#Muscle Team Fuzz

[charliemwrites]

SpecGru au part 9!! (Getting back into the groove of it, but happy to be writing for it again!)

Content: safe/sane/consensual sexual content - fingering (reader receiving)

You wake up warm, in the dark. Pleasantly drowsy and heavy.

There’s a big body behind you, a line of muscle and heated skin. It takes a moment to remember it’s not your captain behind you, but your Nitko, snoring softly against the nape of your neck. He’s cuddled you in close and tight, a thick arm tight around your waist, wrist nestled between your breasts. His hand, broad and calloused, is curled lightly against your collarbone.

His arm is under your head, a perfect plush pillow. You run your thumb over the ruined tattoo wrapping his forearm. He says it used to be a skull, but you can’t ever make out the design with the heavy scarring interrupting the ink.

“любовь,” he rasps into your ear.

You press back against him, twist your head to kiss the lax muscle beneath your head. The change in your breathing must have awoken him. He squeezes you a bit tighter for a moment, feeling like an oversized teddy bear. You smile, realize he can feel it when he puffs with amusement.

“детеныш,” he murmurs, lips brushing tender skin.

You sigh, try to dig your voice out of slumber, but it’s slow to come these days. Even when you haven’t had a bad night, you have trouble speaking in the morning. None of your team minds – but especially not Nikto, who hardly ever speaks more than a handful of sentences a day.

For a while, the two of you doze, breaths sinking, enjoying the time darkness before daylight heralds the return of his mask. You don’t mind it, of course, respect his need for privacy and protection, his discomfort with the scars of his torture. But you won’t feel guilty for enjoying the rare access to his mouth, either.

His fingertips begin to trace over the curve of your collarbone, a featherlight caress that makes you shiver. Eventually his palm travels up to your throat, cradles you there, thumb against your quickening pulse. Not gripping or restraining. Just holding, measuring. You tilt your chin back to give him access, finally manage a soft hum against his palm.

“Can I take care of you?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

You almost mourn the loss of his hand on your throat as it maps down your bare body. But then it stops at the soft hair of your pussy, curling almost playfully. You inhale softly, a thrill jolting through your stomach, sinking low and simmering in your gut.

“пожалуйста,” you whisper.

You’re already warm and wet for him, know it as soon as guides your thigh up and over his own. Leftover pleasure from your private time with the captain and a night with your ass cradled against Nikto’s pelvis. You grind back against him now, feel the delicious bulge of his cock parting your cheeks.

He hushes you, peppering kisses along the line of your neck. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

You stop pushing back against him, making your body go lax and compliant again. He murmurs praise against your skin, a single finger dipping into your slit, skating over your slippery, swollen clit. You gasp softly, slumping back against him, spreading your thighs a bit wider.

There’s nothing hurried about it, just a gentle, coaxing pressure and leisurely circles. Almost hypnotic, the novel texture of his finger pad setting your nerves alight. You’re still sensitive from the previous night, melting in his arms as pleasure quickly turns your hazy brain to cotton fuzz. When the pleasure starts to crest, he changes the rhythm, rubbing circles in the opposite direction. Doesn’t stop the climax altogether but delays it, spools it out.

You make a soft noise, not sure if your disappointed by the denial or grateful that he’s drawing the pleasure out. When he’s treating you like this, the build up is just as good as the orgasm itself. You could live forever in moments like this, soft and blurry and riding on a constant thrum of ecstasy.

“Easy, easy,” he soothes, “let me take care of you.”

You squeeze his arm in agreement, moaning softly as he changes the direction again. He sucks gently at the sweet spot behind your ear, nothing that’ll leave a mark – but enough to sweeten the pleasure into something syrupy, dripping from your lips on humid breaths. His pace never changes, never hurries or rushes you to the end. Like he could spend all morning playing with your pussy too. Just lets it build and build…

“Whenever you’re ready, любовь,” he murmurs. “I won’t deny you anything.”

The pleasure crests like sunrise, liquid gold pouring over you. You moan, voice pitching low in your throat, none of the desperate high pitch of the night before. His teeth sink gently into the spot he’s been lavishing. No pain, just a pleasant ache that makes you tingle from head to toe.

Nikto doesn’t stop until you whimper softly, tapping twice at his arm that you’re overstimulated. He stops instantly, eases away, squeezes your hip and thighs until you catch your breath.

“Alright?” he asks.

“A-alright,” you breathe, craning your neck back to receive a languid kiss from his rough lips. “Do you want to…?”

“Not today,” he replies, sparing a moment to adjust himself in his underwear. “Just wanted to be good to you.”

You hum in understanding, wriggling around to press your hands to his scarred chest. “You’re always good to me.”

He hums, drops a lingering kiss on your forehead. “Need help cleaning up?”

“No, love, thank you though,” you murmur. “Should I grab your mask while I’m up?”

“It’s on the dresser.”

“Got it.”

You sneak one last kiss before shuffling out of bed.

--

Price’s arms are crossed tight when Simon files into his office with the rest of the 141. His expression could be carved of stone, jaw tight. There’s no evidence of it, but Simon can tell he’s been pacing. Has the grim look of a mission with shit odds and no backup, but they’ll have to make it work anyway.

“I talked to her captain,” he begins without preamble.

Simon stills, doesn’t acknowledge the guilty glance Johnny shoots him. Gaz audibly swallows and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“He’s agreed not to contact Laswell for an exchange.”

Something in Simon’s chest loosens. If your captain contacts Laswell to get a new team assigned to the mission, it means you’re gone again. Beyond their reach. He could have made peace if he never saw you again. But to have you here, within arm’s reach – even if you can barely look at any of them right now… well, you always saw reason once you got the worst of your feelings out.

Simon knows he’s banking on your forgiving nature, but the 141 was your first team. The fact that you’re still so angry with them means they still mean something to you, even after all this time.

“This needs to be put to rest,” Price continues. “I know we’ve all got bad feelings about what happened, but it can’t keep interfering with the job.”

Johnny and Gaz duck their heads, ashamed. Simon’s own chest twists. In retrospect, throwing his fight with you was stupid and desperate. He had been hoping that a few good swings would soften you up to a real conversation – but he shouldn’t have discounted your pride. Especially when it comes to him.

“He’s agreed to talk to her, see if she’s willing to hash things out with any of us – but under the caveat that we keep it professional.”

He rocks back on his heels, pins them each with a hard look. The kind that promises retribution.

“Whatever you’ve got to say, save it for after hours and hope she doesn’t swing on you. Dismissed.”

Even Johnny is quiet as the three exit Price’s office, a somber frown on his face. Simon doesn’t wait to ask him what he’s thinking; he already knows. Johnny may have put up a haughty front earlier, but eventually his true feelings will surface. The hurt and guilt, the confusion and fear. He and Gaz loved you in a way Simon couldn’t manage. Even if you’re still pissed, Johnny’s such an earnest sort that you’ll soften to him eventually.

Same with Gaz. Forgiveness is a light at the end of that particular tunnel.

It’s a coin toss for Price, your poker face is especially blank when it comes to him.

But for Simon…

Simon’s made peace for a long time that there’s little redemption for him. On Earth or anywhere else. With you… at the very least you deserve an explanation, even if it doesn’t absolve him of anything. You should know that his intentions were never to have you removed, by your own volition or otherwise.

Maybe he wasn’t too far off with the initial idea – let you get the anger out. He’s the one that deserves it, not Johnny or Gaz or even Price, really. Went about it the wrong way, maybe, but not a bad idea all around.

So, he doesn’t make the turn to the 141 barracks. He pivots instead for the SpecGru hall.

It’s quiet, all the doors closed, with no indication of who is staying in which rooms. But Simon doesn’t need it. He knows that yours is the third door down on the right, across from Russ.

He pauses outside, stares at the cheap woodgrain as he loads words like bullets.

Raises his hand to knock, knuckles white beneath his gloves—

“Daddy!”

He freezes. Denial flares hot and bright for a moment, a desperate hope that he didn’t actually hear that. But then it comes again, that desperate, needy pitch he remembers on his weakest, loneliest nights—

“D-daddy!” your voice slithers out from beneath another door, wraps around Simon’s throat and strangles him. A hitched moan follows, one that he knows from experience means you’re out of your mind on pleasure.

And it’s like his mind is working against him, because he picks up the little, damning noises he didn’t notice before. The obscene slap of skin on skin, the deeper, quieter cadence of a man’s voice. It only takes a moment to recognize it as your captain’s, the rasp of it unmistakable, even if individual words are inaudible.

Simon feels his stomach curdle and sink, chest burning with something he can’t identify. Anger? Jealousy? Shame? He can’t figure it out – not right now, right here. With the sound of your impending climax making you louder and louder, clawing memories from his brain. A life he should have had with you, a relationship he never had the strength to acknowledge.

He turns on his heel and storms away, almost shoulder-checking Nova on his way.

--

Nova greets you rosy and bright at breakfast later that morning, a coffee for you already in hand. It’s such a sweet gesture that you can’t help yourself. You curl an arm around her waist and kiss her, licking the taste of too-sweet tea from her lips. Your precious girl.

“Morning, pretty thing,” you hum.

There’s a blush blooming high in her cheeks as she pecks your nose. “Mornin,’ babes. Made it right?”

You accept the mug from her, take a quick sip. Not too hot, just the right amount of cream and sugar – you even catch a hint of cinnamon, her calling card for your drinks.

“Perfect,” you reply, kissing her forehead, “thank you, love.”

She hums, sends you off to Keegan and your captain with a little pat on the ass. You sit at the table with a warm greeting, leaning into Keegan when he curls an arm around your shoulders. In the kitchenette, Nova and Nikto are exchanging their own good mornings, a sly grin on her face as she teases him.

“Here, baby,” your captain calls, sliding a plate of pastries your way. “You haven’t eaten since dinner.”

You tuck into a muffin while he and Keegan continue chatting – sounds like they’re discussing plans for the day. Training schedules and dealing with the 141. It’s too early for you to be bothered by talk of your former teen, so you just listen quietly, enjoying your breakfast. Nova takes a seat beside you, snuggling in extra close with her thigh against yours.

“How was your sleepover with the cap last night?” you ask.

“Cozy. We watched one of Keegan’s true crime docs,” she replies happily. “Missed you and Nik, though.”

You smile, knock your knee lightly into hers. “How about you and I start that new season of Doctor Who tonight? I’ll do your hair while we’re at it.”

She lights up. “Yeah? It’s a date.”

She flicks a glance over your shoulder, you turn and catch Keegan watching you both, eyes half-lidded. Fond, warm. With the mask, he can be inscrutable to others, but you know how to read the light in his eyes. Never knew you could understand someone so well when they want you to know them.

You only realize that Ghost was there in the doorway when you notice the dark flicker of him walking away.

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Masterlist

[octopiys]

hmmmm I'm thinking about olympic ring gymnast!simon.... his almost too pale skin, like he's perfectly sculpted from the same marble the Greeks used for their statues, the way his muscles ripple beneath his leotard, smearing chalk onto his hands. It clouds up the air in front of him, catching in the slight fuzz crossed his chest. The mat isn't too springy. He used it earlier, before the comp started. Not too much an advantage, but he just used his resources. Just a landing pad.

His coach is on the sidelines, as are many other gymnasts, some he recognizes, and some he doesn't. This will be his third individual gold. His difficulty can't be matched.

The rings are warm, a familiar fit to his hands. In, and out, he breathes deeply, before he begins.

It doesn't even cross his mind as he performs. His fingers flay out across the rings, he doesn't think he's ever done a false grip in his life. The lights flash, and he straightens his arms, flipping himself, pointing his toes. He forgot to do that once, and the media gave him hell. Like they could ever dream of doing better than him. He holds himself straight, slipping upside down, perfectly vertical. Someone cheers as the ropes groan, and he flips again. A muscle in his wrist strains uncomfortably. It's hot in here.

Off, off, off....

He misses the sit. He flips again, and nails it, pointing his toes as his legs straighten in front of him. He can't forget to point his toes. His arms shake with strain, the ropes shaking with him. He's got to reign it in. He's just getting to the finale.

He tucks his legs, and flips once, twice, three times, repeated, melodious, using his momentum to come out of the third with his arms straight out to his sides, parallel to the floor. His legs tense, straightening where they are, pointed towards the ground.

In, out, and off. He holds the iron cross for a few moments, before pulling himself up, the rings in towards his sides. Sweat beads on the back of his neck. He brings his legs up, swinging once, twice, and flips, letting go of the rings.

He can't tell how many twists he does. It was supposed to be three. His feet plant on the mat, knees bending to absorb the shock. He... he didn't stumble.

Blood rushes in his ears as he straightens, leaning forward slightly, his arms out to hold his balance. His back is tense. There's a pain in his wrist. The tips of his fingers point out, and he pivots on his heel to face the judges, dipping his head in a bow of acknowledgement, and the sound of a roaring stadium returns. They cheer for him.

In, out, and back on again. The adrenaline crashes into him as he makes his way towards the team benches, Price meeting him halfway with a cool cloth, and a water bottle. Price is grinning like a madman.

Simon can tell he is, too.

[onelittlespiral]

I'd like your BOGO offer. I am the scrawny waterboy for my college. I'd like the kicker of the football team to get taken down a peg or five. I want him to be a nerd and no one else remembers him being a jock.

Subject: Order #100567

Dear (REDACTED),

Thank you for your recent purchase from The Spiral, home for all your transformation needs! Your order #100567 has been received and is on its way as we speak. Your order includes:

(1) Nerd(Assort)_From_Football(Kicker)

(1) Mystery(Self)

Expect delivery in 3-7 days.

Sincerely,

The Spiral

We knew you’d come around and round and round and round…

You had seen just yesterday that your order from The Spiral had finally come through. When you saw some nerd hanging around the practice field, you checked your inbox for the email confirmation. They had provided some details on how they had done it. As the kicker had been leaving practice, they grabbed him and pulled him into an empty supply room. They had him bound and gagged before stripping him of his cleats and cramming his feet in a pair of penny-loafers. The changes, they said, were near instantaneous. Change rippled up his legs as muscle deflated and his lower pads turned to cargo shorts. His stomach flattened and his jersey and pads changed into a sweater and bow tie. He had shrank so much that his restraints had nearly come loose, not that he would be able to fight the men holding him now.

