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cheesus-doodles · 29 days ago

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A Twist in the Tale

Leona Kingscholar

Masterlist

‎

well that took a lot longer than I expected...glad for this to be done to completion though! merry christmas and happy holidays everybody, I hope you have a good time <3

Piercing, half-lidded green eyes watched you from across the bustling cafeteria, lion ears occasionally twitching as Leona picked up on your ongoing conservation with Ace. “....urgh I can’t believe there’s so much!” The red-haired whined, ruffling his hair in dismay as he dropped onto the table. “Crewel is a monster, I swear.”

“There is quite a bit,” came your rather sympathetic answer, unnecessarily kind if you asked Leona. “It will definitely take a while.”

On any other regular day, you, Grim and those two annoying Heartslabyul flies that you hung around were hardly worth his attention, let alone being eavesdropped on - mundane, brainless chatter that actively lowered his IQ with every passing minute. Crewel’s class wasn’t particularly difficult, not by a long stretch. Yet here he was. Clearly, today was as far from a regular day as possible.

Because there had always been something off about you, Leona mused to himself, his tail whipping from side to side, observing with as much discretion as a predator stalking its prey as you took another bite from your sandwich, covering your full mouth with your free hand in an attempted politeness when Deuce’s crass remark had you chuckle. He had known as much since orientation, when you failed to be sorted by the Dark Mirror - there was just something fundamentally different about your smell compared to everyone else that couldn’t simply be chalked up to otherworldliness.

It’s just that he never bothered. You had been just another nobody, hardly worth his notice or time to investigate.

Up until his overblot incident, of course.

‎‎

A steaming plate of hamburger steak clankering down onto the table in front of Leona was enough to startle him out of his train of thoughts. “Leona, why ya glaring like they owe you money?” Ruggie quipped, thumbing in your general direction as he fell into the seat with a sigh, lazily lounging across and occupying the entire bench - not that anyone else dared to share. “Wait, do they actually owe you money?”

Despite it being well past peak-lunch hour, the cafeteria was still rather packed with students milling about, the cacophony of noises from loud and hushed conversations alike only adding to the growing headache Leona felt starting to pound from the depths of his mind. Far from his ideal environment of a quiet, peaceful area where he could nap undisturbed, the constant din was one of many reasons the Sunset Savannah’s second prince avoided this wretched place as much as going home.

And the rest of his dorm certainly took note of his unusual appearance in such a public area, whispering among themselves even as they kept a respectful distance, picking a careful semi-circle around the table where Leona and Ruggie sat - easy enough to ignore, really. They knew better than to prod where they weren’t welcomed, if not risk learning the hard way that their housewarden was lazy, not weak.

Leona picked up his fork, stabbing it into the minced patty rather viciously, tearing his gaze away from you and down to the plate. The food looked especially unappetizing today. “He smells different.” The words slipped from his lips before the lion beastman could stop it, surprising both himself and Ruggie in the process, the sandy-brown haired boy whipping his head up to stare at him in disbelief. Right before said hyena thought it appropriate to dramatically turn to look at you, immediately earning him the prince’s ire. There was no denying who Leona was referring to, but why did he have to be so obvious about it?

You, fortunately, did not notice.

”The Ramshackle prefect?” Ruggie wondered aloud, nose tweaking, before turning back to face his housewarden. “I suppose so, given he’s from another world and all. What about it? If they don’t owe you money then it doesn’t really matter what they smell like.” A pause, the gears clearly turning behind the other’s blue-gray eyes, before he leaned forward, a cheeky grin plastered on his face, eyebrows wriggling. “Unless…”

He should have guessed where this was going. “Forget it.”

“Come on Leona, I ain’t a blabber.”

“If you keep flapping your lips Ruggie, you’re about to find ‘em sewn shut.”

The hyena beastman simply smiled knowingly even as he threw his arms up in defeat, instead turning his attention to his feast of sandwiches.

Rubbing his forehead in annoyance, the rough texture of the glove dragging across his skin did not help in the slightest with his headache. Why was he bothering with this again? Whatever he could learn surely wasn’t going to be worth this amount of irritation.

But two weeks on from having you thrusted straight to the centre of his life and much to his dismay, Leona finds himself unable to get you out of his head, well after you seemed to have moved on rather easily. It’s not that he liked you (perish the thought). He just had to find out, Leona assured himself, and then he could put this whole fascination behind him and move on with his godforsaken life. He needed to know what made you different.

‎

He watched you stand, your empty tray in one hand, the other waving to the group. His ears stood up instantly, his attention returning to you. Were you going somewhere?

“... be heading out to the town, do you guys want anything?”

Town? A quick think, and he understands. Memorizing your group’s class schedule wasn’t difficult, and as a non-mage, you wouldn’t be able to attend any of the usual classes that your friends would have that involved magic. The first year Heartslabyuls were having flying class next, which meant that you weren’t attending.

“Again?” Grim whined, slouching to rest his head on the table top. “How come you always get to go and have fun without me?”

Chuckling softly as you held your history textbooks to your chest, you shrugged. “I’m just going to pick up some supplies since I have a bit of free time.”

It seemed Ruggie had joined in on the eavesdropping. “Planning to follow him?” Said shameless hyena smirked, propping his two hands behind his head, though that move made him wince slightly; seems like Ruggie hadn’t yet fully recovered from the whole Spelldrive incident just yet. Serves him right though.

Leona scoffed, standing from the bench. He wasn’t hungry anymore. “I need a nap.” Stalking wasn’t quite his thing, and you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, given how your way home was literally dependent on that dirtbag of a school principal. He’ll solve this nagging puzzle at his own leisure.

A look of alarm washed over Ruggie’s face. “Wait, Leona! Can I have your plate if you’re not eating it?”

‎

His opportunity came sooner than expected.

The sky above Savanaclaw Dorm had turned dark an hour ago, the moon hanging above the darkened desert illuminating the swirling sand blown along by a gentle breeze. Outside his closed room door, the dorm was still lively with activity, students mulling about the corridors discussing the recently past final exams and Spelldrive tournament or gathering by the waterfall in the lounge to enjoy some peace and quiet.

Leona, however, was locked away inside his room, his brain still annoyingly fixated on you. He hadn’t been able to follow you out to town from NRC yesterday, not without having to answer some very uncomfortable questions about his motive. Tapping one nail rhythmically on the hard wood top of his desk, the second Sunset Savannah prince continued to think and brainstorm - not mull about like some lost little lover, mind you - all the possibilities to the mystery that was you. He had a few theories, a few ideas, but none of them fully made sense with all the information he currently had.

Letting out a sigh, the man leaned back, running one hand through his mob of brown hair. He had to be missing something somewhere, a piece of the puzzle. Right then, as if on cue, as if there was some divinity out there who had decided to shine down on him, lion ears picked out an unusual stir of disgruntlement emulating from outside. Leona tried to ignore it, as he always does, but the commotion refused to die down even after a few minutes. So with great reluctance, he stood from his chair.

It was your begrudgingly familiar smell wafting through the otherwise still air that his sensitive nose instantly picked up the moment Leona opened his room door, quickly followed by your mob of hair amidst the rest of the beastmen that he spotted as he made his way over to the lounge. Well well well. “Of all the places to find you in,” he drawled out, his tail flickering behind him as the room fell silent, the murmurs quickly dying out in his presence. “Savanaclaw ain’t no place for herbivores.”

You scratched the back of your head awkwardly. This clearly wasn’t your first choice.

Jack stepped forward, almost as if to shield you from the housewarden’s line of sight with his larger stature. “Leona, they-”

“We got kicked out of Ramshackle!” Grim wailed out, clutching onto your leg, the purple anemone sticking out grey fur a dead giveaway to the lead up to this conundrum.

“Not a chance,” Leona drawled out, crossing his arms even as his mind whirled behind those half-lidded green eyes. This was it: his chance.

You had always lived alone - or rather with Grim, though the fiery racoon hardly counted as a proper roommate - at Ramshackle Dorm since your arrival in Twisted Wonderland. Out of reach from him and any potential other students that Leona could have intimidated for information. But now, it seems you made a deal with that cephalo-punk Azul Ashengrottel, and Jack had delivered you directly to him like a good little puppy, unknowingly helping you straight right into his grasp.

The white-haired beastman blinked. “You didn’t even pause before answering…”

“No pets allowed in the dorm,” the Sunset Savannah prince shrugged. “They shed all over the place.” He hadn’t quite figured out where he could put you up temporarily (three days was more than enough for him to solve his little vexing puzzle, hell he’ll take one day and hopefully kick the two of you out by tomorrow evening).

Leona couldn’t roll over so easily, no matter how much the pit in his gut yearned for it. He had to at least put up a decent fight in front of his dorm’s students, and most of all, Ruggie. He’ll never live this down otherwise.

‎

Okay, so perhaps you sharing his room wasn’t ideal, nor was it really part of his spontaneous plan. But what was done was done. It’s temporary anyway.

Your footsteps, light as a fae’s, were easy enough to pick up against the otherwise silent dorm. Picking your way carefully through the dark room, you made your way out, the room door clicking shut behind you and blocking out the little light that poured in momentarily from the dim corridor. If you had been the slightest bit more observant, you might have noticed Leona’s green eyes sliding open to watch you, lion ears twitching as they followed the ambient sound of your rustling clothes.

It was the middle of the night, way past his usual bedtime - and it should be way past yours as well. Grim was fast asleep on the spare bedding at the foot of his bed. Very telling that you didn’t take your little minion with you.

Waiting for a few more seconds, the lion beastman carelessly tossed off his blankets, following you out of his room. And your telltale smell led him past closed doors and loud snores that echoing down empty hallways, straight towards the bathroom.

Interesting. Time to find out what you were hiding.

‎

You hummed a light tune under your breath, allowing the warm water to run over your body. You had expected Savanaclaw Dorm to be different from what you were used to, with the sneakpeek you’ve gotten before the Spelldrive tournament hinting that it was different enough from the life you knew back at Ramshackle, but you had to admit to yourself you hadn’t expected it to be this different. Imagine your surprise upon realizing that there was only one communal bathroom - and only learning that fact as you entered. You hoped no one noticed how fast you turned and left.

Shaking your head, you focused on rinsing off the shampoo from your hair, the stall walls though open at the back at least giving some privacy from the side. The water splashing down onto the tile from the showerhead echoed through the otherwise empty room; exactly as you had planned. It was only at this time of night that you would be able to get any semblance of privacy, and you silently pledged to yourself to never take Ramshackle Dorm’s silence for granted again.

You scrubbed down, trying to shake the thought of losing Ramshackle to Azul out of your head. You would do everything to make sure that didn’t happen, and you weren’t going to forgive Grim, Ace or Deuce that easily for all this mess they got you in.

Lost in the what-ifs, you failed to notice the patter of footsteps entering the shower room, right up till a deep voice piped up from behind you.

“So that’s why you don’t smell like the others.”

You froze.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the water cascading down your body and your very obviously female chest. You didn’t know what to do, didn’t dare to breathe, racing to think.

Fuck.

In a snap, you screamed, picking up the nearest object and hurling it straight at the intruder without looking, your other hand immediately reaching for the towel you had hung over the stall wall. The shampoo bottle was narrowly dodged, bouncing off the wall behind him and clanking to the floor. “W-what the fuck- get out!” You squeezed your eyes shut, your face beet red as you grabbed another bottle, throwing it with all the strength you had. Someone saw you. Some guy’s seen you. You should have been more careful, maybe you shouldn’t have showered at all, maybe you have-

“Shut it!” One large hand was quickly slapped over your mouth, the other grabbing your hand and stopping you from flinging your third munition. “Do you want the entire dorm to wake? Just breathe, dammit.”

You shook off his hand, moving to secure your towel around you before you took a deep breath, looking up to see who had walked in on you.

Leona Kingscholar, the Savanaclaw Housewarden himself, looking mighty amused at the revelation that you were, in fact, of the opposite gender. A red-faced lady in the house of men.

“Does that crow know?”

“Crowley? Of course he does,” you snapped, clutching the towel wrapped around you tightly. “Now can you get out?”

The lion beastman only leaned onto the stall door, crossing his arms. “So how have you been hiding that all this time?” He drawled, pointing at your chest with his chin. You picked up another bottle threateningly, and Leona immediately raised both hands in surrender, taking a step back and behind the stall door.

“Peace,” he drawled. “I’m just here for answers.”

“And I’m here to bathe,” you barked back. “Chest binding is what I do, now out.”

The chuckle as the second prince strolled out reverberated through the still bathroom. You groaned, sinking to a squat and hiding your face in your hands. You were never going to live this down now, were you?

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ganxiously · 2 months ago

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So, it turns out what I needed to get out of my writer's block was soul-wrenching grief and heart-crushing disappointment. And while I am happy about that (to an extent), I also wish my muse wasn't angst because I think I am hurting myself writing this fic and I need to now make it everyone else's problem.

Sitting there in the dark, on Eddie’s sofa, curled in on himself like it’s supposed to do anything to hold him together, one thought pops into his head, bright, neon red and in bold among the constant litany of boorish, black ‘This is all my fault’ — All of this is because I didn’t know what a Kinsey six is. The thought is unexpected enough that Buck unfurls a little, wondering where it came from and then he remembers their anniversary date. The memory leaves him breathless but he is curious enough to push past the newly burgeoning hurt and take out his phone. A quick Google reveals it to be the rating for ‘exclusively homosexual’ on the Kinsey scale so he looks that up next and as he’s debating whether to start from Wikipedia first or dive right into the Kinsey Institute website, his eyes land on the conspicuous ‘test online’ button right below the search bar. A part of him doesn’t want to find out, doesn’t want anyone else telling him what he is but the taunt is too much. If you had known, if you had just taken a moment to figure yourself out, maybe you could have said something. Maybe you could have stopped him before he walked away. He clicks on the first test that pops up, looks at the first question, goes to select option 1 and then stops and stares. ‘To whom are you attracted?’ should be an easy question to answer but the confidence to not think much has left him. He could easily choose ‘Both men and women’ but would that even be correct? He’s been so sure that he has felt attraction towards men a few times in the past but what if that was a mild interest at best? After all, no one had really pinged his radar the way Tommy had. He looks at the next question and that’s when the panic really starts to set in because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he prefers men over women or if he just prefers Tommy over women, over everyone else. What if Tommy is the outlier and he prefers women over men after all? The pressure in his chest becomes more and more painful the longer he stares at it so he closes the test and opens the next one on the list. That one starts off mild. The way the first question is framed makes it easy to answer that yes, while he mostly notices women, the occasional man does turn his eyes. The next one asks what he would be comfortable in calling himself and he thinks he could get away with calling himself bisexual but then there’s an option saying ‘could be bisexual but not sure if that’s correct‘. And again the thought hits, What if it’s just Tommy? He debates it briefly and then gives in and chooses the latter option. He breezes through the next couple of questions because he is at least sure that he would find it desirable to kiss people from both genders but then they hit him with the sexual preference question again. He backs out so fast his phone nearly slips out of his hand and with a sigh of frustration, he clicks on the next test. That turns out worse because the very first question stalls him and so it continues again and again and again until tears start prickling at the corner of his eyes and his breath starts coming in sharp, short bursts pulling his throat tight but not taking any air to his lungs. He keeps at it until there’s one more nameless person behind one more useless test clamouring at him, Tell us, tell us, tell us. Tell us you know what you want. He hurls the phone across the room, thankful when instead of landing on the floor, it silently hits the backrest of Eddie’s armchair and slides down into the crease with a swoosh. He should get up and retrieve it, he should go home really but what he does instead is let his head fall forward onto his raised knees and give in to the caricatured voice of his mind telling him, Of course, he thought you would break his heart. Look at yourself, you idiot.

This is basically just the set-up for the fic but rest assured I am dragging Buck down to the trenches before I let him swim up to Tommy again.

#911 abc #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #fic #kinsey scale fic

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cryptidghostgirl · 1 year ago

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Understand (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader)

Pairing: Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Wife!Reader

Description: Y/n has been using the exterminations as a way to try and search for the soul of her earthly husband for years. What happens when she actually succeeds in finding him?

Warnings: Cannon typical violence and angst. Also uh,, not healthy. (The end is kinda fucked up)

Word Count: 2,411

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Y/n slid the dark mask over her face, jiggling it slightly to make sure it had clicked properly into place. She had never wanted to be an exorcist, hated the very thought. When she had been alive, she was the type of human who felt bad about accidentally stepping on bugs. If she had had any other choice, she would’ve taken it but she didn’t and so Y/n tried her best to detach herself from the experience.

Exorcists were a handpicked group by Adam. If you weren’t one, you didn’t know about them and if you knew about them, you were fucked. Y/n’s entire existence in the peaceful afterlife had been turned on its head when she’d been chosen. Pulled out of normal day to day and pushed into harsh, year round training. There was nothing nice about it and nothing she could do. No one listened to a thing she said, not even Sera. Sometimes, Y/n caught herself wishing she’d just been sent to Hell instead.

