#Red Dragon Syndicate | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thesilliestrovingalive · 5 months ago

Text

Updated: March 12, 2025

Reworked Character #12: General Morden

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, alcoholism, kidnapping, and torture.

Real name: Donald Humphrei Morden IV

Aliases: Devil Rebirth and Your Excellency

Occupation: General of the Rebel Army, Vice Admiral of the Marine Corps (formerly), Tactical Commander for the Intelligence Agency (formerly), Commander of the Middle Eastern Garrison (formerly), and Field Marshal of the European Garrison (formerly)

Retirement plans: Buy a secluded tropical island, build a cottage in the northern forests of New Brunswick, and raise more exotic pets

Special skills: Political science, wood carving, piloting the Hi-Do and The Iron, planning for ambushes and tactical assaults, and sniping with heavyweight firearms

Hobbies: Studying geopolitical events and romantic languages in his office during nighttime hours, reading classical poetry and Shakespearean literature, playing complex piano compositions, building wooden cabins, and hunting

Likes: His family, the Hi-Do, the fearless devotion of his army, finishing things straight to the end, and smoking Cuban cigars before leading off to a battle or going to bed

Dislikes: Ignorance, objectivity, people with no ambitions, governmental and military corruption, and a lack of proper etiquette and table manners

Favourite food: Creamed salmon spaghetti and maple walnut ice cream

Favourite drink: Scotch whisky

Sexuality: Heteroromantic sapiosexual

Gender: Male

Age: 49 (in 2022), 55 (in 2028), 57 (in 2030), 59 (in 2032), 61 (in 2034), 68 (in 2041), 70 (in 2043), 71 (in 2044), and 74 (in 2047)

Blood type: AB+

Weight: 249 lbs. (113 kg)

Design: He’s a 6’ 5” (195.58 cm) Canadian mesomorph with a chiselled musculature, an upside-down trapezoidal chest, and broad shoulders. He has limestone skin (it was once a rose beige), a cleft chin, a brownish mole on the left side of his nose bridge, sparkling sapphire blue eyes with flecks of blood red, and bushy eyebrows. He has wrinkles on his face, characterised by forehead lines, frown lines, crow’s feet, and nasolabial folds. He has neatly trimmed, chin-length caramel blonde hair with sideburns, a similar moustache that the impostor Morden Robot has in Metal Slug 4, and an encircling band of silver-grey in the centre.

When Morden becomes a cyborg after he was assassinated during the White Baby Crisis, he possesses a revolutionary self-resurrection mechanism. A rhombic dodecahedron microchip embedded in his spine springs into action whenever his vital systems fail. The chip emits a low humming frequency and flashes a cyclical pattern of blue, white, and red for precisely 50 seconds. After this brief interval, he awakens in a newly prepared cyborg body, fully restored and operational with all of his memories intact.

His right eye has been brutally gouged out, which is indicated by the heavy scarring from six stab wounds. This would be replaced by a cutting-edge, cybernetic implant, expertly crafted by the Amadeus Syndicate. The cybernetic orb's sclera has a dark, polished chrome finish, adorned with crimson micro-circuits that mimicked the appearance of veins. At its centre, a pupilless blue-grey iris radiates a soft, luminescent glow. When it transitions to a fiery amber, its intensified brilliance signals heightened alertness and strategic recalibration. Equipped with cutting-edge scanning and data-processing capabilities, this cybernetic implant enables visual recall of critical information, threat detection, and instant recognition of key objects and individuals for future reference.

General Morden wears a pair of rusty orange boxer briefs, a glossy black eyepatch over his cybernetic right eye, and a Persian indigo armband on his left arm, adorned with the insignia of the Rebel Army. He wears a feldgrau military beret, distinguished by a scarlet band with white piping and an embroidered emblem featuring a black dragon's head swallowing a winged gold sword. He wears a white dress shirt and gloves, a flame-coloured tie, a metal dog tag necklace with his name, and a brownish-black leather belt secured with a gilded snap-on buckle.

His shoulders are draped with an ankle-length Persian indigo coat featuring brownish-black cuffs edged with scarlet piping, golden maple leaf clasps linked by a chain, and a prominent fur collar dyed a pinkish-orange. He wears feldgrau army cargo pants, tucked into black combat boots with spike soles and lined with coyote fur. He wears a feldgrau military coat featuring a left-side white aiguillette, two breast pockets, and a scalloped rear vent with flap pockets. It also features scarlet cuffs and a turned collar with Persian indigo piping, gilt-brass buttons, and golden shoulder boards adorned with two vertical white stripes.

He wears five badges: a black bar with two vertical golden stripes and a horizontal white stripe above his left breast pocket; a gilded skull with draconic wings on the pocket flap; a silver circle with a scarlet X on a white-edged red-orange ribbon and a gilt-brass roaring dragon's head on an ultramarine ribbon, both on his left breast pocket; and a gilded six-pointed star with a scarlet-edged white circle hung on a jade ribbon, secured with a gold clip on his right breast pocket. Morden's belt supports a sheath for his combat knife and a secure strap for his military baton, featuring a white elephant ivory shaft, a scarlet velvet-wrapped grip, and flat-topped gilt-brass end caps, each set with 12 circular rubies.

He wears a drop leg holster for his Chiappa Rhino 40DS revolver and a black bandolier, slung over his left shoulder, holding .357 Magnum cartridges for the firearm. His military coat pockets contain a rose gold lighter, keys to his personal Space Tank, a silver wedding band, a golden engagement ring with a radiant cut diamond, and a treasured photograph of his late family in Central Park. The pockets of his army cargo pants carry around a pack of Cuban cigars, the Ajirabian Teardrop, a copper-hued flask of Scotch whisky, and a walkie-talkie. He wields an M20 rocket launcher, designed with a leather shoulder strap and featuring an olive green, tan, and dark grey camouflage pattern, which fires anti-tank missiles.

Morden owns the greyish-green Space Tank, a floating tank saucer emblazoned with the Rebel Army insignia on its front. Constructed as a birthday gift and token of allegiance by loyal Rebel Army members and the Pipovulaj, this vehicle incorporates advanced Martian and Tuatha Dé Danann technology. The Space Tank's upper body bears a striking resemblance to the Dai-Manji, while its dark grey chassis is reminiscent of the Nop-03 Sarubia's. The tank boasts extremely thick armour, a silver antenna protruding from its left side, and a gold-painted rim accented with a scarlet edge. Primarily serving as his personal transportation, the Space Tank can also be deployed on the battlefield when necessary.

It features a built-in metallic blue cannon that can only be activated by inserting the Ajirabian Teardrop into a designated slot within the tank. This action opens the front compartment, revealing a large cannon similar to the Denturion's, albeit slightly under half its length. When deployed, the cannon extends, allowing Morden to tap into the laser power of the Ajirabian Teardrop. It's capable of flight by hovering above the ground. The two circular parts of the tank can open to fire three red homing missiles, each with a black stripe near the tip, at a time. Similar to the Dai-Manji, it can also open a hatch on its underside while hovering, unleashing a death ray that shoots fiery energy bolts at its targets.

Character summary: Previously, General Morden was a compassionate, dependable, and reliable leader who deeply valued the lives of every soldier under his command. However, the tragic loss of his family, compounded by the government's and military's corruption and culpable inaction, ignited a desire for vengeance and led him to view indifference as the root of all evil. He seeks to topple an unjust system, even if it requires dismantling all governmental powers. His vision for the New World involves unifying warring nations under a rigid, authoritarian regime, achieved by overthrowing the Earth Federation and eliminating its allies through forced assimilation and strategic neutralisation.

Despite being a charismatic and adaptable leader with a strong sense of justice, he ultimately descended into ruthlessness and megalomania, becoming a bumbling madman. Upon encountering his enemies, he frequently erupts into mocking laughter, regarding them as feeble-minded and ignorant foes. Nonetheless, even in the face of humiliation and defeat, Morden’s dignity, charisma, and commanding skill always remains the same. Thanks to the immense courage he developed over years of witnessing brutal horrors during his military career, he remains unfazed by intimidation, even when it's genuinely serious.

Despite being an atrocious person who comes across as mean and cold, he’s surprisingly sweet and kind, especially towards those who support his ambition, work alongside him or are part of his family lineage. He shows respect to neutral parties interested in supporting his cause and engages in friendly conversations with strangers who treat him with honour and kindness. His approachable nature and keen intelligence allow him to connect with others both intellectually and emotionally, making him skilled at forming friendships. He doesn't trust people easily unless they manage to impress him, come across as honest, and are willing to act on their promises. He particularly enjoys sharing a few drinks with a potential friend or ally, which helps cement his trust in them. He's always assertive with those close to him and his soldiers because he doesn't want to undermine their loyalty or give them reason to think he's a liar. However, he's not above lying to adversaries to keep confidential information about his plans for the Rebel Army and his alliances a secret, even if he's tortured or aggressively interrogated for it.

General Morden is a man full of pride, often boasting about his greatest feats on the battlefield. Depending on the situation, he'll abandon his position behind the battle lines and fearlessly charge into combat. He lives by a personal code of honour that prioritises restraint, avoiding unnecessary violence whenever possible. He sees no point in engaging in behaviour that involves unreasonably toying with people and damaging healthy relationships, viewing such actions as foolish and repugnant. He isn't afraid to make sacrifices when necessary and occasionally spares or even helps civilians, showing a glimmer of empathy beyond his military duties. He's a tough, efficient, and introspective individual who can be demanding of his soldiers, yet he feels genuine empathy and understanding for his troops. Although he's prone to frustration when missions don't go as planned, he never gives up. Despite the challenges, he consistently demonstrates resilience and determination, always pushing forward to achieve his objectives.

He's an exceptionally intelligent and cunning strategist, always thinking several steps ahead of his adversaries. A skilled manipulator, he expertly entices others to do his bidding through false promises and strategic persuasion. However, he's highly resistant to manipulation himself, and his sharp wit and worldly wisdom makes him immune to naivety. If he discovers someone attempting to deceive him, he'll confront them directly and give them a nasty glare that conveys a clear message: he sees through their ruse, and denial will only worsen their situation. When he's drunk, he becomes sorrowful, careless, and overly attached around Sagan and Logan, grows increasingly agitated, and frequently mumbles incoherently and gazes blankly upwards.

Whenever he encounters a pair of glowing red eyes, he's tantalised by their whispered promises of safety and growth. Yet, he hesitates to follow, unsure if the allure is genuine or just a product of his own fevered imagination. He's a melancholic, cautious, and headstrong individual who shows mercy to his subordinates, excels at evading capture, and indulges in life's luxuries. Loyalty and camaraderie are paramount to him, but betrayal from within the Rebel Army is an unforgivable offence. Morden’s intolerance for failure is absolute; those who deliberately falter face severe punishment or elimination. His ego is easily bruised by ridicule or underestimation from his enemies, threatening his self-image as a fearless warrior and exceptional leader. He has no qualms about torturing and executing enemies and traitors, whether publicly or privately, and considers advancements in military technology to be essential to achieving his objectives.

He struggles with mild alcoholism as a coping mechanism for the loss of his family, borderline personality disorder, practognostic dyscalculia, trypophobia triggered by honeycombs and decaying flesh, and the fear of dying a dishonourable and gruesome death. He views domestic cats as a far cry from their majestic ancestors and larger wild relatives, often going so far as to forcefully shoo them away. Although capable of aggression and violence, he usually maintains a calculating, serious, and calm demeanour. However, beneath his surface lies a volatile temper that periodically ignites into explosive outbursts when overwhelmed by intense feelings of rage, shame, and self-loathing. Despite his resolute ambition, he secretly grapples with the moral implications of his actions. His doubts are ever-present, but he consistently prioritises his goals over his conscience. His courage falters only when faced with extremely bleak circumstances or painful reminders of his family's tragic loss.

