#; fuck this shit lets start a riot [ crack ]

[nobuverse]

"Anyone want one of these? These mini-nobus keep following me around..."

Nobu, nob!

[stxrblccd]

.:* tag dump *:.

[nobuverse]

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?! If I knew, don't you think I'd gotten it myself?!"

"Ahem- I mean - Sion did say something about it being in Tyoko in the...1870's ? I think? But do you really expect me to go fetch it in this state? A-and before you ask-! No! I didn't put it there myself! H-help me out, would ya? I can't go around looking like this forever..."

"OH SHIT! WHERE'D YOU PUT IT?!"

[myunghology]

hi hi if your requests are open could I ask for ritsu sakuma and rinne amagi x reader relationship hcs!! Gn reader!

ritsu and rinne general relationship hcs

featuring ritsu + rinne x gn! reader

warnings noneee

genre + layout fluff, crack, headcanons/bulleted layout

a/n SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG $/$/!/)/)

s. ritsu

becomes more possessive once you both start dating, but not TOO possessive to the point where he won't let you go, etc. because he knows you still have things to do.

also on how he confessed.. he probably?? did it on accident ☠️☠️

let's just say on a casual day you were just sleeping with him under a tree; on my because you fell asleep from looking at him. unexpectedly he woke up before you did.

confessed while you were quote unquote, “still asleep”. little did he know you were already wide awake.. ;3 your eyes were just closed!!

gets visibly flustered for about just one minute when he realizes your still awake, congratulations!! you've achieved the achievement ‘flustering ritsu sakuma’! difficulty; EXTRA HARD

feels bad when people talk shit about you just for dating him :(. it can scale from “they're not even good enough for ritsu?” to “why are they even dating him.. he's not all that.”

either way tho, he threatens people to stop talking bs about you. he's like that one meme!! “KEEP. MY. WIFES. NAME. OUT. YOUR. FUCKING. MOUTH 🤬🤬🤬” “RITSU STOP”

bro he is definitely starting a riot. sorry.

you have to patch him all up, plus you have to apologize to the person FOR HIM while he's just like.. “DON'T APOLOGIZE TO THEM. THEY CAN GO FUCK THEMSELVES”

eventually. calms down. after like 10 minutes.

anyways,, he gives the bestt cuddles ever. don't we all know that though? this is just a personal hc, but i feel like he does origami for fun.

so whenever he has free time.. and isn't somehow sleeping, he teaches you what he knows. guys don't be like me cuz idk how to even make a paper airplane

+ gives the most RANDOM and OBVIOUS kisses and hickies, and if not, it's on the most personal places. on your (inner) thighs, your neck, your chest, etc.

"wow [name] you look like you just fought with a bear" spoiler alert: you just got a day with ritsu without mika in the room

im sorry if you get flustered obviously by touch, because OH NO.. who would've guessed.. he's so touchy and he absolutely bathes in your reaction whenever you squeal or/and blush at what he's doing.

sends texts to knights saying stuff like, “guys.. i miss them” “BRO STFU 😭” everyone is sick of him saying that, so please be with him 24/7 </3...

also talks about you obsessively to knights, probably even to rei if no one truly wants to listen to him ramble about you.. it's not that they don't like you!! it's just that it's a bit annoying sometimes. but it's also nice to get to know about you more.

just not from ritsu.

a. rinne

im so sorry you have to deal with him. hes so hot tho ill give him that

but when he loves, he loves HARDD, i swear. he'll be spoiling you both with money, and with his affection! it's a win-win situation for the both of you!

like ritsu, he spams his gc because of how much he rambles about you.. whether it be full blown paragraphs of you or little rambles.

these two are actually kind of similar when you're in a relationship with them. rinne is another one who gives very OBVIOUS hickies, and a lot at that. even his unitmates are embarrassed for you atp.. but they're happy!

cares for you a lot, even though it isn't that obvious due to.. yknowww, but it's really heartwarming whenever you see this side of him.

you're hurt by accident? he's already cleaning up your wounds and bandaging them before placing a soft kiss on it, telling you to be careful next time.

not on accident and someone caused it? well... heh... 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖒𝖞 𝖇𝖆𝖇𝖞! ahh reaction

likes teasing you a lot! pinching your face and tugging on it right after, just to trigger your natural blush he always loves to see.

HEAVY on pda, doesn't really care who sees, unless you care, then he won't mind! but still insists because he can't get his hands off you (IN A SFW WAY. u guys r gross)

HIIRO APPROVES! you take care of rinne and you look out for him, it's also a win-win for the both of you guys

netflix marathons.. but it's with sad movies. it's either he holds you or you hold him when the other cries their heart out

surprisingly good at comforting?? doesn't seem like it because of his character, but you've learned early enough that he's a good person to rant to!

also because of that, you two have gotten more closer than ever :). thinks you deserve the best— and so he gives it to you. that basically sums up your whole relationship

myunghology: IDK HOW TO WRITE FOR RINNE DIES

[nobuverse]

@mysticallities said:

Cue Reines picking up a mini Nobbu and hitting a homerun with the little runt right in front of Nobu herself! Rare for her to move that much~

"I-isn't that a little harsh...?"

Not that she hadn't punted a few of those things herself - but something about seeing a smaller version of herself being launched in that violent of a manner was kind of terrifying.

"It probably had hopes and dreams of its own or - something like that ....it was just a little guy...."

I'm next, aren't I?

[nobuverse]

"Yeah...well....you've never had to stand to Darius....or Hercules...I'd bet even they'd make you feel small..."

"You know why nobody ever makes fun of my height? Because I'm big in Japan."

[nobuverse]

"Hey, it was a good piece of work. I'm not apologizing."

[ethain]

i predict a riot

They meet at a riot. 

Which sounds awfully self-explanatory, because of course punks meet at rallies-turned-riots and fight the system together, but it’s not. Because Kaku doesn’t rebel without a cause. And he’s specific about his causes because you can’t be mad at everything out there, can you? 

(People absolutely can.) 

And while he’s conflicted about abolishing zoos altogether when they play an important part in teaching people to love and protect nature near and far, the current model is flawed and he will definitely fight it. 

And he likes to fight. 

In this time and economy, rallies turn violent more often than not, and Kaku... is here for it. He chooses his attendance and input, but he’d be a hypocrite if he claimed that it’s only political activism that gets him out in the street. There’s people coming here to start shit, especially if it’s an after-work demonstration and it starts getting dark. 

Society is deeply flawed. Justice is weak when discourse so easily leads to street battles. It can drag you down. 

Or you dye your hair in a fresh layer of glaring orange, put on your favorite ‘Justice for Marius’-shirt (they were forever wrong to kill that precious giraffe) and go absolutely wild. Kaku is a free spirit, he opts for the latter. 

It’s barely starting to grow dark when the chanting is interrupted by yelling for the first time: rough, cracking voices, and everyone knows that the peaceful part of the demonstration is over. Some still remain, others scatter. Someone smashes a beer bottle. 

Kaku feels his pulse jump, but the sudden turn worries him. If you start shit in public, at least wait until people have had the chance to leave: he hates the thought of bystanders getting caught in whatever is brewing, and it’s barely evening – these people are way too pent up, whatever happened to civilized introductions before- 

“... and fuck that shitty oversized goat!” someone yells and points at Kaku’s shirt, and fine, he probably doesn’t need an introduction after all. 

Public brawls in the street are, to be blunt, undignified. Enough space to evade others, too little to properly dodge, it’s loud and messy and if you hit the ground, you scrape your skin on asphalt and shards and hundred kinds of dirt. The light is fading, so people don’t always recognize each other quickly enough, and you can get hit by a rock or a bottle that someone hurled down the street any minute. 

Kaku loves building stuff and cocoa and long walks and this. The pulse of anger at the system and each other, violence, yelling and cursing. Their mutual agreement to mayhem, the animal need to let out aggression, the adrenaline of feeling oneself like this. 

And what is more appropriate for an appeal to change the handling of animals than proving that they all are unrefined beasts? 

However: beasts fight with their teeth and claws and horns and hooves and whatever else they have, so Kaku has a firm opinion on bringing weapons into this. 

He sees the board first, then the hard glimmer of nails in the wood. This is something that was brought here, and the moment Kaku sees it rising to strike the back of someone’s head, he spins like a fucking top. His fist connects with the side of a jaw in the same second the would-be victim whirls around, elbow raised in what was probably a mean strike. It hits thin air, and the man scowls at Kaku. 