He was already defeated by the time his new glasses were slipped on, which triggered phase two of his changes. Any and all past as a jock we’re gone in an instant, replaced with memories of his advanced mathematics degree and research projects. His memories of summer workouts and practice were now late nights in the library. Football games turned to Quiz Bowls. His mind would no longer be focused on working out his body, instead it was filled with stretches and skills for prepping himself for bottoming. His IQ was shooting up, and he could now understand exactly how to calculate an integral and when to squeeze tight around a dick to elicit the deepest grunts. The team packed up as he was left tied up, growing hornier at the thoughts of his old teammates dominating him like they did the opposing teams…

You couldn’t believe the efficacy of service. Hats off to them for the quick turn around. But you knew you were supposed to get a delivery of your own. You were tired of waiting. But as you were walking home from practice, after scrubbing out bottles and avoiding harassment from the team, you noticed something off. It was strange, but you thought you had smelled one of those jocks following you around. You turned around, worried that some guys were following you home, but the streets around you were empty. Instead, the smell was still coming from behind you, in your book bag. Rolling your eyes, you searched the pockets, expecting to find a jock or some other nasty garment as a dumb prank, but you instead find a chain, buried down at the bottom. In an instant, you feel compelled to hold in in your hands and take a whiff. The scent is metallic and cold how you would expect, while at the same time rancid and wet. You don’t fight the urge as your hands open the clasp and secure it around your neck. The feeling is electric. Your body ripples in response, and you feel your body begin to ache. The cold metallic feeling reaches into your bones and fills your veins with ice. A cold sweat breaks out of you as your body stretches taller and your muscles are filled with cool, hard lead.

I have to get warm, you think, I have to.

Your body seems to respond, as peach fuzz erupts from every inch of your chest, itchy and burning like fire. You scratch, and the hair only grows more in response. It begins to curl around your callousing hands and take root up your arms, spreading its fiery tendrils. You make the mistake of scratching your face, where it also takes root, as a beard erupts from your baby face. The hot licks of fire and freezing spikes of ice is reaching a crescendo as your body is engulfed, ready to reach a melting point and boil off all together when finally… it stops. You are left panting like a dog, sweat dripping from every pore. You knew the transformations offered were powerful, but you never expected this. You take stock of your furry, sweaty body, inspecting every inch of muscle. You feel so… powerful. Flexing your guns and let out an animalistic shout.

But then, something begins to tickle your nose. It smells like the necklace has surrounded you in that layer of stench. Except, it isn’t the necklace. It’s you. Your own sweat is beginning to dry and fill your head. Your past rolls off your brain like the sweat rolls down your washboard abs. Drop by drop you are no longer a waterboy for your football team. You hardly can even understand the sport. You have spent the last few years perfecting your reps and carving your physique. College sports? Who cares. You were lucky enough to graduate high school. You only saw those guys when they needed a personal trainer like you to give them an extra little boost. Those boys spent most of the game standing around. Real men need stamina. And you knew a cardio routine that would get their hearts racing. Bottoming for you was an hours long affair that left boys like them sore, sweaty, and moaning for more. Just how you liked them. You got up off the ground, dusted yourself off, and smirked in the mirror.

Gotta meet my next client in an hour, you think, sticking your tongue out.

In your pocket, you receive an order confirmation from some company called “The Spiral”. Whatever, probably some scam…

Subject: Order #100567 Fulfilled

Dear (REDACTED)

Your order has been fulfilled. We know you have many options, but thank you for supporting The Spiral.

Sincerely,

The Spiral

[allfryam]

mama’s boy

Bobby was an all star athlete at his high school. It was his senior year and he was captain of the football team. His perfect curly hair complemented his perfect face. And his perfect face just made his perfect body look even better. He was lean, with chiseled abs and toned muscles. He was perfect in every way. Nothing could ever change that.

one day at football practice, Bobby was d doing drills when one of his teammates tackled him from behind and landed on his foot. With a loud crunch, Bobby yelled as he looked down to see his leg was going in the wrong direction. He was rushed to the hospital and quickly X-rayed. “It’s a nasty break. Will definitely take at least 3-4 months to completely heal.” The doctor said. Bobby felt like his entire world just collapsed. “I don’t want you to do any physical activity for the next 3 months. That includes walking! I will have your teachers send you your work online so you can do it from home.” He said. Bobby’s mom nodded and drove him home.

Bobby laid in bed staring at his ceiling. His leg was resting on some pillows to give it elevation. “Can I get you anything sweetie?” Bobby’s mom asked. “Pizza. I’m starving”. He said. “Sure sweetie.” She said as she began to call dominos.

over the next few days. Bobby fell into a rhythm. He didn’t bother getting dressed anymore, so he laid in his underwear most days. He just laid there and watched movies or played on his computer. There was a small upside to this though. Bobby discovered his mom felt bad and would bring him anything he asked for. Whenever Bobby was hungry or thirsty, he would just say the magic word… “MOOOOOM” and she would rush in and ask him what he needed. She normally didn’t like him eating too much junk food, but under the circumstances, she let him eat anything. This didn’t come without consequences however.

after a couple weeks, Bobby’s mom had noticed something. When looking at Bobby’s stomach she had noticed his abs begin to slowly disappear. There was a bit of pudge growing on his midsection. “Sweetheart, maybe you should try to eat just a little bit healthier.” She said one day. “Mom! Are you calling me fat?! You are such an asshole! Bring me some donuts!” Bobby snapped back. Scared, Bobby’s mom ran off to pick up some donuts. Bobby looked down at his pudgy belly. He squeezed it and shook it a little. It jiggled. Hmm. Must just be a little water weight. He would work it off when he could play football again. Later he ate every last one of the dozen donuts his mom brought home.

after 3 months was up, Bobby was fatter than ever. His bit of pudge had grown into a ball hit that sat happily on top of him. A bit of fuzz had grown on his belly and his belly button had become deep. Bobby hardly noticed. After examining his leg, the doctor determined Bobby was ready to get back onto the football field. Bobby was ecstatic. His first day back at practice. All of his teammates slapped and grabbed Bobby’s gut. “Dude. How did you get so fat?” “That no exercise thing really took its toll on you huh?” “What’s up pudgy!” Bobby shrugged it off and tried to put on his jersey. He struggled with it for a minute until finally getting it the cover his gut. His tight pants hugged his thighs that were significantly bigger than the last time he wore them.

practice was awful. Bobby was slow, out of breath, and his stomach was in the way of everything. He laid in bed and called for his mom. “Mom bring me a pizza” he said. “Gut up and get it yourself.” She replied. “ your leg isn’t broken anymore.” Bobby huffed and waddled to the phone to buy a pizza. The next day at practice, Bobby had an idea. “Jake! Tackle me. Hard.” Bobby said. “You sure? I don’t want you gettin hurt again.” Jake said. “I’m fine. Just do it” Jake ran full speed and leaped onto Bobby. With another crunch, Bobby was back in bed with a broken leg. He smiled as he downed a cheeseburger in two bites.

[howlingday]

Jaune's Shampoo

General Arc

"DAMMIT, NORA!" Jaune opened his shower door. As he exited, he noticed his body had drastically changed. Using a mixture of his shampoo and experimental goo found at the fiendish Dr. Merlot's laboratory, Nora had unwittingly created a mutagen just to prank her team leader.

"Huh?" Jaune brought his hand to his lips, curious as to the strangely baritone voice that came from it. Before he could question how his voice became so suddenly deep, he felt hair around his mouth. And not peach fuzz hair, but a full-blown forest of hair grew over his cheeks and past his chin. "What the hell?"

Jaune swiftly opened the shower door, almost breaking it as it slammed against itself. He winced at the sound of almost breaking. Apparently, hair wasn't the only thing that had grown from his shower. Looking down, he flexed his massive palms, noting the thick bushel of arm hair coating both his chest and his arms and his... Whoa! Not gonna get into that description until he figures out what happened to his face.

Wiping his hand over the foggy mirror, he found a strange face staring back at him. It was a face aged by years, perhaps even decades of experience. Thinking on it, he kind of looked like old pictures of his grandpa and his dad, from back in their huntsmen days. But looking in his eyes, he saw the truth of the matter; despite all the changes, it was still him.

"Jaune?" He heard a voice call out to him from outside the bathroom door. "Is everything okay in there?"

Jaune looked at the door, then back to the mirror. What should he tell Pyrrha? 'Yeah, everything is totally fine except I'm 40 all of a sudden in the span of a 5-minute shower!' No, no, he had to play it safe. Or at least try to get some help.

"Uh, actually, I think I might be getting sick." He lied to his partner. "Do you think you could get some medicine from the nurse's office?"

"Uh, okay then, Jaune."

He crept to the door and put his ear to it. He heard something slide, then slide again. Pyrrha left. Good. He opened the door, creeping into his own dorm room to find something he could wear. No way was he streaking across campus, new body or old body. He pulled on some boxers, finding them to be a bit tight for his new mass, and ripped some tears in them to ease his pain. Nothing in his closet even looked like it still fit him, so he'd figure something out. Maybe if he tied his hoodie over his lap, it would pass enough to be a loincloth?

"Jaune, I went over to Team RWBY and they... had... some..." Jaune looked to his partner, having returned from her search for his fake illness. "...medicine." Yes, that.

"Uh, h-hey, Pyrrha." He cleared his throat. "So, uh, funny story, but, uh... You remember when Weiss told me to grow up?"

"Okay, first of all-" The young woman stormed in, raising a finger at Jaune's torso as if her arm was already used to being positioned to his old height. Following her digit to it's point to find the now massive leader of JNPR looking back at her with innocent, blue eyes.

"Uh, h-hey, Weiss." He waved his gargantuan hands at her. "Uh, so I don't think you'll have to worry about me asking you out anymore."

Weiss didn't say anything. The shifty gaze that adornered her reddened face told Jaune she was too distracted by the titanic mass of muscle and body hair to focus on anything at that moment. He looked to Pyrrha who looked about the same. He noticed their eyes wander down a bit too far.

"O-Oh! Sorry!" Jaune took his hoodie and BARELY managed to tie it around to act as his loincloth tarp thing. "Uh, better?"

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

Jaune panted as he sprinted down the halls of Beacon Academy. The screaming masses behind him only urged him to push himself harder. Making his way Beacon Tower, where the headmaster's office sat at the very top, he tapped repeatedly on the elevator call button.

"Come on, come on!"

"There he is~!" Squealed Yang, flanked by her team and Pyrrha. Of all the times for Ren and Nora to be out on their 'totally not together together friendly luncheon as just friends and nothing more to it than that I swear'.

"I have him, girls~!" Squeaked Velvet as she clung to his neck. Damn! If only he wasn't so distracted by Nora's long and overly complicated name for 'not a date' that she insisted on! "Mm, he smells like an ocean beach house~!"

"Let me smell!" Blake shouted, practically foaming at the mouth. "I've actually lived in a beach house! I would know!"

Before she could sink her claw-like fingers into him, he tossed off Velvet (as gently as he could) and when he realized the elevator wasn't coming, he decided there was only one thing left to do. He turned around, grabbed the wall, and launched himself into the air! After gaining some feet or yards or whatever, he dug his fingers into the wall again and propelled himself higher!

"Weiss!" Ruby looked to her partner.

"Alright!" Weiss summoned glyphs on the wall, all the way up to the top, in the direction of Jaune.

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

"No, sir."

"Come on, I'm sure the students will love it."

"Sir," Professor Goodwitch sighed at the ridiculous glasses on the headmaster's face, "I just don't think anyone will want to see anyone else wearing such ridiculous glasses."

"Oh, come now, Glynda." Ozpin removed his glasses. "It's not like the students will revolt and start climbing up the-"

Just then, a large, nearly naked man with wild hair swatted at a young Ruby Rose that swarmed over him like the most annoying bug ever. He clung to the window frame of the office, swatting away until he fell from the tower, leaving Miss Rose to hang from roof.

"Mm..." He mused "Perhaps these are a bit too wacky..."

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

Jaune Arc was dead, laying in the heap of rubble that was once the statue of the two hunters that greeted every student as they arrived at Beacon Academy. Many of the girls wept around his body, especially Ruby, whose tears soaked her hooded cape as she dressed it over his body. The teachers tried to get through, but the more burly students, such as Yang and, oddly enough, Team CRDL, stood in the way of the faculty as the funeral procession continued.

"Don't you think this prank went to far?" Ren asked.

"No." Nora replied, not looking at her best friend, her eyes focused on her dead leader. "T'was beauty that killed the beast."

"C... Can I get up now?" Jaune groaned.

"Just... Just five more minutes." Pyrrha sobbed, holding her partner's head in her hands.

[dappersautismcreature]

mushroom stew

characters: Bad, Cellbit

tws: cannibalism, violence, gore, slavery/indentured servitude, child solider(ish), death of many npcs, spiders

Bad stretched and yawned as he strode out onto the field— he looked over his opponents for the games.

Nobody looked particularly dangerous. Most of them were young, 18-25 looking, with tough faces and plain clothes. That was pretty usual for the games. People joined or were forced to join by a company or a slavers crew, either for their own money, or someone else’s money. Bad had almost never met someone who was there purely by choice, they could say they were, but the unbearable hunger in their eyes gave them away. Life spent drifting from PvP server to PvP server was wretched, and poor. People needed to hope for more— the games gave them that. 

But there was a price— Bad grimaced as he did another pass of examining his enemies— the first fifty of these people to die would be perma-killed. Forty-five would be stuck in limbo for anywhere from a couple days to a month, depending on how long it took between the time they died and the game’s end. Only the last five could come out alive— and only the winner would be blessed to erase all his wounds. Bad had met people on these fields with limps, with twisted spines, and burns, broken fingers, and missing limbs, eyepatches. Bad himself sported almost a dozen deep scars on his torso and neck and face. In his early days he’d been stuck in limbo for almost three weeks. Now though, after a few decades of practice— he was confident in his ability to come in the top five. Now he could actually fulfill his purpose, the reason he was here.

Snow crunched under a hundred bodies, everyone held their breaths. Silence was mandatory before the start. The horns sounded— and Bad had never felt so alive. He took in a deep breath, letting time slow, and watched as people around him scattered. Boots skidded on icy ground, there were yells, cries of terror. Bad blinked, coiling his muscles, and leaped from his position. His feet thudded against snow, he lengthened his stride, running and running. 

A body slammed into him, small, compact. Bad fell straight on his ass, hissing. The demon sprang to his feet, hands clutching his wooden ax. “Who dares.” He growled, tail curling up like a scorpion’s. The air fizzled, his Thor’s Curse reacting to the sudden threat. 

“I-I-” a kid gasped. His voice was thin, and young. He was still on his back, scattered snow and mud all around him. The young human’s curly brown hair hung around his face, covering his ears completely. He was ragged and boney. Stark blue eyes wide and rimmed with exhaustion. Barely a wisp of peach fuzz graced his chin and upper lip. 

Bad’s posture relaxed slightly. The demon knew what he had to do. He grabbed the kid by the wrist and hauled him to his feet. Then the demon began to run again. “I’m Bad.” He said between breaths. “My name is Bad.”

The kid could barely keep up, stumbling over himself. Eventually he seemed to find his feet, and his breath. “Cellbit.”