He generally tolerates his troops' actions against external parties, but draws a firm line when it comes to harming their own comrades. He's a strict disciplinarian, swiftly addressing conflicts and misconduct amongst his ranks. When issues arise, he demands accountability, forcing the offending soldier or group to apologise, backing this demand with the threat of demotion or public embarrassment. He finds it strange that his fanatic troops worship him like a god, but he tries not to focus on it, viewing it as a sign of extreme loyalty that encourages them to become better fighters. Although he cares about his soldiers, he's acutely aware of the rampant drug use among the cadets and fanatics. However, he pretends to be oblivious and unfazed, knowing it was their choice to use illicit substances. Nonetheless, he does occasionally intervene when the drugs distract his soldiers from combat, particularly when they engage in unnecessary property damage, violence against their comrades, slothfulness, and an intense libido that they desperately try to satisfy. Despite all of that, he views the Rebel Army as a surrogate family and enjoys celebrating victories and spending downtime with them.

He cherishes Allen's friendship, appreciating him as a trusted companion for casual nights out and lively conversations, but Allen's impulsivity and relentless drive for action often test his patience. He feels a pang of jealousy towards Allen, which he keeps secret, because Allen's family is still alive and well-connected, whereas his own family is either deceased or estranged. He considers Abul Abbas as a good friend and finds it inexcusable that many of his soldiers and commanders treat him with disrespect. Although he views Abul as a womanizing coward and is disappointed by his poor performance, he appreciates his loyalty to the Rebel Army's cause and willingness to fulfill his duties. However, Logan has made it clear that if he were to discover Abul's secretly committed atrocities within the Rebel Army, he would either immediately discharge him or order Allen to execute him on the spot.

He gets along well with Doctor Amadeus, who demonstrates genuine interest in his cause and the technological advancement of the Rebel Army. Although he admires her genius-level intellect, finding it captivating and beautiful, he’s sometimes intimidated by her calculating and enigmatic nature. He secretly harbours a deep-seated fear of Rootmars, knowing she has the power to effortlessly crush him and his army if he incurs her wrath. Despite this, he holds Rootmars in high esteem, admiring her leadership skills and formidable reputation, even if their visions for the New World greatly differ. He regards Ptolemaios with skepticism, stemming from his disdain for cults and religious extremism, compounded by their past confrontation during the Arms Deal Barrage. Additionally, Ptolemaios' reluctance to engage directly on the battlefield raises concerns. Nevertheless, he acknowledges his exceptional wisdom and deeply respects his unwavering commitment to leading the Ptolemaic Army.

He’s fiercely devoted to his younger distant cousins, Sagan and Logan, the only family members he remains in contact with, and will stop at nothing to ensure their safety and happiness. He’s extremely protective of Sagan and Logan, treating them like his own children. He goes out of his way to safeguard them, swiftly and aggressively defending them against anyone who poses a threat, causes harm or violates their personal boundaries. However, when Sagan and Logan disagree or get physical with each other, General Morden calmly intervenes, resolving their conflicts with a gentle yet firm, understanding, and patient approach.

He has zero tolerance for Sagan's habits of casually issuing death threats and making crude remarks about her comrades, whether jokingly or seriously. He's disgusted by her overtly sexual behaviour towards her platoon and enemies, but he chooses not to intervene, prioritising more pressing concerns. He also dislikes how Logan occasionally disregards Sagan's wishes, intentionally doing things she's explicitly forbidden, which often escalates into heated arguments or fights. Furthermore, Logan's tendency to engage in physical altercations with comrades and getting disoriented when exploring the wilderness consistently gets under his skin.

Morden and Tequila were once inseparable friends, sharing stories of their lives over drinks and exploring exotic destinations that Tequila had always wanted to visit. He deeply admired Tequila's worldly wisdom, courage, and profound insight into the human condition. However, their bond was severed when Morden's lust for global domination took hold, driving Tequila away and forcing him to turn against his former friend. The betrayal left a bitter taste in Morden's mouth, a painful reminder of the friendship he had lost.

He has a deep-seated hatred for Marco and Tarma as they foiled his nearly successful plan to achieve his vision of a New World during the Great Morden War. He especially despises Marco, who gouged out his eye at the end of the Great Morden War and played a role in getting the original Sagan killed during the Extraterrestrial Alliance Clash. He knows that Marco will relentlessly pursue him until he's no longer alive, driven by the actions he took against him and his comrades in the past. He particularly can't stand Tarma because he always intervenes to save his best friend whenever they confront Morden in battle and he tries to kill Marco or when Morden issues specific orders to his soldiers to eliminate Marco.

Backstory: Donald Humphrei Morden IV was born on January 24, 1973 in New Brunswick, Canada. He hails from a long lineage of hunters, courageous soldiers, militant commanders, esteemed politicians, and wealthy businessmen. However, whispers abound that he's the direct descendant of a legendary Tuatha Dé Danann sovereign, fabled to have played a pivotal role in the downfall of Atlantis. The Morden name originates from a British family that served as royal advisors, food merchants, and nobles in the 19th century. Although they were of British origin, they resided in Germany, specifically within the Fortress of Königsdrache. From this strategic location, they exerted significant influence on the country's politics and military affairs. During the Napoleonic Wars, the Mordens distinguished themselves as exceptional leaders and skilled soldiers, renowned for their strategic intellect rather than brute force.

Some members of the Morden family are biologically related to the Wildgrube family, although there are no documented family gatherings. In the late 19th century, a Morden businessman, who owned a jewellery-making company that was on the verge of bankruptcy, invested in a Wildgrube-led mining expedition in the Upper Harz to search for silver, copper, and iron. In the early 19th century, exploratory hunters from the Morden family joined forces with Wildgrube cartographers on a major expedition to explore and map uncharted territories in the Canadian wilderness. During World War I, a high-ranking officer from the Morden family served alongside a recently promoted Wildgrube soldier in the trenches of France. Canadian and British Morden soldiers joined forces with German Wildgrube resistance fighters during World War II to combat the Axis powers. They supported the establishment of the Earth Federation, providing crucial financial backing and expert advice on sustaining global peace and security.

He was born into a large, middle-class Canadian family, being the sixth of eight children with three older brothers, an older sister, and a younger brother and sister. His siblings, from oldest to youngest, are Edmund, a successful woodcutting industry businessman; Quentin; Timothy, a Private in the Eurasian Garrison; Kourtney; Reynold; and Vanessa, a supervisor in food packaging manufacturing. His grandfather, Donald Humphrei Morden III, was a seasoned, worldly-wise veteran who retired after the birth of his fifth grandchild and subsequently pursued a career in hunting and sustainable meat production. His father, a Corporal in the North American Garrison, was known for his adventurous and carefree spirit. His mother, a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marine Corps, balanced stern discipline with tender affection. Due to their demanding military careers, his parents had limited time with him and his six siblings, relying on his grandfather to provide regular care and support.

Although Morden keeps his childhood private, a few details have emerged. Remarkably, all of his siblings demonstrated exceptional intelligence, but Morden's rapid development surpassed them all. This stirred jealousy among his older siblings, who admired his swift intellectual growth, while his younger siblings looked up to him in awe. Despite this, he was incredibly close to his siblings, sharing countless hours exploring the nearby woods and enjoying board games together. Donald III taught Morden entrepreneurship basics, war history, and practical skills like hunting, wood-chopping, and shelter-building. Whenever his mother was home on leave, she would delight him with piano music, fostering a deep love for the instrument. At just 7 months, he spoke his first word: "papa”. Between ages 2 and 5, he demonstrated remarkable autodidactic abilities, exploring diverse subjects that he grasped with ease, including sociology and legal theory. By age 6, he had become a budding piano prodigy and began reading Shakespearean plays and sonnets.

At the age of 7, Quentin was diagnosed with sickle cell disease, a condition prevalent in the Morden family. Tragedy struck again a year later when Reynold went missing during a nature walk, and his father was fatally shot in combat. Six months later, he stumbled upon Reynold's mutilated, rotting corpse, infested with maggots and covered in fungal growth. The gruesome sight triggered his trypophobia, and ever since, the image of honeycombs infested with bees and decaying matter would evoke unsettling memories of that incident. Before Morden turned 10, Quentin died from health complications. Just a month later, his mother was tragically killed in an unexpected airstrike ambush. At age 12, Donald III mercy-killed Kourtney, who suffered from multiple sclerosis and debilitating complications following numerous surgeries that severely impacted her health and mobility.

As Donald III struggled with a terminal brain tumour, he made the difficult decision to place Morden and Vanessa into the Regular Army's orphan program to ensure their care. Meanwhile, Edmund relocated to Saskatchewan with Timothy and a substantial inheritance from their mother, seeking a fresh start and a brighter future for themselves. The series of tragic losses had left the family fractured, and Donald's remaining siblings lacked the emotional resilience to keep the family together. Morden felt deeply abandoned and betrayed as Edmund and Timothy departed, leaving their dying grandfather and younger siblings behind. Vanessa, overwhelmed by grief, deliberately distanced herself from Morden. In contrast, the Regular Army provided Morden and his younger sister with stability and support, covering their essential needs. He wondered if he had more relatives and set out to find additional family members while balancing his education, but eventually abandoned his search when he couldn't locate any direct blood relatives.

He met his future wife, Penelope, in grade 11 and began dating her, forming a strong romantic connection. After graduating at the top of his high school class with highest grades, Honour Roll distinction, and six prestigious awards (five scholarships and one bursary), he went on to study geopolitics, jurisprudence, and Marxist sociology at university. At 22, he married his high school sweetheart in a shotgun wedding after learning she was pregnant with their daughter, Dorothy. Three years later, they welcomed their son, Peyton.

After graduating at the top of his class from university, he relocated to Riyadh and enlisted in the Regular Army Marine Corps. His exceptional leadership skills and tactical expertise propelled him to attain the rank of Vice Admiral. He then assumed roles as Tactical Commander for the Intelligence Agency and Commander of the Middle Eastern Garrison. Following his transfer to Cumbria in North West England, he was reassigned to the European Garrison, where he achieved the esteemed rank of Field Marshal. During his time in the military, he earned a reputation as being a tough, efficient, and caring officer of the Regular Army, and is held in high regard by his troops as he treated them with equal amounts of respect. He was also known for being a devoted and compassionate father to Dorothy and Peyton, and a loving and supportive husband.

Alongside Sagan, Logan, and other key figures in the Arms Deal Barrage, he would learn about the Regular Army's deep-seated corruption, but he kept it a secret. He was primarily responsible for conducting investigations, planning attacks, and launching ambushes on the Serapion Fellowship. However, he did join the fight once his team reached the fortress. There, he and a platoon of his loyal soldiers faced off against Colonel Hilde Garn in his Metal Strider. Despite their efforts, they were unable to capture him in time, as a group of Serapion Fellowship guerrilla fighters caught them off guard.

In 2023, during a trip to Ottawa, the Central Park bombing shook the city, claiming the lives of many innocent victims, including Penelope, Dorothy, and Peyton. Having survived the devastating attack, Morden discovered that it was allegedly linked to an intelligence failure within the Regular Army and widespread corruption within the government and military at the time. After relying on alcohol to cope with his sadness and anger, he resigned from the Regular Army, retreated from public view, and began secretly planning a rebellion. Many loyal followers from his Regular Army days chose to stand by him, and with the support of Sagan, Logan, and his most trusted soldier, Allen O'Neil, he initiated plans for a coup aimed at rooting out corruption within the government and military.

He assumed the rank of General and formed the Rebel Army, drawing support from disillusioned Regular Army personnel and multiple radical organisations sympathetic to his ideology. During his time building up the Rebel Army, Sagan and Logan transferred ownership rights of the Fortress of Königsdrache to General Morden. As the last remaining Wildgrube family members, Sagan and Logan originally inherited the Fortress of Königsdrache, but chose to bestow it upon General Morden as a token of gratitude and respect. Morden was also gifted six exotic pets by his most loyal men: a serval named Othello, a Burmese python named Sycorax, a blotched blue-tongued skink named Troilus, an African grey parrot named Cymbeline, a Czechoslovakian Wolfdog named Banquo, and a capybara named Desdemona.

