#but then you dig up the extended cut and lose your damn mind

[everythingisawayoflife]

i’m in the middle of a very intense that thing you do! brainrot simply because i think it is a movie so overlooked by this generation it rivals a shakespearean tragedy

[gvldntrbl]

-🥀-

"That's a long ass time to be out of control." Hale commented, jade eyes cutting over Viggo from where the siblings sat on the sands. "What makes you try to not lose your shit again?" They asked, before pausing. "...Scarlett aside." Hale tacked on. "And you, I don't know, never thought to just ask her what she wanted and needed from you instead?" Hale asked Viggo, sending their older brother an odd look. "That shit never crossed your mind?" They wondered aloud. At the mention of Toni, the Hale family's therapist, the named heir chuckled under their breath. "She does that, make you dig up and sort through your shit." Hale commented, a corner of their mouth upturning. While such sessions were work, they wholeheartedly trusted Antonia. She was damned near sent from Mother Nature, in Hale's opinion. At least for them. A thought came to Hale then. Moments later, they shared it. Almost as an olive branch of sorts to Viggo. Another one, at least. "Is that why you starting painting? To show everyone the monster you were?"

"Arrogant and lucky no one killed your ass." The air nymph quipped which was true. Hybrids could still die, they weren't indestructible. "You prepared to kill for Ma and then just kept killing nymphs in her home realm 'cause you could?" Hale blinked. "You're a hybrid nymph. You couldn't feel their fear? Their terror as you killed them? Hunted them like animals 'til you had your fill?" The inquiries fell from the air nymph's lips with a tilt of their head as they simply watched Viggo. "Do you... Are you even sorry about that?" They asked Viggo. Hale's head lowered with a nod. "'Least you're past it now," They repeated Viggo's words from moments ago. That he was no longer a threat to the residents of the realm that Hale pledged their fealty to mere hours ago at their naming ceremony. Jade eyes narrowed at Viggo's comment because while they could feel their brother's emotions, extend into the depths with which he hated himself, Hale Roosa could not relate. At all. Hale shook their head. "No, I haven't." Still, they paused to think over Viggo's question. "Only thing that's fueled me since I can remember is vengeance. Righting the wrongs done to me, to Ma, to my family." Hale shared. "The difference between us - you think you're a monster and hate it. ...But me? If I'm a monster? If I have to be? I'm gonna be the best fucking monster." For a nymph raised in the protection of Eastland's realm and among its pack, as they spoke, it was obvious that Hale Roosa was, quite simply, the physical embodiment of their mother's wrath. Among other passionate emotions.

Hale held up an index finger, their eyes meeting level with Viggo's, as they sat on the sands. "You've got one," Despite being in their early forties, as Hale spoke, a source much younger was noticeably heard. Of the lone nymph in a pack of wolves whose mother boasted much about a brother it took decades to ever see in person. A young child who searched for an older brother that, in turn, never seemed to glance Hale's way. Or want anything to do with them. "One chance, Viggo." Hale continued. "I saved you, months ago. During that attack. ...Don't prove me wrong for having your back." Hale ignored the firmness in their own voice and how tense their body became at the offer that they presented to Viggo. At the mention of Scarlett, the serious tone eased and the nymph internally appreciated the relief. "She knows I love her back. That she's always safe with me. With us, here." Truly, it's all Hale wanted for their family. To be safe in their home realm, especially seeing how their mother wasn't given that luxury. A fact that, prior to Iris taking the right for herself, a young version of Hale resolved to correct for both her and the rest of their family. Plus, for their self. Hale sighed. "I want a fucking drink. And more cliff dives. ...You ready for some more rounds? I need another dive. One where you're not so fuckin' afraid and killing my high."

Viggo shrugged and shook his head because in the moment it was pretty terrifying. Hind sight was always twenty-twenty. Viggo laughed but gave a nod, "Yeah, I had my moment. Lost control and now I'm trying to get it back."

Viggo sighed and shook his head, "I don't know. I guess just that. I lost myself trying to be what I thought mom wanted and needed me to be and in it I lost myself and what I wanted. Then I just lost myself." He sighed, "I don't really know how to explain it other than that. From what I've dug up with Toni... I've created this image of a monster because that's what I felt like." He shook his head, "no, not all of them deserved it. The ones we both went after, definitely deserved it." Viggo gave a nod, "we were here, we were just laying low. Mom lower than me. I was... arrogant to say the least. Prepared for what mom had planned the revenge she deserved after what she went through." He shrugged, "The only nymphs I had ever really been around was mom really. I mean a few hear and there but it was... intoxicating at first." He sighed, "I've gotten passed it now but sometimes there is still this little voice in my head that tells me I'm mom's biggest mistake. You ever have something like that? Something inside that just kind of eats at you a little everyday?"

He shook his head and hummed a laugh not really wanting an answer because this wasn't a therapy session. "I want nothing more than to be your brother and be there for you. Always have, but I wasn't going to force it either." He smiled at them because he had wanted to be that brother for so long. "I'm ready and I want to be that brother for you." He laughed at them, "She loves you so much. I have no worries there. She is more loved than I think she realizes but I couldn't ask for anything else for her. That alone means the world to me."

[avintagekiss24]

day with destiny | b. barnes

→ pairing: aristocrat!bucky barnes x aristocrat!black!reader

→ word count: 3000

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, sex, biting kink

→ challenge: @cockslut-padalecki​ not my ninth

trope: aristocratic society

song prompt: crush by jennifer paige

→ square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ 2021

g5: clothed sex

→ author note: i was finally able to reign myself in with these word counts, lol. i saw this gif of baby faced sebastian and couldn’t help myself. he looks like a little shit, but look at those pink lips… anyway, these are modern!aristocrats. lyrics to crush aren’t obvious (except for one line at the very end), but worked into the dialogue. i have no idea who made the gif, i got it from google. i also have no idea who made this divider, as i also got it from the google.

Blue eyes peer over at you from across the table, the gaze searing into the side of your face. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, but you don’t dare cut your eyes— this game is entirely too fun to give in now. Instead, you take a deep breath, pushing your chest out— your tits— shifting roughly in your seat just to make your flesh jiggle, before you release the air slowly.

Cabinet meetings are never fun. Rich, old white men going on and on about their views for the country— your family of course bringing the only sense of color into the society. Some old man yammers on at the front of the room behind the podium. Heads nod, claps ring out at random intervals, loud here here’s filling your ears as you roll your eyes. You don’t have the least bit of interest in any of it as it stands today, but your blue blood, and rank in the family— poised to take over for your dear old daddy in the coming years— requires your presence.

Bucky Barnes is quite the same. Young, bored, and too damn pretty for his own fucking good. You squeeze your legs together abruptly, the images of the last cabinet meeting playing back in your mind. Hot, sticky breath. Reddened, swollen lips— against your ear, sucking on your skin. The salt that exploded on your tongue as he shoved his thumb into your mouth.

You stand quick, clearing your throat— sending a silent message to the youngest Barnes at the long table. A hand grabs your wrist, stopping you as you start to move towards the back of the room, “Mother?”

“This is important, daughter,” she whispers harsh— a warning.

“And so is my bladder, mother.”

She sighs heavily, but releases the grip around your wrist, “Yours and the Barnes boy, apparently.”

Flicking your eyes quickly, you smirk as he pushes his chair underneath the table and starts towards the large doors at the back of the room, rubbing at his chin with his hand, the sunlight glinting off of the rings adorning his long fingers. You watch him as he moves— so easy, so confident— as he runs his hand through his dark, perfectly clipped hair, the Loubotins on his feet clicking softly.

You only drop your eyes when he slips through the door and out of view, “Ten minutes, mother.”

She knows. She knows that you know she knows, but she just sighs again and lets you saunter off without a second glance. Dress dragging behind you, bottom lip sucked between your teeth, heart and blood starting to race as each step draws you closer to your silver tongued foe, lying in wait for you in a random, deserted hallway.

He’s leaned against the wall, gazing out over the city beneath, hands drawn into his pockets. He’s a sight, but he always is, each little brown hair in place, chin and cheeks so clean shaven that a hair wouldn’t even dare sprout. Body lean in that black military jacket, gold medals and hand stitched ribbons hanging from the pockets.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” you smile soft, crossing your arms over your chest, leaning against the very same wall.

Bucky glances over his shoulder, that shit grin he’s such a proud owner of spreading on his face, “Then stop propositioning me.”

You laugh— it’s gentle and soft, the dissonance of your long relationship easily melting away. He finally turns and takes a few steps towards you, extending his hand, tenderly taking your fingers. Those deep, emotional eyes stay on yours as he lifts your hand, lips brushing— glancing ever so lightly over the backs of your delicate, manicured digits. Then he smiles, slow, sweet, teeth sinking into his blushed bottom lip as he blinks just as slow.

He’s a sight, this Bucky Barnes.

Keenly aware of his family’s teetering reputation, hanging on by a mere thread as of late due to his fathers extra curricular proclivities, you can’t help but take a swipe, “I’m surprised you’re family’s allowed back in the building. It got a little tense last time you all were here.”

“It did, didn’t it?” he answers quickly, placing your hand on his shoulder before he pulls you in close— a long arm wrapping your waist, pinning you to him, “I don’t remember much though, as my face was buried in your cunt for most of the meeting.”

Shivers race the length of your spine. He feels it— revels in it— savors it.

Lively brown eyes bounce back and forth between heavy, brewing blues, “You aren’t afraid that the rest of them will move to vote your family out, Lord Barnes?”

“Not in the slightest,” you’re met with a defiant shrug, “I hate this shit.”

“Oh, how original! An aristocrat that hates the god given privilege bestowed upon him.” You sigh, tilting your head towards the ceiling as he nuzzles into your neck, your hands sliding up and over his shoulders, “You’re predictable, Barnes.”

“You’re one to talk about privilege, My Lady.”

“Am I?” You retort quick, quirking an eyebrow.

A brilliant smile is cast upon you, blue irises like gems, sparkling under the light, “Your blood is the richest in the room— the bluest of blue— and you speak with such animosity of mine as if you haven’t prevailed your entire life because of it.”

“Bested by the color of our skin, which has precluded my lineage of its rightful place for years,” you scoff, leaning into him, “It was not privilege that got us here, Lord Barnes,” you whisper, “It was persistence.”

He chuckles against your skin, the vibrations rattling through your body, right to your bones. Hot velvet slips along the curve of the junction between your shoulder and neck before teeth scrape and then sink— tenderly— right into the meat, making you gasp. Hands grip, fingers dig into his opposite shoulder as he nips and nibbles.

“You’ll lose everything,” you breathe, heavy, languid as his mouth, his tongue, his lips move to your jaw, your chin, “Your family will be ruined.”

“I’ll be okay,” Bucky hums low, a smile on his face, dark eyelashes splashed over his pink tinged cheeks. His long fingers play with your lips, prodding gently as he rests his forehead to yours, “With a face like mine baby,” he whispers, that devilish smile painting his red tinted lips, “I was born to marry rich.”

He pushes his leg between yours, spreading them, pushing the meat of his thigh right against your sex— the thin silk of your panties sticking to the balmy, wet flesh. The tips of his fingers flirting with the inside of your calf before pushing up over your knee, skirting up your own ticklish thigh.

Bucky takes pleasure in the honeyed giggle that bubbles in your chest and slips out of your mouth, knowing not just anyone can coax such a genuine reaction from you. Metal fingers push higher— sweeping softly, back and forth, over the powder pink silk panties, discovering the warm wet spot, a white hot fire filling his eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

You grunt some, leaning in, putting full lips right against his ear, “Absolutely not,” the words whispered.

“You sure?” he squints, drawing your face back in front of his, thumbing at your bottom lip, pulling it open, “There’s something in those eyes.”

“Let’s not over analyze, Lord Barnes,” you tisk, slipping a hand between your bodies, cupping his cock— squeezing his heat— with care of course, “Don’t go too deep with it. It’s just—”

“What?” brisk, curt— the words cut off by a feverish, deep kiss. Tongue licking into your mouth, sweeping against the roof— heavy, hot, rushed, desperate for you as he groans, “What is it?”

You pull at his belt, at the button and zipper, hand and fingers sinking into his open pants, pushing through a rough, dark, tuft of wiry hair. He whirrs, strained and broken, body clenching up as your warm palm wraps around him. Long, slow strokes pull more tiny sounds from him— a skilled muscle memory, what he likes, what he doesn’t, what he needs— taking over.

A sweet kiss, soft and quick, is pressed against his cheek, your lips against his ear once more, “It’s just a little crush, Bucky. Just some little thing that raises my adrenaline when I need a shot.” His cock jumps in your hand, a quick hiss and stunted grunt filling your ears as you lick your lips, “Don’t make too much of it.”

Bucky grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks hard, puckering your lips before he kisses you feverishly again. The cool metal digits grab your neck, a soft pressure constricting the muscles as he pushes you back, back against the window— using his body to crush you to it.

The smack of his lips disconnecting from yours ricochets off the walls, filling the small hallway. He licks your lips, dragging his tongue from your chin right to the tip of your nose as he anchors your leg on his hip. Hot flesh fingers slip up your thigh, pulling your panties to the side, the cool air sending a shock to the wet, delicate flesh of you. He sucks that bottom lip back between his perfect teeth, tilting his head back slightly to peer at you through those long, dark eyelashes.

You mimic him. Tilt your head back on the glass, sink your teeth into your swollen lip, hand still stroking him slow, wetting the pads of your fingers with his silk. His hips rock soft into your palm as you sweep your fingers over his tip before dragging back down his length, gripping him firm. With a quick blink, you’re staring at him— angry, thick, throbbing in your hand. A bead bubbles out, spills right over, a long string hanging from his reddened tip before his cock twitches again— leaving you breathless. Knees almost buckling. Mouth going dry as your lungs struggle to fill.

“Come on, baby,” Bucky purrs, goading you as you push his cock through your folds, rolling your hips, teasing your waiting slit with his tip.

Surprise sweeps through you when frankly, it shouldn’t as you sink down on him. The muscle memory of your hands don’t translate to the muscles of your cunt— his size, how much you have to spread to accommodate him, like a revelation each and every time. Bucky almost never rushes it, and neither do you, like it’s something new every time.

But it isn’t, no no, it’s ancient for the two of you. Connecting like this in long, skinny hallways, cramped closets, old hotel rooms under the mask of darkness. The muffled sounds of your sex as you try and ultimately fail to keep quiet, filling the abandoned spaces— bringing life to them again.

Loneliness often fills your chest if you go too long without it.

Bucky is buried to the hilt in you now— rooted deep in the tightest, hottest space of your body. He takes a minute, pushing his hips, wiggling— adjusting— before he pulls out slow. All the way, cock bouncing as soon as it breaks the threshold. He doesn’t wait long though. Nope. He’s back inside of you within seconds with a slam of his hips, pushing you up the window. Pulling a squeak and a rush of air from you.

Those red lips of his part, his heavy tongue pushing out to slip along his bottom lip as his eyelids drop, covering the blue you’ve come to enjoy. You can’t help but reach out, place your warm palms and fingers on his blushed cheeks, tracing his nose before they prod at his bottom lip, the tips just sinking into that wet mouth. He draws long breaths, exhales them all over your face as he starts to move.

You let the rhythm carry you away. Up into the clouds as your head rolls to the side, hands fall to his chest and around his neck. Tits bounce with each shove, starting to spill over and fall out of the square shaped neckline of your intricate dress. Hair starts to fall out of place, heat rises in your cheeks, desperate little wet noises beseeching him.

Bucky’s a good fuck. Ever the playboy, never thinking twice of an encounter until— well, you, as he so softly put it one night in one of those dark, old hotel rooms while you both dressed. There’s a filth to it. The way he toys with you. Speeding up suddenly— skin slapping, echoing down the hall— and then, without warning or hesitation, slows down. Down to nothing almost. Soft pulses of his hips, just enough to drive you mad. To make you beg him for more.

To make you weak. To keep you coming back.

That’s how he is now. Barely moving, wanting you to squirm. Two big eyes, pupils blown stare up at you. Mouth agape, the smallest little curve on them. He wants you to beg. To tell him just how much— “Bucky,”

“Yes?” he shoves hard, pushing deep, “My Lady?”

“Please,” there it is, the beg— the want, “Please, Bucky.”

So, the filth is back. Yeah, it’s a little dirty how he grips your thigh, hard, nails digging and scratching into the meat of it. How he licks into your mouth and bites your lips before shoving that metal hand into your neckline, palming the delicate mound of flesh beneath. A brown nipple is soon exposed, tight and hard, after a quick tug of his hand yanks your dress down. It disappears again within a flash, right into his mouth, tongue circling.

An arch curves your spine when he sucks, a deep, low, stressed grunt sounding from somewhere deep in your chest. Your lips pucker, forming an o as you breathe heavy, then gasp quick before digging your teeth into your bottom lip and inhaling sharp. An already tight grip on his bicep and left shoulder constricts even more as he really picks up the pace, desperate and feverish his hips, tongue slipping into your cleavage.

There’s nothing but sounds and sensations— the squelch and squeak of his cock stuffing you, your stiletto slipping off the foot that’s hooked around his waist and thudding against the floor. The gold medals pinned to his military jacket bouncing soft against the thick material. His metal fingers tapping against the windows as he holds his weight.

Flashes of heat ripple through your body— muscles tensing and straining, cunt clenching, clamping. Fists balling. Stomach and head twirling as he gives you his best. And God, do you appreciate his effort.

The fuse proves to be short on this crisp winter day. A coil that had no chance of staying intact snaps earlier than you expect, body tightening hard, nearly freezing you in place the second before you start to come. Crying out— no shame, no sense of care if anyone hears— you just let it take over. Let him drive it home, hips snapping against yours, jutting, thrusting, pushing and pulling, sending you higher and higher.

Goosebumps on your skin. Heartbeat in your ears. A white hot flash, nearly blinding— it’s just that good. Metal fingers sink between your legs, playing with your clit, enticing it further as it spasms— wanting to feel every last bit of what your body has to offer.

Bucky hammers away, until he can’t. You’re just too sweet— too warm and wet and inviting. He’s painting your insides white within minutes, hot, quick shots of silk, filling you up, and then spilling back out. His head falls heavy to your chest as the last digs of his hips work themselves out, lips sticking to your damp, exposed skin.

You wrap him up, hands and fingers splaying out on his back, holding him tight and close as he empties and stills. Then, the two of you just breathe. Let the day, the room full of people, your families, your duties, just fade away. It’s just you and Bucky and that cool window against your overly warm skin.

It breaks— the moment. Just as it always does. Your body becomes empty as he tucks back into his pants. No longer pinned to the window, you bend to replace your shoe, pull at your dress. Bucky runs his thick fingers through his dark hair, you picking and smoothing at your own.

Stepping off after a few sobering moments without so much as a look or a smile, you're caught, a tight hand around your wrist, pulling you back. You crash into his chest, crash against his lips in one last, deep, sweeping kiss. One that once he pulls away, your eyes stay closed, lips stay puckered.

“You sure you won’t marry me?”

You know that if he asks one more time, your resolve will fizzle— and you will, “Very sure.”

A lopsided grin covers his mouth as he tilts his head, “Just a pesky little crush, huh?”

“There’s no vision of you and me quite yet, Lord Barnes,” you sigh, turning away and stepping  down the hall, “You just pray that I don’t decide to join the rest of the party and vote you out.”

“Make sure you keep a copy of your vote for me. I’ll want to frame it.”

You throw him a quick glance, “And why would you do something like that?”

“So I can show our children just how mean mommy was to daddy before we got married,” he starts, buttoning up his jacket. He kisses the pads of his fingers and blows on them lightly, sending you a kiss, “I have white picket fences in my eyes.”

Without another word, he spins on his heel and takes off in the opposite direction. A hum vibrates in your throat. The sounds of your heels and his shoes slap against the walls as the two of you walk away from each other.

It doesn’t take a scientist to understand what’s going on, baby.

[dreamerstreamer]

Noise Complaint

Pairing: Wilbur Soot x gn!neighbour!reader

Summary: The guy living next door to you never seemed to shut up, and one day you decide that you’ve had enough. 

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: this work was inspired by wilbur’s recent eviction notice (lol), dodie’s song, absolutely smitten, and my recent pasta addiction! by the way, this may or may not be entirely accurate, but who cares? let me have some fun!

You hummed as you scooped the last of the pasta onto your plate, furrowing your brows. Something’s missing. 

It hit you in a flash, your eyes lighting up as you turned on your heel to scramble into your kitchen. You strolled over to the windowsill where a small potted plant sat, basking in the sun’s warm, golden rays. “Hey, basil,” you said quietly, reaching over. “This might hurt a little, but it’ll only be a pinch.”

Tugging gently and carefully, you picked a few leaves off the plant’s branches, wincing a little. “Thank you,” you murmured with an apologetic smile as you turned away, walking over to your sink. You gave the leaves a quick wash before grabbing a knife from its spot in your knife block. With ease, you chopped the leaves into smaller bits, scooping them up with one hand while the other set the knife down on the cutting board. You skipped back over to your dining room with a small skip in your step, grinning as you took the chopped bits of basil in your hand and sprinkled them across the pasta in your plate.

Perfect, you thought to yourself with a small smile, stepping back to admire your work. With a satisfied grin, you slipped into your chair, picking up your fork as you began to dig in.

Today was your first day off in ages, and you couldn’t have been more pleased. It was a beautiful day out, and you had spent the morning out with your friends, catching up on everything over a quaint meal at your favourite restaurant. All the days spent running around for your boss suddenly felt like they were worth it and more as you laughed at your friends’ antics while you ate. While you had to part in the afternoon, you were more than happy to simply complete some household chores that you had missed out on during your usual hectic schedule. As sunset drew closer and closer, you found your stomach grumbling once more in a plea for attention and food. What better way to quench your hunger with some good ol’ pasta?

A muffled shout dragged you out of your thoughts, your shoulders jolting at the sudden noise. You let out a sharp yelp at the abrupt noise, holding a hand over your heart in an effort to calm yourself. After a second of silence passed, a frown etched itself onto your features.

Of course he was being loud, again.

You sighed, stabbing your pasta with a little more vigour. You loved your home, you really did. It was a lovely apartment with more than enough space for you to live comfortably on your own, and you had managed to get it for a criminally cheap price. It was located near your workplace and was even in a safe part of the city. Your neighbours were also wonderful, most of them being polite, friendly, and quiet. 

With one particular exception—the guy who lived directly next door to you.

You didn’t really know who he was, per se. You knew that he was your neighbour, that he mostly spent his time at home, and that he was loud. So, so loud. You didn’t think anyone could be this loud when they spent nearly all of their time in an apartment, but he somehow proved you wrong. If it wasn’t the occasional yell, then it was always “chat” this and “chat” that. What the heck was he even talking about? You didn’t know, and you weren’t sure that you cared, either. 

