#he has one eye open because hes an assassin look there was thought here

[justzamb]

Finally here we are with Part 3 in my series of peaceful floral Veilguard companions! Hello there, my future husband Lucanis. Lilacs for Lucanis. Symbolizing renewal, mysticism, love, and death. Others in the series: Davrin, Emmrich Also while you're enjoying all the amazing Veilguard hype, please keep an eye on and show your support for the SAG-AFTRA strike to protect game actors from misuse of A.I. technology!

I need someone to know that I drew about 50,000 different plants for this because I couldn't make a decision on what would fit best. Plants included: white baneberry, foxglove, dahlia, english ivy, wheat, lavender, pomegranate blossom, white lilies, carnations, roses, goldenrod, crow poison, foamflower, and oranges. I read this poem and was like alright, we're going with lilacs. Also, not super happy with this one but the point of the series is to finish and post things - not necessarily to achieve perfection. I've been sitting on this for over three weeks and it was time to just release it into the wild. Either Taash or Neve are up next!

[always-just-red]

Hey, a fluff scenario for cuddling with Rafayel? Thank you 🐡✨

This one really got away from me ahaha, whoops. There's also a moment where my fine art degree really leaps out, so look forward to that, everyone. My first time writing for Raf - thank you anon!!

Perspective

Rafayel x Reader 🎨

Summary: You've spent two hours preparing a meal for Rafayel, and he has absolutely no intention of sitting down to it.

Genre: fluff fluff FLUFF!

Warnings/Additional tags: established relationship, cuddling, kisses, lots of intimacy tbh (soft, not spicy!)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Thirty minutes. You and Thomas had spent thirty minutes on the phone trying to figure out where your boyfriend actually was. Half an hour of he’s not with you? and no, I thought he was with you!— back and forth, like a metronome, and it wasn’t exactly the first time, either.

You’re seasoned investigators at this point: called constantly out of retirement for one last job you swear you’re too old for, and yet you know is never going to really be the last. You’ve already got matching t-shirts printed for the tortured agent’s next birthday: ‘Special Unit: Find Rafayel.’ (He won’t find it half as funny as you do.)

Neither of you had heard from the artist since Tuesday, and— it being Friday— he was either in his studio, painting, or definitely dead. It fell within your jurisdiction to find out, so you’d driven here two hours ago, texting Thomas upon arriving:

He's alive!! 🥳🥳🥳

You’re less excited about it now.

Stood at Rafayel’s kitchen island, you lay out the last of the buffet you’ve prepared to try to entice him away from his art. It’s worked in the past: has seen him sniff the air and follow his stomach to whatever you were cooking, like a stubborn stray cat.

“C’mon, Raf,” you call out, because he’s not taking the bait. “Food’s getting cold.”

“Not hungry!”

Your fists ball around the cutlery you’re setting down on the marble; he’s not eaten for three days. You glance up at him across the open space of his home, taking a deep breath through your nose as you watch him scrawl away at his painting. Somewhere in your mind, Thomas is speaking. This is what you signed up for, remember?

Reluctantly, you cross between the rooms, folding your arms as you come up behind Rafayel. “Raf,” you insist again, “come and sit down. Please? You need to eat something.”

“I’m fiiiiiine.” His paintbrush drags viridian over the lower third of his piece.

“You’re not fine,” you huff, and he doesn’t respond. “Rafayel.”

“Rafayel?” he mimics with a chuckle. “You’re mad.”

He’s ‘Rafayel’ in only two types of circumstance: when he’s making you really, really happy, or he’s making you consider the career-leap between bodyguard and assassin. It’s an extraordinarily thin line, and he just loves walking the tightrope.

“I’m not mad, just worried. Can’t you come eat with me? Your painting isn’t going anywhere.”

“It’s not,” he agrees, smoothing out a stroke of paint, “but what about my inspiration?”

“That’ll be waiting for you, too.”

“You think?” His lips curve as he pensively pokes at them with the wooden end of his brush. “I guess you did spend a lot of time cooking, huh? And if you’re really that worried, then…” He spins around with wide eyes. An epiphany. “Feed it to me?”

You stare back, unmoved by the puppy-like expression. He looks cute, yeah, but you’re not falling for it again. This is exactly how he looked earlier, when you’d convinced him to at least accept a glass of water. You’d almost drowned him in your subsequent efforts to actually get it down his throat.

Rafayel mixes three colours on his palette as you relive the ordeal. Like the once-white of his shirt, it’s awash with vibrant greens and blues, some fresh, some days-old. He pauses when he’s done, but you can tell he’s itching to get back to the canvas. “Give me, like… half an hour?” he estimates. The number’s been plucked from thin air. “The food’s gonna be delicious, even if it’s cold. You made it!”

“Raf, I—”

“And how can I even enjoy it if I’m racing to get back here? I wanna savour it, y’know? And anyway…” he trails off, his attention drawn by something above.

“Yeah?” you prompt, glancing upwards. There’s nothing there.

His gaze snaps back. “Sorry, the ceiling was doing something weird. But yeah, anyway, it’s not like you have to— I mean, it’s not like I’m going to— wait. What were we talking about again?”

Not much surprises you these days, but your mouth is still agape. Enough is enough. “Put the paintbrush down. You’re done.”

He nonchalantly returns to the painting. “I’m really not, though.”

You narrow your eyes. Reassess. “You were right about the ceiling.”

“Yeah?” He looks up.

You snatch the paintbrush. “Ha!”

He blinks blankly at you and your eagerly-clutched trophy, unfazed by the moment of triumph. “Cute trick,” he shrugs. He runs a finger across the palette and applies the new colour to the painting with a quick sweep. “What’s next, Miss Bodyguard? You gonna cut off my ha— ow, ow, ow! Hey! Take it easy!”

You’re pinching his ear, dragging him wordlessly to the kitchen, because you're out of things to say.

“Fine. Fine!” he groans as he tries to keep up with you. You release him and he straightens, his face pink, but not as pink as his ear. “You win! Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

You stop dead in your tracks, then turn with a look so cold he couldn’t melt it with all of his fire.

“I mean— ahaha,” he laughs nervously, rubbing his neck. “It smells amazing, cutie. You’re amazing. I can’t wait.”

…

Rafayel sits back on his stool, still staring at his painting. The mood is different from earlier. There’s no more restlessness or impatience; he isn’t in a rush. He’s humming a soft song you’re almost certain you’ve heard before, but you can’t quite place the melody. It’s pretty, though: the sort of tune one might recall from a childhood music box, or maybe even a dream.

There’s a clink as you stack two finished plates. Then another. And another.

“Don’t,” Rafayel says quietly, catching your hand before you can collect the plate nearest to him. “I’ll do it later— promise. Sit with me?”

You were never going to say no, but his hands are on your hips before you can say yes, and he’s turning you gently— pulling you up onto his lap. You smile as his arms wrap around you, keeping you from slipping, and he’s warm as you relax back against him.

“What do you think?” he asks, staring out over your shoulder.

Your gaze follows his to the painting, still waiting for him. “It’s okay.”

“Oh yeah?” You can feel him chuckle before it reaches your ears.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a smile, shifting to face him as much as you can. “Kinda pales in comparison to my favourite masterpiece. This one,” you poke two fingers to his chest. “Right… about—” they walk higher, “—here!”

You boop his nose and he immediately scoffs, his face going red. “Sheesh,” he mumbles, unable to meet your eyes. “That was lame.”

“You’re blushing.”

“Am not!”

He squirms as you laugh and try to touch his cheeks; they’re going to feel hot, and he’s a sore loser. His hands don’t manage to capture yours, so they settle for finding your hips again, swivelling you around until you’re trapped by his embrace. You’re both one misjudged move away from toppling to the floor, so you let him keep his victory. What’s left of his dignity, too.  

Your laughter rescinds like a tide, but the quiet is far from empty.

“C’mon,” Rafayel tries again. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, nudging your head, urging you to look forward. His hair is feather-soft on your skin, and he peppers chaste kisses along the line of your jaw. “Tell me. What do you see?”  

You hum contentedly. “A painting.” You’re not thinking about it at all; your eyes are closed.

“And?”

“A plant. A sofa. Some curtains,” you recall.

“You know what I meant,” he grins against you.

You lean back with a sigh, no longer supporting your own weight, but sinking into him with trust and begrudging compliance. It’s not bad, as surrenders go. He gives you a squeeze of encouragement and your head rolls back, stopping at his shoulder. His breath is skirting over your cheek, just barely.

You open your eyes and really look at the painting.

“It’s beautiful, Raf,” you murmur. It is; it was always going to be. “Everything you do is beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, “I know.” But he wants more. “Does it make you think of something, maybe? Anything?”

There’s no right or specific answer. This isn’t remotely your field of expertise, and you’re oceans apart sometimes, so he has to outstretch a hand. Two viewpoints. Two sides of a coin; you never should have seen each-other.

Your life is hunting monsters, and his is finding beauty in a world where they exist. It’s not what you see, it’s how you see it. Crimson to him is a sunset; to you it’s blood.  

Something in you aches as your eyes roam over his latest work. He won’t tell you what it’s meant to be, not really: that’s a private understanding between him and the canvas, his heart and every stroke of paint. Does it make you think of something? Though the marks are fixed, they’re somehow fluid. The emerald tones are marred by shadows, as though something’s lurking beneath the surface, but there are traces of white, too. Light: shimmering.

“Reflections,” you finally answer. “Scattered to anonymity by a now turbulent lake. They belonged to something else, once, but they’ve taken a new shape— a restless and ever-changing identity— and no-one knows what it is, let alone what it was.”

With a satisfied smile, you close your eyes. That ought to keep him quiet for a minute.

Sure enough, Rafayel is silent. You don’t have to see his crystalline eyes to know they’re set on the painting, soaking it in with a new perspective. His favourite perspective: yours.

You have never been strangers to each-other. Two sides of a coin are still the same coin.

With a light laugh of surprise, he plants a kiss on your shoulder. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.” He’s nuzzling into you again. “I know I can be—”

“A pain in the ass?”

He laughs louder. “I was gonna say eccentric.”

“Oh…” You draw air through your teeth. “Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Your voice is humourless, your face plain. It lasts all of two seconds, and then the charade is falling to pieces; he’s nibbling at your ear, your neck, and it tickles mercilessly. You giggle, but you don’t try to escape. The punishment fits the crime, and who are you to deny him his justice?

You’re quickly running out of breath, so Rafayel ceases his assault, letting you get it back. “Can I look at you now?” you ask.

He clicks his tongue. “I’ll allow it.”

You shift and he lifts you a little— helping you twist around to face him. He smiles fondly as he links his hands behind you, stopping you from falling as you lean back to enjoy the view. It’s the best kind of smile: one that reaches his eyes and makes them sparkle, like the water in the painting, but infinitely more pretty.

You want to feel that smile on your lips, so you lean in and kiss him.

It’s tender and perfect and when you’re done, you snuggle closer, wrapping your arms around him and nestling like you’ll be staying there for a while. You can hear his heart, and though a part of it is in his painting, the rest is with you. Always with you.

“Shouldn’t you get back to your work?” you ask as you think of it, smiling into his shirt. He won’t— not tonight.

“Nah,” he says, running his fingers through your hair. “It can wait.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

damian wayne fluff pls

Damian didn’t have much of a childhood, at least not a one he could look back at fondly and proudly. So whenever he saw you indulge yourself in an adult colouring book had him was conditioned into thinking was boring or childish, and yet he would still find himself missing something that he couldn’t put his finger on without becoming irritated.

‘Damian?’ Your voice brought him out of his thoughts as he looked over to you, seeing that you had stopped colouring to stare at him with concern.

‘Yes?’ He replied, not liking the fact that he has been interrupted from his reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

‘Would you like to colour in a page of this book with me?’ You asked as you gestured to the book in front of you and Damian scoffed, going back to his book. ‘No, I don’t partake in childish activities.’ He responded.

‘Is that what you believe or what you’ve been told to believe when with the league of assassins?’ You said all of a sudden and Damian bristled as his eyes darted to every possible corner of the room, almost as though the aforementioned league could be overhearing your conversation from their hiding spots.

‘What makes you say such a thing.’ Damian hissed as he moved to look at you but you were far more interested in colouring the page of your book, hyper aware of the stare he was giving you but you didn’t care you just wanted him to know what it’s like to be normal, even if it was for five minutes. ‘I just think you deserve to do something that you can look back on and remember that not everything is bleak and downpours of rain, it can be warm and golden.’ You shrugged your shoulders as you finally allowed yourself to look over at Damian, who had a conflicted look across his face, and you couldn’t help but bring your hand over his and squeeze reassuringly.

‘It’s okay to let the walls down Damian, you’re not there anymore, you’re with me and you can find yourself here if you feel comfortable enough to do so.’ You continued as Damian closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He knew he was in a safe place with you, that he didn’t doubt, but he couldn’t just bring his walls down all that easily even if he wanted to and he really wanted to. However he didn’t know how to without relapsing into old ways that’ll end in you being pushed away as a result; he was scared of how things would end for him if he dared to open his heart just a little.

‘What good would that do me?’ Damian says sharply. ‘End up with everyone I know dead because I decide to give one person an ounce of trust and let them into my life?’ He adds and he felt you squeeze his hand again but also the caressing of your thumb against the back of his own. ‘You’re a great judge of character Dami, you wouldn’t have trusted me otherwise and I’m grateful for that, but have I made you distrust me yet?’ You questioned him and Damian knew that you knew the answer to that, and it was no.

He looks at your hand and squeezes back softly, making you smile, before he gestures to your colouring book. ‘Is the offer to colour one of your pages still available?’ He asks and you were quick to share your colouring pencils with him as you presented the book before him to pick a page of his choice. ‘Oh absolutely.’ You replied as you made yourself comfortable next to him as the next hour you and Damian spent colouring in pages and making the other laugh.

[capitanoidyll]

There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair

Emperor ! Jing Yuan x Princess ! Reader

Chapter 7 | Kisses Erase Pain

Summary | You are set to marry the Emperor, Jing Yuan. In order to break the engagement, you stage an accident and fake having amnesia. But now, your own cruel, cold, and distant fiancé, who seemed to not want anything to do with you, is now acting all lovey dovey!

want to be a part of the taglist? then pls go to taglist ^-^

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Sunday mused to himself as he gently ran his fingers through your hair, then bending down to you, his lips gently brushed against your ear, “it’s time to wake up, dove.”

His soothing voice washed over you, your whole body felt all warm and cozy, it was like being enveloped into a comfortable embrace on a winter morning.

Opening your eyes, you found yourself staring up at what you believed was an angel. And judging by the wings sprouting from his head, you knew you weren’t too far off the mark.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered those words as you continued to look up at him. Your confession made him smile at you, his hand still running through your hair.

“Thank you, dove, but don’t you have any questions for me?”

You shook your head, “I know I’m dead… what is there to ask?”

“A second chance, perhaps?”

You froze at that before lifting yourself from his lap and turning to him while sitting on your knees, your eyes a bit hopeful, “like going back in time and starting over?!”

Sunday chuckled to himself for a moment before shaking his head, “I can’t send you back. Time isn’t what I am able to control. However, I am able to erase what all has happened to you. In other words, I can make it to where your death hasn’t even happened.”

You thought over his words for a moment, “so you can’t send me back, but you can erase it? To how far back can you go?”

“As far back as I want,” he said as he lifted his hand to caress your cheek, “I could even erase your very existence.”

He watched your face contort into one of fear being patting your cheek softly before letting his hand fall from your face, “but don’t worry, I would never do that to you.”

You steadied your breathing before asking your next question, “so… since I am seeing you now… does that mean you plan on erasing something?”

“You could say that,” Sunday mused, “I want to erase your death and all the way up to that little amnesia plan of yours.”

“Only that far?!”

He smiled at you, “I am an impatient man, I don’t want to erase too far back and wait to see what unfolds.”

“… Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because I want to see if you can win.”

“Win?”

“The emperor has no laws for himself, no weaknesses. You could change that.”

You could only shrug, “kind of hard to do that when I can’t fool him. Not to mention he has a few favorite maids he likes to entertain.”

Sunday reached for you and patted your head, “but remember dove, it was Blade’s protectiveness that gave you away. Manage to not let Blade or Dan Heng find out about you, then your life would be easier.”

“That reminds me, who was the man who had helped Jing Yuan anyway?”

“That was Moze. An assassin. Be careful around him too. Honestly though, I am surprised he wasn’t your first obstacle…”

You shook your head with a smile before standing up, Sunday joining you, “so I guess this means you will send me back now?”

“Of course,” he said while getting closer to you, his lips gently pressing to your forehead which immediately caused a glowing light to surround you.

“Wait- I never got your name,” you said as you started to disappear.

Sunday merely smiled, “I am sure I am mentioned in a few books here and there, find my name there, and if we meet again, tell me what you think my name is.”

That was the last thing he said, then that warmth was gone, and you found yourself waking up in a cold sweat. Your breathing was hard, erratic. Looking around for a moment, you hastily got out of bed and went to your desk. On it sat a calendar.

“So,” you muttered to yourself, “I really am back to the day I decided to try and get amnesia…, and how did he explain it? He couldn’t control time, so he didn’t send me back. No, instead he said it was more like he was erasing the events that had happened… but what sort of being could possibly do that? No god in any religion I have heard of have ever been able to do that… Maybe I should go to the library today and see if I can figure out anything that way.”

Nodding to yourself, you went to your closet to fish out some decent clothes to wear (a dress that was easy to move around in since you didn’t plan to enact any more plans for the time being). And just as you made it to the door and opened it, you paused.

“Oh… hello, Blade.”

A part of you still couldn’t believe that that mysterious man erased the events that had happened, so there was only one thing to test out that theory. And that was talking to Blade, of course. Ever since you came here Blade has been like your shadow. Not once has he ever spoken to you or tried to speak. And you didn’t bother to talk to him either as a sort of defiance of not talking to anyone. But it was all too clear to you now that even if you don’t talk to anyone, the Emperor wouldn’t care.