There was, however, one small benefit to these yearly trips. While it was a pain to act like she was being more violent than she was on the field, a constant terror in her life that Adam and Lute would find out she’d been letting demons go, it also gave her the opportunity to search.

Y/n had been married in life. Her husband had been a criminal, one of the worst, something she hadn’t learned until after his death. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from loving him. Every day on earth she’d lived without him by her side had been abysmal. No other love was quite like his love.

When she had first arrived in Heaven, Y/n had searched everywhere for him. There had been no luck. It had been a foolish hope, she knew: looking for a serial killer among the blessed but, she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to hear him explain, wanted to understand. Most of all, though she tried not to think about this part, she wanted to give him a kiss. To throw her arms around his neck with abandon the way she did when they were young. She wanted to hear his voice, have him tell her he still loved her too and mean it. She wanted to know she hadn’t wasted her life, her one chance at a living love.

The gates opened and Y/n dove through with the hundreds of other exorcists. Their game was underfoot, their cat and mouse sadistic chase. For Y/n? The search was on.

----

Alastor watched as the exorcist descended upon him. He was feeling brave and stupid, empowered after his near win against Vox just a few weeks before. Cracking his knuckles, he wondered what the exorcist’s voice would sound like if added to his broadcast.

A wicked grin on his face, she hovered before him. Her wings flapped with great strength, sending gusts of wind Alastor’s way as she kept herself vertically in the air. Alastor simply looked down, pointedly away from the exorcist, and straightened his lapel with his hand that wasn’t holding his microphone. He was trying to make her angry. As she inched closer to him, Alastor assumed it had worked.

“Don’t see many of your lot around these parts this time of year.” he mused, checking his nail beds, “What can I help you with?”

There was a silence. Alastor looked up towards the angel, confused. Normally a blasé statement like that would have gotten a rise out of anyone intent on killing him. Instead, the lights of her eyes on the mask just stared at him. Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground.

“Say that again.”

Her voice came out muffled and harsh through the mask, clearly altered by some equipment within. He laughed, taking a menacing step forward. Leaning down condescendingly, he conceded to her demand.

“How may I be of use?”

The exorcist was silent again. After a moment, Alastor shrugged. He straightened himself up again, his hands on top of his microphone as if it were a cane. He summoned his shadows.

“Well you’re certainly making this easy.”

His horns began to grow, throwing strange and menacing shadows across the walls of the ally way. Still, the angel stood there.

“It… it can’t be.” she mumbled under her breath.

Alastor raised his eyebrows.

“Can’t be who, darling?” he asked, feigning innocence, “The Radio Demon can’t be such a big name you folks up in Heaven hear my shows, can it?”

Alastor let out a laugh, taking a step forward as the exorcist tentatively took a step back.

“Oh who am I kidding, of course it is!” he exclaimed.

The exorcist took another step back as Alastor threw his microphone into the air, catching the center of its stand neatly in his outstretched hand. Her back hit the shadows he had put up to block the ally way and she frantically turned her head to the side, checking what it was she’d run into.

Alastor tsked her, walking up so they were just a few feet apart. Harshly, he used his microphone to turn his face to hers again.

“Don’t look away from me, dear. I might get jealous.”

“Were you married?” the exorcist asked suddenly.

Alastor froze in his tracks, his brow furrowed the slightest bit.

“Sorry if that’s weird.” she stuttered out, rubbing her arm holding the spear uncomfortably, “I just, well, I’ve been looking for my husband? He died in the early 1930s and well, he sounded a lot like you.”

Alastor’s heart dropped, crashing into his diaphragm. The angel watched him nervously as he removed his microphone from the side of her head. She let out a breath she’d been holding, something that was quickly taken in again as he used the end of his microphone to life her mask from her face.

It clattered harshly against the concrete as it fell from her face. Alastor’s eyes went wide. There was no doubt about it. Sure, she had a soft ethereal glow about her now, but hadn’t she always in a way? Sure, her hair was cropped around her ears and she was in armor. It didn’t matter, in an instant he knew. The shadows fell from around them, his horns shrunk back to their normal size.

“Y/n?”

“Alastor?” she asked back, just as breathless.

Slowly, she reached a hand out to his face and cupped his cheek. He leaned into it on instinct. Y/n’s spear clattered to the floor, her other hand finding his other cheek as she looked up at him in simple amazement.

“You…” gingerly, Alastor reached his free hand up, laying it on top of one of Y/n’s, “Of course you’ve been in Heaven this whole time. You were always so good, much too good for me.”

“Oh hush, Alastor.” Y/n scolded lightly, her eyes filling with tears, “You know I don’t like it when you put yourself down like that.”

“No, Y/n.” he let his microphone disappear, taking both her hands off his face and holding them intently in his own, “You don’t understand. I did terrible things when I was alive, I still do them now. There is a reason I am down here.”

“I know.” she responded almost immediately.

“No, y-”

“I don’t mean to interrupt but Al, I do know.” Y/n cut him off, “You were killed hurrying a body hun, hard not to. Plus, when the police searched the house they told me what they’d, um, found in the basement freezer.”

Y/n chose her words carefully, her eyes averted. When she looked back at Alastor, he was still smiling yes but, there was something confused about him too. They had grown up together. She had always known exactly what was going on in that head of his. Well, most of the time anyways.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“You have?” Alastor asked, “After everything, after… God, how long did I leave you up there alone?”

“About thirty years.” Y/n shrugged.

There was a moment of silence. A question tugged at Alastor’s tongue, one he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer to. Still, time was running out. The screams of demons being attacked were becoming more and more infrequent. He didn’t know if he’d ever get another chance.

“Did your new husband make it up to heaven with you?”

Y/n’s eyes went wide.

“New husba- Alastor, I never remarried.”

“Why not? You deserved to be treated well, Y/n. To have had a good life. Why waste it all on me?”

“I loved you. I still do.”

Y/n knew it was a bad idea, knew the risks if any other exorcist in the area heard her. Still, she couldn’t help but feel it would be worth it to die, knowing she’d found Alastor and that he knew she still loved him.

“You find anyone down here yourself?” Y/n asked awkwardly after a moment, looking around the ally.

Alastor took a step forward, closing what little space had been left between them. Like he had done it a thousand times before, because he had done it a thousand times before, he raised a hand to Y/n’s cheek and turned her face to his. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted, she stared up at him.

“No one.” Alastor shook his head, “There’s no one but you.”

A horn sounded from a ways away and Y/n turned up to the sky. Waves of exorcists were flying over head, going back to the portal, back to heaven. Y/n took a step back, Alastor’s hand falling from her cheek.

“Al, I have to go.”

“Please, Y/n. Stay with me here. I can’t get to you up there, I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I have to go, Al. I don’t want to cause any more trouble for you and everyone else down here.” she insisted, turning to where her mask lay on the ground, “I’ll be back in twelve months, I promise.”

As Y/n leaned over to grab her called disguise, her wings splayed out behind her. Light hit the tip of her spear just right in that moment, catching Alastor’s eye. A wicked idea filtered into his mind. Something he never could have done, would have ever even imagined when he’d been alive. But now? Hell had hardened him, taught Alastor sometimes you had to be cruel to get what you want and not just when it came to killing creeps. He had tried life without Y/n before, tried nearly sixty years of it. Alastor didn’t like it one bit.

“We will get to see one another then,” Y/n was saying as her trembling fingers fumbled for the edge of her mask in the dim light, “and I promise I’ll find a way we can end up together for good, I really d-”

A searing pain shot through her, causing her words to catch in her throat. It was worse than anything Y/n had ever felt before, emanating from the center of her back. Panting in pain, she reached a hand behind her back. It came away wet with sticky, golden blood. Her vision blurring, Y/n looked up at Alastor. Clutched in his right fist was the head of her spear. From the other hand, he dropped her left wing to the floor.

“Alastor…” she panted, her breath weak, “what…”

He took a step forward and an arrow of fright shot through Y/n. She tried to take one back but the pain was starting to really get to her now and she stumbled, falling to the ground. Alastor stood over her, smiling menacingly down as she scooted back from him. Y/n was full on hyperventilating now.”

“Al, what are you doing? What… how… I don’t understand.”

Alastor hushed her gently, the way he used to when they were little kids and he found her crying. Tears began to drip from Y/n’s eyes and she jolted violently with fear as his clawed hand grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to twist around and giving him access to her other wing. He grabbed it, pulling it out to its fullest extent.

“Alastor please.” Y/n begged, tears rolling hotly down her face, “Please don’t. Please.”

“My, these sure are pretty.” Alastor hummed, admiring the weft of the feathers as he held Y/n’s remaining wing.

“Why would you do this!?” Y/n screamed, her voice echoing in the empty ally.

Alastor fell to his knees behind her, still holding her wing out, still immobilizing her in pain.

“I’ve already lost you once.” he said softly, leaning into Y/n’s ear. She whimpered, trying to scoot away from him but unable to due to the hold he had on her appendage, “I won’t do it again. If Satan, or God, or the fucking universe think they can keep us apart, then not a single goddamn one of them has been paying attention because you are mine. You are mine and there is nothing that I wouldn’t do to keep things that way.”

As the final words left Alastor’s lips, he cut through Y/n’s remaining wing in a single motion. She let out an earsplitting scream before passing out in a steadily growing puddle of her own golden blood.

“There, there my love.” Alastor hummed gently, dropping the spear to the ground and smoothing her her wild hair down around her face as he pulled himself to his feet.

Straightening his jacket, Alastor leaned down and picked her limp body up off the sidewalk. The injuries were bad, but nothing he couldn’t help her handle.

“I just can’t explain to you how happy I am to have you back in my arms.” he said to Y/n’s sleeping form, looking down at her tired and tearstained face with nothing short of adoration, “You might be mad for a while, but I can handle that. At the end of the day, we will both know that you’re not going anywhere.”

Leaning down, he planted a soft kiss on Y/n’s forehead. For a moment, his smile went hollow. He hadn’t meant to go this far, to hurt her this bad. Alastor had just been so scared, so utterly terrified at the prospect of losing her again.

“She will understand.” he reassured himself, “She has to understand.”

——

Part Two → Caged Bird (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader)

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frostdayz · 5 months ago

Text

First meetings

Loki x reader (f! reader)

genre: Fluff

summary: Loki turns smitten when he first lays his eyes on you.

AN: it took me not kidding like 25 minutes to post this short thing. I had to edit and post a paragraph each minute. Anyway, I got frustrated and deleted the actual summary so enjoy that mess. BTWWWW if anyone has good Logan (Wolverine) fics/ one-shots send them my way, thanks

my stories never really describe the readers gender so unless stated otherwise all my stories are gn!!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The grand hall of Asgard was a sight to behold—glittering gold, towering columns, and a ceiling so high it felt like the sky itself. I had only heard stories about this place, about the grandeur, the power, the gods who roamed these halls. But none of it compared to standing here, in the heart of it all, among legends.

Thor led me through the grand entrance, his booming laughter echoing in the vast space as he recounted tales of his many adventures. "And then," he chuckled, "I turned to Loki and said, 'You, brother, are as slippery as a snake!'—and he didn’t even deny it!"

I smiled politely, though my attention was elsewhere. There was a figure at the far end of the hall, standing alone by a window, his dark silhouette contrasting against the golden light streaming in. He had an air of mystery about him, his raven hair falling in soft waves to his shoulders, his sharp features etched with an intensity that made my breath catch. It was as if the world had paused momentarily, the air around him thrumming with an energy I couldn’t quite place.

"Ah, and here he is!" Thor called out, nudging me forward with a playful grin. "Loki, brother, come meet our guest!"

The figure turned slowly, and my heart skipped a beat as our eyes met. His gaze was piercing, emerald green, and filled with something unreadable. I could see the flicker of surprise in his expression, though he masked it quickly with a cool, collected demeanor. He stepped closer, his movements graceful and deliberate, and I found myself rooted to the spot, unable to tear my gaze away. "Lady Y/N," Thor continued, clearly enjoying himself, "this is my brother, Loki. Loki, this is Lady Y/N. She has come to Asgard as a guest of our realm."

Loki stopped in front of me, his eyes never leaving mine. There was a subtle shift in his expression—something softened, something curious. "Lady Y/N," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "It is… a pleasure."

I managed to nod, feeling the weight of his attention on me like a physical presence. "The pleasure is mine, Prince Loki." Thor, ever the observant one, let out a hearty laugh. "Well, well, would you look at that! I’ve never seen you so taken aback, brother. Normally, you’d have some witty remark ready, but it seems Lady Y/N has rendered you speechless!"

Loki shot his brother a look—half annoyance, half amusement—but I caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Do you always announce my thoughts so loudly, Thor?" he asked his tone light but laced with a subtle challenge. Thor clapped Loki on the shoulder with a grin. "Only when it’s so obvious! You should see the look on your face."

I felt a blush creeping up my neck, and I tried to focus on anything other than the fact that Loki’s gaze hadn’t wavered from me. It was as though he was studying me, trying to unravel some puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. It was both unnerving and… thrilling. Loki tilted his head slightly as if considering something. "And what is it, Thor, that you think you see?" Thor chuckled, leaning in closer as if sharing a secret. "I see a brother who is completely smitten."

Loki raised an eyebrow, but there was no denial in his expression. Instead, he simply looked back at me, a slow, almost imperceptible smile curving his lips.

"Perhaps," he mused, "there are things even gods cannot anticipate."

My heart fluttered at his words, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room. The world faded into the background, and all I could focus on was the way Loki’s eyes seemed to see right through me as if he knew me—understood me—on a level I hadn’t even realized was possible.

Thor’s laughter broke the spell, and I blinked, the world snapping back into focus. "Come now, Lady Y/N," Thor said, still grinning, "let us continue our tour. I’m sure Loki will join us once he’s done… collecting himself."

Loki’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he stepped back with a slight nod. "Enjoy your tour, Lady Y/N. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon." As I followed Thor through the hall, I couldn’t help but glance back over my shoulder. Loki was still standing there, watching me with that same intense gaze. And in that moment, I knew—whatever this was, whatever had just passed between us—it wasn't the last time I'd see it.

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yunholuvrr · 2 years ago

Text

muse

summary: Your friend Hongjoong just held a show for his new fashion line and invited you to photograph the event, but one model catches your eye more than any of the clothes on the runway.

pairing: yunho x fem!reader

word count: 4.1k

genre: smut, model!yunho, fashion designer!hongjoong, photographer!reader

warnings: explicit smut minors dni, petnames (baby, love, princess), big dick yunho, semi-public sex???? pretty tame i think, lmk if i should add anything

note: taking a break from we all need love to indulge in my feelings for cosmopolitan yunho oh my GAWD he's so fine.... & i did not proofread sorry for any typos

You've worn many hats since you graduated. Interning at various clothing companies, freelance photography picking up gigs from friends and classmates, and a brief stunt as a journalist. It only makes sense that all your jobs have led to you standing in front of a glowing runway, camera propped and ready for the first model to walk out, people rushing by as they settle into their front row seats.

Not every classmate of yours was doing well in the fashion industry, but one in particular was making waves, if this event was anything to go by. Kim Hongjoong, the designer that came out of nowhere.

You chuckle at the marketing of your old friend. Anyone who knew him would know he was born to design clothes, hell, if you didn't know him you'd only have to take one look at his closet. But in the grand scheme of things, a man's gender inclusive line going viral after only 2 years in the industry is pretty unheard of.

The lights dim and you focus on your camera's digital screen, quadruple checking all your settings. Hongjoong was your biggest client during your freelancing days, and your gig tonight was to capture his show for press. Usually you'd just be doing personal events like weddings or birthdays, but these would be seen be anyone and everyone in the industry. To say you were nervous would be an understatement.

One model after another appears on stage, making their rounds in all types of bold, complex outfits. His work wasn't really your style, you preferred to keep it simple and comfortable, but it's hard to deny its appeal. The models he invited showed the pieces off amazingly, too. They worked on all body types and proportions, which you made sure to capture in every photo.

One man in particular stood out to you as you took every shot you could. He looked more like a traditional model, tall and thin, lean and muscular in all the right places. He could get a job anywhere he tried. The charisma oozing from his face was infectious. A few dark strands of hair fell in front of his rhinestone speckled eyes, which seemed to make eye contact with every single person in the room. His cupid's bow was sharp, and the smirk he sent to your lens in particular had you nearly forgetting to press the shutter release.

"That's a wrap!" A man calls from behind you. The stage lights finally fade and the crowd dissipates, leaving you and a handful of other staff to pack up. You sit on a nearby stool, squinting at the small screen and clicking through your photos. Before you can get very far through your collection, someone taps you on the shoulder.

"After party in an hour babes," Hongjoong chirps next to you, "you're invited. Thanks for the excellent photos tonight."

"You haven't even seen them yet," you chuckle and finish packing up, resolving to get ready for the party despite the exhaustion you feel at the back of your mind.

He smacks your arm playfully before insisting that every photo you've ever taken has been perfect. "By the way, did any of the models catch your eye?"