He’s tall with wild black hair and ears studded with piercings that someone absolutely would have torn out, if only there had been a chance. Savagely beautiful, too, and the white peace dove on his leopard-print shirt makes Kaku want to snicker. 

(It also makes him want to do other things.) 

“I had that,” the man snarls, slightly panting. Both of them do. 

(Considering what Kaku will learn about Lucci’s speed, that might actually be true.) Instead, Kaku just grins and shakes out his hand. “And I really wanted that,” he admits gleefully. 

The man narrows his eyes at him. His iris is only a thin golden ring around huge pupils, and it’s likely due to the adrenaline and the growing darkness. 

(It is, but not exclusively.) 

Kaku picks up the board and flings it into the far distance, into someone’s innocent backyard, and a bottle comes sailing for him. The man swings his leg and smashes the bottle mid-air, raining shards around them just as Kaku turns around. 

“You could have caught that, champ,” he says casually as glass crunches under his soles, and the man oh-so-briefly smirks at him, the cat that knocked the vase off the counter. 

Someone comes charging, and Kaku doesn’t know whether it’s that man’s cold, pretty face or his own hair that draws so much ire, but he relishes it. Wordlessly, he sticks close and the man doesn’t move away. 

It grows dark; Kaku doesn’t pay attention to time as there are fewer taunts, fewer words, only the flickering street lights and the inevitable crackling of fire as trash cans get lit up. He feels nothing aside from the exhilarating rush of fighting and savagery and that tiny smirk that he sometimes catches from the corner of his eye- 

Sirens wail, and flickering blue lights pierce the night sky, twitch on walls and bodies. The chaos has reached the point where the police has to take notice, and Kaku feels an eerie excitement at the howling of the crowd that greets them. Like a pit of wild animals challenging someone invading their territory. 

His eyes meet the stranger’s: both panting now, sweating, there is a sheen of wetness along the man’s throat that makes Kaku’s mouth go dry. Tousled hair sticks to his forehead and neck, knuckles dirty and bloody, eyes black – if he was beautiful before, he is stunning now. 

Kaku feels an ache at the thought of parting ways, but he still grins and tastes blood at the corner of his mouth. “Would you look at the time,” he chirps. “That’s bye-bye, butterfly?” 

He can’t help adding that tiny questioning tilt in his voice – adrenaline has fried his brain beyond wondering whether this is really the time and place. 

The man grunts and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, his eyes briefly rove over Kaku. 

“I’m leaving,” he announces in a hoarse tone. “Fuck later?” 

Somehow, that casual question knocks more wind out of Kaku than the kick he took sometime earlier to his stomach. “Sure,” he sputters, because that must have been a Freudian slip, he clearly meant ‘talk later’, because that’s what people say, and his mind was just as distracted as Kaku’s, so that’s that. 

(It is not. Lucci very, very rarely bothers to say things he doesn’t mean, and his tongue doesn’t slip like that.) 

The man briefly licks his lips. “Train Station W7,” he snaps curtly, then whips around and disappears in the chaos of people running – and Kaku has to remind himself to do the same. He has work tomorrow, can’t get arrested for public unrest. 

So he should really finish his night here. After all, this is typically Paulie’s gambling night, too, and one of them has to pay attention to safety tomorrow. Kaku doesn’t care for his reputation as much as he cares for work safety. 

But his blood is still thrumming, and it’s not even far, and there is that metallic tang in his mouth again, blood and sweat and smoke. 

(Why did they part ways in the first place? 

Kaku will find out later that Lucci’s disappearance had gone for so long that Jabra had started to worry, and upon realizing how late it had gotten, Lucci had taken a detour to inform him that he’s fine because he somewhat cares. They are both gruff and aggressive and very clumsy about it and Fukurou tattled on them equally in poetic justice.) 

Kaku doesn’t know what he expected, but the train station is a mess. People quickly leaving the streets and trying to get away hits the public transport first, and the thin spread of security staff at this time of night can hardly prevent new brawls. It doesn’t help that anyone who participated in the riot is easily recognizable by their roughed-up appearance by now, so Kaku gets barely through the station hall’s doors before someone shoves him. 

Well, it’s a weak little pat, so Kaku hardly deems it a provocation. He just smiles brightly without stumbling even a little. “No harm no foul, eh?” 

He’s not really looking for a fight anymore, he’s looking for someone else (as stupid as that is), but people get so agitated when he’s being nice – Kaku can hardly make out half the insults sputtered at him, and as the man crowds closer and spittle flies, it gets kind of unpleasant. Kaku presses his index finger into the stranger’s forehead and pushes him back, easily throwing him off balance – you really shouldn’t drink and pick fights, find some focus on one or the other. 

It gets him no gratitude: knocking the man onto his ass in the gentlest way still has his girlfriend rushing to his side, her angry screech echoes so loudly through the station hall that Kaku worries security will focus on him after all. 

“Lordy,” he mumbles and backs away a little. “You have a good one, alrighty?” 

Kaku pivots, pleased with his de-escalation – but then something moves in the corner of his eye, and despite himself, he swings his arm around to backhand whoever decided to join in this time. 

That might be superfluous to say, but Kaku’s limbs are long. His coworkers find it useful, children find it funny, outfitters just hate it. People trying to fight him continuously underestimate it. 

That one time, Lucci makes that mistake, too. Kaku’s knuckles graze his lower lip and chin as he jerks back, yet miscalculates Kaku’s range. The sheer whip of one long arm scrapes his skin and tears his lip, albeit only slightly. 

Kaku stares in shock as blood wells up from the lip of the man he was kind of hoping to talk to. Perhaps canoodle a little, if that’s on the table. 

It’s very like off now. 

The man touches his lip, glances at the blood on his thumb. His eyes are just as black as in the street, despite the neon tubes brightening the hall. 

He grabs Kaku’s wrist, too quick to dodge and too strong to tear away: his blood gets smeared in a small red spot on Kaku’s skin, and it shouldn’t make his pulse race, shouldn’t be different from everyone’s else’s blood on his knuckles. His knees feel weak, he all but staggers when the man drags him off. 

A train thunders into the station and a new wave of people pushes against them: for a second, Kaku is pressed against lithe muscle and glossy black hair, the smell of smoke and arolla pine. 

(He also suspects even then that if that contact had been unwanted, it wouldn’t have happened.) 

Before the stream of people drags them to the platforms, Kaku gets pulled to the side with a brutal yank that would have hurt a lesser person. Instead, the other man flings him against the tiled wall, scribbled with graffiti and gum, and Kaku lets him. 

Still, the kiss truly catches him off guard. 

The man presses his lips to Kaku’s like there was a build-up to this – which is true, and yet Kaku’s brain initially tries to back-pedal into ‘normal behavior’, and ‘kissing you because you slapped me on the mouth’ does not classify, and- 

-and that man crowds him against the wall, kissing him like he means to devour Kaku, and that thought short-circuits. Kaku tastes blood and sweat in their kiss and molds his lips into it as if to take it all in. The little cut bleeds a little more under the pressure, because the man absolutely doesn’t let up in his hunger, and the coppery tang makes Kaku light-headed. 

He breaks away to gasp for air, taking an embarrassingly large inhale before grinning tentatively. “I’m Kaku,” he offers hopefully. “Wanna tell me your name, buster?” 

The man looks annoyed at the interruption, his elegantly curved brows draw together in a frown. He does still watch Kaku’s lips while the latter speaks, though. “Why.” 

His behavior makes it hard to take his coldness too seriously – it reminds Kaku on a cat intently watching a swishing toy, and the man’s pupils dilate just so. “Cause I’m really bummed about hitting you, but I can kiss it better – won't do it for a stranger, tho.” 

There is a spark of amusement in those eyes full of feline mischief: one of many times when bullshit simply is refused with a smile. 

“Lucci.” 

“’m delighted,” Kaku breathes and kisses him again. His hands come up to frame Lucci’s head between his hands, his fingers brush wild hair and warm piercings as Lucci digs his nails – short, but still sharp – into his hips above the waistband. The heat from the street is back between them, and despite the dirty wall and the catcalls and every reasonable thought Kaku had about going home, he’s caught in a torrent. They kiss like they fought before, in their own style and yet adapting to each other, drawing ever closer. Lucci nips and bites and scrapes his teeth over skin so that his hot tongue feels almost unbearably rough on it afterwards, he presses close like he means to melt them together, and Kaku... accommodates. Changes angles if they start to chafe, pushes back when he feels Lucci’s overstepping (how on earth will he hide those bitemarks tomorrow), coaxes Lucci’s almost territorial aggression into something slightly gentler, more sensual. It’s like he can taste the adrenaline from the night and channels it for both of them. 

