh, my beautiful Tommy,” You cooed as he rocked into you. You couldn’t hold back your gasps when hit that spot within you and kept at it.  

You had not been told where you were or who had brought you here. When you last asked how long you’d been here the man had cocked his head slightly and gave you a pitiful look. Overhaul’s pity cut like a knife. You wanted nothing less. He was the only person you’d seen since being taken but you knew you two weren’t alone.  

He’d introduced himself as Kai. But you refused to call him something that familiar. You knew it irritated him when you referred to him as Overhaul, especially when you made no effort to keep the seething hated out of your voice.  

You used to cry. When you had first been brought into this terrible room you cried and begged to be let go, by now you wished you hadn’t shown that vulnerability. You had asked why you were but he always gave vague and untrue answers. At first, he found joy in your every struggle. You could see his eyes crinkle as he smiled from behind the horrible mask. 

Eventually you stopped crying. You buried your fear and despair and only nurtured your anger until Overhaul could feel it in waves just by entering the room. You sat on the floor beside the bed, curling yourself as small as you could managed like a coiled spring, waiting, waiting, waiting to snap. You didn’t know what he wanted but you would give nothing. He touched you with gloved hands and you’d flinch backwards like his rubber skin burned. He would laugh at this and you were used to it, growing up Quirkless you’d had expirence being picked on. You were an easy target, what’s the worst you could do? 

But both of you were getting sick of this, Overhaul was obviously annoyed that he hadn’t managed to break you yet. 

When the door to the room opened that day your eyes flicked from the floor to him, silhouetted in the frame. You barely even reacted, shifting on the floor where you sat. 

“Get up.” He said and you smirked only slightly. You loved when he told you what to do, it made it that much easier to get under his skin. The door closed behind him and he approached in measured steps. You’d never see him anything but cool and restrained despite your attempted to drive him up the wall. “Did you not hear me?” He asked, standing above you and you met his eyes. “I said get up. Off the floor.”  

“I heard you.” Your voice was raspy from lack of use.  

Overhaul crouched down so he could better assess you and your expressions. He was close, only his beak between you but you knew by now that for whatever reason, he wasn’t going to hurt you. “Do you know how long you’ve been here?” He asked, though he knew you didn’t. “I’m getting tired of this.” He admitted and you jutted out your chin slightly. There was a small part of you that was proud that you hadn’t given in. He could have everything he wanted, but not you.  

Until Overhaul started peeling off his gloves. Your eyes widened and you pushed yourself back into the wall. He was so close, there was no way of escape. “Wait.” You didn’t know what exactly his Quirk did but it must have been dangerous if he wore gloves everywhere. As he reached towards your face, you felt the panic rise in your chest. “Don’t fucking touch--” 

He rested two fingers on either one of your temples and the effects were immediate. A rush so fast your head would’ve fallen back if he hadn’t been holding you upright. For a few seconds you couldn’t even breathe until your eyes met his again and he shifted his fingers slightly, flooding your system with what could only be described as bliss.  

As Overhaul meticulously replaced the adrenaline in your system with dopamine, serotonin and oxytocin you couldn’t keep the dazed smile off your face or the near love in your eyes. It was something he’d never tried but it had worked better than he’d hoped. You were smiling at him like you never had before, his hand went from your temple to your cheek and you leaned into his touch. “How are you feeling?”