"Is there a correct answer or do you want my honest thoughts?" You pierce right through your friend's shenanigans. Hongjoong has always been quite the matchmaker among your friends, although you wouldn't call it his most successful hobby. It's almost like he just picks two names out of a hat and decides they would look good together.

He only shakes his head, "I really wanna know! They're all really nice."

You only squint before responding, "Tall guy, dark hair. He was towards the end but he really walked his ass off."

His face lights up immediately and you know you chose the right answer, "Yunho!"

"Yunho," you repeat, "yeah he's nice to look at. I suppose that's his job."

"He's the newest model I've worked with," Hongjoong looks at the runway fondly, "I didn't know if he'd bring anything special to the table at first, but he's truly irresistible."

"And you invited him to the after party and you want us to meet because we'd be such a perfect couple," you stand up, eye to eye with him now, and giggle at the little game he's playing.

"Maybe so... but listen!" You both start walking towards the exit, "I don't want you to fuck him on the first night or anything. Just get to know him, at the very least you'll get a new client. His portfolio is bare bones."

You don't even have time to process what he said before he's slipping away backstage with a quick goodbye. If you were being honest, this Yunho guy probably wouldn't be a bad hookup. You weren't really looking for anything, but he's pretty. And you can't deny good work connections.

You arrive 20 minutes after Hongjoong told you to, fashionably late. You planned to have a drink or two and stick close to him since the small buds of exhaustion have already bloomed into a fullblown headache. No one should have any questions for a random photographer anyway.

"Speak of the devil, there's my right hand woman now!" Your thoughts were immediately proven wrong when you walk in and a small group of models you recognize from the runway stare fondly in your direction. Yunho is one of them, of course, but you try not to think about the words spoken about him just an hour earlier.

"Hi! I'm y/n, we went to school together," you manage a convincing smile as Hongjoong passes you a drink.

"I can't wait to see your photos," one lady gushed, "Hongjoong showed us some of your work and your style is just lovely."

You a manage a small thanks before taking a small sip. The conversation flows into a new topic with ease and you're left in the background to quietly enjoy the party. That is, until you feel a light tap on your shoulder.

"Excuse me," a shy, deep voice floats above you, "you don't seem like you're in a talkative mood, but I had a question for you?"

You look up and Yunho smiles down at you. He looks nothing like he did on stage before; his piercing eyes have morphed into soft, welcoming ones and his charming smirk is replaced by a nervous grin. You nod and take another sip, letting him continue.

"Hongjoong has just mentioned you so much I thought I'd ask if you could take some headshots for me?" He fiddles with his fingers and when your eyes widen he looks away.

"What has he said about me?" You try not to sound accusatory, but it doesn't come across as nicely as you'd like.

"Oh nothing bad! Nothing bad at all," Yunho chuckles, and it might be the nicest sound you've heard at this party so far, "he just wouldn't stop talking about how great you are. I figured I'd take the hint and ask."

You shift from one foot to the other, considering his request before deciding it wouldn't hurt to get to know him more. "Is this your first modeling gig?"

"Just about," there's that chuckle again, and it's contagious, "I've done a few small things here and there, but this was the biggest scale by far."

"You know I won't lower my rates just because you're new," you tease, "or because Hongjoong wants me to."

He just shakes his head profusely, "oh absolutely not! If anything I was gonna offer you more..." you see Yunho think through his sentence as he says it, trailing off after realizing what exactly he said.

"You flatter me, but I'm not in the mood to talk business right now," you swear a slight pout comes across his face before you even get to finish.

He doesn't skip a beat, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and offering it to you, "then why don't we talk later?"

You can only mutter a "smooth" while tapping your number into his contacts. You hand it back to him and watch him type something before feeling a buzz in your own pocket.

"I'll send you some info when I have a moment this week," you try not to stare at his now mischievous smirk, continuing to sip from your empty cup.

"I'll be waiting," he bends down to your height, and his voice lowers to barely above a whisper, "talk to you soon."

He's gone before you know it, disappearing into the crowd, and the brief proximity makes your insides turn in ways you don't want to admit. You have to find Hongjoong.

His bright blue hair stands out near the food bar and you quickly make your way over. The words fly out of your mouth before you even get to him, "what exactly did you say to Yunho?"

He gives you a small huh, clearly tipsier than you are, before a look of recognition washes over his face. "Oh hi love! I didn't say anything, why?"

"He said you kept mentioning me to him?" You would laugh at the state of your friend if it weren't for the sudden desire to know everything Yunho thinks of you already.

"Hm, I only said you're a great at taking photos!" He clings onto your shoulder and laughs, "and that he stood out to you on the runway tonight! He smiled ear to ear when I said that, isn't he so cute?"

"Hongjoong you did not," you grab both of his shoulders and shake him a bit, "does he think I like him or something?"

"Do you?" When you don't respond he just laughs again, "I guess my job is already done."

"I don't even know him!" You wish you could sincerely be mad at the man in front of you, but he's been correct all night so far.

"Don't you want to though?"

"I hate you, seriously," you glare at him, but he only laughs again before returning to his previous conversation. You don't know what he's gotten you into, but you don't think you mind it.

Your workdays have been packed ever since the night of the show. Being Hongjoong's right hand photographer had its perks, like the dozens of offers you've received since the articles went out, but that doesn't mean it isn't the most stressed you've been in weeks. You all but collapse by the time your lunch break rolls around.

Forget about me already?

The light buzz of your phone disrupts your thoughts about scheduling. No one usually texts you, at least not during the day. No one except Yunho.

Sorry! I've been swamped. Let me send you the form my other clients are using to schedule with me.

Aw, no special treatment for your favorite model?

You make a mental note to beat the shit outta Hongjoong for doing this the next time you see him.

Maybe if you give me a good enough offer I'll put you at the top of my list

Not even 10 minutes later, a scheduling request dings on your phone and you see the payment is three times your normal rate for headshots. You mentally curse Joong for putting you in this situation, but you're willing to play the game if it means good dick and good pay.

Am I at the top of your list now? I can't wait to see you

You can't help the way your thighs squeeze together for a moment, now eager to fit him in your schedule (and elsewhere). You wrap up your short lunch with a newfound motivation to get through your emails, making sure to leave a 2 hour slot open for him. You wonder how long you can hold off on getting back to him before he starts begging you. That would have to be a game you play another time.

The studio is empty when you show up, allowing you to quietly set up just the way you want to. Your movements are quick and practiced, dozens of headshot appointments under your belt at this point. These were supposed to be simple and straightforward, so you didn't have much to prepare besides rolling down the white backdrop and setting up your lights. There were a few other props on the side if he wanted to take more shots. You asked a couple people to help out with equipment during the shoot, but you came in early just to have some peace and quiet. Your coworkers arrive a few minutes after you do, exchanging pleasantries before finishing the job you started.

Then he walks in. You're double checking your camera settings when you hear the front door open and his honey-like voice greeting the other staff. You feel his attention shift to you, and when you turn around a playful smirk is plastered on his face. His makeup isn't as dark as it was on the runway, but he looks clean and undoubtedly handsome. His styled hair falls just past his eyes, moving with his lashes every time he blinks. He's pretty, there's no way around it, a type of face that you can't help but stare at.

"Why don't you take a photo, it lasts longer," he snickers, snapping you out of whatever daze he put you in.

"That's my job after all," you motion to a stool in front of the camera, "do you want any props? We can do more than simple headshots if you'd like."

He nods and sits down, long legs crossing each other at the ankle. "I'd love that, miss photographer."

You narrow your eyes at the comment before signaling to the crew you're ready to go. One lady is on standby near the lights, another guy has a handful of reflectors ready. You try to ignore the tension between your model and focus on your craft.

"Can we try the gold?" You call out to your team, closely monitoring Yunho's face in the warmer light. After a moment of thought, you ask him to tilt his head. He's well behaved in front of the camera, following your every suggestion. You wonder if the crew can feel the heavy energy between you two.

After a half hour of posing, shooting, monitoring, retouching, and shooting again, you call for a break and everyone agrees. The couch in the corner of the studio looks so inviting you nearly run to sit down, oblivious to the way Yunho follows.

"You're really good at this," you jump at his voice next to you.

"I went to school for it so I would hope so," you mumble, getting comfortable. You open your phone, hoping to mindlessly scroll before you all come back, but he just plops down next to you.

"Have you ever gotten your own headshots taken?" You shake your head, trying to ignore the way his leg is pressed against yours. "You're so pretty behind that camera, maybe we can switch one day."

You almost bump into his face from how quickly you look up at him, "I'd never let you touch my equipment."

He hums in disapproval before pulling out his own phone and leaning back into the cushions. "Fine, maybe not me. But I don't see why Joong's never put you on the runway. You're stunning."

He expects a reaction from you, but you control yourself, leaning forward to get as much distance as you can. The two of you sit in innocent silence for a while, but the tension only grows thicker. There's five minutes before you shoot for at least another half hour, and when your job is to stare at his face you're not sure you can go much longer.

"What exactly did Hongjoong tell you about me?" You sit up straight, taking a leap of faith.

"About how in love you are with me, why?" You swiftly kick his leg next to you and he chuckles, "he just said I caught your eye. He wasn't lying was he?"

"No, definitely not," you sigh, "but what I don't understand is why you like me?"

"Who said I like you? You just happen to be very pretty and talented and fun to tease."

"So you do like me," you huff in disbelief. Something in you stirs with every word he says and you have to cross your legs for some relief from the building pressure.

"If wanting to take you right now in the middle of your studio means I like you, then sure," his slender fingers trace the back of your shoulders, wrapping a secure arm around you.

"We still have all the props to play with," you scan the studio, but your team is nowhere to be found during the break.

"What if I want to play with you instead?" His breath softly blows across your ear now, voice just barely above a whisper. It takes everything in you to not kiss him right then and there.

"You're the one paying for this timeblock," you pull up your crew group chat on your phone, already making a decision.

"If we could wrap up here that'd be lovely, miss photographer," there goes that stupid nickname again.

"You can't call me anything else?"

"Would you prefer baby? Maybe princess? Or do you like meaner things?" His hand moves again to rest between your shoulder blades as he watches you type out a quick message.

"I would prefer if you shut up honestly," you press send. As far as your team knows, the client is satisfied and wants to end the shoot here for today. No one complains, you're still being paid for two hours thanks to Yunho's generous payment.

"Will you make me?" He traces a small circle with his thumb on your back, and the comment sounds more inviting than teasing. Your body reacts before your mind does, practically throwing yourself onto him out of annoyance and need. His lips are warm and soft and mold perfectly to yours.

He takes a sharp inhale as your tongue swipes past his bottom lip, his hand travelling up to hold the back of your neck. The other abandons his phone to take purchase on your hip, pulling you further on top of him. Yunho groans at the contact, resisting the urge to buck his hips up into you already. His flirting was almost as hard on him as it was on you.

"So needy," you mumble, propping yourself up on his chest to take in the view. His eyes are already blown out from lust, raking your body and letting his hands follow. His long fingers brush over your hardening nipples and you can't help the sigh that escapes.

He chuckles, "you're one to talk." He rolls his hips ever so slightly and you whine, head falling into his shoulder. He feels bigger than average below you and you wonder what you've gotten yourself into. You slowly rock your hips above him with his hands guiding you, whimpering into his skin.

"Can I taste you?" You freeze, head shooting up to stare at him in confusion. He wraps two fingers around your belt loops and tugs you forward again. "Please baby?" You nod and he sighs with relief as if his life depended on eating you out. Maybe it does.

He lays you on your back on a couch far too small for both of you like this, but you don't care. His lips are back on yours, warm and tender, as you feel both your jeans and panties slide down your legs. The cold air makes you flinch.

"Did I make you this wet while I was on the runway, love?" You feel one slender finger slide through your folds, but it's not enough. "Staring at me behind that camera all day must be so hard. I'll make it up to you," is the last thing he says before tucks his head snugly between your thighs.

Whatever snarky reply you came up escapes you with a moan just a bit too loud, his tongue flattening up against your slit. He wastes no time, too desperate to hear you above him. One hand holding you down just below your stomach, another teasing your entrance while his mouth makes quick work of your clit. You hope to the universe none of your crew left anything in the studio because your whines and wetness echoed through the room.

Before you know it he pushes one, then two, fingers into you, filling you up deliciously, and you buck your hips into him. His pace is slow and deep, opening you up to his liking. Some combination of his tongue and fingers nearly makes you scream, hands shooting straight to pull his hair. He groans into your flesh, vibrations sending sparks straight to your core, before looking up at you. His chin is glossy and a line of spit still connects you both and you nearly come at the sight alone.

"You're fucking delicious, darling," he pumps into you one last time before taking them in his mouth, sucking with a pop, "next time you should ride my face for me."

"Next time?" You watch as he unzips his own pants, shoving them down far enough for his dick to escape. It rebounds off his stomach, bigger than anything you've taken before.

"By the way you're staring," he grips himself at the base, "I think you want a next time." The way you lick your lips is involuntary.

He chuckles, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it on the floor nearby. You continue to stare shamelessly, boosting his ego as you etch his large, toned body into your mind. "Like what you see?"

"If you don't come here and fuck me right now Yunho I swear to god," and you swear you can see his dick twitch, but he simply tuts a finger at you.

"Ah ah ah, safety first princess," he slides a condom out of his pant pocket, ripping it open and handing it to you. You tilt your head and take it reluctantly, but he only smirks, "I know you want to touch me."

"Fuck you," you roll your eyes, sitting up and coming face to face (face to tip?) with his member. You never thought you'd see a dick that you'd describe as pretty, but his is long and thick and flushed a pretty shade of pink. You wrap your free hand around the base and pump a few times to tease him.

"Not now, love," you hear a shaky breath above you and you smirk. He pulls your other hand up and you comply, unravelling the condom smoothly down him. As soon as you're done he pushes you back down, not risking the chance of you testing him again.

"Let me know if it's too much for you baby," he whispers before finally pushing in. The stretch only stings for a second before turning into delight as he fills you up completely.

You sigh out in relief, mumbling a soft "keep going" and wrapping your hands around his neck. He listens immediately, pulling back almost all the way before thrusting back in. He keeps his slow pace until he's completely sure you're comfortable.

He looks down at where you connect before finally losing his composure. "You take me so fucking well," he moans, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses all over you. His pace quickens relentlessly, the sound of skin on skin filling the studio.

You scream at one particularly rough snap of his hips, but he only barely slows down. "You okay, princess?"

"So fucking good," you pant above him, his mouth still ravishing your neck. He groans at your response, fucking you harder than before. You didn't even know it was possible. You snake a hand down to your throbbing clit, so close to coming undone.

"Please come on my dick baby," he all but growls, and the way his hips falter tells you he's close too. His words, on top of everything else, are enough to finally unravel you. You shutter and jerk up into him, moaning some string of fuck's and Yunho's until your mind goes completely blank. He comes shortly after, pumping into you sporadically until he finally flops down on top of you.

You both take a few moments to come back to your senses, nothing but a mess of sweaty limbs on this cramped couch. "Next time I'll take you home so I'll have room to cuddle you after," he chuckles, picking himself up.

"I would like that," you smile softly, legs aching too much to even attempt sitting up. He cleans you both up quietly before plopping back down, letting you stretch your legs across his lap.

"So," his hand traces up your frame to cup your cheek, "can I take you out to dinner sometime, miss photographer?"

#yunho smut #yunho x reader #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #yunho oneshot #ateez oneshot #yunho scenarios #i need him carnally

2K notes · View notes

spurbleu · 6 months ago

Text

few lucky men ✤︎

[ken sato x afab reader]

S. he convinces you, in the exchange of a drink, to be his luck charm, a rabbit's foot sewed in saccharine smiles.

warnings: mdi, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, hookup

word count: 3.2k

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

Drenched in ecstasy.

Partygoers moved in short bursts- their silhouettes collapsing and repairing in a drunken frenzy. Sudoric air settled in the pockets of in-between (gaps among a kissing couple, an open mouth smile, the space separating fingers), stealing the hot breath from the masses.

Did it make you better- to be an observer rather than a player? To watch from the ‘dimly lit bar’ (everyone writes about it one day- you’ve seemed to find it in penthouse of stranger), neck wet from your intervals on the dance floor.

You tried finding the answer at the bottom of a shot glass- so many times you’d forgotten if you had. The bartender seemed to have a taste for your saccharine smiles, charmed as he handedken you yet another drink.

Martini glass- even in the low light you could see the blushing pink of the liquor, an orange film resting on the surface. On a stick, a raspberry, which you popped in your mouth with relish.

“What is it?”

He shrugged, saying something you couldn’t hear as he corralled a drunken man off the bar table. You take an eager sip.

You could hear the liquor burning your throat, the acid settling in your stomach with a content thrum. The aftertaste came with a buzz- subtle tinge of berry and orange- sweeter than the liquor. You let yourself giggle over the drink- perhaps childish, but all the more honest.

“Oh my god…that’s so good.” It had been a long time since you actually liked the process of getting drunk over the feeling.

“Glad you like it.”