(It’s how Kaku sees it, so he’s both happy and mortified when Kalifa quite plainly asks him to ‘get it out of Lucci’s system, please’ when he’s being difficult to handle.) 

Kaku doesn’t know how late it is when they part again. Probably not that much later, but the station hall is nearly empty for now, his heart is beating out of his chest and Lucci’s eyes are nearly black. There’s barely a flush on his high cheekbones, his hair already was a mess, and the cut on his lip no longer bleeds. 

He looks put together and it couldn’t be more wrong. 

Playfully, Kaku takes his hand and swings it a little. “You had a lovely proposition of making whoopee?” 

Lucci smirks at him: a small movement that expresses an astonishing amount of feelings, even when Kaku can’t quite appreciate that yet. 

“Alley or bathrooms,” Lucci asks, plain and focused, and Kaku laughs. He’s not fussy, at least not now. “Aw shucks, you romantic.” 

They fuck in an alley behind the train station, sirens still wailing in the distance, and Kaku just feels like he won this night. 

He meets Lucci’s friends. They are strange, but no stranger than him, and they welcome him as he is. So they give him the same amount of shit as each other, and Kaku feels inexplicably at home with them. They are sketchy and will sooner or later become ecoterrorists and Kaku is fine with that. He will probably join, as soon as the herbivore vs carnivore dispute is settled. 

Lucci comes to him at inopportune times of the night or during his work day, where he antagonizes Paulie and disrupts workplace safety. He convinces Kaku to get a tattoo and a switchblade. At some time, someone flings a molotov at Lucci and burns part of his hair and he shows up at an ungodly time (while Kaku has his neighbors over, for fuck’s sake) so Kaku will style him a sidecut. 

One day, he will ask Kaku to leave his old life and come with him, with all of them, and Kaku will do it. 

[yuh-l8t]

As soon as this man gets home from work and has his hero gear and shoes off all he sees is your shared bedroom door cracked with the light from it coming out. Kirishima peeks in to see you legitimately fucking yourself with the red riot dildo you’ve gotten. He was surprised at first but when he swung the door open and (locked it) closed it as he started to strip. You jumped in surprise and tried to make an excuse but you were too late. He was already biting your neck and grabbing your hands to hold them with one hand as the other takes the dildo out and puts his size into you as he’s telling you “shoulda waited f’me”. He goes at a very harsh rate; thrusting at an impressive pace but enough to make you cum within the 5th thrust. ANYTIME you ask to cum he responds with “you’ve been tuchen ya’ self, why should i let you cum? Without my permission too?” Your brain was scattered as it was trying to jumble words to answer the red head but all that was going through your head was: how good he feels, how big it is, his name, and how much you want to cum. He didn’t let you cum all night and when you tried to he would just stop so suddenly and hold you down so you wouldn’t seek friction or try to roll your hips. You whined when he did this. He would say “ I. Said. No; your not allowed to cum and if you do I’m not gonna fuck you at all for 2 months. So, I’d recommend you stop your shit before i fuck you until you can’t form a sentence” you stoped instantly as he darkly chuckled with no light in his eyes “ that’s better”

[grippingbeskar]

salt ice and fire | frank castle

chapter twenty four - tied down

frank castle x fem!reader

warnings: explicit content minors dni (oral f receiving, implied smut, mxf, frank and his dirty mouth hngggg) swearing, canon typical violence

a/n: i have no words. this chapter made me want to pull my hair out writing it I HOPE ITS GOOD FML.

[series masterlist] [previous chapter]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun was already setting, giving Frank enough cover to drag Bobby Gnucci’s thrashing body down an alley to the drop off point. He was still gagged, hands and feet tied together, and Frank must of made good time because Madani wasn’t here yet. Which meant he’d have to stand here and wait, wasting time while you sat in the car.

Bobby started making muffled noises, and Frank stood over him, hands grabbing him by his collar and yanking him to stand. He pulls the gag out of his mouth, pushing his palm in his face, keeping him flat on the brick wall.

“You wanna talk so bad, huh? What do you have to say? You wanna offer me another deal?” Bobby strains against his hand, but Frank still feels too strong. Even without it he could hold this guy down as long as he wanted.

“You can’t— hand me over to them. They’ll kill me in there.” He says, and it makes Frank laugh.

“What makes you think I’m not gonna do the same thing the minute this is all over?” He feels him swallow, and then drops his elbow into his chest. “You better hope you die in there. Maybe someone’ll take pity on you, make it quick. Cause if they don’t, I’ll find a way. No matter where they lock you up, where they send you, there’s no where they can shove you that I won’t find you. And when I come for you, that shit won’t be quick.”

Bobby doesn’t say anything else, and Frank drops his limp body to the ground as he hears a car pull up behind him. Madani is quick to get out first, followed by about eight guys in all black riot gear, M16 rifles already aimed.

“He’s alive?” She asks, bending down to examine the half bleeding body that is Bobby Gnucci.

“Alive enough.” Frank moves in front of him when Madani sends an order to her men. “Hold on.”

“Seriously? This is—“

“You take him, and I want your fucking word that this is the last thing you ask her to do. You’ve got your information, got your statements. Anything else, you can call Murdock for it. She’s done.”

“And you?” She steps back, assessing him. “You really think you can leave this behind?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it? It always seems to come back to you.” Frank steps to the side in response, letting the riot guys haul Bobby’s body into the back of the van. “It’s good— to see you not alone.”

“Whatever, I’m goin—“

“It’s not a bad thing, Frank.” There was so much shit between the two of them, but he thinks that’s the closest thing to a compliment she’s ever given him. She throws him a set of keys. “You two keep out of this, and we’re even. That’s the keys to a new place— off the record. You have my word.”

Frank nods, starting to walk away. “Thanks, Madani.”

“Don’t get all sentimental.” She says before turning back, sending more orders flying to her men before getting back in the car.

Frank doesn’t feel any different. About seven times on the way up here he thought about turning around and ending it right there. It would be so easy. This guy he’d been chasing for months was in the back of his car, and he wanted it so bad it was weighing on him. Even then, Bobby was isolated and alone, Frank could have taken him out easily.

Back in the base, too. Frank couldn’t stop himself, thought he wouldn’t be able to stop himself once he found him. He threw him against the wall when he finally tracked him down, punched him so hard in the stomach he could feel the man’s spine crack against his knuckles. He didn’t want to stop. He hurt you— hurt you so bad you were still scared of that fucking room. He watched how your eyes changed when you realised where you were on that monitor. It fucking broke him.

Bobby should be dead, but if he had to choose between you and revenge, he would choose you. Maybe it was because if he could turn back time, he’d change his choices. Or fuck, maybe he had just changed. Or maybe he was still just selfish. Whatever it was, he had you now. No fuckin’ deadlines or missing kids or Colonels or bombs. He felt like he had all the time in the world with you right now. Like he could finally start to do this right. You deserved that, at least.

He could see you sitting in the car, those stupid sunglasses on your head, staring at him out the window. You’d been watching the whole thing, of course you had. He was surprised you’d even stayed in the car that long. When he finally reached you, starting the car, it didn’t take you long to break the silence he’d created.

“So?”

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows, tilting your head like he was purposefully fucking with you.

“What happened?! Did she say anything? Did…did he?” Frank sneaks a look at you, watching you run your hand through your hair.

“He’s a man of few words now.” Sighing at Franks dry sense of humour, you roll your eyes and sit a little more relaxed in the seat. “It’s fine. We’re done.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. You did enough, and Murdock’ll fill in the rest.”

“And you’re okay with that?” You ask tentatively.

“With letting him live? No fuckin’ way.” He says through nearly clenched teeth. Then he looks at you again, and takes a breath. “But that’s the way it’s gotta be right now.”

“Thank you.” You breathe and Frank shakes his head. “You heard anything about Sam recently? How he’s doing?”

“Last I heard he was learning how to make somethin’ called Piroshki.” You laugh, asking what the hell that was, and Frank shrugs. “He’s fine. Lovin’ it in Florida. Safe, too.”