Blade looked down at you, his gaze hardening as he glared at you, but he offered no greeting in return.

Well fine, be an ass, you thought begrudgingly as you turned on your heel and headed in the direction of the library. Blade already following you, hot on your heel as a shadow would be.

The library wasn’t hard to find, but it was a pain to get there due to how far it was from your room. But whatever, you were here now.

“Now, if I was a deity that can erase events… what book would I be in?”

You said those words quietly enough so Blade wouldn’t hear. Glancing behind you, you noticed how he stayed near the door, completely uninterested in what you were doing. Perfect.

So, you got to work.

You passed by multiple genres of books but eventually settled on a few pertaining to religion, history, a few fictional since they had titles and descriptions correlating with your situation, and even a few books that described creatures that looked a lot like the man you met.

Rolling a small cart, you brought it over to a couch and plopped down.

“Now, let’s see what I can find!”

Six hours later and you thought you were going to pass away. The fictional books were entertaining and served as good breaks, but they didn’t help you in the slightest of mentioning who could erase events that had happened!

It felt like you were about to rip your hair out! Sighing heavily and closing the current book you had in your lap; you went to get up and return the books all to their rightful place. You originally thought of leaving them out and letting someone else put them back, but you didn’t want a surprise visit from the emperor who would start asking about your sudden interest in historical and religious themes.

Once done putting them back, you settled for grabbing a single book to read. It was a fairy tale where a princess is saved by a prince. Sitting back down on the couch, you lay back and grinned at the title. Despite being a princess… you doubted any prince would dare to come save you.

Though, as soon as you opened the book and started reading once again, your eyes started to grow heavy and before too long, you fell asleep. Your breathing evened out and the book was held tightly against your chest as you curled up on your side. A small smile on your face.

Though, not too long after you fell asleep, the Emperor was walking by the room, “Blade? It’s uncommon to see you guarding the library,” Jing Yuan mused at the guard.

Blade huffed and jutted his head towards the open door, “the princess decided to read today.”

Jing Yuan hummed to the information and walked in, his eyes scanned the room for a moment before landing on your sleeping figure.

“Seems to me like she is sleeping more than she is reading.”

Blade came to stand next to the Emperor, arms crossed over his chest, “she was in here all the day.”

“That so?”

Blade nodded wordlessly as Jing Yuan walked over to your sleeping figure. His body knelt next to you, looking over you, he then noticed the book that was in your arms. Plucking the book from your grasp, he looked over the title.

“Foolish girl,” Jing Yuan mused as noticed how the book entailed a princess being saved by a prince.

“She wouldn’t be foolish if you just treated like an actual fiancé.”

“Its not everyday that I hear you defending my rewards from conquest.”

Blade shrugged, “I am only stating the obvious. Furthermore… I am bored of following her around.”

Jing Yuan let out a laugh as he stood back up, “then introduce her to other things that the castle has to offer. I’m sure even you can handle that task since you are so bored.”

Blade bowed slightly as Jing Yuan decided to take his leave.

“Of course, Emperor.”

And when he was gone, Blade looked back to you, his glare still present on his face.

taglist pt 1

@danae-misfortune @frogsasfrogs @openthenyoor01 @zuhaine @ughlostmyotherac @joyfulnightprincess @thechibifoxcub @ceaether @satanisasofties @thetwinkims @yanrandom @honeybunbunn @superdonkeypatroleggs @ohmyfinggod @baboon-milk333 @zareri @kclremin @rains-mae @yccoffeesimp @bloomiesty @moon-taffy @superdark-soul @pinkismyfavcolor @isa-l0v3r @its-astrotea-love @reapersan @junephantom21 @erisfayred @greyrain23 @justadekusimp @uzxotic @alisstaa @avalordream @unlivingdisaster @pix-stuff @sleepyxion14 @pillows-blankets @anicega @junni-berry @niaainthere @sorachitsuki @dyingsweetmackerel @rosariymchapter @immahuman @fluffy-koalala @momoniq @orphiclueur @insightedly

[reallyromealone]

Title: oh look a mate (s)

Pairing: demon brother's x reader

Chapter 2

Fandom: obey me

Warnings: male reader, omegaverse, nsfw content, angst, fluff, self hatred, reader has a lot of trauma, shitty family, toxic family, mentions of murder, attempted assassination mentioned

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

He remembered his first nest.

And how quickly his sister destroyed it.

His parents mocking him, his sister making him feel awful for having something like that.

This was what he thought of when he thought of inviting his family, that was the first memory he had.

He was eight at that time.

Staring at the paper, did he want to invite them?

"No, I don't think we're going to do that" he whispered to himself as he looked at the barely started letter, everytime he tried writing it another memory came back.

For once, he wanted something happy that they wouldn't intrude on.

This was for him.

Lucifer noticed something, something deeply concerning that he hadn't thought about till looking at (name) getting fitted for his wedding attire, he had no collar. His neck and scent glands exposed and no one caught this, how did they not notice this?! Lucifer looked at the ornate and beautiful collar he had commissioned, an expensive leather with their soulmate mark on a silver charm.

Simple but beautiful.

(Name) Was in his greenhouse again as Belphegor slept in the corner, (name) liked to think this was their hang out time because he would always appear when he was in here, it was nice.

(Name) Spoke about the things he was doing to the sleeping demon, a one sided conversation but (name) still enjoyed it as his happy pharamones filled the room "I'm growing tulips here, I think they would be lovely... I always loved them, they were my grandmothers favorites before she passed" he explained happily as he stretched "I think im done for the day" walking towards the demon he smiled "sorry but I'm going to need this, it's quite chilly today" he said as he went to take his cape but Belphegor had other ideas, pulling (name) in his embrace "this is very sweet but I think sleeping on a greenhouse ledge would hurt our backs"(name) said softly to the other who cracked an eye open and grunted "would you be willing to stay away a bit to go somewhere more comfortable?" He asked the Alpha who grunted "and where do you have in mind?"

Belphegor was a bit surprised when (name) had him teleport to (name)s space, the Omega leading him to his nest and gently pushing him in "much nicer!" He said simply as Belphegor let the other sit beside him as the demon pulled him close, already sleepy "you're a sleep demon right?" (Name) Asked curiously and Belphegor grunted "sloth avatar" his voice low and rumbly as (name) nodded "that must be tough"

"Not really... Now stop talking and sleep" he ordered the Omega who just let him hold him like a teddy bear.

The two slept for a few hours, the others looking for (name) everywhere before finding him in the nest "no fair, why does he get to go in the nest!" Beelzebub whined as (name) looked so peaceful "we'll get to go in it eventually" it was nice to see (name) let his guard down, he was sweet yes but always nervous...

"Let's let them sleep, his heats soon so it's best to let him conserve energy" Lucifer instructed as they begrudgingly left "I worry for his heat though " Asmodeus commented as they left the apartment and the others looked confused "he knows basically nothing... He's reading books to figure it out because he's worried he won't be good, I don't even think he's masturbated before" how could he? Suppressants basically knocked the libido out of you and not to mention his upbringing "a heat is scared, between an Omega and their body for the first few years and he was robbed of it" Satan said softly and they sighed, he couldn't have this heat by himself as their were traditions but they didn't want him going into his first heat after being in suppressants for years without knowing anything about sex.

"Maybe ask him if he wants to fuck?" Mammon said simply and Asmodeus glared at him "as much as I want that, we have to be delicate with him! Teach him how to pleasure himself!"

"Then let's to that then!" The white haired Alpha argued back and Lucifer and Satan just sighed and Levi wanted to just not be in this conversation anymore, embarrassed as hell.

(Name) Woke later on, The sun setting as Beelzebub walked in "have a good nap, sleepy?" He teased and (name) rubbed his eyes "how long did I sleep?" He whispered and Beelzebub chuckled "five hours"

"You guys let me sleep that long?!" He worried and the Alpha smiled "you were too cute to wake, now come on! It's dinner!" He seemed excited and (name) looked at Belphegor "don't worry about him, he usually gets leftovers later" Beelzebub lifted (name) as the Omega yelped "wait! I'm heavy!" He panicked and Beelzebub laughed "like holding a couple of grapes, don't worry I'm strong" he teased as they walked down the halls, the gluttony demon feeling how soft his mate was, face right near his chest... Nope don't get an erection right now! 'think of awful things!' he thought as he thought of the worst things imaginable, wasting food and uuuh Solomon shirtless!

'Bleh'

"There's the sleepy bunny~" Asmodeus teased, (name) looking a little disheveled as sleep still had him in a bit of a hold "sorry I slept so long..." He whispered and Mammon snorted "you were napping with Belph, he has that affect" the Omega nodded as Mammon put food on his plate, a bit extra as the Alpha felt the urge to make sure (name) was cared for.

They spoke of weddings and such as (name) enjoyed his meal, little chirps occasionally leaving his lips at the foods be particularly enjoyed as the demons watched happily "maybe when your garden is ready for harvest we can use them~" Lucifer on (name)s other side gently fixed the others shirt, a typical alpha grooming of his mate as he began (fixing/cleaning) his (hair/face) "how you manage to get dirty"

After dinner, (name) was curious as Lucifer halted him with Asmodeus standing beside him "could we talk to you? Just for a moment?" Lucifer asked the Omega who looked curious but nodded, letting Asmodeus take his hand as they went to Lucifer's office "we hope this isn't too forward darling but we wanted to ask..." Lucifer seemed to struggle on what to say exactly as Asmodeus stepped in "we want your first time to be memorable, not in the throws of heat where you may not remember and maybe understand your body more" Asmodeus said to the other who was now seated in a plush chair as Asmodeus crouched infront of him "you deserve to have your first time be on your terms and learn what you like, we don't have to have sex but would you be open to it?"

"I-I... Isn't mating for the alphas?" He was supposed to give alphas pleasure! He was an Omega!

"Oh darling no, Sex is supposed to be good for both parties, you and your comfort matter just as much as ours"

"You wouldn't see me as shameful for wanting that?" (Name)s voice barely above a whisper and the two got closer "darling im the avatar of lust, nothing you do would be shameful to me and Luci here just wants you to feel pride in yourself and your body" he explained and (name) felt his cheeks get wet with tears "promise?"

"Of course"

They set up for two days from now, Asmodeus would teach (name) about his body... Intimately.

And (name) was nervous but a heat pooled in his stomach he wasn't familiar with, ever since he stopped supressants his body had felt like shocks went through it whenever his alphas touched him, his omega quiet after so long begging him to do whorish things...

Oh god, he's been here a few weeks and he's already like this!

He wouldn't admit it but he liked how freeing it was, his mates never judging him....

They actively tried spending time with him, having him join their activities and lives.

He remembered when Lucifer tried teaching him how to ride a horse, the black haired demon sitting behind him on the stallion and guiding him gently, it was absolutely wonderful!

He wanted to treasure that memory forever...

Belphegor was still in the nest when (name) returned and changed into his sleep clothes getting comfortable and passing out as the sleep demon held him in a vice grip, possession absolutely noticable with the hold as (name) was soothed by how warm and cozy it felt.

(Sisters name) Was hysterical when the royal wedding was announced, a grand event that had the entire kingdom in a flurry of celebration as their town marketed that they were the town that had the Omega.

So she did what was logical.

Get rid of the problem in her life.

(Name) Wouldn't see what hit him.

"So, where do you feel most comfortable? This is about you" Asmodeus asked the Omega who fiddled with his hands and looked at his nest and his bed "would it... Be messy?"

"Only if we're doing it right~" he teased and kissed (name)s forehead "remember, this is what YOU want" he reminded (name) who looked at his bed and then his nest "nest?" He asked softly and Asmodeus smiled "of course, do I have permission to enter your pretty nest?" He asked as (name) got comfortable in it and the smile on (name)s face said a lot as he nodded, Asmodeus moving them so (name) was in his lap "remember what I taught you about safe words?" He asked the Omega who nodded "tell alpha" he commanded gently and smelt the small amount of slick that escaped the omegas body "green means good... Yellow means that I'm not sure and slow down and read is stop" he said confidently as Asmodeus kissed his neck lovingly "such a good boy" he whispered into his ear and smiled when (name) subconsciously bucked his hips, he knew this cutie had a praise kink.

After all, he always wanted to be good for him.

"Now, I'm going to remove your clothes, remember what to do if it gets uncomfortable" he said as he used his magic to make (name)s clothes vanish, the other covering himself shyly "none of that, let me see you" Asmodeus said sweetly as he watched (name) uncover himself and god, was his omega so pretty...

"Now, the first rule of sex is getting comfortable with your own body" Asmodeus explained as he took (name)s hands and moved them across the omegas own body "know what feels good" he pinched (name)s cute nipple before moving their hands lower "and to know what feels /great/" the demon wrapped their hands around (name)s cute Omegan cock that was already erect and gave it a tug, watching (name) throw his head back at the sensation "o-oh!" He was confused and awe struck by the sensation, this was way better than the pillow humping he had been pitifully been doing lately. "This is your pretty cock, stroke it, play with its head... It's yours to use whenever you want~" Asmodeus explained and (name) let out a shaky breath as they stroked his cock, legs spread across Asmodeus' own "and if we go lower, we have your ass" he whispered to (name) and smiled at how fucked out (name) looked already and they barely started "you gotta prep yourself real nice, slowly work your way in..."

(Name) Whined out as Asmodeus chuckled "none of that, pretty boy" he whispered as he pulled (name) into a sweet kiss, slipping his tongue in shortly after as he helped (name) loosen up with both of their fingers though Asmodeus was just guiding. "When you feel it's loose enough, slowly push in... Don't worry the slick will help you" he pulled away to continue his lesson with his omega who was already drooling and unfocused as Asmodeus gently helped him push in "all the way to the knuckle...~"

Asmodeus helped (name) fuck himself in one finger before slowly introducing a second finger, (name) could feel his erection on his back and rutted into it as his hips shook, his fingers felt good but not good enough... "It's not..." He couldn't figure out how to say it as Asmodeus kissed his scent gland "it's not what darling?" "M-more!" He cried out, fully lost in it as he pushed his hips up subconsciously.

"Do you want alpha to take care of you? Show you something great?" Asmodeus asked the other who wnined "what color are you baby?"

"Green!"

"Good boy"

Asmodeus removed (name)s fingers before replacing them with his larger ones, down to the knuckle before his other hand moved to the omegas cock "hey baby.. look at me" (name) complied as Asmodeus began thrusting against his prostate and jerking him off "shiaaa!" He could barely keep himself from cumming as he let out a loud cry, cum getting everywhere "and that pleasure button was your prostate... Use that whenever your heart desires ~ rub it and press it~" he said softly as (name) barely could stay awake "you wanna continue baby? Tell alpha"

"Gu-reen" he barely could sputter out and Asmodeus chuckled "you're too precious~ let's wash you up and feed you" he lifted (name) with ease and took him to the ensuite washroom "you did do good, you were so pretty~" he praised the Omega who was putty in his hold, (name) definitely bad a lot of time to make up for with how repressed the poor thing was sexually...

The other brothers stroked themselves vigorously as they heard the sounds of (name) being pleasured and inevitable climax that had the Omega screaming.

"He's fast asleep, poor thing wanted more but could barely stay awake" Asmodeus said fondly as the others gathered in the parlor "hes definitely eager, loves to be a good boy ~" the smell of a pleasured Omega was strong, the smell of (pharamones smell) stronger and sweeter "before I put him to bed, he asked if you guys could join next time ~ such a sweet little thing"

He definitely was going to be a good dam to their respective pups.

The other alphas were definitely interested in joining next time.

With the news of the wedding approaching, the men were taking even more precautions and safety measures for the Omega, already having three poisoning attempts and an assassin that they apprehended while (name) was sleeping.

Switching their cutlery to silver from gold and both the food tester and Beelzebub to test (name)s food, the demon immune thankfully as the rest.

At most he would just have a stomach ache for an hour.

It was intense, the men constantly worrying for him as he went about his day with more guards much to his confusion as the days ticked closer, the grand wedding hall being decorated along with the rest of the palace as guests from around the world began arriving as he took a walk through the gardens, the demons having (name)s favorite flowers planted as he was the one who frequented the area the most.

currently he was trying to find Lucifer, the demon wanting to have tea with him but (name) was a bit directionally challenged as he eventually spotted horns and black hair "you're late" Lucifer remarked without any bite as he stood for the Omega, checking him over "I have something for you" the demon didn't waste time as he pulled out the collar "it's not safe to be unprotected like this" his words simple as (name) looked at the collar.

His family never let him have one, a form of control he supposed and he couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks as the demon looked worried "do you not like it?" His voice laced with light panic and (name) shook his head "i-i never had one??" His voice confused but soon Lucifer clicked the situation together and smiled "I will never let you go without, my love" he gently put the collar on (name), the Omega dressing in more lace and delicate clothes these days as Asmodeus had a fixation on shopping for him, it went together quite well "beautiful..."

"You think?" (Name) Asked nervously and Lucifer leaned down and kissed him "we'll get you countless collars in any color you want" he said honestly before leading (name) to the garden table with treats and tea set up "now, shall we eat?"

(Name) Was curious as he was handed a letter from his family, his father's seal in wax staring back at him.He didn't know what to do, this would be the first time in over a month that he would be hearing from his family.

He didn't know what to expect.

"Are you alright, Darling?" That was also a few development with the demons, pet names.

And Satan surprisingly besides Asmodeus was very heavy with them.

"I... I received a letter from my family" Satan was immediately suspicious of this letter as he walked to his omega "do you trust me?" He asked the Omega who nodded obediently "of course" he chirped "could I see this letter? To soothe my nerves" (name) knew of the things that have been happening and nodded, handing him the letter without a second thought and the blond gently kissed him "thank you, my dear"

He had the two poison testers open the letter in a glass room, something their grandfather made when people began putting poisonous powder in letters, it wasn't poisoned thankfully.

That would make for an angry Satan :).

But the contents of the letter?

Oh.

Ohohoho.

That made for him to get so upset he transformed a little more demonic from rage.