Even after having lived here for weeks, you still didn’t have a single clue who this guy was, but you were sure of one thing.

He was absolutely driving you up the wall.

While he wasn’t always super loud—miraculously, there were indeed quiet days—you couldn’t go more than a few days without getting startled awake from sleep or dropping something out of surprise. You were pretty sure you had already broken four dishes just because of him. Despite everything that had happened, you still hadn’t confronted him about it. You liked to believe that hey, this is just a one time thing, or it’s not so bad! You’d been feeding yourself these itty bitty white lies for weeks now, and you were starting to run out of patience.

You shook your head, examining the last piece of pasta on your fork with a roll of your eyes. Well, at least he was being quiet no—

Bang!

You yelped again, your fingers going limp in shock. Before you could even register what happened, your fork slipped from your hand, the pasta smacking landing on your shirt before sliding off you and landing on the floor. With horror, you stared down at the stain on your once pristine white shirt, the mark staring back at you mockingly.

Oh. Oh no.

You clenched your jaw, an incessant irritation clawing at the back of your mind as you stood, stomping over to your front door.

This was the last straw. You’ve had enough of his crap, and you were about to give him a piece of your mind

Pulling open your door, you only had to walk four steps before you stood face to face with your neighbour’s wooden door. Raising your fist, you knocked against the wood with an intensity that you didn’t think you were capable of. A few moments passed with no response, but you were sure you could hear some rustling on the other side of the door. You crossed your arms as you waited, tapping your foot. Just who in the world did this guy think he wa—

Just then, the door swung open to reveal your neighbour.

You blinked tilting your head back as you craned your neck at him. Your eyes widened in surprise.

He was tall, ridiculously so. With brown, fluffy hair that hung a little over his forehead and a dark, expressive gaze that looked down at you in confusion, he was also very, very cute. 

Damn him for being attractive. In another world, you might have even liked him. But right now, you had a score to settle. His attractiveness could wait.

“Hi,” you said, plastering a polite smile to your face. “I don’t think we’ve properly met before.” You extended your hand out toward him in a handshake. “My name’s [Y/N]. I live just next door.”

The confusion is his gaze parted slightly to give way to understanding. His lips curled to reveal a blinding white grin as he took your hand in his, shaking it. “Hello,” he said, his low voice practically enveloping itself around you. “I’m Wilbur Soot.”

His hands are so warm, your heart prompted. And soft. His smile is also really pretty. And his voice is so nice!

Shut up, you thought back as you pulled your hand from his. This was unfair. So unfair.

“I moved in a little under a month ago,” you began slowly, doing your best to keep your tone civil and calm, “and I only just realized that I never properly introduced myself to you.”

Wilbur’s grin only seemed to grow wider, and you hated just how sincere it was. “Well, it is certainly a pleasure to meet you.” His eyes darted down to your shirt, and you watched as he shifted awkwardly. “Oh, you, um, have something on your shirt.” He gestured to the bottom of his sweater with a sheepish smile, and you felt yourself losing your grip.

“I know,” you said between clenched teeth. “I spilled some pasta on it. As a matter of fact, I’m actually here to talk to you about that.”

His eyebrows knit together. “About pasta?”

The smile dropped from your face. Oh, that was it.

“Look,” you said sharply, feeling the slightest tinge of delight when you saw him jump a bit at your sudden shift in tone, “if I’m being blatantly honest, you can be really loud at these completely arbitrary times, and I’m just asking you to please, please be at least a little quieter. I startle easily, and your random yelling or wall-smacking or whatever have really been causing problems for me.”

“Like your shirt,” he said quietly.

“Like my shirt,” you confirmed.

The look on his face was genuinely upset, and you almost let yourself feel bad for calling him out. Almost.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had no idea that this was a problem. This is going to sound really weird, but it’s...” He paused. “...kind of my job to occasionally yell?”

Now it was your turn to be confused. “‘It’s kind of your job...’” You shook your head. “Oh, forget it. Just... if you can, I would really appreciate if you could keep it down, even if only a little.” You grimaced. “I don’t think I can handle dropping another bowl.”

He winced, a wave of guilt flashing across his face. “Seriously,” he said, “I’m really, really sorry. The other neighbours said they were fine with me being a bit loud when I first came here, and I hadn’t even realized that you were new.” He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out a wallet. “If you’d like, I’m more than happy to reimburse you for any inconveniences you ran into because of me.”

Your eyes widened, your jaw falling slack. As much trouble as he had caused you, you didn’t want to just take his money. That would be a whole other level of petty.

Holding your hands up in front of you and waving them frantically. “No, no, no, no, no, that’s too much.” You offered him a smile, a real one this time. “Just a little more quiet is perfect for me.”

The relief on his face was evident, but there was also something else there. It sort of looked like awe. “Thank you,” he said. “I never meant to cause you so much harm. I’ll make it up to you, really! I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” you immediately said, raising your hand with your pinky extended. 

A part of you cringed a little at yourself, wondering how childish you must seem right now. Your friends always teased you about making pinky promises even as an adult, years after you had left the playground, but you stood firm in your beliefs—pinky promises were eternal. But for some reason you couldn’t name, you felt almost embarrassed by yourself.

It’s ‘cause you’re into him, your heart chirped, speaking up once more. You want to leave a good impression!

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Shut up, shut up.

However, to your surprise, he nodded, lifting up his own pinky. “Pinky promise.”

You grinned, elation jumping through your veins. He wrapped his pinky around yours and squeezed. You squeezed back, ignoring the tingle that went down your spine as you did so.

Pulling your hand away, you offered him a bashful smile. “Sorry if I came across as really aggressive. I’m not usually like this.”

His lips quirked up at the side. “I don’t blame you, really.” He glanced down at your shirt, again. “If someone made me stain my shirt with pasta, I’d be reasonably upset, too.”

You giggled, waving a hand at him. “Well, you’re a nice guy, so I assure you I’m not that mad.” You stepped back, shooting him a teasing look. “I am going to hold you to that pinky promise, though!”

He laughed and, damnit, even his laugh was cute. “I don’t doubt it.” Stepping back inside his apartment, he raised his hand in a wave. “It was nice meeting you, [Y/N].”

You waved back. “You too, Wilbur.”

As his door fell shut, you sighed to yourself, a sense of satisfaction fell over you. Well, that went much better than I expected, you thought as you walked back to your apartment. You strode over to your kitchen table, picking up your empty plate and fallen fork, wiping off the small mark left by the pasta on the floor. He’s nicer than I thought.

You walked over to your sink, your mind swirling with the interaction you just had as you turned on the tap. Wilbur’s face flashed across your mind, and a familiar, warm buzz ran up your skin, something sweet and soft latching onto your insides like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

Oh. Oh no.

You recognized that feeling. You knew what that fluttering in your stomach was.

You like him! your heart sang, dancing around in your chest and waving a neon sign with Wilbur’s name on it. You tooootally like him!

With a groan, you frowned as you picked up a sponge. Shut up, shut up, shut uuup!

Wilbur Soot may be kind, polite, well-mannered, pretty, cute, and tall, but there was no way you were about to let him off the hook that easily. He ruined your one good white shirt! He just happened to be... less sucky than you thought.

“Wilbur Soot is just my next-door neighbour,” you said quietly aloud to yourself, scrubbing angrily at your dishes, “and I definitely don’t like him.”

But deep down, you knew that it was no use.

You were smitten.

[tunafishprincess]

Darkening Seas

A DFO Secret Santa gift for Moon_Lantern

——————————

Izuku feared many things in his short sixteen years of existence.

As a child he feared the wails of ocean storms, huddled in bed with his mother as rain and wind pounded their small home, a common monster for the children of his small village. She would whisper spells of protection as he clung to her form, as if the storm itself were trying to get inside.

It wasn’t until he didn’t receive his mark that he learned that there were greater fears, the kinds that haunted him to this day. Fears of losing friends, for one. For another, fear of the village’s suspicions whenever something bad happened. The Markless weren’t a common bunch and in his childhood home, he was the only one in several generations not to be blessed by a god.

In spite of all the fears he had, however, there was always hope. His mother, even on her deathbed, always promised him a better tomorrow. Even if today was bad, there was always a chance that the next day would bring a better outcome. She was right in a way. It was hope that brought him to All Might, a hero beyond compare that bestowed his own Mark onto the boy, a power that still hummed beneath his skin.

His muddy fingers rose subconsciously, patting at the tattoo on his shoulder. Traveling with All Might had been a dream beyond comparison.

Sadly, all dreams must come to an end.

As a teen, he learned to fear more than village discrimination. At fifteen, he discovered that not all gods bestowed gifts.

All Might taught him to respect the old gods, but not to bow to their whims. When the sea attacked the land, Izuku followed his mentor to the battle, ready to die a hero. Instead, his mentor had been swallowed by the sea and Izuku---

Well, death would have been preferable at this point.

Another itch broke out near his neck. He scratched at the spot but the move did little to soothe the real problem: he needed a bath.

Begrudgingly, he stomped out the rest of his fire, gathering his things to make the small trek to the lagoon he’d been eyeing days before. There wasn’t much to pack, though he wasn’t sure whether he should be thankful or not about that. His food rations had dwindled considerably these past few weeks, his fear of exposure outweighing his need to resupply. He still had aways to go before he got back to the great city of Musutafu. Even if his ailment could not be cured he at least had friends who would care for him there.

His throat bobbed. Well, he hoped he still did.

He arrived at the lagoon within a few hours time, the area as empty as the first time he’d spotted it. It set him on edge.

As beautiful and blue as the seawater seemed, the Kamino sea lay just beyond the exposed shoal.

He licked at his cracked lips nervously. His skin ached to be cleaned and he knew he probably smelled horrendous from so many weeks on the road without washing. Peeling off his dirty clothes, he set them aside from his bag, hiding both in-between the rocks high above the waters.

Goosebumps ran up his arms as he approached the waters. The sun was still high enough in the sky, though a few clouds did beckon across the skyline, the promise of rain both a blessing and a curse with his current predicament.

Hopping onto a large rock, he observed the depths before finally taking the plunge.

Fire traveled through his veins as the curse took hold. He closed his eyes to avoid it, but he felt the changes, bones cracking and reshaping to the curse’s preference. Where once were two average feet now had melted together like butter, soon followed by his calves and thighs until it was all one limb. His nails transformed into claws as he clenched his fists. Tiny pinpricks of pain erupted across what were once two legs, the formation of scales and webbing overwhelming to his enhanced senses. By the end, he was a shaking pitiful mess, his now alien tongue running along the rows and rows of teeth inside his mouth as he took in his first breath of seawater.

He hated how much he had craved this.

His ears flipped back and lowered as far as they could go, a subconscious response to his predicament.

Old Gods be damned, he inwardly cursed, lowering himself down to the sand. He brushed his body with the coarse material, ridding himself of the dead skin and grim he’d accumulated. Moments later he rolled over on his back, repeating the process for several minutes until he was clean.

The first transformation he had cried, mourning the loss of his mentor and fearing the loss of his humanity. Now, on his fifth time, he just wanted to get it over and done with, hating all the strange sensations he had now as one of the very creatures his mentor fought back into the sea only a few months prior.

He blinked, second eyelids a half-second slower than his first, observing the underwater world around him with interest. He didn’t have much time to enjoy his surroundings, however.

The scent of food captured his stomach’s attention. Before he even had time to think his body began to move, less the awkward teen he was and more of the predator he had become.

On a normal day, he would not have been so adventurous, but Izuku had finished his last meager rations two days ago and hadn’t had meat in an even longer time. It would be fine, he reasoned, he was still in the lagoon and the sun would be up for several more hours.

The pristine sand landscape slowly transformed into a dense rocky forest of dead coral. It was a beautiful but haunting reminder of how cruel the sea could be, giving and taking away life like the gods who ruled them.

The water tickled his hair as he swam down the slope of the lagoon, the scent growing stronger as the light began to fade.

He hoped it was something edible, perhaps a glow whale like the one meal All Might introduced him to so many months ago after his first battle. His lips pulled upwards at the memory. Even the tough skin of an Armored Squid or a greasy Floor-Feeder Fish would taste like heaven at this point. His stomach gurgled, instincts driving him further and further away from shore.

Strangely, the slope seems to be reversing the further he swims, ascending until he spots a familiar group of rocks he had come across but only a few days before. The problem was, he thought with a nervous gulp, they had been part of the shoal that protected the lagoon.

He shook his head. No, no that couldn’t be right. That would mean the waters had risen by several meters and Izuku would have felt that.

But what about the high tide, the logical part of him pointed out, sending his mind into a frenzy.

His gaze flickered to the sky, noting the sun’s position with alarm. Had it truly been more than an hour? He returned his attention to the rocks. It could be his mind playing tricks on him. It wouldn’t be the first time. Paranoia had been a constant companion since he lost his mentor. The small fading hope that All Might was still alive had battled with the fear of the old gods wrecking further vengeance upon the teen for stepping into their domain.

His stomach ached. This was no longer a want, but a need. His hand glided over the Mark on his shoulder. The warmth pulsed beneath his palm. He would get the food and get back to shore as soon as possible. His tail swished impatiently as he drew out the energy of One for All. Veins of light traveled down his scales. With one kick he was zooming past the white rocks, deeper and deeper into the watery expanse.

The first change he noted was the life in this part of the waters. Tiny fish (not edible, he thought grimly) danced between colorful seaweed, the warm waters giving way to a refreshing coolness as he followed the scent.

The scent ended as he approached a dense forest of red coral, jutting out like tall trees from the seagrass. At the center of the grove, the corpse of a small glow whale lay between two rocks. His teeth sharpened, the needle structures in his mouth extending as he approached. Still, he held back from digging in.

It was a fresh kill. Strangely, however, there was only one cut on the creature’s body, a thin slice between its thick blubber. He scanned the area. It had been out here for as long as he’d been in the water at least and not one scavenger?

His stomach gurgled, overriding his thoughts. Flexing his claws, he cut off a piece from the broken skin, taking a small bite.

He almost groaned. So delicious. He took another bite, then another.

He ate as if on autopilot, human manners forgotten as the creature’s hunger took hold. He was almost halfway through his meal when he noticed it.

The hairs on his neck prickled. A shadow danced across the sands. He froze. The Mark on his shoulder burned, blisteringly so.

He looked above.

The mers he and his master fought were minuscule in comparison to this one. The creature’s tail is the first thing Izuku noticed, four meters in length and the same color as the coral surrounding them. How...how long had it been here? As it drew closer the teen took in its human features. The mer was male, he thought, judging its large upper body that was covered in scars. Most of them were old, but they all told Izuku everything he needed to know: this creature was dangerous.

He drew away from the meal, hands waving frantically as he apologized for taking its food. He hadn’t known it was his. His Mark sent pulses of pain down his arm, urging him to continue his retreat.

“Once again, my apologies,” he said, hoping his words were understandable underneath the water. “You are welcome to have the rest. I’ll just leave you to it.”

He doesn’t get very far. The creature blocked him with his tail, tilting his head as he asked in an oddly deep voice, “Where are you going?”

The sound echoed through the waters, sending a shiver down the teen’s spine. He never should have swam out this far, food or not.

Izuku lied, “My master is waiting for me.”

A dark, foreboding smile played across the creature’s lips. He caught a glimpse of several sharp teeth as he spoke, “Your master?”

“Yes,” he affirmed, pulling away as fast as he could. The more distance he put between them the better. “I have to be going now.”

“Do you now?” The mer inched closer, never allowing the teen more than a meter of distance. “Why not stay? Come. Eat.”

“I can’t. I’m really sorry. I don’t want to worry him,” Izuku replied hurriedly. His Mark sent a burst of adrenaline through his blood. Hopefully, it would give him enough energy to get back to shore.

“He won’t be worried,” the mer said, drawing uncomfortably close as he continued to circle Izuku.

“No, he really will be,” he insisted.

“He can’t be,” the creature stated into his ear. “The drowned do not feel.”

Ice filled Izuku’s veins. Without a second thought he swished his tail into the sand, drawing it up to blind the now familiar monster.

He didn’t stick around, the roar of anger more than enough to drive the teen back through the way he came.

One for All bleed through his being, the lines of light providing him distance. Unfortunately, in his panic he had lost sight of his original path, now swimming blind as the light above was fading. How long had he been eating? His breathing grew labored.

That was All for One. It had to be. He remembered those eyes, back on the day his master was swallowed by the sea, staring him down from inside the waves. He had been a lot bigger then, an unseen force of nature that belaid a constantly changing shadow of otherworldly horror.

Of course an old god could take the form of one of its creatures. Izuku would have hit himself if he weren’t swimming for dear life.

His mind worked through realization after realization at breakneck speed. So long as he held the Mark of One for All, All for One would come for him. That was why he’d cursed Izuku in this form. It had been to get him back to his domain.

Black tendrils shot up from the sand. He avoided them by twisting into a narrow group of rocks. He eyed the surface. His energy would only last so long. He needed a direction back to land.

Inwardly, he grasped onto the power All Might bestowed upon him, mumbling a prayer to god. Like an arrow he shot up from the rocky formation, too fast for All for One’s tendrils.

He gasped as he broke through the surface. The sun had been overtaken by the earlier clouds. Faintly, he could smell an incoming storm. Turning about, he frantically searched for land.

Desperation gripped his soul. Nothing but dark gray seas surrounded him. No, he couldn’t have gone out that far. The distance he’d covered was short, unless…

Unless someone intentionally made it so.

His heart rate skyrocketed. The lagoon must have been submerged into the Kamino Sea when he was under the waves. The shoal had been the first clue. How long had All for One been planning this?

The water shifted beneath him. Izuku’s eyes widened as a dark shadow spread out beneath him, steadily growing and rising from the depths. In one last ditch effort he poured the rest of his energy into escaping. He doesn’t get very far.

A tendril grasps his arm, jerking him back. Another joins on his opposite arm. Izuku frantically shifted about to shake off the tentacles. Fear gripped his soul as a hand from the depths shot upwards to grab his right fin, tight and unyielding.

Izuku struggled to escape the old god’s grasp, yet the hold on his tail dragged him deeper and deeper into the depths. Another sharp tug brought him into the monster’s arms. Izuku clawed and bit at the offending limbs. To his dismay, the skin was too tough for him to break. A low vibration from All for One’s chest began to slow his movements, muscles no longer working for him but rather against him, falling limp to the soft hum. Was the old god laughing?

“This has been fun. I haven’t had a good chase in quite a while,” the elder god chuckled.

Izuku growled. Despite how terrified he was, he refused to yield. “Let me go.”

“Now, why would I do that?” The arms tightened around the teen.

“You can’t have One for All,” he ground out.

“Oh? But he’s right here, isn’t he?”

Large fingers grasp his shoulder. His body bucked as the burning from the Mark exploded. Flashes of color invaded his vision. One moment the monster had on a younger face, unblemished by scars and cruelty. The next moment the face returned, though it had been tempered with a layer of curiosity.

“Does it hurt?”

Izuku gasped as the aches continued through his body. “Yes.”

A cruel smile danced across the old god’s face. “How interesting. Even now my little brother continues to resist me.”

They sank deeper, much to Izuku’s horror. In the distance, he heard an unnatural roar, followed by more and more, until the sound nearly overwhelmed him. The teen tried to cover his ears but the elder god pulled them down, refusing to give him relief.

The depths took on an uncomfortable chill. He shivered.

“Where are you taking me?” He asked between breaths.

All for One buried his mouth in the teen’s hair. The needle-like fangs were unnervingly close to his scalp. “We’re going home, my little guppy. Where you always belonged.”

Izuku blinked, energy leaving his body as he thought over the monster’s words.

“My home is on land,” he mumbled.

“Yes, it was. Once,” he whispered as the rest of the light faded from view. “But not anymore.”

The low hum returned. Izuku’s body loosened and relaxed, even as his mind and Mark screamed at him to move. All for One seemed to sense this, pressing him closer to his body so as to block any attempt at escape.

Amidst the blackness, he made out a great shape, a mockery of the castle he and his master once visited. The miasma surrounding it made the teen’s stomach roll with disgust.

“Welcome home, Izuku.”

[nygmobblepot-trash]

It was odd for Riddler to get visitors. He wasn't exactly popular with anyone. Oswald would show up when he wanted something and was desperate which was more often than you would hope for from Gotham's mayor/king/whatever he was calling himself these days. Gordon would show up with arrest warrants. The last group would be considered random. They would show up when Riddler got bored and let someone else take over so he could save the puzzle later on.

Riddler hadn't lost control recently... at least he thought he hadn't. He hadn't done anything since being released and Oswald doesn't believe in having to knock. So why at 10:46 pm was someone knocking at his door?

Instead of playing the guessing game, Riddler decided to throw the door open and deal with whatever or whomever was making all that noise behind it. Except when it swung open he saw no one.

That's odd.

Another mental break down perhaps?

Whatever.

He'd deal with it later and shut the door. He didn't get very far till he heard the knocking again.

Ignore it. It will stop eventually. Just distract yourself.

He looked around the room to find something fitting for the task. Which was a old torn up book hidden under the couch. He brushed off the cobwebs and collapsed on the couch.

The knocking persisted.

Riddler tried to focus on the words with all his heart but the pounding wouldn't stop.

He had enough. Please don't be Ghost Oswald, he thought as he threw open the door for a second time.

Still nothing.

He went to close the door for the second time when he felt something grab onto his arm in order to prevent the action.

Riddler quickly looked down and everything clicked into place.

He wasn't expecting a child. "Oh it's just you, Martin." He sighed happy he didn't accidentally drug himself. The calm quickly disappeared when he repeatedly his words, "Oh it's you! What are you doing here?"

Martin must have already assumed that question was going to be asked because he only had to flip to a page in his notebook and show it to the annoyed Riddler.

"Oswald dropped me off." Ed read aloud with a frown. "I doubt it. He would never leave you in my care without an hour lecture. As if I need a lecture on how to keep a child alive."

Martin gave Riddler an, 'Are you sure about that?' look.

"I forgot to feed you one time! I've gone days without eating and no one throws a fit. You go without dinner one time and I never hear the end of it!" Riddler yells as he retreats back into Ed's apartment.

Martin follows and closes the door behind him.

Riddler quickly turned around. "Oh no you don't. Go back to Oswald. I know you're lying about him driving you here."

Martin shakes his head no.

Riddler aggressively digs into his pockets to look for his phone but finds nothing. "That's odd... I had it in here an hour ago." Riddler scans the room and sighs when he immediately doesn't find it. "Once I find my phone you're gone, Buddy."

Martin shrugged and made his way into the kitchen as he was hungry. PB&J sounded real good. He had managed to find all the supplies while Riddler threw stuff around the apartment. The more the man looked the angrier he got. Now all the boy needed was a knife to put the jelly and peanut butter on his bread. He found one fairly quickly. What was even quicker was Riddler grabbing the knife away from him. He was paying attention?