“Good. That’s… I’m glad.” Frank can tell you’re just thinking about how far away that is, and how soon you can see him again, but this all needs to be done and dusted before you can risk bringing Sam back. Frank doesn’t trust they’ll be able to keep Bobby for good, and he can’t have any loose ends around a kid.

You go quiet for the rest of the car ride, eventually falling asleep to the low hum of the engine. Frank sneaks looks at you whenever he could— relaxed, eyes closed and dreaming. He watched you sleep too often, but it was becoming his favourite past time. Peaceful.

He made sure to hit every red light for you on the way home so you could enjoy it, knowing when you woke up he wouldn’t be letting you sleep all night.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“They were merging, Frank. Their lane was ending.”

“They were assholes. Went up on the fucking curb. They can wait.” He grumbles, pressing on the horn again and making you laugh.

“That’s a little dramatic.” You say over the loud noise, unable to hide your smile at how genuinely pissed off he looks.

“Good. They’ll get the message.” He beeps again, and the car trying to push in front of him breaks, flipping him off as he flies past them. “See?”

Before you can answer he swings the car around to an unfamiliar apartment block. You know Frank had places all around, and considering the last place he had was set on fire— it makes sense this place is new.

“Top floor, sweetheart. Come on.” Frank says, suddenly swinging open your door and herding you like a dog. He’s got two bags swung around his shoulders, and his hand is wrapped around the handle of the door so tight you are pretty sure he’s going to rip it off.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You step out of the car, but hold him by the shoulders, pressing his back to the closed door. He tries to shake you off but you hold him down, one hand on his jaw and getting on your toes to look into his eyes.

“I’m fine.” Both of his hands touch your face, his movements gentle and caring. “Stop worryin’.”

“Because you never do? Same guy who told me sit and look pretty in the front seat of the car while you did the hand over about thirty seconds ago?” He shrugs, hands dropping to your hips and hauling you against him. “Give me a break.”

“You did look pretty.” He says in your ear, the smile on his face ringing through his tone. “Real fuckin’ pretty.”

“Oh?” He hums. Your heart bangs against your rib cage as you feel his thumbs slip under your shirt, smoothing over your hip bones.

“Yeah. You’re driving me fucking crazy out here lookin’ like that.” He bends down, the heat of his breath brushing against your neck. It’s followed by his mouth, a sweet short kiss just under your jaw. It’s enough to make you shudder, the things you’d gone through in the past few days making it feel like years since you had him like this. “Look at me.”

You look up, and his eyes are focused on you. It’s almost intimidating. You always forget how big he is until he’s staring down at you. Suddenly it’s like it’s that first time again, watching him make his way around the table, knowing exactly what he wants and exactly how to get it. This time, though, it’s not need that clouds his eyes. It’s something gentle, but harder and more urgent.

“I’m not letting you outta my sight again.” He kisses your forehead, breathing in deep. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to let this shit go.”

“You trust Madani?” He nods, once. “Then let it play out. We hear anything go wrong, and we can handle it. We got him once, right? We can do it again.”

“You’ll never have to see him again.” There’s a look in his eyes, one you associate with dark rooms, the metallic smell of blood and gunpowder. You don’t question it, just lean into him more.

“I know. Now, go back to telling me how pretty I look.” You tug on his hair, grinning at his laugh.

“I can show you.” His hands disappear completely under your shirt, exploring the bare skin of your lower back and under your ribs. “You gonna let me be good to you?”

It should be impossible for his voice to be so quiet, but still vibrate through you, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Mhmm. Maybe— Frank!” He all but chucks you over his shoulder, picking you up in one arm and walking towards the door. You don’t see much of the lobby, not that you really give a shit what it looks like. It doesn’t really matter where he’s taking you— as long as he kept smiling like he was now, and the light feeling in your head and chest floated all the way there.

You were nearly dizzy when he finally cleared the stairs, still holding you in one arm like you weighed nothing to him. Maybe you did— you had no fucking clue what level he was at, and how fast his body would get rid of the blood in his system. Either way he was feeling good enough to unlock the door, drop the bags and slam you up against the wall.

He kisses you like you’ve deprived him of it— all teeth and tongue searching for purchase against each other. His hands are a little rougher, the need in his movements setting you on fire. His body is pressing you tightly to the wall, your arms only able to lift above your head as he rips your shirt over it. Your breathless sighs fill the room when he drags his mouth down, kissing you everywhere while keeping you pinned. You let your hands fall down, wanting to hurry this up and take his shirt off too, but he grabs both your wrists and keeps them up above your head.

“Stay.” He grumbles against your collarbone, licking his way down to where he’s torn your bra off. His teeth graze lightly over your nipple, eyes blazing into your own when you squirm and say his name. He sucks marks onto your skin, working his way across your chest. When he switches, you forget where you are, and your hands drop again.

This time, he’s a lot quicker and a little harsher with it. Never enough to hurt, but enough to make a point that he wants you to stay put. He keeps his hand on your wrists now, pressing the backs of them to the cold brick. He groans, pressing his forehead to your chest. You watch his back, still covered by his shirt, but even through it you can see his muscles contract as he takes slow, deep breaths.

“Fucking stay.” He drags his teeth along the skin he’s paid so much attention to, making you squirm again.

“Or what? You’ll tie me up?” Your head falls back, resting against your pinned arms.

“You want me to?” His head is still buried at your chest, staring down at his shoes, and how he’s kicked your legs apart. “Least I could take my time with you without your fuckin’ attitude for three seconds.”

“Do it, then.” That makes him peak up, a smirk on his face. “If you’re man enough, that is.”

“That’s how it is, gorgeous?” His hand drops yours, both coming to your hips and lifting you up. Your legs wrap around him, completely trusting him as he leads you further into the apartment with your back to the open space.

“That’s how it is.” You try to hold your grin, watching the hard set of his face train completely on you.

Instead of answering, he groans against your bare skin, the wet heat of his mouth making you slump forward to chase his touch. When you walk through a doorway, you only notice because it gets a little darker, and the air is a little warmer. Your eyes shut, content to feel him lather you with attention as he lays you down, rough hands grabbing your forearms and holding them above your head.

“Stay there.” He says against your mouth, and then you hear the all too familiar clink of his belt buckle. The sound has like a Pavlov effect on you— your stomach tightening and head buzzing as soon as you hear it. With your eyes closed, though, you don’t know where he’s at, and then cool leather is skating along your stomach, the cold metal on your wrists.

He’s using his fucking belt. Tying you down, making sure you don’t move. There’s a second when his hands are at your wrists, threading through the headboard and linking around you that he hesitates. His fingers touch at the old scars— hardly visible now, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

“You sure, baby?” He kisses your cheek, pulling lightly at the belt.

“I trust you.” He kisses the opposite cheek, then tugs the belt. “Tighter.”

“Fucking hell.” He groans, pulling it again. He catches your eyes, and when he looks at you like that everything else ceases to exist. “You always get what you want, huh?”

His hands hook under your jeans and underwear, yanking them down in one strong tug. It should take him longer, but he doesn’t even fiddle with the zipper. The fabric rips, splits under his touch and all but shreds as he chucks it somewhere into the dim abyss of the room. He grabs your legs, and throws them over his shoulders, holding you down as you yelp with surprise when he buries his face between your legs.

He’s usually such a mix between tease and gentleman— working you up until your nearly begging for it, but he doesn’t have the patience right now. His tongue is deliciously hot, licking you in rhythmic strokes like he’s playing the guitar. You sing for him with each movement, shuddering when his mouth wraps around your clit, pleasure shocking through you.

Your hands pull at the belt above you, hearing the leather stretch and wood creak. Franks head doesn’t move, his mouth doesn’t quip with a remark, not even when you cry out— chest nearly bursting with how good it feels. He groans when you say his name, the sound making you writhe harder against the restraint. You asked for this, but it doesn’t take away how much you want to tug on his hair, flip him over and fuck him until he can’t see straight.

“Frank— please let me touch you.” You say all at once, the sentence more of a ramble. You try to move under him, but he’s so strong, determined to make you sit there and take it. Let him have what he needs, do what he wants… the very idea has your eyes rolling back in your head, back arching.

“No.” He moves up the bed nearly bending you in half, tongue swirling in patterns that have you seeing stars. You can hear his staggered breathing, feel his chest and back expanding in between your thighs, spreading you open. Your hands latch onto the headboard, nails cutting their way through the wood as the heat in your belly spreads all over.