They slowed down when they reached the outskirts of the swamp. Bad took his ax and felled a tree, while Cellbit gathered mushrooms. Both of them worked with ruthless efficiency— and Bad was calmed by the fact that at least this wasn’t the kids first game. Somewhat friendly people ran by, calling his name in recognition. But a few called Cellbit’s. Bad’s ear flattened against his head, ok, definitely not this kid’s first game. How old was he? The demon held his ax out to anyone who got too close, tail lashing. He made it clear, this kid was his team now. 

“Stone swords?” Cellbit asked once they had a good supply of mushrooms and wood tucked into their backpacks. Bad nodded, and followed him to a cliffside. He quickly made himself a wooden pickaxe, and got just enough stone to craft a stone sword. He could hear Cellbit working next to him. 

When he looked up, another player was in front of him, staring wildly at him over his crafting table. Flames licked their limbs, and they had glowing red eyes. They looked hungry. Bad stared back, gripping the handle of his new sword. “Cellbit?” He called.

“Yeah?” The kid called back.

“I’m going to kill this guy, I’ll be right back.” He lunged at the player, hearing a faint confirmation from Cellbit. His opponent desperately held up his wooden sword, parrying Bad’s first blow. But the demon was too fast for him, stabbing underneath his defense and sliding his sword clean into the other’s ribs. The player’s red eyes widened, and he sank to his knees, mouthing something that Bad couldn’t understand. The demon stepped back, his sword was yanked from the body with a slick noise. Blood fell on the grass. 

As he walked back over to Cellbit something nagged at him, the way that player had stared— he hadn’t fought back. Maybe he knew him, maybe he knew of him. Dread sank in his stomach but he shook his head and turned to the kid. 

“There’s a guy over there, in a ditch.” Cellbit said, eyes stony. He was clutching his new stone sword with one hand, and with the other he pointed. “Let’s go kill him.” 

Bad’s breath stuck in his throat, but he nodded and the two crept over. The demon gave the go-ahead to the kid— time to see how he came this far in the games. Time to see what he could do. 

The kid leaped over the side of the ditch, sword held low and out. “Die!” He screamed, stabbing it into his opponent's stomach. The player fell without a sound. Bad watched as Cellbit twisted the sword deeper and lunged forward to bite into the dead body’s throat. Blood sprayed across the kid’s cheeks and he tore up, stripping flesh from where the neck met the torso up to the jaw. Cellbit raised his head to meet Bad’s eyes, and the demon shivered. The hunger in them— stronger than he’d ever seen. 

The kid did not break eye contact, as one hand left the sword’s handle, and shoved the hanging strip of gore into his mouth. Blood still fountained out of the hole in the body’s neck, bubbling and spilling into the mud. Bad looked away as Cellbit went for one more bite. This kid was muffined. 

A few moments later Cellbit met him at the top of the ditch— with his sleeve the kid wiped dripping blood from his chin. Then he took his fingernail and picked at his teeth, all the while watching the demon in front of him. Bad had at least three feet’s height on the shrimp, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t intimidated. 

“Well done.” Bad spat out. It wasn’t near the worst thing he’d seen here, but it was close. Still, time to put his mind back to the games. “Nice kill. Let’s go find a ravine.”

They found one a couple hundred meters away, Bad dropped down and killed the player hiding in it. The ravine was all theirs. Time to get some iron. Bad mined some of the more open veins, then set up a furnace. While he was stationary he brought out some of the mushrooms and began to make soup. Cellbit returned with more iron, and together they crouched in the corner and waited. Bad leaned against the stone walls and stared at the sky. Cellbit awkwardly checked and rechecked the furnaces. 

“So how old are you kid, hm?” Bad asked in the quiet. “Don’t lie to me, I can smell when you do.” 

“I don’t believe you.” Cellbit snorted. But he still answered the question truthfully. “I’m fifteen.” Now that he was talking more, Bad could hear an accent in his speech. 

“You company?” Bad asked, tail flicking lazily. 

“No, why? You company?” Cellbit grinned, showing his teeth.

Bad rolled his eyes. “Nope, just curious. Slavers then? You get snatched? Slavers are scum, but slavers who take kids are worse.” 

Cellbit was quiet, staring into the coals of the furnace. “Worse than scum. Yeah.” He shifted to curl tighter up into himself. 

Bad allowed himself to close his eyes for a second. A fifteen year old who was experienced in the games, kidnapped and entered into them by slavers. Muffins. He had to get Cellbit out of here. “And your curse? You really chose Cannibal, you know what that can do to a person? Why not Stomper? Something safer?”

“I didn’t choose.” Cellbit growled, baring his teeth again. “Shut up Thor.”

Bad thudded his head against the wall and laughed coldly. He was going to find these slavers and tear them to bits. “Do you wanna know why I’m here then?” He offered an apology.

“No.” 

“Okay.” Bad stared up at the blue sky, watching for enemies. He turned to the furnaces to check on things, musing over calculations in his head. They’d probably have enough now. He made himself an iron sword and some armor. 

“Guy up there!” Cellbit shouted quietly to him. 

Bad’s head shot up. “Oh snap!” He held his sword up, spotting the guy crouching over the edge of the ravine. “Don’t come down here!” The demon called, showing his teeth and swinging his sword. 

Cellbit quickly crafted himself iron gear and jumped up on top of the furnaces. “I’m full iron!” He cried defiantly— despite definitely not being full iron. 

Bad’s eyes caught sight of the white ball in the player’s hands, but before he could call out Cellbit had already seen it. “Switcher!” The kid cried, backing up. Bad also retreated, staying out of sight under some rock. The two of them crouched down, waiting for the enemy to make a move. 

Another player fell down, landing on some rock’s above them. They cried out as they took damage from the fall, still raising their sword. They were no match for Cellbit who lunged at them and sunk his sword into their stomach. The player’s dead body fell with a sickly sound at the bottom of the ravine. 

Bad raised his head at the death message, realizing that over half of the players were now dead. No more permadeaths from now on. Deep down he breathed a sigh of relief. Up above them, another player ran away. Bad shook himself. “I forgot I was a Thor!” He laughed, raising his ax and sending lightning down to strike them. He missed. 

Cellbit handed Bad an iron chestplate as he watched for more opponents, ax still raised to the sky. Lightning thrummed through him and he whooped. His hair stood on end, he felt unbeatable. “We’re going to dominate this game kid!” The demon grinned. Cellbit handed him iron pants and shook his head in disbelief. 

Bad continued to send lightning towards anyone who got close to their ravine. Soon they were ready to leave. They both quickly ate some mushroom stew, then towered up quickly to the top. 

The sun was setting, and they ran through the darkening swamp. Using their compasses, they looked for more people to kill. “Over here!” Cellbit called. “There’s one of the people that tried to get into the ravine earlier!” He ran off. 

Bad followed, pulling out his sword in one hand, compass in the other. 

“They are going to pay for that!” Cellbit cried darkly, letting out a fake evil laugh. Bad snickered. They lost sight of the player a few times, but eventually found him again, they got closer and closer. 

Cellbit was right on their tail. “Come back here!” He snarled. 

“I’ll cut him off!” Bad called as they turned. He dove around a pond and a tree, readying his sword as he closed in on their victim. The player turned towards him, a few seconds too late, as Bad slashed them across the chest. Cellbit got in a good hit on their shoulder, making them stagger away. Bad chased, slashing twice through their back. But the player was fast, and gained ground, getting out of the demon’s reach. 

They lost sight of him going around a ravine, but they kept up the trail. Bad met up with Cellbit and the two of them ran hard, keeping the same breakneck pace. Eventually Bad had to stop, bending over with his hands on his knees. Curse these old lungs. He gasped. Shouldn’t have smoked so much in his early days. “You got this!” He called to the kid, who was still sprinting ahead of him. After a second’s rest Bad ran after them. The chase wasn’t over.

They burst out of the trees, and back onto the snowy plains. Bad caught sight of Cellbit once again. The kid was booking it across the flat space, closing in on their target. Bad grinned as he saw Cellbit work to curve the frantic player back towards him. They met soon enough, sandwiching them between the two. Bad swung and missed.

“How did you miss it!” The kid growled, running past him. Bad rolled his eyes and gave one last burst of speed. He got ahead of Cellbit, and with one swift brutal slash to the back of the neck, he severed the player’s spine. They fell face-first into the snow, head twisted unnaturally. Cellbit pounced on their backpack, looting it quickly. 

“Nice one.” The kid panted, shoveling containers of mushroom stew into his own backpack. He sat back on his haunches, staining his pants red with bloody snow.

“You too, you too.” Bad hunched over again, breathing deep. “C’mon let’s go.” He hauled Cellbit to his feet, the two of them took up a steady jog once again. 

They found the next player on the edge of a ravine, Cellbit got the first few hits with his sword. Then they were chasing again. The player tried to double back after crossing another ravine, getting a good hit on Bad. The demon fell back. 

Cellbit growled and body slammed the enemy into the deep hole. The kid leaned over the side. “They survived!” Bad joined him at the edge and peered down. A moment later they saw the player’s death message. Bad met Cellbit’s eyes, and then they both turned back to the ravine.

“Must be a team down there.” Bad grit his teeth. He saw movement, at least two people.

“There’s water over here!” Cellbit called from one end of the ravine. “C’mon!”  

“Cannonball!” Bad jumped down first before the hotheaded kid could, landing perfectly in the small cave pool. Cellbit landed behind him. Both of them were soaked up to their knees now. They advanced. The remains of a mineshaft lined the sides of the ravine, cobwebs and oak plank supports. They scrambled over collapsed rocks.

“They’re dying to the spiders!” Cellbit laughed, jumping over the last pile of stone and leaping towards the players. 

Bad caught sight of one of them running for cover, a giant cave spider right on their tail. When the two of them caught up, the players had squeezed themselves into a hole and sealed it off with cobblestone. 

“Look at them!” Cellbit cackled. “They buried themselves with the spider!” The kid was loose and happy, seemingly in his element. He swung his sword lazily in arcs. 

“That’s- yeah that’s not a good idea.” Bad laughed, bringing out his pickaxe and smoothly tearing into the rock. Cellbit joined him.

“Careful Cell-” Bad called. Suddenly the players spilled out of their hiding spot, getting two good solid hits on the kids shoulder and chest. Bad stepped back and was caught off guard as two thick fangs sunk into his calf. “Go away!” He growled, stabbing his sword straight into its skull. He turned back to see Cellbit holding his own against only one of the player’s. The other had retreated back into the hiding spot. 

From the side he surprised the one attacking his kid by stabbing his sword deep into their ribs. Seeing their friend being double teamed, the other sprung back out and both focused on Cellbit. 

“Die!” Bad snarled, slashing at both of them from behind them as Cellbit was backed into the wall. Bad managed to sink his sword into the first player’s stomach, ripping it out brutally, almost cutting them in half. The body fell, glancing off of the demon on its way down. Bad felt gore slide down his iron chestplate. 

“Help!” Cellbit cried, blood dripping down his face. The remaining enemy had him pinned against the stone, their blade plunged deep into his shoulder. His sword had been knocked from his hand, and was now a few meters away from his straining hand. The kid kicked at his enemy desperately. 

Bad slammed into the player with his shoulder, throwing them off balance and allowing Cellbit to fall away and scramble for his sword on the stone floor. The demon snarled as the player turned to lunge at him. Bad twisted, letting the blade slash through his shirt and ribs. He spun and slashed his opponent across the chest. The player fell back and returned the hit. 

Cellbit came in and slammed the flat of his sword against the back of their knee. They buckled and swung their blade around to meet Cellbit’s iron as the kid blocked. Rising back to two feet, the player pushed down, trying to overpower him. Bad stabbed them in the shoulder, making them twist as the demon drove the sword into an oak pole, pinning them there. 

“Just die!” Cellbit finished them off by driving his sword through the middle of their throat. Bad met the player’s eyes as they went dim. Blood gushed out to fully coat Cellbit’s blade, spilling down the body’s chest and onto the dusty stone. 

Cellbit staggered to the side, leaning heavily against the wall. “Holy shit, that was close.” He gasped, hand reaching up to the cuts on the side of his torso. He winced. 

Bad yanked the sword out of the body’s neck. It slumped against him on its way down and he kicked it to the side with his knee. “Good fight kid.” He handed Cellbit his sword back. He wiped his own sword off on the body’s clothes. The demon stayed alert. “Stupid spiders.” He growled, keeping his eyes peeled for more. “Must be a spawner somewhere.”

Cellbit just nodded, exhausted. He started rooting through the backpacks, pulling out a few iron ingots and some sponge. “Must’ve been a Launcher.” He murmured. 

“Oh! You wanna use those to get out of here?” Bad asked, scooping a few from his hand.

“Can we?” Cellbit asked, hesitant. “I thought it was just Launchers.”

“Yeah.” Bad nodded. “If you take them from a Launcher you can use them yourself.” He started placing them on the ground. 

“Oh.” Cellbit watched him. The kid cried out as a spider leapt onto him and sunk its fangs into his upper arm. “Shit! Spider!” 

Bad stabbed it through the abdomen, knocking it off of him. Cellbit staggered away, biting his lip to keep from crying. This was clearly getting to be too much for him. The demon reached out to pat the kid gently on the back. Then Bad kept stacking the sponges, and climbed up the rocks.

“Wish me luck.” He said, then jumped onto the top sponge. “If I die-” the demon shot upwards, flying over the top of the ravine and crashing to the ground up above. “Ouch.” He grumbled, sitting up and leaning over to see if Cellbit was coming.

“Ah! I hate spiders!” He heard the kid cry out— voice cracking— before he too was sent flying. Bad just stood back as Cellbit also crashed into the grassy mud. “That was cool.” The kid groaned, lifting himself off the ground. Bad laughed. Cellbit laughed back, near hysterical. They were both absolutely done with things. 

They found a place to take shelter for the rest of the night and heal. Bad helped Cellbit dress his wounds, and taught him to use swamp lily for cave spider poison. Then the demon started a fire and cooked up some warm mushroom stew. Cellbit had set out his bed roll against a huge log, and was curled up against it. His thin blanket was draped over his shoulder and tucked under his chin. Bad wouldn’t be surprised if the kid fell asleep before dinner was ready. 

Tomorrow was the Feast, when a big supply drop would happen. Whoever got this drop was almost sure to win, Bad was humming with tension,even though the drop was at least 7 hours out. He wasn’t sure of the exact time, as nobody carried clocks on them, but his idea would improve once the sun began to rise. The kid could sleep, Bad would keep watch. He didn’t need as much sleep. 

The mushroom stew didn’t take long, Bad ladled a portion each into the two bowls he always carried with him. He crawled over to Cellbit’s still form, gently tapping his shoulder twice with the tip of his tail. The kid was awake after the first, a hand darting out— fast as a snake— to grab the tail tight in one fist. 

Bad grimaced and smiled. “Just me.” He whispered. Cellbit let go. “Before you go to bed, eat some stew, drink some water. Please.” He handed the kid his bowl, and crawled back to his spot— on the other side of the fire. 