"You cut yourself and i'll get blamed." The green man announced.

Martin expected to hear the knife go back into the drawer, but it didn't. Instead Riddler with a roll of his eyes quickly smeared the toppings onto the bread. When he was done he tossed the knife into the sink with a loud clank and went back to look for his phone without another word.

Martin quietly ate his sandwhich and when he was done put the dirty dish into the sink after washing it off. Like Oswald said, 'no one likes a pig.'

The boy took this opportunity to clear out any unusable pages from his notebook. He didn't see certain responses being used soon, if ever again.

"I haven't left all day. It should be here." Riddler mumbled from under the couch he retrieved the book from. After throughly checking the couch Riddler turned to the boy. "Shouldn't you be... I don't know... in bed?"

Martin shrugged knowing damn well the answer.

"Bed." Riddler commanded.

So the boy did as told... well almost. The man yelled, "not my bed," as the child climbed into his bed ignoring him.

"I'm going to kill Oswald." Riddler promised under his breath.

The boy quickly wrote in his note book and turned it to the man when he was finished.

"I don't care if Oswald reads to you. I'm not Oswald." Riddler answered coldly.

The boy scribbled down more.

"I do have great stories! Way better than any of Oswald's." Riddler hissed.

So Riddler lost again and told the boy a story. But he boy refused to shut his annoying little eyes. So he said another one, which turned into another one. Riddler wouldn't admit that the stories were infact true and about himself and Oswald.

After the 3rd story Riddler stood up. "You said he reads you one story and I have given you three. It isn't my fault you're still up, so go to sleep."

Martin quickly wrote in his notebook and threw it at the Riddler as he was leaving.

Riddler quickly bit his lip to avoid yelling at the boy and picked up to see what the runt wanted now. "...you want to know what my parents are like?" Riddler was about to tell him no when he read the next sentence, "I'll go to bed and never bother you again, I promise." He ripped the note out of the note book and placed it his pocket. "This is legal now." He sighed and sat back down.

Riddler opened his mouth to answer the boy's request but the words seemed to leave his lips.

You technically don't have parents. A voice not belonging the Riddler echoed in his head.

"Shut up." Riddler hissed through clenched teeth.

For someone who thinks he's the best of me is terrible at taking care of kids. This one doesn't even speak and you're losing it.

A pain started pulsing behind his eyes.

As Riddler grimaced in pain the boy stuck another note in front of his eyes. It read, "Is it Ed?"

Hey kid.

"Please be quiet." Riddler whisper as he put his head into his hands.

Martin upset at what he seemed to cause quickly ran out of the room. Riddler don't notice this at all. He hadn't known how much time had passed even he managed to look farther up the bed where Martin was last seen. The issue was the boy wasn't there anymore. In his place were a couple of pills and a note, "I'm sorry I bothered you, Mr. Riddler. My dad seemed more happy when you're around. I came here to figure out why Oswald and you don't get along. I even left a note for Oswald hinting you took me. I wanted him to show up and see that you do take good care of me. It's my fault that you don't see each other anymore. I refused to eat that day and you still took the blame. I'm going back to Oswald's to explain what I did. As an apology I'll give you a riddle, 'I can be a salty treat for some, and a breath stealer for others. What am I?' -Love Martin."

Riddler quickly looked at the time on his watch, it read, 1:07 am. "Oh dear." Riddler and Ed said in a worried tone.

Riddler wasted no time finding the peanut butter in a cabinet. Please don't be ruined and please be what I hope you are, he though.

Ed on the other hand was trying to calculate all the possible routes the boy could be taking.

Riddler spun the lid off and shouted, "Yes!" as he quickly unwrapped the napkin that was in the jar. It was his phone which he may need later. It was the nuclear option.

Then suddenly the front door swung open and crashed into the wall harder than it ever had.

Shit. Riddler though as he hit the floor to avoid being seen.

"EDWARD DUMBASS NYGMA." An angry mother penguin shouted louder than should be possible.

'What did I do?!' Riddler heard Ed scream in terror.

'We have to avoid him at all costs, when he's like this he won't listen to a word we say.' Riddler told Ed.

The pair listened as Oswald stomped around the apartment. Once they could hear him in the guest bedroom he bolted to Ed's room. Going out the front door would get them spotted immediately.

Riddler could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He has never moved this fast and quietly in his life, including all the other personalities. He threw open the window and leaped out of it. He fell about 6 feet before he was able to stop his fall by grabbing onto the fire escape ladder. The force made the ladder extend closer to the ground. Once it stopped a few feet above the ground Riddler let go and landed in the snow.

He didn't feel the coldness nor acknowledged it was even winter in Gotham as a voice from above him dripping with hate, "YOU CAN'T ESCAPE ME."

'There's no way he'll come down this way. Just go.' Ed commanded.

So Riddler did what Ed said for the first time in his existence. His mind was a blur, but that was okay because Ed was giving him directions. It wasn't long until he spotted the boy walking under the street lights on a particularly dangerous street.

"Hey! Kid wait!" Riddler yelled very out of breath. When the boy stopped and turned Riddler finally noticed how tired he was.

He was about to collapse when adrenaline shot back up his body.

"I TOLD YOU."

Riddler's eyes widden as he turned to see Oswald quite a bit off into the distance hobbling towards them. "...how?" The three questioned together.

He was running out of time so Riddler whipped back to the boy to say what he wanted to say. Unfortunately Oswald was faster and had a gun pointed directly at him.

'And you're the bad parent?" Ed questioned.

Martin quickly stood in front of Riddler to his surprise. He frantically waved his arms around and shook his head. All three men noticed the tears in his eyes.

"Martin I want you to step to the side, put your hands over your ears, and face away with your eyes closed. Do. Not. Make. Me. Ask. Again." Oswald said with a reassuring yet offsetting tone.

Martin stood his ground.

"Oswald I need to show you something, you're only making the situation worse." Riddler pleaded.

"You won't ever stop crossing the line will you? Every single time I let you live you make sure I regret it. Well not this time, old friend."

'Well we're dead.' Ed sighed.

Martin dropped to his knees with his hands together, no doubt pleading for Riddler's life.

Oswald's moved his finger to the trigger. Since he was aiming for Nygma's head, Martin wouldn't get hit. "Haven't I taught you anything? Don't be like me. Don't let anyone stab you in the back ever. I wouldn't be doing what I preach if I don't do this."

Riddler slowly moved his hand to his pocket.

'Stop you idiot' Ed screeched.

Riddler grabbed a piece of paper from his pocket and held it above his head. "He thinks we aren't..." Riddler didn't know the right words, many of them made his stomach flip. "you know... a team anymore, because of him. He blames himself, Os."

"But it isn't his fault." Oswald's finger slowly backed off from the trigger. "Let me see. I doubt this will save you."

Riddler nodded and handed the note back to Martin. The boy whiped away some tears before running to Oswald.

Oswald held the note in the air under the street lamp to read the pencil words.

Ed, Riddler, and Martin watched with baited breath to see how Oswald would react.

Paying attention to microfacial expressions wasn't Ed or even Riddler's strong suit, but this time they caught everything. How Oswald bit him bottom lip as tears brimmed in his eyes. How he quickly turned his head away and blinked those tears away to avoid Martin seeing them. Ed and Riddler watched as he shook silently. Then he took a sharp breath and blew it out. "It was never your fault and it never will be. Edward is an idiot-. No we are, grown ups are. I'm sorry you had to see us flight. I promise to be better and I think me and him going our separate ways will ensure that."

Martin shook his head.

'Wow look at Oswald Cobblepot being the adult. I guess you got what you wanted.' Ed's voice still echoed in Riddler's head, thankfully without the migrain.

"You're wrong, that's not what I want." Riddler said out loud to his and Ed's surprise.

"What the hell-" Oswald started to yell again but Riddler cut him off.

"I don't think we should go out separate ways. It would be a shame if Gotham's best duo faded into nothingness. There is still greatness for us. Our story isn't done yet, Ozzie." Riddler closed the gap inbetween him and Oswald. "I'm sorry... for some of the things I did. Sometimes you deserved it though."

'Please shut up.' Ed begged.

It was Riddler's turn to bite his lip. He then took and deep breath and through clenched teeth spoke, "The truth is..." Riddler felt his face go warm and suddenly realized how terribly cold it was. "I'm happier when... you're...around...too."

Oswald covered his laugh with a cough. Ed did not follow that courtesy. 'I knew it!'

"Oh God damn it." Oswald sighed. "You're going to make me regret this, aren't you?"

"You know me so well." Riddler answered with a coy smile.

"Holy shit it is fucking cold. Can we go inside now before I actually turn into a penguin? And you..." Oswald pointed at Riddler with a smirk. "Shouldn't you hate the cold."

"Nope." Riddler shrugged as he tossed his suit jacket onto a shivering Martin. "It reminds me how I saved your sorry ass."

[luxekook]

chapter nine.

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 4.6k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, chaotic energy, nerd jokes, increasing difficulty navigating new poly relationship, mention of previous unhealthy relationship [manipulation, deceit], more angst than usual, mention of violent intent, smut [dom/sub themes, mention of voyeurism and the Kama Sutra, fingering, jin is thirsty, mention of oral, things get ~hot~ in the kitchen and i ain’t talkin’ about the pancakes (although those do get burned)]

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

I wish I could say I woke up to the sound of birds chirping in the brisk morning air. But, instead, I’m jolted awake by the sound of what seems to be an entire fleet of pots and pans falling to the ground followed by an incoherent scream.

Shifting slightly as my heartbeat tries to settle itself, I realize that Yoongi is curled up around me, still sound asleep. I guess it makes sense; he’s used to living in a frat house. A stampede of elephants outside his window probably could not wake him.

Gently, I shimmy my way out of Yoongi’s hold. He mutters some garbled nonsense that sounds like “give me back my plushie”, but I can’t be sure. If no one else is going to wake up to check on whatever is going down in the kitchen, I will.

The room is cold outside of Yoongi’s embrace. Shivering, I quickly tug off Hobi’s shirt and switch it with the pink fluffy sweatshirt that I suspect belongs to Jin. Much better, I think, as the softness of the fabric surrounds me from the tips of my fingers to the tops of my knees.

After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I quietly head down to the kitchen. I am so unprepared for the sight I’m suddenly faced with.

Kim Seokjin stands facing away from me while flipping pancakes and humming an unidentifiable melody. He is shirtless. The expanse of back that I’m faced with has me stopped in my tracks, gaping at the smoothness of his tanned skin. It’s only after a few moments that I realize he has what seems to be an apron tied at his neck and his waist.

“Good morning, Jin,” I greet him when my ability to speak returns. I move closer towards him with the intentions of wrapping my arms around him and snuggling into the broad expanse of his shoulders.

My intent fails as Jin shrieks and spins to face me. His arms flap wildly in the air and the spatula in his hand launches a pancake right towards me. By the grace of god, I manage to catch the flying pancake and take a bite.

“Mmm!” I ignore his continued display of fright as I indulge in the deliciousness that is breakfast food, “This is so good, Jinie.”

Finally recovering after 84 years of being extra, Jin pouts, “Of course it’s good. I made it!” He huffs, crossing his arms across his chest. I watch enraptured as his biceps flex. He really is too good looking. Jin continues, “And why did you have to scare me like that? My poor, handsome soul almost left my body, (y/n)!”

“Oh, no,” I purr, moving towards him. “What can I do to make you forgive me?”

He blinks, seeming to take me in for the first time. His warm brown eyes turn molten as they take in the sight of his sweatshirt on my body. Slowly, his arms uncross and extend towards me.

And that’s when I see it.

“Your apron does not say “Chef’s Kiss” with an arrow pointing up,” I slap his hands away and grab the front of his apron to bring him closer.

“Of course it does,” Jin grins, “Look at these lips, babe. They are completely ‘chef’s kiss’, and they also give exceptional chef’s kisses… Would you like one?”

“Unfortunately,” I mumble and then lunge for his mouth. His hands grip my hips, hiking up the sweatshirt to dig into the flesh of my ass.

Meanwhile, I’m in heaven, running my own hands down his back. I rake my fingernails gently down and revel in the shudder that moves through him.

“Babe,” Jin whines into my mouth, “I’m going to burn the pancakes.”

“Bold of you to assume they aren’t already burnt,” I reply, glancing over his shoulder at the smoking pancakes.

“Fuck!” Jin yelps, leaping out of my hold. Quickly turning off the heat, he shoots me an amused glare, “You distracted me!”

I laugh, “Are you saying you didn’t like it?”

He pauses, “No, but it’s not fair how you can waltz down here looking like that in my shirt when we all heard you last night!”

My eyebrows shoot up. They all had heard me and Yoongi? Why hadn’t they said anything? Honestly, I didn’t think we had been that loud, but maybe Yoongi had made me more vocal than usual with his talented mouth.

The more I think about it, the hotter it is to picture the six of them all pressed against the wall, straining to hear the moans as they had left my mouth as Yoongi’s tongue had slid inside me.

“You all heard what?” I move towards him slowly as he cowers slightly against the counter, “Tell me.”

“W-we,” Jin’s voice breaks and he swallows, “We heard you moaning and talking dirty to Yoongi. It was so fucking hot, baby. Some of us wanted to barge in, but Joon wouldn’t let us. God, it made me so hard listening to you come.”

The heat of his words blazes over my skin. “Did you touch yourself thinking about it, Jin?” I cock my head to the side as I teasingly gaze up at him. My hands slowly untie the apron from around his torso.

“No,” Jin shook his head as my hands ghosted across his now-bare chest, “Hobi sucked me off.”

Damn, that visual would fuel my own fantasies for weeks. “And did that help?” I ask as my hand dips lower, brushing over the growing bulge in his sweats.

“For like two seconds,” He sighs as my palm slightly puts pressure on the place he needs it most, “We were too turned on by the thought of getting to touch you, to taste you… No matter what we did, it couldn’t erase the picture our minds conjured up.”

“You want to touch me, Seokjin?” I place a kiss on his neck, “I won’t stop you.”

“(Y/n), baby,” Jin’s hands clench at his sides, “I want to touch you everywhere. I feel like you know that, but I just need to make sure that you do.”

A smirk slides across my face, “I had a feeling you did, so feel away, my young padawan.”

Jin shakes his head in mock disappointment, “First, I am your elder. Second, please, I’m begging you. Don’t bring Star Wars into this.”

I grin and lean closer to him, “So, you don’t want to invade my rebel base with your star destroyer?”

Jin lets out a squeaky laugh, “(Y/n)!” There is just something about Kim Seokjin that makes me go feral - even at the ass crack of dawn. He stares down at me with his pink flushed cheeks and his rosy red lips and his bewildered but affectionate expression.

I have no choice but to swing my arms around his neck and kiss the shit out of him for the second time that morning. This time, it gets hot right away.

With my previous go-ahead, Jin’s hands wind their way once again up my hips. They, however, do not stop to grab my ass this time. Instead, one hand remains steady on my hip, and the other hooks under my underwear.

The first stroke of his finger is tentative, almost like he is afraid I might crumble under his touch. But, I’m too much for that. “Jin,” I bite his lip and tug gently before releasing it, “Fuck me with your fingers.”

A rumble moves up his chest as he obeys, pushing a finger deep inside me. “Damn, baby,” He curses and begins to move his finger in and out of my pussy, “You feel so good, so fucking wet.”

I’m in heaven as Jin adds another finger, pushing both in and out of me while his thumb flicks over my clit every so often. His movements are precise, his fingers sliding over that spot inside me with ease. I send an unspoken thank you to all the girls that (literally) came before me and that led Jin to know the female anatomy so intimately.

Losing myself in the building bliss, I run my nails down the expanse of Jin’s broad shoulders. It is, after all, free real estate.

Jin moans into my mouth as I continue to gently tease him with my fingertips, intermittently switching between light touches and harder drags. Taking advantage of his open mouth, I twine my tongue with his and then suck on it lightly.

“(Y/n),” Jin groans, his fingers slowing their thrusts, “Are you trying to torture me?”

“Yes,” I nod, “That should have been obvious. Now, make me come, and I might end your punishment early.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is,” Jin offers me a shit-eating smile, “Well, if all your punishments consist of me being knuckle-deep in your pussy, sign me up for an unlimited membership to your dungeon.”

I slap his ass hard. Ignoring his yelp, I repeat the motion and grin when his hips reflexively thrust forward, his hardness pressing up against me. “Oh, does my baby like that?” I murmur, rubbing his ass to ease the sting.

Jin’s head drops to rest on my shoulder, his face pressed into my neck. I vaguely feel him nod before his fingers begin to thrust in and out of me harder than they had before.

My hand winds up to thread my fingers through his hair. I tug him closer to me as Jin’s pillowy lips kiss and nibble at my neck. His hand that previously had been resting on my hip slides up to palm my breast, squeezing it lightly.

My head falls back as my orgasm builds. His fingers continue to pound into me as he rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Fuck, Jin,” I moan, “I’m so close. Make me come all over you.”

My words seem to have their desired effect on Jin as his fingers curl inside me, his thumb circling my clit, his hand squeezing my breast. I come hard, my hips grinding down on his hand shamelessly.

“Yes, baby,” Jin smiles into the crevice of my neck, “Give it to me. Give me all–” He gets cut off by a third party before he can finish.

“God almighty… Really, you two? Again?” Jin and I blink owlishly at Namjoon as he pads into the kitchen. He looks like he can’t decide whether to be pissed or to be amused by what Jin and I must look like.

Jin slips his hand out of me and holds it up in the air with the other, “It isn’t what it looks like, Joon!” However, he ruins his lie not a second later when he notices his fingers are coated in my wetness and immediately shoves them into his mouth.

Namjoon sighs, massaging his temples and looking like he had given up. I just shake my head at Jin as the boy licks his fingers clean, “Kim Seokjin, you’re incorrigible.”

“You love it,” Jin boasts; and, unfortunately, he is correct. He continues, “Now, let me drink straight from the source.”

“She’s not fucking Fiji water, Jin!” Namjoon rolls his eyes, pushing past Jin to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“Of course not,” Jin’s eyes twinkle mischievously, “(Y/n)’s not that pure.”

I crack up and thrust my hand out to meet Jin’s in a high-five. He laughs along with me, lacing his fingers through mine and bringing my hand close so he can brush a light kiss on my knuckles.

“I really should finish breakfast before the rest of the herd arrives,” Jin murmurs, tugging me to his chest and placing a kiss on my head. I melt into his arms at his sweetness. “Now, go say ‘good morning’ to Joon.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I laugh, pouting up at him, “I’ll say ‘good morning’ to Joon because that’s my choice.”

Seokjin shakes his head, his lips pursed in a small smile, “You’re really something, aren’t you…”

I don’t have time to ponder that statement before I’m whisked away by two hands circling my waist, pulling me to another firm chest. “You took too long,” Namjoon murmurs into my hair.

He is all pressed up against me, his arms around my waist. There’s just something about Namjoon that feels safe and comforting. I shift around so that I can snuggle further into his chest. “Good morning,” I breathe him in. He smells really fucking good, like expensive whisky and pine trees.

“Sleep well?” I can hear the playful lilt in Namjoon’s voice.

I pull back slightly, narrowing my eyes up to meet Namjoon’s amused dark ones, “Yes, Yoongi took great care of me, as I’m sure you heard.”

Jin chortles from over by the stove where he flips a perfectly golden brown pancake in the air.

Namjoon grins outright at my sass, “Baby, you weren’t exactly quiet in ordering him around.”

“You could have joined at any point,” I shrug, “I would have ordered you around, too.”

“Me?” Namjoon chuckles darkly, “I would like to see you try.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” I murmur, running my hands down his chest to rest right above the hem of his shorts. “Big, bad Kim Namjoon: college senior, fraternity president… You must have so many responsibilities.” I place a hot kiss on his neck, “It’s only natural that you want to take a break, to let me take care of you.”

Namjoon actually seems to be considering it as I continue to kiss up his neck to come to a halt a breath from his plush lips. “I can’t say I’m not tempted,” Namjoon rasps out, his eyes flickering between my eyes and my lips.

“Obviously,” I roll my eyes, “I’m basically saying I’ll get you off. Of course you’re tempted.”

Joon’s hand slaps my ass, and it sends a rush of pleasure through me after having come so hard on Jin’s fingers. “There’s that wicked mouth again,” Joon says lowly, his thumb presses against my lips, “I wonder what it will look like around my—”

“Wow, Jiminie! I didn't know we were going to get breakfast and a show this morning!” Taehyung barges into the kitchen with Jimin trailing behind him, his face puffy with sleep. I wink at Joon before nipping slightly at his thumb and pulling away from him.

The second I’m out of Joon’s hold, I have two more boys hugging me on either side. Jimin is basically hanging onto me for dear life, his face shoved in my neck - a position that seems to be his favorite. Meanwhile, Taehyung is peppering my cheek with kisses and grinning down at me.

“Well, someone sure is a morning person,” I mumble, trying my best to show affection to both boys at once.

“How could I not be a morning person when I wake up and get to see you?” Taehyung beams at me. Jimin grumbles at Tae’s cheesiness, nuzzling his nose into my neck. I blink, wondering if I would need sunglasses around both Tae and Hobi now.

Speaking of, the other boys trail into the kitchen one by one - drawn in by the growing aroma of breakfast. Hobi looks adorably disheveled and pouts when he notices I changed out of his shirt. Somehow managing to extract myself from the two inseparable boys that clung to me, I ruffle Hobi’s hair and kiss his cheek.

“Morning, Hoseok,” I smile at my sunshine, “How did you sleep?”

He hugs me tightly as he seems to still be half asleep, “I slept great, but would have slept better with you in my arms.” His mumbled words are barely audible, but I catch them.

“Maybe next time,” I rub his back soothingly, “But I do seem to have quite a queue.”

And I didn’t even mean just for sleeping, I mean literally right now as I look over Jungkook and Yoongi standing in single file behind where I have Hobi wrapped in my arms. Jimin is also trying and failing to stealthily get back in line for another hug from me.

Hobi looks over his shoulder and scowls at the other boys, “Get lost, losers. This one’s mine.”

I burst out laughing, “Jung Hoseok! I didn't know we were exclusive. This is such news.”

My words are meant as a joke, but the room quiets after they fall from my lips. Blinking, I slowly break away from Hoseok to take a glance around at the seven of them. The boys all seem to be communicating solely through eye contact.

“Okay,” I put my hands on my hips, “I don’t speak silent e-boy. What’s going on?”

“What’s an e-boy?” Jungkook whispers to Yoongi who just shakes his head sadly, knowing full well that the youngest was peak e-boy.

“Well?” I narrow my gaze on the weakest link. Taehyung is practically vibrating and looks ready to cave at any moment. “Oh, Taehyungie,” I sing, my voice deceptively soft, “Please, won’t you tell your noona what’s happening?”