You turn slowly, partly because you needed to, partly because it felt sexy in the moment. The curve of your lips gave away your tipsy- an askew smile creasing the plush of your cheeks. It complimented the soft flush under your eyes- make up flaking. You were hopeful, positive, that it didn’t dissuade him.

Dark hair fell lopsidedly on his face, the roots flat with sweat. The curve of his cheekbones was sharp, but promising. They creased over his smile, sideways and charming. It looked familiar- then again liquor can do that- handsome faces always looked the same under dim lighting and vodka.

“Hey.” You said casually.

He chuckled, shaking his head. There was an air about him- definitely drunk- but not enough to make you nervous. “Hello.”

“I assume you bought this drink for me?”

“I did,” He leaned on the bar, and you caught the way his eyes ran up your figure (it felt like he was already undressing you- not that you minded), as he held out a hand, “Ken. Ken Sato.”

There was an attitude in the lilt of his voice. Confidence- borderline arrogance. He was definitely famous- judging by the way he carried his broad shoulders and low tone. He wanted you to know who he was.

You ran the cap of your tongue over the roof of your mouth before introducing yourself and shaking his hand. “Charmed.”

You took another sip of your drink, not loosing his eyes, “How did you know I liked fruity drinks?”

He laughed- a pretty sound. It swelled into the lighter timbres of his voice, harsh around the edges like the salt on a cocktail glass. You sucked in your bottom lip- you wanted to hear it again.

“Lucky guess.”

You took another sip, humming in reply. “You a lucky guy, Ken?”

There was a glint in his eyes then. The grey was sharpened (knife against a whetstone) into something more. It wasn’t more of anything- just more. Like when you breathe and you feel your chest expanding, or you look at the view from your window from a different angle, and it swells.

More.

“Depends…” A long finger came to trace the rim of your glass. The groove of his knuckles had you mused- observing the vein that crept from his wrist. You tilted your head, leaning further into the bar as you crossed your legs.

“On…?”

He gave you a wry smile- and for a foolish moment you thought it looked unpracticed. Genuine- a contentment pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“…if I get to take you home tonight.”

You blinked. It was rare for you to be caught off guard- and your laugh might’ve given it away, if you hadn’t turned towards the bar, your hair covered the deepening tint on your cheeks.

“So bold.”

“Is that wrong?” he asked, a subtle anxiety obvious in the falter of his shoulders and the shake in his voice. You gave him a smile, taking a final sip of your drink before placing it back on the bar.

“No, no I never said that. Just an observation,” you hummed, “in fact, I’m flattered that your luck relies on me.”

You could tell by the shift in his shoulders that he had regained his confidence, eyes meeting yours again. “Well,” his hand came up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. The moment felt strangely domestic for a bar in the middle of a party, the music in the background sounding much sweeter than you remembered it last, “want to make me a lucky man tonight?”

His hands rested by your ear, waiting for you to answer or for you to swipe it away. You did neither, and instead leaned in, nose to nose with a complete stranger. You saw the way his hand twitched (nervous- cute), and how his eyes remained unmoving but hopeful.

“Alright.”

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

“Fucking finally.”

He lifted you, holding your thighs and resting them on his hips as he pulled your face up to his and kissed you.

There was a frustration on his lips- undoubtedly caused by the way you palmed his trousers in the car, watching as he gripped the steering wheel in thin patience. But beneath it was fervor- not in the slightest sloppy.

But it wasn’t practiced, either. The plush of his lips against yours- the way his teeth occasionally nipped at your bottom lip or grazed your top one. It lacked a coordination that would have felt unnatural. He kissed you like he was sober- like even if liquor hadn’t been in your guts- he’d still want you.

The thought made you pant into his mouth, kissing him with a new ferocity as he carried you through the hall.

He laid you down on something soft. You watched him as he stripped, ignoring the urge to call out something filthy.

Wide shoulders capitalized his broad chest, held up by a collection of muscles- breathing in a hungry rhythm that made you clench your thighs. He looked taller than he did at the bar, pronounced by the reel of his shoulders and the way it rippled down his spine.

He must be some kind of athlete, based on his build. God, he looked near indestructible- even the small of his waist promising a reckoning. You bit your lip- mind wondering if the other parts of him held a similar weight.

He turned towards you, bare to his boxers, stepping over the bunches of clothing that rested on his feet.

There it was again- that lopsided smile. It was harsher now, the ends of it pulled tight into his cheeks, plump in red desire. The base of it wet and swollen- your doing. A surge of pride fuzzed at the base of your hips.

He crawled towards you, arms coming to rest by your shoulders, eyes curiously roaming you figure- still dressed. You swallowed.

You were no virgin- but men always moved fast. Hands shoving up your dress, clothes still on as you fucked half-minded and antsy. Their breath always reeked of alcohol or something stronger- forcing you from the sheets in the early morning before the light found your face.

You weren’t used to leisure- it felt near painful. Watching him see you- lacking a hostility and haste found in most sex. It was graceful without calculation- living in the way he kissed you (evidence enough in your bloated lips) and in the aphrodisia that fanned from the base of his nose.

It was all sobering- and you were still trying to figure out if you liked it.

“Do you like this dress?”

His question grounded you, and you glanced down before nodding slowly. “It’s my favorite.”

He grinned, pulling you forward by the small of your back as his hand found the zipper, eyes still searching yours. “I’ll be gentle with it, then.”

He slipped the zipper down and you shivered- unsure if it was the surge of cool air that assaulted the dip in your spine, or the way his fingers traced the curve of it.

He had that effect on you- it was maddening. To be unsure was unfamiliar. Night after club after party, expectations were met. Sloppy intimacy, driven by the liquor, hot on your tongues as you navigate the unlikelihood of orgasm.

It was the way he looked at you. Stealing (almost preserving, a romantic thought), eating precious time, knowing exactly what he was going to do and how aroused you’d be. He had the upper hand, held the cards, whatever analogy made it easier to swallow.

Your dress was off now, and he sat back on his heels, hands coming to hold the dip in your waist. His thumbs pressing into the supple of your skin, the pad of his print searing into the tender parts of you. Again, domesticity, falling somewhere between appreciated and perturbed.

“You’re beautiful.”

You laughed weakly, unwilling to admit his words tied knots in your stomach, “Then why aren’t you kissing me?”

He laughed (Martini- salt rim. Softer now, warm rum, firewood), coming off his heels before hovering inches above the plunge of your abdomen, leaning on his right forearm as he came face to face with you. “Impatient?”

“No,” you corrected, voice hoarse, “I’m just not used to men being this slow…”

His eyebrows rose, arch carving surprise masked by amusement, before his mouth came to kiss the space between your jaw and your ear, sensitive pulse thrumming humiliatingly fast under his palate.

“Slow? What’s wrong with slow, sweetheart?”

You closed your eyes, resisting the urge to moan as he made his way down your neck, kisses slowly becoming more intense, leaving bubbles of red and pink in their wake. A hand came to brace the base of your neck, holding you still as you tried to keep a semblance of sanity. “W-Well you…it takes you longer to…get to the point.”

He hummed, lips tugging into a smirk on the slump of your collar bone. His hand slipped down from your neck, palming your back as he unclasped your bra. The motion was done delicately, fingers fluttering over the gap in the center of your posture.

How easy it would be, you thought, for him to pull you from the seams.

Unravel the thick knots of arousal that held you together weakly as he cupped your breast with his free hand, navigating the sensitive flesh with eager teeth and tongue. You let a sigh escape the cavern of your lungs- relief. You felt his chest rumble over your stomach- laughter.

“You seem to be enjoying the slow approach.”

Your jaw clicked, your head lifting up- face chastising. He smiled, sitting between your breasts with a proud smile. You glared at him- secretly amused with his antics, “If I knew you were going to be this slow, I would have-hhhuu…”

You were quickly silenced as his tongue padded against your nipple, teeth grazing before moving down your stomach. You let yourself lean back into the pillows, soft fabric cool against your burning muscle. Maybe slow wasn’t…terrible.

His lips drifted until he met the base of your pelvis, a single hand coming to play with the band of your thong, the other sitting teasingly at the small of your back. You grit your teeth, blowing frustrated breath through your nose.

“Ken.” You said, warning.

“Magic word, sweetheart.”

His cadence was conceited- reeling in his own indecency- facing your wet cunt and deciding to wait. It was beyond you- to be patient. Anticipation wasn’t friendly. But the tug in your gut- the beat between your breaths as you watched him smile at you- wanted you to try.

You rolled your head back, avoiding the gaze that brought it out of you. “Please.”

He smiled, satisfied. He pulled the last remaining fabric aside, revealing your sobbing cunt.

You sucked in through your teeth. Cold air, vicious in degree, nestled in the clandestine cavity between your legs. It only amplified the slick, dripping from vulnerable corners in pleas of sticky respite. It leaked, rather unevenly, to the inside of your thighs, covenant to your impatience.

Despite the display, there wasn’t humiliation- only a rapacious desire as you bucked your hips.

Please.

You felt his nose grind into your mound, his tongue finding the fold of your lips. You gasped, rolling your hips forward. Shit.

Weighted lips on the base of your cunt, you scrambled for your dignity. Out of reach, knocked out of your hands- with each new wave of pleasure sent from the base of your spine to the tip of your head. He hummed against you, the vibration against sensitivity pulling your stomach forward in an arch spelling your surrender.

“Oh s-ssshit. Ohsh’it. Ken-fuck,” You were left damseled under his tongue, exploring the early sponge of your walls, “P-please don’t stop…feels…sogood.”

He tilted his chin, tougher bone now grinding against the polish of your lips, his mouth now entirely centered around your defenseless clit.

White knuckles came to grip his hair, a breathless moan rattling behind your teeth, digging into your bottom lip. Patience paid its due, your libido only expanding from your hips to your gut as he continued his slow assault.

Swallowing every ounce of you that slipped through your own breached barricade, staining his mouth with the stench of yielding. He must smell it- your admission of defeat, you confession that God, patience has taught you. Secretly, you hope he’s enjoying it- maybe even addicted.

“Oh fuck- Ken-“

Strangers- saying his name like a chorus. Repeating it until the syllables are sore and it doesn’t taste as sweet. Until it rots your teeth, palpable when your own name starts to sound unfamiliar. Until the underside of your tongue- soaked in drool, has it etched.

Your legs felt your oncoming orgasm first, the familiar shake in your ankle coming up to tense your calves. You pressed them into his cheeks, before he slotted his digits around the pudge of your thigh and pinned them to the bed with a gruff groan.

Don’t do that. It said.

It started to rise to the bed of your spine, and you moaned his name louder with each reckless kiss he laid against your swollen lips. “Ken…I’m close please….close…close...”

The grooves of his tongue worked harsher against the peaking bud, Go on, he wrote, do it.

Blooming in the filthier parts of you. From its spoiled roots, you can feel your orgasm rising and collapsing within the gardens of your stomach. It grows between the liquid bones of your legs, vines beneath coiled veins. In haphazard gasps, you can feel the coolness of petals slip along your tonsils.

Eventually, the garden withers- beautifully. Leaving you, shaking and bare in its wake. You crumple under the lost weight, whimpering when you feel the heat you had wished to memorized separate from the cleft between your legs.

You held a clarity in the moments after- free of allergens and bothersome thoughts- left in a still state of bliss. Where the body numbs, accepting the blunt of orgasm. Or, the state of complete fragility.

In it, you hardly noticed the way Ken stood, wrapping the plush of his palm against your ankle- until he yanked you forward, now flush against his hips.

He leaned over you, the curve of his back now abandoning the lesson he had seemingly been teaching you- patience. Instead, it held the virtue of a man starved- famished. He took a hand to cup your cheek, wiping the sweat that collected under your lashes.

“Sweetheart- you didn’t think we were done, did you?” To accentuate his point, he rutted his hip against you, and you felt the crest of his cock against your puffy lips, and you moaned, feeling the spindles and buds from the garden unearth themselves again.

His had came to grab your chin, squeezing your cheeks as he continues the torturous clothed rhythm against your beaten pussy. It was so vulgar, contrary to the gentleness that had your legs pressed together minutes ago- that, hilariously and pathetically, they began to spread.

(Patience has its limits, even for its preachers).

You bucked your hips, and he shook his head, grip tightening on your sore cheeks. “Use your words, what do you want?”

“M-mmore.”

Unsatisfied. “Of what?”

“Yyou…’ock in m’pussy…pleaseuh…”

There it was again, the sharpening of a knife. The more in his eyes- the lull of normalcy into something larger than words, feral and unkept. You knew he was famous in that moment- no man of the regular vitality would have so much to keep hidden behind the iris of his eyes.

He tore the band of his boxers down to his thighs, his cock flattening on your belly and you hissed, its pulse feverish against you. As he leaned his hips back, he took it in his hand, the other still holding your chin (albeit, tamer), pressing the tip against your weeping lips, still stingy from your orgasm.

You let out a strained gasp. “Fuck, Ken- j-just please fuck me al-“

The sound of him bottoming out was borderline obscene, his length slowly plunging into the stiff dough of your walls, his shuddering breath devolving into a husky moan. Your back arched into him, as if your body was trying to fill you up more than he already did.

Your cunt acted as your hands- feeling around the thick basin of his cock, memorizing the fat vein that slithered up the right side- the shroomed tip hitting your cervix. Just how full you felt then.

As he fell into a slow rhythm, you felt as though he was forcing you to rememorize every patch of flesh and ecstasy in your own cunt. Refamiliarize yourself with your walls as he battered them, the sound of your own body as it’s severed in two- it was all so crude.

His hips rolled into your own, heavy grunts peeling from the roof of his mouth. Empty mumblings and moans thrummed from your lips- nonsensical aloud- but it all felt right with him bruising your insides.

“Hah- this is what you wanted right? To be fucked? You feel good sweetheart?”

His voice was tilted, the grasp of your cunt slurring the modest inflections, defaulting his words to a shameless, pussy drunk husk. He knead the base of his palm against the cushy flesh around your pelvis and you nearly screamed- hand pressing his own cock deeper into you.

“Yes, please please don’t stop- feel so gooodd…so full…”

His pace seemed to push the honesty from your gut to your throat, coming out in spurs of confessionals. Tears pooled at the lining of your eyes, snot dribbling in an immodest drop over the crest of your lips.

Ken took his hand off your chin and swiped a thumb over the veil of sweat and tears from your cheek. “Look at you- such a mess. Such. A. Fucking. Mess.”

He punctuated each word with a particularly harsh thrust, and you could barely hear him speak over your own babbling. Your eyes struggled to see anything of detail, mind foggy in its own relish.

“Ken…Cu…cumm..uh..uh..”

He slowed his pace and you whined in protest, before he grabbed your hips, thumbs digging into the bluntness of your bone. “Not yet.”

Your mind was too murky to collect the next several seconds of movement, but suddenly you were on your face, shoulders hunched over your cheeks, your ass arched in a flattering angle. And before you could process any change at all, he pressed his cock deeper than you’ve felt it.

He must have been deaf to your moans at this point, you gripped the sheets in front of you- the white fabric memorizing the timbre and pitch of your voice as you screamed his name and other useless curses.

The sound of his hips connecting with the pudge of your ass was near sickening, and he bent down, holding your hands in one fist to splay in front of you. He leaned by your ear, his free hand digging a plum grip on your hips.

“Come’n, Sweetheart. Cum for me…you can….hah….do it.”

You did.

The garden was gone. Scorched by something so fiery hot you could barely see. It burned the tendons and muscles beneath your pulsing skin, renewing the flowers for stars. Spots in your vision- comets eroded into something rougher (beautiful, still), the constellations spilling from your drool as you muttered something incoherent and unimportant into the mattress.

He rode you out through your high, whispering your name, capitalized by curses and mutters.

“Hah…shit- fuck oh god I'm cu-uhmm..”

He slipped out, an unflattering sputter echoing somewhere behind you as you felt him drip out on the gaps of your back.

Your ass fell limp to the side, legs crumpling under the weight of your own pleasure- searing. It wasn’t a broken feeling however, being split in two. Your cells buzzed with a ferocity you had been unfamiliar with until now, euphoric, frayed ends playing at the fringes of your mussed hair, the corners of your mouth- lifted.

You shuddered. You weren’t sure what to feel- if anything. Exhaustion and arousal leaked from the intimate parts of you- but anywhere else it was a mystery.

It wasn’t until you felt a warm hand cradling your face that you registered what it could-should be.

Comfort.

“You alive?”

You snorted, sinking into the grooves of his palm. “It wasn’t good enough to kill me.”

Ken raised a brow, body curled next to yours in a position that felt, yet again, domestic. “Oh yeah? I recall you screaming my name loud enough that the neighbors might think I d-“

You placed a hand over his mouth, gentle enough that he could pull it away if he wanted too. You let out a quiet sigh, snuggling closer and laying your head on his arm.

“Shh. Don’t ruin anything by talking. You’re right- whatever…” you yawned, peaking one eye open, a butter smile creasing the base of your cheeks, “you feel lucky yet?”

His hand came to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear- a movement familiar enough you’re beginning to think he had a habit of it. He smiles at you, drowse pulling at the edges of his eyes.