His mental state deteriorating, he amassed power and resources for a large-scale offensive. In 2026, Morden initiated his coup d'état, seeking to dismantle the Earth Federation and its alliances and establish global dominance. The Rebel Army, led by General Morden, swiftly defeated the Regular Army and seized control of all major cities worldwide within 170 hours. Upon receiving intel from Sagan and Logan that the Regular Army had begun mass-producing a Super Vehicle, codenamed “SV-001”, following successful testing, Morden launched a strategic attack. His objective was to destroy the factories manufacturing the SV-001 and capture the units already built.

He ordered some of the Rebel Army's inhumane and dirty war crimes during the Great Morden War. These included the prisoner abuse scandal and the doll bomb operation. He ordered his men to kidnap civilians and use them as human shields in the middle of the battlefield. Additionally, he orchestrated Operation Satchan, where young girls recruited by the Rebel Army were given dolls containing explosives. The girls, referred to as Satchan, would approach enemy soldiers and detonate the explosives, resulting in their own deaths.

Upon learning of Morden's betrayal, his ruthlessness, and his remarkably swift coup d'état as well as the destruction of the SV-001 factories, the US President declared him as the reincarnation of the devil. As Marco and his resistance approached the Rebel Army's base, he and his forces launched a surprise ambush, intent on halting their progress and clearing the way for Morden's plan for global dominance. By eliminating the resistance, Morden aimed to unlock the Metal Slug's full potential without further interference. He would be responsible for brutally executing Tequila, Gimlet, and Red Eye in front of Marco and Tarma, shooting them in the head with his Chiappa Rhino 40DS revolver. Before the execution, he gruesomely gouged out Marco's left eye and then ordered Allen O'Neil to sever his left arm.

In the final showdown of the Great Morden War, Marco gruesomely gouged out General Morden's eye, avenging the torture he and Tarma endured and the execution of his comrades and friends. The Great Morden War served as a stark wake-up call for the Regular Army, prompting a significant shift in their approach to counterterrorism. In the aftermath of the war, the Regular Army began to take terrorist threats with utmost seriousness, reevaluating their strategies and protocols to prevent future attacks. He felt a sense of pride knowing that his efforts had contributed to the Regular Army taking terrorism more seriously, marking a small but positive change.

After escaping imprisonment with support from the Rebel Army and Pipovulaj, he secretly allied with Doctor Amadeus to exploit her knowledge of Tuatha Dé Danann technology and bioweapon development. This alliance would pave the way for the mass production of specialised cyborgs and lethal mechanical constructs for Rebel Army use, the enhancement of Königsdrache Fortress through the integration of mechanical and defensive upgrades, the creation of Wysteria, the revival of Tequila, Gimlet, and Red Eye, and the development of terrifying creations such as the Flying Killers and Mutated Soldiers. He planned to utilise Wysteria as the ultimate bioweapon to achieve global dominance, and deploy Tequila, Gimlet, and Red Eye as super soldiers to serve the interests of the Rebel Army and Amadeus Syndicate.

When he formed an alliance with Doctor Amadeus, General Morden was gifted a canine experiment resembling the Flame Hound from Metal Slug 3D. The experiment that sealed their bond, named Enobarbus, possessed the ability to breathe blue fire. This gesture was Doctor Amadeus' way of showing respect and gratitude toward their newfound alliance. This is made possible by the dog's salivary glands, which produce enzymes that generate heat and flames when they react to oxygen. This canine experiment is a 8’ 1” (246.38 cm) burly wolf with razor-sharp silver-grey teeth, prominent fangs, glowing amber eyes, and a thick Prussian blue coat that gradually transitions to a watery blue and pure white at the ears, paws, and tail tip.

12 notes · View notes

datvtranscripts · 1 month ago

Text

The Smuggled Relic Case Pt. 5

The Relic Buyer

Neve Masterpost

Signs and Portents Masterpost Previous: Templar Rana Savas

They run outside to see a burst of magic that knocks Albin to the ground and summons a bunch of demons.

Rook: We have our relic buyer.

Neve: The Venatori don't need that relic.

Albin Bataris: (Laughs You're here to stop me? You can't stop the Venatori. This power—

Neve: Will what? Impress a "risen god?" Can you even control it?

Albin Bataris: Shut up!

Rana joins them.

Rana: Neve!

Neve: Rana! Here to check on me?

Rana: I wasn't expecting a fight. Or this much of a fight!

Neve: Well, surprise!

The fight continues.

Albin Bataris: The Venatori's power is on the rise. And this part's mine.

Bellara: Neve Gallus will stop you!

Harding: You're not keeping that relic!

Lucanis: You'll die here, Venatori! Neve: I might have questions for him! Lucanis: Ugh. Fine!

More demons join the fray.

Albin Bataris: You won't walk away from here!

Bellara: More demons! If they break away…

Harding: More demons! We can't let them get loose!

Lucanis: They aren't leaving.

Neve: We need to stop them here.

Albin’s health drops lower.

Albin Bataris: You think I won't walk away from this? Our plans don't end here. There's power coming to us!

Rook: Your cult doesn't scare me. And neither do you.

The fight ends, and Albin is knocked to the ground beside the smuggler.

Rana: You won't be releasing any more demons.

Neve: And you're the smuggler. I know you. You're part of the Thread crime syndicate. Smuggling, sure. But red lyrium? Working with Venatori? It's not your style.

The templar Knight-Commander arrives with a magister.

Knight-Commander Lenos: Here they are.

Magister Bataris: My son is no cultist. He was completely misled. We appreciate your help, Knight-Commander. Let's go.

Magister Bataris gestures to leave, and Albin stands, passing Neve as he follows his father away.

Albin Bataris: Nice try. The Venatori rise.

The Knight-Commander turns to Neve.

Neve: You know he's guilty. How much did it cost the magister?

Knight-Commander Lenos: Watch it, Gallus, or you'll be charged—

Neve: With what? I tie something up and you undo it. Isn't this familiar?

Knight-Commander Lenos: Save the sob story. We got the smuggler. Or do you want Bataris to release her too?

He leaves.

Rana: I'll find a way to fix this.

Rana leaves as well.

Neve: (Sighs) Damn it.

Dialogue options:

Affable: We stopped the demons. [1] +Neve Approves

Sarcastic: Not the tour I expected. [2]

Stoic: I don’t believe this. [3]

Angry: People were in real danger. [4]

Shadow Dragon: This is why we’re here. [5] +Neve Approves

1 - Affable: We stopped the demons. Rook: At least we stopped the demons. That's something. Neve: If Dock Town's a little safer… it's not for nothing. Rook: I know it's not perfect… Neve: We got the relic. And the smuggler. The Shadows will watch the cult. If that leads to the gods, they'll send word. It's not perfect, but count your wins. You don't always get them. Especially here. [6]

2 - Sarcastic: Not the tour I expected. Rook: So that's a day in Minrathous? Neve: Like all the rest. Rook: And here I thought we'd say hello to the Shadow Dragons and be on our way. Neve: (Laughs) Someone's a dreamer. We got the relic. And the smuggler. The Shadows will watch the cult. If that leads to the gods, they'll send word. It's not perfect, but count your wins. You don't always get them. Especially here. [6]

3 - Stoic: I don’t believe this. Rook: That's it? Neve: We got the relic. That was the job. Rook: He got away. Neve: I know. (Sighs) I know. Rook: So what now? Neve: We stopped the demons. We got the relic. And the smuggler. The Shadows will watch the cult. If that leads to the gods, they'll send word. It's not perfect, but count your wins. You don't always get them. Especially here. [6]

4 - Angry: People were in real danger. Rook: If we hadn't been there, how many people would be hurt? And Bataris doesn't care. Neve: No. Rook: But you do. Neve: (Laughs) Isn't that the rub? We got the relic. And the smuggler. The Shadows will watch the cult. If that leads to the gods, they'll send word. It's not perfect, but count your wins. You don't always get them. Especially here. [6]

5 - Shadow Dragon: This is why we’re here. Rook: (Weary sigh) People like Bataris… it's why the city needs us. Neve: Yeah. Rook: At least we stopped the literal demons. Neve: We did. And we got the relic and the smuggler. The Shadows will watch the cult. If that leads to the gods, they'll send word. Count your wins, Rook. We both know they don't come easy. [6]

6 - Scene continues.

The scene fades, and one of Varric’s narratives cuts in.

Varric: It wasn't a perfect ending, but Dock Town was safe. From tonight's demons, anyway. Neve's past was coming back to haunt her. She just didn't know it yet.

Next: Sea of Blood Next: Shadows of Minrathous

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #datv #dragon age veilguard #dragon age the veilguard transcripts #dragon age the veilguard dialogue #dragon age veilguard transcripts #dragon age dialogue #dragon age transcripts #dragon age veilguard dialogue #datv transcripts #dav dialogue #dav transcripts #datv dialogue #datv spoilers #long post #the smuggled relic case

7 notes · View notes

mids-dumbbrain · 6 months ago

Text

Mortal Kombat incorrect quotes 7: Earthrealm champions vs the DooDoo syndicate

SABBIA: I'm going to get us a ride if you two could manage not to kill eachother while I'm gone.

ROBIN: Oh please, we aren't children.

*Sabbia walks away, while Muchacha and Red Robin look at eachother*

MUCHACHA: Eat shit and die.

ROBIN: Yes, fuck you.

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

TREMOR: [reading a file he, Kobra and Kira stole from Kano's cabinet] Theory implies that those who were lost in the Bermuda triangle are now citizens of the lost empire of Atlantis.

*Kobra and Kira are barely keeping their shit together out of laughter*

KOBRA: N-no!

KIRA: Now, all my anger that I had from the last few fights I've been in is now equal to the anger I feel right now.

KOBRA: Are they breathing underwater??

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

*teen Kuai, Cyrax and Sektor fucking with a Ouija board*

KUAI: What happened to you, Enenra?

SEKTOR: How many pickles can you shove up your ass?

*9*

SEKTOR: 9?!-

*91*

CYRAX: 91?!?--

*910*

KUAI: NINE HUNDRED AND TEN!?!?!?!??!?!?!

*Cyrax and Sektor rolling on the floor while Kuai looks at the board with utter disbelief*

KUAI: 910 pickles??

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

CASSIE: [about her drone going offline] Shit... Remote control tracking is great until Mommy's little death machine decides to go off the rails...

*cut to Takeda, Jaqui and Kung Jin looking at her from like six feet away*

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

REPTILE: May I ask about your methods, emperor?

KOTAL: You may.

REPTILE: You let an Earthrealm refugee, a brute with a small child, and Shang Tsung's creation work for you...

KOTAL: Yes, and?

REPTILE: What in the Netherrealm do you have against Tarkatans?

KOTAL: ...

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

SEKTOR(mk1): Listen here you little shit. You will return the armor to us or I'll rip it off piece by piece!

CYRAX(mk1): Sektor, your mother is more threatening than you.

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

JOHNNY: I completely changed my mind. If I die I won't fold clothes or be nice or anything, I just Want to be a ghost cop.

KENSHI: I can already imagine that as your next movie.

JOHNNY: Coming this fall, Johnny Cage is... GHOST COP!

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

KUNG LAO: You next line is "Where there is Smoke, there is fire." ISN'T IT?

SMOKE: Where there is Smoke, there is fire. [Le gasp]

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

HANZO(old): Remember son, dying is gay...

HANZO(new): Yes, father.

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

KUAI: We need a plan to stop Havik.

JOHNNY: I got like five.

KUAI: It can't involve murder.

JOHNNY: ... Anyone else have any plans?

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

*several members of the Black Dragon got together at a restaurant*

KIRA: For the last time, Kobra, no one gives a shit.

KOBRA: I promise, this'll be good... Gentlemen, let me ask you a question. Do you think human flesh would taste horrible, or would it actually rock?