'(name),

We have been informed by our neighbors about your wedding, a surprise to us all as you haven't even sent your family an invitation seeing as you stole your sisters moment and flaunted it infront of her.

We are thoroughly disappointed and appalled at your attitude and would expect you to invite your sister as she deserves to see the life you stole from her even just once.

We are expecting an invite promptly.

(Mother's name) And (father's name), (lastname)'

The audacity.

The sheer audacity of these people, how did (name) manage to be related to these insects of people?! "definitely not letting Belphegor read this" or maybe he should... No (name) would be upset.

"Maybe we should invite them... One last look at someone they took for granted" and before they kept (name) away forever.

Give him everything and more.

God he couldn't wait to give that cute Omega who was currently petting one of the off duty p

[nariism]

*ੈ✩ LAST WORDS OF A SHOOTING STAR

pair. itadori yuji x reader

synopsis. in the 3 days following the shibuya incident, itadori yuji emerges as a husk of his former self. with his immediate execution resumed, you both grapple with the feelings you have for each other and come to terms with his impending death.

content. hurt/comfort (lots of comfort, thank art because i was gonna be mean about this and they convinced me not to), slightly canon divergent (taking place between shibuya and the culling games), fluff and minor angst, yuta is the best wingman

wc. ~4.4k

NOVEMBER 1 2018

You imagine that your face was rather ghastly when you received the news.

"Execution?" You repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. No, that was the wrong description. It tasted of death—like iron and the depths of Hell filling your mouth until you were gurgling on it.

Unlike the rest of the Jujutsu Sorcerers from Tokyo, you had been ordered to stay back with Shoko in case of an emergency. You remember your exile from battle had left a similar rotten flavour in your mouth.

You vanished off the face of the earth after the incident was over. Most probably presumed you died in the aftermath. Devoured by a curse, they would say and shake their heads. You were always troublesome. And then they would move on with the rest of the world, all the same.

Lives were only temporary in the world of curses. Focus on who you can save, not who is already gone. They'll only end up a curse in your sleep. What a horrible notion to have.

The truth is that you'd been whisked away with Yuta, who seemed to be scheming a plan of his own. Perhaps as a middle finger to the higher ups he hated so much, or perhaps just for his own selfish reasons. You wouldn't know until he was finished carrying it through—he's too good at keeping secrets.

He wanted your reverse cursed technique, you knew that much for sure, even though he could do it himself. You were useful by his side, fitting into his plot in a way you could not in Shibuya. Feeling some sort of obligation and satisfaction, you followed him like a lost puppy.

And now here you are, seated by a dimming fire in the abandoned part of the city. Yuta was too clever for his own good. You suppose Gojo taught him some things well. This was their plan after all.

Yuji was safe, if only for this moment in time.

"Now with Gojo gone, it would have been easy for the higher ups to send assassins your way."

Ruthless and truthful, you flinch, but Yuji does not. He remains perfectly still in your hold, with your hands rotating his face around to get a better look at his wounds. You pour your cursed energy into him, hoping to breathe life back into his eyes, but they stay dull and empty.

"We'll find a way to stop this," you assure, reaching over to take a sanitizing wipe to clean an open cut. Yuta was too rough on him, but it was at least believable that Yuji was dead. He doesn't even recoil from the alcohol stinging his flesh, too engrossed in his own thoughts.

"Why?" He asks weakly. You gawk at him, but then it melts away into a softness that finally makes him blink up at you. "I'm evil."

"You're not evil, Yuji."

"I am. I killed those people. I did." His voice comes flat and defeated, nothing like the one you used to listen to over dinner while he reenacted shitty western films.

You never realize what you'll miss until it's gone. It's hollow, the ache in your heart.

"You don't understand. How could you? All this blood on my hands—"

"It was Sukuna," you quickly refute.

"And Sukuna only lives because I do!"

His voice raises at you, causing the flames behind you to flicker and crack. It's enough for Yuta to step in, acting as a barrier between your tense bodies. Yuji seems to shrink at this, realizing his emotions have run amok and that he has yelled at you.

You only stare back at him in bewilderment, like a frightened animal. Your upperclassman shakes his head.

"Enough of this. We need to start making plans."

You lay awake that night, alone and anxious. Yuta has taken the first shift of watching and patrolling while the two of you rest, though hesitant to leave you alone. He told you it’s another reason he dragged you along: having three people to rotate shifts instead of just two would be easier on your bodies and minds. The city is not what it used to be, now overrun with curses of all grades.

You reassured him it would be fine, that you would fall asleep quickly and so would Yuji—his body has to run out of steam eventually, right? Oh, what a fool you were.

The tension is so heavy that it's awkward, even though you're sleeping on opposite ends of the tunnel.

"Sleep," you demand as if you were Inumaki, like you have the power to curse him.

His eyes flutter open. Even in the firelight, you don't see any shine in them, seeming as if they had been extinguished of life. "Why don't you?"

"I can't until you do."

"That's stupid," he tells you.

It's not the first time you've argued like this. Back when the world felt right, you would sneak in through his dorm window well into the hours of the night. Platonic, you had convinced yourself. You snuck into his bed seeking companionship as a friend. That's the lie you gorged on.

A piece of you knew, and you're sure he did too, that the way your hands explored his arms was unnatural for two friends, and that friends wouldn't sneak into each other's rooms like this with such severe punishment on the line.

It was safe in his arms, with the dull hum of his television running an old horror film in the background. You didn't have to think about much other than his warmth when you sat between his legs with your back to his chest. Or when his arm was draped over your shoulder and you were pressed into his side—actually, you think you preferred this one though you felt sorry for his sore arm.

You would bicker about dumb, pointless things. Which movie is better, or which character deserved to be mutilated more. It would go on for so long that Megumi would bang his fist on their shared wall to get the two of you to shut up.

There was no curse strong enough to change time itself, so you keep your thoughts and memories to yourself when you respond.

"You'll be too tired to function on your shift," you reason.

"You both will be fine without me." Better off without me, you know he means. You've gotten good at reading between his lines.

You slowly sit up in your sleeping bag, eyes never leaving Yuji. He seems so frail right now, even though he looks more adult than he ever has before.

"Human Earthworm 4 was better than 2," you suddenly say. His eyes peer open again in confusion.

"Huh? 2 was way better."

"I liked the love story in 4," you argue, slowly getting out of your bag to shuffle to his side of the concrete tunnel. He looks at you as if you've said something outlandish, too preoccupied with his thoughts to wonder why you've come so close.

"2 had the best special effects though."

Your body shifts under his blanket.

"But 4 had a happier ending." (As far as 'happy' goes in the Human Earthworm series, at least.)

His arm falls around your waist as it has a hundred times, pulling you into his chest.

"Whatever," he huffs. The next topic comes fast and you're thrown into a full blown conversation with him. If you concentrate enough, you can imagine your bodies being tangled together in his bed, safe and sound.

Concrete and fire and the stench of curses melt away until he's all you can focus on.

"You have weird taste in movies," he concludes with his eyes drifting shut.

NOVEMBER 2 2018

You think you know how to fix broken people until you find that they are more than skin and bones. 

You learn one thing after the Shibuya Incident: there are wounds residing within Yuji just as much as there are marking his flesh.

Yuta, you realize, had left the two of you alone to sleep and has protected you all night. You'll make it up to him, you reason. Yuji deserved to sleep.

When you wake up to his sleeping face, you think his cuts are healing nicely. But then his expression twists up in terror—a nightmare, if he even had enough energy left in him to conjure up dreams. He murmurs in his sleep, shakes his head a few times and thrashes around so much you're surprised you slept through the night by his side.

"Sukuna," he's whispering. Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna. King of Curses. The second voice tormenting him that lives in his own brain like a parasite. You bury yourself into his chest and hold him as tight as you can. He relaxes, body releasing its rigid form, but the murmurs continue.

He is shattered beyond repair. No amount of cursed energy could fix that, even if you tried.

You had once watched Yuji electrocute himself trying to set up the janky old television in his dorm room.

He fell back onto the floor with a loud crash, head hitting the wood so hard you thought he might have a concussion. It caused such a racket that Megumi came running into the room asking what happened, demon dog ready behind him in case of an ambush.

You rushed to the floor, discarding all the food you had settled in your lap and crumbled beside him to scoop him into your arms.

"Yuji!" You called him. People rarely used his first name. You felt special, like you knew him better than others did and for some reason that was a privilege. "Are you okay?"

He laughed in your arms, seeming unfazed by the fact that electricity had run through every vein in his body. "I'm fine, see? My finger just slipped."

You and Megumi both sighed in relief, though you always thought it was strange when you reflected on it. Yuji was a funny guy, yes. He was equal parts humour and destruction but not a klutz. Mistakes happen, so you let it slide until now, but some part of you was nagging to ask.

"That day," you start while rolling up your sleeping bag. "You electrocuted yourself. Remember?"

He looks at you funny over his shoulder. Yuta has already started cracking open cans of food for breakfast, embers of your dead fire cracking.

"Hmm, yeah. I remember. Why?"

"I just thought..." you trail off. "Well, Sukuna makes you tough to a lot of things. I'm surprised small electric shocks aren't one of them."

Sukuna. A name you'd been avoiding since this morning. Sickening silence settles between you. It's so heavy that you pause in your cleaning to look at him, brow raised.

"Yeah," he coughs. "Well, maybe I exaggerated."

"Huh?" You sound annoyed now. "You scared us half to death!"

Yuji only falters in his own chores. When he looks at you again, there's a longing in his gaze that you don't know how you could have missed. Or perhaps it was never there until now.

"It was nice to have you fawning over me," he admits.

The day goes on and all you feel is a terrible grief.

You become painfully aware of each millimeter the sun glides across the sky, from one horizon to the other. Time slips through your fingers fast as sand.

Horrifically, you can't find anything to talk about to fill the emptiness—Nobara and Megumi feel off the table considering the extent of their injuries. You don't even dare to breathe Gojo's name, let alone speak of him so boldly as Yuta is.

You're afraid that Yuji will spiral again, confused and unwilling to cooperate with his judgement clouded by loss. It's not your fault, you would say. It is, he would argue. It would do neither of you good, so you idle around while he and Yuta devise plans to tiptoe around the higher ups.

A part of you knows that if either of you told him to submit and die, he would. He's already teetering on the edge of self-destruction.

On the outside, he seems perfectly indifferent. Gaze steady, face stone and unchanging as he speaks. He's doomed, ill-fated, someone full of misfortune. He looks so lonely that the air itself parts for him where he stands.

To shoulder so much responsibility, so much death, maybe he truly is alone. Some fraction of him, at least—a piece of himself only he would ever understand.

Your hand snakes into his without a second thought. You don't know why you did it, nor do you have any reasoning that he doesn't yank away from you. His hand trembles, and it's then that you realize his whole body is wracked with tremors that don't match his distant disposition.

The second thing you learn is this: when Yuji self-destructs, he does it from the inside-out.

Itadori Yuji loves chocolate cake.

He loves all food, really, acting like your friend group's personal food dumpster whenever any of you were full. But chocolate cake you knew he had a sweet tooth for.

You used to bring it with you to his dorm, stopping by the convenience stores on the way home to grab a pre-packaged slice from the fridge for him to eat.

"You're making a mess," you would tell him with a frown, using your thumb to wipe up frosting from the corner of his mouth. You would lick the pad of your finger clean after that, and he would watch almost in a trance.

It's the reason why you stop on one of your patrols, poking through the fridge section of a convenience store. The power has been out for a long time in this part of the city, all the food is already room temperature, but you figure this is fine as long as it smells okay.

The way Yuji's face lights up when he sees you is all it takes for the worry to go away.

It briefly feels as though nothing has ever gone wrong—that after this slice of cake the two of you will tumble back onto his mattress and turn on another showing of Titanic. (He groaned about it once, saying he got KO'd too many times during this film. You only laughed in confusion.)

At the end of the day, you know those days will never come back to you, lost forever in the wind.

Fire dances before you and you watch, enchanted by the flames. You remember last night, how not even the firelight could make Yuji look the same as he did before. You turn your head to look at him, to see if it's any different tonight, just for your cheek to be caught in his palm.

His thumb traces your lip, the way you used to do to him. You recognize the pull of his finger against your flesh, the swipe of it to get frosting off, but he still seems dissatisfied.

"What?" You ask.

"It didn't come off," he mutters, leaning in dangerously close to observe. Heat rises all the way to your cheeks and makes your hairs stand on end. His touch is like molten lava. You wonder if it has something to do with the monster living inside of him.

"I can't see it," you whine without a mirror.

He draws a little closer, until he's inches from your face. "Let me..."

You've suddenly been dropped into cold, unknown waters. This is all unfamiliar. He's rushing this, as if making up for all the time the two of you lost pretending you were only friends. As if he can cram all the things he's wanted to tell you into one night.

Recoiling away, you find yourself hesitating. If he kisses you, this all becomes too real. It's an acknowledgment of his impending death. That the thread of his life is finer and further stretched than yours is.

An unpleasant thought rings through your mind. What if I become a curse on him?

"This only ends badly for us," you whisper, but the conviction is missing from your voice.

He doesn't care. At least, it doesn't look like he does. Who knows what he's thinking right now?

"Who cares?" He says. "We're Jujutsu Sorcerers. Everything bad happens to us no matter what."

You don't have any rebuttal to that, no argument that forms in your mind that could challenge his words. He was right. Only disaster befalls Sorcerers. Disaster and grief.

For a while you had forgotten, living these idyllic months watching the days pass by. You feel like you wasted that precious time worrying about stupid things, like what to have for breakfast or what kind of snacks you should pick up for movie night.

(It ended up being popcorn every time. He liked to piss off Sukuna with it, saying the King of Curses would never get to experience the pleasure of picking out kernels from his teeth. You scoffed but bought it anyway.)

Another thought crosses your mind: Yuji is more fit to be in a rom-com, or a television series where the good guys always win. Not this tragedy. Not this massacre.

You wonder if he's ever felt the same way. If he ever wished he could reach into the sky and turn the sun back to a time before he even knew what a curse was.

If you’d met each other under different circumstances, would this have been a different story? The thought makes your heart ache, a part of you so deep that even if you reached into your chest and plucked it, you'd still wail.

"Can I?" He asks you, eager but quiet. Had this been a few months ago, you imagine that he would have had this spark in his eye. That his lips would be crashing into yours with no inhibition.

But Yuji has always been selfless, you think he always will be. He doesn't want to drag you down if you don't want to—an out, they call it. An escape route just before he careens into a ditch.

Hope has drained from every inch of his expression. This is his loneliness talking.

Despite the dread that licks up your spine, you cup his face. You swear he jolts slightly beneath your touch, as if you've reached out to strike him down. A retribution he believes he deserves.

He kisses you like it's his last day on earth. 

You learn one last thing: Itadori Yuji tastes familiarly of death.

Yuta decides to leave you alone for a second night in a row. His presence is so crushing that you know he's alive, but he stalks off somewhere else, leaving just you and Yuji huddled by the pitiful fire you've built.

He once claimed himself jokingly to be a love expert, and then ran off to Kenya for so long that you lost track of how much time passed. You wish you'd asked him before he left what he meant, but at the time it seemed irrelevant. Insignificant. The name Itadori Yuji had not yet been impressed into your heart like a seal.

You're busy setting up the sleeping bags, this time pushing them flush together. They're so close you can barely see the seam between them. Yuji stands on the other side of the fire, watching.

It reminds him of all the times you'd ever scolded him for not making his bed in the morning. I'm gonna crawl back in tonight anyway, he said. Who cares if it's messy?

Idiot, you would call him. But there was no malice behind it. He treated it like a pet name, a badge of honour to be your idiot.

Life felt so simple back then. He was full of determination and life and stuck to his morals as best he could. When he wavered he would text you to come over so you could fall asleep on his chest and suffocate any other thoughts out of his head.

"I've never felt so powerful before," he admits quietly.  You turn to look at him, curious. "Like I could do anything in the world."

There's a negative connotation to that, you know. He could do anything. The world would crumble at his feet and there he would stand, laughing at it all. It isn't his will, not even slightly, but the demon taking refuge in his body would love to see the blood pool.

"Like I could just... reach out and—"

"Yuji!" You hiss, lurching forward to take his hand into yours and retreat from the flame. The skin is already pink and blistering, scorched by the embers. You twist his wrist around, observing where the fire licked the deepest, and pour your energy into him.

When you look up to see if he's crying, or at least grimacing in pain, you find only his smiling face—warm and adoring. For a second it feels like the world isn't burning around you.

It was nice to have you fawning over me.

You wipe that stupid smirk off his face, leaning in to smear a kiss along the scar on his lip.

"Idiot," you say, and he laughs for the first time in so long that it sounds foreign in your ears.

(He doesn't fall asleep that night. He would rather savour the sound of your soft snores, memorize the form of your body in his hold, and try his hardest to burn this into his brain.

So be it if you come to curse him one day. He would welcome you with open arms.)

NOVEMBER 3 2018

The day comes when Megumi sneaks into your hideout, asking for help.

His sister, he explains. He needs help saving Tsumiki. For some reason, resentment boils in your stomach, but then it's snuffed just as fast.

Two days and two nights you've spent pretending Japan isn't collapsing, content with sitting idly by as curses overran Tokyo. You're sure Megumi thought you to be cowards, that you were all hiding under this bridge to wait out the hellstorm that was raining down on your homes.

It was true to some extent. Once Yuji stepped out into battle again, that was that. You're not sure things would ever be the same again, though you suppose you lost the privilege of routine days ago.

"Let me come too," you urge. Three pairs of eyes land on you.

"No," Yuji pushes. "It's dangerous."

"I can fight!"

"You can't," he pauses, then corrects himself, "You won't."

Awkward silence settles over your encampment. Yuta stirs, standing to hold you steady by the shoulders.

"If we need help... if one of us is hurt, we'll need you unharmed. Do you understand?"

Ah, ever so wise, your upperclassman. So easy to persuade you. There's a reason why he's the chosen one only second to Gojo.