“We all want to be exclusive!” Taehyung bursts out immediately, drawing glares and groans from the other six boys.

“Goddamnit, Tae!” Jin yells, “We were going to make it nice!”

“Fuck off, Jin-hyung!” Taehyung fires back, “It’s not my fault! She was looking at me like she wanted to eat me!”

As the two bicker back and forth, I look around at the rest of them. Jungkook is staring at me anxiously, his hands wring together in front of him. It’s almost as if he fears I might disappear if he looks away.

Jimin has his arm linked through Jungkook’s, ever the opportunist for skinship. He nibbles his lower lip as he looks at me with blatant hope and a touch of nervousness.

Yoongi slouches against the kitchen counter, his sharp eyes watching me closely. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, and I just know he’s thinking about last night…

Hobi still stands beside me, gazing down at me with intense interest. His pinky hooks onto my own, and I almost melt at the cuteness of it.

Finally, my eyes land on Namjoon. His arms are folded as he stares me down from his deceptively lazy recline against the kitchen island. I know better. Nothing about Namjoon is ever lazy.

“Interesting,” I finally hedge, making my way over to the kitchen table to sit down, “So you’re saying I would need to break it off with the rest of my harems? Damn, I was starting to really like EXO…”

“Noona,” Jungkook whines, “We’re being serious!”

The rest of the boys - minus Jin - follow my lead, sitting down around me at the table. The oldest sets down a tray with an overwhelmingly tall stack of pancakes. The table had already been set with plates and silverware and any topping that one could want on their pancakes - including some questionable options. Is that hot sauce I see over there?

I wait for Jin to settle before I address them. “Okay, sorry, sorry. Humor is my coping mechanism of choice, sue me. So what does this whole exclusivity proposition entail?”

“It’s not a proposition,” Jimin pouts, “It’s a proposal.” He must catch the glint in my eye because he cuts me off before I can make a joke, “Don’t even say it, (y/n).”

I zip my lips and pretend to throw the key over my shoulder. However, my Jinie doesn’t let me down.

Jin grabs a pancake with his bare hands and walks over to me. Getting down on one knee, he extends the pancake towards me with a flourish. “(Y/n),” He booms, “Will you accept this pancake as a symbol of our delicious and wholesome intent to court you? Will you give us the distinct honor of dating only you - and you only dating us?”

I purse my lips, attempting to hide my pleased smile, and fail. Pretending to summon the imaginary key from where I threw it earlier, I unzip my lips, steadfastly ignoring the collective groan over me and Jin’s dramatics. “Well,” I reply, “I can’t say no to pancakes.”

“Ha!” Jin yells in triumph, jumping up to address the rest of the relieved boys, “Bow down, you fools. I saved the day!”

“You didn’t save shit, Jin,” Yoongi shakes his head, “(Y/n) probably already figured this was going to come up and thought it over beforehand.”

“You ain’t wrong,” I nod, biting into the pancake my acceptance had earned me. “Why do you think I let y’all touch me so much over the past 24 hours?”

“We didn’t want to jinx it, noona,” Jungkook stares at me with stars in his eyes, “I’m so happy I get to date you now. We’re going to have so much fun! Oh, I need to make a list of all the things I want to do with you!”

“Just read the Kama Sutra, JK,” Hobi interjects with an innocent smile. My jaw practically hits the floor.

My sweet Hobi? Mentioning the sex bible? In this economy? Under this roof?

Jungkook turns a pretty shade of red, “That’s not what I meant, hyung!”

I finally recover, never one to pass up an opportunity to tease my baby boy. “You can borrow my copy, Jungkookie. It’s very informative.”

Jungkook yelps, “(Y/n)-noona!” He shoves his face into Namjoon’s shoulder in an attempt to hide. The older boy just smiles and pats Jungkook’s head gently.

“Okay, so how is this going to work?” I ask, thinking about the logistics of the situation. I had been in a few relationships before, and those had required a lot of communication with just two people involved. This is a whole different level with eight of us.

Would we all go out together all the time? Would I have separate dates with each of them? Would they still have dates without me? Would they be more open with me about their own relationship with each other? Would they still fuck each other without me? Would I fuck them separately? Would we eventually all fuck? Together?

“We’ll still keep it private,” Namjoon shrugs, “Just like our relationship has always been but with you added.”

My stomach drops. I hadn't considered this. In all my hypothetical scenarios thought out in the wee hours of the morning, it had never occurred to me that they wouldn't want to be public with me. Perhaps that had been stupid of me. Perhaps I had been too caught up in the thrill of it all.

It seems my silence speaks volumes as the boys exchange worried glances. Taehyung grips my hand tightly, pleading, “Noona, you understand that, right? Please, say something.”

“I-I guess I don’t understand fully,” I manage to blurt out. “The seven of you are well-known and loved across campus. Do you really think that going public would affect that?”

“It’s not just campus. It’s our families, our friends, our futures that we are concerned about,” Yoongi answers, “We’re scared that we’ll jeopardize everything we’ve worked so hard for.”

“Just because you love more than one person?” I furrow my eyebrows, “Yes, it’s unconventional, but it’s still just love. How can anyone be mad at that?”

The boys are quiet.

“There used to be eight of us,” Namjoon sighs after a short while, “When me, Jin, Yoongi, and Hobi were beginning college and Jimin, Tae and Jungkook were finishing up their senior year, we still had her.”

“Nikki,” Hoseok whispers, “I thought we weren’t going to talk about her anymore?”

“No,” Jin shakes his head, “(Y/n) deserves to know this.” He nods at Namjoon to continue.

“We grew up with her, too.” Joon frowns, “She was one of us. She said she loved us - all of us. But, it turns out she didn’t.”

“Nikki tried to separate us.” My heart breaks as a tear slides down Jimin’s cheek. “She told me that none of the boys loved me - that only she did,” Jimin’s voice cracks. Taehyung is quick to hug Jimin close to him.

“Luckily, Jimin came to us with his doubts before doing anything,” Yoongi scowls, “I don’t think I had ever been so angry.”

“We confronted her when we were all home on break,” Jin’s hands are clenched in fists, “She tried to deny everything, saying that Jimin made things up. But we knew she was lying by how upset Jimin was, and by how increasingly desperate her excuses became.”

“Finally, she admitted it,” Namjoon shakes his head, “And then she said a whole lot of other things that hurt along with a bunch of threats to expose us.”

Okay, who is this girl? If I ever met her, I would not hesitate to go for the knees.

“She hasn't followed through with anything,” Yoongi scoffs, “But she goes here now, and we haven’t had the courage to risk anything.”

“She goes here?” My tone is ice cold as I slowly stand up, “What’s her address?”

“Noona!” Jungkook chokes out a laugh, “No! Sit down.”

I huff, plopping down in my seat and folding my arms, “If I ever meet a girl named Nikki, it’s on sight. How dare she?”

It seems the madder I become, the more amused the boys get. I eye them angrily, “Why are you all smiling at me? I’m serious! Manipulation? Threats? That is not okay, especially when it's done to you.”

The seven of them are grinning outright now. “Will you stop leering at me? I’m about to flip this university upside down to avenge y’all, and you’re just smiling?”

Jimin beams over at me, his eyes still watery. “(Y/n)-noona,” He preens, “You really do like us, don’t you?”

“She’s so protective of us already,” Taehyung smirks.

“Forget Iron Man,” Jungkook giggles, “We have Iron Noona.”

I groan, placing my head in my hands, “Idiots. I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“Idiots that you li-i-ike,” Jin sings. How is he even the oldest?

“I guess that makes me the biggest idiot of all,” I mutter before straightening to address them fully. “Alright, I can see where you are coming from now. Thank you for trusting me enough to share that with me. I guess we can keep things private for now, but I only ask that we can revisit this later. I’ve already accepted that people would not understand the nature of our relationship, but I know that I have too much love to give you all to care. Now, I just need you to feel that, too. I want to show you that you can trust me with more than just your secrets but with your full selves.”

The boys are quiet for a moment before Jimin loudly pushes his chair back and practically launches himself into my lap. His shoulders shake. “Oh, baby,” I whisper as I rub my hand in soothing circles across his back.

“Thank you, noona,” Jimin’s voice is small but sincere.

“Don’t thank me for something that you deserve and have always deserved.”

Jimin doesn't answer, simply nodding into my neck. I take that as a start.

Returning my gaze to the rest of them, I smile, “Okay, like I said, we keep it private - at least at first. What else should I know about this relationship I’m getting into? Does Taehyung have a time-out corner that y’all send him to? Does Jin have a limit to how many bad jokes he can deliver in one day? Does Yoongi have a mandatory amount of hours he needs to spend out of bed?”

Two out of the three boys that I just named let out yells of indignation. The third just rolls his eyes.

The rest of the boys laugh, and I know that things will be okay.

And I’m right - at least for a little while.

a/n: hope y’all enjoyed,,,, the drama is heatin’ up hehe

@catsandstrawberries @h5naaa @meowmeowyoongles @leftflowerprunedonut @rjsmochii @karissassirak @weallhavesecretsinthebestway @cage7241 @cvbachacbitch @honeyspillings @valiantcollectorofsandwiches @fivesecondsofsarang @oii-f-eli-x2 @joonsroses @theevilyouknow @jooniescupcakes @expensive-grl @i-dont-even-know-fck @athletes-of-god@doingmybestalltheftime @elraee @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh @laced-brds @breeeeh17 @peachyharmoney @rilakoya @chulchuchi @tabula-rasa0 @guccishookv @nomimits7 @i-like-puppy-mg @s-noir @anna-sorel @im-a-space-child @yeontanismypresident @drowning-in-oxygen @team-wang-puppy @lvvegood @anongirl007 @may114 @r-e-d-i-s-h @unatempesta-dipensieri @dragon-rider-with-a-book @blueberrygeniejam @wondrsblog @vi-hoshi @kirbykook @katemwatson @kawaiikpoplover268 @amsteramyy @sami4life @a-feeling-of-euphoria @the-jackals @bubbletae7 @platinum-grenade​ @kthstrawberryshortcake @brightly-byun @oofmeintheheadpls @sadboibts @lidda @goldenwidow3 @t-mel19 @lmkjimin @psiphidragon @jeon-joker @sathom013 @lustremyg @ggsmashgg @justyouraveragerando @shadowstark @our-little-meow-meow @baby-hobii @mythicalmeep @asifetch7 @kassandravictoria @eltrain80 @briannasthings @bumblekey93 @ohmwreckr @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @softchimmee @kookoo-kachoo @lenuminous @ass-hole-in-one @peaches-422 @spacejooon @sleepyje0n @uxwi @tellmeyoulovemepls @yady24 @lovesick-heart0 @redirect-min @hopetookourvibe @noonaduck  @mini-coop25 @multifandomgirl29 @rhd31 @yoongixvevo @sweetnspicy93 @kuppyjiminie @love-and-other-possibilities @fuckyouandtheboatyoucamein @geminidrawsstuff @livorna @naajix @minjoonhome @subtlepjiminie @mono-kookie @purpleheartsfortae @krystle1990 @jungkooks-nut-is-tasty-in-busan @sky-the-squirrel @jinyounglovebot @vivpurple7 @xcastielbabyangelface @patpus @daydreamingwithbts​ @potaetertot​ @moon-2seok​ @midnight1199​

another a/n: if u asked to be added to the taglist and u did not get tagged, u might be one of the couple ppl that i couldn’t tag [check ur settings, fam!]

[disgruntledspacedad]

Exit Wounds

pairing: Steve Murphy x Javier Peña, buddies or pre-slash, up to you. Not part of the Better Love ‘verse.

summary: Steve comes to several realizations all at once. Steve Murphy POV.

words: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ - violence (beyond canon-typical), GSW, ambiguous ending, ANGST. You really probably shouldn’t read this one at all, my dudes.

a/n: unbeta’d. For those sharp eyed readers, there’s a slight canon change regarding Brady’s murder.

“Stay back,” Steve mouths, lifting a hand to Javier’s chest. Behind him, Steve can damn near feel Javi rolling his eyes, but he keeps still, both of them hardly daring to breathe as they pause at the corner of the stairwell. 

Feo is waiting for them. Steve just knows it.

Dread and anticipation are rising in him, age old instinct and adrenaline converging into a single minded awareness that sharpens every sense. Steve’s heartbeat thrums in his ears. Reality glitters around him. Javi huffs softly at his shoulder, eager, impatient. 

It’s like having a superpower. 

Carefully, Steve edges his gaze just around the corner, and leaps back as a single round grazes just past his left ear. He feels the zing of displaced air before he’s even aware of the crack of gunfire. 

“Shit,” he hisses. 

That had been close. 

“Think you found him,” Javi supplies helpfully. 

Above them, there’s a scuffle, receding footsteps. Javi doesn’t wait - he’s already tearing around the corner, glock extended, giving chase.

Steve leaps at his heels.

He’ll never admit it, not to anybody and especially not to Connie because she worries, but this is Steve’s favorite part of the job. There’s something primal and evocative about chasing a bad guy through the streets of Medellín. It calls back to that little boy in Memphis, playing cops and robbers with the neighborhood kids until long past the streetlamps had lit. It awakens that visceral sense of masculine justice that’s simmered just beneath the surface of Steve’s thoughts since he could remember; the burning need to protect, to avenge, to do the right thing.

And fuck, it’s just fun.

He grits his teeth and digs in, running for all he’s worth. Chases in Medellín are all sticky heat and creaking rooftops that pop beneath a grown man’s weight, the smell of spices and gunpowder and unwashed bodies. The air is thick like soup. It stagnates in his lungs, stifles his breaths. His heart pounds wildly. Sweat pours down his back and clings to his shirt, and Steve basks in it all, loving every second. 

Javi ducks into one of the zócalos, taking a short cut on a hunch. Steve follows. The world narrows, the entire cramped room smelling of tortillas and goat milk. The darkness inside is a stark contrast to the midday Medellín sun, and Steve barrels into the tiny kitchen table before his eyes can fully adjust. A child shrieks, and Javi pauses just long enough to wince toward her mother as Steve staggers to his feet. 

“Sorry,” he bleats, already stumbling out the door.

Outside, they are faced with a choice. Stairs going up to the rooftops. Stairs going down into the alleyway. Absolute silence. 

Steve takes the street and Javi takes the high ground. There’s no discussion, no pause to consider, no flicker of eye contact and a question. Steve and Javi move as one unit in two bodies, working in seamless tandem that comes from surviving and thriving together in countless life or death scenarios.

Feo is not in the street, it’s apparent immediately.  Steve has gone the wrong way. 

Well, win some, lose some. The comuna is built into a slope, like so many comunas are, and Steve makes for the top of it, determined to get a better view. Maybe he can cut Feo off while Javi herds him forward, though it’s unlikely. 

He reaches the top of the hill and whirls, shading his eyes against the sun as he glances over the rooftops, searching. 

Javier shouts in Spanish. Steve cranes his neck toward the sound. He’s close.

There.

A shot rings out. That’s nothing new - shots are always ringing out in Medellín. It’s practically how the sicarios say hello. 

But this time, it’s different. This time, Javier staggers back like he’s been punched in the solar plexus, and Steve’s world converges into two undeniable facts - dread, and absolute certainty.

Javi’s been hit. 

Somehow, Steve has the sense of mind to radio for backup with medical, an instinct honed from years of beats in the shadier neighborhoods of Miami. He doesn’t bother listening for the garbled response, he’s just running, tearing down the hill with one ominous thought replaying through his mind. 

He can’t see Javi anymore.

Steve shakes away the implications and focuses on what he can remember - where Javi had been standing, the direction of his voice. His lungs are burning, heart pounding painfully in his chest, but Steve’s totally unaware of that. It shouldn’t be possible, but he’s flying, feet hardly hitting the ground as he tears through the comuna, making his way once again toward the rooftops.

His best friend’s life is on the line.

And isn’t that funny? If you’d have asked Steve an hour ago, he’d have laughed in your face at the idea that Javi was anything more than his work partner. Javi’s an asshole. A self-righteous, arrogant, hypocritical, sell-you-to-the-fucking-cartels-on-a-whim cuntstain of a human being. Yeah, Steve can admit that Javier Peña is a decent agent. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t. There’s also the fact that Javi knows all of the best dives in town, and that he’s always good for a drink after a long shift, and sure, maybe he’d stuck up for Steve that one time with Messina, but friends? Yeah, that’s a long shot.

Except now, it’s not.

The stairwell Steve’s been climbing ends abruptly. He’s standing on a three foot square platform, looking up at a ten foot wall.

Shit, shit, shit.

Javi is right there, just on the roof above him.

Steve doesn’t think, he just leaps, the tin edges slicing his palms as he scrambles for the ledge. He kicks his feet hard, banging his shins with enough force to bruise as he rolls gracelessly onto the roof. Later, when Steve tells Connie that it was a feat of athleticism that would put the best of his college buddies to shame, he’s not lying.

And there’s Javi. 

Steve drops to his knees beside the body. Javi’s lying crumpled on the ground, curled on his side in a fetal position that is far more vulnerable than Steve is comfortable witnessing. 

“Javi?” Steve calls, shaking his partner hard as he hauls him over onto his back. “Shit.”

Javi doesn’t answer. The concrete beneath him is a pool of red blood. It’s smeared all over Javi’s pink shirt, an ominous, dark stain originating from somewhere near his shoulder. 

And it’s still pumping steadily from the wound. 

Steve catches a breath, reminds himself that this is a good thing. Dead people don’t bleed. 

Automatically, he presses one hand over the most saturated part of Javi’s shirt. Hold pressure. It’s basic first aid, but basic first aid is prioritized in the academy because it saves lives. Steve punches his palm into Javi’s shoulder for all he’s worth. 

But Javi’s still not moving, not responding. Carefully, Steve cups his free fingers gently over Javi’s mouth and nose. Soft, quick breaths pulse hot against his skin, and a tight bubble of tension bursts in Steve’s chest. 

Javi is breathing. Thank fuck, Javi is breathing.

Blood spurts through the cracks Steve’s fingers, warm and deep crimson, and Steve has a sudden, wild thought that it’s much more slippery than he’d have thought, more like motor oil than water. He’s seen blood in this quantity before, many, many times, but never this close, never fresh and red on his bare hands, never gushing in slick rivulets from the body of his partner and friend. 

Steve flashes back to that one sting gone horribly wrong in Miami, to being held at gunpoint in the doorway while Brady bled out onto the dirty motel carpet. 

He shakes it away. Not this time. Never again.

He shifts his position, tilting Javi’s head to the opposite side so he won’t choke and exposing the wound so he has better access to it. He can’t see the edges, and hell, he’s definitely not looking, but the blood seems to be coming from the juncture of Javi’s neck and shoulder, just to the edge of the kevlar strap of his tac vest. 

Fuck.

An inch to right, and Javi would have walked away with a massive bruise, maybe a broken clavicle. An inch to the left, and it would have all been over.

“Of course it would be your shoulder, Javi,” Steve bites out between gritted teeth. It it were an arm or a leg, he’d have already used his belt to make a tourniquet. But that’s not an option here, and by the way Javi’s breathing - fast, quick little pants that are quickly turning his lips blue, Steve wonders if there might be something wrong with Javi’s lung, too.

Fucking Christ. 

“God, get here already,” Steve mutters under his breath as he presses both palms into Javi’s chest. Shit, the bullet’s gone all the way through. Steve can feel the heat of Javier’s blood seeping into his jeans. 

‘All bleeding eventually stops,’ he remembers Connie saying after a terrible shift at Ryder. Her tone had been flippant and thoroughly blasé, cynical like the humor of all nurses who work trauma call is cynical. At the time, Steve had brushed it off as a one-off, a ruthless, humorless joke made out of frustration. 

With a slow dawn of horror, he suddenly understands exactly what Connie had meant. 

“Fuck,” Steve mutters desperately, pinning Javi’s body between his knee and his fists, locking his elbows and pressing both hands as hard as he’s able into the wound in a desperate attempt to staunch the bleeding. 

His wild thought of ‘where the hell are they going to land the chopper?’ is cut off as Javi shifts and groans.

Steve panics. Javi’s lost a lot of blood, far, far too much blood. It’s all over Steve, all over Javi, all over the concrete, and Steve has just now gotten it under control. 

Javi needs to be still, dammit. 

“Don’t you dare fucking move, Javi, you hear me?” Steve’s voice is brittle as he leans in close to Javi’s ear. 

And oh god, somehow, the situation is suddenly so much worse now that Javi isn’t completely out, now that Steve knows that in some capacity, Javi is aware of what’s happening to him. 

Fuck.

But Javi just huffs one shuddering breath, and then goes so completely still that Steve’s heart lurches in his chest. 

“And don’t you fucking die, either, you hear?” Steve shouts into his ear.

Really, that’s more important than anything. 

Javi grunts something in response, a word that Steve, in his frazzled state, doesn’t quite catch. Later, when he relives this day over and over again, Steve thinks it might have been “asshole.”

The ensuing silence is stifling. They lay there on that rooftop for an eternity, Javi sandwiched between Steve’s fists and his knee, Steve’s back and arms burning with tension. Javi’s breathing speeds and shallows. His entire face is ashen now. Little beads of sweat have broken out on his forehead. His blood is cooling, congealing dark between Steve’s fingers.

“Please, god, please.” Steve hasn’t prayed in years, but this is different. Important. He’s not asking for anything for himself. Not for Connie, even.  

He’s begging for Javi’s life.

In the distance, the blades of a chopper are beat, beat, beating against the wind.

LINK TO SPACEDAD’S MASTERLIST

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 37

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Time runs out.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Heavy angst, whump, grief

AO3

Acceptance finally came, but brought with it no relief.

The hours ticked by, each one stealing another moment less you had with Bucky. It was like waiting on death row, but there would be no stay of execution. You were really going to lose him.

That thought was almost as terrifying as the reality that you would be cut off from him. You’d gotten so used to the bond you didn’t know what life would be like without it. Worst of all, you had no guarantee you’d feel the same about Bucky after the link was severed.

Would you still feel the same way about him? Would you still love him? And if you didn’t, was it even love in the first place?

No clock, not even the magical ones that surely existed in this placed, granted you mercy and slowed their procession. All you could do was hold onto Bucky, stroke his demonic arm and his wings, touch him and kiss him and remind yourself he was still here, right here, and he wasn’t gone yet.

As much as you wanted otherwise, you kept your clothes on and kept the touching innocent, even if your kisses grew more heated and desperate. He didn’t want to go, you realized from how tightly he clung to you in return. He didn’t want to leave you in the slightest. You didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

The sun rose and neither of you bothered to get out of bed. You had nowhere else you wanted to be. Monster had dry food that would last him for days, along with a pet drinking fountain. Your mom would start to worry from your lack of texts, but she’d survive. You weren’t so sure about yourself.

When Bucky spoke, his voice was hoarse from disuse, and you were half-asleep curled in his arms.