*Kira spits out and chokes on her soup*

TREMOR: Do you have to ruin all of our appetites?

KIRA: WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! That's it, go sit at the dipshit table!

10 notes · View notes

changelingsandothernonsense · 10 months ago

Note

Trauma ask game for any OC of your choosing: 2, 6, and 17!

This one's going to be a long and detailed one due to the first question XD. I appologise. 2. Any interesting scars? This one's going to involve some art since Josh is covered in them. It'll make the post longer so just a warning. Also one of his scars requires a self harm warning. I've left that one until last. I've also just placed REDACTED for plot points I haven't published on Ao3 yet.

Starting with ya boi's face. There's a few iterations of face scars for him as time passes. Starting with pre-Corprus-

He has two, one that cuts through his left eyebrow (cuts from his eyelid to just below his hairline). He got this due to a skull fracture at age nineteen. Essentially REDACTED happened and he had an unexpected reaction, which led to REDACTED slamming his head into a mahogany desk because he ruined the REDACTED and that shit is worth more than him! He was eventually sold to REDACTED who ran a Camonna Tong affiliated syndicate in Cyrodiil. Or as he writes in his journals-

"Teldryn Ensirhaddon-Sero is worth precisely 700 drakes. A good price - for a kid, or so I am told."

The second one cuts across his upper nose bridge and ends around his left cheek. This is a result of a failed escape attempt whilst he was being moved from the Imperial City Prison to a carriage destined for the Gold Coast. He was hit in the face with the pommel of a sword and the impact broke his nose. It then got infected in the 8 weeks and repeated reopening of the wound from subsequent beatings whilst he was chained to the floor of a ship.

Next is face scars post-Corprus.

More or less the same, but we add a third scar to his left cheekbone the cuts into his hairline. This is the result of the successful excision of a small tumor.

Post Kogoruhn-

He's broken his nose for a second time and should have his second nose scar that runs in the opposite direction of the first. This is a new application of one that is already present in his Dragon Crisis design, I just hadn't figured out how he got it. Decided with this piece. Next is post Morrowind main quest.

He adds a series of mourning scars to his cheeks to commemorate his late husband. This also involves shaving his head as a part of the ritual, hence the shorter hair (this is circa Tribunal which is a good year after).

Here he is right before the Oblivion Crisis.

And after, where he re cuts the scaring. Dragon Crisis and post Red Year.

A few more added, mostly a diamond shaped mourning scar near the outer corner of his eye and a notch taken out of his ear from when he was thrown in Windhelm's dungeon. Though he's been pretty lucky with not getting more scars, that all ends with- Post Dragon-Crisis

Josh gets attacked by a REDACTED and gets his face ripped open. The scars actually stretch right across his torso, but face wise it effects his right side. The mauling lost him half of his right ear and part of his left. It also effects the muscles in his mouth, namely that half of it is paralysed. He's more self conscious of that than anything else. Alright, body scaring time! Pre Corprus

Mostly it's down to a few shiv slashes from his time in prison. He's got one along his right side that's from a REDACTED who tried to REDACTED, leaving him bleeding out behind a tobacco drying shed. He's got one on his upper thigh from trying to scale a fence.

Thems Corprus.

This is where most of his scarring comes from and I've added to the design since August.

The scaring covers most of his body, with the start point being his left forearm. The first tumor grew from the point where he was grabbed by Dagoth Gares. The scars are the result of the extensive and horrific attempts made by Divayth Fyr and his daughters to prevent the tumors from regrowing. This resulted in the repeated removal and cauterisation of the tumors as they grew back. Josh's Corprus scars stretch from his left arm, a warped and gnarled hand print. This scar isn't connected to the rest on his body but it is one of the worst. The main scar stretches over most of the right half of his body. Starting from his chest, it travels up, along his shoulder and up his neck before curving around his back and along his left shoulder. The large burn on his chest is the worst of it. The removal of a particularly large mass from his chest resulted in the almost complete removal of his right pectoral muscle and the birth of a lot of lame "one nipple" jokes on his behalf. He has a significant weakness on this side as a result of that muscle being removed.

That scar travels down his torso before spreading out along his thigh in another large scar, though this is mostly a surface burn. The scar reaches his toes and the deformity in his foot resulted in the removal of his first and second toes as well as part of the ball of his foot. He wears a prosthesis that he designed himself to help himself walk. Without it he can't balance and requires a crutch.

Like the scar on his cheek, he has a few smaller excision scars. One on his right hand, and another on his elbow.

The scar is technically dead tissue and oozes a strange substance (congealed blood) if cut. Part of the ordeal involved him lost in a dream sequence where he technically accepted Dagoth Ur's offer. He has two identical brandings on his palms as a result.

He has a few scars just from what he does for a living. Almost as soon as he got off the boat in Seyda Neen he found himself getting stabbed. He's got a slash through his left shoulder, two on his belly, and one large stab wound that saw him almost bleed out. There's an arrow puncture on his left flank from that time he got swindled.

Teldryn, when facing Dagoth Ur, managed to get crushed under the hand of Akulakhan as it fell into the lava beneath Red Mountain.

Corprus did something to his body. It was stronger, technically, but he didn't heal well. He left that battle with his pelvis broken in a few places as well as fractures in both femurs. When it became readily apparent that he wasn't going to die from the injury pretty much anyone on Vvardenfell who knew the healing arts tried their hand at mending the bones.

Some priests from Vivec City had an idea that involved physically realigning the bones before healing him with magic. He has two long scars on either hip as a result and one along his back. It took him a long time to learn to walk again and the injury still gives him grief. He can't swing his legs outwards and therefore can't ride a mount.

By the Dragon Crisis, he's added a crushed lower leg to the mix after he has a section of a ship fall on him. He's lucky the same priestess who pioneered his first surgery lived in the same town two hundred years later. Even if she wasn't his greatest fan. After the Dragon Crisis.

The guy's been mulled by a dragon. He's kinda upset about it since it affected his face so much. Those scars do reach across his torso, though.

The ring finger scars (Self Harm Warning)

Josh has two sets of circular scars that run around the finger that he wears Moon-and-Star on. This happened at a breaking point for him where he attempted to sever Indoril Nerevar's connection to him by removing the ring. Remove the ring, remove the problem.

Unfortunately it's not quite that simple, the ring is fused to his finger via some sort of magic that no one understands. He got the brilliant idea to amputate the finger. So he got drunk in an alley behind a tavern in Kvatch, took his dagger out and got to work. Turns out his bones don't just slice off like that and ends up passing out from drink before he makes any actual progress. There was a lot of blood.

He was found by a friend, who quickly became something more before he was taken in the Siege of Kvatch.

6. Whats their greatest fear?

Answered here. Short answer, that time will claim what he's built.

17. Do they have any pets?

Josh wants a Nix-Hound, but he's never had a pet before. He thinks a Nix-Hound will make him look badass in a "guy gets a doberman" way.

His girlfriend has rabbits...he tolerates it.

#asks #teldryn sero #danger!josh #dunmer #morrowind #skyrim #the elder scrolls #nerevarine #tesblr #long post #my art

16 notes · View notes

tirednamelessguy · 7 months ago

Text

Scarlet Sky

[A recollection of the events preceding Spike Spiegel's "death" by Theo V. Morgenstern in the Red Dragon crime syndicate.

Set in pre-canon period where Spike avails himself of some time to spend with a friend away from the crimes of every day in Tharsis, Mars.]

Chapter - 1. One Last Drink

Throughout Tharsis, the one business that profited the most was anything open after 8 in the evening. The Conan was one such business, a rustic bar nestled between other small diners, cafes and homes. It didn't have much of a presence, blending into the street that held it, yet at the same time, it looked significantly different from the rest.

Compared to other, more flashy and bustling dwellings, it looked like a place running for its money but they managed either way because there was no place that served alcohol in this part of Mars that could go out of business, even when it looked like it was snatched right out of a century-old movie.

In spite of its eccentricities, or rather, because of them, Theo found herself sitting at one of the stools with a glass of Pomegranate juice, listening to music on her headset. It had been an hour since she walked in, so she would come to know when she glanced at her watch for the nth time. As if on cue of her adjusting her sleeve over the watch again, the doorbell tingled, bringing a cold breeze in the warm haven.

The familiar tapping of a pair of large boots soon followed. She didn't need to look back to make sure they made their way to her.

"Hey." The usual greeting. He strode around the rounded corner of the counter to the stool adjacent to hers.

"Took you long enough."

He exhaled as he sat down. There were other seats available to her left, it was a tranquil evening after all. But they naturally gravitated to the corner, sitting on the edge of each side of the counter.

"I was busy."

She didn't push it, this was the routine after all. She was always the one to arrive first. Their seating was also a result of her choice to sit at a secluded side instead of the centre of the counter which was more popular. He would always be late enough for someone to come and occupy the seats beside her, leaving only the seats to the side where the bartender's attention only sometimes went. That side was always empty though, leaving the seat to her right always available and even on days like this, where her left was free, he still preferred to sit to her right. She didn't mind it either as it was easier to see each other's faces this way, easier to talk.

"Juice?" he asked, loosening his tie after unbuttoning his jacket. "Don't tell me you're planning to stay sober."

She set the glass down. "No, I ordered it 'cause I didn't know how long you'd be. I am trying to be mindful though. I have a pretty big job tomorrow, can't afford to get plastered."

"Hmm." He pulled a cigarette out of his pack and held it between his lips as he searched for his lighter. She watched it quite mindlessly, attention still half occupied by the song playing in her ears. "Where did I put my lighter…?" he mumbled as he patted all his pockets.

She clicked her tongue before taking her lighter case out— a small, textured black cuboid that clicked open a push at its opening. Encased in red velvet cushioning was a gold-plated lighter which she lit in front of him.

"You seem out of it. Had a rough job?"

"Cut me some slack, will ya?" he said as he leaned forward, holding the cigarette between two fingers to the flame.

His cheeks hollowed breathing in the smoke, the circular end raging a bright orange. It was a little mesmerising, the fire— or what remained of it on the tip of his cigarette when she turned the lighter off. Shame she missed the reflection of the flame in his part-lidded eyes before he moved away.

"Want one?" He extended the pack of tobacco, to which she merely shook her head and put the lighter back in its case.

"You never smoke but carry a lighter all the time," he huffed, earning a light shrug from her as she stuffed the case in her pocket.

"What would you do if I didn't?"

A dry chuckle left him. "Fair."

He was silent for a moment, eyeing her headset.

"What're you listening to?"

"Hm?" She looked at him. "Just an old song from Earth. Wanna listen?" She took one of the earbuds out and handed it to him.

He had to move closer again, owing to her persistent use of wired headsets instead of wireless ones like most people in this day and age. The song was already past its first chorus and halfway through the second one, slowly ascending to its finale.

Theo guessed it wasn't out of the ordinary that she felt a little more conscious of the song now that there was someone else who was listening to it too. Perhaps because it, in a way, represented her musical tastes to him, for the first time nonetheless. She wasn't one to do that with a lot of people.

Spike stayed mindful of the smoke emanating from his cigarette, making sure he wasn't blowing it right into her face. There was little need for words as the lyrics sufficed to fill the silence for now. He continued smoking and she continued drinking her juice and maybe just a little too early, the song ended. He handed back her earplug, leaning into the backrest of his seat.

"What do you wanna drink?"

The bartender had shifted towards them. She thought for a moment as she put away the headset, leaving her ears open to the ambience of the bar.

"How about a Whisky Mac?"

"Always sticking with the classics. Two Whisky Macs," he ordered.

"Coming right up," the bartender said with a knowing smile on his wrinkled face.

Theo pillared her arms on the counter and rested her chin on intertwined fingers, watching the seasoned hands of the bartender as they prepared two glasses of the cocktail while a plume of smoke hazed her sight.

"So, how's work been going for you?" Spike asked.

She inhaled, feeling a sudden exhaustion weighing down on her at the mention of work.