Cellbit sat up slowly, no doubt his entire body was sore. He took his spoon from his pack and shoveled bite after bite into his mouth. They were all used to mushroom stew, the same two edible mushrooms that spawned in the swamps were always there, always quick to take and eat. But Cellbit’s eyes lit up at the taste of Bad’s stew. The demon knew how to make those knobby, nasty mushrooms taste somewhat decent. “Thank you.” The soft accented whisper was barely heard over the fire. But Bad appreciated it, and bobbed his head in acknowledgment. 

After soup was eaten, and water drunk, Cellbit turned back over on his bedroll. The kid had one hand on his iron sword, which he held down by his side. His other arm made a makeshift pillow against his face. 

Bad pretended like he didn’t watch as slowly, Cellbit allowed himself to let his guard down, and sleep. The demon wondered just how often the kid had slept during these games— if he’d ever slept on these fields. Bad certainly hadn’t, even in his many rounds. Only six-ish more hours until the sun rose, and they’d pack up, head out for the Feast. Bad leaned back against his tree, and kept his ears perked for movement. They’d set up camp in between the swamp and the snowy plain, tucked in a ditch with a log and a few small trees. There was cover for them, but not much beyond that, several dozen meters of empty ground were their best protection. 

He was used to this— running scenarios through his head the night before a Feast. By his estimation there should be less than a fourth of the original number of players. If he was going on averages, the number was more like ten to fifteen. Bad squinted at the leaves over his head. Most people who survived this long probably had a teammate, at least one. So they could probably expect six to ten teams to also be after the Feast, maybe minus a few because of distance or reluctance. There were always a few people who just hunkered down and hid until the Pit. A shiver went up Bad’s spine, the amount of times he’d died in that Pit ran through his mind. Death after death after death, his hands scrabbling at the stone. The worst part was always knowing he was so close. 

Bad let out a small scream as he felt teeth gouge into his upper arm. His other hand came up to press back against the forehead of Cellbit. The kid’s fangs were fully dug into his flesh and Bad winced as they tugged the wound wider. “Cellbit!” His eyes were fully narrowed into slits, shiny and hungry and violent. Bad shoved again, shaking his shoulder in another attempt to dislodge the grip. Blood shone on Cellbit’s chin as he only dug in deeper. “Cellbit stop! Please.” Bad hissed louder. “I don’t want to hurt you.” The kid did not let go.

Bad grit his teeth and with his free hand reached to where Cellbit’s jaw hinged. Pressing down with a firm thumb, he worked at the joint until the pressure caused pain. Cellbit yelped and his grip on the demon loosened. Bad slipped away, leaping over the fire and on top of the log. His tail was curled up over his back in a defensive position. 

Cellbit stayed frozen, teeth snapping shut with a click. He opened his mouth again, and shut it again. Then repeated the action a few more times. His eyes were still, empty hungry slits. He turned his head to stare at the demon on the log. 

Bad shook his head and sat back, gripping the bite mark and wiping the blood away. “Kid, it’s too late at night to do this please.” He swung his legs back and forth. “Wait until morning?” He spoke softly and calmly, not letting fear into his heart. As far as he knew it was the only way to calm the Cannibal Curse, to show it no fear, and hopefully no more blood. 

Cellbit stayed still, only his chest moving up and down in slow, steady breaths. Bad crept down from the log, reaching into his backpack to retrieve some bandages. The kid’s eyes watched his every movement. Bad kept talking calmly to him, telling him about the ingredients in the stew, and where they were, and how very very chill he was right now. Yep, Bad was not creeped out by this at all. It definitely wasn’t disturbing to see a Cursed kid staring into his soul with the demon’s own blood staining his teeth. Bad cleaned the bite wound and wrapped bandages around his upper arm. When that was settled he sat down where he was, only a meter from the kid.

Cellbit was crouched in the dirt. His hair was wild, mussed from sleep. Somehow his eyes had gotten crazier than his normal. Bad stared back at him, blinking slowly. Seconds passed, then minutes, and finally after about half an hour Cellbit was settled and awake. The kid groggily stared at the fresh dressing on Bad’s arm. His hand slowly rose to his mouth, and he twisted his body to sit back down on his butt. With dirty hands he wiped the sticky dark red blood from his lips— again, again, again he wiped. He couldn’t get clean, and he was frantic for it. Frantic for the demon’s blood to never have been spilt by him.

Bad wilted with sympathy, and handed the kid his water bottle. “It’s ok, I’m not mad, you do what you have to Cellbit.” Bad scooted over to sit next to him.

The wild haired kid laughed. “Never had someone have that reaction to me trying to eat them.” He took a big swig of water and spat it out. 

Bad smirked. “Never had someone try to eat me before. There’s a reason why people don’t choose the Cannibal Curse.” 

Cellbit’s cracked smile morphed into a sour frown. “Yeah.” He murmured.

“Hey.” Bad flicked his tail. “Once you’re out of here, you’ll be free, okay?” 

“Sure.” Cellbit growled. 

“I mean it, you point me at em and I’ll rip those bastards to shreds. You’ll never have to see this place again.” Bad clenched the dirt beneath him in his clawed hands. 

Cellbit leaned into his side, the kid’s head smashing against his heart. “I don’t know if I want to believe you.” He mumbled, then yawned. 

The demon was stiff with shock. The kid— besides the time just now when he’d tried to eat him— had never even brushed up against him. Muffins, had he like, imprinted on him or something? He didn’t know how kids worked! 

Bad patted Cellbit’s head awkwardly, cooing noises coming from somewhere deep within him. His fingertips brushed up against something hidden within the kid’s wild hair, two somethings actually. They were ears, two small, fluffy cat ears. Perched where Bad had expected human ears should be. The demon froze again, was this kid seriously also a cat hybrid? Bad looked up at the sky and cursed the universe for sending him the cutest little murder-muffin child ever. Cellbit fell asleep like that, and Bad could swear he started purring. 

When the sun rose, Bad was deep in meditation. His legs had long since fallen asleep but he didn’t dare move and disturb the sleeping cat hybrid. But as the birds started chirping, Cellbit blinked himself awake. The kid sprang away from Bad, embarrassed. Smoothly— the demon just ignored him and stood up to stretch. 

“Time to get going for the Feast.” Bad murmured, doing a quick survey of the fields around them. No players in sight, good. They were a good 1000 blocks out from where the drop would be, they needed to leave, now. Bad had his things packed up in a minute, and Cellbit was right behind him. The kid was oddly cheery given the circumstances, but Bad just accepted it. The games made everyone a little weird, even if that weirdness was being a morning person. 

The two of them trekked towards the coords, alert for danger. Their compasses pointed to people ahead of them, at least a couple. Bad readied his sword and advanced— Cellbit was about three meters back and at 4 o’clock, flanking him. The players came into view, one dashing by and the other ahead, in full iron. 

Bad signaled for them to focus the fully armored player first, they were the most dangerous. Cellbit nodded in agreement, and they crept up towards them. A lava pool sat to their right, and Bad circled around it, hoping to catch the player off-guard and knock him into it. Unfortunately they saw him. When the demon lunged, they met him with equal force, exchanging blow after blow. Cellbit came up behind both of them and body slammed the player into a nearby ditch. They scrambled to their feet and took off running. Bad and Cellbit took up the chase. 

Horns sounded, nearly knocking Bad off balance. He stopped running. Cellbit skidded to a halt next to him. “The Feast!” The kid cried, spinning around. The two of them focused on a thin beacon in the near distance, announcing the location of the large supply drop. 

“Let’s go! Go go go!” Bad shouted, sprinting off towards it. Cellbit whooped and followed. They dashed towards it, anxiety building the longer they were away from it. The horns meant that there was 40 seconds until it dropped, hopefully just enough time to get there— and kill anyone guarding it. 

Cellbit passed by Bad, terror spurring him onward. “There’s a full iron!” He called back once he reached the lip of a large circle of cleared terrain. The ground below was pure stone, inorganically dug out just for the Feast. Cellbit paused, staring down at it.

“Let’s get them!” Bad cried, running straight up to him and leaping down without hesitating. The two attacked the full iron player viciously, Cellbit taking on the bulk of the attack. The kid swung his sword over and over again, clashing against his opponent's iron chestplate. Bad helped him at his flank, getting in a few good hits before he was hit from behind.

A wildcat dragged him off his feet, sinking its claws into his shoulders. Bad twisted and stabbed wildly at it. “A Chameleon!” He cried out a warning to Cellbit as the wildcat shifted back into a player and ran off towards the middle of the circle. Bad ran after it, running directly into Cellbit’s fight. He took his chance and cut through the full iron player— wedging his sword in the slot by his armpit, shoving up and through the important artery there. Blood spurted around the iron blade as Bad uncaringly dragged it back out and the body collapsed. 

In just a split second Bad glanced up at the tower above them— made of spindly oak planks. Muffins, a player tower. He brought up his ax, calling a warning to Cellbit. Thunder shook his heart as he called down lightning— directly to the top of the tower. The wood was burnt almost immediately to a crisp, showering debris down on the both of them. 

Another lightning strike landed just a meter from him— and suddenly the Feast was here. A player jumped down and landed brokenly on one of the chests— desperate for anything. Cellbit dispatched him swiftly with a calculated slash to the throat. “He’s dead!” The kid called, giddy. 

Bad opened the closest chest to him and snatched the diamond sword within. As he was scavenging Cellbit called out warning him. Bad turned around to see another desperate player attempting to open another chest, Cellbit chased him off with a couple of well placed hits. It was a mad frenzy. As Bad took a second to watch, he saw another player run up out of the corner of his eye. 

“Oh no you don’t!” Bad yelled, lunging and slamming the butt of his new diamond sword into the side of their helmetless head. The body crumpled immediately. Bad stepped over it to run and help Cellbit with one of his fights. But the kid had his teeth sunk in— and the player dead— by the time Bad arrived. They turned back without a word to the Feast.

Quickly they looted. Like deer, looking up every other second. Bad slipped on some diamond boots and gathered precious health potions into his backpack. The demon grinned as Cellbit slipped on a diamond chestplate. 

“I need boots!” The kid called and Bad spun, looking over the dead bodies around them. 

“That guy has boots.” He said, gesturing to the full iron player he had finished off earlier.

“Look out,” Cellbit warned, rushing over to yank the boots off of the dead player. “There’s a guy up there.”

Bad looked up and sure enough, on the lip of the circle was yet another player. This one waited, and watched. Bad switched between watching them, and the other player, who’d slowly been towering above them still. The demon shifted on his feet, anxiously holding his ax. With a cry he called lightning to hit the tower once more— another miss, more burnt wood and splinters. 

Cellbit and Bad stood back to back, ready, waiting. The demon aligned himself with the tower, and called down yet another strike. His teeth tasted weird in the back of his mouth, and he could see faint spots in his eyesight. But Bad felt on top of the world. “Die!” He cried, sending another, then another, until the tower exploded violently.

“Woah!” Cellbit shouted from behind him, the kid turned to stare.

Somehow the player was still alive. Not for long, if Bad and his undefeatable lightning had anything to say about it. The demon waited, aligning himself perfectly this time. “Die die die!” He laughed, lightning struck once more, and the player’s body slammed to the ground. 

“Nice one!” Cellbit called. Bad turned back to the Feast, ready for more. 

“Let’s clear these out.” Bad instructed, digging into the chests. Cellbit lay his chestplate on the enchantment table in the middle. Mere seconds passed. 

“Watch out! Behind us!” Bad jumped over the chests and sprinted towards a player who was headed their way. He hit them once, a slash deep in the shoulder, and they turned away. Bad returned to Cellbit, not wanting to lose anything good in the Feast. 

They stayed like that for a bit more, anxiously scaring off other players. They were gathering like hungry ravens around a kill, eyes dark. Bad and Cellbit burned any remaining items, and exploded the chests, before heading out once again. On their way they added yet another player kill to their list. Bad had lost count at this point. 

The sun had risen on a cloudy day in the snowy plains. Their breath turned to wisps of fog, and the wind nipped at their faces. Distantly small songbirds sang in the bushes, but nearby it was silent, scared. Bad pulled out his compass, looking for their next targets. They headed towards the swamp once more. 

But the demon’s compass pointed down, deep down. So they dug down as carefully as they could, passing by a spider spawner on their way. It was good for gaining levels, so they camped it and each enchanted their swords. 

Eventually they were met with an underground ravine, and spotted the player they had been searching for. Bad pulled out his tnt and raised an eyebrow to Cellbit. Cellbit stared back at him and then nodded once. The demon snickered, and placed it right above the player's head. He was lost in it now, as Thor Curse’s said, he was lightning sick. Bad lit the tnt with his flint and steel and backed up. The first missed, so he placed another, then another. And finally, their enemy was dead. 

Embarrassingly, on their way out— they got lost. The cave tunnels were winding and dark, with random torches placed by the player they had just killed. The two bickered and complained. It was a whole hour before they were finally out again. Rain was falling lightly on the swamp grass, but dark clouds and rumbles on the horizon forecasted a big storm. 

They searched for loners in the swamp, using their compasses and hefting their backpacks over their heads to keep dry. Cellbit’s ears kept flickering in annoyance at the wetness. Bad had such an urge to tease him about it— but something told him he’d be bitten again for that. 

A lone player they found was trying to hide in a small hole. Cellbit quickly finished them off out of sight of Bad. When the kid emerged he was wiping bits of flesh from the corners of his mouth. Bad’s tail danced in the rain, he didn’t care anymore— whatever it took to win. It was raining steadily now, and rolls of thunder made their ears ring. Lightning lit up the fields in the distance— the sun had set. 

They went after a team of two next, these players had also chosen to stay underground. Bad was cautious, ready for traps. He knew of at least a few that meant death for them, almost instant death. 

Cellbit found the players first, driving one of them— unarmored and defenseless right into Bad’s waiting sword. The demon cut them almost in half, sword sinking up through their ribs and lodging into their spine. Bad hissed as he drew his blade out— and wiped it on the body’s clothes. 

Next, the teammate. Bad found them first this time, as they quite literally ran into each other. Bad sprung back as they placed lava in between them. The demon sidestepped and stabbed at his enemy. He quickly disoriented them and spun smoothly to strike them from behind, killing them instantly with a blade through the back of the neck. 

Bad checked, four players left, two enemies. They could do this, they could actually win. Bad would let the kid take the win, and then they could both go kill his slavers together. The demon almost skipped at the fantasy. 

They went back up to the surface, compasses out and ran across the snowy plains hunting for the last two people. Eventually they came across a tower, and Cellbit groaned as the compasses pointed down once more. 

“You gotta be kidding me.” The kid moaned, throwing his head up. 

“Underground again.” Bad rolled his eyes, crouching down to pinpoint the location. The demon offered to dig down, and in a one by two hole, started his descent. Dirt turned to stone. Cellbit followed him down with a water bucket, and soon they were right on top of their enemy. Bad frantically mined through stone, teeth bared, ready for a fight. Cellbit broke through the rock first, jumping down to brutally stab through the poor player’s iron chestplate. Bad only heard a choked scream, and they were dead. 