You swallow the bile that fights up your throat. "What if you don't come back?"

Yuji steps in this time, knocking away Yuta to hold you by the face. Get a grip, this means. Pull yourself together, don't you dare fall apart in front of me.

"We will."

You once considered telling him how you felt, letting it eat away at you until Nobara groaned in disgust.

“If Itadori starts dating before I do, I’ll puke.”

You remember that you laughed, thinking she was so dramatic. You loved that about her. “I think you would do worse.”

She glared at you, foot lightly kicking at your shin under the table. Still, she made sure to push equal amounts of rice to your side of the plate. “I might burn a village down,” she huffed, placing her chin on her palm.

“You’re fine. Even if I told him how I feel, I don’t think he’d accept.”

“Huh?” Nobara sounded genuinely confused, raising a brow at you. “What makes you think that?”

You didn't know how to answer that. Maybe you were just afraid that you had misinterpreted everything, that the way he held you was protective in a familial manner and that he would slam his door in your face when you tried.

Looking back on it, you can imagine him in the next room ranting about the same things to Megumi.

“He still has posters of Jennifer Lawrence on his wall,” you argued weakly while shoveling rice into your spoon. She watched you take your bite with her lips parted in disbelief.

You wish you had told him, then. Not that it would have changed where you both ended up.

You watch as they pack up their things.

Megumi's demon dog keeps you quiet company, tail thrashing against the ground as you slick back its fur. They talk around the dying flames, devising plan after plan. None seem safe. None would be.

Yuta and Megumi leave first, taking the lead in front of the pack. His dog melts into the shadows and disappears, leaving you sitting alone.

"I want to take you back, but..." Yuji glances over his shoulder toward his death sentence. "Will you make it okay on your own?"

You get up slowly, as if to draw out the time he stands before you. A thousand questions run through your head: what if you never see him again? What if this kills him, not by body, but by his already damaged soul?

He must sense the racing of your mind, so he leans in to engulf you in his arms. In an instant, memories of those days spent lounging in his bed, shoveling your food onto his plate, and purposefully talking louder to tease Megumi come flooding.

A year you would never forget. You're sure it'll become a curse if you dwell, so you tell him: "I'll make it. You go on, they need you."

I need you, too. Stay. If only it were so simple.

He smiles at you, warm like the sun that's hidden behind the barrier. Itadori Yuji looks like a ghost of his former self, battle-worn and covered in scars where his skin used to be smooth. He kisses you again for good measure, making sure he remembers the way you sigh into his mouth.

When he pulls away, there's life gleaming in his eyes.

"Let's watch Human Earthworm 5 when I come back."

Your thumb brushes the corner of his lip. You open your mouth to speak, to finally tell him the truth after all this time. You'd rather not die regretting you never said it, after all.

But you stop.

"I prefer Titanic," you confess. He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. Then he’s gone, taking all the warmth with him.

You'll make up for lost time one day. It won’t be today. You can tell him all about your feelings when he comes back to you.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[tange-my-rine]

guard dog || Tangerine × gn!reader

Summary: Lemon has been trying to get you to see it for years. His brother was into you, so much it physically hurt to watch. That's what he said anyway. You were skeptical, to say the least. The fact that everyone who had ever hurt you, or even just threatened to, was dead though, was indisputable.

TW: protective!Tangerine, jealous!Tangerine, violence, murder, cursing (it's Tangerine), all things bullet train.

[[A/N: y'all know I love a good pining story 🫣🫣🫣, enjoy :) ]]

You'd known the twins for about as long as you've been in the business. Your handler was the same, and for a mission, they just decided to pair the three of you up. It was some simple grab-and-go, you can hardly remember now actually, but the three of you mended so well that your place was practically cemented.

Don't get you wrong, Tangerine has resisted, hard, since the beginning but you could see the progress. Or well, you hoped it was progress.

Lemon seemed to think so, and that was good enough for you. Who knew him better than Lemon, after all?

That brings you to now, where you sat in a fancy sort of gala -dressed to the nines; there was a man, some wealthy guy, that was the hit. Tangerine had gone to roam the crowds to, well, find him. Lemon sat inconspicuously to your right in a suit, a nice gray number, with a drink in his hand, looked a little like champagne but you couldn't be certain.

"You think he's lost?" You questioned, smiling over your cup -eyes directed to the crowd in a sweeping motion. You lagged on every good blue suit in the mix, perhaps for someone in particular, but you'd never say that out loud.

"'Wouldn't admit it if he was," Lemon retorted with a chuckle.

"I could get lost in here," you remarked, tapping your fingers along the tablecloth, gaze slipping across the ceiling -it was all shiny with chandeliers and painted columns, "-I bet there's at least 16 rooms on this floor."

Lemon pursed his lips, "He's only supposed to be in one, though, ain't he? Minglin' and such."

"He could've slipped away," you hummed, messing with your sleeve.

"Guess so," Lemon echoed, eyes glazed over the bustle of the people.

You paused for a moment, before saying, "Why did we send him again? He's really not the sociable type to get the guy's guard down, yeah?"

"Easy," Lemon smiled, something twinkling in his eyes, "-he wouldn't let me go because of competitive reasons and he wouldn't let you go because he'd sooner fuckin' die than leave you alone."

"Lemon," you lowered your voice, "-I'm an assassin, I'm sure I could've found this guy myself. I'm not a baby."

"Not sayin' you are love," he spoke matter-of-factly, "-It's nothin' about your skill, it's all him."

You quirked your brow, taking a long sip, "All him?"

"Have you really not noticed?" Lemon questioned, now fully facing you, "-He's like your fuckin' guard dog."

Ah, this again.

"Lemon, we've talked about this-"

"Doesn't mean it ain't true," he tsked, "-I can read people you know that, especially my brother."

You did know that, but your brain just really couldn't wrap around the idea of Tangerine seeing you that way. Not that it wasn't desirable, god was it desirable- it just didn't make any sense. He didn't treat you any differently than his brother, except for small things. Like holding open the door, pulling out your chair, and listening to you talk thoughtfully (unlike with his brother who he'd directly told to 'shut the fuck up').

He was just polite.

And it's not like you didn't think him to be handsome. He was probably one of the most well-crafted people on the planet, all pressed suits and slick hair and blue eyes and strong arms-

"Think back for me," Lemon interrupted your train of thought, thankfully, "-last mission, how many people got their hands on you?"

A grab-and-go, some sort of drive, you think.

"Like how many I fought? I mostly knocked them out, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Lemon agreed, "-but, somehow, they all ended up dead. Not your doin', not my doin'."

"Well," you scoffed, "-you can't leave witnesses-"

"Mission before that," he continued, relentless, "-quick in and out, nobody but the target to die, yeah? But some bloke held your arm too tight, remember?"

He'd wanted to buy you a drink, and you said no. He insisted. By the time you'd gotten him off, Tangerine had neatly sauntered to your side. You'd always thought it was weird timing, actually.

"Yeah," you hummed, furrowing your brow, "-okay. He didn't die though."

"Yeah, he did, back alley when you were in the car," Lemon replied, taking a long sip of his drink -finishing it actually.

"What?!" You hissed, "-There was no need-"

"You're barkin' up the wrong tree, love-" he held up his hands in surrender, "-I had nothin' to do with it. Except well, baggin' 'im up, Tan wanted to meet you in the car. He's always givin' me the dirty work."

Before you could respond, and you very much wanted to, Tangerine leisurely waltzed up to the table. Slow and steady steps didn't draw attention. Although you're not sure that mattered because well, everyone is going to look at him -I mean, come on-

"Disappeared in a room with a woman," he spoke quickly, exhaling a big breath, and snatching your drink from your fingertips -promptly downing it.

"Hey-" you began but didn't get far.

"I'll buy ya another one, love," he spoke, sly and smooth -sitting down to your left, exasperated, "-Fuckin' needed it. All the guy droned about was kissing arse and fuckin' stocks."

"You spoke to him?" You tilted your head, curious -promptly ignoring the fluttering when he called you love.

"No," he nearly spit out, "-just heard 'im. Real fuckin' piece of work, I tell ya."

Lemon hummed, "Good thing we're 'ere to kill 'im then, yeah?"

"Yeah," Tangerine agreed before eyes flickering over the two of you, "-What have you been doin' then?"

"What do you think?" You laughed, "-Not much else we can do but sit."

"They haven't been flirtin'," Lemon smiled, teasing, "-if that's what you're askin'."

"Fuck you," Tangerine retorted, "-just thought I'd ask somethin' nice for once and you twist it, see? Can't be nice to you."

"Enough, you two," you exhaled, swatting at both of them -your hand brushed Tan's but you didn't focus on it for long, "-Guy's back out."

The man was tall, greying slightly by the ears and big full dark beard -seemed the type to be a beneficiary or whatever it was. His suit was one you recognized to be expensive, probably because of Tan now that you think about it, and he was swarmed by quite a few men -itching for conversation, advice, you assumed.

And then, his eyes, deep brown ones, slinked over the table, landing solely on you.

You smiled -the kind that made all the men happy, waving gently. Standing up, you patted the table and whispered to your partners.

"Looks like he has a weak spot," you spoke through your teeth, "-be back in ten. Don't bite each other's heads off, please!"

You were a people's person, and men were simple, it wouldn't be hard to get him into a private space and-

You were halted, something pulling on your wrist. Less pulling and more held in place, actually. Spinning on your toes, your eyes held on Tangerine's fingers pressed into your wrist -keeping you at the table.

"Tan!" you hissed out, trying to pull your hand away -it wasn't a hard grip, just enough to keep you unmoving, "-What the hell?"

He seemed to scramble for a second, eyes fluttering across your face, "You can't just go without a plan, you know 'at, right?"

"Tan," you seethed, voice low to keep unwanted ears out, "-the plan is simple, get him alone and kill him. Now, why don't you let me-"

"No," he reiterated, "-you can't just go on your own. He's got men by his side, 24/7, what are you supposed to do if-"

"Lemon," you hissed, trying to get him on your side.

"No," he spoke, passively, standing up, "-I'm not involved in this, you two sort it out. I'll take care of 'im, yeah?"

"Seriously?" You turned to him, merely watching as he disappeared into the crowd -there goes your backup.

You turned to him, something heavy in your eyes -disbelief, "Do you really think I can't do it, Tan?"

"Love," Tangerine began, standing up beside you -it was almost like you were holding hands, "-I didn't mean-"

"Yeah, right," you scoffed, shaking off his hand, "-I need some air."

That is what led you to push through the glass doors and back onto the patio, rain trickling down from the sky. You stayed under the ledge for a moment, before decidedly stepping into it; it brought you back to earth for a moment, anger and frustration slowly numbing to the patter against your skin.

You'd always liked the rain.

"Come out of the rain, love," he spoke, careful and quiet -gentle in a way you'd only seen once ever, "-you're gonna get a cold."

You ignored him, raindrops dusting off your eyelashes and making your clothes stick to your skin ever-so-slightly. It wasn't enough to give you a cold, you knew that.

"Please."

Now, that was new.

You turned to face him, eyes adjusting to the shadow of the ledge. He looked at you softly, like you held the entire world in your hands and he didn't want you to drop it; blue eyes dusting over your face for any signs of anything you assumed. Something in you faltered.

Wordlessly, you stepped back under the ledge.

As soon as you did, he shrugged off his coat jacket and put it on your shoulders -almost out of habit. Another thing to add to your list.

He spoke first, leaning against the wall right beside you, "I'm a fuckin' dick, aren't I?"

You laughed, just a little -looking at the ground, "Yeah, you are."

"Look, love," he started, slow -his hand brushed up against yours on the wall, "-I wasn't tryin' to say anythin' about you. I kno' you could kill 'im without even thinkin' about it. You're incredible-"

Something in you twinkled, cheeks dusting a pink -not that you'd let him see.

"I just-" he started, running his hands through his hair -you watched the motion with lazy eyes, curious, "-I'm fuckin' daft."

"You are," you answered with a lilt of a tease, before turning to him, seriously, "-but why did you freak out like that? I really just thought you didn't trust me-"

He spun to you then, catching your eyes with his -a breath shattered out of your lungs, his hands firmly on your arms to keep you in place, "I trust you with my life. I do."

You hummed, looking at him critically, "Then what, Tan? If you trust me and know I'm good, then what's the problem?"

"It's not-" he sighed, eyes leaving yours as he rubbed a hand down his face -turning away slightly, with one hand still just below your shoulder, "-Fuck, I never wanted to-"

"Tan," you echoed out, gently placing your fingers against his jaw -turning him to meet your eyes, "-you can tell me anything, you know that."

You were so close now, a breath away from him -blue eyes flicking across your features, a bit frantic. You could feel his breath fan across your face, as your hands fell back to your side. You didn't dare blink. It almost felt like-

Could Lemon be...?

Your brain was working against you, as you blurted out, "Are you my guard dog?"

Tangerine paused, eyebrows furrowing, all tension now dissipated, "What?"

"Shit, I didn't-" you stepped back, but his hand on your arm didn't let you roam far, "-Lemon keeps telling me you're like my guard dog. All protective and like constantly keeping your eye out, not letting me go anywhere without you-"

"Your guard dog?"

"Yeah, it's stupid, but-" you paused, looking back at him, curious, "-did you really kill that guy in Madrid?"

"The hit?" He questioned, something in him relaxing, "-no Lemon did, you don't remember? The fucker stabbed me in the leg-"

And then, he fell silent -something passing over his face in recognition.

"In my defense, you weren't supposed to know about 'at."

"Well, I do," you exhaled, expectedly, "-may I ask why?"

"Why what?" He asked, somewhat innocently.

"Tan," you stressed.

"Same reason I didn't let ya leave," he exhaled, simply, like you knew the reason. You thought you might, but you weren't taking any chances.

"Tan, how am I supposed to-"

"He could've said bodyguard," he spoke, suddenly, working himself up, "-Just had to compare me to a fuckin' animal, didn't he? He's lucky I-"

"Tangerine."

"Right, yeah," he interrupted his thought process, eyes swimming to yours, "-I can... I can explain."

You met his eyes, "Please do."

He paused for a moment, seeming to settle on what to say, "I am... I am your fuckin'... guard dog, as my brother so eloquently put it."

You opened your mouth to comment.

"Hear me out, will ya?" He spoke, softly, fingers brushing circles against your arm -you merely nodded, "-I'm protective over ya, beyond belief really, not sure how ya didn't figure that one out."

Your hands went to the edge of his coat, tightening it on your shoulders. It was a little chilly now actually.

"Not because you can't protect yourself," he clarified before his eyes settled on your face -gentle and soft, almost... admiring, "-but because I don't kno' what I'd do if I lost you."

"Is it not the same with Lemon?" You questioned, your breath hollow in your chest.

"It's-" he cleared his throat, almost awkward, "-very different."

"Different how?"

"Love," he sighed, a little exhausted, "-I..."

"Just be honest with me, Tan," you echoed, a mere whisper, "-that's all I want."

And then his eyes darted over your face, swimming like he was committing every bit to memory... like he could never get enough. Suddenly, something settled over you, watching as the words stopped on his tongue but his face said it all.

He didn't have to say it, you realized -watching him, you knew.

With a breath, you pushed forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and digging your head into his shoulder. His whole body tensed for a moment like he hadn't expected it, before relaxing -hands coming to twist along your waist.

"You don't have to say it," you muttered into his shirt, all crisp and clean, "-I know."

He spoke quietly, you could feel the breath on your skin, "You know?"

"I know," you repeated.

"'At mean I can take ya to dinner?" He questioned, playful but you could hear the nerves -you knew him well.

You pulled back, fingertips twisting in the curls on the back of his neck -smiling brightly, "I'd love to."

He grinned, and it crinkled at his eyes -now looking at you a bit like he can't believe it, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you smiled back.

"You had your fill, you two?" Lemon interrupted, suddenly making himself known, "-Figured out all your shit, then?"

Tangerine's face dropped turning his head but making no move to let you go -it made your head fuzzy, "Don't fuckin' start."

"I won't," he held up his hands, before grinning -mischievously, "-I will say though, you can thank me anytime. Ya know, since I played fuckin' cupid."

"One more word," Tangerine leveled, eyes glaring daggers, "-I'm fuckin' serious, mate-"

"Thank you, Lemon," you interrupted, turning out of his grip -one hand still on your waist, you doubted he'd let you fully out of his grip, not now. You didn't mind.

"See?" Lemon asked, "-'At so hard, brother? Always liked 'em better, really."

Tangerine paused, jaw tensing as he licked along his teeth, reluctant but his eyes kept darting to you -he softened, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Lemon grinned for a second before he fell rather serious, "-really though, we should leave. 'Give 'em another fifteen minutes to find 'im."

Tangerine pressed his lips together, not moving.

"Seriously," Lemon echoed, "-I know ya expect me to be jokin' but I'm not, I give 'em fifteen minutes."

"Tan," you pushed, eyes meeting his, "-later. We have forever, don't we?"

Something in him softened, eyes dashing across your face, he bit down a smile. Wouldn't dare let Lemon catch him, you assumed.

He seemed to anyway.

"Oh, you are whipped, bro," Lemon retorted with a laugh.

"Don't," Tangerine seethed, "-I'll pound your fuckin' face in, you know 'at? Not another word."

You rolled your eyes, slipping your hand into his. This was your life now, huh?

You flickered over Tangerine practically tackling his brother to the ground, verbally, but his hand still gently wrapped around yours -unaffected.

Maybe that's okay.

[areyouwell]

Memento Mori

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Violence, slight body horror

Word Count: 8.1K

A/N: Took me long enough. New long-fic comin' in from the left! i know i teased this around three weeks ago (ish) but here's chapter one. not sure this is gonna be as long as Phobophobia but i'm really excited about this one. it's a little darker (yeah i know) but i already love this MC. if anyone wants tagging in this pls lmk, i don't wanna assume everyone who i tagged in Phobophobia wants to be tagged again so i'll start a new list <3

Dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics

“So, as detailed here, there have been a string of these… murders, I suppose.”