"Same old, same old. Collecting, coercing…" Her voice trailed, eyes losing their focus. It didn't matter. He wasn't too focused either as he put out his cigarette on the ashtray the bartender habitually put there each time he sensed they would stroll in.

"You said you had a big job tomorrow. What's that about?"

"We're closing a pretty big deal tomorrow. I'm representing our side." She leaned back as the bartender set their drinks in front of them.

He let out an impressed noise.

"Aren't you a whiz?"

Despite the nature of his words and the faint smile on his lips, there was a hint of something else in his demeanour that she couldn't quite ignore. He didn't seem uneasy. Maybe he was just tired. Either way, she brushed it off for now.

She tilted her head, acknowledging the compliment before he raised his glass.

"Toast to what?"

She mused for a moment. They didn't toast normally but sometimes, he just was in the mood for that sort of stuff.

"To whatever significance we think this moment holds three or four years in the future."

She said it quite simply as she raised her glass as well, no deeper meaning embellished into it, on her side at least.

He huffed yet again. "Ain't that poetic?"

With a light push forward, they clinked their glasses before taking their first sips at the same time. The faint thud from the glasses being set on the wood was lost in the beginnings of a song being played on the record player. That was late too. Usually, the music would start around the same time the bar opened but it had been long since then.

Theo jerked her arms in front of her to pull the jacket sleeves up a bit before resting her wrists on the counter, getting more comfortable as she picked up the ice-cold glass again.

"New watch?" His voice cut through the vague ghost of 'silence' they had amid the music-filled air.

He pointed to her wrist with a flick of his chin and she looked down at it.

"Oh, yeah," she lifted her hand and pulled the sleeve away a little more to see the dial fully.

"I got it a couple of weeks ago." She extended it towards him.

He pulled her hand closer to look at the watch better in the dim light. A low hum reverberated through his chest as his thumb brushed over the shiny, sleek glass; fingers feeling the black, full-grain leather strap.

"Neat." He let go and she retracted her hand.

"Cost me a pretty penny."

"M'yeah, looks like it."

They took their sips for a pause before there was more to say.

"So, how about you? I haven't heard from you in a while and you suddenly invite me for a drink."

"Yeah, I've been busy." He pulled out another cigarette. "But you know it has been a while since we met up, so."

He didn't thank her as she lit his cigarette again— he hardly ever did. He hardly ever needed to.

"That's strangely sentimental."

He laughed; a wry, throaty kind of laugh, the kind that suggested that he wasn't expecting to laugh, not now, not for the rest of the evening.

"Is it really that odd?"

She placed the lighter case on the counter and left it there, sure of the probability that he was going to need it again.

"Hm, I don't know, maybe."

There was a pause, Theo leaned all the way back in her seat, stretching her legs, dark eyes carrying thought.

"They say people who know they're about to die soon suddenly start acting all nice," she commented.

He laughed yet again, but nothing like before. He laughed, a genuine, light-hearted, out-loud laugh that left him with a wide, toothy grin plastered on his face.

"You're on a roll today, aren't you?"

She shrugged. "Aren't I always?"

He shook his head, taking a drag and sip.

"Well, spare me for wanting a drink with a friend."

"Alright." She swirled the liquid around before a sip. "I haven't been here since our last time either."

"Your partner doesn't take you out?"

She shook her head. "Roderick is too uptight for drinking." She paused. "Then again, he'd say the same about me."

Spike leaned forward, placing his elbow on the counter and resting his cheek in his hand. "Simply can't enjoy a drink without me, can you?"

Theo rolled her eyes. "You flatter yourself."

"It's a matter of admitting. I admit that a drink just doesn't taste the same without a good pal beside you." He made his appeal by moving his cigarette-holding hand around.

She couldn't help the tiny smile. "Okay. It doesn't taste the same without you. Happy?"

He nodded and leaned away again, giving his back a rest.

Another stretch of wordlessness settled between the two Red Dragon members. The alcohol drowned the light chatter around them, the clink and clatter of glasses and plates an ornament to the subdued jazz.

Theo's eyes watched; the golden reflections of the old-style lamps in the rocks glasses atop polished dark wood, the spherical ice bobbing up and down with each movement of the lemony, gingery cocktail, the long, slender fingers resting their tips on the wide rim, the wisps of smoke oozing out of the rolled paper held between said fingers. Quite commonplace for her. She always was focused on little things, things that most would say didn't matter.

What mattered, truly, was what she never looked at; the solemness in the eyes of her drinking buddy as they were lost somewhere ahead. He put the cigarette out in the ashtray, crushing it in a drawn-out, ruminative manner. His fingers, eager to stay occupied, opted to play with the slice of lemon wedged on the rim of his glass.

"You know, I wanted to get drunk tonight," he said without looking up.

She did raise her gaze to his face this time.

"Be my guest. Someone's gonna have to get you home. I'll do you the favour."

He stayed quiet.

Interrupting the slow symphony that the bar had established, a rumble was heard outside.

She glanced at the door. "Looks like it's going to rain."

"I hope it does."

She frowned ever so slightly before turning to him again. He hadn't looked up for a second, eyes glued to the glass. She would have to be stupid to not notice the dejection in his eyes now that she was seeing them. For a second, she didn't know what to say, however uncharacteristic that was. Although, that seemed to be a running theme whenever it came to Spike. But eventually, the intrinsic nature of analysing and formulating kicked in as was common in her more professional conversations.

"Is there something you want to say?"

Something told her his raising the glass to his mouth was an attempt to bail, even just for a second before putting it back down with a little smack of his lips. He gulped thickly before taking a deep breath and holding it in his chest like the weight he couldn't seem to let go of.

"I'm leaving." For a second, she couldn't tell if she even heard him, his voice nothing more than an exhale.

And for a second, time seemed to halt in its merciless stride, the music and prattle fading to absolute nothingness. Complete, stark, deafening absence of sound. She didn't know how long she sat there, still as a statue, staring at him agape. Despite the vagueness, she knew what he meant.

The slow ascension of the pattering of rain outside was what brought her back to reality. In an unwitting imitation, she inhaled deeply.

"That's what this was about…" she murmured, averting her gaze from him to glance at the ceiling to collect her thoughts.

And yet again, she was left scrambling for something to say. The difference this time was that there was so much to say, so many questions. Yet she couldn't bring herself to ask any of them. It didn't matter, after all— how? why? when?— he wouldn't answer. Even if he was willing to answer, there was no point in knowing. What mattered was that he was leaving the Syndicate.

Regardless, she shuffled in her seat, unsure what was the right thing to reply with. He was quiet too. He probably wasn't expecting anything from her. That was probably why he told her in the first place; because she rarely ever asked questions.

"Well…" she took another deep breath and opened her mouth just a second before speaking, "All the best for that."

Any other time, she would have slapped herself for something so generic but in the moment, there was nothing else she could think of. He nodded rather mindlessly, forcing a tiny whisper of a smile as he raised his eyes to meet her again.

"Another round?" he asked, making her realise both of their glasses were empty now.

She nodded and the bartender was at it again after an intimation. They didn't toast that round. Or any that followed for that matter. Not that things had soured or anything. It just didn't cross their minds. Perhaps it was better that way, sticking to the regular rather than trying to turn it into something special.

The night advanced, full of light discourse that got increasingly muddled with alcohol— more on Spike's side than Theo's. They talked for hours as the bar got emptier over time, the storm on the outside barely anything to consider. It served as another reason for Spike to keep drinking, and that, he did.

Before either of them knew it, it was already well past 3 AM. The closing hour was still a while away but Theo decided they had had enough to drink. She paid for both of them before dragging an absolutely hammered Spike out. She had him draped over her shoulders as they staggered out the doors and waited for a taxi.

He kept mumbling incoherent nothings as she held him up, the chill night air causing her hair to stand on end. Still, it was a scene she would likely never forget; a moment of calm and strange allure. The array of neon signs reflected on the damp concrete, the faint clouds that lingered in front of them with each breath, and the much-needed warmth that came without asking— all forever etched themselves into her memory. Perhaps because this could turn out to be their last drink together for a long, long time until someday, maybe, by chance, they'd stumble upon each other again.

Spike fell asleep in the backseat of the taxi, or so she thought until she instinctively turned to check on him, only to find him fighting his slumber, watching the flurry of lights whizzing past the window. Slumped as he was, he was awake, catching every glimpse of the familiar streets of Tharsis that he could, looking as if they would disappear if he didn't capture them in his eyes.

She was a little disappointed when the car stopped in front of his apartment. Too soon. But she knew no matter how long it took, it would always be too soon. She got him up to his flat where he fumbled for the key, muttering something the whole time.

She pushed past the door and stumbled into his bedroom, with remarkable ease in the dark, no less. She had been there before, though only a few times— times just like this when he'd get drunk to a stupor and she stayed just sober enough to get him home. Yet that was enough for her to know his home space like the back of her hand.

"Thanks a bunch," he slurred, "You're a real one."

He had the mind to shrug off his trench coat and jacket before dropping on the bed with a thud. He kicked his boots off afterwards. She pulled his blanket over him, making him melt into the mattress.

"Mmm… I'll miss you when I'm gone…"

She stilled for a moment, gazing at his drowsy face.

"…I'll miss you too." She paused, partly losing her focus behind the haze of thoughts and alcohol. "How will I ever enjoy a drink again?"

He wasn't listening, of course. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the peace that settled on his features alluded to it. She sighed before standing up straight. Each time she would witness this sight, each time she would be left surprised. Spike was a revered member of the Syndicate, the strongest perhaps but like this, stuffed in his bed with a light flush on his cheeks, sleeping like a baby, he was just another man.

Maybe this was what she had failed to see all along— the man he was deep down, the man Julia saw in him. He was lucky for that. If not her, he at least had Julia to see him for who he truly was, to love him. He deserved that, however hard it was for them to keep loving each other.

She walked across the room, holding the doorknob before she turned to take one last look at his sleeping form.

"Good night, old sport."

She closed the door, unaware of the subsequence that three days from then, she would receive the news of his death.

————————————————————————

Here it is!

#spike spiegel x reader #spike spiegel x oc #light angst #spike spiegel #cowboy bebop #anime #fanfiction #pre-canon #prologue #scarlet sky #writeblr #writing #creative writing

15 notes · View notes

orivaa-kun · 2 years ago

Text

BAD ATTITUDE | Chapter 7: Life's a Beach

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6

chapter word count: 7k warnings: mature (18+), violence, drinking, drug use, smut, fluff, angst, feels, rough s*x, emotional manipulation pairings: Gojo Satoru x Fem OC, Geto Suguru x Fem OC, Nanami Kento x Fem OC, Fushiguro Toji x Fem OC series summary: Jujutsu Kaisen Yakuza AU where Riku Ozaki (OC) is really good at getting herself into trouble. Though the Ozaki family is ranked #10 out of the 15 clans of the Tokyo Yakuza syndicate in terms of power & strength; and the Gojo, Geto, and Zenin families fall at #1, #2, and #3 respectively; that doesn't keep her from getting in the mix with these highly ranked, highly dangerous men. Her clan's bodyguard, Nanami, can hardly keep up with all the compromising positions she constantly finds herself in. Will she ever learn her lesson? Find out on the next episode of Dragon Ba-

fic playlist: Spotify YouTube

“God, I’m starving.” Gojo complains, throwing his head back a bit dramatically. Now at the beach, Gojo and Riku walk the long stretch of boardwalk by the ocean that’s lined with small shacks, beachwear shops, food stands, arcades, and even an outdoor theme park.

Other than the coffee shop they’d just left half an hour ago, Riku thinks the boardwalk is the most normal place she’s been to with Gojo. The walkway is crowded with locals and tourists navigating through all its attractions and the white haired man holds her close by her hand that’s clasped in his. Gojo hadn’t let her hand go since he’d asked to hold it when they were in the car, and Riku feels her cheeks tinge red at the mere thought, “Even after those donuts? The ones you didn’t even let me try?” She adds, undeniably a bit disappointed as the man had raved about them back at the shop.