Bad sighed, and backed up. The kid emerged smiling wide. “Good fight.” The demon murmured. Cellbit shrugged and started towering back up. Bad followed. One more person left.

Their compasses pointed right at them, off in the distance. They were on the hunt again. Red poppies stood tall out of snow covered grass. Scattered footprints scuffed the white powder, spraying it every which way. Bad and Cellbit thundered past. 

Bad looked down at his compass, swerving side to side to check if they were close. The needle barely moved, they were. The demon slowed down next to a pond, circling it. Cellbit was opposite him, also examining his compass closely. 

“Another one underground.” Bad growled— pocketing his tool. His tail lashed with frustration. 

Cellbit looked up at him, a quip forming on his lips. He disappeared. Just like that.

“Cellbit!” Bad yelled. Muffins, this wasn’t good. That meant only one thing— this player was an Endermage. The demon dug his pickaxe desperately into the earth, nearing the fight, not hearing anything besides his own desperate breaths. His kid was going to die if he couldn’t get there in time. He tore at the stone, lightning sparking in his eyes and mouth. He could smell the ozone— like burning plastic. 

Bad’s heart sank as Cellbit’s death message popped up. The demon screamed out in rage and dug even faster. Panic shot through him, he could be next, at any minute. There was a cool down— and five seconds of invincibility immediately afterwards— but it was still putting his life in his enemies hands. A horrible tugging feeling in his gut was the only warning he had before the demon was pulled through space. 

Then he was falling. One. Solidly hitting lava, screaming as he expected to burn. Two. Bad wasn’t burning, wasn’t dying. Three. Get up, get up, get up. Four. The demon screamed again, dragging himself out and onto nearby cobblestone. Five. 

The heat from the cobblestone hit him suddenly as the invincibility wore off. He was down in a ravine— lava pool right next to him, enemy above him. Bad crouched, backing up until he was hidden from sight by a large stone overhang. Good, the Endermage shouldn’t know where he was. His breaths came heavy as the heat sucked the oxygen from the air. Bad set his backpack down carefully— and withdrew his bow and quiver. He slung his quiver onto his back and then the pack after it. Carefully, the demon nocked an arrow, and swung up and around to where he’d last seen the player. He aimed, and fired. Bad didn’t know if he’d missed or not, but he nocked another arrow and waited three seconds. No retaliation. He popped his head out again, and shot once more. The player had built up a wall, blocking Bad’s arrows.

“Muffins.” The demon cursed under his breath. There was no other option besides chasing after them. Bad started towering up, building a wall at his back first so he couldn’t be knocked off. When he was level with where he’d last seen his opponent he looked over, a similar— but taller— walled tower had been built. Bad rolled his eyes. Now what.

The demon scooted over to it, sliding along a precarious ledge in the wall of the ravine. Grasping a handhold he leaned forward and placed two tnt, hoping one would launch the other towards the tower. Bad lit it and scrambled back to his tower. When he looked back— the top of the tower, and the player, were gone. He flicked his flint and steel desperately needing light, and spotted them just as they whipped around the corner on a ledge across from his.

Bad growled and bridged over the ravine as fast as he could. The demon crept quietly along the wall, sword drawn. He fought off a skeleton that blindsided him— but once he was done with that, the player had disappeared. The compass pointed down into the ground once again. Bad wavered, unsure of what to do. The player could have laid down traps, they could still Endermage him. And the Pit was coming up soon— when they’d be teleported instantly into a deep deep hole to fight to the death. 

Bad decided to follow the player down, parallel to their deep tunnel. He dug and dug, getting closer and closer. The compass in his hand was shivering madly. Bad could practically smell the blood already. He needed to get his revenge for Cellbit, needed to sink his teeth into the flesh of this player. 

That same tugging feeling was back, swooping his stomach out from under him. For a second he thought he’d been Endermage-d again. But when he blinked his eyes open and staggered on his feet— he could see the tall walls of the Pit surrounding him. Bad lashed his tail and spun around, ready to face his enemy. He twirled his sword once, gripped the handle tight, and raced over to where the player was desperately towering up the side. 

In a flash of brilliant thought, the demon whipped out his only enderpearl. Bad tossed it smoothly a few blocks above the player’s head— then he held his breath. Bad sprang into re-existence right on top of them, wrapping his legs around their neck, he leaned back into the wall and pushed. The player toppled off of the tower and the demon spun midair to catch himself on the lip of the tower. Bracing himself with his feet against the stone wall— he looked down at his enemy.

The player had staggered to their feet and taken a few steps— desperately trying to distance themself. Bad shook his head, grinning— and leapt off to land smoothly in front of them. He advanced, sword out. “Bring it buddy.” The demon slid his tongue over his sharp teeth and tensed. With brutal force and no time for his opponent to react— Bad stabbed his diamond sword through their neck and up into their skull. The thrust carved through flesh, cartilage and bone— settling the blade solidly into the body. Bad swung the sword to the side and sent it crashing to the stone floor. That was honestly a little underwhelming.

He kicked dust at the body— before turning and looking up at the sky. Bad felt the familiar instant drain— as the lightning left his blood and exhaustion swamped him. He always hated the silence right afterwards, how it made his skin crawl and jaw ache. Soon, he would be teleported back to the Game Hall, and paraded around in front of businessmen and server owners. The demon tapped one clawed finger against his palm— anxious, tired, and sick. 

He was looking forward to finding Cellbit. No doubt the slavers would be bragging about their prized third place catch. Bad would find them— Bad would probably meet them, shake hands with them and memorize their faces, as Cellbit was trapped somewhere, still wounded. Bad had talked to slaver’s catches before— those types of organizations had special arrangements to teleport their players right back to their cages. 

The demon stretched with his arms over his head, and yawned. The Game was over— but another one was beginning. Bad lunged to one side, then the other, working cramps out of his legs. His tail twitched. The pull returned one more time, sinking into his gut harshly and tugging him through space. Time to go rescue his kid. 

[hakodate-division]

"The little things in life are sometimes the most important."

Introduction

Ted Bridges is the second member of the Hakodate Division rap battle team, Kuma no ie. He is known by his MC name, Teddy. A former veteran in the Canadian army, Ted retired from military service after WWIII ended and vowed to give up violence. After the death of his beloved wife, he fled to Hakodate and now lives a quiet life in the mountains with his son. But what will happen when unfortunate circumstances force him to give up his life of peace and take up arms again?

A heavily-built man in his late 30s with a rugged mountain-man appearance, Ted is a lot heavier and taller than most men. He has very noticeable muscles on his arms and chest due to his time serving in the army, and his current life as a mountain man. He has brown eyes and bright red hair that is cut short. His hair color is not natural, as he dyed it, along with his eyebrows, a different color when he escaped to Hakodate. He also has some peach fuzz growing on his chin. His body is riddled with faded scars, most of which he got while wrestling with bears up in the mountains. A few are from his time serving in the military. The most noticeable one is the one on his face across the bridge of his nose.

For his attire, he wears a tight black muscle shirt that outlines the muscles on his chest. Over it, he wears a brown leather military jacket that is unbuttoned. On his bottom, he wears a pair of black jeans and a pair of brown boots with matching-colored socks. Around his neck, he wears a dog tag that is also from his time in the military. And around his head is a black bandana. In one of the pockets of his jacket is a gold locket, which is a memento from his wife.

Name Meaning

Ted - 'Wealthy guardian. Also an abbreviation of Theodore.'

Bridges - 'variant of Bridge. In some cases, this name denoted someone from the Flemish city of Bruges (Brugge) in Belgium meaning ‘bridges’ which had extensive trading links with England in the Middle Ages.'

Aliases

"The Bear"

Dad/Father/Papa - His son

Teddy - His wife

Ted-san - Kotan

Biographical Info

Gender - Male

Age - 38

Birthday - March 23rd

Ethnicity - American Canadian

Hair Color - Bright Red (Dyed)

Eye Color - Dark Brown

Height - 209 cm/6'10"

Weight - 134 kg/295 lb.

Star Sign - Aries

Piercings - None

Markings - Multiple scars on the majority of his body, most of which are faded. He also has a bear tattoo on his upper right arm, and one covering the majority of his back.

Family

Mother (Deceased)

Father (Deceased)

Wife (Deceased)

Son

Voiced By - ZORN (Rapping)

Fun Facts

MC Name - Teddy

Occupation - Lumberjack

Division - Hakodate

Position - Second Member

Favorite Food - Grilled Fish

Least Favorite Food - Sauerkraut

Likes - Peace, the mountains, his work, cold mornings, his son, his wife, bears, the Ainu people, sunsets, cold beer after a hard day's work, brewing his own beer, Nature, solitude

Dislikes - Violence, thinking about his past, anything related to Chuohku, anything that disturbs his peaceful life, harm to his son, noise pollution, poachers, disrespect to bears

Hypnosis Microphone

Ted's Microphone is a gold condenser microphone on a silver stand. The mic, itself, takes the form of a labrys, a double-bladed axe, and the mic appears in the middle of the blades.

His Speaker takes the form of a gold heart-shaped locket, similar to the one he keeps in his coat pocket. When he begins rapping, it opens up, revealing a speaker inside.

His rap ability, Heart of the Mountains, drastically increases Ted's defense, protecting him from minor blows from his opponents. He can keep this ability active for as long as he wants, but the longer it's active, the more stamina and energy he uses up.

Ted's rap themes are centered around his life, and his desire to keep it as peaceful as he can. He often raps about incidents from his past that have shaped him into the man that he is. He also mentions the love he has for his life, his family, Hakodate, and Japan, as a whole.

Personality

To say that Ted is an intimidating figure would be putting it lightly. He is quite scary when angered and his large stature doesn't exactly help matters. He doesn't make attempts to hide his disliking for people strangers or people who he feels are attempting to ruin the peaceful life he has made with his son. An excellent judge of character, he can easily discern what kind of character a person is just from their look or stance alone. It has caused him to chase more than a few people off the mountains where he lives.

Once a decorated war hero who made a name for himself during the Third World War, Ted was known as a remorseless and cold soldier. His fury in battle, as well as his appearance, gave him the moniker, "The Bear". However, he was also known to be very cautious, often taking precautions in battle. It was this behavior that caused the death of one of his closest war buddies, whom Ted feels he could have saved if he had been more aggressive. After witnessing the horrors brought on by conflict, the gruff man eventually resigned and went on to start a family. From then on, he was known for his kind, yet firm demeanor and humbleness.

Knowing what it's like to go into battle and have to kill, Ted strongly dislikes senseless violence and has an extreme disliking for killing. That's not to say that he doesn't enjoy a good brawl now and then. In his spare time when he is not working as a woodsman, he'll often be found wrestling with some of the bears found in the mountains, considering it a good sport. Also, whenever he comes across poachers or people who seek to do him or his son harm, he always hurts them to the point where they get the message to not return to the mountains again. Usually, one well-placed punch is enough for most people to get the message.

Underneath his rough demeanor, Ted is a loving father who only cares for the well-being of his son. Though it takes a while to earn his trust, he is known to be a good friend to many. He automatically befriended the Ainu people living in the valley below the mountains when he saved a bear cub from a bunch of poachers. This caused the Ainu people to see the foreign lumberjack as one of them. And though he didn't have to, he saved Kokomi when she was injured, nursing her back to health, which earned him her friendship and admiration.

Another aspect of Ted is his hatred for anything involving Chuohku. He dislikes the matriarchal government due to the fact that he blames them for the death of his wife. Though Chuohku insists that her death was a "workplace accident", Ted firmly believes that she was killed for less-than-honorable reasons. He now dislikes anything to do with them. Despite that, he hasn't done anything to directly oppose them, not caring at all what they do so long as they leave him and his son alone.

Background

*Coming soon*

Trivia

Though he owns a chalet to sleep in, he often chooses to sleep outside, feeling more at peace on the ground.

He ferments and creates his own type of beer, which is a hit for the people of Hakodate and the surrounding cities. He refuses to give up the recipe or market it.

His birthday is the same day as 'World Bear Day'.

As stated, he often spends his free time wrestling bears. Out of 200 matches, 199 of them have been won in his favor. The only one that wasn't was declared a 'draw'.

Though he has no solid proof, Ted believes that his wife was approached by Chuohku because she had the ability to "speak" to animals, as if able to understand what they were saying. He often worries that his son has the same ability, which was one of the reasons he moved to Hakodate from Okinawa.

[toxichem]

✧･ﾟ ——— ❛ @galaxythixf . ❪ ill & injured . ❫ "Hang in there. I'm not going to let you die." - Brim

✧･ﾟ ——— ❛   despite the bleeding wound in her stomach   ,   the chemist could ' t help but chuckle   .   a moment later   ,   the rest of the air in her lungs whooshed out with a harsh cough   ,   spasming muscles in her abdomen depriving her of breath   .   ❝   no laughing   ,   ugh   .   ❞   letting herself fall back against the shipping container hiding them   ,   she rolled her head to look over at brimstone   ,   blinking away a blurriness that fuzzed his profile for just a moment   .   ❝   it ' s not like sage couldn ' t bring me back if i did   .   ❞   long fingers grasp her half - mask   ,   pulling the filter away from her face for more unobstructed air flow   .   taking a deep breath   ,   she grimaced upon realizing the poor taste that joke was made in   .   ❝   sorry   .   if my anatomy lessons are remembered correctly   ,   though   ,   i still have several hours before this becomes a bigger issue   .   ❞

viper shifted her weight   ,   breath hissing between her teeth as she pushed herself into a more proper sitting position   ,   compared to the slumped way she ' d been moments prior   .   ❝   hey   .   look at me   ,   brimstone   .   ❞   the hand not pressed against her stomach   (   thankfully not bloodstained   ,   she never wanted to see her blood on his skin   ,   never again   .   )   lifted to turn his head towards her   ,   bright green eyes meeting pale blue   .   ❝   liam   .   i will make it out of here   .   i ' ll be all right   .   go finish the mission   .   ❞   dark hair fell from behind her ear as she nodded towards where the rest of their team was   ,   systematically pushing and clearing out remaining resistance   .   the former firefighter had pulled her back to an area they had already secured   ,   after dealing with the assailant that had gotten the drop on her and put one shorty round into her stomach   .   she ' d be safe enough there with the frenzy he ' d dropped in her lap until evac arrived   .

[yanderemommabean]

I HAVE AN IDEA! A darling royalty for the bees, who is allergic to pollen! Picture someone coming in, offering the ruler some food, and poor thing starts sneezing, and it looks like they’re crying! Poor bees panic!

You’re sniffling and struggling to keep your nose from clogging, and the pollen only gets worse. The bees are covered in it from head to toe in the spring on their planet, and at first you didn’t really get bothered, but now? Now you’re sneezing and coughing, with watery eyes and itchy skin.