Logan sighed heavily. When he woke up this morning, the one thing he didn’t expect was to be called into Charles Xavier’s office so soon after having breakfast, let alone be greeted with grainy photographs of some of the most horrific murder scenes he’d ever had the displeasure of looking at. Entrails, bones, flesh, eyes. None of it was where it should be, which most of the time, seemed scattered around the floor rather than attached to whichever poor, unfortunate soul who’d had the shitty luck of running into their silent assassin. Charles pointed the telescopic stick towards the mangled jacket of one of the equally mangled victims. Logan couldn’t even tell what gender they were, their face nothing but a bloody pulp.

Almost as if it had been exploded from the inside out. 

“This symbol here is the only string that connects the murders, and after doing a little digging,” he nodded thankfully to Ororo, her white hair bobbing with her dip of acknowledgement. “We found they all belonged to the same company, here.” With a click of the remote in his hands, the projection flipped to the next slide, a map of San Fransisco, a large red circle drawn around a location Logan was only somewhat familiar with, only because he’d walked past it a few times. 

“It’s a warehouse,” he offered, several heads turning to look at him. “I’ve walked ‘round there couple times. Nothin’ special, s’always buzzin’ with life.” He shrugged thoughtfully, tugging a cigar from his jacket pocket and flicking the Zippo lighter open and shut with his other hand. Charles gave him a slightly irritated look, but he pretended not to notice.”So… What? Our killer’s just popping caps in the head’s underpaid workers? Doesn’t make much sense.” 

“That’s what we thought too,” Ororo continued, placing down a few pieces of paper and spreading them about the table. “Until we started to notice a pattern. They’ve been picking off specific shift workers, mainly those on the late shift. But it’s never new members of staff either. Always those who’ve worked there for at least two years. Lately, their security has increased, but once they leave work, they’re basically on their own.” Storm took the remote from Charles and clicked to the next slide, a list of names and hours flaring onto the screen, the names of victims having been crossed out, though their hours were still visible on the row of the rota.

“Ya don’t think this has anything to do with that orphanage incident, do you?” Kitty piped up, cupping her mug of tea in both hands, either for comfort or for warmth, Logan couldn’t tell. She had a good point. It must have been around a month ago now. A fire had started downtown in the dead of night. Officials had said it was a discarded cigarette from one of the employees, but that didn’t explain why all the windows and doors had been locked.

Everyone within burned. Children included. 

“It’s certainly a theory…” Scott mused, rubbing his hand against his jaw in thought. “A terrible accident sounded far too much like a cover story. Think this killer had something to do with it?”

Charles sighed heavily. “Ordinarily, yes, I’d have some kind of suspicion, if it wasn’t for the fact our killer was elsewhere at the time.” He nodded to Ororo, who clicked the remote once again. “This was taken not an hour beforehand, on the other side of the city. Unless the killer can teleport, there’s no way they could have made it across town in such a short amount of time, let alone take all the precautions and set alight to the building. Though I do not believe it was merely a terrible accident, I don’t believe they had anything to do with it.” Charles finished before Ororo leant over the pages she’d spread on the table, spinning one to face the rest of the team.

“Though we do have this. A pattern of all the attacks and locations,” Logan stood up to skirt around the table, standing between Kitty and Marie as he inspected the red pen. With every X, the attacks almost formed an exact circle around the warehouse, almost as if the killer could predict which ways those victims would take home. Especially after the first attack. “We think the next one will happen here,” Ororo pointed to a side street far between the locations either side. “The most recent one being here, it’s logical to think they’d take the opposite side. At least, that’s what we’re hoping…” She trailed off, and Logan returned to his seat, having an idea as to what this meeting was actually about.

“You want us to lay a trap, right? Trail several employees home and jump in before Killer McGee can get their hands on ‘em.” He clarified, and Charles nodded a little too darkly for his liking. 

“Exactly. Which is why I won’t be asking you all on this mission. We need to avoid detection and sending all of us would be too much of a risk. Whoever this is, we must assume they’re a mutant. These attacks happen quickly and viciously, and to cause such damage in such a short amount of time, we must assume they possess some sort of ability.

“Scott, Ororo and Logan, I trust you can handle this task? I will be in Cerebro with Jean on hand, and the rest I want you on standby in the Blackbird in case backup is required.”

“Wait, we’re doing this tonight?” Marie squeaked, casting a wary glance to Kitty who returned her expression. Logan was relieved neither of them would be actively on the mission, he’d come to care for them both deeply, and whilst that didn’t mean he didn’t care for either Ororo or, though he’d never admit it, Scott, he was glad the two girls would be on standby rather than active duty.

“The attacks seem random, as if they flipped a coin to see if they would head out each night, but when you look closer, they’re only on the days the older members of staff are on shift. We think they’re looking for something, or someone, specific.” Ororo explained, pointing back to the projection on the screen. “These three here have been working at this specific warehouse for three, four and seven years respectably,” she clicked the remote again for each of their work ID cards to flash onto the screen. “Scott, you’re tailing Alec,” she gestured to the string bean of a man, blonde hair styled into several spikes atop his head, two silver snakebite piercings adorned his lower lip.  

“Logan, you’ve got Manuel, he’s been there for four years,” Logan didn’t think they could have found such a different-looking guy to the previous one if they fucking tried. Manuel was built like a brick shit house, a buzzcut of dark hair dusted the top of his otherwise bald head, ears like fucking cauliflowers. Of course, that’s who he’d be tailing, probably because a punch from this guy would send anyone else across the damn room. 

“And I’ll be tailing Henry, he works in the office upstairs but is still very much a likely target. We’re hoping to locate and pin down the killer before their shifts even finish, but in the eventuality The Professor can’t get a lock on them, this is the backup plan. Got it?”

Both Logan and Scott nodded in unison. It didn’t seem too much of a problem mission if this killer was cowardly enough to be picking these guys off one by one, he didn’t think they had much in terms of fighting prowess. Taking an enemy by surprise was the coward’s way out, in his opinion, though he supposed not everybody could heal the way he could. 

And taking this killer by surprise was exactly the plan…

Maybe he should rethink his principles. 

“Be suited up and ready to head out at ten. Gives us at least an hour to locate and set up.” Ororo gathered the papers on the table, tapping the small stack against the surface before tucking them beneath her arm. “Right, I’ve got a class to teach, pretty sure you do too, Professor.” She turned to Charles who simply smiled and nodded, ending the meeting just like that. With a huff and a stretch, Logan stood from his seat, instantly reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a thick cigar, earning himself a sharp look of disapproval from Xavier, the Professor glancing pointedly to the chilly air beyond the window. Logan knew what he was saying, and usually, he’d tell him to go fuck himself and smoke indoors. But he needed a breath of fresh air after that stuffy, slightly nauseating meeting, and if he could kill two birds with one stone, why wouldn’t he?

With an acquiescing shrug, he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel to stalk from the boardroom, shoving the door open with his shoulder and almost walking chest first into Jean. His heart skipped a beat or three, lips pulling up into a small smirk to hide the fact he was borderline giddy to be running into her outside the meeting. She’d been the object of his affection ever since he was brought to the mansion and she checked his vitals. He couldn’t help it. There was just something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that drew him to her the instant he was in her presence. He didn’t find himself thinking of her much outside their interactions, but when they were in the same room, all he could think about was her. It would be frustrating if he cared about anything said in those meetings. 

“Watin’ f’me now are ya?” He teased lowly, savouring the way her lips pursed to stop herself from smiling. There were times Logan thought she felt the same magnetic pull toward him that he felt toward her, times like this, where she didn’t look away from his gaze, and entertained his relentless teasing. 

“You know Scott’s still in there. We have plans,” she responded, feigning an attempt to look past him and back into the room where Scott was discussing various strategies with the Professor. Logan raised a brow as he followed her wavering line of sight, keeping that brow raised as he looked back at her. 

“Plans? Hope you don’t mean dinner, doesn’t look like he’ll be out anytime soon.” If she could just see how terrible Scott was for her. If he could just make her see how he would be so much better. Would suit her better. Would take care of her better. He wasn’t willing to change for many people, but if Jean asked, he would do it in a heartbeat. He’d change himself for her.

“Yes, Logan, dinner plans before the mission. And you know this is a tradition because you comment on it every time.” She huffed, her hair bobbing slightly with every emphatic move of her head. Logan chuckled lightly, his eyes briefly glancing from her gaze to her lips, how perfect they looked, and how perfect they would look wrapped around his–

“Then we both have our little traditions, don’t we? C’mon, doll. Why don’t we stop this dance?” His fingers curled through a strand of her hair, feeling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Haven’t I shown ya I can be the good guy?”

Jean sighed, and Logan half expected her to move away, but instead, she just closed her eyes, shaking her head softly. Was she mournful? Disappointed? It was hard to tell. 

“Logan, I don’t–”

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Scott’s voice slashed through the charged atmosphere between them, and Logan found his hand falling away from Jean’s hair almost instantly. 

“We were jus’ talkin’, Scotty.” Logan shot back, trying to keep the defence from his voice. There was no need to let Scott know just how irritated the interruption made him feel.

“Yeah, like hell you were. Back off, Logan. I don’t wanna have to tell you again.” Placing his arm around Jean’s shoulders, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way she shrank slightly, looking almost humiliated. He tensed his jaw. If she hated Scott’s attention this much, she knew what he had to do. Logan didn’t know how much more obvious he could make his interest in her. All she needed to do was take the leap. “Yeah yeah, ‘stay away from my girl’, I know.” He mocked, sending Jean a wink before continuing on his path to the courtyard. Now he really fucking needed that cigar.

The city was so pretty in the twilight. Silhouetted buildings scattered with twinkling lights against a deep blue sky, it almost made up for the lack of stars. And there was nothing like watching the city skyline descend into darkness that had you more prepared than ever for your latest chosen victim. You hadn’t learned nearly as much as you should have by now, nobody you’d tortured knew anything about what you were looking for and it was starting to piss you off. But you didn’t bury those feelings. Instead, you harnessed them. Used your frustration to your advantage and honed yourself like a forged weapon. Every burn of urgent irritation sharpened your slices, focused your fileting, and pinpointed your precision. 

For the greater good, you reminded yourself as your watch beeped ten, and you spun the small knife in your palm before sheathing it in your boot. Your specific target of the night finished early every other week on Thursdays, hence your change in schedule today. In fact, a good few of them did. You assumed it had something to do with specific shipments on the warehouse floor but you didn’t bother yourself with the details. You knew his schedule now. You’d been watching for weeks. And you had every single detail of his various ways home. He was a bus-taker. Though, to avoid you, he’d been taking different numbered busses to other parts of town, before heading home. But the moron used the same three in rotation. There was no cause to wonder why he worked in a warehouse…

Although you had a good feeling about this one. You’d already scored one victim of the night, who was currently unconscious in your chosen location. You were one hundred per cent sure he knew what you were looking for, and you had a fantastic feeling about this one too.

Standing from where you’d been lounging against a rooftop balcony, you stretched your arms high above your head, listening to your bones and joints crack slightly before securing the steel mask over your features, cursing the phantoms of your past for providing you with such memorable makeup, and, shrugging the hood of your short-sleeved jacket over your head. Your hands dipped into the various sheathed across your waist, double checking the various blades in your belt. You were thankful you never needed to go through any kind of metal detector, because it would likely take you the rest of the night to remove every weapon dotted about your body, from the little holsters on your biceps to the sheathes in your boots, to the retractable blades in the bracers on your wrists. A wise woman once said you can never have too many knives.

A phrase you really should copyright before anyone else claims it. 

Five past ten. Go time. Taking a few steps back, you broke into a sprightly run, leaping like a dexterous cat across the rooftops, every step measured in surety. You’d done this too many times to start second-guessing yourself now, and it wasn’t like you were a stranger to the city’s rooftops and sketchy alleyways before you started doing this. With little effort, you crossed blocks in a matter of moments, skipping over crowds and traffic like it was child’s play before you landed with a deft roll above the side street tonight’s victim would take in a matter of five minutes. 

Like you said. Child’s play

You crouched low, removing the serrated knife from your belt, and flicking it in your palm over and over. It was a habit you’d developed when waiting in anticipation for something. It kept your hands occupied whilst your mind focused on the events to come, picturing exactly how you wanted things to play out. It was difficult. Capturing and torturing these assholes was like shooting fish in a barrel. 

“Fourth clear, no signs of our guy.”

You ducked low on the rooftop, an unpredicted obstacle walking into view wearing some shitty leather getup, fingers delicately perched at the side of his horizontal glasses. Though they weren’t exactly glasses. How would you describe it? Eye-guard? Some weird single glass as opposed to glasses? Whatever the fuck they were, you didn’t exactly want to find out what they did. He was holding them as if they were some kind of weapon. 

Shit, this really wasn’t good. If he didn’t move on now, you’d have to take him out and risk alerting your victim to your presence. Fuck, fuck and fuck again. And just as luck would have it, Alec appeared at the other end of the alleyway, nervously looking about before entering hurriedly. People didn’t watch enough movies. Did they really not know that entering dark alleyways with a killer on the loose was practically the same as signing your own death certificate? In any case, this actually worked in your favour. With Mr Visor patrolling the other end, you sliced open your hand, your blood humming as you pulled it from your veins to wrap around the metal drainage pipe before you swung off the rooftop, the crimson rope twisting and writhing as if it were alive as you descended, landing quietly a few paces behind him.

Now, if he wasn’t on such high alert, he would have most likely chalked the slight thud of your landing to the sound of a street cat, or perhaps a fox. But the way Alec jumped with a yelp, staggering as he turned to face you, didn’t exactly scream discreet. You held your hand up in front of you, contorting your fingers as your mutation felt for his pulse, slowing down the blood flow in his veins as quickly as you could. Not fast enough, a strangled yell flew from his now pale lips, and you swore viciously as your latest obstacle jogged back into view between the alleyway’s walls. 

“Shit, HE’S HERE!” He called to nobody you could see, and you barely had time to duck before a searing red beam of pure energy shot above your head, illuminating the dingy street in the crimson glow. You thought it slightly ironic, as your knife slashed through the palm of your hand, the colour of his mutation and who he was up against. Curving your arm in a wide arc, you manipulated your own blood cells into a wide blade, propelling it forward whilst you took a few steps toward your now collapsed victim. With Glasses now distracted by what you assumed was him discovering your own mutation, you felt around his veins for his heartbeat, tracing the blood flow back until you found the source, and you poured all your energy into slowing that one too. 

“He can manip… manipulate bl… blood.” Once again he spoke aloud to nobody you could sense, his knees giving out before he crashed to the floor. You huffed out a breath, fishing a small bandage from the pouch on your belt before wrapping up your hand and pulling the tie tight with your teeth. The one thing you found frustrating about your mutation was your inability to heal. How fucking helpful that would be, if every time you had to slash yourself open, you could just reseal the wound? Instead of running the risk of bleeding out. But you guessed everything had its drawbacks. Even blood manipulation. 

You bent to pick up Alec’s ankles, dragging him a few feet back the way he came, before you stopped, and looked back to the unconscious mutant at the alley’s mouth. You should kill him. Things would be easier if you did. And so, dropping your victim’s feet without much care, you strode over, finding a small gap in the wrappings around your palm, you extended a small spear from your flesh with the intention of jabbing it through his head and silencing what he saw here forever. 

But there were little voices calling out from a small earpiece nestled in his ear canal. You tilted your head, plucking the bud from the side of his head and holding it up to your own ear.

“Scott? Scott can you hear us?!”

“We’re tracking your location, hang tight!”

“I’m en route, stay alive asshole.”

A kaleidoscope of voices blended together, though the last one had you dropping the earpiece and crushing it with the heel of your boot. Someone was coming. A big someone. Someone whose voice you really hoped didn’t match his body. 

You should kill him. You really should kill this Scott guy, but something about the concern and fierce loyalty of those in the earpiece stopped you. This man was loved. He was cared for. Most of your victims didn’t have anyone. No family, very little friends, and all with some kind of penchant for criminal activity. Alec, for example, was finding himself becoming a little too familiar with the gates of a primary school. The more you watched him, the more you found yourself utterly repulsed by the way he would try and get the attention of those kids. Those children. 

But Scott had people who would care if he died. And so you let him be, pulling and pushing him upright against the wall before jogging back over to your actual victim and resuming your strained attempts to drag him off to your chosen location for the night. 

An ancient, local church, ironically enough. 

Logan raced through the streets, across busy roads and through closed parks, leaping over fences and gates effortlessly. He knew Scott’s location, Jean begging him over coms to do what he could. He was still alive, The Professor could sense it, but how the mission had immediately gone south, he had no idea. But at least Scott was still alive. At least, he was for now. 

“SCOTT!” He called, slowing his steps as he closed in on his location, his claws sliding from his knuckles. The metallic scent of blood flooded his senses, but it wasn’t Scott’s. He knew what Scott’s blood smelled like, having punched him in the nose a few times for the scent to be memorable. No, this blood was new, unfamiliar, and reeked of mutation. Which he supposed made sense.

Blood manipulator. That was the last thing Scott had said before he fell silent and before his channel died completely. And stalking up to the mouth of the alleyway, he could see why. Scott’s earpiece lay crushed on the concrete, little pieces scattered across the floor. Peering into the alleyway, Logan’s heart raced as his eyes cut through the darkness to find Scott himself lying slumped against the wall, his head hanging low. Logan bent to one knee, placing two fingers against the side of his neck to feel his slow yet strong pulse. The same pulse that would be associated with someone unconscious. But there was no head wound. Nothing to indicate he’d been completely knocked out. 

“Is he–” 

Logan looked back to see Ororo landing behind him, her hair slightly wild from the wind. She must have flown her way over, avoiding the nightlife altogether. 