“Please, baby.” The shattered tone of your voice makes his eyes look up, even if they’re unfocused.

“You want out?” One of his hands replaces his mouth, curling against something fucking devastating inside you, your whimpered moans giving him enough of an answer. “That’s what I thought. You like this, don’t you?”

“Feels s’good.” You mumble into the pillows. You lose him again, along with all sense of direction when his mouth comes back to your clit. He finds a rhythm again, one he knows all too well will make you shatter completely. “You’re so good. So good— please.”

“Mhmm.” The hand around your waist grips you harder, his hand smacking your ass lightly. You jolt towards him, some kind of red fuelling your vision. You were so close— you needed to feel him under your hands, a need so strong you were almost positive you could snap the leather of his thick belt if you wanted.

But there was something else, something that made you wait until he let you out. The idea that you knew he would let you out— he would remember. He never wouldn’t let you out, and it’s the exact reason you want it to be him that decides. Even if you want to rip this headboard to shreds and flip him over.

You gasp when you feel his hand take over again, the speed and harshness of it buffered by the way he was kissing your hips, mouthing the soft skin of your lower stomach that felt like it was about to burst with pleasure and heat. You couldn’t think of anything other than his touch, body going limp under him.

“That’s right— fuck you look so good right now.” You keen under him, teetering on the edge. “Ohh, you like that too, huh? Like hearing how good you look?”

“Yes! Yes, fuck Frank.”

“Such a pretty girl— so good. You’re gonna cum aren’t you?” His words hit the sensitive skin on your inner thighs, sending you into orbit and your head spinning in some kind of unfamiliar, warm space. You could only nod, high pitched whining sounds telling him everything he wants to here. “So good, baby. Cum for me and I’ll let you out. Fuck you how you want me to.”

The feeling overtakes you, letting yourself sink completely into his words and the over mounting pleasure. He holds you down, moving back and pressing you into the mattress. You’re faintly aware he’s looming over you, watching how you tug worthlessly at the belt he tied. You moan loudly, and he bends down, shushing you with sweet kisses.

When you feel yourself coming back, eyes blinking open, he’s right there— he’s always right there where you want him. His hands leave your sides, reaching up above your head, metal clinking above you.

“You’re so perfect, baby. So good to me.” He says, words stuttered through kisses and glimpses up to the belt. With one hand, he undoes it, and watching him sends a whole other round of butterflies off in your stomach.

As soon as your hand are free you’re on him, tearing his shirt over his head. His skin is warm, and your nails drag up over his spine into his hair, tugging. His hairs gotten longer now, long enough to twirl around your fingers, and he grunts when you pull him down, controlling where he goes. You kiss him hard— bruising, almost. Then you make good on all those thoughts, flipping him under you in one movement.

“Fuck.” He mutters against your mouth, and you smile a little.

You shift your hips over his, straddling him. You can feel him through his sweats, ruining the fabric when you sit down and grind against him. He groans at the feeling, his head falling back.

“Let—“ You shake your head, both hands pressed to his chest.

“Let me fuck you. How you want.” You pull his pants down the rest of the way and quickly slide a condom on, watching his face as your soft hands squeeze him lightly. The belt catches your eye, forcing a smile on your face. “Unless you need to be tied down.”

“Shut up.” He yanks you down to kiss you, and even though you’re on top of him, he fucks you. Hard.

You can’t help the loud sounds that fall from your lips, and he swallows them eagerly. They only urge him on, his hips driving up so hard and fast it’s nearly impossible to do anything to live up to your words. He takes you apart, bends your will in ways you don’t want to understand, but it’s just so easy to give it to him. Let him in, when all you tried to do was keep everyone out. His hands fist tight in your hair, the other across your lower back, hitting you so deep you know you’ll feel him for days. You hope he never stops, the white hot bliss in your chest bursting out in long, loud moans.

“Be loud, baby. No one else is coming. Just you and me.” He whispers to you, making you shudder in his arms. “You feel so fucking good. So fucking good—“

“Oh god, Frank—“

“Take it. Fuck, you do it so well.” He doesn’t shut up, grinding up into you, the friction tearing you apart in the best way.

The grip behind your head turns to fingers smoothing over, the gentle side of him giving you whiplash compared to how hard he’s fucking you. He kisses you softly, and you manage to open your eyes just for a second, your foreheads pressed together.

He doesn’t have to say it, you can see it in his eyes. You have no idea how you didn’t pick it before, how it took you so long to name the way he looks at you. Now you’ve seen it, now you know what that is, there’s nothing else it could be but complete adoration. Love.

He flips you over, his cock never leaving you and keeping that punishing pace as he takes even more control. You can feel it building again— that hum of pleasure surging in your veins, overtaking your ability to keep your eyes open.

“I’m so close, sweetheart. Your so—fuck, so tight. You feel me here?” His hand drops, pressing on your lower belly and you say his name— scream it so your new neighbours know exactly who’s fucking you. “Fuck…fuck. Fuck!”

The weight of him holds you down as your orgasm renders you weak and boneless, holding the grip in his hair so tight you swears your knuckles will split. His voice shudders and hitches, a complete lack of control washes over his face, the sight nearly making you cum again. His hips still, warmth blooming in your stomach as you both ride out your highs simultaneously.

Above you, he’s just about the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Don’t move yet.” He says, hands holding your body close. You’re curled up in bed— your bed. He’s behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, the other around your chest.

“Can’t. Even if I wanted to.” His nose drags along your spine, lips trailing behind.

“Baby, if I—“

“You didn’t hurt me. You never hurt me.” His hand cups your jaw, turning you to face him. Then, his thumb traces that tiny little scar on your face, his own looking at you a little pained. “Why are you so obsessed with that?”

“I hate knowin’ I did it.” You turn over, your face inches from his.

“Frank. That was so long ago, and don’t you remember what I did to you? Your arm shattered.”

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t have a choice, but I did. And I hurt you.” Guilt. He was fucking riddled with it, you could tell. It wasn’t even just you, you know that, but he was so used to stacking mistake after mistake on top of each other, shoving it down inside him— but this one was on your face, something he looked at all the time. Studied. Loved.

“You are the only person who ever came back for me. Helped me. We had a weird start, I’ll give you that—“ He smiles, a sight for your half closed eyes. “—but please, do not add me to that weight on your shoulders. I love you. And that stupid scar is nothing to me. Not as long as it meant I get this.”

“Too good to me.” His head is buried under your chin, hiding his face because he must know you’re right.

He has to know that you wouldn’t change a thing— even if it meant a thousand more years, you would wait, go through all that shit again if he was at the end. He was the prize at the end of a long fucking race, but no matter how much your chest aches and your legs burned, you’d sprint the whole way to get to it.

“What do we do now?” You whisper, the room nearly pitch black now. “You gonna get a job? Wear a suit and tie?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Giggling, the dark room letting you picture him perfectly in a suit.

“You’d look good.” He groans, pulling you closer.

“Cause you’d be so happy being a housewife— sittin’ around waitin’ for me to get home. Yeah, right.” Laughing louder, he just groans again. “Who gives a shit what we do? We’ll figure it out.”

“I guess we have time. He’s not going on trial for another week, right?” Frank nods. “Shit. I wonder how we’re gonna fill our time in here…”

“I’m gonna let that go, because I know you need a second. When I get back, you better be all nice and sweet.”

“Or what?” You hum, and somewhere in the room he picks up the belt buckle and throws it on the bed before he nips at your collarbone before he gets up and walks out of the room.

You flip onto your back, closing your eyes and letting all your thoughts rush back to your brain.It’s almost too easy to not think with Frank, but you can’t fight them off when he’s not there. These ones though, these thoughts coming to you in the safety of this room— your shared room, are good ones.

You see flashes of it. It used to be a far off dream, but you have time now. Time to think about it— Frank coming back to you, maybe in a suit, maybe covered in blood. It doesn’t matter, cause you would be there, wherever he is because you want to be. It’s the only place you’d want to be. You play it over in your head, what he said.

You know you probably don’t want to sit around in an apartment all day. You have that same burn he does— especially knowing Bobby’s still alive. But, for right now, you’d sit at home all day if he was coming through the door at the end of it. Besides, what he called you didn’t sound all bad. House-wife.