It’s not the end of the world, but when a few bees come in to serve you breakfast and see your state, they assume the worst.

They all surround you, furiously searching you over and asking you if you feel sick, if you can breathe, if you’re even able to stand as they help you out of bed. Would a shower help? What about those bumps on your skin? Your eyes are filled with tears! Why tears? Have they let you down as you’re in this sickened state?!

“I-it’s just bad allergies” you manage, the water from the shower warm and soothing while the bees chirp and buzz in a panic, asking question after question. “Just tell us what we need to do! We’ll get the medical team here right away! Don’t worry we won’t leave your side!”.

“N-no no! I just need some antihistamines! I’m not dying I promise!” You try to reassure, seeing the worry in their faces as they start to tear up themselves. “Y-you can’t be in such a terrible state and be fine! We have to get you help!” A few whimper in sync. They’re pouts and brittle voices make your heart feel heavy, as they simply don’t understand and are worrying over nothing!

“It’s ok, it’s ok” you softly speak, petting their head softly as you sit down under the water, the warmth hitting your back and soothing your muscles. “I promise it’s nothing lethal or terminal. We can get the medical team here and I’ll explain everything I can, ok? You guys have nothing to be upset about”.

One bee gently nudged your hand as you pet their fuzz, eyes closing as they indulge in your touch. “Are you sure? We wouldn’t be upset if you’re sick, dear ruler”.

You wanted to sigh in exasperation, but stifle it. It’s just their nature, you’ve been here long enough to know that. You lean down to softly kiss their cheek, earning a fluttering of wings as a result. “I swear. Now let’s just get ready for the day ok? I know you all want to share breakfast with me”.

(Was this ok? @-@ -Mommabean )

[syomi]

If that's possible, and although I'm feeling a little nervous, can you write Owen Knight, black reader x, a little romantic fluff when Owen finishes training with his team ヾ(❀╹◡╹)ﾉﾞ

untitled - owen knight

pairing: owen knight x black gn!reader

content: romantic fluff + emphasis of physical intimacy

masterlist-series: windbreaker

owen lays his back, his blue eyes watching attentively as your thighs straddle his sides and lower abdomen. your eyes only focused on his flawless and dewy skin. the pads of his fingertips sketch circles on your skin like a drawing pad. his eyes got heavy as you lean over, pressing your chest on his to slip your face in the nook of his neck. 

your lips poked at his skin teasingly. his lips couldn't hide the twitch of a soft smirk. he missed having his big baby on his chest, in his arms for security and hiding in the crook of his neck like refuge. 

your breathing shares a link and syncs it's pace to his. it felt like your bodies were merging together. the silence of your room adds to the intimacy- you could only hear each other's bodies aspirate harmoniously. his legs were going numb from the weight on tired, exercised muscles but owen ignored the tingling sensation. 

your fingers pulled, twirled and smooth over strands of his blonde locks of hair. your eyes told your brain to remind him in the morning about a trim. you didn't mind the growing undercut and peach fuzz, he captured your attention in all phases. 

the duvet trapped the body heat of the couple. your lashes tickle his skin as your eyes flutter slowly. owen silently prays that he stays up to feel your body go limp as you go to sleep. he is obsessed with the transition of consciousness to unconsciousness your body does, when those pretty eyes get too heavy. 

he enjoyed coming to see his baby after a while. his heart wrapped around the moments like a vice grip. owen missed the impromptu bathtub or dinner dates. his lids got heavy after your body accepted your sleepiness. everything became dark but the love burned like a campfire in the cold woods. 

[urijihoons-blog]

Bokuto: Clarity

/ Kōtarō Bokuto x reader /

genre: pure angst

wc: 1399

summary: It’s your anniversary with Bokuto and you surprise him at a tournament, but someone’s been lying to you.

warnings: sadness

a/n: Hehehehehe I wrote something and it’s full of ✨angst✨

///

All you can hear are the clicking of your shoes on the airport tile.

You’ve had this trip planned for a while, and have everything down to a t. You arrive at the airport right after his volleyball match ends, which by the excited texts he’s been sending you (and the fact that you followed the score online during your flight) his team won his match. Just as you assumed, you expected nothing less. You would grab food from this barbecue place around his hotel that he’s been talking about constantly every night you two FaceTime, and you would surprise him. You would spend this night together, watch his final match tomorrow, and explore the city in next couple of days.

You haven’t seen him in a while, 2 and a half weeks to be exact, because he’s been at this combo training camp/tournament. This distance, this time between you, it isn’t new. It’s his job, and you fully respect that. You still talked on the phone everyday, FaceTimed every other day, and texted constantly. He’s a very attentive person, especially when he misses you.

Tonight is no different. You FaceTimed him while secretly closing your bakery for the night, right before his semifinal game. You gave him as much encouragement as you could over the phone, knowing it still meant a lot to him to have your support. You received text messages immediately after the game, reading them while you sit in the taxi on the way to get dinner. His texts outline every detail, every spike, every rally, every wish that you could’ve been there in the crowd. But he understood why, he understands that you can’t just abandon your business, not for his volleyball game, even if it is your anniversary.

You look down at the ring, turning it over and over around your finger. That’s the whole reason you’re doing this anyways. You closed up shop early to be able to leave and celebrate his win and your 4 years of dating, which would come to an end because of your wedding soon. Butterflies flutter in your stomach just thinking about it.

The cab suddenly stops and you get out, leaving the money behind. You pick up his order quickly, taking brisk steps. You can see the hotel sign just a block down. Its only been a few minutes and you’re already in the building, going up the elevator. You check previous texts, ‘Babe, you know I always stay in room 428. Just in case you ever want to surprise me :) xx’ And, finally, you could do just that. Give him the love and support and encouragement in person, instead of through a screen. The thought of seeing him made you halfway sprint down the hall, your rolling suitcase struggling to stay on its wheels behind you.

You slow as you see the room numbers closing in. It’s happening. You stand in front of the door and look down at yourself. You straighten out your sweater and run your fingers through your hair, trying to look at least halfway presentable. He won’t care, he just misses you. He says it everyday, multiple times a day. He just wants you. Giving yourself this little reminder, you knock on the door. For a second, you realize he may be out with his teammates, but then you hear the shuffle of footsteps.

“-yeah, and this must be our room service!” He opens the door and stares at you in utter shock. Your eyes take him in. His hair was down and wet and you could smell his body wash from the foot of distance between you, he must have just stepped out of the shower. Shirtless, but had on basketball shorts. A normal night. His golden eyes were bright with surprise, but his body stiffened, and his face looked.. scared? Concerned?

Maybe he was just confused.

“Bo!” You beamed, taking a step towards him, “I missed-“

“What’d you get us?” You heard a smooth voice purr from behind him. Your muscles instantly went rigid, and your eyebrows furrowed. Who-

And then you saw it.

A slim hand crept around his torso from behind, a face suddenly appearing from behind his shoulder. Her hair was wet, and her smile dripped with poison. She wore nothing but a towel hugging tightly around her body, and her hair was wet.

Your eyes stung with tears, and you were seeing red. You pushed through them both, neither of them giving much resistance. Storming into the room, you go straight to the bathroom, snatch the unnamed girl’s clothing, making sure they were drenched, and walked back into the suite. Bokuto’s sitting on the bed, as still and silent as a statue, covering his face with his hands. The girl, who once looked at you with a little smirk, now looks at you in unbelief. You shove past her, open the door gripping her arm, force her into the hallway, and drop the sopping clothes at her feet. The door slams in the girl’s face before she can even begin to protest her exile.

Silence envelopes the room as your back slides down the door frame. You finally let out the sob that has been tearing at your throat, and Bokuto immediately looks up. Getting up from the bed, he takes careful steps and finally rests on his knees in front of you. “Y/N,” his voice almost breaking, but just as he tries to take your hand, you flinch. “Please.”

You shake your head, barely being able to look at him through the tears welling up in your eyes, the nausea and disgust filling your stomach. “no.” You barely let out, turning your face from him. You feel his hot tears fall onto your hands.

The silence returns, along with pain and regret. You sit there for God knows how long, and finally decide on your next move. As soon as you stand up, Bokuto is there beside you, trying to comfort you, trying to explain himself. His words are muffled to you, only bits and pieces come through what feels like a glass barrier between you two. You grab your purse, and take out the box containing his anniversary present. “it was only for tonight-“, “-means nothing to me”, “let me fix this”, “I can make this right”.

You stop dead in your tracks, you hand clutching the doorknob. You think over your next course of action, but continue on your way. You grab your suitcase, and stalk down the hall. He continuously tries to stop you without grabbing you, a fear of seeing you flinch under his touch. Instead, he tries to grab your suitcase, questioning you, “Where are you going?”, “Seriously, Y/N, where are you going?”, “Don’t go out there by yourself, it isn’t safe this late at night”, “let me go with you, I’ll keep you safe”. His words are still muffled to you, and you wonder if that will ever return back to normal. For now, that doesn’t matter. You don’t know if it will ever matter. You reach the elevators and press the down button.

“please say something to me, Y/N”.

That was clear, no muffle or fuzz to his voice. Crystal clear. There was a need in his tone, a desperate need, but what was it exactly? You decide not to dwell on it. Instead, you turn around and look at him one last time. His hair is tousled down, his eyes bloodshot and slightly puff from crying, and his face red and melancholy. His tall, muscular frame that normally stands tall and proud is slouched. He looks as though he’s lost. You reach out a hand to cup his face, running your thumb under his eye to catch the tears. Bokuto closes his heavy eyes, leaning into the warmth of your touch, grasping his hand over yours. The elevator door dings, it’s time.

“Happy anniversary, my love.” You whisper with a sad smile, feeling your own cheeks become wet with tears. You step onto the elevator before the door closes, before he can realize that you’re actually leaving, before he can stop you.

The face he made when he looked up in between the closing doors was one of horror. He took a step forward, “Please, I-“ was all you heard before they completely closed in on you. Leaving you as alone as you came.

///

Should I make a part 2? 🧐

Update: here’s part 2 :)

[spookyceph]

Pull Test

Summary: Shigaraki and Kurogiri meet with the League of Villain's newest candidate.

Rating: Gen Fic, SFW

Relationships: Shigaraki & Magne

Characters: Shigaraki Tomura, Magne, Kurogiri, Giran, mentioned Dabi, mentioned Toga Himiko

Words: 2,732

Warnings: Implied/Referenced transphobia and deadnaming when Magne's background is mentioned, swearing

The manila folder dropped from the air like a dead bird, hitting the bar top with a slap. Tomura jerked back, stool wobbling beneath him, and grit his teeth as he heard the staccato sounds of his fighter taking damage in his game. Recovering balance, he hit the pause button before glaring at the warp gate that swirled into being across the way.

“Another one already?” he snapped the moment the tall figure of his caretaker stepped out of the darkness.

Kurogiri straightened both his tie and metal gorget. “I was quite impressed myself. Giran is proving to be as professional and efficient as advertised.” He motioned to the folder he’d air dropped in. “Shall we consider this new candidate together, Shigaraki Tomura?”

Tomura wasn’t in the mood to consider shit. He hadn’t been hanging around the bar for going on two hours hoping for work to come along. One of his hands strayed to his pocket. He touched the lump that was the jar of salve he’d taken to carrying at all times. The serpentine ridge of a friendship bracelet (I used red, white, and black string so it would match you, Tomura-kun!) had joined it a week ago. Of course, he’d die before admitting to lurking just to catch a glimpse of Dabi. Or that he’d agreed to let Toga show him her favorite otome games as soon as she came back from her shopping trip. He definitelycouldn’t tell the smug old ink splatter to fuck off and let him get back to his goal of a high score—not without having how wrong he’d been about those same two people rubbed in his face.

That left being a responsible leader as the only option.

Tomura growled and set his game aside. He flicked the folder open. “Fine. What’s this new asshole’s name?” Giving in didn’t require him to be gracious about it.

“Ah. About that. I believe there’s a conflicting issue in her files about that point. Her family name is Hikiishi, however, her given one, or both, may require an update.”

A look at the top of the file filled in the blanks. The picture Giran had included showed the candidate flashing a bold smile at the camera. Shoulder-length auburn hair framed prominent cheekbones. Slightly darker fuzz lined her jaw and chin. Tomura couldn’t tell what color her eyes were behind her sunglasses, but they locked with his through lenses and stock paper alike. Hikiishi Kenji, read the first line of information on the page beneath the photo. A police report, by the looks of it.

“I see. Well, for now let’s just call Hikiishi by her alias until she confirms with us.” Tomura skimmed through the info again. “Magne, right? Related to her quirk, I assume.”

The currents of Kurogiri’s mist slowed and relaxed into looser coils. “Correct.”

Tomura frowned. “What? Did you think I’d have some sort of problem with the name thing?”

“After the misunderstanding with Dabi—”

“Dabi and I talked.”

The yellow eyes glowing within the darkness widened. “Did you now?”

Fuck, he wasn’t turning red, was he? Was he? “We’re adults. We worked shit out, okay? Not everybody has a stick up their ass about being polite all the time.” He scooped up his game, more than ready to retreat into something he could control. “When are we expecting Magne?”

“Giran can bring her by tomorrow evening.”

“Fine. Let’s get the stupid meet and greet crap over with.” When only silence followed, Tomura raised his gaze from the screen to glare at Kurogiri. “What?”

The wisps curling from the smoggy bastard’s head looked suspiciously like smiles. “Nothing, Shigaraki Tomura. Nothing at all.”

-

Taptaptap.

Tomura’s finger rose and fell on the bartop fast enough to give a sewing machine needle a run for its money. The ball of his right foot bounced on the stool’s crossbar in time with it.

Taptaptap.

Giran had promised he’d be there between 9:00 and 10:00. The clock by the door pointed to 9:51.

Taptaptap.

Lots of people would be riding the trains on a Friday night. Or roaming the streets, looking for food and alcohol, karaoke, strangers to stave off loneliness. Heroes would be out in force as a result, watching for any predators stalking the herds of humanity. Tomura didn’t know how to calculate exact probability rates for shit hitting the fan, but he got the sense they were on the higher end under such conditions.

Taptaptap.

Why couldn’t he just run into party members along the way as needed, like in games? Each one would specialize in a skill, forming a well-rounded team. Everyone would follow him to the bitter end because they believed in him and not some ass goblin named Stain. Why they believed in Tomura wouldn’t matter, though money would be a reasonable guess. Idealism didn’t pay much from what he could tell.

Taptap—

“Be calm, Shigaraki Tomura. This meeting will go well.”

He bared teeth at Kurogiri. “There has to be a meeting for it to go a certain way. And I am calm, damn it.”

“So I see.” He finished wiping down the glass he held before setting it on the bar and grabbing another. “My apologies.”