Gojo sighs, “Sorry, babe,” he leans close to her ear, “I promise I’ll give you something sweeter.”

The lowly whispered words cause Riku to jolt upright a little more, and her cheeks redden even further. She feels a few eyes on the two of them as they pass through the crowded boardwalk, “Are you even capable of being sweet to me, you know…” she trails off, a bit embarrassed; she says the last part just above a whisper, “in bed? You don’t seem like the type at all.”

Gojo speaks just as low, eyes focused on navigating the boardwalk as he speaks but a smirk on his face, “Princess, if I fucked you nice and sweet like that, you’d lose your fucking mind. Trust me, Suguru ain’t got shit on me.”

Riku hums to herself in response to Gojo’s words, amused.

Gojo turns to look over at Riku, smirk growing into a grin, “What? You in the mood to get the sense fucked outta you or something?”

“No!” Riku protests, raising her voice from a whisper.

Gojo laughs, unbelieving, “If you say so…” he squeezes her hand, “come on, babe. We’re here.”

Riku looks up at the small shack of a restaurant that looks terribly run down, the sign ‘IWAI’S’ crookedly plastered above the door on a big wooden slab, “This is the place…?” She quirks a brow as Gojo pulls her closer.

“Mhm.” He raises Riku’s hand with his own to his lips, offering the back of it a quick peck before letting it go and opening the door for her, that chirps loudly with the numerous wind chimes attached to its front.

Riku steps in and is surprised by the dark, quaint, yet clean and izakaya-style ambiance of the small restaurant as it’s completely different from its exterior. The place seems to be completely empty, but a man suddenly appears from what looks to be the kitchen in a rugged black apron and a white bandana tied around the top of his head. He has a small goatee and is around the same height and build as Gojo – around 190cm or 6’3” – only seemingly a few years older and a bit leaner and thinner.

“Satoru! Hey, man!” He strides around the bar to greet his friend, but pauses when he sees Riku, eyes widening, “Shit, who the hell do we have here?” He smirks as he shamelessly looks Riku up and down in her beachwear.

Gojo possessively slips his thick arm around Riku, removes his sunglasses, and gestures between the two others with his free hand, “Iwai, Riku. Riku, meet Iwai.” He puts his spectacles in his pocket.

“Hi, Iwai.” Riku extends her hand, a faint smile on her lips.

Iwai lightly grasps and shakes it slowly, admiring Riku with alluring, half-lidded eyes, “Hi, Riku. You’re absolutely gorgeous… like a fucking painting.”

Riku’s smile brightens, “Thank you.”

He shakes his head to himself in disbelief, “Might just be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Alright, that’s enough, Iwai.” Gojo says, tone nonchalant but irritation more than evident in his eyes. His arm unconsciously tightens around Riku.

“What? She yours or something?” Iwai questions.

“Y—”

“Nope! I don’t belong to anybody.” Riku confidently interrupts before Gojo can finish.

Gojo clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth once to Riku’s words, irritation spreading to his brows, “A real fucking brat, this one…” He drops his arm from around her to cross both of them over his chest, “She’s Jin Ozaki’s niece.

Iwai guffaws to Gojo and Riku’s interaction, “She’s yakuza, and she has the guts to stand up to you?!” His eyes shift back down to Riku with adoration, “I think I’m in love.”

Gojo sighs, “Iwai, just let us taste the damn club’s new pairing menu. I got shit to do.”

“Alright, alright,” Iwai raises his arms in protest, “right this way,” he turns, gesturing towards and beginning to walk over to one of the small tables in the corner of the room. Gojo and Riku ease down onto the small stools, Riku removes her crossbody bag, and Iwai looks to Riku again but this time a lot more collected, “If you’re Ozaki, I’m assuming you have a more refined palate and appreciation for culinary artistry? Unlike this sugar-addicted asshole?”

“You’d be correct.” Riku giggles lightly.

“Fuck you, Iwai. Sweet stuff just tastes better and everybody knows it.”

“Sure, boss.” Iwai dismisses Gojo’s words with disbelief, “I’ll get you two some water and bring out the first course in a bit.” Iwai begins to walk back towards the bar.

Gojo huffs a frustrated laugh out, shaking his head at Riku, “What’s that now, strike two?”

“Strike two?” Riku asks curiously.

“First you’re smart with me back at the café, now this?” Gojo nudges Riku’s leg beneath the table with his knee, “You must like getting punished or something.” He murmurs the words deliciously low, eyes dark and a sick smirk on his lips.

“Whatever, Satoru. You’re not gonna do shit anyways.” Riku brushes Gojo’s words off, instead moving her gaze to look around at the small izakaya’s decor.

Gojo’s eyes widen and his mouth falls slightly agape with a short laugh, genuinely surprised by Riku’s backtalk, “Oh? You wanna test that theory? Try me, babe.”

“You wouldn’t do that in public, not in the middle of a restaurant like this. Even if it is empty.” Riku says in disbelief, still avoiding Gojo’s eyes.

“Ri, I’ll bend you over this table right now.”

“No you wo—” Riku starts when Gojo suddenly grabs her arm and yanks it forward, causing her chest to fall and completely press against the flat of the wooden table. Gojo even begins to stand, but Riku protests, her entire face burning bright red, “W-wait! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Satoru!”

“Yeah you are.” Gojo, face completely calm and satisfied with Riku’s reaction, releases her arm and sits back down, “That’s better.”

Riku quickly raises her chest up off the table and readjusts her coverup dress.

Iwai looks curiously between Riku and Gojo when he returns with their waters, especially to Riku who looks down at the table and toys with one of the curls at the back of her head, cheeks flushed and an embarrassed expression on her face, “Uh, here’s the water… First appetizer is in the works. You drinking today, Gojo?”

“Nah. This one’s the real sake connoisseur.” Gojo gestures to Riku.

“Really? Good; now I can get a real opinion on these bottles.” Iwai chuckles, already walking back towards the kitchen.

After seven courses of intricately crafted small plates and their seven uniquely paired servings of rare sake, though not drunk, Riku is far past buzzed and quite tipsy. She giggles to herself at nothing in particular, her cheeks and neck tinged pink with warmth.

“What’s so funny?” Gojo quirks a brow at Riku from across the table. As he hadn’t had anything to drink, he eyes Riku suspiciously.

“Nothing! Just feel nice.” Riku smiles warmly, closing her eyes for a bit to enjoy the weightless feeling in her body.

“Is that so?” Gojo studies Riku’s body with his eyes, slowly taking in each bit of her that’s visible him – the flushed cheeks, neck, chest… he huffs a chuckle at the woman who’s clearly enjoying herself, “Well, glad one of us is having fun.”

“Come on; hasn’t trying the food been fun, too?” Riku opens her eyes and challenges playfully.

“Yeah, but clearly not as much fun as you’re having.” He crosses his thick arms across his chest.

Riku blinks up at Gojo, simply getting lost in his cerulean eyes for a moment. He’s so handsome. She thinks to herself. Riku can’t help but appreciate the perfectly chiseled face, broad shoulders, and toned chest that’s even visible with his button up, short-sleeve beach shirt on. Riku shifts her leg under the table so that it gently nudges and hooks around one of Gojo’s. She slowly moves it up and down, rubbing his leg with her own, “You wanna feel good, too?” She boldly asks, batting her eyes at the white haired man flirtatiously.

Gojo’s brows lift with surprise at Riku’s boldness and opens his mouth to speak, but just then, Iwai returns to their table with a tray that holds two small dishes and a single serving of sake.

“Alright,” Iwai sets the dishes down on the table, “last one. We got anmitsu—an assortment of mochi, red bean, and chestnut flavored jelly cubes topped with matcha ice cream. And for you, Riku,” he sets down the small sake glass, “we have a sweet plum wine to go with. It’s a 3-year aged Asahi Shuzo Dassai umeshu.”

“This looks so good! Everything’s been so delicious, Iwai.”

“Thanks, beautiful,” Iwai smirks brightly, “glad you liked the pairings.”

Riku dramatically drops her chin into her hands, propped up by her elbows on the table, “I wish I could eat delicious food like this every day…” She sighs, pouting ever so slightly.

“Riku, gorgeous as you are—if you were mine, I’d get up at the ass-crack of dawn to make you whatever you want.” His smirk grows, gaze heavy with infatuation as he looks down at Riku.

Riku giggles, “Aw, that’s so sweet.”

Already digging into his dessert, Gojo loudly clears his throat, clearly irritated by Riku and Iwai’s exchange.

“Let me know if you need anything else; more water, some coffee, whatever. I make a damn good matcha caramel macchiato, you know.”

“Ooo… that sounds good!” Riku says excitedly.

“We’re good,” Gojo checks his watch, “we gotta get going to the gym soon, anyways.”

“Aw…” Riku complains, a small frown on her face.

“I can make it to-go.” Iwai suggests.

“Yay! Thanks, Iwai.” Riku’s excitement returns as quickly as it had left. She picks up the small spoon on her plate and scoops up some of the mochi and ice cream before taking a bite. She immediately hums to the perfect balance of light, sweet flavors, “Mm… this is absolutely perfect. So delicious!”

“Try it with a sip of the umeshu.” Iwai notes, already heading back towards the kitchen.

Riku takes a sip from the small sake glass, eyes lighting up as the sweet flavored notes of the liquid hits her tongue, “Oh, this is good… You might like this, actually.” Riku suggests, glancing over to Gojo.

“Let me try.”

Riku passes the small glass to Gojo, who takes a slow sip. He pauses after tasting the umeshu, and then his eyes widen similarly to Riku’s, “Wow, that is pretty good—for alcohol.”

Riku shakes her head to Gojo’s response, “It’s amazing.” She clarifies, “Just because there aren't 10 spoonfuls of sugar in it, doesn’t mean it isn’t good.” She continues to take tiny bites of her dessert.

Already nearly finished with his own dessert, Gojo watches Riku as she eats, shaking his head to himself, “Also, that’s strike three, babe.”

Riku gasps, jaw dropping in surprise as she placed her spoon back down on her plate, “But I didn’t even do anything!”

“Flirting with Iwai, right in front of me?” Gojo quirks a brow at Riku.

“Oh my god, I wasn’t even flirting.” Riku rolls her eyes, dramatically sighing the words.

“Ri, you look at any average guy with that puppy dog eyes and pout combination and he’s falling for you. Without a doubt.”

“Okay, but that’s not my fault, though.” Riku takes the sake glass back from Gojo, downing the rest of the liquid in the glass like a shot.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” Gojo says flatly, “You’re not as slick as you think you are, Ri.” His smirk grows into a grin when he’s suddenly struck with an idea. He stands to his feet, quickly grabbing Riku by her arm and pulling her up out of her seat and towards a narrow hall on the other side of the restaurant.

“Hey…! What are you doing?!” Riku protests head swimming a bit to the combination of the alcohol in her system and the sudden movement.

“Teaching you a lesson.” Gojo says sinfully low as they approach the door to the private bathroom in the back of the izakaya. He opens it and pushes Riku in so that she collies with the sink, then closes and locks the door behind them.

“Ow!” Riku complains, rubbing her hip that had hit the corner of the sink. Though it’s quaint and clean, the bathroom – made mostly of black stone and accented with polished wood – is just as narrow as the hallway and both Gojo and Riku hardly fit in it, “That hurt, asshole! Agh—”

Riku exclaims a short gasp when Gojo suddenly closes the space between them and simultaneously hoists her up on the edge of the sink while pushing up the netted fabric of her coverup dress. Gojo wastes no time in joining their lips, pulling Riku’s knees apart so he’s pressed flush against her body. He kisses her harsh and quickly forces his tongue in between her lips to dance with hers.