You could work with that.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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[just-horrible-things]

'Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Arc 2

Riot, pt3 [Prev | Next]

It’s not new, running the opposite way to the panicked crowd, toward the sound of gunfire and screaming. It’s weird that it’s not new. It’s weird that she’s doing it now, after everything, weird to be doing it in civilian clothes, especially weird to be on the wrong side of the equation with Alex – a warlock for fuck’s sakes – as her only backup.

Every time her shoulders knock painfully against someone running the opposite way, she has to clamp down on the instinct to wheel on them, hit them, beat them into the ground.

Fucking cowards.

It’s all fun and games until the guns come out. They’re brave enough to smash up random strangers’ shit, they aren’t brave enough to stick around and try to help their fellow rioters as they bleed to death in the street.

She loathes them all and still she’s running to their aid.

A glimpse of black uniforms ahead and she stops in her tracks, grabbing the back of Alex’s sweater to haul him down behind the cover of a parked car. She expects him to protest, but he’s already stopping, only half a second behind her.

They crouch there together for hour-long minute after minute until Ari dares to stick her head up to check on the position of the threat.

It’s backward, it’s all backward and she can hardly breathe.

Alex makes the call to keep moving – eye contact and a nod forward and they take the plunge.

Into a side street, out of sight of the uniforms, and they’re running again.

As they get closer, the voices of the wounded separate from the background noise. Panic and grief and pain hang in the air.

They hit survivors before they hit the scene of the shooting. Anyone with any sense and the ability to do so has dragged themselves or their wounded friends away from the cops.

They’re milling in panic – crying or clinging uselessly to one another. Blood-drenched hands press over bleeding wounds. Ari sees it in a dozen disconnected flashes of detail. Panic is trying to claw its way up her throat and she bites down hard on the inside of her cheek to try and anchor herself to the moment.

Alex doesn’t slow down until he’s practically on top of the first group, until they’re turning and standing up to question him, then his sneakers practically skid on the tarmac. 

“I’m a healer,” he forces out between breaths. And that’s enough for them to step aside and let him at the woman writhing on the ground.

His hands glow. He works his magic. The woman gasps as the pain clears from her face.

She’s just starting to thank him when he gets up and moves on.

By the time he’s started healing his second patient, people have noticed. They’re dragging their wounded towards him, clamoring for his attention. Alex casts an almost panicked look up at Ariadne, and she understands what she can do.

“Back off,” she tells them, “back the hell off. Wait your turn. Show me where you’re hit.”

Alex doesn’t pick anyone still well enough to be crowding round him. He goes to another casualty still on the floor. Ariadne shoves dressings into the hands of the walking wounded and tells them “you’re not dying, you don’t need healing. Back off, let him work.”

One’s dead by the time Alex gets to him. A bullet opened an artery. He’d have died in minutes. His clothes are dyed with blood. 

A friend clings to the body, weeping. Blood no longer pulses between the fingers clamped uselessly over the bullet hole. The friend’s clothes are dyed with blood.

Alex stoops, touches the dead man’s skin. “Help him,” the friend begs, “save him.” “I’m sorry,” Alex says, already straightening. “I can’t bring back the dead, I’m sorry.”

The guy reaches out a red-stained hand to catch at Alex’s clothes. Ariadne slaps it away, hard enough to make him yelp.

“He’s gone,” she snaps. “Get over it.” “Ari,” Alex scolds her. The reproach only feeds the fury bubbling inside her, but she swallows it down.

Alex fixes half a dozen wounds. A cracked skull. An arm broken underfoot. Ari helps Alex pull it straight. A brief touch of magic while Ari ties off a splint. Another bullet hole, deep and gaping, closed miraculously beneath his touch. 

Endless reaching hands, white-ringed frightened eyes, jabbering voices. Pleading, trying in far too many words to explain what Alex can tell in far more detail with just a touch.

“Back off,” Ari repeats, “back off. Show me.”

The work takes them ever closer to the intersection. Alex is rubbing his wrists and tugging his scarf tighter round his face and neck. He keeps pulling his beanie down right to his eyebrows, and it keeps riding up again as they move.

They approach the corner cautiously. Ari signals Alex to wait while she sticks her head out. Her heart is pounding so hard she can feel it in her teeth. 

This is the place where the cops fired into the crowd, there’s no mistaking it.

The gunfire’s done its job in clearing the dense press of bodies and breaking their will to fight. There are still dozens of people in the street but a lot of them are on the ground now – either injured or crouched over the injured, huddling against the buildings, cowering against the floor.

There was a barricade here – a makeshift thing of vehicles and furniture – and the cops are swarming over it now, dismantling it. Guns are still aimed at the clusters of survivors, but they’re confident enough in their control not to need to actively harass them.

“We grab the injured and bring them back here,” Alex instructs. “Got it,” Ari affirms. Her voice comes out weaker than she expects.

They duck out of cover. Unexpected pain lances through Ari’s chest, too rough-edged and raw to be a stitch. She ignores it. She knows there’s nothing wrong. Her bullshit does not triage as important right now.

The cops aren’t shooting at the injured or the people trying to help the injured. They won’t shoot at two more idiots doing the same thing. They’re dressed just like everyone else. They look harmless.

They grab a semi-conscious woman left alone, and drag her back to the same side street they ducked out of. She’s not bleeding. Ari can’t tell where she’s hurt, until Alex puts his hands on her head to heal her.

Some of the people he healed before have already vanished. Others are grouping up to help each other with smaller injuries. One or two still gravitate to Ariadne and Alex.

“Hey, green hoodie.” She points, gestures him closer. “Stop gawking. Get out there, grab someone off the floor, and bring them back here.”

The fewer times Alex has to go out in front of the cops, the better. If they realise he’s a healer, they’ll round him up for the bonus.

Green hoodie doesn’t bring them anyone before Alex is done with the concussed woman. Ari and Alex sneak out again, grab a youngster who bleeds hot blood into Ari’s clothes as she hefts their body. Her skin crawls.

Alex closes the wound, coughs into his scarf, and meets Ari’s eyes. He’s afraid, and she has no answer. He’s right to be afraid.

Green hoodie brings them a patient. Alex does his thing.  He’s shivering, so Ari shrugs out of her jacket and hands it over. 

An engine starts up, then metal scrapes loudly on metal. The screech sets everyone jumping out of their skins. Ari’s gun jumps into her hand, but she catches herself before pulling it out of her clothes.

No one else is braving it, so she sticks her head out. The cops have gotten one of the vans from the barricade started, and are using it to shove the other vehicles out of the way.

Across the main street there’s another little group forming up, working together to drag the wounded away. Like Alex and Ari’s efforts, the cops are watching but they aren’t interfering. Not worth their time. They’re in a hurry to move on, find more targets who aren’t yet cowering and fleeing.

Another stranger is half-carrying half-dragging another casualty towards Ari. She casts a glance back at Alex, reluctant. But her feet carry her forwards, and with two people supporting the casualty they get to cover in half the time.

Alex is wide-eyed when she returns, hands wringing circles round his wrists. “Don’t – go off like that,” he says. “I’m sorry.” The words to explain are too much effort. It doesn’t matter.

Another patient. Another. Red flesh and exposed bone. Alex fixes just enough to save their lives. The glow around his hands is fainter now, and starts to flicker.

A staved-in rib. Mindless moaning gasps turn to real breaths under Alex’s hands. He stands up, and staggers, and Ari steps in instinctively to catch his arms.

“Okay,” he croaks, leaning against her. “M’done.” “Mm.” It’s not enough answer. She nods her head. “Okay.”

Let’s get out of here, she doesn’t plead. They’re going to. They’re going to get out of here.

Green hoodie has another casualty. Alex looks torn – almost scared.

“He can’t,” Ari says sharply. She shrugs the first aid kit off her shoulder – then stalls. It’s hard to let go of it. She forces herself to step forwards, push the bag into green hoodie’s arms.

“I – don’t know what to do with this,” he says. “Then find someone who does,” Ari snaps.

She doesn’t wait to see if he nods. It’s his problem now.

Hers is Alex.

He stumbles like he’s drunk, trailing half a step behind her. She slows, and offers him an arm, and he takes it. The pace he sets is too slow, but she swallows her frustration and doesn’t force him.

They just need to get home.

All she has to do is get them home.

[Next]

[whumpflash]

Scene from a rp with @turn-the-tables-on-them , featuring my boi Wes from The Riot Kings. For context, it's set in a futuristic high fantasy au and this is basically just me being self-indulgent lol.

cw: beatings, language, noncon drugging

It was obvious Wes wasn't gonna get much sleep during his stay here.