Tomura twisted on the stool to give the smart ass shadow a piece of his overthinking mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

Without missing a beat, Kurogiri stuck his free hand through a small warp gate and turned the handle of the door across the room. He went back to polishing as two figures entered the bar.

For someone who charged such high fees, Giran went out of his way to look cheap and kitschy. Little round tinted lenses pinched to the bridge of his nose. A scrunched scarf like someone’s guts slung around his neck. One front tooth missing in his low-key sleazy smile. The woman following right behind him and surveying her new surroundings made for a more welcome sight. Sunglasses (her and Giran both, for fucks’ sake) hid her eyes just like in her picture, but her lips held a hint of a smile.

The essence of good manners, Kurogiri bowed to their guests. “Good evening. Welcome to our humble home.”

Tomura, to balance the scales, snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “Took you long enough.”

Giran shrugged and twirled his hand, leaving behind a smoke spiral from the tip of the cigarette between his fingers. “Our train was delayed by some prankster threatening to blow up the tracks.”

“Doesn’t sound like a prank.”

“It wouldn’t have been if the lazy bastard hadn’t been trying to pass off children’s clay as plastic explosive. One of the cops noticed the stuff was bright yellow and they rushed him. They didn’t even call in a hero.” The broker shook his head. “What’s this world coming to? People can’t be bothered to find and pay for real weapons anymore. It offends my pride as a businessman.”

Behind Father, Tomura grimaced. His short-lived venture with Stain had indeed moved people to lash out at society. The problem was most of them were fucking morons. He doubted any decent candidates the League managed to net would make up for all the secondhand embarrassment he’d suffered in the past couple of weeks from watching the news.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the woman said, tapping her chin. “I felt kinda bad for the poor guy. He looked like your average office wage-slave. I thought he was going to break down in tears when they hauled him off.”

“Serves him right for cutting corners. No conviction, no integrity these days I tell you.”

She hid a grin behind her hand. “You’re heartless, Giran.”

The broker snorted smoke from his nostrils like an exasperated dragon. “I’m practical.”

“And yet you still haven’t introduced me.”

Posture straightening, Giran tugged at his weirdly anatomical scarf. “Sorry, got sidetracked. Magne, Shigaraki Tomura and Kurogiri of the League of Villains.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Slipping off his stool, Tomura gave her a short bow. The way Kurogiri swayed slightly, as if he’d swoon from shock, made the display worth it.

“I take it I’ve earned my fee?” chimed in Giran.

Kurogiri’s misty form shuddered as he roused himself. “Of course. We’ll hear from you again soon?”

“I’ve got a few candidates lined up.” The broker sketched them a mock salute before turning and closing the door behind him.

“Please, have a seat.” Tomura motioned to the row of barstools beside him.

“Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”

While Magne approached, he studied her movements. She strode across the hardwood floor, work boots making minimal noise with each step. Grace as well as power. She knew how to use the muscle under her shirt’s rolled up sleeves rather than relying on pure size. Although, that didn’t hurt either—Tomura put her at over ten centimeters his own height at least, and she definitely outclassed him by weight. He wondered whether she had speed to go along with strength. She slid into the next seat over and rested her chin in her hands.

“Would you care for something to drink, Miss Magne?” Kurogiri asked, jumping at the chance to play host.

“Oh, my. So formal. Sure, I’ll have whatever you recommend.”

Tomura waited until a small glass of something amber-colored had been set in front of them both (ginger ale for him) and she’d taken an approving sip before getting things rolling.

“You have quite a record, Magne.” Though he’d already memorized the relevant bits, he flipped open the folder container her information.

She glanced over, shades slipping down her nose as she scanned the first page of the police report. “Twenty-nine attempted murders, huh? Is that what they’re calling those? I’m surprised you guys bothered having me come in after reading that garbage.”

“Why?”

Like a small bird, Tomura’s stomach dipped and fluttered when Magne looked at him over the edge of her glasses. Not quite in the same way it did when he caught Dabi watching him from across the room, but close enough to classify the sensation as pleasant. Her irises shone like polished agates, made up of rich layers of browns from a starburst of mahogany around her pupils to flecks of burnished copper. Tomura suddenly understood her hiding them behind lenses. Such a beautiful detail would stick in anyone’s memory.

“Somebody who tried and failed to kill that many people would look pretty incompetent, right?” she replied. “Or like they chickened out at the last second. I don’t enjoy killing. I’ll tell you that up front. But…I didn’t hesitate with the three I did put down, let’s just say that.”

Tomura, a multiple murderer himself, examined the square set of her shoulders, the twist of scorn to her mouth towards her accusers, and found no reason to doubt her. He nodded.

“The so-called attempts were from the robberies you pulled off then?”

“Mostly, though I’m sure a few of the bullies I smacked around exaggerated just to prove what big, strong men they are.” She harumphed and took another sip from her drink.

“And the actual murders?”

Her lips puckered, as if she tasted something more bitter than whatever alcohol Kurogiri had given her. “Personal matters.”

“I see.” Tomura turned the page and ran his finger further down the information. “Your quirk has some unique parameters.”

The lines of Magne’s face eased into a smile. “Oh, the gender thing? A theory really. I haven’t had much opportunity to test it seriously. It might be nothing but my own perception…but I guess that doesn’t make it any less real, does it?” She lifted a hand from her glass and reached halfway toward him. “Care for a demonstration?”

Tomura caught himself drawing away from her, his nails latching onto the sides of his neck. Cowering—great way to display his leadership skills. “What’re you going to do?”

“Oh, just tug on your arm a little. Go ahead and put it down by your side for me.”

Resisting the urge to look to Kurogiri for reassurance, he did as asked. For safety’s sake he curled his fingers into a fist.

Magne smiled. “Ready?”

According to the knot in his stomach, no, but he nodded anyway. His arm jerked and leapt up as if it were tied by a string. Tomura gasped, almost slipping off his seat. Magne caught and steadied him.

“Sorry, honey! Got so excited to show off I put a bit too much oomph into it.” She patted his shoulder as if there weren’t dead, gray hands clutching it.

“’S’alright,” he mumbled. And it was—his skin showed no marks, his muscles and joints registered no pain. He readjusted the delicate hand decorating his wrist. Cold, waxy, and pliant. Nothing like Magne.

“So, can you manipulate people’s movements? Turn them into your puppets?”

She hummed and pushed her sunglasses back into their proper place. “Not really. I can move someone with the proper amount of push versus pull, but it’s such delicate work that they could break free pretty easily. Hold out your arm and I’ll show you what I mean.”

Still making a fist, Tomura followed her suggestion. Magne positioned her hands on either side of his forearm, spread about half a meter apart. Concentration dug a V between her brows. A thrum jolted through Tomura’s bones. He startled at the rush of tingles in his elbow and shoulder but kept his balance. Something like a low electrical current pulsed along his arm, raising its pale little hairs. Eyes wide, he watched as the limb drifted from one side to the other, then up, down—anywhere the poles of Magne’s palms guided it. He could even see, feel his skin being tugged and pressed by her quirk. Taking a deep breath, Tomura drew his fist back. He met some resistance, but didn’t have to put up any real struggle.

“Weird.” He shook his buzzing fingers out. “But kinda nice. Tingly. Like an electrical field.”

Magne tilted her head and smirked. “Oh? That’s a new one. Then again, maybe I’d have heard it before if I used my quirk for something besides bashing jerks.”

What would he have done without Father hiding the fact he blushed at the slightest fucking thing? He’d never get used to talking to people at this rate.

“Your skills would be a great asset to the League, Miss Magne,” Kurogiri said, saving Tomura from having to pretend he could be witty. “I presume Giran discussed the expenses we cover? Upon joining, you would also be welcome to claim a room upstairs, should you wish.”

Magne went still. Even her breathing stopped for a moment. “You’d let me stay here?”

Tomura knew right then he’d never live down being wrong about not letting League members move into the hideout. Kurogiri would never be crass enough to say it out loud, of course. He didn’t have to. Tomura sighed, accepting his fate.

“Two members live here already, including another woman. We can introduce you to them both before you decide.”

Gaze aimed at the ceiling, Magne touched fingers to her pursed lips. “I’ve already made up my mind.” She met Tomura’s eyes, a smile lighting up her face. “Sign me up.”

Well. He had no clue whatso-fucking-ever how they’d convinced her, but results were results. Besides, she hadn’t mentioned Stain once. She deserved free room and board for that alone.

“Ah, wonderful. We’re so delighted to have you, Miss Magne.” Kurogiri steepled his fingers. “Please let me know if you require any assistance in moving your belongings. I can warp them to whichever room you choose.”

A soft laugh huffed out of her. “No need, honey. I travel light these days. Would tomorrow evening be too soon?”

Tomura shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ll make sure Toga and Dabi are around so you can meet them.” Even if he had to staple the latter to a chair to make him comply.

“Sounds like a plan.” Magne raised her glass. “To new friends then?”

There was that word again. Offered with the same ease Toga had shown. And Dabi…he’d never said it maybe but his gift had implied…well, something. Tomura touched his pocket. The weight and shapes of the items inside it. With the same hand, he picked up his own glass and clinked it against Magne’s.

“Sure. I’ll drink to that.”

[larissa-the-scribe]

We Always Regret Too Late

600ish words

It was Red’s personal opinion that, at this point, he should be immune to pain. He had gone through enough of it as a kid, so surely he must have built up a resistance, right?

Wouldn’t that make things easier.

Or, maybe he had. Maybe this was just that bad.

He coughed, holding his ribs as his whole body shook.

Slowly, Red pushed himself more upright and crawled to the nearest tree, muscles, wounds, skin consumed by fire with every movement. As best as he could, he settled into a space in the roots. He’d wait here. Wait until either he got his strength back, or someone came to get him.

Neither of those seem too likely to happen, do they?

Lifting his hand from his side, all he could see was blood. Considering how orange it was, it could only be his. No hopes some other unfortunate soul had rubbed off on him.

Of course he had been left in the forest, of all places. He didn’t think there was any place he’d like to be dumped in his condition (barring a hospital), but there had to be places less likely to get him killed within hours. This much blood meant it was a toss up between dying of exsanguination or some hungry creature following the scent.

He leaned his head back against the tree trunk, imagining he could feel his life sliding out of him with his blood.

Anyone who might care about keeping him alive was gone, unavailable, or just plain unaware of his condition. And. Well. There was a much larger number of people who either didn’t care, or cared to see him die. Probably a few who would have shown up with popcorn had they knew what was happening.

Red gritted his teeth, trying to gauge how long until nightfall through a world that was wobbling on its axis.

In a rare moment of sober honesty, he had to admit he deserved this. It wasn’t like he’d been unaware of the prices he had been paying these past seven years—but that didn’t mean he enjoyed the paying.

He closed his eyes, feeling the rough bark beneath his head and fumbling for his last arcanive. There was no way he’d be able to drag himself to any place safe, but if something did attack him, the least he could do was put up a fight.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I wish I could have said goodbye to May, he thought dizzily, still somehow not somebeast's lunch. Properly, I mean. This seems to keep happening to us, doesn’t it? He stared at the leaves, slowly swaying in the wind. It would have been nice, actually. To keep hanging around the team, maybe even take up the offer to join them. They were nice.

He exhaled softly, letting the brief moment of pleasant thought pull his lips into a wistful smile.

While I’m dreaming about the impossible, maybe Endric could have been with us. We’d be our own weird little family. No more rebellions. No more fighting. No more hiding in the middle of a death trap just to stay alive. No more running. No more lying. Just... just us. Together. Adventures without death.

He clenched his hand around his arcanive, as if the cold metal could assuage the bittersweet pain blossoming like the blood from his wound.

May could remember who she was. Remember who I was. Remember our times together.

That would have been nice.

He swallowed, trying to hold onto his smile as a slow tear slid down his cheek.

Oh, Ae.

I wish that could have been.

Ae, I don’t know if you’re real or not. If you are real, I don’t know why you’d listen to me of all people. But if you are, please, take care of May and Endric. I like to think the team can take care of themselves, but if they can’t, please keep an eye on them too.

The sound of rustling leaves, birds chirping. Beams of sunlight warming his chest. It was peaceful, somehow.

I don’t want to die.

Tears fell faster now.

I’m scared.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to hold off the darkness as the world fuzzed around him—but he didn’t have much more time for effort before he passed out.

[captainpikeswoman]

A mission gone wrong, Bones was about to get shot but you jump in the way to save him. You're in sickbay in a coma for a few weeks and when you wake up that's when Bones confesses he loves you (after calling you an idiot for saving him) 🤣🥰🥰🥰

Hope you like it!

Saving AOS Bones and him confessing his feelings would include:

•the mission had been tense right from the start- from the minute you and the away team landed on the planet there was a tension in the air that felt fragile.

•and all too soon it broke like a snow globe. The minute you saw the gun being pointed at Bones you jumped in front of him.

•it didn’t feel heroic and brave and bold. When the bullet shot its way through your skin and muscle on your abdomen it hurt, it was like fire was tearing you apart.

•and then you were falling, the pain and the shock knocking your world completely off kilter. But you didn’t hit the ground, you were caught by strong arms and within seconds you felt the golden, warm fuzz of the transporter wrapping around you and the person that caught you.

•the last thing you saw as the darkness of unconsciousness took you was Dr McCoy’s worried face, you think he was saying your name, but you couldn’t hear anything besides the high pitch ringing in your ears.

•it feels like mere minutes later that you wake up. But it’s not easy, your eyes feel like led weights and your throat feels rough. And when your eyes finally do blink open fully the light is almost blinding, it takes a few moments to adjust to the light.

•but when you do come around you spot him. Bones is sat by your side, he has dark circles under his eyes and a bit of a stubble which you’re fairly certain isn’t regulation.

•as soon as he sees you’re awake he smiles, and starts to check your OBs.

•as he does so he grumbles, about how difficult it had been to stabilise you, how you’d scared him half to death with how long it’s taken you to come out of a coma and how much of an idiot you were for jumping in front of him and taking the bullet.

•you just huffed and smiled and waited for him to finish complaining. When he finally stopped and looked at you he saw your smile and he let his feelings come to the surface.

•his eyes filled with tears and he sat on the edge of the bed, clutching your hands to his chest. Slowly and with a husky voice he confessed that seeing you lifeless terrified him to the deepest recesses of his soul, because he was completely and utterly in love with you.

•his confession took your breath away and you tugged on his hands, drawing him close enough that you could just gently stretch up and press your lips to his.

•you felt rather than saw his tears, he didn’t break the kiss until you were gasping for air. It may not have been how he had expected to confess his feelings, but he was sure glad that you felt the same.

[justreadingfics]

Looking For a Heartbeat (19/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Series Summary: You and Bucky used to be in a relationship. Feelings were hurt, you left. It’s been two years and you’re back. You both will handle the reunion well, won’t you?

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings for this chapter: fluff, some angst, lots  of pinning, use of hormones as an excuse.  

A/N: @suz-123 is my angel and I love her. Links are messing up posts, you can find the masterlist link on my description.