“I’m giving you the keys to my place.”

You blinked open your eyes, frowning and wondering if you’d heard right.

“What?”

“I want you to stay there.” He brushed his thumb across the side of your jaw, lips touching your hair. “I know it’s a big place, but at least you won’t have to pay rent. It’s a good location, great view, and you’ll be safe. Strange has anti-dark magic wards all over the place. Apparently, it keeps beings with ill-intent from being able to step over the threshold. I’m sure your little monster will love it.”

He spoke your name in a soft question when his words were met with silence. You shook your head and gripped his jacket tightly again. Why did he have to make this so difficult by being so damn perfect?

“I’m just…” You sniffed and swallowed. “I’m just going to house-sit for you until… until Strange finds a better solution.”

Bucky said your name again.

“And then you’ll be back and everything will be, will be the same. Waiting for you. Because you’re coming back.” You fought to control the quivering of your voice, made no easier by his gentle touches. “I have to believe that, Bucky. I have to have hope, or I can’t… I can’t make it through this.”

“You will,” he reassured you with a squeeze. “You’re so damn strong and you’re going to be fine, no matter what happens.”

You were quiet for a moment, and eventually asked in a small voice, “What am I going to tell Mom?”

Bucky didn’t have an answer. It was probably for the best, because your heart was breaking all over again, and you cried into his arms until you didn’t have any tears left to shed.

It was noon before the two of you got out of bed. You hadn’t slept at all except for a moment or two of light dozing. Bucky insisted you eat something. A tray of food had appeared, you didn’t know from where, and you managed to stomach some crackers and pieces of fruit. You did it more to ease Bucky’s worries and to get him to eat too.

Before the appointed hour of doom, you sought out Strange for that stay-of-execution yourself. You pled with Wong to grant you an audience with Strange, and when he prepared to shoot you down, you said, “I spoke to the Ancient One.”

It was all you had to say. You’d expected Wong to treat you like you were delusional, but his expression grew serious as he looked between you and Bucky, and finally said, “Come with me. Now. Not you, Barnes. Just her.”

Bucky grimaced, but you gave him a weak smile.

“Back before you know it.”

He eyed your smile doubtfully; Bucky knew the reason you wanted to speak to Strange, but that wasn’t going to deter you from doing everything in your power to change their minds.

You told Strange everything about the memory. About witnessing the Winter Soldier’s death, about joining and interacting with him in the memory of the demon realm, and finally, of passively watching everything that came after. Only when the Ancient One had noticed your presence that you could finally distinguish between your consciousness and Bucky’s.

Your hope was that Strange would see just how intertwined you and Bucky were, and that freezing Bucky was a cruel idea.

Unfortunately, he seemed to come to the opposite conclusion.

“Sergeant Barnes should have come to me as soon as he broke his oath,” Strange said, fingers steepled from where he sat behind his desk. “He could have easily killed you, or worse, caused you to lose yourself. It’s apparent this bond goes far deeper than it should, and it is a danger to your wellbeing.”

“But,” you stammered, digging your fingers into the hem of your sweater, “the Ancient One helped Bucky. She trusted him. She knew he wasn’t—“

“Dangerous?” Strange interrupted, brow raised. “Of course she did. It was why she made the bargain to begin with: freedom without feeding. The cryo-chamber is not a punishment; Barnes cannot deny his nature any more than a shark sensing blood in the water. He’s driven by deep instinctual urges that he can’t control, not while he’s bonded to you. If he were a free demon, that would be one thing. The formula would work and he could live without feeding, or if you both decided, the feeding could be consensual. But since this pact was formed, even unintentionally, the bond between you is irresistible and deadly.”

Strange rose to his feet, rearranging his cape.

“This is for his sake as much as it’s for yours.”

“And what if you’re wrong!” you cried, panic clawing at your throat. “What if the Ancient One was talking about this moment when she said I had to make a choice! A choice that would affect us both!”

Strange shook his head as he rounded his desk to face you.

“Whatever she saw, whatever her reasons for giving you that bit of advice? It doesn’t apply to this moment simply because you wish it to. And besides, she said it would be your choice. The decision to put Barnes into stasis is mine, not yours. You have no control in this matter, so I doubt that’s what she was referring to.”

“But—“ You tried again, but he raised a hand and you fell silent. His expression was not unkind, and that was perhaps the worst thing of all. He really did believe he was helping you and Bucky.

“We will, of course, look for unexplored avenues of binding magic. There’s no guarantee we will find an answer, and if we do, it could take years. You should prepare yourself for the possibility that this is the best we can do.” Strange met your eye and his face softened. “I truly am sorry.”

That was it, then. There was no hope. You were numb again when you returned to Bucky. He wasn’t alone.

“Hi.”

One of the most recognizable and famous people on the planet extended his hand to shake yours. Old-fashioned manners died hard, you supposed.

“I’m Steve,” he said, his smile reserved but charming.

It was a true testament to your mental state that you didn’t even blink. Shaking hands with Captain America did very little to break you out of your numb distress.

“I’m sorry you two have to meet like this,” Bucky said, shuffling slightly on his feet. “You both deserve better.”

“Don’t worry about it, Buck.” The tall, blond man clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m just glad you reached out to me. I wished we had more time to talk, to catch up, but… it’s more than I had before.”

It seemed Steve Rogers had gotten used to living in the future; he was wearing fairly ordinary jeans, boots, and a riding jacket. He looked even more gallant and heroic than in the videos.

And still, you stared at him with all the personality of a rock. Bucky noticed.

“Hey, Steve. Give us a minute, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Rogers gave you a small, almost shy smile before ducking out of the room. Even through your numbness, you could acknowledge how weird this was. Bucky contacting his best-friend-slash-previous-boyfriend so that he could check in on his current-girlfriend-slash-human-slave while he was put in a fridge.

It would have been really funny if not for the horrifying fact you only had two hours left.

Bucky was about to speak, but whatever it was died on his lips as you launched forward and wrapped your arms around his middle, burying your face in his shoulder.

He returned the gesture, lightly rubbing your back.

“I appreciate you trying, sweetheart, but… this is for the best.”

“It’s not,” you said, sniffling into his jacket. “It’s a mistake, and I’m the only one who sees it.”

Bucky said nothing but he did continue to stroke your back. Maybe there was some part of him that agreed with you, that didn’t want to leave.

When you asked him that very question, Bucky pulled back and said, “Of course I don’t want to leave.”

You bit your lip to keep from barking out then don’t! Instead, you said, “Will you stay with me until…”

“Yeah,” he said, quiet. “Yeah, of course.”

Bucky left for only a few minutes to talk to Rogers, telling him what you had no idea, and then he returned to find you moping on the couch. He picked you up and sat down, sitting you in his lap and wrapping his arms tight around you. Resting your head on his shoulder, you curled up in his limbs as much as possible, happy when he dropped his guise. He’d kept it up when Steve had been present. You could guess why, and it made your heart ache to know Bucky still had so much shame over what he was.

It was silent between you; there wasn’t anything left to say that couldn’t be expressed in the small, desperate, meaningful touches. Two hours had never gone by so quickly.

Bucky led you through the hallways, and the warm, ruddy decorations had never felt so cold and distant. Rogers was waiting outside a closed door, one that looked vaguely familiar. And it should. This was the room where Davin had been freed of the heigore.

The stone altar was gone, and in its place, a massive sarcophagus-like object. It stood open, tendrils of fog curling from its glowing interior as Strange, Wong, and several other sorcerers stood around it.

You wanted to grab Bucky and drag him out of there, away from such an evil-looking instrument. They were going to put him in that thing? It looked like a stone coffin, or an Iron Maiden, or any number of torture devices.

But you didn’t do any of those things. This was hard enough for Bucky, unimaginably so, and you weren’t going to make it more difficult by causing a scene.

Instead, you squeezed his hand and clung to his outstretched fingers until the two sorcerers that now reminded you of prison guards led him away to the thing that would trap him inside.

You hadn’t even said goodbye. You’d thought your actions over the past few hours had been enough to convey what you felt, but what if it wasn’t? What if Bucky was frozen without ever knowing what he meant to you?

You took a step forward, but a large hand clamped down on your shoulder. It wasn’t harsh but it was firm, and it pulled you back a step. You glared over your shoulder, and Rogers gave you a pitying look.

You almost shook him off, suddenly angry at the Avenger, but you let the hand stay where it was, turning back to Bucky with your heart in your throat. He was turned around now, facing you as the sorcerers helped him step back into the shadow of the chamber. He hadn’t had a choice about keeping his guise down today, and his wings were tucked into the shell on his back as his tail wrapped tightly around his leg.

The heavy iron door closed with a finality that stopped your heart. Pneumatic hisses and an intensified humming filled the room.

You could see Bucky’s face through the oval window of the door. White fog blew from his mouth, steaming up the glass, but it didn’t cover up the fact he was scared. It was in the widening of his eyes and the quick pace of his breathing. Too fast and shallow.

You tried to take another step forward, but Rogers wouldn’t let you. You wanted to jerk away, scream at him to do something! That was his best friend in there and Rogers was an Avenger, for fuck’s sake! Couldn’t he stop this?!

But Rogers only stared at the iron coffin that held Bucky, his expression pained, even if he did hide it well behind a stern mask.

Strange stepped forward, expression equally somber. He drew his palm in a circle in the air, and a series of concentric glowing circles appeared on the side of the chamber. He tapped them with his fingers, almost as if he were working a machine panel.

All at once, the window went almost completely opaque as it was covered with ice, and at the same moment, agony shot through your chest like a freezing steel blade.

Doubling over, unable to draw air, you would have collapsed if not for Roger’s arms around your waist. The sound escaping you didn’t sound human. It was a wounded animal, dying in agony.

Your veins were fire and your lungs filled with ice. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, someone was squeezing your heart in their fist, and with a vicious wrench, tore it out.

Even as Rogers pulled you back out of the room, as the sorcerers surged forward with concerned expressions, you clawed weakly at the air, reaching out for the machine where your heart was contained, and was forced to leave it behind.

Next Chapter

[johnsamericano]

“Corruption.” Pt.3 w.y.h

Pairing: college teacher!Lucas x student!reader.

Genre: smut, fluff, angst

Summary: Lucas never thought of falling for a student, but from the first day you walked into de classroom you had him wrapped around your finger.

Warnings: Corruption kink, oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (the reader is on the pill), creampie (?)

a/n: it’s kinda short and (very) shitty but I swear next part will be better and ✨angsty✨

Taglist: @ncteaxhoe @Inpwrites (i can’t tag you properly for some reason)

corruption m.list.

Two weeks later, Lucas invited you to your very first date as a couple. You hadn’t seen each other a lot, since he wasn’t able to get you a spot in his class. But you figured out it was for the best.

“Hey sweetie, are you ready?” You weren’t used to be called pet names, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

“Yes, I’m coming down.” You said as you went down the stairs.

“I’ll be right across the entrance, okay?”

He waited patiently for you inside his car, smiling as he saw your figure running towards the vehicle.

“Hi.” You cheerfully greeted him while leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“I hope you don’t mind staying at my house, I tried my best to make it look like one of those fancy restaurants.” You knew the risks of being seen with him at a public place.

“It’s okay, I rather stay home than going out anyways.”

You ordered Chinese food and ate while watching movies. Lucas complained a lot, he wanted to get you some steak or something expensive, but you genuinely loved fast food.

“What’s next?” You asked after helping him wash the dishes. “Maybe a board game?”

Lucas had planned to do something more...mature, but you looked so exited that he couldn’t help but to nod.

Jenga was the game picked.

“The one who loses has a punishment.”

“Deal.” You smiled.

After thirty minutes of carefully pulling out pieces, you seemed to be about to lose.

“It’s not fair!” You complained, looking at all of your options. “No matter what I pick, it’s gonna fall.”

“That’s too bad.” He faked a pout.

“Damn it.” You cursed after pulling a piece and making the entire tower fall.

“This is gonna be interesting.” He walked all the way to you, extending his hand to help you up. “I want you to take off your clothes.”

All the blood in your sistem went straight to your cheeks.

“I-I didn’t shave.” Lucas’ laugh only made you blush more.

“I was joking.” That wasn’t completely true.

He hugged you tightly, kissing the top of your head fondly.

“As a punishment, you shall give me a thousand kisses.” You lifted your head, looking at his perfectly sculpted face.

Your lips pressed against his repeatedly, making loud noises purposely. He smiled widely, his eyes turning into beautiful half moons.

“That’s alright, sweetie.” He grabbed your waist and kissed the tip of your nose. “Wanna play another round?”

(...)

You hadn’t seen Lucas for about a week. He said something about visiting his parents with his friend -your teacher- Kun. He didn’t know about your relationship yet, but he obviously suspected something.

The days went by faster than you thought they would thanks to Chenle, who’s company was always fun.

“So, are you visiting Mr. Gorgeous today?”

“Yes, and stop calling him that.” You bickered while applying mascara to your eyelashes. Chenle had payed you a visit while you were getting ready.

“Then I’ll go bother my roomate. Use protection!” He got up from your bed, walking out of your room while you blushed intensely.

Lucas welcomed you with a warm hug and lots of kisses.

“I missed my baby so much.” Soon, his kisses turned more passionate, bitting and licking your lips.

“I missed you too.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer if that was even possible. You sucked on his tongue, making his groan into your mouth.

“Bold. I like it.” He pushed you down to the couch, taking control of the kiss. “Your lips are so sweet.” The desire growing in his pants took control over his actions.

Initially, he wanted to wait for your feelings to be as strong as his to have sex with you, but after visiting his parents, he didn’t want to wait any longer.

Grinding against your core, he bit your earlobe. “You like it baby?” With your eyes closed, you nodded. “Use your words.”

“It’s weird.” A moan splipped out of your mouth.

“Is my baby still a virgin?” He knew the answer, nevertheless, hearing it from your own lips only turned him on more.

“Yes.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to play with you for a while.” His hand sneaked inside your jeans, playing with clothed core. “Don’t be shy, sweetie. Let me hear your pretty noises.”

“Xuxi?” You called out hesitantly. His eyes immediately becoming darker. “Can you use your fingers?”

“As you wish, princess.” He moved aside the fabric, his cold fingers tracing your labia. “Seems like you’re not wet enough, am I not making you feel good?” Your answer was cut off by his thumb harshly rubbing your clit. Your mouth was halfway opened, unable to make any sound. “That’s it, baby.” He murmured as his movements became easier due to the lubrication. Without stopping his previous movements, he used his other hand to completely get rid of the clothes on your inferior half. “Let’s go to my room.” You whined at the loss of contact. But he just smiled and carried you all the way to his bedroom.

“Y-your room is nice.” He smiled at your flushed face.

“I made it nice for you.” He gently dropped you at the soft mattress, proceeding to take off the rest of your clothes.

Your hands covered your boobs and your legs were crossed to hide your womanhood. Lucas stroked your exposed skin, wondering how could a human being be so perfect like you.

“Let me see you.” His pleading eyes made your body relax, allowing him to remove the hands from your breasts and untangling your legs.

He didn’t even know were to look. Every part of your body was absolutely perfect, from your angelic face to your pink lower lips, glistening with your juices.

“What a pretty pussy.” Your cheeks were burning while he left feather-light touches over your sensitive skin. “You’re absolutely gorgeous.” He kneeled in front of the bed, directly facing your core. He softly pulled your ankles so you were closer to him. Lucas pecked your lips before licking a stripe of your cunt. “My little girl is so sweet.” You squirmed as he sucked slightly on your sensitive bud.

He was throwing you over the edge with just a few kitten licks. Your mind became completely foggy when he added one of his large fingers, easily stimulating you.

“Sensitive, aren’t we?” You hummed. “Be a good girl and come for me.” You held onto his brown locks, clenching around his finger as you reached an unknown feeling.

“Lucas.” Your breathing was erratic. You felt completely weak, as if all the energy from your body had been drained, nevertheless, yo wanted more of that feeling. “I need you.”

He removed his clothing as fast as he could, aligning his thick, veiny length with your entrance. He pushed inside you slowly, your nails digging into the soft skin of his back.

“It hurts.”

“I know baby, I know.” He tried to kiss the pain away. “The next time it’ll feel better, I promise.”

The pain turned into an uncomfortable feeling, not even close to the pleasure he’d given you with his mouth and finger.

“You can move now.” He kissed your cheek, starting to roll his hips against yours, attempting to make you feel good even though he knew it was almost impossible since it was your first time.

“You feel so good baby.” He moaned. “I love you so much.”

His words were enough to wash the uncomfortableness away, replacing it with warmth.

“I love you too, Xuxi.”

You loved him, that was all he could think of. It didn’t take long for him to shoot his load deep inside you, pulling out to admire his seed dripping out of you.

“Pretty.” You felt empty, completely stretched out. “You wanna take a bath?” You nodded, making grabby hands for him to pick you up. “Let’s get my little baby cleaned up.”

(...)

“Are you gonna stay with me tonight?” He snuggled into your chest, covered by one of his big shirts.

“Of course.”

The doorbell interrupted your sweet moment. Lucas went up to get it and asked you to stay in his room.

“Hey dude.” Kun was at his front door, carrying a bag full of beers and chips. “I really feel like getting drunk tonight.” Before Lucas could even say anything, his friend was already taking his shoes off and entering the small apartment. “Can you lend me some clothes? Mine smell like sweat.” He approached the door of the bedroom.

“No!” Lucas screamed, startling you. You opened the door, completely oblivious to the situation.

“Is everything okay...?” The figure of your other teacher was right in front of you, completely pale.

“Shit, Lucas.”

[thatgoblin]

Sacrifice

Chris Redfield x Sherry Birkin fic

Summary: Chris and Sherry were on their way through the Rocky Mountains to meet up with Leon for an upcoming mission, but when they stop for the night at a quaint inn, Chris disappears in the middle of the night. The leaves Sherry to find him and rescue him from whatever may have happened to him. All the while trying to figure out how to tell him how she feels about him.

Warnings: kidnapping, cults, human sacrifice, bad puns, violence, blood.

For @lyndibs

Chris always insisted on driving. It was his one thing he did that he wouldn't let anyone else do. She figured it was a Chris thing. Kind of like how she was always had her eggs sunny side up.

In this instance she didn't mind too much. It was the middle of the night and they'd been driving for three hours already after a 12 hour plane ride from Paris. It hadn't been as romantic as it seemed at first, chasing B.O.W.s rarely is. There had been a few moments that she was sure Chris was picking up on her feelings or even reciprocating them.

But they all ended up being about something else. Like when he grabbed her hand and ran with her down the street, it wasn't because he didn't want to lose her, she had fallen behind and was nearly crushed by a flying car thrown by a tyrant. Or when he pressed them against a wall and they were so close they could feel each other's heart beat. His lips had been right there, a small push up to her toes and they would have connected. It was because they were being followed and were giving the stalker the slip.

It seemed every time she got her hopes up, they were quickly dashed away by work.

Who knew B.O.W.s could be such cock-blocks.

"Hey, I'm pulling over here for the night," Chris said, pulling Sherry from her dozing. Opening her eyes, she take a deep breath and stretched in her seat as Chris pulled into a small inn that had a 24 hour light on as well as a Vacancy sign up.

"Alright. I'll message Leon to let him know we're stopping for the night," Sherry said as she worked her head side to side to loosen her muscles up a bit. She pulled out her phone to send the other agent a message that they were stopping for a bit and would be there in the morning. In true Leon fashion he sent back a thumbs up emoji.

Sliding from the SUV, Sherry saw Chris already had their over night bags and was walking towards the office door. Jogging ahead, she grabbed the door for him, getting a nod of thanks.

"Oh, hello!" The pair were greeted by a small, older lady that had long gray hair tied back into a bun on top of her head and big, round glasses perched on her nose. "I was wondering if we'd have guests this evening. How are you two, dearies?"

"Tired," Chris said, giving her a small smile. The man of few words wasn't without respect and courtesy, especially with a grandmother aged woman. "We'd like a room for the night please. We'll be leaving in the morning."

"Okie dokie," the woman said, shuffling over to a large, leather bound book. Sherry was sure the book was bigger than the woman, but the elderly lady was able to open it with a bit of grunting. "Alright, would you like a king or a queen bed? Our Honeymoon suite is available as well if you'd like to show off for your lady friend," she said, looking at Chris expectantly.

Maybe this was it. They had never shared a bed together, so maybe Sherry could get the courage to say something with them curled up against one another. Chris was large, but he could be so gentle and she was sure he would be an amazing snuggler.

"Two doubles actually, please" Chris said, shattering Sherry's fantasy of them sharing a bed.

Damn it.

"Two doubles it is. Ah yes. Here we go. Room 12. It's just up the stairs and to the left," the woman said as she marked down room 12 as occupied. Turning to look at the wall of keys, she picked out the room key to hand to Chris. "There you go. We ask that you pay in advance in case someone isn't here for check out. It is $100 for the night." Chris pulled out his wallet to pay her, giving the woman a crisp bill. "Thank you. If someone isn't here for when you're checking out, please drop the key in box by the stairs."

"Will do, thank you for you help," Sherry said as Chris picked up the bags again then lead the way up the stairs.

"Have a good night, you two. Sleep tight! Don't let the bed bugs bite!" The woman called after them as they walked up the stairs.

"You really didn't want to share the honeymoon suite with me?" Sherry asked, meaning to tease but also to feel Chris out a bit.

"Honeymoon suites are usually cheaply made and are least likely to be cleaned properly. I'd rather take my chances with a double," Chris said.

"Then why not a king or queen?" She asked as they walked down the hall towards their room.

"Because I know you're a cover hog and kick in your sleep," he said with a soft snort.

"True. She was really nice about trying to up sale us at least. I mean usually they try to add in all the bells and whistles and it gets aggressive. She seemed like a really sweet person," Sherry said.

"Just because someone's older, doesn't mean they're a good person," Chris said as he set down a bag to open their door.

"Well, I think she was adorable," Sherry said, closing and locking the door behind them.

"I'm gonna take a shower then head to bed. I suggest doing the same. We've got another four hours of driving tomorrow," Chris said as he opened his bag to pull clothes out.

"Tell me again why we couldn't get a flight to Colorado directly?" Sherry asked with a soft sigh as she pulled out her sleep clothes.

"Budget cuts," Chris said, giving her a small, playful smirk.

"Of course. Isn't that always the case?" She said with a giggle.

Chris nodded before he turned to head to the bathroom. Once the door was closed and the shower going, Sherry changed her clothes. She had grabbed a shower at the hotel they had been out when they first landed while Chris had been in meetings nonstop.

Changed into a tee shirt and sleep shorts, she was bent over and touching her toes when Chris walked out in just a towel. Standing up straight, she missed his faltering step as his eyes had gone right to her ass.

"Forgot my shorts," he mumbled, digging in his bag again.