“He’s alive. Unconscious, but alive. You heard what he said, right? Blood manipulator. I think our guy must have slowed his heartbeat or somethin’. There’s no wound anywhere…” Logan gently moved Scott’s head in search of any kind of blunt force trauma but found none. Not that he was expecting to find anything, since the only blood he could smell was unfamiliar. And it lead right down the alley and out the other side. “Gonna need ya t’stay here, Storm. Make sure Scott’s alright.” He kept his eyes focused on the darkness ahead, and the small sliver of light beyond. 

“And where’re you going?” Ororo asked, crouching beside him as if to physically demonstrate she’d stay with Scott. Logan sniffed the air again, almost able to see the blood trail the scent was so damn strong. 

“Followin’ our man. We don’t know if he bagged his victim, but if he was here with Scott, then he was after Alec, and I don’t see him anywhere, do you?” He asked, raising a brow to the woman by his side, who shook her head. 

“No. And I didn’t see him from above either. Alright, you go. But be careful, Logan. He’s unpredictable and now we have an idea as to how dangerous. If he can knock Scott out cold like this, he shouldn’t be taken lightly,” Ororo implored, watching as he rose from his crouch. Logan huffed an irritated sigh, having to restrain himself before he rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll be fine. Look after Cyclops.” Was all he said, before taking off down the alleyway at a light jog, following his nose and turning left at the end. 

“Logan, this isn’t a good idea. You can’t charge into the unknown with no information other than blood-manipulator.” Jean’s voice echoed in his ear, and he once again felt his lips pull up into a small smirk. 

“Why, you worried about me?” He provoked, chuckling when he heard her deep sigh, pinching the earpiece between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll send up a flare if I need ya.”

“Logan don’t–” 

Whatever Jean was about to say was lost when he tossed the coms unit onto the ground, leaving it and all methods of communication behind as he continued on toward his target. He couldn’t believe his eyes when his nose led him to a looming church, stained windows dark from the inside, spires towering high into the night. This couldn’t be right. Either his nose had failed him, which was unheard of, or the killer had a wicked sense of humour. It must have been the latter, the stench of blood increasing tenfold as he crossed the neatly mowed lawn outside, taking the stone steps two at a time and up to the wooden double doors. 

His ears twitched as he caught distant screams from inside, deep enough that anyone passing by would be completely oblivious to any goings on within. Once again, he released the hold he had on his claws, razors slicing through his muscles and flesh as they slid from his knuckles. He took a breath, bracing a hand on the centre of one of the doors before he pushed slightly, the hinges’ echoing screech causing him to freeze, letting the sound settle before he moved. The screams continued, and as sick and twisted as it was, he used that to gauge whether or not he’d been heard. So far, remarkably, so good. 

Stealth wasn’t his strong suit. Never was, but he cursed every heavy footstep that bounced off the wooden beams and stone walls, even the stained glass seemed to be mocking him, some ridiculous depiction of a halo-wearing baby with the proportions completely incorrect, being carried by an equally disproportionate-looking woman who seemed to be bathed in holy light. Once upon a time, he may have found comfort in the frieze. Now he simply thought it ridiculous. How could there be a god when mutants like him walk the earth? When mutants like this killer were allowed to wander around completely free? 

He shook his head of the thoughts. Now was not the time to contemplate divinity. If he wanted to discuss religion, he’d have a conversation with Kurt. He followed his senses, down the aisle between the pews and up to the lectern, his head snapping to the right and through the door to the sacristy. Once again measuring his steps, Logan crossed the altar and into the shadows behind the pillars, that same coppery scent of blood lingering on the slightly crimson-stained doorknob, the faint smokey smell of mutation told him this was the killer’s blood. Had the victim fought back somehow? He assumed he’d done the same thing to them as he had to Scott, knocked them out before dragging them away. 

Shoving the door open, Logan took a moment to look around. Nothing much, other than a large closet, a chest of drawers and a small bathroom sink with a mirror. A rug covered a large portion of the floor, the patterns almost psychedelic in nature, but this was where the scent was strongest so far. Here, in this room. Then where the hell was all the screaming coming from? He could still hear it, in the distance, beyond several walls of stone, or deep beneath–

Logan paused, his eyes flickering from the bare walls to the rug on the floor, one corner ever so slightly raised from the ground. With determined curiosity, he tugged on the fabric, pulling it back from the ground before tossing it completely into a corner. There, now revealed, a wooden trap door. He couldn’t help but think it was a little cliché, to have a trap door leading down to some kind of torture chamber, but if the chosen location told him anything, it was that the killer had a flair for the dramatic. 

To hell with stealth at this point. Logan crouched, gripping the large brass handle and throwing up the door so it clattered loudly against the floor. He was glad he had excellent vision, as the darkness beyond would be enough to turn away even the bravest of souls. And yet, here he was, taking step after step down into the pitch black, his eyes reflecting what little light there was. Perhaps the setting was more fitting than he originally thought because it truly felt like he was descending into the pits of hell with each careful step. The scent of blood now fused with the acrid scent of urine, and the musk of sweat. It was enough to have him almost gag, but he kept on going, led by the sounds of broken screams. 

Until those broken screams were cut viciously short. 

Logan stopped in his tracks, bracing a hand against the damp wall, a crippling sense of failure weighing heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t been fast enough, and now Alec was likely dead. He couldn’t think of another reason why the killer would just cut off his screams like that. But what unnerved Logan further, was that now one voice had been silenced, another was rising up the dark, dank tunnel. There were two. The motherfucker had managed to grab two victims in one night. What the fuck was he using them for? Why torture them? What was he looking for?

A pinprick of flickering light teased him from the distance, the literal light at the end of the tunnel winking in the distance. How far down had he gone for the exit to only now be visible? Had this guy really dragged two bodies down these stairs already today? A picture was forming in Logan’s mind. He had to have some kind of muscle on him to be able to carry weights such as these. But he couldn’t let himself get comfortable in his predictions. That would only lead to chaos. So he kept his mind open, the only thing he was fairly sure about was the fact this killer was a man. 

Not that a woman couldn’t be capable of this kind of thing, but he’d seen the size of some of the victims. Either she was some kind of bodybuilder or a man. One seemed more likely than the other. 

He felt like he’d been in this stupid fucking tunnel for years by the time his eyes needed to adjust to the flickering torchlight, the steps levelling out to a long, claustrophobic stone hallway, the low arch of the ceiling barely high enough for him to stand up completely straight, the tips of his brushed up hair lightly brushing the damp brickwork. He continued creeping forward, a cone of more flickering torchlight illuminating a doorway ahead of him and to the right. 

The secondary voice gurgled another agonised scream, and Logan felt a decent amount of urgency fuel his steps, half jogging the remaining feet up to the archway, peering around the stone.

His stomach clenched, eyes widening. Well, that would show him not to make assumptions. The killer wasn’t a man. 

You were a woman. 

The two victims were strapped to chairs, back to back, a knife in the mouth of one, the other’s head– Alec’s head, hung limp. In the lap of the other, you held a map, blood dripping from both your palms.

“Point.” You spat, delivering a harsh slap to the side of his face. “And so help you, your answers better match up.” 

With shaky movements, your captive craned his neck down, pointing the quivering tip of the knife against a random point on the map you’d lay in his lap, tears flowing down his face as he whimpered in utter terror. Logan watched as you raised your hand over Alec’s head, contorting your fingers as he groggily returned to consciousness. He couldn’t see his face before, and Logan would spend a long time wishing he could return to that ignorance. Two dark, bloodied holes replaced the sockets where his eyes should be, tears of sanguine had rolled down his cheeks, staining his flesh until it bled into the exposed muscle of his cheek. 

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” You took a step back, snatching the map from your second victim and drawing a circle with the bloodied tip of your finger. After so many deaths, the cacophony of screams that kept you awake at night, finally you had a lead. “And what is it exactly th–”

You stopped, your nerves alight with alert. 

Logan whipped back behind the archway, pressing his spine against the wall and keeping his breathing steady. He didn’t hold out hope you hadn’t seen him, and he was incredibly thankful for that, clenching his fists when your voice echoed in the expanses of the chamber. 

“I can feel it. The mutation in your blood. Scott’s friend, I assume?”

With a long sigh, Logan stepped out from behind the archway and into the light. 

“Friend is a strong term. Associate.” He responded, his eyes flickering to each of your palms as crystals of crimson extended from the two wounds in your flesh, taking the form of jagged blades. Your head tilted to the side, hood shifting slightly for the light to catch your eyes. 

“Scott’s associate…” you mused lowly, striking out with surgical precision to the two captives, keeping your wince locked away as your two blades crunched through their skulls with a sickening squelch. 

Logan clenched his jaw, keeping his chin held high. “No explosions this time? Entrails seem far too organised for you.” 

“A fan of my work? Sorry, I don’t tend to do meet-and-greets. Although I’d be willing to sign your corpse for you.” You held your blood blades tight in your palms as you bent your knees. You wouldn’t be getting out of here without a fight. And whilst you could feel the mutation in his blood, you had no idea what it was exactly that he could do. The claws were an obvious giveaway, but was that it? You’d come to learn to put all assumptions to the side and be prepared for anything. 

Years on the streets had taught you that.

“Why?” Logan asked, taking a steadying breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why?” He repeated with just as much conviction. “Why do this? What’re you looking for? Why’re you doing this?” He watched you falter slightly as if genuinely taken aback that he was interested enough to ask. “You coulda killed Scott, but you didn’t. Y’not afraid of causing pain, but you left him unharmed. Why?”

Too many thoughts were running through your head. Truthfully, you didn’t want to admit that you couldn’t. He had nothing to do with this, and whilst yes he got in your way, he was innocent. None of these people were. None of your victims were. Least of all, you. 

“Why ask? Did you want me to? Yikes, that’s some rivalry you got there.” You deflected, twirling one of your blades in your hand. “Tell ya what, I’ll finish the job for you, free of charge.” You grinned behind your mask, taking a step toward him, dragging the tips of your crystalised blood blades along the ground, leaving little crimson trails as you walked. 

“Got a lotta lip, ya know that?” He growled, watching you like a hawk as you slowly stalked forward, step by careful step. 

“If only you knew the trouble my mouth gets me into…” You paused for a moment, crouching low. Anticipation crackled in the air, sparks of adrenaline igniting the room before you launched forward, keeping low to the ground. 

Logan tracked your movements, bending his knees and bracing his claws in front of his body before your blades cracked against his, literal sparks flying from the contact point as you stay low, your other hand braced against the floor, leaving bloodstains on the stone. Your leg swept toward his, and he wrenched his claws from where they’d tangled with your blades, taking a quick step back to avoid your jab.

Using your momentum, you pushed off from the ground, spinning upright just in time to parry a slice from his claws, your blood thrumming with the impact. He was strong. Really fucking strong. Annoyingly strong, in fact. You hated having to manipulate the vessels and cells within your body, but the moment his fists arced down toward you, you had no choice but to increase the blood flow to your biceps, wincing slightly as they shuddered and flexed in response, but it was just enough to catch him off guard, your two blades crossed between his six claws. 

You didn’t let the moment linger, delivering a harsh kick to the centre of his stomach and using the almost rock-like surface to send yourself a few steps back, sweat already trailing down the inside of your mask. 

Logan bent double, grunting in discomfort before lowering into a similar crouch to your own, watching closely as your blades dragged along the ground once again, leaving little slices of crimson. You raised your head in challenge, the flickering torchlight catching two sparks of sanguine red eyes, pulsing slightly as your mutation shimmered from your hands, veins bulging up your wrists. Something tugged at his chest, and he stilled for a moment. It looked almost… painful. The way he could see every pulse of your heart thumping within those bloodborne blades. 

His head tilted to the side, and you felt discomfort crawl over your skin. Was he… studying you? In the middle of a fucking fight? And not the ‘I’m studying you to see your next attack’ kind of way. You grit your teeth, irritation flaring in your gut as you launch forward, anger and frustration now fuelling your movements. How dare he. How dare he try to read you like this. He didn’t even fucking know you. But the way his features slackened slightly, the ever so small tilt of his head. You wanted to tear him to ribbons. 

Logan shook himself from his thoughts as you surged forward, once again bracing himself for the flurry of swipes he could sense was coming his way. Only–

You ducked to the side.

Your blades retracting back into your palms as you slid past him, grazing the centre of your hand against the floor in a wide arc. What the hell were you doing? What the fuck was with all the acrobatics. You’d done nothing but flip and spin around him, barely going in for any hits. He whirled around, claws still held before him in closed fists, but you looked… done. 

Like you’d already won. 

“Well, this has been a pleasure. But I’m afraid I’m a very busy woman,” you paused, placing a hand on your hip as if you were having a casual conversation in a shopping centre. “And you’re wasting my time.”

Logan barely had time to think before the bloodstains on the ground shifted, and in every place you’d dragged your palm across the stone, a sharp spear shot from the marks towards him, impaling through his suit and into his chest, his legs, back, and shoulders with a sick, wet crunch.

Through agonising pain, he finally understood what you were doing. Setting up a fucking trap. Any attempt to move resulted in tearing fire through his body, a rough cry of pain flying from behind his gritted teeth, before it became too much as he sank to his knees. Your sigh almost sounded disappointed, and he watched through hazy vision as you brought out a bandage from your belt and started to wrap up one of your palms with a slight hissed wince. 

You’d expected him to be dead by now, and yet somehow he was still clinging to life like a tenacious limpet. An irritated huff warmed the interior of your mask as you flicked your unbound hand, another jagged spear of ruby sailing from your palm and through the centre of his stomach, wrenching another agonised cry from his throat. 

“Fucking hell… still here? Most would be dead by now.” You folded your arms across your chest, wandering over to where he was still bent double on his knees, heaving rasped breaths. 

“Most of ‘em can die.” He snarled back, his strength slowly returning as his regeneration worked overtime to remove the whipping spears from his body. You watched as they shifted in response to the resistance, fascination curling like smoke in your head. What the hell was this guy?

“And you can’t, I presume?”

“Nope. Not yet, at least.”

“Huh,” you shrugged, your eyes flaring as you wormed those tendrils back through his flesh, something twinging in your chest as you did so. “That’s… unfortunate,” you crouched in front of him, running your fingers along one of the tendrils of blood holding him still, your eyes falling to the little X symbol on his leather collar, recognition striking you like lightning. “Wait… I know you. You’re one of Xavier’s, right? Never thought he’d meddle in simple human murders,” you thought for a moment, regarding him. “Doesn’t it bother you? Being nothing but a weapon to him? Just a gun to point at the enemy whilst he’s the one who claims the victory?” You provoked, finally garnering a response as he all but growled at you, bloodied teeth bared. You had half a mind to use his own blood to sew his mouth shut, but you were curious about him. A mutant who couldn’t die, running around playing soldier for someone who would never walk the battlefield himself. 

Sure he should be the one pulling the strings. 

Logan knew you were trying to get under his skin. Metaphorically, of course. Physically, you’d already achieved that, the sharp bolts of agony with every slight movement told him that much. But he needed to get under yours. 

“I know what these people did,” he breathed, chest searing with each fiery inhale.  “The ones you choose. I know why you kill them, but why torture them?” He continued through gritted teeth, tugging against the lashing spears through his body.

“You think that’s what this is? Me cleaning up after this world’s scum? I should add myself to that lengthy list.” You growled back, gesturing wildly to the walls around you. “These people know something. The fact they’re all child predators is simply luck. But don’t you think it’s strange? An orphanage burns down and none of the bodies are found?” 

Logan stopped his struggle. “What…? How d’you–”

“Nothing. Not even skeletons. Doesn’t that make you wonder where the hell those kids went? The disappearances throughout the city, all kids. All mutant kids.” You could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what you were saying, and what it meant. 

“Y– you’re looking for information…” He muttered with understanding, and you nodded.

“The men at that warehouse… they’re always hanging around schools and –before it burnt down– the orphanage,” your eyes flickered to stairs beyond the archway, and the distant shouts echoing down the hall. “It’s a slave trade. A mutant slave trade.”

“How d’you know?”

“I… I can’t tell you that.” Something twisted in your gut as his expression shifted to something softer, despite the obvious pain he was in. You didn’t want to hurt him. It was a sudden realisation that you’d acted too hastily. Assumed he was here to eliminate you after the series of events you’d caused. But you should have known the moment he started asking questions. Sure, he was probably here to put a stop to what appeared on the surface to be a sequence of grizzly murders, but he’d asked. He wanted to know why. Not many others had done that. And there was something else flickering in his strikingly haze eyes. 

He didn’t want to kill you. Not now he knew. 

Your head whipped back to the archway, where those distant shouts had increased in volume and, terrifyingly enough, proximity. You could clearly catch the repeated calls of a name. His name. 

Logan. 

“Look, if you want to help, there’s a gala happening at Thornbury Hall, west of the city. Saturday the 18th. Meet me there or don’t, it’s your choice. But you come alone. I’ll know if you don’t.” You hissed hurriedly, flicking your fingers to withdraw the countless spears from his body, and he screwed his eyes shut as his wounds immediately began to knit back together, muscle and tissue reforming with an unbearable itch, the crystalised blood liquifying once again, staining the stone red. 

“Logan?!”

Your breath quickened as you looked back to the archway, and Logan could just see the fear reflecting in your barely visible eyes as you took a few steps back. He wanted to stop you. Wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to take this on alone. They could help. He could help. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wasn’t going to take the olive branch you’d just extended. 

“How’ll I know it’s you?” He asked as he stood to his feet, eyes narrowing in suspicion despite himself. He hadn’t seen your face. Just two scarlet eyes behind a rather unnerving, featureless mask. Your head flipped between looking at him and looking past him to the archway skittishly, hurried footsteps growing louder as his other associates honed in on your location. 

“When you get there, look for a man with a runic tattoo on his neck and ask for Alecto.” You explained, continuing backing up into what looked like just a regular wall. But the greatest thing about ancient buildings such as this was the secret little entrances and exits installed for servants, refugees. Criminals.

“Alecto?” You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at the slight smirk on his face, the amusement lacing his tone despite your efforts to try and kill him not moments ago.