Winter was in full throttle, and the stone cell he'd been thrown into didn't offer much protection from the chill. All he could do was curl in on himself, shivering and cursing his situation.

He'd stolen from royalty, killed guards, ambushed rich assholes, and gotten away scott-free, but somehow couldn't walk away from a single act of petty theft.

Wasn't his fault lord whats-his-face couldn't hold on to his wallet. Wasn't his fault the guy's kid was sharper than he looked and prone to snitching. And it certainly wasn't his fault that such a small offense could get you locked away to freeze to death.

Wes clenched his jaw to try and keep his teeth from chattering. He guessed he was still sorta lucky though. At least no one here seemed to recognize him as one of the rebels terrorizing the upper class.

Hopefully it stays that way, he thought as he finally sank into sleep.

When he woke, it was late in the day. He was aware of being hungry, of a dryness in his throat, but he couldn't do shit about it except hope someone came by soon. Night fell, and he tried to sleep. Not like there was anything else to do, and he had to conserve energy if they weren't going to fucking feed him.

It was well past morning the next day when he heard someone outside his cell. Fucking finally, he thought, but when the door swung open it wasn't food on the other side. It was a pair of armed guards. He cursed under his breath as they seized him by the arms, cuffed his hands behind his back, and began to march him down the stairs.

He decided not to struggle, despite really really wanting to. If he were about to be released, he wasn't gonna make trouble, and even if he weren't, the last thing he wanted was to be thrown down the fucking stairs.

They brought him to what he assumed was their main base, leading him down a corridor and into a small room. Inside was a single metal table and chair.

Fuck.

The guards pushed him into the seat, securing his ankles with a pair of handcuffs that had been bolted to the floor. As they left, an older man in an officer uniform stepped inside.

Fuck.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck as the man moved to stand across from him. His name tape identified him as 'Nault'.

"I'm sure you already know why you're in here, boy," he said. "It'd be in your best interests to make this easy for me. We'll start with something simple." He leaned in. "What's your name?"

Wes didn't answer, keeping his eyes glued on the table in front of him. It was probably just a ploy to get him to crack, and he wasn't falling for it.

Beside him, Nault shrugged. "Suit yourself. But you're only making this harder on yourself, Wes."

The surprise must've shown on his face, and the other man chuckled. "Like I said, that was something simple. We already know who you are. Got profiles on dozens of you rebel delinquents." Nault moved to stand behind him. "Never would've known you boys were on this side of the realm if you hadn't been arrested. How's that feel?"

Shitty. Absolutely shitty. Not only did they know who he was, they knew the rebels were on the move, and it was his fault.

Whatever. They would've found out sooner or later. All he could do now was not let anything else slip.

He swallowed nervously. No matter how hard that might be.

"Still not talking? Alright, but at least answer this: what's your band doing this far North?"

Silence was a good strategy, right? If he didn't talk, they couldn't learn anything from--

The blow caught him off guard, Nault's hand seizing him by the hair and slamming his face into the table. Pain exploded in his skull, making his eyes water.

"Fuck!"

"Not the answer I hoped for, but I suppose it's something. Now about the rebel movements--"

"None of your fucking business," Wes snapped, the pain overshadowing his reason.

"That so?" Nault replied, voice level. "Maybe you're right, but we'd like to make it our business. Can't have rebels terrorizing the kingdom, after all. So I'll ask nicely one more time. What are you doing in the North?"

That was nicely? Wes spat a glob of blood onto the table. "Eat shit."

Nault sighed. "Fine. I see you've made your choice."

He left the room, and before long, the pair of guards who'd brought him here reappeared.

For all of a second, Wes was able to entertain the idea that he was done here, and they were taking him back to the cell. That happy thought died as soon as they drew their batons and closed the distance on him.

Blows rained down hard and fast. He couldn't move away, couldn't even raise his hands to try and shield his face. Best he could manage was to tuck his chin into his chest and hope they got this over with.

It wasn't long before he was thrown from the chair, hitting the ground hard enough that it knocked the wind out of him, the first boot to the gut compounding the feeling. Wes choked on the air, unable to even find the breath to cuss them out as the blows kept coming, boots colliding with his stomach, his ribs, his back. One kick caught him in the jaw, dazing him, but they didn't stop. His will to stay awake was rapidly failing, and after a few more well-placed kicks, he blacked out.

He came to back in the tower, hurting like hell. His head was pounding, and every little shift of movement sent a wave of pain through his body.

When the guards returned, he couldn't even find the energy to try and get away, but this time all they did was throw him a water bottle. It wasn't until he'd chugged the entire thing that he noticed the bitter aftertaste.

Fucking drugging him now? Didn't they have some kind of code?

Apparently not, he thought as the room started to spin around him, a weird haze clouding every thought. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and the guards dragged him back to the room.

And so the cycle continued. The guards brought drugged water, or shitty food, or escorted him to the next interrogation.

If you could even call them that. He had only a vague idea of what happened in the room, forgetting each question almost as soon as it was asked. The only thing he knew for sure was that they always hurt him.

Wes wasn't sure if he'd given anything up at this point. Whatever drug they had him on made it hard to think, but he couldn't just start refusing the water. He doubted they'd give him anything else, and he was still determined to survive, even if every day brought on some new hell.

He had no idea how long he'd been there. Everything blurred together, and it wasn't like he was scratching fucking tally marks into the wall of his cell. Maybe he should, just for a single bit of clarity. But in the rare moments he was left to rest, he couldn't find it in him to get up off the floor.

Everything hurt. He was almost certain he had a few broken ribs with how painful it was to breathe, and a few of his joints weren't feeling too hot either. To say nothing of the bruises, the burns, the cuts... Fuck. They liked getting creative, and he was so fucking excited to see what tomorrow would bring.

He'd probably die here. They didn't seem to care how much they hurt him. All they wanted were answers, and whether he gave them up or not, it was only a matter of time before his body gave out.

With that cheery thought in the forefront of his mind, Wes did the only thing he could:

Curl up against the chill and try to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(in-play he got rescued right after this by @turn-the-tables-on-them 's OC Aliyah so no worries lol)

[nobuverse]

@miraruinada

"...Would the Oxto store be interested in forming a partnership with the Ranmaru café?``

[shitshowkb]

✧ fire country - season one, episode 12 reaction ✧

• i think the vibe is off with this new guy

• "OH he was dealing DRUGS" lmfao freddy cracks me up

• girl really about to give birth in the firehouse bay, you love to see it

• boyfriend is an inmate at three rock!? freddy baby you're a dad!!!!

• of course the plane explodes and starts a fire

• damn that fire is spreading FAST

• "oh yeah, i did do that" i love freddy

• freddy was so worried about his baby 🥹

• oh holy shit

• what is with dilfs and their attitudes with each other right now? lmao

• "I have a stable relationship. I have you man." lmao these two

• "he's a flea market find"

• alright what is up with this old man's attitude??

• freddy just wants to see his baby so bad 🥹

• well this looks fun

• man had his sick wife in the house this whole time omg

• i feel so bad for this old man :(

• now where tf are this old man and bode omg

• of course bode went back to have the guy

• this man is gonna die, isn't he?

• oh thank god, there he is

• "hear me out gabs" freddy really wants this for bode lol

• manny is gonna take freddy to see his baby 🥹

• lmfao i love freddy so much

• bode just wants to help his mom 🥹

• "if you let me save your life, you'd be saving mine" and of course i'm crying

• omg daddy vince said he's proud, so many tears rn

• "trust your boy bode"

• I KNEW JAKE MATCHED TOO OMG

• are y'all finally gonna make out or what?

• NOW KISS

• "are you jealous?" "yeah"

• girl i would climb him like a tree right there lmfao

• YES GET IT

• "we can't" girl what

• "it'll be so good" it'd be so good right now omg

• idk how gabs just walked away from him becoming y'all would've had to DRAG me outta there

• oh great, we have a firefighter starting fires

• really nice

• that better fucking not be manny or i will RIOT

[hlcynsouls]

&  SELF-PARA  →  CONSEQUENCES .

location :  warehouse by the docks .