Riku moans into Gojo’s mouth when he rubs his hands up the sides of her hips and around her waist, thumbs massaging into the barely clothed skin there. Gojo moves his lips to Riku’s neck and his large, kneading hands to her breasts and she whimpers, heat already beginning to pool between her legs from Gojo’s touch. Riku’s skin already feels warm from all the sake she’d drank, and her pulse only beats hotter and more thickly in her neck when Gojo licks and sucks red marks into it. Gojo’s hands are rough with her, and Riku appreciates how the man doesn’t hold back. She giggles a bit, “This is punishment?”

Gojo releases his hold on one of Riku’s breasts to reach up and yank her head back with a quick, sharp tug of her hair—backing her up just enough so she can see his cold, hard gaze. It’s a look so emotionless that it honestly sends a shiver down Riku’s spine. It’s broken when Gojo suddenly chuckles, however, lips curving up into a grin at the sight of Riku beneath him, sitting on the edge of the sink with a flustered expression on her face, “Hm. So now you want to be touched? That’s funny…” He leans closer to Riku to suck her earlobe between his lips, gently tugging on it before lewdly licking inside the rim of her ear.

Riku twitches and moans to the feel of Gojo’s breath and tongue on her ear, legs shaking for a second as she feels herself grow wetter beneath her bikini.

Gojo abruptly releases her completely and steps back as much as he can in the small bathroom, which causes Riku to blink dazedly at him at the sudden lack of touch. He pushes his hands into his pockets, face and voice both completely calm and collected as he speaks his next words, “You’ve been pushing and pulling me all day, babe. So, tell me, what do you really want, Ricchan?”

“I…” Riku trails off, thinking to herself before replying with the only current thought in her head, “want you.”

Gojo folds his arms over his chest and shakes his head once, unimpressed, “Too vague. Try again.”

Riku's cheeks redden even more under his focused gaze, “I want you to fuck me…” She says low, just above a whisper and voice shaking with embarrassment.

“What was that?” Gojo turns his head to poke his ear in Riku’s direction, only pretending he can’t hear her, “I couldn’t catch it. Speak up.”

Riku grumbles impatiently and out of embarrassment, a fire behind her eyes, “I said I want your dick inside of me, okay?!” Her face is completely red now, and Gojo laughs at the sight.

“You look like a tomato!” He guffaws childishly, jabbing his index finger towards her.

“Shut up…!”

Gojo reaches in his back pocket, retrieving a condom from it, “But I guess it’s better. I’ll give you what you want, Ricchan, but I won’t be nice and hold back—even if you ask me to…” He unbuttons his shorts and tugs them and his boxers down just below his hips, causing his dick to spring up and to attention. He tears the foil package open.

Riku’s eyes widen at Gojo’s size, still in disbelief of how that had been inside of her last night.

“…can you take it?” Gojo asks, rolling the condom onto his dick.

Riku bites her lip to the sight of Gojo’s movements, nodding with a lewd gaze. She feels her breaths begin to deepen in heated anticipation and spreads her legs a little more, using one of her hands to pull her bikini to one side and tease herself with her fingers.

Gojo’s eyes dart down to between Riku’s legs, and he watches as she plays with herself, on display just for him. He glances back up to her eyes, and closes the gap between them, hand reaching up to harshly grab and squeeze the sides of her neck with his thumb and index. Gojo is at Riku’s ear again, muttering his wanton words into it between wet kisses and sucks to her earlobe, “You slut. You only want affection when it’s like this… don’t you?”

“Yes…” Riku strains out in a whine, practically aching between her legs for him to fill her up with his cock, “I need it so bad, Satoru.” She feels just the right amount of lightheaded with Gojo’s hand locked around her neck and is so turned on she doesn’t really care about how ridiculous she sounds at the moment.

Gojo presses his forehead against Riku’s with a wild grin, “Shit, babe, you might just be as fucking sick and twisted as me…” He teases the tip of his dick at her entrance and rubs it over her wet folds, “But you just had this last night, no? You already want me again, Ricchan?” He coos the question salaciously.

“Please!” She whimpers, rolling her hips forward and closer to Gojo’s so that his dick prods harder against her pussy.

“You asked for it.” And with the end of his words, Gojo savagely thrusts all the way into Riku’s cunt with a single, hard jut of his hips, his free hand grasping and holding hers down in place on the edge of the sink so she can’t get away from him… so she has to take every inch of his cock.

“S-Sator—” Riku nearly screams from the pain of Gojo entering her so harshly but is cut off when the hand on her throat swiftly moves to clasp over her mouth.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you horny slut.” Gojo spits coldly, his expression mildly irritated to all the noise Riku was making, but simultaneously more than visibly turned on from her moans. He doesn’t waste any time and thrusts into her over and over, hard and fast. The sink even bumps loudly against the wall at the force of his aggressive movements. Gojo looks Riku directly in her eyes as he muffles her moans with his hand pressed tightly over her mouth, fucking her hard and unceasingly, “You were just flirting with Iwai minutes ago; you really want him to hear you getting fucked in the back of his restaurant?”

Riku’s long nails dig into the skin of Gojo’s lower hips and she shudders to the intense sensations he gives her with each dastard pump of his dick, eyes rolling back into her head for a moment as a strong jolt of pleasure abruptly courses through her body without warning. All of a sudden, she’s squeezing and pulsing tight around Gojo’s cock, and a long, muffled moan is falling from her lips.

Gojo pauses in his thrusting at the feel of Riku tightly gripping his dick in rhythmic waves, “Did you just cum?” A smirk slowly takes over his previously icy expression.

Riku doesn’t realize it until after it’s already over and she’s coming down from her high. She’s never been fucked hard like this before and didn’t think it was possible for her to climax so quick. Gojo releases Riku’s lips and she simply blinks and pants heavily, half-dazed and half-tired from orgasming so intensely.

“Shit, Ri, you like pain that much?” Gojo laughs at her, “I mean, fuck, what was that? One minute?”

“Don’t laugh at me…!” Riku’s not sure if it’s the sheer embarrassment, the pain from Gojo’s thrusting, her vulnerability from just having orgasmed, or a mixture of all three, but tears well up at the corners of her eyes.

“I told you, that crying shit won’t work on me. And I’m not finished with you.” Gojo says before slamming back into Riku with a rough buck of his hips.

Riku bites her bottom lip to prevent herself from crying out.

“Why don’t you do some work for once?” Gojo grabs under Riku’s knees to pull her legs up and around his waist, “Put your arms around my neck. You can hold your weight can’t you?”

When Riku follows Gojo’s directions he stands upright and her body is lifted above the sink. She clings to Gojo to hold herself up, now more readily breathing in the citrus, musk, and vanilla notes of his scent at their proximity.

“The fuck are you waiting for?” Gojo harshly slaps the flat of his hand under the curve of Riku’s ass and she clenches on his dick in response, a quick moan spilling from her lips, “Move.” He commands.

Arms locked around Gojo’s neck for purchase, Riku moves her ass up and down at a steady rhythm. Though the position doesn’t allow for much movement, she continues like this for a few minutes and tries to please Gojo in her messy, dazed state, whispered moans and whimpers fleeing her mouth each time Gojo’s dick hits her spot just right.

“You can do better than that, Ri…” Gojo severely slaps both of his hands on Riku’s ass cheeks over and over, sure to leave marks on the now reddened skin there as she continues to throw her hips back and forth on his dick. Face now buried in his shoulder, Riku softly cries out into Gojo’s shirt as he batters her ass with hits, head beginning to melt at her own arousal from this situation.

Gojo’s touch throughout the day – his hands rubbing on her back, around her waist, even his fingers flirting with her breasts – had slowly affected Riku, little by little, and now she was so desperate for for the man that she was fucking him in the back of a restaurant. It was honestly embarrassing to think about the complete mess he’d made out of her body. On top of this, Riku had never been pushed so harshly during sex before, and neither had the line between her pain and pleasure. Gojo had been cruel in his treatment and fucking of Riku, and as she was the type of girl who was used to men treating her like a princess all the time, his brutish punishment of her like this only drove her crazier.

Riku moves her arms down so that her hands are on Gojo’s shoulders. She uses them like a pull up bar, pulling her weight up and down so that she moves more significantly on and off of his dick with each jerk of her hips. She throws her head back up to get a look at Gojo, her own cheeks reddened and eyes hazy with pleasure. Though she could hold her weight, even her arms were quickly growing sore and tired from holding moving herself up and down on Gojo in this way.

“That’s better. See, Ricchan? You can fuck yourself on my dick just fine.”

“Fuck…” Riku whispers the word, enjoying the feel of Gojo’s dick pushing into her over and over again at the command of her hips and her own set pace. It doesn’t take long for her to slow down from the tiredness and soreness in her arms, though, and she eventually comes to a still.

“Hm, well that was short-lived.” Gojo notes, almost too plainly.

“I’m sorry…! Please, Satoru… please fuck me!” Riku begs, arms shaking. Gojo can see that Riku is honest in her words from her timid body language—that’s much different from her usual dismissive yet playful and hot-headed attitude. It only takes a moment of looking into her eyes for him to tell that he’s pushed her a lot physically, and that she’s barely holding on (pun intended).

Gojo finally wraps his arms around Riku’s back with a sigh, breaking his mean streak and easily taking her weight into his hands, “You did well, babe. Way better than most could.” He praises, kissing her temple with a small peck before walking them over to and pinning her against the wooden door of the bathroom, “Let me take it from here.”

Gojo suddenly thrusts into Riku hard and fast, nailing her into the wood with one hand on her hip and the other on her mouth again. The door bangs loudly in its frame at Gojo’s brutish movements but he doesn’t let up, looking Riku in the eyes as she comes undone with pleasure. Her muffled moans gradually grow louder into choked groans, her breathing becoming more and more irregular with each strong buck of his hips. Riku grips Gojo’s broad shoulders tightly, legs gently shaking around his waist at the heavy pleasure that focuses in her abdomen and pushes its way up her spine. She looks at Gojo with wide eyes, and he immediately understands, “I know, babe; I’m close, too…” He softly grunts the words and rests his head in the slope of Riku’s neck.

Riku’s body jerks and twitches with the intensity of her climax and she lets loose a muffled cry into Gojo’s palm. His breath grows ragged when Riku clenches on him and his hips slam into hers one last time as he cums, “Ah, fuck, Riku…” Gojo curses, keeping her pinned against the door with one arm while the other moves from her mouth to cup her cheek. Gojo presses his lips to Riku’s passionately yet tiredly, offering her a few lewd, open-mouthed kisses before finally breaking away and pulling out of her.

Gojo slowly releases and eases Riku back down onto her feet, “You good?” He brushes a few stray curls from her face and rubs his thumbs over her flushed cheeks, “Was I too mean to you?” He smirks.

Riku winces a bit to the soreness between her legs, on her ass, and in her arms when she stands on her own, using Gojo’s arm to stable herself when she stumbles a bit. He instinctively catches her wrist in his hand when she does but she quickly regains her balance, “Yeah, you were, but I can take it… and I had fun.” Riku smiles soft yet honestly at Gojo, starting to readjust her bikini and smooth out her coverup dress.

“You did?” Gojo leans over and close to Riku’s face, pressing a light peck to her lips.

“Mhm.”

He pecks her lips again, “You gonna be a good girl f’me the rest of the day?”

Riku nods, smiling sweet and submissively up at Gojo, “Yes.”

“Good.” Gojo pecks her lips one last time before straightening back up and beginning to remove and discard his condom, “Another day of fucking the brat outta you, hm?” Gojo chuckles, “You need to use the bathroom, babe?” He pulls and buttons his shorts back up, then quickly washes his hands.

“Yeah, I should.” Riku pushes a curl behind her ear shyly, trading places with Gojo in the bathroom so she’s no longer at the door.

“Take your time. I’ll wait for you outside with your coffee, alright?” Gojo winks at her, unlocking the door and opening it slowly.

Riku nods quietly and Gojo makes his exit, closing the door behind him.

Of course, just then, Iwai turns the corner in the hallway and his eyes widen when he sees Gojo closing the door. His look of surprise suddenly turns into a knowing smirk and he laughs, “Seriously? And here I was thinking the dishwasher was acting up again…” He shakes his head and crosses his arms, “Riku still in there?”