"You're good," she said, working her shoulders a bit as a strange scent began to fill the room. It wasn't Chris' soaps. Those weren't that strong. "Hey, what's that smell?" She said, catching Chris's attention before he shut the bathroom door. It took a second before it really hit her, making her vision swim as she stumbled towards her bed, trying to grab something to steady her.

"Sherry!" Chris cried out as he tried to get to her, but he was over taken by the sweet smell too. He got to the side of her bed before falling to the floor with a groan.

"Chris," Sherry mumbled as she fell to the floor as well, everything going black.

When Sherry woke up, her head was throbbing and she didn't know what was happening. Rolling to her back, she slowly sat up. Still in their room, Sherry looked around before realizing she was alone.

"Chris!?" She cried, scrambling up despite the headache she had. He was no where to be found. Their things were still there, but no Chris. All that was left was the towel he'd been wearing, so where could he have gone? Changing into more appropriate clothes, she found that their guns were gone as well as their knives, but they always had back ups. Digging in her bag, she pulled the zipper on the secret compartment to get to her guns, hip holsters, and knife before digging in Chris' bag for his guns and shoulder holsters to put them all on.

If Chris was gone, but the towel was still there then he'd probably need some clothes and shoes. Grabbing his bag, she extended the strap to sling the bag over her head and shoulder. Now she just had to find Chris. Her bag was useless so she left it behind as she walked out the door to creep downstairs. The old lady was still there, humming to herself as she puttered around small area behind the check in counter.

Chris had been right, just because someone was a cute, old person didn't mean they were good.

Gun drawn, she went down the stairs as the woman had her back to her.

"Turn around!" She snapped. The older woman turned around to see Sherry with a gun aimed at her head. "Where is Chris? The man that was with me, where is he?"

"Oh that Dennis," the woman frowned, grumbling like some kid had been naughty and didn't have a gun pointed at her. "I told him to take care of you, but my son said the gas would keep you knocked out longer."

"Listen lady, where's my partner!" Sherry snapped, not wanting to let her guard down.

"He's already dead, don't get your panties in a wad," the woman said with a sigh, waving her off.

"Dead? What are you talking about?" Sherry asked, refusing to believe Chris was dead. If the hoards of the undead couldn't wipe out Chris Redfield, some old lady and her son certainly couldn't.

"He was perfect for the sacrifice," the woman said. "You know, usually we get those hipsters that are so lean and gamy, but your friend was perfect for our Lord's first meal on Earth."

"Enough talking, where is Chris?" Sherry demanded, cocking her gun.

"Dennis! See, I told you that you can't lolly gag around," the woman said, looking just past Sherry.

Spinning on her heel, Sherry saw a large behemoth of a man. He was big, bigger than Chris even. His eyes were hidden behind a mess of black, stringy hair that hung around his head in a curtain as he stomped towards her with clenched fists that looked like they could be used as sledge hammers.

"Damn it," she hissed, not hesitating to fire on him. Six rounds had him stumbling to the ground as he screamed in pain.

"Dennis! My baby!" The woman cried as she launched herself over the counter at Sherry. "I'll rip your pretty, blue eyes out!" She shrieked. The woman didn't get far though as Sherry wasn't a damsel in distress and knew how to fight just as well as Chris.

"I don't think so," Sherry grunted, kicking the woman away. She was quick to get on her, pinning her down with her knee. "Where's Chris!?"

"It's too late. Our Lord Aries is on his way and soon the Earth will be cast into his red dawn and blood will rain-" Sherry pistol whipped the babbling woman, knocking her out.

"Why do they always have to talk too much?" She sighed as she stood up. Going to the counter, she moved behind it to try and see if there were any clues there. Sure enough, a squeaky, loose board could be pulled up. Under it was a button and when Sherry pushed it, the back wall with the keys slid to the side to reveal a secret staircase.

Time was running out and she couldn't risk second guessing. So Sherry kept her gun at the ready as she ran down the stairs.

There were four sets of stairs to go down and she wondered what the hell she would find at the bottom. Her question was answered when she got to the last step to found an open door way. She could hear people chanting in the next room as she crept closer to peek around the corner.

Looking into the stone room with dark archways on either side, there were at least 15 people that she could count, all dressed in dark red robes. Chris was at the front of the room, tied and gagged while nude to a pillar with wood surrounding it.

Were they going to burn him alive!? There wasn't any time to guess their end game as she heard screaming coming from above her. It was now or never.

"Hey assholes!" She cried, rushing in with her guns pulled. "That's my partner you're about to barbeque and I'm the only one allowed to roast him!"

The people turned to see her, pulling up their own weapons of staffs and large knives, but that didn't matter. Sherry was a crack shot and even running, she was able to shoot most of them if they stayed to fight or came at her. A few tried to surprise attack her, but she was not having it.

The annoyance at herself for not saying anything to Chris about them when she had the chance as well as him skipping out on them getting a king sized bed together, combined with the fact the first time she saw him naked was right then when he was trussed up like some Faye Ray wannabe ready for the rescue, it was all pissing her off. Which made it all the more satisfying to slam her fist into some idiot's face to knock him on his ass.

Once they were all lying on the floor, groaning or bleeding or dead, she hopped up through the gasoline soaked wood to Chris.

Oh, he was very naked and try as she might, she couldn't help but have seen him. 'Good luck trying not to think of that later,' she thought to herself.

"Usually you're the one pulling me out of harms way," she said, pulling her knife to cut him free. "Also brought you presents." Keeping her eyes averted, she held out the bag of clothes for him.

"Thanks, Sherry," Chris said, grunting as he took the bag then quickly dressed. "You're a life saver."

"Don't mention it," she chirped. As he pulled on his shoulder holsters and checked his gun, he looked to her.

"Look, Sherry, uh about the bed thing-"

"You bitch!"

The two of them looked towards the door to see the elderly woman standing there with a rifle.

"You ruined everything! Everything! I will do it myself!" She screamed as she raised the gun and fired it at Chris.

"Chris, no!" Sherry cried, jumping in front of him to take the bullet to her back.

"Sherry!" Chris cried out as he caught her. He pulled her gun from her hand to shoot the older woman. She tried to fire first, but Chris was faster, sending a bullet between her eyes. "Sherry, talk to me, come on," he said, laying her down on her belly as blood soaked her shirt in the back.

"It's okay," Sherry wheezed as Chris began to panic. His hands were pressing to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "Don't worry about me."

"Not happening. I'm always going to worry about you," he said, pulling his jacket off to help soak up blood. "We're gonna get out of here. I promise."

"Chris, stop. It doesn't matter," Sherry said, trying to reach for his hand.

"No, it does matter," Chris said, grabbing her hand with his bloody one in a tight grip. "You matter, Sher. Please, just hold on, okay?"

"You gotta let go of me, Chris," Sherry said, trying to take a deep a deep breath under the pressure of Chris pushing on her.

"I'm not letting you go! I can't! I won't!" He cried, refusing to let up. "Please, I can't lose you."

"Chris. . ." Sherry said softly. "I love you."

"I love you too," he said, kissing her hand. "I love you and I should have said it before now and acted like it."

"I love you, but you have to stop pressing on my back. I can't breathe," she said with a groan.

"What?" He said, frowning.

"Chris, I can heal myself, remember?" Sherry said, looking up at him as he stared down at her. "I'm fine, but you're squeezing the air out of me."

How the hell did he forget that?

"Oh, uh, sorry," he said, letting go of her. As he did, the bullet sat in the small of her back like it hadn't been inside her at all. "Well, uh. . ."

"I meant it," Sherry said as she pushed herself up to her knees in front of him. "What I said."

"Yeah?" Chris said, smiling softly. "I meant it too."

"Good, because otherwise this would have been awkward."

Sherry leaned in to kiss him, resting her hands on his chest. It wasn't hard or needy, but it was perfect for them. His lips were rough, needing balm as he pressed back against her fuller ones, cupping her face to return the affection.

"Let's get out of here and go to a Holiday Inn. I'm pretty sure there's no cults in those," Chris said after pulling away.

"Yeah, I'm gonna need a shower," Sherry said, making a face down at herself.

"I'll help if you want me to," he said, raising a brow.

"I'm sure you would," she said with a snort.

[aizawaskittenwhore]

  𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭

words:3.7k

pairing: aizawa x fem!reader

warnings: tw mention of blood, tw mentions of death, mentions of drugs in case you forgot this is a cartel au, murder, swearing, keigo being a cocky lil fucker, sexual harassment towards the end cause yakuza men suck

rating: 18+ cause shit gets real this chapter

a/n: i FINALLY FINISHED IT FUCK YES chapter two mothafuckas!!! i’ve been having so much fun brainstorming everything to come, and here you’re gonna really get a feel for how big this cartel is. player two, f/n l/n, you’re up! <3

all rights reserved ©️aizawaskittenwhore. do not copy, repost, or modify.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 ↳ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

September 13th, 2181

2:56pm

Musutafu, Japan

“Hold the fuck up. This doesn’t make any sense, I mean—these are Pros. Well known and well respected Pros, at that. The hell would they be tryna’ run a fucking cartel for?!?” Ken Takagi (more commonly known as Rock Lock) rubbed the bridge of his nose in confusion, not understanding the motive or correlation. “I mean think about it. These motherfuckers got more money than they know what to do with. Endeavor is a shareholder in goddamn Nintendo, Hawks owns his own fucking agency and line of sports cars, and I could’ve sworn I saw Eraser getting Shinsou fitted for a fucking Cuban on his birthday a few months ago. It’s not like they’re strapped for cash these days.” Ken huffed, the agent’s arms crossed as he leaned back in the conference chair.

In an attempt to try and broaden the range on your current investigation, your department recruited the help of several Pros to provide reinforcements in Japan, the States, and wherever else sales were being made. Going undercover was already plenty dangerous, and going alone was the equivalent of signing your own death warrant. Enlisting the help of Rock Lock, Ryukyu, Miruko, Fatgum, Edgeshot and plenty of others was relatively easy; these were Heroes that had experience with smugglers and narcotics-based operations, so when you’d approached them with the task at hand, they’d happily agreed.

However, some needed more convincing than others.

“Takagi. Think about it. Sure, they may not be living paycheck to paycheck, but look at the timeline.” You state, looking over your shoulder towards the holographic board displaying an interactive timeline of the investigation, including photos, invoices and even audio recordings pulled from surveillance cameras. “Two years ago, we seized a truck containing approximately 78 kilograms of crack cocaine. When we questioned the driver on where he was taking it and where he got it from, he didn’t budge. Luckily for us, the dumbass wasn’t smart enough to avoid a paper trail, leaving the insurance documents in the glove compartment when we’d taken him into custody. The insurance company was under the name “Target Lance”, but after doing some digging on the name we found out the corporation went bankrupt six months before and was eventually bought out by Chevrolet.” Pausing to return to the screen welded to the wall behind you, your hands swiped as you searched for the file reading December 5th, 2178: A live video feed of a towering skyscraper being built, the building’s name reading “Chevrolet Corvette Inc.” as it hovered above tens of stories above each worker.

“But you all haven’t heard the name Chevy in a while right? That’s because two weeks after that building was built, the hundred-million dollar company was bought out by Takami Corporate-”

“-who owns Takami Motors. Which is the brand associated with the Peregrine Speedsters, Hawks’ damned sports car line.” Ken finished for you, brown spheres twinkling in sudden clarity. “Now you’re speaking my language.” You nod, hands waving as you continue to brief the room of Pros.

“The Todoroki and Nintendo console collaboration didn’t happen until about earlier this year, March to be specific. Which is quite convenient..since around that time the price of cocaine per gram stabilized in both America and Japan, rising from $112 to $138 bucks a pop. I’m nobody to speak on looks either, but for as long as we’ve known of him, Eraser has dressed like a depressed college student with insomnia that doesn’t understand the concept of soap or a pair of clippers. Now he’s got his wife in Cartier bracelets and getting his shirts tailored because the collar “doesn’t allow him enough room for his capture weapon”?!? Bullshit.” You huff, stifling a smile as you watch Miruko and Edgeshot snicker in their seats at your...blunt observation.

“It makes sense. Three years ago all our agencies, including those overseas, started cutting our checks down by half. They can barely afford to pay us a quarter of what we used to make, and these guys are making these lavish purchases while we all starve?? No way. Something’s fishy, and it’s damn sure not this takoyaki.” Fatgum spat, hands quivering with rage as he struggled to grasp the food with his chopsticks.

“Fatgum’s right. Hero unemployment is at a staggering 8.7 percent. Meanwhile, these men are spending money like it’s going out of style. It makes no sense.” Miruko pondered, Ryukyu folding her hands in her lap as she voiced her approval for immediate action. Edgeshot nodded in agreement, brows furrowed in frustration at this blatant disregard for the law. “So we’re all in agreement that our own people have resorted to breaking the law. Cool, got it. Question is, why? And what the hell are we gonna do about it?” Ken demanded, his patience having worn thin from all this speculation.

“Good question. I think they’re trying to take advantage of the tough spot the Hero Commission is in right now, manipulate that vulnerability and use it for their own gain. They’re not invulnerable to the tough times Pros are facing in the workforce. So they’ve gotten together to try and make it work for them, even if it means breaking the law.” You query, hands typing furiously at the virtual screen to pull up the files of each Hero, displaying all the current information on them from their blood type to each known family member. “These three banding together though? Along with other people? There’s no way. They hate each other. Or at the very least couldn’t get anything done even if they did have a common goal in mind.” Edgeshot murmured lowly.

“I thought so too. But then it hit me: it’s not just some flimsy group project. Sure, crime has gone up since the formation of this cartel, but nobody who holds any rank has been murdered or harmed in any way. No no no, these guys are singing in tune for now...which means there’s a damn good choir director among them. So I’ve volunteered to go undercover, work my way through this organization and figure out just how high up this goes.” You assert, shoulders rigid and chin aloft as the harnesses of your costume frame your figure.

“Alone?? Are you outta your goddamn mind? Let me go, you’ll need back up-” Rock Lock sputters, hands fanning out in shock.

“No way. What about your wife, your kid?! This isn’t just some average drug bust, we’re dealing with powerful men in possession of superhuman abilities that have the game on lockdown. You’ve got too much to lose, more than any of us anyway. Edgeshot and I will go, we’ve seen the other side of the law before, and our quirks are better suited for stealth should anything go wrong.” You fire, eyes narrowing into slits. “The rest of you will be working in tandem with the DEA and our resources, and we’ll report back to you with all future developments. We’ll also need you to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice, if we need it.”

A thick silence clogged the air, Ken settling back into his seat across the table. His amber eyes flickered in irritation before huffing in acceptance, the situation being out of his hands. All the conference participants’ gazes fixed in determination, some with anger. The tense aura weighed on everyone present before Miruko cleared her throat, ivory teeth gleaming in a smirk.

“Well we’ve got a solid plan. So all I wanna know is...when do we start?

June 2nd, 2182

In all honesty...you thought the nickname was just a sad attempt to stroke his ego. But seeing the way over seventy commercial-size planes and approximately 30 seaplanes sat aloft balmy concrete in the Guadalajara sun showed you exactly why they called Hawks “Lord of The Skies”. Arrays of laborers with avian-oriented quirks loaded kilo after kilo of coke on to each and every plane, some by hand and others by forklift. Welders were personally hand selected by Keigo himself to eliminate the issue of utilizing every available inch of space; each vessel having been stripped of everything from the seats to the built in mini-bars (much to Keigo’s chagrin). From where you stood in the scalding hot beams, the runway seemed to extend for miles as it brimmed with visible heat-waves.

Dressed in a simple black tank top, black biker type shorts, aluminum plated gauntlets, steel toed combat boots and harnesses that encapsulated the curves of your body before coming to a stop at your thighs, you silently rejoiced in the airflow your gear allowed you in spite of the color. The bandanna atop your hairline helped to absorb some of the sweat, which was a bonus.

“Not bad for a starter fleet huh? The wingspan on these babies almost makes me jealous.” A rich and decadent voice called from your left. Sleek carmine appendages and brassy blond hair entered your peripheral vision, giving way to the man who ran the show: Keigo Takami. Adorned in a pair of low rise denim jeans that were so incomprehensibly tight they accentuated every bit of his dick (which was likely intentional), a plain white tee and ebony cowboy boots that looked like they cost three times what you make in a week; he most definitely looked the part of the People Magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive” and Playboy’s “Player of the Month” titles he’d earned. Luminous olive skin glistened with sweat, droplets sliding down the deep v neck of his shirt with ease; the way the daisy-hued fabric stuck to his crafted abdomen leaving nothing to the imagination. Tourmaline and Argentium piercings dangled effortlessly from both ears, and if you weren’t so hell-bent on putting the motherfucker in jail you would’ve had no problem admitting how attractive he really was.

“Starter fleet? You’re about to put Delta out of business, look at this shit!” You guffaw, arms folded, an eyebrow raised in astonishment at his “humble” admission. “Flattery will get you everywhere, and then some.” Keigo chuckles, breath hot against your ear the instant he bends at the waist, hands settled in his pockets with that cocky aura about him.

“-And having your damn breath against my ear in 107 degree weather will, respectfully, get you my foot up your ass. I didn’t fly down here to get treated like one of your poor interns. I came here to make money, so let’s talk it.” You lash, the climbing tempature slicing your tolerance for bullshit to shreds.

“Shit. Straight to the point huh? I like it. You wanna talk shop, say no more. Over lunch though, I’m starving out here.” Keigo clicks his teeth with a grin, escorting the two of you towards the very jet he’d arrived in. “A little unknown fact about me, usually I hate flying ”conventionally”. Gives me anxiety, and I’m awful company when I’m nervous.”

Settling into the light taupe hued cabin, you observe the not-so-subtle elements of class. Ivory shochu bottles with intricate crystalline glasses to match, the bar fully stocked with gold accents along the upholstery. Plates of costly Kobe style beef rested atop spotless porcelain, romaine lettuce coupled with grilled applewood bacon, chicken, avocado and buttermilk dressing settled into envy-inducing black marble bowls. The plane was spacious, and certainly cost a pretty penny or two. “You’re upfront, so I’ll be honest with you. As of right now, this plane is the last thing I’m worried about-” Hawks mutters lowly, dijon eyelets tapering into thin slivers.

“-It’s the Shie Hassaikai making their encore appearance, and with the Colombians at that.”

You choke on a sip of Vega Sicilia, pupils dilating at the thought. 

“Now you spoke about wanting to make some money, right?” You nod, heart rate steadily rising. 

“What if I could offer you something more? Something of...extensive value.” Keigo drawled, dark undertone flooding the air like a thick smoke.  “Like what, Takami?” You inquire.

“A seat at the table.” He shrugs, like one would if they were discussing something as trivial as ice cream flavors or Friday night plans, not the reorganization of a crime syndicate. “You’ve been workin’ for me shy of a year now right? Somethin’ like that? Anyway..”

He takes a deep, contemplative swig of the chestnut liquid, eyes boring into yours. 

“You’re efficient, and you don’t take anyone’s shit. Good help’s hard to find in our line of work, and before you know it, this little hierarchy is gonna go under some..reorganization. Only the people who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty will have a place in the new order, so I want you there.”

“What’s the catch? I’m not dumb enough to just assume this is some promotion for busting my ass.” You tread, brain working double-time to try and decipher just what Keigo’s getting at. “Clever girl. It’s a simple task, in and out.” He assures, middle and ring finger sliding a matte-finish photo across the mahogany. Displayed was Kinan Zango, a member of the Shie Hassaikai’s middle rankings shaking hands with Joaquin Fuentes, a Columbia native known for having a body count in the double digits. 

“Another fact about me: Only one thing heightens my anxiety more than planes...people who fuck with my money. This asshole Kinan’s been selling my routes to the fucking Columbians and pocketing the profits, and getting 20% of the product as a little “thank you” when he knows nobody moves coke through the Gulf other than Takami fucking Keigo. He’s becoming a problem, and I don't like those.” Kei growls, left eye twitching minutely. His nails are sinking into the polish of the wood, his energy vehemently furious.

“Take care of this for me, and you’ll be my plus one to Guadalajara tomorrow.”

The general public often made the mistake of writing Keigo off as just your average “pretty boy”. Whereas a trained eye could see that while he may be pretty, he was nobody to be tested. The sheer intellect he possesses to seek, hand-craft each and every route, assign planes to their designated locations along with alternatives should there ever be an issue? He just didn’t get enough credit. 

So he took major offense when someone had the audacity to treat his hard work as though it was theirs.

Besides.. you got a man with looks, money and bloodlust? Tch. You’ve just created a monster.

You weren’t necessarily opposed to the idea of ridding the world of another drug-dealing degenerate, but the idea of casually committing a murder as a DEA agent in a foreign country just didn't sit right with you. Undercover agents weren’t permitted a “license to kill” should the investigation call for it either, so it was between committing a murder as government agent, or declining Keigo’s request and missing out on a front row seat to the cartel’s entire operation.

The silence that followed his sentence was deafening. Ice cubes chimed loftily as they swirled around inside his glass, clear liquid sloshing around while he awaited an answer.

Your jaw sets, eyes piercing into his. 

“Consider it done.”

Blood spattered onto the pale concrete, moonlight illuminating the scarlet hues. Your knuckles throbbed with pain, the sensation blossoming through your hand as your lips curled back in a snarl, vigorously ridding your hands of the other man’s bodily fluids. 

“ If you really think coming after me for that bird brained motherfucker is gonna change anything, you got another thing fucking coming.” Kinan spat, nose steadily flowing with red. His lip was busted, face splotched with yellowing purple bruises. Tugging at his restraints he thrashed, mouth spewing white-hot venom.

“You’re talking a lot of shit for a middle-ranking yakuza who thinks some new coke routes is gonna keep the Hassaikai from dumping your body on the side of some road in Zacatecas.” You observe, sending a harsh kick between the mans ribs, steel toed boots making an audible crack. “The Japanese are like Dixie Cups to them...”‘use em’ once, then throw em’ away”, right? You’re a fool if you think your days aren't numbered once you wear out your welcome.”

“Fuck you. You’re little boy toy threw a temper tantrum, so he sent you to “take care of things”, isn’t that right?” Kinan coos, eyes softening in a mocking pout. 

“Trust me, you're not the first slut Takami’s been sticking it in that he’s sent to kill me. Only difference between you and the rest of those bitches-” He huffs, head craning back against the metal chair to let our a soft breath of laughter. “-is that you’re gonna put up a fight.”

Suddenly his bones began to shift, popping and snapping as his skin began to pool below him; you recoiled in fear watching his body slowly slip from his imprisonment like gelatin exits a mold.

“I’ve got elastic bones kid! Whatever breaks just snaps right back into place.”

Skin stretching and pulling as he regained his original form, legs sprinting towards you. Before you could fire off your Quirk’s sonic blast his grip seized the back of your neck, a blade taking residence just below your left eye; it’s tip pressing uncomfortably into your water line. 