“Look it up.” Was all you said, before slipping through one of the cracks in the wall the moment he turned around as two other mutants rushed through the archway. You barely caught sight of Scott and the other before you were gone. 

“Logan! What the hell? You can’t just go dead like that, what happened to your coms?” Storm ranted before falling silent, panic entered her eyes as she registered the state he was in. “What… what happened to you?”

Logan looked back to where he’d last seen you, finding an odd kernel of relief to see you’d completely vanished into seemingly thin air. “I found our gal. Put up a good fight. Slipped out when she heard ya comin’ and I was immobilised.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just let the very same killer they’d come here to hunt slip away.

“She– wait, she?” Scott asked, clearly having recovered from whatever Alecto had done to him. 

“Yeah, she,” he nodded, before sighing heavily. “Look, no point in standin’ round here ‘n chattin’ about it. Charles is gonna wanna know what I know.” 

“And what is it exactly that you know?” Scott asked, suspicion lacing his tone, his arms folding across his chest almost in accusation. Logan rolled his eyes.

“A helluva lot more than you, Slim. Let’s go.”

[mydearneteyam]

STARS ;; NETEYAM

summary ;; how does neteyam appreciate your freckles in your body? a bunch of headcannons about it! pairings ;; aged-up!neteyam x fem!na'vi!reader

warnings/notes ;; afab!reader ;; body description but not in a sexual way (we love non-sexual intimacy here) ;; mentions of wounds and scars ;; neteyam is alive so- ;; a lot of,, headcannons...

word count ;; 1.3k

✦ You've always caught his attention and once you're both a couple, of course he'll go out of his way to show you how much he loves you.

✦ That's why it's the first night when you're an established couple that he hums a song while cradling you in his arms.

✦ When you were friends, Neteyam was quite shy to show his intentions, but once the courtship began, he quickly demonstrated his self-confidence to be close to you. That didn't mean that now as a couple he would stop surprising you and making you smile.

✦ "You have always had a unique pattern, Ma Txe'lan*" he purred, looking into your eyes.

"I thank Eywa for allowing me to share this life with you…" he ran one of his fingers across your cheeks and you knew perfectly well that he traced your bioluminescent freckles, bringing them together in his mind and by the look in his eyes, you could tell he was very much in love.

"Aren't you ashamed?" you laughed, trying to hide your face in your hands, but he stopped you, not taking his gaze from yours for a second.

"With you? Never."

✦ Neteyam likes your freckles, he loves them. Every pattern on every part of your body, let's see how he appreciates them! FACE

✦ He likes to count them. He learned it from his father, actually. He would listen as his father would count his mother's freckles in english all night long until they both laughed because he always lost count.

✦ One, two, three. One pattern over your cheek, another heading for your jaw. Yes, Neteyam knows the number of freckles on your face by heart. Even without being asked, he would admit that he has counted them all before going to sleep, when you have your eyes closed and show that close to your eyes you have some other hidden one that is only seen in the vicinity of a hug.

✦ Sometimes you hear him murmur to himself before waking up. You feel his fingertips run closely over your skin, doing his best not to touch you, but you feel the warmth of his hands run over your face. Then he tosses your hair back and checks to see if there are any he missed.

��� You couldn't blame him, could you? It's easy to lose count when you're in his arms, asleep. Regardless of whether you're comparing yourself to a Palulukan* growling in your sleep or sleeping with your mouth open.

✦ Oh, it looks like he lost count again! You can't leave until he kisses all the freckles to make sure he got the ones he counted with his fingers alone.

UPPER BODY

✦ Once he stopped counting the freckles on your face, he has a new target - your body, of course! Although this also comes with your neck... and shoulders. In short form: let's continue with your upper body.

✦ Neteyam considers himself someone who loves physical contact. He always has. And added to that, he's someone who is very perceptive.

✦ So don't be surprised if, one night before dinner, Neteyam arranges your hair and neural queue to the side - it's not to count your freckles! It's simply because he thought a seed had fallen on the back of your neck. No, his smirk doesn't mean anything, but fun fact, you have seven little sparkles on the back of your neck in the shape of a star.

✦ On your collarbone there are some freckles worth mentioning, he doesn't run his fingers, he prefers to rest his lips softly and tenderly, needing nothing more than his deep and devoted love towards a highly vulnerable place for you.

✦ The quickest way to assassinate a na'vi on Pandora is their collarbone. An easy place to access if you're a predator… or if you're their mate. But only one of those options actually kills you, right?

✦ "Haha, what are you doing?" you asked, trying to see out of the corner of your eye what Neteyam was doing, hiding in the hollow of your neck. "You're tickling me."

✦ The answer is clear. Count. Not many, it should be clarified. If Neteyam could write, he would keep all his progress written down and how there's barely fifteen.

✦ There is a specific line that travels around your collarbone to the center point of your chest, in the middle of your breasts. He likes to trace it, as if it were an arrow hinting where he had to keep counting, as if your own body wanted someone to appreciate your tanhì*, as if in reality, Eywa knew that your body should only be adored by him alone.

✦ Running his hands across your chest, he can get to a few other freckles hidden under your armpits, hidden in your ribs and a few more that are reaching your waist, but stop there! Don't think Neteyam has forgotten another very important part of you, the one he adores the most, in fact!

✦ Your arms. Oh, how this boy loves your arms. Soft to embrace him in the night, sweet to hold him in his moments of greatest pain and strong to stand up for themselves, hard to protect your people.

✦ The brightest area of your body is your arms. Even though you have a couple of scars from past wounds from bad times, it doesn't mean you can't appreciate them as you deserve. Like you deserve.

✦ You know you have some scars, some bigger than others. Some that may be burns, bullet grazes, blade cuts, but no matter what it is, Neteyam will still take care of your already healed wounds. He prefers to focus on the present, where nothing bad has happened and where more than anything else, you prove that no matter what happens, you are still you.

✦ There are several wounds that interrupt the amount of stars on your arms, but it's not a hindrance.

✦ He will pretend they are still there and even, squint his eyes and get really close to see. Maybe he can still see how much they shine.

✦ The backs of your hands also have several. Well, both scars and little stars. You have some small cuts from your own knife, when you were sharpening wood or cutting fruit, as well as others you got in your youth. Oh, but it seems that you don't have more, so let's continue.

LOWER BODY

✦ We stay at your waist, don't we?

✦ Neteyam tends to trace the patterns gently at night, when you sleep or simply, when you are both snuggled up to each other. He go down from your waist to your hip, and then continue down your lower back or go all the way to your thighs. Sometimes, playfully and if you're awake, your own tail gives his a gentle flick.

✦ "What was that for?" he asked, laughing as you rolled over. You smiled and with two of your fingers, pretended to catch his nose.

"You take too long to count." To your words, he responded teasingly with a gentle nibble on your hand.

✦ Your thighs don't have too many, though there are a few straight lines running all the way to your knees from the back. Near where your tail is born, there are also some. They are most noticeable when you both go to the waterfalls for a relaxing bath.

✦ Your butt has some, but these go back up your back, so sometimes if he gets to run his hands through there, you hiss from shivering. He should count them another time.

✦ He has rarely been able to see the ones on your calves. Mostly he does it when he massages your feet after an extended trip or after a hunt that didn't turn out the way you expected. On your left ankle you have two that with a scar looks like a smiley face.

✦ Wow! He's counted all your freckles, he feels quite proud to now know your body. Oh, do you want to know how many there are? Mhm, maybe he could tell you if you counted his too!

✦ What did you expect? With you, Neteyam has no shame.

✦ Although he may have forgotten some out there… He should count them again, just in case. You don't mind, do you?

a/n ;; shot for every time i said freckles /gets drunk and shows up in usa Ma Txe'lan ;; My Heart. Palulukan ;; Thanator. Tanhì ;; Star, bioluminescent freckles. good to be back haha, sorry people i'm slowly getting consumed by my other hyperfixations, but I'll do my best to come back, ao'nung oneshot is coming! hope you'll be entertained by having an annoying big brother- ups, spoiler. ps ;; I HAD COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN, BUT I OWE YOU THE CONTINUATION OF 'WITH LOVE, GAIA' i swear i will bring it to you as soon as possible, i have to get my thoughts in order.

[harrystylesfan2686]

Disappearing Bodies

Pairing: PolyFeysand x Reader

Summary: girls from several war camps have been disappearing, no one know how. So you, your high lord and lady try to investigate the case.

Warnings: dead bodies, murder.

A/N: heyy everyone! I know I haven't posted in forever, thats because I've had my biggest writers block ever. I tried to make this as interesting as possible; please consider leaving a comment and telling me your thoughts on this. Hope you like it!!!

And yes, I will be posting the part 2 in a few days.💕

Thanks for the request @shorttstackk.

Masterlist

○●○●○●○

Your eyes scan over your desk again, trying to find anything that can help you with this case. This new case has you working non stop, racking your brain to think of anything that can help solve this problem.

There have been reports coming in from almost every illyrian camp, complaints of females and young girls going missing without a foot print left behind. Nobody knows what's happening to those girls because none of them have been found yet.

Cassian has had his men search the entire Illyria, along with himself, Nesta and Morrigan to try and find some type of clue or location, but they have all come back with no avail. You and Azriel have been looked in his office, trying to find something in the files but that, too, doesn't help you at all.

Files are sprawled all over your desk. Some stating the names of the victims and some reporting thier last seen location. It's been eight days and twenty six victims, and that's all you know.

You sigh and close your eyes, head hung down as you go over the information you have, again, to just find something, anything that can help you find those innocent girls.

"Here." A thug filles the silence and your eyes open to see Azriel putting down a cup of tea. You straighten up from where you were standing with your arms rested on the edges of your desk.

Whispering a small thank you, you pick up the cup with one hand and stir the spoon with the other. Your eyes again looking at the names scribbled on the paper.

Calantheria

Lyriana

Cirys

"Did you find anything new?" Azriel asks, sipping his from his own cup.

"No. You?" Your eyes look at his.

"None of my spies have picked on anything." His voice is calm, a contrast to the storm swirling in his eyes.

"How can this be possible?" Your eyebrows narrow in anger and frustration. "How can a someone be so clean in abduction that they don't leave a single thread behind?"

He hums, eyes analyzing the files. "Whoever it is, they are too good at covering thier tracks."

Silence fills the room again as the two of you fall quite, drinking the tae and thinking about the same thing again.

You were Azriel's second before finding your mates, the High Lord and Lady of Night Court. It was a surprise to everyone when you found out, considering how rare it is to find one mate, and finding two at that.

Three mates are extremely rare cases, only one out of a thousand pairs can you find a tripple pair. You were invited into the inner circle right away, everyone was kind hearted towards you.

But even though you were practically Azriels equal, you would never admit that. He taught you everything you know about spying and assassin ship. For you he will always be your senior.

The quiet between you was suddenly intrupted when Rhysands voice fills your head and the two of you leave everything and rush out of there as fast as possible.

Come to my office. Cassian found something.

-☆-

The eight of you stand surrounding a table, on which lies a map of the Illyrian Forest.

"A few of my men stumbled upon an underground tunnel. While patrolling, one fell in, not knowing about the cave because it was covered up with branches and leaves." Cassian circles an area with ink. "This is where the cave is. We went in just to make sure it isn't some small hole or anything, and it isn't. The hole stretches out into a gaint cave after entering, big enough for all of us to fit in."

He glances at everyone before continuing, "There were bloody footsteps at the starting of the tunnel. A pair of them, one can be identified as a male and other a female."

The air thickens around the room, all of you worrid and a little relieved to find at least something relating this case.

"I'm not sure what is in it, but I didn't have my men search it, if this isn't the seriel criminal we want, but some entirely different creature , I'm not losing my men for nothing." He finishes and Rhysand hums, silently agreeing.

"Alright then, we will go to see what this is." Rhysand looks up at you all, waiting for you to nod and continues, "Amren will stay at Valaris, guarding while we're gone. Nesta can watch over the War camps, so that if any other kidnapping happens, she can inform us right away."

The both of them nod and even though Nesta looks like she wants to say something, she doesn't dare go against Rhys' orders. Cassian interlaces his fingers with hers, as if to say not to worry.

"I will enter the cave first, Feyre, Y/N, Azriel, Cassian, and Mor will follow after. Cassians soldiers will stay at the cave entrance in case we encounter the very criminal we are looking for." Everyone nods.

"Any questions?" Rhys looks at everyone with raised eyebrow.

When no one comments he stands up straight and extends his arms to you and feyre at each side of him, ready to winnow you out. Azriel mimics him and grabs hold of Cassian. Mor takes Nestas hand to drop her off at the camps first and follow us after.

"Let us go." Rhysands voice echos out as you all fade into darkness.

-☆-

You walk through the woods with the others. Cassian leading your group and the rest of you follow close behind.

The entrance Cass found is surrounded with trees and grass, making it impossible to notice except the way it was found.

You reach there and Cass nods to one of his gaurds stationed near it. He turns to your group as you all stop with him, he points the hole, big only enough for one person to fit through.

Rhysand jumps in first and you all follow one by one. You go after Feyre and step up, looking around. It looks just like a normal Cave. Alighted with fire by cassian's comrades.

"Alright, I did not expect the cave to be this big." Mor's eyes scan over the walls with interest, before she looks at Cassian. "Sure you said it'd be big but I didn't expect this big. I mean you could fit an entire house in here."

Rhysand forms a small flame in his hand and steps forward taking the lead, "Everyone be on your gaurd." He doesn't need to remind you.

You walk between Rhysand and Feyre, her hand held yours in a tight grip, the only sign of her anxiousness. You walk further and further into the dark, the walls only illuminated by Rhys purple fire.

Suddenly you see a flicker of orange ahead, all of you noticing it at the same time as your steps falter for a second before continuing without making a sound. You step closer and finally see the scene ahead of you.

Your breath catches as you realized just what is happening. Candles surround a body of a girl, creating a circle in which the body is kept. She lies there as still as stone, eyes closed and not even breathing. The light from the candles shine against her skin that is now as pale as snow and lips that was probably soft and pink now cracked and blue.

Your hand slips from Feyre's as you step forward enough to see the face clearly. This is one of the girls you were looking for. Her name is Lyriana.

No. Was.

Now she's gone. Dead just as you expected. You still remember how her parents had begged you to find her when she got lost. How they begged you to find her and bring her back alive, offering you anything you wanted in return.

She was one of the firsts that was lost, it had been a week yet her parents never lost hope, knowing that their high lord and spymaster will find her. Well, you guess they did do that part.

"Is that-" Azriel starts but you speak before he could, knowing what he will say.

"Lyriana. Age 16. Single child. 7 days missing. A Valkerie in training. One of the first victims." Your voice sounds bland, void of any emotion and your mates pick up on the ill feelings starting to swirl inside you immediately.

"This isn't good." Mor comments under her breath.

"Oh yeah? What gave it away? The fire or the dead body?" Cassian replies just as slowly, his tone a mixture of sarcasm and anger.

You take another step closer to the body and just as Rhysand is about to warn you not to get too close, a sudden snap sounds and a hand wraps around you foot, the fingers clutching on tight enough to break bones;

And pulls.

You gasp out in pain, not expecting the attack and fall on your back. Your head hitting the hard ground but paying no mind to it, you take out a knife sheathed at your waist and thrust it on the hand with force.

At the same time a blast of purple fire hits the arm holding your foot. The force of your attacks together results in the arm cutting and blasting off into a mush of blood and muscle. An extremely unsettling site.

The blood flies to your body, small droplets smearing onto your leathers as you quickly brush off the remains of the fingers around your ankle and stand up. Soft hands hold you as Feyre forces you to step back with her and Rhysand stands before you, ready for another attack.

Now that out of danger, you see the arm that tried to hold you captive belongs to the very girl you declared dead. She now kneels and stands on her hands and knees, arching her back in an unnatural way. The eyes that were closed and peaceful, now are wide open and frowning at the lot of you with anger. You take in a sharp breath when you realize that her eyes doesn't have irises, they are entirely white white red nerves siding at the edges.

The hand that was blasted off, still driping tons of blood but it is as though she doesn't feel anything because she lets out a low growl before standing and streaking out her next attack.

Everyone is ready this time though, before Rhysand even lifts a finger, shadows cover Lyriana's entire body, slithering around like ropes and contract their hold. Thightly binding her limbs to her body and enabling her to do anything except squirm around on the ground, trying to fight.

Everyone stays silent for a while, only her growling and hissing echoing through the space, widened eyes staring shocked at Lyriana's state. She behaves as though she doesn't know anything but  attacking.

Rhysand turns to you and pulls you into his arms, "Are you alright?" His soft voice breaks the dark fog starting in your mind. You nod silently and rest your head against his shoulder. Feyre kneels at your side and gently touches the ankle that now covers a ring of dark red bruises in shape of a hand.

You step back a little to see the wound for yourself, half cresents form where the tip of the fingers were, stretching out into small sharp straches, oozing out little blood that was already starting to heal.

You sigh and step around them as they straighten up, "I'm fine. Let's keep going."

[vienssunshine]

It ain’t real cherry, but you still lick the wrapper

pairing: Makima x fem!reader nsfw: vaginal fingering, gore, death, manipulation, mind control, non-con wc: 4k author's note: Happy Halloween <3 description: Unable to get this woman off your mind, you resort to drastic measures

“It’s done.” 

The man in front of you steeples his fingers, thick, hairy forearms making a triangle as his elbows rest on the desk that separates you. His eyes flick over your face, searching for an expression of relief, and when he can’t find a trace of one, he asks, “Are you not grateful for all of my hard work?”

“No, I am. I’m very grateful,” you hurry out, “I’m just…just trying to process it all.” 

The story he's telling you—that she was shot in the back of the head this morning while on the train to work—is hard to believe. Such an unceremonious, mortal end for this mythical woman keeps this reported reality suspended in the air, unable to sink in. 

“Well, whether you process it or not, you remember our deal, right?” The man glances down to the small section of your collarbone that your conservative neckline exposes.

There’s not much a mob boss could want because, with the gun devil on his side, he could bend most of civilization to his will. So, there was only one unique thing you could leverage in return for an assassination.