“Yeah, she’s freshening up.” Gojo grins.

Iwai chuckles, “Jesus Christ. Well, I got her macchiato out front.” Iwai waves Gojo along already heading back towards the restaurant’s main space.

Gojo follows along until they reach the bar that has a small coffee cup with a lid and sleeve on it. He sits down on one of the stools with a small sigh.

Iwai moves behind the counter, wiping the surface of it down with a wet rag, “Now, where’d you find a girl like her?” He asks, genuinely curious.

Gojo looks up into space for a second, thinking before he meets Iwai’s eyes again, “She’d tell you that we met at the gala a few nights ago, but really, I met her years ago when we were kids. Don’t think she remembers that, though.”

“Interesting… So she got a sister or anything?” Iwai quirks a brow.

Gojo cackles, “A cousin, but that’s it. And if she’s anything like Riku, I wouldn’t touch her.” Gojo advises, folding his hands on the bar top with a small smirk on his lips.

“Why’s that? Tryna hog all the hotties for yourself?” Iwai retrieves a clean class from behind the bar and fills it with water using the soda tap.

“It’s not that. She’s just a little bit… troublesome. Maybe a lot bit.” Gojo admits, cocking his head to one side.

“You say that when you’re going out with her right now.” Iwai lifts his pointer from his cup, raising the glass as he speaks before taking a long sip from it.

“Yeah, but I can handle it. Can you?” Gojo asks, challengingly.

“What kind of trouble are we talkin’?” Iwai asks before taking another sip of water.

“Kicking Toji in the balls kind of trouble.”

Iwai spits his water out but off towards the floor of the bar, then coughs and clears his throat, eyes wide with surprise, “Shit…”

Gojo lets loose a loud laugh to Iwai’s reaction.

“Yeah, I don’t want Toji problems, even as pretty as she is. Really the only person who can handle Toji problems is… well, you. Maybe Suguru, too.”

“And there it is.” Gojo concludes, and both of their heads turn when they hear Riku approaching.

She secures her small crossbody bag over her shoulder as she walks towards them and stops at the edge of the bar to pick up the small coffee cup, clearly ignorant to their prior conversation, “This for me?”

“Sure is.” Iwai confirms with a nod.

Riku takes a sip, “Oh my god… What the hell?!” She takes another one, “This is insanely good!” Her expression looks frustrated, but she continues to take small sips of the matcha caramel macchiato.

Iwai laughs, “That's some review. Thanks, Riku. You mind if I send Gojo a survey for you to fill out about the pairings?”

Riku shakes her head, “Not at all. I’d be happy to fill it out.” She smiles, moving towards Gojo’s side, “Thanks for the good food and drinks!” Riku beams with a certain glow about her.

“Anytime. Seriously, if I’m not at the club, I’m here—if you ever want a bite.” Iwai offers, "And, we typically open around…” he checks his watch, “now, actually.”

“Well, I can’t pass up an offer like that.” Riku muses, smile turning into a playful smirk, “Maybe I’ll bring some friends, too. Thank you.”

Gojo rises from the stool and to his feet, slipping his hand down to grasp and interlock his fingers with Riku’s free one, “You ready, babe?” He looks at her in a way that’s telling to their physical and growing emotional connection: direct and unashamedly with a touch of infatuation.

“Mhm.” Riku mirrors Gojo’s gaze, not breaking from it until the other turns to say goodbye to Iwai.

“Alright. Thanks, Iwai. See you at the club later.” Gojo waves his hand at the other with the one that doesn’t hold Riku’s.

“See you, Satoru.”

“Bye, Iwai!” Riku raises her coffee towards the man as her and Gojo head towards the door, lifting a few of her fingers from the cup to wave goodbye.

“Bye Riku. Please bring your friends.”

Riku giggles, “Sure thing.”

Gojo holds the door for Riku and she slips through, the bright light of the early afternoon straining her eyes for a moment. When they adjust, she notices the long line that’s already started to wrap around Iwai’s restaurant.

Riku hums in realization, “I thought it was weird a spot with food as good as that wasn’t filled to the brim… No wonder, it wasn’t open yet.”

“Yep.” Gojo pops the ‘p,’ eyes scanning the boardwalk that’s now even more full with beach goers. He retrieves his sunglasses from his pocket and puts them back on. Riku immediately feels eyes on them when they exit the izakaya, but Gojo doesn’t seem phased by it. He looks used to it, if anything. Do they really stand out so much?

“This way.” Gojo begins to walk them towards the right, gently squeezing Riku’s hand before doing so, “You wanna take the boardwalk way, or walk by the ocean?”

Riku looks around at the unmistakable hundreds if not thousands of people that crowd the long stretch of boardwalk that at least stretches for half a mile, “Um… beach, please.”

“You got it, princess.” Gojo navigates through the crowd with Riku at his side until they reach a beach entrance.

Riku downs the rest of her coffee as they approach the sand and dumps the cup in a nearby trash can, beginning to dig in her bag for her sun shades. She finally finds and slips them on, “You need sunscreen?” She suggests, pulling out and brandishing a small spray bottle from her purse.

“Nah, I’m good babe. Put some on this morning. But thanks.” Gojo doesn’t look at Riku but continues to walk them through the groups of people set up on the beach sand, keeping his hand locked with hers as they navigate through the uneven, sliding slopes of sand in their flip flops.

“Okay, but you should reapply, you know.” Riku says, putting her sunscreen back into her back before zipping it up again, “I did back at the restaurant.”

“That how you keep your skin so soft?” Gojo asks, finally glancing at Riku once they reach the bit of hard sand just before the ocean waves. It’s far less crowded than the beach and boardwalk, and Riku is glad she chose this route. They begin to walk along the stretch of wet sand.

“That’s part of it,” Riku notes, “you have pretty nice skin, too, you know.”

Gojo laughs once, “Don’t think anyone’s ever told me that before. Not with all these scars.” He shrugs his shoulders and lifts his free hand, vaguely gesturing to the faint lines that litter his arms.

Riku glances down, using her hand that’s interlocked with Gojo’s to lift his hand closer to her face. She examines one of the more noticeable, long scars on Gojo’s forearm, running the pads of her fingers up the line of it and the thick veins just underneath until she reaches the bulky, toned muscle of his bicep. Even with the scars, his skin is taught and smooth to the touch, “They’ve healed really well, though.”

Gojo glances down, watching Riku inspect him with a faint smile on his lips, “Thanks, Ricchan.” He pauses, “You know, princess, you’d make a really good girl if you weren’t a crazy troublemaker raised by yakuza.”

Riku wants to be upset, but is too exhausted to have an angry bone in her body and can’t help but burst into laughter to Gojo’s words—they were kind of true, after all.

Gojo joins instantaneously, bending at the waist a bit from the good chuckle his own words had given him.

Riku pulls her hand out of Gojo’s hold, pushing his shoulder with as much strength as she can muster, “You’re an asshole.”

To Riku’s surprise, Gojo doesn’t move much from her push and simply laughs as if it was a light pat, “Uh-huh,” he grabs her arm, pulling her into his side and locking their hands once more. He bends close to her ear so only she can hear his next words, “but you like it when I’m mean to you.”

Riku lazily shoulder checks the man, but keeps her hand in his, “Shut up.” She blushes, looking off towards the water.

Gojo’s hums a small chuckle, “You don’t have to hide, babe… you can say that you like it.” His smirk turns into an alluring one and he speaks lowly, “You’re so fucking cute.” Gojo gently ruffles Riku’s hair then kisses her temple.

“People done say shit like that out loud!” Riku whisper-yells, cheeks still bright red.

“They should.” Gojo says simply, “I’d personally like to see the look on your face while saying how much you like what I do to you.” Aside from their combined presence alone, the end of Gojo’s words garner a few eyes from a few people passing by them on the beach.

“Shh!” Riku uses her hand in Gojo’s to yank his arm down.

The man only cackles in response.

“How long is it to the gym, anyways?” Riku changes the subject, frustratingly rubbing the side of her forehead. Why does he only ever want to talk about horny shit like this?

“Just fifteen minutes, give or take.” Gojo looks down the stretch of beach.

“The gym’s on the beach?”

“Basically. It’s on the other end of the boardwalk.” He clarifies.

“Oh.” Riku bites her lip when there’s a long pause in their conversation. She looks up at Gojo, who looks like he has his eyes focused on something in the distance, or is thinking about something. She decides to break the silence, “How long have you been doing martial arts?”

Gojo glances over to Riku, “Since I was 3.”

Riku’s eyes widen, “Wow, isn’t that a bit early?”

“Not for the Gojo clan, it isn’t. It’s pretty standard practice, and it’s part of the reason our family is ranked where it is.”

“Yeah, but that must’ve been rough…” Riku searches Gojo’s face for any telling emotions, but there aren’t any; he seems completely at ease about his upbringing. She brushes her hand over Gojo’s faintly scarred arm, “Are any of these from when you were a kid?”

“No,” Gojo cocks his chin upwards, and Riku immediately spots a small, white scar just beneath his jaw, “but this is.”

“Ouch,” Riku instinctively reaches up with her free hand to rub her fingers over it, “What happened?”

Gojo lowers his head back down, “I was 11, so a bit older, but there was this little girl in trouble, so I took down a bunch of muscle from a foreign syndicate that was attacking her family.”

“Aww, so you were a hero.”

Gojo shakes his head, then meets Riku’s gaze again, a curiously knowing look in his eyes, “Not quite. Both of us almost died in the process. There was a bad fire, too.”

Riku suddenly sees a flash of white, but it’s not the beach sand… It feels like she’s recalling something. It flashes again and a sharp pain tears through her head. This time the white of a flame? No, white hair…? Riku stops in her tracks, immediately pulling out of Gojo’s grasp to clasp her hands over the sides of her head. She winces, “Ah…!”

“Ri, are you okay?” Gojo turns and holds Riku’s shoulders, noticeably concerned.

Riku continues to wince with her eyes closed and holds her own face.

“Riku, are you alright?” Gojo squeezes Riku’s shoulders tighter.

Riku only hears Gojo this second time, when the flash of white fades from her vision, “Mm, yeah…” she sighs when the sharp pain in her head quickly fades into nothing, “I’m good. Sorry, that hasn’t happened in years… Like, since I was a teenager.” She drops her hands from her face, confused to why she’d had a headache now of all times.

“You sure you good?” Gojo bends close to Riku to cup and hold her head in his hands, “You need me to carry you to the gym, princess?” The concern on his face turns into a smirk.

“God, no. Please don’t do that.” Riku shakes her head furiously.

“Well, always here if you change your mind, babe.” Gojo rejoins his hand with Riku’s, giving it a small squeeze.

“Thanks, Satoru.” Riku says softly, mostly looking in the distance as they begin to walk again.

Gojo fake-gasps, “Did I just hear a thank you? From the brat herself?? I can’t believe it!”

Riku pokes Gojo’s bicep with the point of her nail, narrowing her eyes at him, “Hey, don’t push it. You’ll never hear one again if you act that way.”

Gojo quickly reaches back to slap Riku’s rear, and looks down at her in feigned confusion, pretending he hadn’t just heard her words, “What was that?”

Riku jumps with a yelp, mostly from the preexisting soreness on her ass, “Agh…! What the fu—” she cuts herself off when she notes the unmoving, stern look on Gojo’s face, just centimeters from hers. It’s the kind of look that says, ‘Didn’t you just say you’d be a good girl for the rest of the day?’ Riku sighs, not wanting to fight Gojo’s dominant inclinations over this, “Never mind…”

“That’s what I thought.”

Riku grumbles under her breath, sure that she would have blown a fuse if it weren't for the people on the beach around them—and if it wasn't Gojo. She couldn't deny the sick part of herself that liked the other being in control. Was this how things were always going to be between us? Laughing and kissing one moment, and pissed at each other the very next?

42 notes · View notes