“Yeah. I do."

#oneshot #ultraman rising #fanfic #ken sato x reader #ken sato #ken sato smut #ken sato x you #x reader #fanfiction #f!reader #kenji sato #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato x you

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yan-lorkai · 5 months ago

Note

Hello! :) I just really love all of your works for Hellsing and an idea popped into my mind. Could you write an Alucard x darling!Reader where Integra sends them on a mission to Brazil in disguise as a newlyweds on their honeymoon? I'm just sooo obsessed with his Riocard look, I thought it would be so fun to imagine! <3

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: To be honest I get you anon. He is so handsome in his RioCard form, with his little glass full of blood and wearing that suit 🤭💕💕. @marieisaghost

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, reader is unsettled by Alucard but both of them keep flirting with one another lol, mention of killing, gn!reader

"Lulu, you travel a lot, don't you?" You turn your face to stare at him, gorgeous smile already on his lips as soon as that little nickname left you. "What is it like in Brazil? How are the people?"

He thought about. Ancient as he was, Alucard was present to see or hear about all major events from humanity. And later on, to visit those same countries, as you two are doing now - hunting for a potentially dangerous vampire who climbed the stairs to the success, he was so important now, so powerful but Integra had her way of getting you and Alucard into one of his big parties.

After a few seconds pondering, Alucard glanced at his glass full of blood, long, dark hair hiding his eyes from you as he chuckled.

"The air smells like golden hour and the birds sing so loud, as if they wish for you to sing among them. The Brazilians are like fairies, if you will, as they can't lie but contour whatever promise they made with polite words and jokes. And the common folk are very affectionate." He sipped from his glass, little trinket of blood running down his lower lip before he could lick it. You laughed at that. "And their words sounds like a gentle song, so familiar yet so distante you can't quite remember where you have heard it."

The gentle hum of the plane's engines filled the cabin, the dim lighting casting soft shadows against the sleek leather seats. You sat beside Alucard, watching the clouds drift by through the small window. A moment goes by before you answer him.

"Quiet poetical, don't you think?" You mused, imagining the country based on his description. "Well, I'm looking forward to see it. We will be able to sightsee after the mission is done, right?"

Alucard turned his head slowly, he was still sipping from his glass, sometimes just shaking it to see the red liquid sway gently. His crimson eyes glimmered with amusement, lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. He always found your mortal, innocent optimism endearing — if not a bit naive. But he never discouraged it outright. No, he enjoyed watching you dangle the idea of freedom, without realizing he was the one holding the string.

He was the one who chose you for this role. So beautiful and all his, pretending to be his cute little spouse.

“Sightseeing?” Alucard repeated, his voice low, filled with the silky cadence you knew too well. He leaned back further into his seat, fingers steepled together as if considering your words. “That all depends. If the mission goes well and... if you behave, darling.”

You shifted uncomfortably, pretending to be preoccupied with the view outside. Sometimes Alucard took his jokes too far, the line between truth and joke unclear.

“Well, I just thought… if we’re pretending to be newlyweds, we might as well enjoy the facade a little more!” You explained your point of view, trying to sound casual. “A little sightseeing wouldn’t hurt. Husband.”

Alucard’s chuckle was soft but dark, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a beautiful sound yet terrifying in other circumstances. “Oh, you’ve been enjoying this facade more than you admit, darling” He teased, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “Playing the role of my beloved spouse… It suits you.”

His words were laced with a possessiveness that you couldn’t ignore. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as you tried to maintain composure under his piercing gaze. Alucard thrived on your uncertainty — on the way you balanced between curiosity and frustration in equal measures. He loved seeing you struggle. You knew that. He was an asshole like that sometimes.

“Maybe,” You replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper and your face heating up. Ultimately it was better to let him have this little win or he'll pout and throw a tantrum the entire time. “But it’s hard to keep up the act sometimes, you’re very convincing. I fear I won't be as convincing as you are.”

Alucard’s smile widened, a dark, predatory gleam flickering in his eyes. He leaned toward you, his cold fingers brushing against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with a delicate yet possessive touch. He seemed like he wanted to say something, a secret passing through his eyes, black long hair hiding his face like a curtain, and then he pulled back.

“Rest now, my love,” Alucard said, his voice softer as he reclined back in his seat but the command was clear. "We still have a few hours until we get there. And perhaps, I’ll indulge you with that sightseeing you’re so fond. There's so very interesting places that are open at night.”

You rolled your eyes. "Aye aye captain."

Yoou reached out, your hand sliding around his arm and tugging him toward you. His eyes widened slightly, not in surprise but in curiosity. You didn’t say a word, there was no need. All that mattered was the closeness, the warmth, even if it came from the cold embrace of a vampire. Without a word, you rested your head against his arm, and he allowed you to whatever you wanted, his lips curling into a soft smirk as he watched you for a few seconds.

/⁠～⁠♡

The private plane had landed hours ago, and the sun now hung low on the horizon, casting the hotel room in a warm, golden glow. You stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the fabric of your outfit, a carefully chosen disguise for the next phase of the mission. The luxurious suite you were in felt almost too extravagant, too different from what you were used but trying to argument with Alucard was near impossível. And he wanted to stay at the most expensive place just for the sake of it.

Greedy vampire, you thought, he wouldn't even be able to sleep. After all, he's used to sleep at morning and you, as a Hellsing soldier, is more than used to sleep in whatever you can lie on during night. Extravagance was not your style.

Behind you, Alucard moved with quiet grace, his eyes fixed on you in the mirror. He had already shed his coat, his shirt untucked slightly, looking every bit the devilish rogue he was. He stepped closer, slipping a gloved hand around your waist, guiding you as you fumbled with the buttons on your collar.

"Let me," He asked, his voice low and smooth, as he brushed your hands away and began fastening the buttons for you. His fingers worked skillfully, but his touch lingered a bit too long. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips.

"You know, I can dress myself," You teased him, raising an eyebrow at him through the mirror.

"Of course you can," Alucard replied with a smirk, not missing a beat. "But why would I miss the chance to enjoy this view?" His hands slid up to adjust the collar, his eyes flickering with amusement.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

Alucard chuckled softly, his breath warm against your neck as he leaned in just a bit closer. "I’m many things, love. Impossible is only one of them." He finished with the last button, his hands lingering on your shoulders, fingers tracing the fabric as though he couldn’t help but touch you. You turned slightly to face him, a playful glint in your eyes.

"So husband, what's the plan?" You teased him, emphasizing the word, adjusting your sleeves as he watched you with that ever-present intensity. "Or you're just want to take care of everything alone while I stay helpless by your side, like a damsel?."

Alucard raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. "Playing the damsel role certainly is fun but not safe. Besides it's counterproductive. I'II catch our target while you search his office for those documents."

You nodded, trying to think of ways to enter the target's office, but the warmth in Alucard's eyes made it impossible. His thumb traced small circles against your waist, and though you hated to admit it, his presence was comforting in moments like these, when the mission loomed large and the stakes were high. He knew how you soothe your worries and fears with just a few gestures.

"Focus, Alucard," You said, but your voice lacked any real conviction.

"I am focused," He replied smoothly, his lips dangerously close to yours. "Just… not on the mission right now."

You felt your heartbeat quicken, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him just a little, your fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt. "You’re incorrigible."

His eyes gleamed as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a low, teasing purr. "And you love it."

You laughed softly, shaking your head again as you turned back toward the mirror. "You’re lucky you’re helping with this mission. Otherwise, I’d leave you to flirt with yourself.

Alucard chuckled, stepping back slightly, though his hand never left your waist. "Oh, I can flirt with myself just fine. But it’s much more fun with you."

You met his gaze in the mirror, your reflection showing the playful tension between you two. Despite everything, the danger, the complexity of your relationship, moments like this felt oddly natural. Easy, even.

"Fine," you said, adjusting the last piece of your outfit and putting your weapons in their proper places. "After this mission and you taking me to sightsee, you should really take me on a date, Alucard. I wouldn't say no."

Alucard’s smirk softened into a more genuine smile as he pressed a kiss to your temple, his hand squeezing your waist lightly. "Whatever you want, darling. But until then…" His eyes sparkled mischievously. "We make quite the team, don’t we?"

You couldn’t argue with that. Despite the chaos, despite the danger, there was something undeniably magnetic about being at his side. Even if he drove you crazy half the time and acted strange sometimes.

"Yeah," You said with a sigh, a smile tugging at your lips. "We do."

The night air was crisp as you stepped out of the grand hotel, the city’s lights reflecting off the polished black limousine waiting at the curb. The distant hum of life in the city created a soft backdrop of noise, but here, in front of the sleek vehicle, everything felt quieter, more intimate. Alucard, as always, had his hand lightly resting on your lower back as he guided you toward the car.

“After you, love,” He said smoothly, his voice laced with amusement as he opened the door for you. His crimson eyes gleamed under the streetlights, and even in the dim evening, he looked effortlessly sharp in his tailored suit, dark and dangerously handsome.

You gave him a playful smirk before slipping into the limousine’s spacious interior. The leather seats were cool against your skin as you settled in, and a faint, luxurious scent lingered in the air. Alucard followed, closing the door behind him as he took the seat beside you.

As the driver began pulling away from the curb, the city lights blurred past the tinted windows, creating a dreamlike atmosphere. Alucard stretched his arm along the back of the seat, his fingers lightly brushing against your shoulder in a way that felt casual yet intentional.

“Excited?” hHe asked, his voice low and teasing as his eyes flickered to yours. “Or is it nerves I sense?”

You glanced at him, rolling your eyes slightly. “Excited isn’t the word I’d use. This is a mission, remember? Focus, Alucard.”

He chuckled, his hand sliding down to lightly squeeze your shoulder. “I’m always focused. It’s you who seems to be on edge, dragul meu.” His voice was a playful murmur, but there was that undercurrent of seriousness you knew all too well. He thrived in these high-stakes situations, while you, well, you preferred a little less danger and a little more simplicity.

You preferred a better plan, you preferred having more allies. Yet, you had to make it do with just Alucard by your side. Either way, you knew he wouldn't let you hurt yourself.

“I’m not on edge,” You retorted lightly, turning to face him fully. “I’m just thinking about the plan. We’re supposed to be subtle, blend in, gather intel. You remember the whole ‘don’t draw attention to ourselves’ part, right?”

Alucard’s lips curled into that familiar, devilish smirk. “Subtlety isn’t always the most fun, but I suppose I can behave for one night.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Of course, if things get boring, I might have to… stir the pot a little.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I prefer the term ‘charming,’” He corrected you, eyes gleaming mischievously.

The limousine cruised through the city, the lights outside glowing brighter as you approached the heart of the bustling nightlife. The party you were heading to was in one of the city’s most elite venues — a towering glass building that loomed in the distance, sparkling against the night sky. The event was exclusive, crawling with high-society types, all hiding secrets beneath their polished exteriors. You and Alucard were here to uncover one of those secrets.

As the limousine neared the grand entrance, you adjusted your clothes, making sure everything was in place. Alucard watched you with an almost predatory gleam in his eyes, though there was a softness in the way his gaze lingered.

“You look stunning,” He murmured, his voice softer now, devoid of the usual teasing edge. “They won’t know what hit them.”

You met his eyes, feeling a flutter in your chest despite yourself. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smirked, leaning in just a bit closer. “Just ‘not so bad?’ I think I deserve more credit than that.”

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Let’s just get through this without any chaos, alright? Then I’ll give you all the credit you want.”

The limousine came to a smooth stop in front of the towering venue, the driver stepping out to open the door for you both. Alucard was out first, offering his hand to help you out, his grip firm but gentle. As you stepped out onto the red carpet, the flashes of cameras and the murmurs of the crowd were already starting.

He pulled you close, his arm slipping around your waist as you both made your way toward the entrance. You could feel the weight of his presence beside you, commanding and magnetic.

“We’ll be the perfect couple tonight,” Alucard whispered into your ear as you ascended the stairs, his breath warm against your skin. “Just follow my lead.”

You glanced up at him, your lips curving into a small smile. “I’m used to that by now.”

With that, you both stepped through the grand doors into the glittering party, where the real game was about to begin.

#alucard x you #hellsing ultimate alucard #hellsing alucard x reader #alucard x reader #yandere alucard #alucard #yandere alucard x y/n #yandere alucard x you #yandere alucard x reader #alucard x y/n #soft yandere #male yadere #lorkai drabble

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 5 months ago

Note

can you write azriel x rhys sister and how rhys finds about them being mates because he thinks azriel just plays with her because he told him to stay away from elain?

Choose you

Azriel was lost. Lost and confused and everyone with two eyes could see it. Whether the loop of pain was voluntarily chosen by him being stuck in a self-sabotage mode or the constant pain of others letting him down, it didn’t matter. Rhys didn’t find him stable enough to hold a proper relationship. Didn’t find him mindful enough to know that his actions affected others. So to say that he didn’t approve of whatever that Azriel saw in you would have been an understatement.

“Let’s get one thing clear”, Rhys stated, holding eye contact with Azriel, “If you make YN your bounce back, I will kill you with my own two hands”. Because he had seen it. Had seen Azriel’s eyes dancing on you ever since you came back from your tutoring in Spring. “I don’t know what you are talking about”, Azriel brushed it off, shrugging. “I hope that you don’t”, Rhys shook his head, piercing Azriel with his eyes.

Truth was Azriel had spent every night since your return with you. You were the sweetest thing that had happened to him. Had happened a long time ago, his view about you had shifted. Cause for a while he had dismissed your admiration for him as a childish crush. You were younger. A handful of years younger, following Azriel all through his teenage years. Like his little shadow, you were. But it was inappropriate back then. Was it any different now?

It was, Azriel told himself as he walked back towards your room. It was, because now he was following the faintest golden path towards you. No matter where he was he saw the thread flickering, leading him back to you, back home. Azriel hadn’t told anyone. You hadn’t yet figured it out. He wasn’t gonna rush you. Cause for all he knows maybe he had lost it after all. After Elain. After all of them. Leaving him heartless. Empty.

You reminded him of a kitten now. Curious for him but skittish to the touch. You had seen him tumbling into bed with Elain, had seen the desperate downfall. Cautious. He knocked on your door. One that opened almost immediately. Your big purple eyes looking up at him. “Hey”, Azriel mused, “Hi”, you muttered, leaning against the side of the door. And then you step aside and with a glance over his shoulder, Azriel slipped inside.

“Tell me again”, you muttered, gazing up at him. “Why are you so interested in it?”, Azriel mused, leaning in to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes. He had been lying in your bed, telling you about the past missions he had. What he was tasked with. How it all played out. And you drank it all in. To the point where without even being asked he has drifted to talking about how it had made him feel. What thoughts had been swirling through his head. “Because it tells me about you”, you shrugged, sitting up and breaking eye contact with him. “That I am a killer? A machine made to destroy?”, he let out a huff, throwing his head back.

“Do you see yourself like that?”, you asked softly, brushing your fingers over his chest. Feeling the heartbeat increase beneath your palm. He stayed silent for a moment, “I guess”, he added with a frown. “I think you are wrong”, you mused, leaning into Law on his chest, and glancing down at him. “You’re just lost and lived with your demons for too long. For too long without others noticing”, you added, watching how his eyes gleamed.

Azriel had merely opened his mouth when the door flew open. “Don’t know my ass”, Rhys hissed, his darkness pooling around his hands, “You take me for an idiot?” You looked among the two males panicked, “Rhys”, you muttered, “It’s not what it looks like”. You pleaded scrambling to crawl in front of Azriel to shield him from your brother’s wrath. “I think it’s exactly what it looks like”, Rhys mused bitterly.

“She’s mine regardless”, Azriel said so casually that it made your head wipe to him so face you saw stars. “I’m not yours”, you huffed, “Don’t put more fuel to the fire”, hissing you turned to him. “Open your eyes, Rhys, don’t you see it”, Azriel shook his head. Rhys’s nostrils flared as he narrowed his eyes, “No”, he huffed, “Absolutely not happening”, he reached for you dragging you away from Azriel. Azriel whose wings instantly flared at the sight of the tight grip of your upper arm. “What…”, you whispered, looking between them.

“What will you do? Change destiny? Play god again?”, Azriel growled. “Get her far away from you”, Rhys snarled, pushing you towards the door but you held your ground. “So turn to Temlin, fitting”, Azriel snorted. “What are you two on about”, you grunted, pulling your hand out of your brother’s grasp. “I’m your mate”, Azriel stated, “I didn’t say anything because I wanted you to find it yourself”.

Your body froze as your eyes fixed on his face. “My…”, you muttered. “Bullshit”, Rhys huffed. “Shut up”, you snapped back at him, “Just… go and… just go”, you turned to Rhys, pleading for him to just let you deal with it on your own. “He’s a man whore, you watched him sleep around for decades Yn”, Rhys huffed. “Who are you to judge”, your voice was low but audible enough for both of the males. Rhys nodded slowly, “When he kicks you to the curb, don’t come running to me”.