AS FAR AS HALLOWEEN SPIRALS  went ,  tonight had truly pushed her tolerance for  bullshit  off the charts .  camilla had run into some old friends  —  well ,  ‘ friends ’  —  and agreed to assist them with some  trouble .  it had been a while since any demons besides either those close to her or  suicidal idiots  had approached her voluntarily ;  with hell’s new management ,  though ,  she’d reconsidered getting back in touch with  some  of those she’d known from before .  apparently ,   zion hadn’t yet weeded out  all  of the rabble from the realm ,  however ,  and she got stuck with the second category once again .

( except this time ,  the suicidal idiots were  annoyingly well-prepared . )

they’d been laughing and yelling and drinking ,  and let the rioting crowd push them along the streets after their rather successful prank .  eventually ,  they ended up somewhere by the docks ;  someone suggested a short-cut ,  and like a  fucking fledgling ,  she stepped  right  into the trap .  laughter died around the circle as it activated ;  they weren’t  quite  as stupid as they looked .  not like their suddenly somber countenance would save them later ,  though .

“ some nerve you got , ”  was all the princess of hell pressed out between bared teeth before her eyes flashed gold and the earth beneath her feet began to rumble .  sure ,  she might have been a bit out of practice with the  apocalyptic gestures ,  but  —  same as riding a bike ,  right ?  her fingers clenched ,  the muscles in her arms strained ;  as the first cracks appeared on the warehouse floor ,  the walls ,  the ceiling around the demon trap ,  her lips twisted into a gruesome smile .  the two closest to her began to sweat , unable to step back with their feet stuck in the melting cement ,  while two others appeared to hurriedly prepare some ritual in the back ,  shaking slightly in their movements .  (  good .  at least they still knew  fear . )  as if this shit could hold her for longer than a  minute .  and the fifth  —  the fifth stabbed her in the back as soon as the circle broke and her nails sank into the unfortunate asshole standing closest to her .

it hurt like  —  well ,  hell ,  but wasn’t a problem per se . that’s what she assured herself of when her hand snapped back and broke the demon’s neck with but a twist of her fingers .  it was painful ,  yes ,  and definitely  annoying ,  but not a  problem  —  so her head was starting to swim a little from all the fucking chanting .  so ,  from the injury in her back ,  both a searing pain  and  a concerning numbness weighing down her limbs was spreading .  fast .  so ,  she felt like she was coughing up her lungs ,  and  —  ah .

camilla rolled her eyes .  they couldn’t kill her  —  not here ,  not quickly enough .  not  permanently .  the ritual they were trying to use on her would lock her in a state of incineration ,  which would gain them  some  time to perhaps accomplish just that .  begrudgingly ,  she had to admit it wasn’t the worst plan .

( begrudgingly ,  she had to admit it was  working . )

the second demon stuck by her  ( ciaran ,  she remembered )  abandoned ship before the princess could get her hands on them as well ;  their vessel but a crumbled heap on the ground ,  now .  the other two were still busy with their ritual ,  and though it felt like a monumental effort through the pain ,  camilla tapped into the spell .  the fire they were clustered around flared up ,  catching onto their hair and clothes .  and still ,  those fuckers  kept chanting .

she was burning up from the inside ,  her muscles locked in what felt like one big ,  overwhelming cramp .  moving  wasn’t an option  ( and would take too long in this condition ,  she knew )  but even  if  she could gather enough of her power to port the few steps to  waste the idiots  responsible ,  camilla wasn’t sure her vessel would survive that burst .  cosi might be able to fix it later but  —  she’d rather not risk it ,  and the two working on the ritual were almost burnt to a crisp themselves ,  anyways .

( which didn’t bode well for  her  timeline here ,  unfortunately . )

coward that he was ,  ciaran’s idea wasn’t the worst .  or ,  well ,  it was ,  and she absolutely  hated  abandoning her body ,  but  —  needs must .  by leaving her vessel ,  the spell had nothing to lock onto ,  and she’d be fine ;  and without her attachment ,  the effects on the body would dissolve .  there was no one else around  ( or  would  be ,  in a few seconds ,  going by the state of the last of her attackers )  and she’d be back in a few minutes .  no harm done .  she’d get cosi to fix the damage ,  and then they could summon the idiots responsible and have some nice sibling bonding time .  nothing screamed  ‘ family game night ’  like some good old-fashioned  torture ,  right ?

her throat was beginning to close up  —  time’s out  —  so with one last glance promising  bloody retribution  to the fallen and falling ,  the princess let her essence dissolve from the body she’d inhabited for the better part of a millennium .  ( it felt about as awful as it sounded . )  

some demons liked to moan and bitch about the  purity  of their real forms  —  absolute shite if you asked  them ,  but then ,  they’d always  liked  being a person ,  and they did like their vessel’s soul before it departed .  camilla had become their  home ,  just like cosimo was  ( —  because  cosimo was )  too .  the weightless state of their  ‘ true ’  existence felt  ...  feeble .  sinking .  untethered .  it was disconcerting ,  just how much this actually affected them .  ( how much of them was simply what was left of the person they’d become ,  all that time ago ,  in their strive to  become  at all ? )  the experience of both  nothing  and  everything  felt destabilizing ,  and they needed to rectify that .  quickly .

( fuck the identity crisis ;  there’d be more than enough time to laugh about it over wine and blood and screams  later .  damn  but she’d never missed her brother quite this much . )

still ,  they didn’t grab the first vessel they could get ahold of ;  the princess was sentimental .  ( their great failure ,  it seemed . )  should someone ask them about it ,  they’ll say they needed to find someone  suitable ;  someone who could hold them for a while without burning through too quickly ,  who was  worthy  of being presented as hell’s royalty .  they’ll blame their  vanity ,  and indulging their preferences for pretty blonde things .  they were easy lies ,  in line with both their heritage and their personality .  there was only one person in the world who would recognize them as such  —  they  knew  that ,  should he ever get a reason to lay eyes on this particular vessel ,  cosimo would  understand  immediately .  ( and here was to hoping he wouldn’t have to . )  something about the woman’s face had caught their attention ;  a haunting familiarity ,  of sorts .  with just one glance ,  the demon found herself reminiscent of her past ,  of her  mother  —  or the only being they could ever call so ,  anyways .  the woman didn’t look  like  teresa per se ,  but she looked like  someone like her ;  a relative .  almost a true  daughter ,  perhaps .

( she had always been so horribly ,  terribly sentimental . )

the woman was sitting on the steps of a house off the sidewalk ,  crying .  a broken heel seemed to be involved ,  if not the cause  ( the princess could empathize )  and she didn’t even notice the black mist gently concentrating in her face .  despite the centuries-long lack of practice ,  it took her less than a second to fully submerge the other ;  the demon’s subconscious control  absolute .  it was meant to last for no more than a few minutes ,  anyways  —  though she fixed the sprain with a careful curl of her ankle ,  everything else took a sidestep as she ported back to the warehouse immediately to find  —

          —  nothing .

     fuck .

the cracks in the structure were still there ,  but everything else  —  any hint of the ritual ,  the blood ,  the bodies  including her own  —  vanished .  cleaned up as if they were never there .  ( someone’s been busy ,  and she couldn’t  wait  to rip them to pieces . )   with the emerging  rage  came other sensations as well ;  the heartbeat ,  a step quicker than it should have been .  her arms felt weirdly heavy ;  she stood an inch taller ,  at least ;  the blood pounded in her newly-healed ankle .  it felt  wrong ;  like standing a step to the left of yourself .  the building tension in every nerve certainly wasn’t helping  —  and when it came close to the point of boiling over in her frustration ,  the demon released it with a raging  scream .  she was left breathless at the end ,  lungs aching ,  but the pressure in her chest was a welcome  ( and well-known )  sensation ,  at least .

the resulting moment of silence  —  and of complete and utter  stillness  —  enabled her a moment outside of time .  it wasn’t dealing ,  per se .  it was  ...  prioritizing .  listing steps ,  in her mind ,  to keep from loosing it completely ,  and repeating them until she felt calm enough to force herself to adjust .  camilla stretched her new limbs ,  cracked her knuckles ,  rolled her neck ;   trying to settle .  she’d grown attached to her previous vessel ,  and centuries of comfort made her feel anxious and on edge ,  now ,  putting a slight dent into her  fury .  ( but only a  slight  one . )  it had been a while ,  actually ,  since she’d felt quite  this  bloodthirsty  —  but what better occasion than having a new body to break in ,  for getting reacquainted with  breaking others ?

[deluzeorphean]