“Now, if you're good, I’ll make it quick. Though I’m known for being pretty... through with my toys.” Kinan leers, a hand slowly slithering down your sides to reach for the muscle of your ass. 

“Go to hell, and die there while you’re at it!” You shout.

Bile creeping into your throat, you seize the momentary shift in energy, generating a small sound wave that sent Kinan a few feet to your left; giving the two of you some distance. Your Quirk allowed you to absorb sound to power-up your physical movements, or send it out in the form of sonic blasts or sound waves, so the louder the sound, the more power it gave you. Readying your fists in anticipation for combat, you silently willed for a sudden disruption in the deafening silence as he rushed back to your rigid body. 

What you didn’t anticipate was that the sudden bang that filled the air, and the lifeless body of Kinan dropping to your feet with a thud, his head...

excavated, for lack of a better word.

“Don’t you know the entire point of having backup while under cover is to... call for backup?” Edgeshot snarked, striding towards you, gun settled back into it’s holster. His foot carelessly nudged the bleeding man before removing a Polaroid camera from his knapsack and snapping a photo of the carnage.

“W-what the fuck?! Look, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful when I say this, but what the absolute fuck did you just do??? We’re government agents, in a foreign country, we can’t just fucking murder these assholes nor do we have the license to-” You sputter, brows arching in frustration.

“This was your ticket into Guadalajara. I just secured you box seats when you were this close to getting stuck in the damned nosebleeds. I believe the correct words you’re looking for are thank you.” Kamihara snaps, shoving the photo into your hand. 

“We’re in a world completely different from our own. It’s forgiveness first, and permission later down here. I don’t like it either...but it’s just the way things are.” He sighs, hanging his head while his shoulders settled like the solar system rested on them. 

“I’ll take care of this. Now take that to Hawks, and don’t you dare fuck it up. Don’t let me have killed this poor asshole in vain.” 

You nod, stepping over Kinan’s body. 

Good riddance.

“Thank you, by the way.” You putter. Kamihara returns the sentiment with a nod, before turning to the corpse before him, phone raised to his ear as he spoke with whoever was on the opposite line, eyes that were once grey now swam with deep scarlet.

“Excellent work! I won’t lie, I had a feeling you were hardcore, but damn, this is some seamless shit! You deserve my praise.” Keigo beams, pearly teeth sparkling in the light of the cabin. Nodding in acceptance you grasped his hand upon his offering, permitting him to escort you towards your respective aircraft.

“Well, a promise is a promise. And if nothing else, I’m most certainly a man of my word. Meet me at this airstrip same time tomorrow, 8am. Pack light, Mexico’s a bitch in the summer, though you already know that.”

“Got it. Pleasure doing business with you, Hawks.”

“Call me Keigo, if you want. I hate all the formal shit, long as we got respect, that's all I need.” He shrugs.

“Understood. See you tomorrow, Keigo.” You affirm, climbing the ladder to your jet, body visibly relaxing at the thought of rest.

“Wait--before you go, I wanted to ask ya. What’s with the whole ancient hieroglyphics tat you got goin on, on your spine? It just looks familiar, is all.” He queries.

Home.

November 12th, 2174.

“Y/N! I found somethin’! It’s this super cool protection rune I found in grandma’s things. Check it out! It wards off all evil, and whoever’s in possession of it can, like, balance their energy with the divine power.”

“You’re such a hippie, I swear to god.” You grin.

“Don’t hate because my chakras are balanced and yours aren’t, bitch.” She grinned, index and thumb coming together to flick your forehead. 

“At least take it with you for your exam, for good luck! Pleaseeeee! I think it’ll really help.” Her doe eyes melting your steely resolve. You could never deny her, those eyes constantly solidifying her role as the younger sister. 

“...Only if you’ll clean my room for me when I come back for Christmas.” You demand, an eyebrow raised in mirth.

“Deal.”

And even though you never did admit it to her, that tiny piece of paper tucked into your bra did more for you during that exam than any late night cram session ever could’ve.

“It’s a protection rune. To ward off all evil energies, spirits and all that shit.” You mutter.

“Hm. Looks like it works, seeing how well tonight panned out for ya. Could use me one, would probably keep old man Todoroki out my fuckin’ hair.” He chuckles, hands releasing from the railing as he threw you a wave.

“But I wouldn’t worry too much about tomorrow, anyway. I got a feeling you’re gonna fit in just fine with us.” He smirked.

Ah.

If only that were true, Keigo.

taglist! : @liliesoftherainmain @therealwalmartjesus

[rochiomaru]

Destiny

I am on the Numancia, sailing towards Mariejois. Just the thought of that place causes bile to burn the back of my throat. I spit over the side of the boat and grimace in distaste. If there was ever an epitome for the tragedy that has befallen me in my lifetime, it is found within its walls. I swing my head back and roll my shoulders as a wide sneer plasters itself on my face. I begin to laugh as I think of the fools living there, and the Marines I am on my way to meet within its gates.

Despite the bitter taste in my mouth, a smile finds its way on my face while I consider the events of the last couple of years since Rosinante’s betrayal. I still cannot stand to be in the snow to this day, but do manage to find my way to Minion island at the same time each year since he died. I can feel that wretched heat that always threatens to fill my eyes when I think of my broth… of the traitor lying on the frozen ground. I try to tell myself that my chest tightening and the sudden tightness of my throat is simply anger. I know it’s a lie, but that will have to be sufficient until I return there next time.

As my ship comes closer to the harbor, I can see that other ships have already docked within the walls surrounding the city. It surprises me that they would allow so many pirates into such proximity to such a supposedly holy place. I realize that these pirates are essentially held out as dogs on leashes, but even a trained dog can still bite its owner, should the mood strike it. The thought of the shichibukai turning on the marines makes me laugh as I picture bloody corpses and gore splattered along the pristine walls of Mariejois.

Once the Numancia has properly anchored and I give word to my crew that I am disembarking, I use my strings to fly the last few hundred meters to the shore. I see no need to entrust my family to the marines, even if I do hold all the cards in this particular game. I have been burned once by these bastards; they shall not get the chance to do it again. Until I know more about what being a warlord entails, my ship will stay outside of the walls.

Once I land on the dock, I see Sengoku and Tsuru standing there with about a dozen marines. I stop to stretch my arms over my head and crack my neck. I want them to realize exactly who it is they are up against, if they are planning an attack. I am fairly certain this was not a trap, as the invitation to join the warlords did not come from this loser. I have spoken with people, much higher up the ranks than Sengoku. He is, after all, simply their puppet. I begin to laugh at the thought and walk towards them slowly. If they are in a hurry, they can come to me.

The one they call “the Budda” confronts me first. He has the same look of hatred that Rosi...the Commander had that day as he stops me from getting closer to the entryway. I stop and look down at him, though I must admit the jackass isn’t that much shorter than me, but enough that I can smirk and allow some haki to push against him. Since submerging myself more into the underworld after that incident, I have found even greater information about my enemies. It’s quite useful what power and intimidation can buy. Now that my bloodlust is fully unleashed, no one is willing to stand against the Joker. Several marines were more than helpful in giving me details as to how my former brother came to be raised by this man and set against me.

I lean forward and speak, “Greetings, Fleet Admiral. How thoughtful of you to come and welcome me.” I cock my head to the side and let my tongue fall out as the sarcastic words practically drip with venomous undertones. My mind is beginning to scream and my thoughts are hard to control, but I have come to accept my own madness these past couple of years. Though I plan to burn the world, and these fools with it for what they have done, I can bide my time.

His face turns a beautiful shade of purple as anger wells within him. A vein becomes visible on his temple and he grits his teeth while he slowly begins to speak, “Captain Donquixote, of the Donquixote Pirates. Welcome to the Royal Shichibukai…”

I watch in amusement and he appears to begin choking somewhat. A half sobbing noise comes from within the man’s throat before he coughs and forces out the next sentence. “Your bounty of 340,000,000 is hereby exonerated.” 

I spy a solitary tear in his eye and cannot control the laughter that comes from my chest. I am so enraged that I want to slaughter everyone on this damned island. How dare he act like the victim?! This is the fucking bastard that set my precious brother against me and forced me to remove him from this life! I have no biological family to speak of due to this piece of trash in front of my face! And he has the utter gall to consider himself the one wronged?

The laughter comes louder and deeper from within me and soon I am doubled over with it. I have to laugh to keep myself from flying into a murderous rampage. The time to massacre this vermin has not come yet. However, I do not think Sengoku appreciates my benevolence. The harder I laugh, the more outraged he becomes.

Finally he screams and begins to shimmer. His body is morphing as he grows and turns golden, and his men take arms against me. My laughter stops instantly, as if cut by a blade. Quicker than anyone’s eye can see, I engage my strings and every man he has is strung in the air by their throat. My smile is gone, and I hold my right hand outward with slender fingers extended. Tsuru keeps calm and steps between myself and the Budda, all of our eyes look upwards to the struggling soldiers as blood begins to drip softly from the wounds digging into their tender flesh.

“Do not test me. I did not come here to fight, but I will finish this,” I inform them coldly, leaving no room for doubt as to my power. The voices I have come to live with and that own my soul are screaming to end the lives of the men hanging from my strings. They push me to make an example of these rats for having attempted to strike out against me without provocation. My teeth are grinding tighter and faster as I lose myself in the chaos within my own tormented mind, and my fingers begin to curl which causes the threads to tighten their hold on the men.

Tsuru puts her wrinkled hand on my arm and I hear a slight gasp come from her lips, but suddenly everything goes quiet within my mind. I search for the demons that haunt me every moment, but they seem to have withdrawn from my consciousness. Slowly I meet her eyes and she says softly, “You are not what I imagined you to be, brat.” I swallow a lump in my throat as a warm feeling settles in my chest. Though they really look nothing alike, there is something in her brown eyes that reminds me of my mother. 

The moments seem to tick off endlessly as we consider one another and she then admonishes in a louder voice, “Maybe you should quit with these games and we can get to business, eh?” The fearlessness of this old woman as she looks me in my face amuses me greatly and I smile at her. I drop my hand, causing the soldiers to fall from the sky. I can’t help but to chuckle at the sounds of them moaning while trying to stand and see to the superficial cuts and bruises on their worthless necks. It isn’t like I did any permanent damage.

"Anything for you, grandmother,” I chirp while blowing the older woman a kiss. She grunts and rolls her eyes at me, but I am sure I see a small smile in the corner of her mouth. I cannot help but to like her, and offer her a smile in return. She is so very interesting, and I think these meetings may not be nearly so dull if she is involved. 

Sengoku, on the other hand, still looks like he wants to kill me. The smile fades from my face and I clench my hands at my sides. She notices my change and quickly turns towards him. “Come on, you old fool! It’s time to start the meeting,” she snaps while grabbing a hold of his collar, causing him to bend forward. She then drags him behind her and into the building, the marines staggering after them.

I watch the door they disappeared through and continue to stew about the confrontation with that bastard. If it wouldn’t be so damn inconvenient to my plans, I would use my strings to strangle the life out of Sengoku here and now! However, I know that with this meeting to officially make me one of the Royal Shichibukai, I will have to have more interactions with him similar to the one we just experienced. 

The only joy I get is knowing the influence I hold over the Elder Stars. To watch that piece of shit have to bow to my whims simply because of who I can make a call to if he displeases me, almost makes all of this worth it. I cannot help but to laugh at the thought of him pissing himself in fear at what the Stars may do to him or his underlings if the Elders are pushed too far, or pressed with the right information. Perhaps Sengoku shouldn’t have turned the Commander against me, hmmm? Fucking bastard.

I take a few more deep breaths and close my eyes. I notice that the voices have returned to my mind, and though the reprieve was amusing, I revel in the chaos beginning to swarm in my mind. I have lived with it for so long, that I honestly don’t know how to react to life without them now. After a few more breaths, I realize it’s time to move on. I head into Navy Headquarters.

In the time it takes to enter the building and walk the hallway to where I am to meet the others, I prepare myself for whatever may come once I enter the room with the Warlords. Though I fear none of them, I know they are all powerful pirates and need to be on guard for any possible plots against myself or my family.

With a wide grin in place, I enter the room. It is time to step into the next phase of my destiny.

[phantoms-lair]

I’ll Face Myself Part 3

Woot, actually got it out in time for the new video!

As Lewis entered the cave it began to fade around him, leaving him in a much smaller and narrower space, the rip being the only thing that stated the same.

“Lewis you need to stop antagonizing him.” Lewis opened his mouth to argue but Mystery cut him off. “He didn’t take Arthur to the actual place he died, he turned this truck container into a recreation of it. He’s powerful enough to warp reality, so badly it tore a hole in space and time. He’s powerful and unhinged and you need to be more careful.”

Lewis swallowed and nodded. As much as he wanted to dig some more at the wraith’s stupidity, it showed it didn’t think of collateral damage and there was an injured Vivi out there. Bracing himself, he exited the back of the truck. But whatever he was expecting, it paled in the face of what he was seeing. 

Kingsmen’s was a place he’d been countless times before. But it was currently a warzone. The van was crashed into the side of the building. Vivi was injured on the ground, clutching a sword. Lance was standing over her, the smoke from his shotgun showing he’d just fired it.

What he’d shot was a strange plant lady, half her face missing but rapidly regrowing. She was fighting off what looked like a giant Mystery and the Wraith with an oversized pair of shears.

It was almost too much to take in, so Lewis focused on the important part. If Vivi was still on the ground while this was going on she was definitely hurt. He ducked over to where she was, ready to carry her away in the confusion.

“Wha-Lewis?!” Lance asked in disbelief. “Where the devil have you been, boy?”

“I don’t know, apparently undead and out of my freaking mind?” Lewis couldn’t keep his panic out of his voice. Vivi was nowhere near as bad as Arthur was, but she still looked like she’d been knocked around a bit.

“Have you seen Arthur? I can’t find him.” Lewis was sure Lance had wanted to ask a whole bunch of other questions, but of course that one took priority.

“Apparently Anger Issues over there accidentally ripped a hole into the past and future Arthur fell out of it. My Vivi and Arthur are taking him to the hospital. Mystery and I stayed behind to distract the wraith.”

“Hospital?” Vivi tried her best to sit up. “Lemme up. I need to get to Arthur.”

“Oh don’t worry, we’re getting you to the hospital as soon as we can.” He glanced up. “Do you think we can sneak her out?”

“Not sure. The plant lady was pretty focused on her.” Lance huffed.

Lewis glanced around. There wasn’t much cover, besides the truck he had emerged from (and damn, apparently the chaos had overwhelmed Mystery. He was just sitting in front of the trailer and staring). “The rip is in the truck. If we can get Vivi there, we can go back to the present and hopefully lose her.”

“That’s where Arthur is?” Vivi asked hopefully. “It is,” Lewis confirmed. 

He and Lance helped her up and led her towards the portal when the plant lady gave a sudden shriek and rocketed towards them, blades first. Lewis pulled in front of him and curled around her. He only hoped those shears weren’t powerful enough to go through him and into her.

A blur of white and red whooshed past him as Mystery, the one who’d come with him, collided with the plant lady. Only now he was the size of a small horse with far too many tails.

Apparently the canine who has been fighting the tree lady didn’t just look like Mystery.

Speaking of, the tree lady seemed shocked by a second Mystery and was thrown off enough that the wraith and his Mystery was able to drive her back. The older, more injured Mystery limped toward them. He stared at Lewis a moment. “Time Travel?” he asked. “Thanks to my idiotic future self.” Lewis grumbled.

“Future self?” Lance turned an incomprehensible look on him. Apparently they hadn’t put it together that the rampaging wraith was his ghost. “You’ve been trying to hurt Arthur?” Vivi’s voice was a growl, fierce despite the fact that she couldn’t stand on her own. “You know I would never- Father Wennel.”

Vivi’s face cleared immediately. “Oh...oh that makes sense.”

“What makes sense?” Lance’s tone was dark. “Father Wennel was a priest whose church was a station on the Underground Railroad. He was caught and tortured for other locations, but died rather than give them up. Because of his violent death he came back as a wraith - and immediately attacked his former comrades.” Vivi explained.

“All he could remember about his death was their names and locations, the information he was trying to hide.” Lewis continued. “And in his altered state mistakenly believed the information was of the people who killed him. So if I died violently while worried about Arthur-” “And Arthur lost his arm the same time you disappeared.” Lance finished sadly. He glanced at the burning wraith.

“Don’t pity him.” Lewis said heatedly. “That thing used to be me, but it isn’t anymore. It’s dangerous and will stop at nothing to hurt Arthur. It needs to be put down. If we’re lucky it and the tree lady will take each other down.”

“No chance of that.” Mystery said grimly. “He is exceptionally powerful for a ghost, especially for a new ghost, but Shiromori is on a whole different level. I know no way to permanently defeat her, and the only one who can stop her, even temporarily, is Vivi.” “Me?” she asked, surprised.

Mystery nodded. “She was sealed away by your ancestor centuries ago. You could redo the sealing-” “How?” Vivi demanded. “-by driving your ancestor’s blade through her.” Mystery finished. Vivi shot him a look. “Two problems with that. One, I have no clue where it is, two I can barely stand much less wield it.” “The first is not a problem, it can be summoned. The second is more pressing.” “Which is why we should continue with the getting out of here,” Lewis pointed out. He tried to pull her towards the truck, but a wall of plant matter burst through the pavement blocking their path. “Makes sense, if I’m the only one who can stop her, she won’t let me go.” Vivi gritted her teeth. “Okay, Mystery how do I summon the blade?” “You must speak its name.” Mystery leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. Vivi nodded. “Okay, big guy, can you support me? I need you to be my framework.”

“No problem.” Funny, though, it was usually Arthur who called him Big Guy. He leaned down, supporting her weight on his arms. He closed his hands around hers, steadying the bat she was holding like a sword. “Thanks,” she said, then shouted something in Japanese. 

Lewis couldn’t understand it, but it apparently infuriated the tree lady, who abandoned her fight with his Mystery and his ghost, and made her charge towards them.

“Lunge forward when I say.” Vivi instructed. She gripped the bat tighter, causing Lewis to improve his grip around her.

Tree lady’s shears was uncomfortably close when Vivi shouted “Now!* along with something else in Japanese. The previously blunt bat glowed and extended into a blade, right through the enemies chest.

The monster looked shocked and horrified. She dropped her shears as the excess vegetation shriveled and died. The shears fell from her grasp as her body shrunk in on itself until there was nothing left but a twisted vaguely human shaped tree.

“Holy fuck.” Vivi whispered, staring at the tree.

Lewis’s Mystery collapsed in relief, shrinking back to a dog, while the future Mystery nuzzled Vivi. “You did amazing.”

“You have so much explaining to do buster.” Vivi breathed heavily. “But not now. We got to go through that tunnel and find Arthur.” “*ArThUr…”

Oh yeah. That. “Get over it!” Lewis snapped, forgetting what Mystery had told him about not antagonizing the wraith. You know the story of Father Wennel, Vivi told us ages ago even in my time. You know Arthur would never want to hurt me, especially not for as stupid a reason as that.” “Of COURSE I know about Father Wennel!” The wraith snapped back. “But he couldn't remember his death. I very clearly remember Arthur laughing as I fell to my death. And then having the nerve to ‘look’ for me as if he didn’t know what he’d done.” “He didn’t!” the older Mystery protested, drawing the attention of everyone there. “I changed my mind.” Vivi said shortly. “Start talking.”

The kitsune looked visibly uncomfortable. “It was my fault. I wasn’t fast enough. The demon in the cave took Arthur’s body for his own and killed Lewis before I could move. The only way I could get it out was taking his whole arm off.”  Mystery was whining through the story, the memory clearly causing him pain.

That was a lot to unpack. Lewis glanced around. He couldn’t see Vivi clearly from the angle he was holding her at, but his own Mystery was looking clearly horrified and Lance looked shocked, but also angry at the kitsune (if Lewis had to guess, for being the one who dismembered his kid).

“That sounds too convenient.” The Wrath growled.

“That sounds the opposite of convenient,” Lewis shot back.

“Arthur pushed me!” The Wraith shouted. “He killed me with a smile! Why is everyone making excuses for him?”

“Why are you making excuses for it to be him?” Vivi met the wraith’s gaze with calm certainty. “I know who you are now and I know Arthur. And at one point you knew him too.” Vivi tilted her head up and looked at the Lewis holding her. “I’ve seen how far Arthur would go for you, he cares more for you than for himself. So why are you so determined for Arthur to be the villain in your story?”

“Because he is, why can’t you see that?” The golden locket thumped on his chest in a way that looked painful. From the cracks in it purple flames seemed to lick out from the inside.

~

She was gone. The demon let itself relax at last. It had been annoying for her to show up right as he had finally freed himself from that cave. He didn’t know if she had left or been slain, but he was leaning towards the former. Now he could come out of hiding and continue.

It wasn’t hard to find the kitsune. He was leaking power and nearer by than could be hoped. It skittered as fast as it could manage toward the beast. There. And what luck, he was damaged too. There were others, some mortals and the ghost of that one boy it had killed the last time it had almost claimed a host, but they were inconsequential. Mortals were powerless and such a newly formed ghost would hardly be better.

True, it’s own strength was diminished enough that it would need to kill the kitsune before it took him as a host, but for trapping it in this arm, it was more than willing.

There, it was distracted, Now was the time.

~

The Wraith’s attempts to cast doubt on Arthur’s character was interrupted by the older Mystery screaming as something green latched onto his throat. Five thin splotches of blood began to stain his fur.

“Mystery!” Vivi called out, trying to run to him, but having her knees buckle under her.

Lewis continued the charge, yanking the thing off Mystery’s next. Then he saw what he was holding and flung it away with a scream.

It was an arm, green but not with the color of rot. The nails had become black talons now liberally coated in Mystery’s blood and a single eye stared out hatefully from the palm. But the worst thing from Lewis’s perspective was the dirty worn wristband around it’s wrist. He knew that wristband, had bought it himself as a gift for his friend.

This was Arthur’s arm.

“There,” Older Mystery gasped. “..is your killer.”

“You…” The Wraith stared at the arm, and Lewis knew he must have recognized it the same way he did. “What are you going to do about it?” taunted the demon within, in a voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

And then there was fire. So much purple fire that Lewis pulled Lance and Vivi in close to try and protect them and both Mysterys stood protectively in front him. The flames devoured everything, rendering the arm into ashes as well as the demon inside. The tree that used to be a monster was unaffected, but the shriveled remains of vines and such went too. All the while the wraith screamed.

Soon there as nothing left to burn, but he continued screaming. His form flickered, first into Lewis’s face on the wraiths form, then as he was currently, and finally covered in blood with gaping gory  holes in his torso and head. The screams changed too, from anger to fear and pain. The Locket was thumping like a heartbeat, with flames blasting out of it and shard flying off.