#azriel acotar imagine #azriel x you #azriel x oc #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #acotar azriel #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar fanfiction

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saphronethaleph · 6 months ago

Text

Sith Succession Planning

“Master,” Darth Vader began. “I am curious.”

“...troubling, but go on,” Palpatine replied.

“What would happen if you died?” Vader said.

Palatine considered his answer.

“Why do you want to know?” he replied.

“I am curious,” Vader responded. “We covered this.”

“Well,” Palpatine said. “In order to prevent anyone from my family assassinating me, the legal results are meant to be an enormous snarl. Familicide is the main cause of death among Palpatines, statistically speaking, over the last hundred years.”

“I mean more in terms of what happens both to the galaxy, and also… physically,” Vader explained. “I was going to see if it happened through old age, but as far as I can tell you have only aged once since I met you and that was all in a single burst.”

“You were going to see if I would die from old age?” Palpatine asked.

Vader shrugged. “I did not see a way to prevent it,” he replied.

“Well, for your information, I intend to simply not die,” the Dark Lord of the Sith told Vader evenly. “I am simply built different.”

Vader looked his master up and down.

“You are not,” he said. “You are not built at all. I am built different, because over fifty percent of my body weight is cybernetics of non-standard design.”

“It is a figure of speech, Vader,” Palpatine told him. “It is popular with the ‘youth’ of today.”

He looked momentarily thoughtful. “Or, at least, so I am told. My advisor Jade told me.”

“I see,” Vader said, who didn’t. “Though I am fairly sure it is possible for Sith to die. I caused it to happen, after all.”

“Oh, Tyrannus wasn’t a proper Sith,” Palpatine muttered, dismissively.

“...he could do Force Lightning,” Vader objected. “I cannot do Force Lightning.”

“Then maybe you are not a proper Sith either,” Palpatine said, then shrugged. “But the fact that he died while still the Apprentice showed that he did not have what it takes to succeed as a Sith.”

Vader tilted his helmet slightly, and Palpatine waved his hand.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said.

“I can think about it if I want,” Vader replied, a bit testily. “But, as I say, I am curious. What would happen?”

“To the galaxy…” Palpatine mused, considering it as a thought experiment. “Well, I suppose that depends on the exact details, but I suppose Amedda would try to seize power. He’s pathetic, though. And I suppose you might try to command the military, but you’re no good at politics, so you would have to rule through fear.”

“I am good at fear,” Vader said.

“True,” Palpatine admitted. “But it’s academic, anyway. I have a plan in place that would result in the galaxy being burned to the ground if ever I die. And I have another plan to clone me so I can possess my own clone and return to life.”

Vader coughed, which was quite a feat for him.

“What?” Palpatine asked. “What is it now?”

“You don’t think you might want to pick just one of those, Master?” he asked. “Unless you want to return to life in a clone body in a galaxy that has just been burned to the ground?”

Palpatine shrugged.

“I don’t intend to test either of them,” he said. “Like I said. I would simply choose to not die.”

“I really don’t think that’s an option,” Vader replied, thoughtfully. “If it was, I think everyone would do it.”

“Built different,” Palpatine reiterated. “Keep up, Vader.”

“Then what about physically?” Vader went on. “If Dooku wasn’t a proper Sith, that is. All that happened with him is that his head came off.”

“Well,” Palpatine began. “I do have an absolutely enormous amount of Dark Side energy suffusing most of my bodily parts, to keep me in good shape as otherwise I would have suffered total organ failure.”

“Total organ failure… from what?” Vader said.

“The Dark Side energy suffusing most of my body parts,” Palpatine answered. “It also renders me immune to poison… hmm… what would happen if I died… well, I suspect that all that Dark Side energy would explode outwards, conveniently also killing whoever it was who had managed to kill me.”

He looked thoughtful. “Now there’s an idea. Perhaps if I do it properly, I can skip the clone phase and just possess whoever it is who killed me. It would be nice to be in a younger body.”

Vader raised one of his hands.

“What about if Yoda had killed you?” he asked.

“Academic,” Palpatine pointed out. “Since I chose not to die. Really, this conversation would be a lot shorter if you’d just accepted that answer at the beginning… it’s youth language again, but if I understand what Jade was saying right the simple way to put it is that I identify as immortal and you should respect that.”

Vader nodded slightly.

“...you said clones,” he pointed out. “Do those clones exist already? Or are they going to be started later?”

“Why does that matter, Vader?” Palpatine asked. “Do not think you can destroy my contingency plans. They are far out of your reach.”

“I’m more wondering something else,” Vader defended himself. “About your clones. Do they come out as old as you?”

Palpatine blinked.

“What?” he asked.

“Or do they come out young?” Vader went on. “Because thinking about you as a fifteen year old is giving me the heebie jeebies, but imagining a one hundred and thirty seven year old fresh grown clone is a bit weird as well.”

“You never talk like this around anyone else,” Palpatine said.

“I have an image to maintain,” Vader replied. “Fear. And so on.”

Palpatine had been processing something else.

“A hundred and thirty seven?” he asked. “Vader! I am eighty three.”

“Really?” Vader asked, sounding honestly surprised.

He paused.

“...you look good for it. You know. Considering.”

“But to answer your question,” Palpatine went on. “Of course they come out the same age! What would be the point of coming back looking completely different?”

“Couldn’t you just be in a younger body now?” Vader asked. “By cloning yourself a younger body, and possessing that? I’m just wondering why you wouldn’t take that option.”

Palpatine considered the question.

“Spite,” he said, eventually.

“...is that the only answer?” Vader said, after several seconds of silence.

“Yes, pretty much,” Palpatine confirmed.

#star wars #palpatine #darth vader #darth sidious

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

Called to Duty 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, abandonment, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Summary: You struggle to move on from the biggest mistake of your life but find it hard to forget among the whispers of a small town.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Another shift. Another new ache. It's not just your feet or hips anymore. There's a tugging in the back of your neck that tweaks each time you turn tour head a bit to far left.

You lean on the counter. You don't care about Daye's warnings. She can stand on the hard floor while pregnant and see how she feels after a single hour. They haven't even bothered to get a standing mat.

A few customers pass through. The usual stunted small talk passes between you, the intentional avoidance of the obvious. They'll stare at your stomach but they surely won't mention it.

Funny, you saw a bunch of old ladies fawning over Molly, swollen with her fifth? Maybe sixth? You don't know how she keeps track. It stings a little to see them treat her like some saint while you've been tainted by the very same condition.

You sigh and try not to think of it as you sort the novelty keychains by colour. They'll be messed up again by your next shift but it keeps your mind busy. Lately, you found your thoughts run off into the void never to be seen again. It's frustrating but a little bit scary too.

A box lands on the counter and slides toward you as it's tossed carelessly beside the till. You grab it before it can slip over the edge and nearly recoil as you recognise the brand. You set the large box of condoms straight as a rolling chuckle greets you from the other side.

You look up as Thor smirks and reaches into his back pocket, "having a party."

You stare at him then scan the box. You don't say a word as your face sears. He takes out his wallet and searches lazily.

"Wouldn't want any mistakes," he taunts as he looks through the slots. "Hm, credit."

You hit the button and gesture bluntly to the machine. He taps without a second thought. You're riled by the sight of him so easily spending his money. Money he should be using for the child in your belly. The fact that he gets to keep living his life without a single consequence has you almost shaking.

You tear off his receipt and nearly slam it on the box, shoving it towards him. The door rings with the arrival of another customer. You don't greet them as you're trapped in a tunnel. Your rage is centered on that big blond doofus.

"Ah," he leans over and puts his elbows on the counter, a smug curve in his lips, "jealous, are we?"

You don't acknowledge his taunt as you go back to pick at the keyrings.

"Well, I've never fucked a pregnant woman," he muses, "wouldn't need these, would we?" He chortles as he taps the box with his knuckle, "how about one last go? For old times' sake. You get a break--"

"Disgusting," a growl undercuts Thor's gross proposition.

You flinch and look up. Sy stands with his arms crossed over his burly chest as he scoffs. Thor tilts his head and pushes himself straight. He face the other man with a cluck.

"There you are, buddy," Thor booms, "I heard you've been sniffing around my leftovers."

"Don't call her that," Sy sneers. "What're you doin' bugging her?"

"I should ask you the same," Thor postures at the other man, a good few inches taller yet it hardly seems to matter. "You like sloppy seconds? Guess you're used to taking whatever you can get after all those field rations, huh?"

"Don't," Sy grits as tension ripple in the air.

Their voice carry through the sleep pharmacy and you notice how the white coats behind the far counter shift to see. Oh no.

"Hey, guys, it's fine, let's not--"

"Don't what?" Thor pokes Sy's shoulder. The other man drops his arms straight and balls his fists. "She's a slut. Look at her. She begged me to fill her up--"

"I'm warning you," Sy snarls.

"Look, I don't even know if it was me who did that. The way she was dancing up on everyone," Thor snickers, "you don't really think it's an immaculate conception or something."

"I'm telling ya to leave and to leave her alone," Sy steps closer, undetered by the difference in height. He's just as thick, if not a little thicker, than his foe.

Thor looks at you over his shoulder and makes a face, "you really fucking this mad dog--"

Sy tackles Thor before he can finish his sentence. The wraps his arms around him as he charges and they hit the counter with a startling slam. You cry out and back up, the keychains scattering at the force of their impact.

Thor and Sy latch onto each other and roll against the counter, shifting the till as the condoms teeter on the edge. Mints rain down onto the tile as they grunt and grapple.

Thor pushes off and holds Sy at arm's length. The latter hurls a fist into the former's cheek and gets one on the jaw in return. They dodge and punch, latching back into each other as they collide with the rack of greeting cards.

"Enough!" Daye shrieks as she runs up the center aisle, "I've called the police so you both better stop!"

The men ignore her as you watch in horror. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You come around the counter, shaking as you approach the men feuding like vicious cats. You dodge away as you're nearly bowled over in their chaos and hold your stomach. Daye continues to yowl helplessly.

"Sy, Sy, please, stop! Thor! Sy! Syverson!" You holler, "Saul!"

His birth name catches him off guard and he stops. Thor lands a crunch blow in his nose but is quickly warded off with a forearm. Syverson keeps him at bay as he covers his nose and snorts.

"Hey!" Daye bats them with a broom, "enough! Enough!"

Thor detaches, shoving the other man one last time, and spits blood towards your feet.

"You two," she huffs as he pulls the hanging tie from his hair, "deserve each other. Couple of fucking strays."

He grabs the broom from day and flings it, stomping over the mess and out the door as he mutters about his family. You frown and look down at the trampled cards and mints. Daye sniffs and shakes her head as she frames her hips.

"I think it goes without me saying," she snips, "you're fired and sir," she turns to Sy, "you better leave before the sheriff gets here. Oh, and don't come back.”

You look up from the ruin at Sy and he gives a fluttery blink, “I’m sorry--”

“Go, please,” you croak as you move your hand to your lower back.

“I didn’t--”

“Go,” you snap and turn your attention to your manager, “Daye, please, I didn’t do this.”

“She’s telling the truth, was all me,” Sy backs up.

“I’m not hearing it. None of it,” Daye spits, “you’ve been nothing but trouble since you got here. And you, sir, should be ashamed.” She spins and marches off, “if you don’t clean that up before you go, I will have the sheriff charge you with destruction of property.”

#captain syverson #dark captain syverson #dark!captain syverson #thor #captain syverson x reader #series #drabble #au #backwoods #called to duty #sand castle

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thisisallthehattersfault · 2 months ago

Text

Some Whitebeard Pirate Excerpts

"But," Rakuyo whimpers. He sounds so very small. "But I'm your son."

Whitebeard's face remains cold. "I have so many sons."

"Oh shit," Marco chokes. "Rakuyo, run!"

The call is picked up and echoed, his siblings crying out for him. He hears the cooler heads among them holding the others back from rushing to their own deaths trying to save him. "It's too late for him!" They shout. "There's nothing we can do, he's a goner!"

Not without a fight. He scrambles at the ground on all fours, animal-afraid, and tries to force enough speed into his fragile, mortal limbs to escape what's coming. He barely makes it two feet before Whitebeard's shadow falls over him like a physical thing, oppressive and heavy. Stifling all the air in his lungs.

Someone screams "Pops, you'll kill him!"

There is the boom of displaced air. Rakuyo has just enough time to think this isn't how I thought I'd die. Then, all at once, the world goes dark.

Whitebeard's massive fucking pillow is practically the size of Rakuyo's entire body, and it slams over him with a fwump that squishes him flat and knocks the breath out of him and sends a spray of oversized feathers up into the air. Some of Rakuyo's siblings have continued their dramatics, and from under the very soft weight currently crushing him to death and muffling his ears he can hear Haruta wailing "He was so young!" and Thatch's hysterical "He had so much to live for!"

Rakuyo gets a corner of the pillow pried up enough to drag in a breath of fresh air, only to immediately inhale a feather and almost actually die choking on it. The rest of the gathered crew are avenging his gruesome murder, and Whitebeard is now fending off most of his children while they attempt to collectively beat him to death with pillows.

Pops, the bastard, just laughs.

It's Blamenco who comes to actually help pry the goddamn pillow off of Rakuyo so he can escape it's down-filled clutches. "You're the only person in this family who actually loves me," Rakuyo tells him.

“That ain’t true and you know it,” his brother scolds him, but he’s grinning, too. “Look, they’re all killing Pops for you. That’s gotta count for something.”

Rakuyo sighs. “Only if they actually manage it.”

------------------------------------------------

“Wh— Is this therapy?” Ace sputters. “Are you therapizing me right now?!”

From somewhere behind him, Jiru mutters, “That’s not a word.”

Kingdew raises his eyebrows. “Without your consent? I would never. It would be malpractice.”

“You lost your license,” Ace seethes.

“For murder,” Kingdew peacefully informs him. “Not malpractice. I’m very serious about the privacy of my patients.”

Ace grits his teeth until his jaw aches. “You are a lying liar who lies.”

“I am?”

“Yes!” Ace waves a hand vaguely at the two of them, and the table they’re sitting at, and the — the fucking hot chocolate. “You’re… trying to get me to talk about my problems because your whole thing is beating up everybody’s brain goblins for them. You’re like, obsessed with the crew’s mental health. I’m onto your game.”

“My game?”

“You’re like—“ Ace grapples with the words. “You’ve got like, that thing, where you can’t do a lot of physical lifting or chores or fighting sometimes because of the fibro-thing, so you try to make up for it by being everybody’s shrink because it’s something you can do even when you can’t stand up.”

Kingdew nods, thoughtfully, like they’re having a debate and Ace is raising interesting points. “Hm…” he muses. “Now who’s therapizing?”

“It’s still you!” Ace shouts. “You’re doing a — a one of those — reverse psychic things on me! Well it’s not gonna work!”

“It already did,” Kingdew informs him, all innocence. Ace can practically see his fucking halo glinting. “You just told me you think it’s normal for people to feel like they have to earn their right to exist.”

“That’s — I —” Ace gapes, too stunned to even really argue. “You’re an asshole,” He realizes.

“Hmmm,” Kingdew intones. “And how does that make you feel?”

“Oh, fuck you!” Ace jumps up from the table, snatches up the hot chocolate (it’s good hot chocolate, and shouldn’t be ruined by — by shitty therapizing crew mates!) and storms out of the room.

Before he slams the door behind him, he hears Pops’s voice, a deep rumbling sight. “Do you really have to come down that hard on him? You’ll scare him off.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Kingdew sounds way too goddamn pleased with himself. “We’re making great progress.”

#One Piece #Portgas D. Ace #Portgas D Ace #Edward Newgate #Whitebeard #whitebeard one piece #Whitebeard Crew #Whitebeard Pirates #Project Characterize The Whitebeards continues

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cheesus-doodles · 2 months ago

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Going Home: Chapter 5

Yandere Platonic Toman + Time Leaper Darling

Masterlist

‎‎

Going Home: Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

happy thanksgiving! sorry I fell off the earth for a while, died and the immigration queue back from hell took forever, read: took an unexpected hiatus from burnout :'(

Draken stood face to face with Baji, abyss eyes gazing back blankly at the other’s. Panting heavily despite the short distance covered by them both - Draken knew Baji’s shop was just a few streets away from here - their heavy breaths the only sound that echoed down empty residential streets.

A fucking time leaper.

Of all the bloody things in the world.

The thumping of his heart in his ears was hard and furious as Draken turned the information over and over in his head, again and again. It had to be true, what you told his past self. Everything lined up too well for it to not be: your sudden disappearances twelve years ago, your perpetual state of absence from their world, their inability to find even a lick of evidence that you existed somewhere out there save for those old pictures they had pinched from your house. You had simply been lost to the flow of time, drifting in and out of their timeline by some unknown means.

It was a blessing of rain on their gasping earth, this new information, no matter how big of a headache he had getting a blast of memories straight to the brain - you weren’t dead. You hadn’t left this earth, left them. There was still a chance to get you back, to make things right.