“Hey.” Your smile is bright as you spot Bucky walking into the Doctor Nadine ́s waiting room.

“Hi,” He smiles back. As handsome as ever. He’s been keeping his face with nothing but a light stubble lately and the little jump in your heart reminds you that, despite loving his full beard; you also have a huge soft spot for that look. Maybe it’s because the light shade enhances the outlines of his beautiful and plump lips. He’s sporting his customary outfit: white henley and dark jeans which enhances every single delightful part of him as he walks and his many, hard muscles move through the fabric.

The sting on your lips makes you notice you’re biting them as you stare at him. You blink and swiftly compose yourself as he takes a seat next to you.

“Am I late?” If he noticed your shameless gawking, he doesn't let it show.

Goddamn those pregnant hormones, and goddamn Bucky for not helping at all by being that extraordinarily hot on a daily basis, only adding to your increasing frustration.

“Not at all. Doctor Nadine is, though.” You try to put on some nonchalance into your voice to disguise your current state of…distress.

“Here.” Only when he hands it to you, you notice the little paper bag in his hands.

Accepting the bag, you smirk and side eye him, as he shrugs.  You laugh when you find in your hands a stuffed little pig, all white except for some greyish brown stamps all over it and the nose and the inside of the ears, which are pink.

“I couldn’t resist.” He looks guilty as a shy smile curls up his lips, “The clerk said it's from a Disney movie called Moana.”

“It will look awesome next to the Unicorn.” You grin, pressing the stuffie against your cheek and relishing in its fluffiness before placing it back in the bag, “Speaking of that, the kids were pretty bummed by you leaving earlier yesterday. You have a couple of new fans.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, “They’re awesome…” His lively expression falls a bit as his eyes bore into yours and he bites the inside of his cheeks, “I had to sort something out... with Anna.”

“Oh…” You still feel his eyes on you as you turn ahead at the information, averting his eyes from him. “Ok.”

You both stay quiet. The silence isn't comfortable at all as you tap your fingers on your thigh, gripping the little bag hard in your hand. The unspoken question tugging at your tongue as dread pinches the pit of your stomach. God, you hate feeling like that.

“And did you?” You can’t hold it back anymore. “Sort things out?”

“Yeah, actually.” Bucky looks down as his eyebrows snap together, “It was a good talk.” Bucky nods, almost as if he’s talking to himself.

“Good.” You repeat his words, tightening your lips in a failed attempt of forming a smile for him, “Good, good, good…” The mumble slips out quietly from your lips as you turn your head to stare ahead, legs distractedly bouncing.  

“It was a very good chat.” Bucky talks again and you hum in acknowledgement. “We admitted our mistakes. Forgave each other.”

The sting is sharp against your chest as your heart drops to your stomach. You just nod, gulping down the lump in your throat, without once looking back at him. You shouldn’t be feeling like this… anxious… jealous... Weren’t you the very one to tell him he should talk to Anna?  Listen to her? Very sensible of you, right? You fight the urge to roll your eyes at yourself right before you hear his voice again.

“It was good to close this chapter. Getting romantically involved was a mistake.”

Your face snap to him. His eyes were already on you, but you can’t quite read his guarded expression.

“We agreed on that and now we can move on.” He adds, softly. His hands linked together of his thighs.

“Oh, so you ́re not back together.” You ask as your unwise faltering heart needs a confirmation.

He simply shakes his head.

“Good.” You definitely shouldn’t sound as joyful as you do. You clear your throat and try to keep an even expression on your face, for good measure.  “I mean… Are you ok?” You ask with honest worry. Despite the stupid feelings that keep making a fuzz of your chest, you know what Anna means to Bucky and, yeah, if it meant he would be happy, it would hurt you, but you would understand if they had gotten back together.    

“Yeah.” His lips curl down, “I was a jerk to her. You told me I would hurt her, and I did.” He shrugs, and you see the little bone in his throat moving as he swallows.

“Oh, Bucky, I-”

“But we're good now.” He nods to himself, not allowing you to lie and say you really didn’t mean that. You did. It doesn’t mean you’re happy about it, but you knew in  heart at  the time that he would end up hurting her. Running away is never the answer.  You learned this the hard way.

“Ok,” You nod, keeping the thoughts to yourself.  

His eyes meet yours and  you spot the softness in them when he speaks, just as softly, “Time to move on.”

You smile at each other.  A shared smile full of unspoken words. But it’s also full of history and easy and honest and it keeps plastered on your face the whole day.

~~~

A tiny kick makes you place your hand over your round stomach and smile.

“Are you waking up, peanut?” You mumble to your belly, drawing small circles over it.

You’re a little bit more than 29 weeks now and the baby has been making themselves noticeable for a few weeks already.  What started out as a fluttery sensation now has turned into full kicks and jabs. A child of two Avengers, no doubt about that. You love feeling them. Well, maybe except when the little brat hits you with the force of a tiny super soldier in your ribs, which they’ve been very keen to do the last few days.

The baby is big. So damn big  and heavy. 20 inches and already 7 pounds. A whole lot more than expected if they didn’t have a super DNA in them. As they develop that strong, it’s been getting more and more difficult for your body to carry the pregnancy. The appointments have been more frequent, almost daily. Doctor Nadine estimates you won’t get to the 39th or 40th  week, which has been making you a bit anxious, of course. As much as you’re dying to see the little face of your peanut, a premature birth is never ideal. What makes you sleep easier at night is that Tony’s has gone over the top and there’s medical assistance available for you 24/7 at a short walking distance to the Tower’s med bay.  

You and Bucky have been discussing names. He’s been allowing you to come up with all the options so he doesn’t let the sex slip with a biased suggestion. After hours, days and weeks of research and debates, so far you’ve narrowed it down to Mary or Ava if it’s a girl and Theo or Lucas, if it’s a boy. Being one of the best spies in the world, he didn’t put on any expression or say anything that could spill the beans.

Speaking of the daddy, he’s always around, always bringing a little cute souvenirs which he absolutely couldn’t resist buying on his way over the tower. He’s still living at his little apartment in Brooklyn and whether this would change after the baby arrived or not you don’t know and, to be honest, you won’t ask. You’ve been talking and talking and talking, but nothing more than things related solely to the baby. Anything that could lead to certain topics or interpretations have been avoided. Having him around has been more than you could ever wish for and you wouldn’t handle him getting scared and running away from you again.

You’ve decided to continue living at the tower after the baby is born, for the team of uncles and aunts pure joy. It is the safest place on earth, and the floor Tony has been remodeling into a mega apartment for you is almost ready and perfect. He’s been taking care of everything and you really don’t mind. You were never one to really care about decorations and stuff and it’s his way of showing love, so you gladly accept it. Well, except for the nursery, which you and Bucky were adamant to be responsible for and have been working on the room together.

Just right now, he and Steve are applying the wallpaper you two have chosen and putting the crib together while you’re in your new kitchen, which is already done and fully functional, squeezing some fresh lemonade for the two hard workers.

After you place the Jar and the glasses on a tray, you walk towards the nursery, but what you find when you cross the opened door makes you choke on air and almost drop all the lemonade to the floor.

Bucky. Standing on a ladder. Shirtless. With his built, bare back to you as he reaches the roller up to glue the highest part of the wallpaper. His locks are trapped in one of those damn low buns of his, as droplets of sweat ran down the deepened line between the muscles of his back. Your eyes descend his body and meet his jeans hanging low, showing you a large stripe of the black boxes he has underneath.

Shit. It’s been like this now. Just the sight of him making you dizzy and most definitely… bothered. As a rush of heat washes over your core, you tell yourself it’s the damn hormones fault and, of course, you being completely sex deprived for so long, but you’re not really sure if it’s really this or the fact you have him around you almost all the time now, and having him around had always been enough to cause a number on your body reactions.

You hear an inhuman sound when he stretches his back. Your eyes widen at the realization the sound must’ve come out from you when he looks over his shoulder and spots you there: pathetically standing by the door, holding a tray with lemonade, dumbly staring at him.

He smiles and promptly climbs down the stairs, “Hey,” He greets as he drops the roller on the floor, covered by newspaper, and walks towards you, using his forearm to clean some sweat off his forehead.

Goddamn.

“Hey,” You mumble back, somewhat breathless as his broad, shirtless, sweaty figure stands in front of you. Your tongue darts out to run over your dry lips.

“So? What do you think?”

“What?” You blink.

He narrowed his eyes at you an chuckles before pointing his hand towards the walls.

“Oh.” You jump, finally taking your eyes off of him to let them roam around the room. The balloons wallpaper is neatly glued, and you can see the room turning into a nursery by his hands, “Oh, Bucky.” You sigh, already feeling tears forming in the corner of your eyes. Yeah, besides horny as fuck, you’ve been easily emotional, too. “It’s perfect.” A huge smile across your face.

His smile matches yours, “It’s almost done. Steve went to his room to grab a toolkit so we can start putting the crib together.” He nods towards the closed box on the floor behind him, before his eyes drop to the trail in your hands.

“Oh, I brought you guys some lemonade.” You lift the trail, “I figured you’d be thirsty.”

When his gaze meet yours again, you spot the change in his eyes, the blue a bit darker and a hint of amusement sparkling on them, “You have no idea.” His voice drops a note and laces you by the core.

You swallow thickly, not sure if he’s deliberately trying to drive you crazy or it’s your pregnant dirty mind making you see things.

“Ahm, h-here,” you stutter and move fast to place the trail on a worktable which is right beside you and pour him a glass, handing it to him and trying to pay no attention to the flames burning you up from the inside.

You, obviously, can’t take your eyes off of him as he thanks you with a smirk and brings it to his lips. His eyes close as he gulped down the whole glass all at once. Your gaze drops to the scars on his chest… He must’ve got them treated, because they’re light and clean, almost blending to his skin. Very different from the angry marks you used to trace your fingers on while he was sleeping, feeling him sigh deeply under your touch-  

“Hmmm, ice cold and full of sugar. Delicious.” He licks his lips and your gaze snap up to his face, taking you out from your mind filled with memories.

“Of course,” You chuckle, “That’s the right way of lemonade.” As he laughs and his eyes crinkle adorably, you spot a drop slipping from his lips and running down his jaw. You need to do something about it, don’t you? Lemon could damage his skin, after all.  “Ahm, you have a… let me-” You reach to his face and he stiffens when you delicately brush your thumb over the his jaw to catch the drop. You sense the twitch on his jawbone, when, almost unconsciously, your hand cup his face and you let your thumb skim up to the corner of his lips.

You don’t know what you’re doing or why you’re doing it. All you focus is on the loud hammering of your heart as his eyes flutter close and he leans on your touch. You breathe through your parted lips and your gaze falls down to his mouth. His beautiful and rosy lips... It’s been so long since you got the chance to kiss them…  

“Ouch.” Your hand flies from Bucky’s face to your belly.

Bucky’s eyes swiftly open. For a second he seems lost, as if he’s just woken up from a dream and didn’t know exactly where he was.  When he spots your hand on your belly his eyes go round, “What’s happening? Are you ok?”

“Yeah, yeah,” You chuckle, “The baby has kicked me. They’ve been doing this a lot, but it has never felt so strong-ah-” You gasp and laugh as your eyebrows draw together when the little one hits another heavy strike.

“Oh,” Bucky breathes, looking down at your belly as pure awe takes over his face. When he glances up to you, his eyes is evidently glowing with expectancy, “C-can I?” He hesitantly asked, raising his hand in direction of your belly just as timidly.

When you nod and takes your hand from your stomach to allow him to touch it, he immediately places the empty glass of lemonade on the worktable and steps closer to you. Not until that day Bucky had asked to touch your belly… The gentle touch of his hand through your dress is almost too much as the electricity runs down your spine unbidden and makes your heart race.

“Here.” Taking in a shuddering breath, you place your hand over his to slowly move it to the right spot where he would be able to feel the baby. He’s so close to you… so close.

“I-I can’t feel anything.” The disappointment is evident in his voice and in the small pout that follows.

“Ahm, why don’t try talking to them?” You suggest and he glances up at you, “It usually works for me.” You shrug.

His eyes narrow and he smiles tightly after focusing on your belly again. Your hand still covering his.

“What should I say?” He whispers.

“Um, why don’t start with “hello ``''?

“Ok…” He nods before taking in a deep sigh, “Hello, my baby.” He murmurs softly and carefully strokes your belly, “I’m your daddy.”

Just like that, as if it had been planned out, you feel the kick. Bucky promptly lets out a breathy smile.

“It was a big one. Did you feel it?” You ask, quietly, trying hard to not ruin their moment.

He nods quickly, his lips pressed hard against one another. As his gaze remains down, yours remain on him. His forehead almost touches yours and you try to breathe. The magic you had experienced moments before enveloping the both of you again. The three of you, actually.  

“I can’t wait to see you,” He keeps talking to your baby and it kicks again, “I love you so much already, my baby.” The blue of his watery eyes meet yours, “Our baby.”

Your melt under his words as you sulk in a breath and nod, “Our baby.” Your hand tightens the grip on his as the warmth of a single tear runs down your cheek.

Every single one of your days, you spend trying to suppress, deny and bury the feelings, the stubborn and immeasurable love you have for him. The love you once felt so afraid of…Because it’s the right thing to do. It’s what’s best for you, but most importantly it’s what’s best for him… You’re not afraid of this love anymore… You haven’t been afraid of it for a long time now. But he is. He is and what you’re afraid of is he’ll run away from it, from you…

Every day is a fight against your feelings, sometimes you lose, others you win. Today...one simple touch and the fight is slipping off your grasp...  

His right hand doesn’t move from where he feels your baby saying hello to him, while you shudder at the cold sensation of metal meeting your middle before his arm circle your waist, pulling you closer to him as the warmth of his body rolls off to yours. Your legs turn into jelly and you’re grateful for his hold keeping you stand. He drops his forehead to yours and all you have to do is move one inch and you would be able to feel the taste of him again, after so long…

“Bucky…” You whisper, as your eyes flutter.

“Hey, pal. I think this will do it-”

You could feel the soft brush of Bucky’s lips on yours before you quickly let go of him, ceasing any kind of contact as Steve bursts into the room.  

“Ahm, am I interrupting anything?” Steve asks, frozen in place with the toolkit in hands, after an uncomfortable silence settled in the room.

From the corner of your eyes, you spot Bucky, with hands on each side of his waist and head hanging low as his chest heavies, “No, of course not.” You put on a smile for a skeptical Steve, “I was just here to bring you two some lemonade. There it is.” You point to the jar, “Help yourself, Steve. Ahm, I – I gotta go to the bathroom, my bladder is the size of a marble, now, you know? I’ll come back later for the tray.” You cringe rushing to the way out without taking a breath to spill the words, or sparing another glance at Bucky before you leave the room.

Today, you lost.

~~~

Ch. 20 coming soon(ish)