“He’s destroying himself,” The older Mystery realized. “He was formed from a hatred of Arthur and a desire to avenge himself. He’s done the latter and now knows Arthur is innocent of any wrongdoing. His power is turning itself inward.”

“That’s why he couldn’t believe Arthur was innocent.” the younger Mystery added. “His very existence depended on Arthur being guilty.” The two looked at each other then nodded and charged into the flames.

Lewis felt his heart jump into his throat and Vivi actually cried out, but the flames didn’t seem to touch either of them. Spells flowed simultaneously from both their mouths as they wove a sealing spell around the wraith. The flames vanished, leaving only silence and a badly damaged locket sitting still on the pavement.

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 19

Do Dead People Have Therapists?

By the time Ichigo was standing over Hiyori, her throat caught between two blades, there’s a thin sheet of sweat across his brow and his sleeves are long ripped off by her weapon. It’s a serrated butcher's blade, which fits Hiyori perfectly. 

She was stronger than Ichigo expected, and he can feel blood drying along his arms from where it's been stopped from flowing out of him, now white instead of black. He mentally thanks Tensa. 

Ichigo’s knee is on her stomach, keeping her pinned in place as if his blades weren’t enough for it. Her sword sticks out of the ground a few yards away. The rest of the Visord are watching from the sidelines, tense and ready to intervene save Shinji. Ichigo’s servants are much the same on the other side. They’re too protective of him. 

Not that they don’t have their reasons.

The first time they’d seen the mask that is slowly dissolving from his face he’d wrought destruction and nearly died right after. He knows they don’t like it, but it’s his power and he won’t give Nieve up for anything. 

It’s still disconcerting when he pulls it on. The shift of the world snapping into intense focus and the feeling of perfect balance and power coursing through him. There’s a pressure in his head that’s not painful but present, when Nieve is at the forefront. 

As the last flicker of bone falls from his face Ichigo falls against the ground away from Hiyori, his energy drained away. This was going to take some getting used to. But this time he’d lasted a full two minutes by his own estimate. It’s better than it was before. 

Even if it was only by thirty seconds. 

“Now can we be done with this bullshit?” Ichigo asks, casting an irritated scowl out at the other Visored.  

None of them seem inclined to challenge him further. There’s a man he hadn’t seen before, with pale pink hair, who is staring at his entourage with a little too much attention. 

A throat clears in front of him and Ichigo looks up to see Hirako standing over him. His smile is half quirked, not the strange, toothy grin he’d had before. He looks more genuine like this, and less like he’s trying to involve Ichigo in something seriously shady. 

His hand is extended down towards him while the other girl, Lisa, helps up Hiyori. 

Ichigo huffs and slides Tensa back into his sleeve before he takes Hirakos hand and uses him to pull himself up. His body protests and he’d like nothing more than a nap, but by the way everyone is starting to gather around him it’s looking like that’s going to be out of the question this time. 

Great. 

* 

Ichigo doesn’t know when it happened but at some point he became the king of ‘making doctors sleep’. 

It’s a crown he’d rath chuck in the ocean, but it’s one he wears all the same. 

In Chaldeas he’s the one who always bullies Romani into sleeping even when it means dragging him into Ichigo’s own bedroom. He’s made other medical staff leave their stations, and forced Da Vinci to take breaks when they were together, heroic spirit or not. (nevermind that she’s not a doctor. Close enough)

Now, it seems, his luck runs true because he finds Jeckyll passed out over a stack of papers that look like chemistry formulas and equations. 

Ichigo hadn’t gotten that far into school when he’d gone to Chaldeas, and he’s learning more mage craft than science now, so he couldn’t tell you what anything meant if you pointed a gun to his head. 

Still, he knows a sleeping scientist when he sees one. 

He shakes him gently by the shoulder. “Hey. C’mon, you can’t sleep here,” he chides. 

There’s not response besides and grumble and Jeckyll reaching to turn his gas lamp down and almost knocking it off the desk entirely. 

Ichigo manages to save them from a fiery death just barely, but it’s clean that Jeckyll doesn’t want to get up and move. 

Damn it. 

The things I do for my friends. 

Ichigo pulled the chair out and picked Jekyll up easily. He barely weighed a thing already, compared to Ichigo who had been fighting for well over a year now on top of most of his life. 

Ichigo takes him to his room, out of the study and up the hall before he deposits him in the sheets. 

It’s when he’s pulling back to stand that he feels cool steel against his upper thigh, right over an artery. 

He looks down to see bright red eyes. Hyde. 

* * 

Medusa and Achilles did not want to let Ichigo be alone with these people. Not even remotely. Ichigo insisted, after Hiyori finally calmed down and got something for the inevitable bruises that would form from Medusa’s attack. 

Ichigo was, naturally, completely ignored. 

Cu might have let him alone and trusted him enough to mind himself now that he could fight, but when the other two ganged up on Ichigo he threw his lot in with them. 

The filthy traitor. 

Ichigo sits on the couch in their living room area with Achilles to his left, medusa to his right, and Cu sits at his knee. It’s a wonderful show of force, except now no one is talking about anything, even though there’s clearly a lot to talk about. 

“So,” Ichigo says at last, “Why did you want me here so badly again?” 

It’s not the best ice breaker, but he can’t think of anything else. Shinji looks off put from where he’s sat beside Hiyori on the opposite couch from Ichigo. Two of the other Vizord took up residence in chair to left, a pretty boy with blond hair and the long fingers of a pianist and a gruff looking man with his hair shaped vaguely like a star. 

The pair on the couch was joined by a serious woman reading porn. A love seat on the other side of it had been moved to hold a gruff man who reminded Ichigo far to much of EMIYA and a green haired girl who looked ready to bounce away into the sky. 

“Your mask,” Hiyori snapped at him, “You told Shinji something stupid about your mask.”

“I told him the truth about my mask,” Ichigo corrected instantly. “What’s so weird about it? Didn’t you guys have to do the same thing?” 

“No,” Kensei said bluntly. “We didn’t just ‘talk’. We fought.” 

“...I mean, I did that too, but we were just playing.” 

“Playing?!” Hiyori sputters at him. “Playing! A hollow inside your brain and you played with it!” 

“Well shit, what did you do?” Ichigo finally demands, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at her. “He’s just me, right? A part of me. Like an arm or a leg or something more profound I don’t wanna think about right now.” 

“They are a part of ya,” Hirako admits reluctantly. “But inner hollows chew away at yer sanity piece by piece, just waitin ta devour you. They want out, they wanna kill, they wanna fight they want to take possession of everything ya have. They’re the darkest parts of ourselves, and if ya don’t beat them down and lock them away-” 

“Huh?!” Ichigo stares at him. Beat them down and lock them away?! 

“-They’ll come back and keep tryin’ shred your psyche. Ya make one wrong more, one slip up, let that box open even a crack and it’s over.” 

Ichigo and Hirako stared at each other for a long time. Ichigo leans forwards, steepling his fingers together. 

“Okay,” he says slowly, picking apart what the fuck was just said to him. “You are telling me that you have taken the darkest parts of you, the parts that you don’t like -anger, pain, desperation, every vicious killer instinct inside your body- You’ve taken the personification of them, and you’ve stuffed them into a box where you don’t have to deal with them anymore.” 

Ichigo looked straight at him. 

“Do dead people have therapists? Because you should really see one.” 

Hirako gaped at him. Ichigo had to duck one of Hiyori’s sandals. 

“Would you stop that! Damn, violent women,” Ichigo grumbled. “That’s like the worst coping mechanism ever. You don’t take all you trash, shove it in a closet, and think it’s just magically gone. Eventually it’s all gonna come back out, and now it’s hella rotten. What the hell.” 

‘Did you just call me trash?!’

‘I will say it again. Watch me.’ 

‘I’m still you, idiot!’

‘This is very strange,’ medusa cuts in. 

“There’s not other way to do it,” Rose, the pretty boy, says mournfully. 

Ichigo shoots him a look. “There clearly is. Since I didn’t lock Nieve anywhere and we’re just fine where we are… Ya ever read that book, Jekyll and Hyde?” 

Rose, Hirako, Lisa, and Hachi nod at him. 

“Yeah. Trying to rid yourself of parts you don’t like doesn’t usually end well.” 

He had the scar on the leg to prove it. 

“How did you do it then?” Kensei finally demands, looming over Ichigo. “You can’t really expect us to believe that you just talked.” 

“It’s not my problem if you believe me or not,” Ichigo is seriously starting to lose his temper here. “I told you what happened. He’s me, he’s always been me. He’s my fear, he’s my desperation, he’s my deepest instincts.” 

“I’ve always trusted my instincts, even if I don’t listen to them all the time. It’s the same concept.” 

They’re staring at Ichigo like he’s just disproved gravity or something. 

Ichigo sighs heavily. 

“Can I leave now? I have other things to do, you know.” 

Before he gets the chance though the world tilts with a brand new pressure. A void and a violent rage slam into Ichigo’s senses. 

“...Are you fucking with me?” Ichigo demands, his temper coming closer and closer to snapping. 

* * * 

Ichigo can feel blood slowly leaking out of the shallow cut on his thigh. It’s barely an inch away from killing him and Hyde is staring up at him, his red eyes wild. 

Ichigo slowly pulls his hands away from him. 

“Sorry,” he says blandly, “Did I scare you?” 

“No!” Hyde snaps, digging the knife a little further. For a berserker he is remarkably accurate. Is it Jekyll’s knowledge seeping in? Ichigo’s not sure how they work entirely. How much does Jekyll remember? How much down Hyde? 

“Good,” Ichigo goes with it. He doesn’t show fear. Hyde might get off on that. Or be more temped to stab him. Ichigo’s not sure which one. “Wanna put the knife away?” 

“Fuck you,” Hyde snaps. Ichigo throws him off balance. Others flinch in warranted fear. Ichigo treats him like he does Medusa. 

Something else catches Ichigo’s attention. 

He reaches out, and Hyde doesn’t stab him deeper when he runs his fingers through his wild hair. 

“How does that work?” Ichigo asks abruptly. “I get that you change. You’re broader than Jekyll and stronger too. Your eyes are different. But how does your hair change that much without even touching it? What all changes?” 

The knife slowly eases out of his leg and a new light enters Hyde’s bright red eyes. 

He starts to grin, predatory. “Do you really want to find out? I love breaking in Jekyll’s things before he gets the chance to.” Ichigo can’t tell if he’s being flirted with or threatened. Maybe both. Probably both. 

Ichigo’s fingers twist in Hydes hair and he yanks his head back until Hyde hisses. “Don’t call me a thing,” he chides. 

Hyde grabs him by his shoulders and throws him sideways onto the bed. 

Ichigo realizes he’s going to have to get a little rougher if he wants Hyde to behave himself. 

Fine then. He can do rough. 

* * * *

By the time Ichigo reaches the clearing in the park Chad is unconscious on the ground and Orihime is standing defensively in front of him, her fairies floating around her in four points. Chad is laid out, his arm slowly piecing itself together again under Orihime’s healing dome while her three pronged shield barely holds to another attack. 

Ichigo doesn’t waste time. He’s come in from behind and he uses it to his advantage. The big one doesn’t notice him, but the smaller of the pair glances over his shoulder in time to watch Ichigo vault himself up and over the big ones head so he can use gravity when he swings down and drops with every intention of cleaving him in two. 

Zangetsu sings in his hands, Neive shrieking his delight inside his soul. The blade cuts deep, but it’s like cutting through stone instead of flesh. 

Ichigo bounced back, his eyes locked on the pair, and lands next to Orihime. 

“Hey,” he nods to her, “Good job.” 

Orihime flushes pink at the praise and looks away from him, but not away from their opponents. She’s too smart for that. 

“Not really. I tried to attack before, but he’s really strong. Tsubaki got hurt…” 

“Sometimes that’s how  it goes,” Ichigo says solemnly. “Watch my back?” 

She nods. 

The giant is screaming at Ichigo, curses that spit with no harm. What does he care what these people think of him? Ichigo eyes him speculatively. He’s not that worried about this one though. The smaller one is stronger, power packed into his body. Ichigo eyes them. Broken hollow masks and a zanpakutou. They’re some kind of hollow. A hybrid, too. The opposite of a Visord? Drosiv? 

“Ulquiorra,” the giant finally stops screaming to look at his companion. “Is this the one? The one with the orange hair and the sword as long as he is?” 

The smaller one, Ulquiorra, eyes Ichigo with disinterest. “Yes. That’s the one.” 

“Who sent you?” Ichigo asks, ignoring Neive snarling for release. He wants blood, and Ichigo is inclined to give it to him. Orihime is strong, she’s stood her ground but her hands are still shaking and Chad- 

His arm is in bad shape. If it were anyone other than Orihime treating him Ichigo might think he’s going to lose it. 

“I’ll kill you!” the giant snarled instead of answering. 

Ichigo swings upwards. A sharply concentrated Getsuga Tenshou tears through his arm entirely, finishing what Orihime had started. Vengeance for his fallen friend. Barely a minute into the fight and his opponent is down an arm, cut nearly in two, and bleeding profusely. 

“Damn you!” he snarled. 

Ulquiorra eyed his companion coldly. “You’re struggling. Shall I step in, Yammy?” 

“Shut up!” Yammy snapped at him. He grabbed his sword and clicked it out of its sheath. 

‘Cu, is the Bounded Field in place?’ 

‘It’s all ready for you. No one outside the park will notice anything amiss, even if you blow something up. A couple of yer friends are comin, though.” 

“That’s fine. Thanks.” 

“I wish you’d let us fight with you,” Medusa grumbled. 

“I know. But I want to do this on my own for now. If it looks like I’ll die,save me okay?”

She huffed, but he knew he’d already won that fight. 

Ichigo tilted the point of Zangetsu up and shifted his footing. 

“Now that I’ve taken your arm,” he said suddenly. “Let’s make a deal.” Before his friends showed up. 

“Fuck you.” But Ichigo wasn’t talking to Yammy. 

He was looking at Ulquiorra. While Yammy felt like fury, all rage stuffed into a body that was still somehow too small to hold it all in, Ulquiorra felt like a night itself. Cool and vast, he was several dozen times stronger than Yammy. Ichigo could stand toe to toe with him, but a victory would be hard fought if it came. 

Ulquiorra met his gaze squarely. “And just what would that be?” he asked, his voice smooth and flat. 

“You work for Aizen, right?” He didn’t wait for confirmation. It was obvious. Someone had sent them to find him, and Aizen had disappeared into a mob of hollows, the drama queen. “If I win I want you to take me to him.” 

Ulquiorra looked briefly between the pair of them before he closed his eyes. 

“So be it.” 

Ichigo lunged. 

* * * * *

Deep in a desert of snow white sand sat a legend amongst the hollow. 

It was a myth that sunk into their bones, a knowledge that was granted to them when their hearts tore themselves asunder and they were consumed by their own loss. 

The legend was powerful when it first began. The eldest hollow will tell it as fact while the youngest remember it as a bedtime story and little else. 

Decades and centuries ate away and the truth sunk deep in the depths of darkness. 

It was in that darkness that she waited. The immortal are patient creatures, and her wait was finally coming to an end. 

* * * * * *

[nighteyed]

Cuff ‘em then Ride It

I’ve written this because I believe that is is a f’ing travesty that Bryce Quinlin and Connor Holstrom did not have the opportunity to have their date and mostly because Bryce never got a taste of that d*ck. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this ridiculously long foreplay with no pay off because I am weak and mostly because this is about how much Connor wants her, what he wants her to do and not about getting off. 

Lets begin how I normally begin, shall we?

Fandom: Crescent City | House of Earth and Blood  

Pairing: Bryce Quinlin x Connor Holstrom

Rating: Mature (maybe soft E, idk. Mature is safe I think....?)

Written By: forbiddencorvidae | corvids_5

The date had gone well he thought. She was beautiful and shinned like the fucking sun through the trees of the Moon Wood, her silk white blouse and the black pencil skirt that held her ass in all the right areas. He scented it on her, during their way back to her apartment. The flare around her, the spike in her heart rate, the flush in her cheeks; she was aroused. 

Danika was in the apartment when they arrived, flipping through a magazine and swigging on a beer. She smiled at both of them, tapping the bottle back towards the glass coffee table. “So,” Danika hummed as she eyed them, “How was the date?” 

“Fuck off, will you?” Bryce said as she walked past her, towards her bedroom. “I mean it, Danika, leave now.”

The blonde smiled, knowingly, the door slamming and Danika stood up to block Connor’s path. 

“Listen,” Danika gripped his shoulder before he could shove past her. “In there-,” her eyebrows wiggled and she cocked her head towards her right, “In there, she is my second.”

Connor stiffed and nodded at her words. “You listen and watch,” her grip tightened around his shoulder. “You do not touch unless she asks. Do you understand?” Danika finished. Connor nodded his head again, it was a silent affirmation that would obey whatever Bryce wanted and pushed passed Danika

Bryce’s room was all-consuming, she clung to every surface and filled his nose all at once. 

“Sit,” Bryce said, pointing towards a red velvet armchair that sat in the far right corner of her room. When his body sunk into the lush cushions he suppressed a sigh that threatened to tumble from his throat. The red velvet was soft and warm, almost like sinking into a deep soft heat. Connor’s eyes drifted across the room, taking in the surroundings of the enigma that he had so desperately pinned for. He felt his ears twitch as he heard the front door to the apartment swing open, Danika releasing a soft chuckle and then the door clicking closed behind her. 

“You see this?” Bryce’s words pulling Connor’s thoughts from the front room and Danika leaving, as he turned to find Bryce standing only feet from him holding up a red cylinder with a rounded head, it looked to be no bigger than the length of his thumb. 

“This,” Bryce twirled a lock of her red hair, “Is a bullet. A vibe. I fuck this almost every night. Just press this against my clit, slip it inside me and ride it until my body falls apart.”

Connor’s throat dried at her words, his eyes shifting towards her dresser as Bryce pulled her silk blouse from the waist of her skirt. His eyes falling towards a pair of lacy red panties on her dresser and catching on the metallic shine of a pair of cuffs. 

“You sit there,” Bryce said as she closed the remaining distance between them, bending over as she pulled down her skirt. The black thong that had laid hidden was now exposed, was now the only piece of fabric that kept his nose from diving between her thighs. 

“Sit,” Bryce slide a finger under the elastic against her hip and tugged it lower. “Behave.”

She pulled the thong down her legs, her hips swishing as the fabric snagged on her black heels. “Watch.” She dropped the thong on his lap, her scent kicking him in the face, flooding his senses as his hand reached for the dark material, eager to press it to his nose and breathe in her intoxicating perfume. 

“Don’t touch those,” Bryce shot over her shoulder, her red hair swaying behind her. Her perfect ass teasing him as she sauntered towards her bed and turned, falling on the red silk sheets, her pillows cradling her head. Connor shifted as Bryce pulled a blanket across her and lifted her knees. He heard the bullet click on and the only things that flooded his mind were the sight of her, the panties in his lap, and the faint buzz from under the red sheet. 

“Lose the cover Bryce,” Connor bit out. “If I can’t touch, then at least let me see you.” 

Bryce pressed the tip of the vibe to her clit and sighed, her hips twitching upwards. The tingle pulling at her abdomen and sending shivers through her spine. Tremors scattering through her body as she watched Connor grip the chair, his breathing erratic as her hips lurched forward under the sheet. 

“You are so fucking beautiful, you know that? Gods-damn Bryce, we are going to be good, the fucking best.” Connor spread his legs in the chair, his head rolling back as his eyes bore holes into the scene in front of him and flicking down at the black thong on his lap. The sweetest torture. 

He could have her screaming in two minutes if she would let him, but this was her game to play and he had waited 5 years for even a date with her. This was already more than he could have ever hoped for. His eyes moved towards the bed, her head thrown back and he spotted a peaked nipple from under her blouse. 

The sight made his throat constrict and his eyes caught on the metallic shine to his left, the cuffs under those skimpy panties beckoning to him. Connor reached over and grabbed them, Bryce never said anything about touching anything else. 

Bryce felt something fall beside her. A soft thud against the bed as her head rolled to the right opening her eyes. The pair of handcuffs from her dresser, now beside her, and her breath hitched as she dropped the red vibe from her fingers, it buzzed on the bed between her legs. 

“Cuff your ankles and spread your legs.” Connor’s deep voice said from across the room. Her body hummed her nipples hard as she teased her clit with her fingers and moaned softly. 

“Lose the cover Bryce, I won’t ask again.” His voice was thick, needy but it wasn’t commanding, it was a plea, a desperate one. 

“You wouldn’t dare. I’m-,” Bryce couldn’t get the words out before Connor cut her off. 

“Danika isn’t here anymore,” His alpha’s name felt like acid on his tongue, here in this room with the one being that he wanted more than anything. 

Bryce swallowed and pulled the cover from her. Revealing herself to the humid air of her room. Reaching for the cuffs she smacked her heels together and shackled her ankles, then spread her legs for the shifter in front of her. The little red bullet, forgotten as her fingers traced along her center. This terrified yet excited her. There was no way to run. 

Connor hissed at the sight. She was wet and clean, her thighs glistened with her want and if he was a weaker male he would have left the chair and let her claim him. This was her game though and he would not ruin it by proving to her that he was some alphahole that only wanted one thing. He wanted her, there was no denying that fact, but he wanted her to want him too. 

“Tell me what you want to do to me.” Bryce nodded at him, her voice barely a whisper, but she knew he heard her. One hand settling on her abdomen while her other pulled her breasts from her blouse, her thumb rolling over a nipple as she watched his eyes.

“Oh no darling,” Connor smiled. “It isn’t what I want to do to you. It is what I want you to do to me.”

Bryce clamped her legs together at his words, her head rolled to the right, her blouse open, her breasts exposed, and her chest heaving as she eyed him shyly. 

“And what do you want me to do to you, Connor?” His name rolling off her tongue like liquid and it curled into his balls making his cock throb against his thigh. 

“Cuff ‘em,” Connor held out his hands in front of him. “Then ride it,” his eyes slid down to his lap.

 “Ride it until you become wetter and wetter. Until my orgasm feels like it is slipping away from me until my balls clench as the thought of not being able to fuck you into the bed under me. Until your nails dig into my chest and you fly apart with me inside of you. Ride it until there is no sense of direction. Only me, us. I want you to fuck me, Bryce. To grip me like a fucking vice. I want you to fuck me until the walls inside you and this room collapse around me. Until I am just a pile of heated flesh underneath you, limp and powerless. I want you to take everything from me, Bryce, and then when you are done I will take everything from you.”

Bryce pulled at one of her nipples and smiled, humming as she rolled her hips into her bed. 

“That is what I want, Bryce.” His voice was still, knowing. 

A slender wrist rose into the air in front of her, her finger extending then flexing, motioning him to rise, it was the permission he needed and the one that he would always heed.