Far above his head, the flicker of a streetlight broke the stillness of the thick air, the tick of a clock inside a darkened shop indicating the seconds slipping by with every heaving breath Draken took. It was far too late on a weekday night to be awake in any other circumstance: there was work and school to attend to tomorrow, and the apartments towering above were dark and silent, its residents long asleep. Yet no matter how insignificant their struggles seemed in the face of the world that continued to turn - you were after all just another missing person among thousands of others - here they were, two former delinquents once known and feared for their might gathered like devout cultists. And for any unfortunate soul who might happen to look upon them, Draken mused, they could pass off as some sort of cultist, or madmen even - Baji wasn’t even wearing a shirt for fucks’ sake. The First Division Captain must have been asleep when the memories were cannonballed straight into his head, and had grabbed his apron out of instinct instead of a shirt. He, on the other hand, was at least clad in his working overalls, the wrench he had taken to a customer’s bike ten minutes ago still clutched in hand.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Draken forced himself to focus. There were more urgent questions that needed an answer over him dwelling on the could-bes. Like why now? Why the sudden recollection, an uncontrolled flare of memories that he didn’t previously have? Did something change, perhaps linked to you and your particular situation, that triggered these new memories in not only him but in Baji as well?

His mind instantly jumped back to four nights ago, when Takemichi had muscled his way back into his life unannounced, those flabby lips boldly asking after you and your whereabouts as if he had any right to do so. Sure, he had thought then that the questions being asked were strange and out of place, off-putting even, but now that he had the time to think and turn the meeting over, now more than ever, the former Toman Vice Captain was sure it couldn’t be a mere coincidence. It wasn’t possible.

Could it be that Takemichi knew about the new memories? Scratch that, did that scrawny little bastard know about you and your time leaping? Had the two of you met before without the Toman founders’ knowledge? And who was that other man that had been with Takemichi?

Baji’s train of thoughts, however, seemed to have gone down a slightly different path. “So that means that omamori - it didn’t work?” The pet shop owner’s almost panicked question broke Draken out from his pondering. “Did you lose it?”

Almost instinctively, Draken’s hand went to his neck, though the purple and gold charm hadn’t hung there in years. Where had that gone? Try as he might, his mind was blank, the bike-loving mechanic struggling to even recall the last time he had seen the small embroidered cloth. What happened to the omamori in the past twelve years? Had it been misplaced somewhere along the way? He hadn’t thought about it much, not since you went missing all those years ago. But how could he have just simply forgotten about something as important as that? Something that was so inherently…you? You had always been the one to bear the charm, a symbol of the place you once held at the center of Toman, a symbol of the protection its delinquent founders afforded you.

Either way, wherever the omamori had gone now, he was sure that right before you were lost to time - “I had it,” Draken mumbled. “I’m sure I had it with me when she went missing. The memory, I just got that.”

‎

The former First Division Captain of the Tokyo Manji Gang has had a long day. A long, tiring, annoying day. Running a pet shop while working towards his vet license was far from the easiest thing, and Baji had used up most of his energy between stopping himself from letting his notoriously short temper loose on several irritating customers who didn’t know how close they came to meeting the business end of his fists, and attempting to understand the absolutely convoluted material he needed to learn for one of many classes. So when he had finally tumbled into bed at the end of the day, exhausted and ready for the welcome of sleep, the last thing he expected was to have what felt like an ice pick to his head - a sudden blast of memories and recollections that the man couldn’t control, that he didn’t have before, that ached and burned as they bombarded his mind, settling between existing memories as if they had always been there.

It gave him a serious headache that no amount of ice could get rid off - which sucked a ton, of course - but even through the gnawing throb, it gave him a renewed sense of hope that Baji clung to like a drowning man to a life buoy. You weren’t dead. No, you were very, very much alive, even now while you were still lost to the grasp of time. The main question was why? Why were you still missing? They had it all figured out twelve years ago. Your disappearance was supposed to have been solved.

Baji’s hands moved to grab Draken by the front of his shirt, shaking the other man vigorously. “If you had it, then she shouldn’t be here,” the black-haired man snarled, his fists tightening around the rough material of the overalls. “She wouldn’t have gone missing twelve years ago.”

“There must be more to it then,” the man in the overalls muttered under his breath, one hand coming up to grasp his chin . “Maybe it’s not just the omamori.”

Something beyond the charm?

Yellow eyes scanned the surroundings as he contemplated the recent revelations. The alley where the two of them now stood held many bitter memories, given it was where you had disappeared from the first time, though the large grass patch a stone’s throw away wasn’t any more reassuring. It was where your school once stood, where he recalled picking you up from countless times from the curb, his loud motorbike drawing stares and shudders alike, where the Toman founders once regular gathered to dish out beatings to your schoolmates for their insolence towards you, where your life had revolved around.

The building was long gone, burnt down in an act of arson that the police declined to investigate, with the rumor mills pointed at organized crime - and this man could guess exactly which one. The black-haired former delinquent hesitated, before speaking again. “But what else? Intention?”

Draken brushed his questions off, those abyss eyes focusing. “This isn’t the time to figure this out, Baji. The new memories; it has to be because she time leapt again, which means -”

“She’s here.” Baji’s mind raced with the implications, his entire mind feeling as if it was on fire - once sleepy and exhausted from the day’s work but now running at full speed. That memory of you comforting the Toman founders after your return, telling them that you were a time leaper. You were alive for now, though it would be hard to say how long that would last - if you had truly time leapt and were now here, in their future, then the pet shop owner had yet to see head or toe of you. “The first time she went missing, where could she have gone?”

What was it that made you so reluctant to tell your friends what happened in the future?

Something seemed to click into place in Draken's brain, the growing horror on his face telling Baji everything he needed to know about the resolved puzzle. “Mikey.”

The sole name was uttered like the arriving finale of an apocalypse.

It made sense. You would do that - you would, if it was Mikey. If it was any of your beloved friends.

The two of them make a break for it as if on cue, sprinting towards the same destination with a wordless agreement; your house, Baji knew as he willed himself to go faster. It was where he was sure you would go if you were really here.

If you died here, in their future, would that also mean that you would also die back in the past where you came from? Would he never see you again? Your warm smile and loving hugs flashed through Baji’s mind, and he bit his tongue. No, that wasn’t a thought he was even going to entertain. Nothing close to that would even be the slightest bit acceptable. They were going to find you, and they were going to make sure you got home. Safely.

“How long has it been? Since the memories?”

“15 minutes.”

There was no response from Draken this time, though both men’s strides hastened, flying across the concrete as they rounded the corner almost at the same time, nearly crashing into each other, their curses flying free from their lips and into the night sky. There were a lot of things they needed to ask you, but now the most important thing was that they needed to get to you, before Mikey’s fingers could close around you.

‎

“Do you think she’s some sort of time traveler?”

Kakucho startled, blinking as he turned away from watching the familiar sights and sounds of Tokyo rushing by outside of the limousine. “Pardon?”

The ride from Bonten HQ had been completely silent up till now, the whirl of the air-conditioning combined with the light patter of rain having been just loud enough to cover the sound of the two men breathing. It was tense, and though that usually would be the right way to describe being in any sort of confined space with Sanzu, this time was different.

Despite the former Tenjiku member being one of two people who had what could be counted as a decent relationship with the other’s maniacal state, there was something about this rational pink-haired man that sent a shiver running down Kakucho’s spine. Sure, the usually rabid, drugged-up Sanzu had always been unpredictable when it came to his next move or even his next thought, but this version of Bonten’s second in command with forced mental clarity was downright dangerous; he had a singular goal to achieve, and it was Mikey’s survival. At any expense.

Said man didn’t move, continuing to simply gaze out of the car with an uncharacteristic calmness, alert half-lidded green eyes lifting momentarily to glance at Kakucho through the reflection in the tinted window glass. “Do you think she’s a time traveler?” He repeated.

Kakucho almost laughed out loud, though it was years of discipline and control over his expression that stopped his facial muscles from even twitching. He would have let the chuckle stuck in his throat loose if it was anyone else that occupied the far end of the car, if there was the slightest possibility that Sanzu had been joking around. But there was no humor in the other’s tone, nothing that would indicate the question wasn’t genuine, nor was Mikey’s right-hand man the only one to have this particular idea.

Leaning back into his seat, his arms folding across his chest, Kakucho himself recalled having a similar train of thought the first time he had stumbled into your room and his eye was met with your trembling pair. “I believe she would be a good candidate for one,” the Bonten Number Three carefully answered, every word painstakingly picked, all the while making sure to keep his sole working eye trained on Sanzu. “If there is any possibility that time traveling exists.”

Sanzu tsked, clearly annoyed at Kakucho’s indirect answer. Perhaps he was looking for a more yes or no answer? “She looks exactly the same from back when Toman was around,” the pink-haired man mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for the black-haired man to catch.

The car once more fell into a tense silence as the two men sat and stewed in their own thoughts, the lights of the world outside flashing by uncaringly. Kakucho turned his focus once more to the phone clutched in his hand, absentmindedly scrolling through the updates back from headquarters that constantly lit up his screen, his face as stoic as it always was - without a doubt in his mind, the real you had been a clear one-to-one match to your picture from twelve years ago Mikey had provided. You looked too young to have been missing for so many years.

This whole situation all sounded too much like a sick joke that someone out there was playing with them and their very lives, but the sinking feeling in his gut told Kakucho everything he needed to know; there was no way that this was the end just yet.

‎

By the time the sleek black limousine pulled up along your street, the minutes the ride had taken from Bonten Headquarters to your street felt more like hours. The rain had now become heavier, fat droplets falling from the night sky pelting everything and anything below, the moon and stars that usually twinkled in the dark of space obscured by storm clouds rolling past overhead. The air was thick, humid, and weighty with every breath.

It was one of those rare times that Kakucho could genuinely claim that he was nervous, the pound of his heart in his chest hard enough that he could almost hear it echoing in the car even if expression remained as impassive as it always have been.

The only other time your house alarm had been tripped, yes it was indeed you who he had found. And even this time, he had the constant confirmation back from headquarters that it was someone who managed your general statue that was loitering around the vicinity of what used to be your home, but the what-ifs continued to plague Kakucho. What if it was all a mere coincidence, and he and Sanzu find someone else instead; a burglar, maybe an unsuspecting passerby taking shelter? What if it was you, but by the time they arrived you were already gone? What if someone else got to you first?

Kakucho shook his head, attempting to pull his full focus back to reality as the car rolled to a full stop outside the all-too familiar house, the two men preparing to leave. There was little point in entertaining such anxiety driven thoughts. They will find out soon enough whether you were truly back.

As soon as the door on his end swung open, the unease instantly drained away from the black-haired man - there you were. Seated on the steps of the front porch of your house, you were truly a sight for sore eyes amidst the pouring rain, the brightly colored pajamas that you wore making you stick out against the backdrop of your unlit house. You must have been asleep before you were…pulled (from where, Kakucho would make no assumptions at this current point in time), no surprise given the time of night.

You gave them a small wave as two umbrellas sprouted up from the car door like mushrooms, a moving refuge from the anger of the heavers; your gaze following them as the two men strolled up the street, letting themselves in through the small gate at front of your house. “Hello again,” you greeted cheerfully as you stood, pausing momentarily to dust the back of your pants off. “Kakucho-san, Sanzu-san.”

Kakucho nodded in acknowledgement, his sole red eye glancing cautiously around the neighborhood. It was dead silent, the row of bland gray houses that stretched as far he could see all dark and unlit, though to the seasoned yakuza, the calmness was far from reassuring, the dark of night only equating to more places for potential threats to find. It was dangerous to have you out in the open like that, especially with your association with Bonten. “Why aren’t you waiting inside for us?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t have my keys on me this time,” you answered honestly.

Sanzu’s scarred lips pulled downwards in clear disapproval of your decision, the pink-haired man turning back towards the waiting limousine, not waiting to see if you followed, his umbrella bobbing slightly with each stride. “This way.”

Time traveler, the two words echoed again in Kakucho’s head as he patiently waited for you, watching as you hopped the last few steps to take shelter under his umbrella as he walked you out to the car, your comparatively juvenile face turning to beam up at him. If there was any doubt before, he was more certain of it than not. There was simply no way you weren’t a time leaper.

‎

Sanzu couldn’t find it in himself to be angry at your lack of awareness. Hell, his sheer hatred of you had been draining away with every new forceful injection of memories, and the former Toman delinquent could hardly recall why he resented you so much to begin with at this point. Those voices that had been nagging at the back of his mind for the past fourteen years seemingly having been silenced for good; then again, it could also just be him weaning off the cocktail of drugs he had religiously been on. Who knows? You had always been a good egg as far as he could remember, a kind soul to whoever you met whether or not Mikey and the other less-important founders approved. Had it just been mere jealousy over the closeness you shared with his king that had driven him to that extreme?

The pink-haired man rubbed at his temples, the most recent blast of new memories straight into his brain having given him a splitting headache, the aftereffects still radiating from the back of his head. The rain pounding away on his umbrella and everywhere in general wasn’t helping either. Perhaps it was because the last round he had been unconscious after being shot while high on drugs, cause he didn’t remember the experience being this painful or defined previously.

But more importantly, with every new wave, he was now as certain as he is that the path to hell is hot that one, the omamori from the founding of the Toman gang - the purple and gold one that he had seen you carry twelve years ago as a testament to your favor from Mikey - had something to do with your disappearance twelve years ago. And two: you were definitely some sort of time traveler. If not, the new memories he got of you from the past just wouldn’t make sense, why would you be attempting to apologize for nothing? You had to be apologizing for getting him in trouble with Mikey (after he attempted to strangle you to death, that is, but that was a small detail).

Thunder rumbled in the distance, a clear sign of displeasure from the heavens on Sanzu’s heretic thoughts - time leaping, of all possible things. He was never going to live it down if he was wrong, the Haitani brothers would make sure of that. But then again, didn’t Rindou also say that he got those new memories?

The heavy rain continued to pour relentlessly, dampening the scar-lipped man’s mood further as he tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for Kakucho and you to catch up. Honestly, could you be any slower?

‎

It was the sudden sound of pounding in the distance that first caught his ear, a faint thumping that stood out from the otherwise rhythmic rain pelting down to earth; a sound that Sanzu identified as running. You were about halfway to the limo now, and the Bonten second-in-command willed you to move faster. If it had been any other time, it wouldn’t be such a red flag. But this was a residential estate, in the middle of the night.

No sane person would be running at this time.

A suspicious glance around by clear green eyes yielded nothing at first, the drumming of feet was certainly still there amidst the rain, but the coast was clear as of now, and the mafioso opted to stay on high alert. Years of delinquency followed by a descent into the yakuza world had taught Sanzu not to let his guard down easily, and he signaled to Kakucho, urging him to hurry you up, a telltale tingle running down his spine.

He didn’t like this one bit - they were exposed on the street, moving slowly with a precious payload. No good news. The faster all of them could get into the limousine and get out of this place, the better.

Those footsteps though, they just kept coming closer and closer, growing ever louder and stronger with every tick from his watch.

And the next thing Sanzu knew, it was the screech of shoes turning a wet concrete corner way too fast, and then the awfully familiar and wholly unwelcomed silhouettes of Draken and Baji came screeching round the corner, their eyes instantly snapping first to you, and then moving to glance between him and Kakucho, their eyes widening simultaneously as it dawned on them what they were witnessing. Both plainly-colored mobs of long hair were obviously soaked even from this distance, the drenched clothes and lack of umbrellas that the former Toman founders were clad in telling the Bonten mafioso everything he needed to do now.

They must have gotten the new memories as well. They must know now.

Fuck, what had happened in the past? How is it more and more people were getting the memories?

“Draken? Baji?” You wondered out loud, your voice tinted uncertainty as to whether who you saw speeding towards you were indeed the Toman founders you knew.

He glanced at them again, and then at the car. Godammit, their pace was picking up. Maybe if he had been a bit faster, a bit more insistent in herding you into the car. Maybe if he had just grabbed you and hurled you over his shoulder like potatoes.

But it was too little too late. This wasn’t part of the plan. Sanzu couldn’t lose you to them now - not with Mikey’s life on the line.

“Fucking hell,” the man with the scarred lips swore, throwing aside his umbrella, his now freed hand reaching under his coat and pulling out his gun from its holster in one smooth move, flicking the safety off as he raised the weapon.

You, however, were faster. “No! Sanzu, don’t!”

Throwing yourself straight at his gun with a panicked cry, said mafiaso had no choice other than to immediately lower his weapon to avoid your outstretched hands, the click of the safety switching back on lost in the pouring rain. Now that you were finally back with Bonten, the last thing Sanzu wanted to do was to be responsible for the death of his king by accidentally shooting you.

He turned to bark at the other Bonten member. “Cover me, Kakucho!”

Said man lept into action, withdrawing his firearm, aiming and firing off two shots at the ground in front of the charging Toman founder, forcing them to screech to a halt, though their quaking eyes remained fixed on you.

You screamed.

With a quick holster of his gun, Sanzu swung, his arm catching you around the middle, and you were shoved through the open car door into the backseat of the limousine, the purple-suited man quickly following suit.

The roar of anger from both Draken and Baji reverberated through the streets, their sheer fury palpable. “SANZU!” Draken bellowed. “LET HER GO!”

”I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU SANZU!” Baji thundered in unison, his mob of black hair whipping backwards amidst the equally ferocious rain.

Sanzu wasn’t going to wait around to find out. “’We’re leaving!” He barked at Kakucho, simultaneously giving the driver’s divide a few rapid pounds.

Keeping his gun raised, Kakucho retreated quickly, throwing himself through the open car door that slammed shut behind him. The car peeled off, leaving Draken and Baji standing on the curb right outside your house, staring at the car disappearing into the rainy mist.

‎

On the other end of the sleepy Tokyo metropolitan, the rain was equally relentless, a harsh howling wind rattling windows as it swept the fat raindrops inwards, drenching a miserable and already shivering Takemichi. The three more raps on Naoto’s front door were barely audible through the chaos that the sky was remaining down, though the former delinquent opted to resume his nervous pacing up and down along the apartment corridor, his furrowed brows and lost gaze accurately portraying the turmoil in his head. It had to be you, the twenty-six year old thought to himself as he wrung his hands in despair - that glimpse of a fleeting shadow he spotted near where your school once stood; it had to be. There was no doubt about it.

Yet he didn’t have a single whiff of evidence to back his claim up, just that churning feeling in the pit of his gut. Takemichi let out a low groan, slumping against the tiled wall, the wet tiles making little difference to his already soggy clothes. At this point, what else could he do but only hope against hope that it was enough to convince the younger Tachibana?

So occupied in his turbulent thoughts that he missed the beige door - one of many identical ones that lined the entire hallway - creaking open, a familiar mob of black hair peering out. “Takemichi? What’re you doing here at this time?”

Takemichi turned robotically at the words before turning back to face the open air and pelting rain, before his messy brain did a double take and it registered who had spoken. The tears sprang forth before he could stop them.

“Nao-Naoto!” The former delinquent wailed, barreling his way into the house and almost running the other man over before Naoto could reprimand him for his atrocious lack of respect for the neighbors. The apartment was as it always was, always had been in every timeline; plainly decorated, clean and neat, not that it mattered to a borderline hysterical Takemichi at the moment.

“I-I saw her, Naoto! N-near her school lot! I swear it was her!” He rambled, his hands clutching his shirt with a death grip, explosively energized from frayed nerves even as blown eyes glanced between the cupboard and Naoto. “You have to believe me!”

His head pounded. Naoto must believe him. He has to.

“....kemichi! Takemichi!”

His head flew left sharply, his ears ringing from the force. The stinging pain on his cheek only set in seconds later. But it finally broke Takemichi out from his meltdown, snapping him straight back to reality.

“I know she’s back! I got it, breathe,” Naoto directed the hyperventilating man to have a seat at the dining table before shuffling away, returning with two steaming mugs. ”Feeling better?”

Hand coming up to hesitatingly poke at the reddening and swelling cheek, the former delinquent throwing a dirty side-eye at the younger Tachibana sibling, though he was quick to drop his look when the other turned to face him. ”You didn’t have to hit me,” Takemichi muttered, before grumbling his begrudging thanks as he accepted the cup.

Naoto raised an eyebrow, taking the opposite seat. “You weren’t listening.”

“Okay, okay, fine. So you believe me?”

“I do,” the detective nodded. “And I have news for you. Bad news.” From a side drawer, he retrieved what seemed like a small piece of paper and slid it across the table to Takemichi. A photograph of some sorts. The image itself was blurry and hard to make out, as if it had been taken quickly, perhaps in passing or if the photographer had to hide after the snap..

Blue eyes squinted as Takemichi tried to interpret the picture, lifting it closer to his face. What was this even supposed to be? A white cat or something hiding among some large rocks? But those rectangular light sources could pass for a shop window? The photo was all but pressed against his nose before Naoto forcibly yanked Takemictchi’s hand back far enough to tap at the mob of white-hair.

The former delinquent looked up at the other man. “This is…”

��Mikey,” Naoto said resolutely. “Bonten’s boss.”

‎

The air was still in the apartment as the former Toman member followed the detective’s pointing finger up to those black eyes, the storm outside lashing out against the windows and thunder booming in the distance filling the tense silence. It couldn’t be. That couldn’t be true, Takemichi tried to tell himself, a desperate chuckle slipping his lips as he waited for Naoto to break into a laugh. A smile. To say that he was joking, to name another person, another cruel entity that could possibly commit such heinous crimes. Anything.

Because it couldn’t be. Not the Mikey he knew.

But even the quirk of his lips drained away when the Tachibana didn’t break the moody tension, his severe expression never wavering. Naoto meant it.

It was like a physical punch to his gut.

“Mikey?” Takemichi gasped out, barely able to catch his breath. The images of those tormented souls and their broken bodies that Naoto had shown him previously roared straight to the front of his mind once more, his face turning green from the mere memory. “It can’t be- Mikey wouldn’t-” Mikey wouldn’t do something like that, was what he wanted to say, the words dying on his lips as those blue eyes trembled with unshed tears.

The smoke from the tea wafted lazily through the air, the smell of green tea light and fragrant; a small relief from the heavy atmosphere that weighed down on his chest.

Yet Naoto pressed on, all but ignoring the stammered rebuttal; facts were unfortunately facts. He tapped the photo once more, and Takemichi’s eyes followed his finger to the small figure with their face turned upwards, almost completely hidden between the ring of black - the backs of bodyguards, his mind instinctively told him - and Mikey. “And that,” the detective said seriously. “Is who you’re looking for.”

Your name sprang instantly to the tip of Takemichi’s tongue, but he swallowed it back down on instinct alone before he could accidentally let it slip through his lips, lest one of the Toman founders hear of his transgressions through time. “The seventh Toman Founder,” he said, almost reverently. You were like a myth, a legend to all who made up Toman’s ranks, your mere name alone enough to send a shiver of fear down the spines of the black-clad boys. He still had never met nor seen you in person - and it all the more seemed to reinforce that legendary status. “This is her?”

Naoto nodded. “This was taken last week, about five days ago.” From the same side drawer, the police detective took out a case file, your school photo prominently pinned to the front.

Wait. The two photos, it wasn’t possible. “But she looks exactly the same…”

“Which means she is a time leaper,” Naoto confirmed. “Like you, Takemichi. There’s no doubt about it now.” A pause, as the younger man let his words sink in, before he continued. “But the difference is that she’s not in her older body. She’s switching places completely.”

“Plus her time leaping is overriding mine. There’s no new timeline, not even after we saved Draken. Just new memories?”

“New memories, yes. I haven’t received anything as of late, so I don’t know if she’s here or in the past at the moment. And on top of all this, we still don’t know if anyone else is getting those memories too.”

The throb of his mind as Takemichi to wrestle with and digest the avalanche of new information only served to reinforce just how convoluted this entire situation was. “So- Naoto, do you think she may have already told Mikey that she’s a time leaper?”

Said detective frowned. “She could have - they are good friends, no? He, and the rest of Toman, could very well be getting the memories as well.”

Takemichi slumps down in his seat; that would complicate things a lot. A ton, in fact. He desperately needs to speak with you, and fast; just to understand better what he could do to break the cycle, and perhaps even learn more about his own time leaping abilities - if you were capable of changing memories, you might have already inevitably told Mikey and the others that you were a time leaper.

The one problem was figuring out if you’re here in the future or back in the past, and it wasn’t as if he could just saunter up and ask without turning into a smear on the street. Takemichi’s best bet would be trying to catch you here, in what was your future, somewhere he could talk to you without the shadow of the Toman founders hanging over you; but if Mikey and Bonten already had you in his grasp…

Then the chance of Takemichi being able to speak to you would be close to zero.

He needed a solution and stat.

‎

The limousine sped by familiar roads, the rain that refused to let up a cacophony of sound against the metal shell of the limousine. It at least brought you a momentary solace, your heart continuing to race away like the pounding feet of a horse as you tried to process what had just happened. Everything looked glazed over, as if you were viewing the world around you through a layer of frosted glass, your eyes swirling around in your head as you tried to catch your breath, tried to stop your thoughts from spiralling down an unending and hopeless abyss.

Draken and Baji - they were right there. Your precious friends.

Not only were you back in the same future, with the same tired, bone-thin Mikey you remembered leaving behind, the friends you had thought the worst had happened to were still a part of this timeline.

Why hadn’t Mikey answered you all that time ago, when you had asked him about where the rest of your friends were? You had assumed the white-haired man only refused to speak due to an incomprehensible tragedy that befell his once-closest allies, that had ripped the rest of the Toman founders away from him and left him in that sorry state. You had felt that profound sadness pouring from your friend, experienced the grief that clenched at your heart. And you had decided not to pry, to not surface what would be extremely painful memories.

But you had seen them with your own eyes, and they were fine. Alive, breathing. Caring. They had come for you even in the torrential rain, fists swinging, yelling and pissing off your neighbours in the process as they always did. Nothing you could stay mad at, really.

So why? Why didn’t Mikey want to tell you? Why wasn’t he in contact with the rest?

The lights that flashed by through heavily tinted windows held no answers for you, the dull pinks, purples and yellows of the fluorescent signs that made it through briefly illuminating the skin of your hand before fading back into the shadows as quickly as it came, the car leaving the quiet residential streets for the city that never sleeps.

You needed to speak with the future’s Draken and Baji, you decided. You weren’t sure how, given what you had witnessed earlier and Mikey’s likely clinginess, but you had to find out what was going on. If not to find out if they perhaps knew anything about your time leaping that you didn’t, then at least to understand the chasm that had developed between your friends.

‎

“Fuck, I’m fucking drenched!” Sanzu complained loudly, pulling at the soaked purple striped vest and allowing the heavy cloth to sag under its own weight. Kakuchi himself grimaced at his own dripping state, but said nothing save to grunt in acknowledgement.

There was no doubt about it now, you mused to yourself albeit grimly as you settled back into the car seat, your pajamas squelching slightly under you as you glanced between a grumbling Sanzu and a stoic Kakucho. You sure hoped that the pink-haired man wasn’t going to use the opportunity to wrap his hands around your throat again, though he did seem pretty calm this time. Still, you still opted to shift somewhat towards Kakucho. Just to be safe.

Fidgeting with the hem of your pajamas, you glanced out the window again. The tension simmering in the car, combined with the sheer silence that permeated the air, made the atmosphere a bit too heavy for comfort. You bit your lip. What to say? “How’s Mikey?” You decided on asking. At least the one thing that you knew for sure that both men were fiercely loyal to Mikey, not that you wanted to know why the devotion; some things were better not known, much like how you avoided asking your Toman friends what they’ve been up to while you were away.

The sudden stillness was deafening. Even the patter of raindrops faded away, blanketed by this oppressive tranquility that weighed on your chest, on you. You hardly dared to breathe, let alone move, with both Sanzu and Kakucho seeming to freeze on your question. Were they unsure on how to answer you? Scarred lips twitched as if making to speak, those piercing green eyes darting sideways to meet yours before drifting away, Sanzu ultimately deciding against whatever it was he wanted to say. Kakucho simply continued to face forward, though you did catch his sole working red eye fixed on you, unspoken words lost to the raging storm.

The pink-haired man finally replied. “Mikey’s…not doing well,” was all he said, before he turned to look back out the window, his hand dipping into his striped vest’s pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes, though he ultimately thought better of it and stuffed the crumpled box back.

You stared at him, mouth agape. Turning to Kakucho only resulted in the other man avoiding your gaze. If that was all the two had to say, then this was not good. Not in the slightest.

‎

Your heart wrenched when Sanzu led you into the infirmary, with your two sets of footsteps echoing off the white walls The spotless room was enormous, empty beds lining both walls, neatly made with their curtains drawn - save for one at the far end. And it was in the sole occupied bed that you spotted Mikey’s frail frame, a small lump under the covers, his white-hair all but blending into the clean sheets. Sighing, you sank down into the hard plastic chair, your hand reaching out to brush against the pulled covers. “Mikey,” you whispered, the sole word heavy with guilt. You wanted to touch him, to run your fingers gently through his hair, to pull your friend into your arms and assure him everything would be all right. That he needn’t suffer, that you would care for him.

But you restrained yourself, your arm falling limply to one side. This was all your fault. You had been too hasty, too eager to return home, too assured in the idea that this timeline would simply fade into your memory, that the outcome would change when you did so little. But now, reality was staring you cold in the face, and you couldn’t think of a time when you had seen Mikey so frail.

At the sound of your voice, the form stirred, stiff shoulders instantly relaxing as those abyss eyes met yours, blinking weakly. You saw your name formed on his lips, though no sound left his throat. It seemed that even the sight of you had completely relaxed the broken man.

A soft click, as Sanzu quietly exited the room, leaving you and Mikey alone. “I brought you some food Mikey. Would you like to have something to eat or drink?” You showed the white-haired man the paper-wrapped taiyaki and the glass of water you had brought with you; upon your earlier arrival, Sanzu had brought you straight to the kitchens to whip up something quick. You had your suspicions on what had happened, though you hadn’t quite realized just how bad it had gotten until you laid eyes on Mikey.

Fortunately, it seemed Mikey instantly recognized the cake as your handmade variety, not store-bought or Sanzu’s, and as if on cue, his stomach began to rumble. Your lips quirked a small smile, and you turned to set the glass of water down, before tearing off a small chunk of taiyaki. Cooling it down with a blow, you carefully dipped it in some water to moisten the piece (heresy, but so much easier to eat for someone who hadn’t in four days), before holding it up to your friend’s lips. “Ahhhhh.”

The white-haired man obliged, his lips parting to allow you to press the small morsel of food into his mouth. A quick bite and then swallow. You managed to repeat the process two more times before the other’s eyes were all but closed, the exhaustion setting in now with some food in his belly.

Rewrapping the taiyaki in its paper, you kicked off your shoes, climbed onto the infirmary bed and settled next to Mikey. His eyes already fluttered shut, it didn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around you and tucking his face into the crook of your neck as you crawled under the sheets, the other’s breathing evening out before you closed your eyes, finally at peace.

‎

Twelve years separate from you and stuck in the past where they couldn’t get to you, the Toman founders once more found themselves in a conundrum they had no answers to.

Kazutora’s hysterical wails, a piercing cry that the boy couldn’t seem to stop and had been all that anyone within a hundred meter radius would have heard for a good half-hour, had thankfully died down into whimpers, his throat sore though the situation was far from resolved. The fearsome delinquent had been reduced to nothing more than a sniffling baby clutching onto your well-worn sweater, one that smelt strongly of you, his tears soaking the cloth as he buried his face into the soft material.

“She time-lept again?” Baji let out a groan, hands pulling at his face, his sweat-drenched black hair plastered uncomfortably to the nape of his neck. “But how? We have the omamori.”

“And it hasn’t left me since I got it,” Draken noted, pulling down the singlet he had opted for to reveal the purple and gold charm still pressed tight against his clavicle, where he had been wearing it day and night. “I wear it even when I shower.”

The weather was sweltering, the summer afternoon sun mercilessly baking everything and everyone under its light, and the lack of even a hot breeze made the whole situation ever so less tolerable. Gathered below the shade of your favourite oak tree in a clearing not too far from your school, it was once more an unfavourable situation over which the Toman founders were gathered,

Mikey pulled a face, looking extremely unimpressed as sweat poured freely off his forehead. “Maybe it’s cause I should have been the one to wear it.”

Kazutora only whimpered again in response, his fingers wrapping around your piece of clothing even tighter. Everyone present knew what he meant without speaking.

“Drop it Mikey, that’s not the issue right now.” Mitsuya sighed out, the relief at no longer being blamed for your disappearance clear on his expression even if his distress at you being missing wasn’t any less.

A pause, the uncaring city continuing to bustle around them.

“Maybe,” Pah said carefully, the usually loud boy looking like he was concentrating extraordinarily hard on the current situation, his forehead scrunched with his chin held in one hand. “Maybe there’s another omamori in the future as well.”

The other five boys robotically turned to look at the Fifth Division Captain as if he had grown a second head, their necks stiff and creaking. They hadn’t considered that possibility in the slightest, and the unusual insight from the usually act-first-think-later boy caught them off guard.

“It makes sense,” The lilac-haired delinquent admitted, Mitsuya drawing one leg up to balance on the bench. “We hadn’t thought of it, but why wouldn’t there be this omamori in the future?”

“Could have lost it,” Draken suggested.

Mikey snorted. “No way.” To which the other founders present murmured their agreement - it would be unlikely for them to misplace something so precious. “But I agree. There must be more to just having the omamori.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Baji lamented, running one hand through his long, sweat-soaked hair. “Time’s ticking, and we don’t know what’s happening in the future. What if she’s already hurt? Or dead?”

The small gathering of boys fell silent once more. Whatever was going on with the omamori, it was clear more than ever to the Toman founders that there were still too many unanswered questions. With every tick of the watch, every passing second that you were stuck in the future and apart from the Toman founders, your safety and fate grew ever more uncertain. They needed to get you back home with them, and fast.

“So what now?”

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