“I haven’t forgotten,” you say. “But…right now? Here?” The large, curtainless window to your right provides access to the beautiful city skyline, but also allows those populating the city’s towers a view of you in return. Looking around, you realize you’re close to the Public Safety Office, closer than you thought. You don’t want to think about how your co-workers will react once they hear of your boss’ death. Even worse is if they see how you’re about to pay to have made it happen.

“Right here. Right now,” he decides, and you press your lips together and swallow harshly. You knew what the trade off would be to get her out of your head, knew you were willing to do anything, so you’ll just have to accept your fate. 

The man walks over to the small bar cart and pours two glasses of scotch. While taking a sip of his own, he extends the other glass. “To loosen you up, nervous girl.” 

“Hah. Thanks.” You take the heavy glass in your hand and choke down the burning liquid in one big gulp. Hopefully it’ll make this easier.

With that in order, he gestures to your sweater, and you cross your arms over each other and dip your fingers under the hemline, childishly waiting a second for him to say nevermind, you don’t have to do this. But he doesn’t, so you pull the sweater up over your head and place it in a pile on the top of his wooden desk. You try to put the open window out of your mind. 

“Very nice,” he says, chuckling, “I like what I see.” His gaze has an uncomfortable weight to it, and the way his eyes crawl over you makes you want to wrap your arms around yourself and cover up your exposed skin. 

He takes a step towards you and after one big swig places his scotch on the desk next to your sweater. You force your body to keep still, to not flinch away when his big palm lands on your shoulder, giving it a rub before traveling down to your chest to your bra, squeezing your right breast in his palm.

“Time for this to come off too,” he says, grinning. You force a smile back, avoiding eye contact with the outline forming in his pants. 

Your hands go around your back, fiddling with the fastening of your bra, and with one clasp left to undo you’re interrupted by the shrill ring of a landline. 

The man swears, muttering that no one should be bothering him as he walks back around the desk and answers the phone.

“What?” he says gruffly. “Huh? Slow down—slow down I said—you’re not making any sense—she’s what?—but that’s—what?…hello?…hello?”

He waits a few more moments, listening, before putting the phone down. You place your hands in your lap, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. “Is everything okay?” you ask. 

He walks over to the window, his hand on his head. “I think…I think it’s best if you leave,” he says. 

A calm voice from behind you says, “I hope this isn’t on my account.”

Your breath catches, choking your throat up. The owner of that voice is supposed to be dead.

You turn, slowly and mechanically, from the shell-shocked man by the window to the door, and you see the face you’ve seen too much for one lifetime. It’s Makima, standing in the doorway of the office, covered in blood.

“No…no…” you mumble, your fingers digging into your collarbone.

“It’s all right, it’s not mine,” she reassures, gesturing to her stained clothing. 

“How did you get in here?” the mobster cries. “Where are my men?”

“They were kind enough to lead me right to you,” she answers, “Though I believe they now regret attempting to follow through on their boss’ orders.”

Fingers knot into your insides, squeezing your heart so tight every beat that radiates through your body is painful. You thought this was over, thought you were free. 

Makima shuts the door behind her and looks down to you, still frozen in the seat of your chair. “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with him now. Please close your eyes.”

“What? Wait, don’t—” you gasp out, but she steps forward and places her slender fingers over your face anyway. 

The man makes a strangled noise. “What…what are you…?” he chokes out. The question goes unanswered and his body thuds to the ground. When she removes her hand, you don’t open your eyes, this time of your own volition. 

She hums, and another strange noise comes from the body, like the crushing of fleshy insides. Then she puts her hand on the back of your head, petting you in a gesture she must think is soothing. “It’s okay now, he’s gone.” 

Gone, the only lifeline you had out of this, gone. There’s no one else you’re able to turn to; the henchmen of the gun devil, the most feared devil after the chainsaw devil, were the only people who could get rid of her. Though, those who tried are dead now. They have that in common with your hope of being released from your role as Makima’s plaything. 

You open your eyes, fixing them on the corner of the desk in front of you. You don’t see the man anymore. 

“It wasn’t very nice of you to try to get me killed,” she says, like she’s scolding a child. “And with the gun devil? You think that lowly of me?” 

Her petting pauses, waiting for an answer. 

You can’t get one out. “I–I…” There’s a puddle of blood spreading across the floor by the window. 

“It’s all right, I’ll forgive you.” She turns your chair around effortlessly, forcing your gaze upon her glowing eyes. “This time.” She smiles. 

Voice breathy, you ask, “What–what do you want from me?”

Makima places her hands on the arms of the chair and leans over you, claiming every inch of distance separating your bodies. You recede into the chair as far as you can, shaking. “I think that should be obvious by now,” she says.

“I don’t…” No, you can’t. You can’t do this again. 

She moves into the crook of your neck, taking a deep inhale, and then sighs from the pleasure of your scent. “I don’t enjoy it when you play coy. Or when you act as if you do not like this as much as I do.” She combs your hair away from your face. “But I can’t get upset, you’re just so cute, my little hunter.”

Hunter. How you hate that word. How you hate your job—forced to live in fear of torture and death at the hands of devils. It was what your contract required: you either worked at the Public Safety Department killing devils or be executed as a traitor to the country. Not much of a choice at all. And you don’t even know how this happened. It was as simple as it was terrifying—you woke up one day contracted to a devil, the spider devil Princi. It was the day after that freak accident in the alley by your apartment. The day after you met Makima. 

You retort, “I’m not your–”

But then her lips graze your neck, and your voice stops in your throat. Softly, gently, they roam up and down your rapid pulse point. Your stomach drops, because then it lights up within you, that frighteningly familiar warm sensation that begins to pour through your body. It’s like an initial stream of lava slowly rolling down the side of a volcano, a warning that there’s much more to still come. 

No, it’s happening. She’s doing it again. 

Your head rolls to the side, exposing more of your neck to her, and you let out a shaky breath as she crawls onto the chair, straddling your lap. 

“There’s my good girl, letting me in,” she whispers before suckling on your neck, harsh enough to leave a bruise. The violence is lost on you, your arms circling around her waist, pulling her in tighter, wanting more. 

You’ve got to get her off–

Makima’s arms lock around your shoulders, pulling you in tight so her breasts press up against yours, soft, warm. She nips at your neck again, drawing out a quiet moan from your throat. 

It’s something about her, something that’s making you lose control.

Her fingers dip under your bra straps, slipping them off your shoulders. When she reaches behind your back and unclips your bra, there’s no embarrassment, no desire to cover up, and the garment falls to the side of the chair. 

It’s been like this every time, something in your brain just goes slack when she asks anything of you, even worse when she touches you. 

Makima kisses your neck one more time before her hands travel down to your chest.

You’re pretty sure that the first time it happened was the evening you stayed late to help her finish some reports. You don’t remember agreeing to help or actually working on any of the reports, just that you left her office with your underwear in your hand. 

Makima runs her palms over your breasts, your nipples piquing up to meet her enticing touch. 

That night hammered a tiny crack into your psyche, giving rise to insufferable symptoms you’ve had to live with ever since. The next few days after that night, every single thought that passed through your mind was about her. 

She hums before leaning down to press wet kisses to your chest, fanning the flames licking up the sides of your stomach. 

There were so many long, painful nights after you met Makima. You’d lie awake, your once comfortable bed hard as a rock, pouring over the small interactions you had with your boss that day. 

Her tongue rolls over your nipple while her hand kneads your other breast.

There was nothing more important to pay attention to—often you were forgetting your own needs, going days without anything to eat or drink. You tried setting reminders for yourself, but lightheadedness and fatigue still became daily occurrences.

Makima’s touch travels down to your hips, her thumb circling over the bone as she leaves a few more dark marks on your clavicle. 

It terrified you, these intense, foreign thoughts banging around your head, evicting your own consciousness from your brain. It was unbearable, you were getting sick every other night, throwing up in the toilet from just how much you missed a woman that you haven’t even had dinner with. 

She moves from your collarbone and gently bites your shoulder, next licking and kissing the indentations of her teeth in your skin. 

It wasn’t healthy. But therapy didn’t help, your friends laughed it off, and you could never mention it to your parents.

Lightly dragging her nails down your shoulders to your hands, Makima slinks to the ground in front of your chair, spreading your legs and pushing your skirt up. 

You felt like you were going crazy. 

She hums as she removes your underwear, revealing a glittering mess between your legs.

It eased up a few days after the evening you stayed late, though the thoughts never truly subsided. They’d ebb and flow, worsened after a noticeable gap in your memory. It didn’t make any sense, like you were living in a nightmare rather than reality.

Makima thumbs over your folds, drawing out a sharp hiss as she slips closer to your aching hole. 

It was one harmless comment from Aki, a co-worker contracted with the fox devil, that revealed everything to you. 

“Yeah, Princi will do just about anything Makima tells her to. It’s like she’s under a spell or something.”

A spell? What a strange way to put it.

Unless it’s not strange at all, rather, a reasonable, accurate way of describing it.

A spell. It all became clear. You’d been pondering any type of natural explanation for these maddening symptoms, but it’s possible there never was one. You were the victim of a supernatural influence…which can only be the work of a devil.

And it wasn’t only you, and not just Princi, the spider-devil you magically became contracted to—certainly Makima’s doing—it was everyone that’s under Makima’s spell.

It was some kind of power, a way she could get everyone to do her bidding. She’s been able to talk you and your co-workers into doing anything, and you weren’t the only one with strong feelings for her: you rivaled Aki, Denji, and a few others who’ve proclaimed their love.

Makima had completely infiltrated your mind. It’s why you wanted her dead.

She pushes her fingers inside your aching hole, slipping right in with no resistance from your body. 

You exhale a curse that brings a smirk to her face. She knows this feels good, whether you want it to or not. So she gives you more, dancing her fingers in and out of your core, intent on provoking the primal way your body reacts to her. 

Your hips buck and twitch with every strong curl of her fingers, body unable to resist the way the pads of her fingertips stroke every weak point of your canal in a meticulous assault. 

“You wanted to say goodbye to this?” she taunts, tilting her head and drinking in your expression as your face contorts. 

“Fuck…you,” you grit out, “This isn’t right. This isn’t me.” 

“If not you, then who’s currently soaking my fingers?” she responds, with a pointed thrust that has your hand flying out to grab onto her shoulder. The strength in your grip does little to faze her. 

“It’s not real.” you cry out, a desperation for your words to be true underlining your voice. “I know what you are.” 

“Oh?” She seems amused by the contrast of your verbal combativeness and the way your body writhes beneath her. How your hand has moved from her shoulder to encircle her wrist in a tight grasp, but makes no effort to pull it away. 

“And who would that be?” Her glowing eyes flare as they narrow in on you. It sends a wave of ice through your body until the next curl of her fingers heats it up again. You groan, finding it harder to follow your train of thought with the incessant rhythm of pleasure pounding through your body. 

“You’re the control devil. One of the four horsemen.”

She’s unaffected, her soft smile never faltering, but her movements pause. “What makes you say that?” 

With a respite, it’s easier to make your argument. “I’ve seen it. Everyone at work does anything you say, and they’re all in love with you. But a fucked up kind of love, obsessive. Like me, it’s an obsession when it comes to you. I feel fucking crazy.”

“How sweet,” she croons, placing a kiss on your inner thigh, “I like you very much as well.” 

You try to pull your thigh away, but she keeps it locked in place. “No, this isn’t—it’s not real. Because these emotions are what you want me to feel. The book—the book in the office library—it says the control devil can manipulate a person’s thoughts and emotions.” 

Her jaw tightens and she sits back on her feet. “I wonder how that book re-appeared,” she notes rigidly. Then she sighs, “No matter, I’m sure I’ll work it out.” Makima looks back up to your face. “After I’m through with you.”

You shudder and her hands find their way back to your thighs, fingertips skimming over your goosebump-ridden flesh. “It’s fascinating that you think I ever used my powers on you,” she says. 

It’s true then, she’s the control devil. But she’s denying her role in your spiraling sanity. 

“I’ve never, ever felt like this before. Never been so crazy or intense about someone, it’s not normal,” you argue, wincing as she reinserts herself. “You’re controlling me—it's the only explanation.”

“Am I?” Makima asks, curling her fingers again, “Or is it that you respond?”

Your eyes flutter and your hips instinctively grind against her hand. Fuck, you can’t focus when she touches you like that.

“You’re certain I’m making you like this?” she asks. Your hand reaches for the one on your thigh, holding onto it while she pumps in and out if you. “Or…are you actually enjoying this as much as you seem to?”

She’s making your head hurt. It’s her fault…right? She’s the one that’s manipulating your feelings, it’s her that’s implanting ones you’d never normally feel, and exacerbating their intensity with a flick of her fingers. It’s not you, it’s her.

And yet it’s your body that’s building up to a peak, one that you can’t stop yourself from reaching, one that you know will redefine the foundation of your world once more. You tried to have her killed—to protect yourself from her influence—and she’s still about to make you come.

It makes you wonder how much is her fault and how much is yours. 

You had a bit of a crush on her before you really knew her. She was so nice to you when you first met, made you feel like there was someone in your corner during such a hard transition. She even bought you lunch a few times, your favorite meal. 

You can’t quite remember how it even got to this point. Trying to kill her? Taking it to that level? You wonder if you were overreacting. Really, she’s nothing but nice to you.

And she makes you feel so good. So good you can’t stand it. Can’t stand her? No, can’t stand being away from her. God, this is all so confusing. Better to not think so hard.

You look down to her. It’s that same smile. She’s got you.

“Damnit,” you hiss.

“Mhmm,” she agrees. 

Then your hips jolt. Several waves of unadulterated bliss course through your body, surging through your spine so fiercely that your back arches up off the chair. Your free hand clings to the desk behind you, trying to keep you from falling off the chair as you endure the orgasm.

Your eyebrows press together and your mouth drops open in a silenced scream. Pleasure pounds through your body, beating against every part like a stick to a drum. 

“Fuck,” you say, digging your fingers into Makima’s wrist, “Feels so…oh my god.” 

“Doing so good,” she coos, and you can only whine back, voice cracked and dry.  

Makima pulls your closer, hand snaking around your waist so it’s supporting your curved lower back, pulling you into her fingers that pump in and out of you. There’s no escape, her assault on your core is merciless, even if you’re hanging onto the edge. 

God, you need a break, need this orgasm to end. You call out her name, begging for a reprieve. 

Makima doesn’t stop her motions, and her fingers drag against your sensitive walls. You go to pull her hand away, to end the overstimulation. 

And then you feel it, a sudden, tingling buzzing in your lower back, pushing closer and closer to your core. Your first one has barely finished, scattered sparks still rocketing through your body. Makima doesn’t care, she’s intent on pushing you to your limit—breaking you.

“I can’t…oh my…mm’god I can’t–” you say, twitching and groaning as your hole throbs around Makima’s working fingers, already spent. 

“You can,” she replies, her eyes glowing once more, “and you will.”

“Shit–Makima,” you moan, the feeling re-approaching your core, building in intensity. It’s like being caught under a violent wave, coming up out of the ocean half-drowned, and rubbing the salt out of your eyes to see an even bigger, fiercer wave towering over you.

Terrified or not, the wave crashes down, and there’s nothing you can do but try to hold on to the seafloor.

“Fucking–shit–Makima oh my god,” you cry out, eyes pressing shut. You’re shaking, shifting around in the chair but her hands keep you pinned in place. You catch a glimpse of her in your struggle—she just watches you, smiling.

“Ah,” you cry out. The sensation is flooding through your body, splintering out to reach every nerve in your core, your torso, and then your arms and legs. The experience is overwhelming, your body is being made a vessel to handle a voltage it can’t endure. 

You heave and you jolt but you can’t fight the feeling out of you, it’s entrenching itself into your muscle fibers and bones. The heat has creeped up your spine, making your head even dizzier. 

Your voice reverberates through your throat, but nothing intelligible comes out. It takes two more attempts at communication to realize that the only thing you can say is her name.

So you repeat it, over and over like it’s a language. 

“M–Makima…Makima….Ma-kima…”

Your vision is white and you can’t feel the chair underneath you. Makima grabs your face, her voice is echoing through you, but you can’t really hear any of it.

“Yes,” you respond, but you don’t know how, you never tried to say it. 

Then the wave recedes, color seeping back into your eyes, and the deep pressure of your orgasm slowly decompresses from your lower body. 

You fall limp in the chair, muscles exhausted and unable to move. Your body aches and your mind flickers on and off like a broken lightbulb.  

“That’s a good girl,” Makima coos, stroking the sides of your thighs. Your eyelids are struggling to stay up, but you’re able to meet her gaze. The most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen is smiling softly at you.

You’re so tired. Depleted in all facets. There’s no will to fight…though you can’t remember what you’d even fight her for. All you want right now is the comfort she can provide. 

You reach your shaking arms down to her wrists and guide her back up, bringing her face close to yours. She places her palms on your cheeks, cradling your face as she whispers how strong you are, how good you did for her, everything you want to hear after enduring such an intense experience. It fills your heart with a gentle warmth, a desire for her to be nestled within you, to stay with you forever.

So you draw her in, placing a soft, affectionate kiss on her lips. She kisses you back gently, fanning the warm, comfortable hearth constructed in your chest. 

When she leans back, she sighs softly. “I’m so glad you’ve come back to me, my little hunter.”

You smile and let out a breathy hum, “Mhmm, me too.” 

[upat4amwiththemoon]

Unwanted Animal

Summary: Because that unwanted animal wants nothing more than to get out.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x female!reader

Warnings: mentions of torture

Word count: 2197

a/n: new series, I’m so excited for this!!

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @sayah13 @strangegardentaco @natashamaximoff69

masterlists | guidelines

All parts: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

Natasha walks down the empty hallway. Her gun is in front of her, ready to shoot if necessary. She can hear the sounds of fighting coming from the other Avengers. They’re winning. HYDRA didn’t staff the facility with enough men to keep it secure.

Her breathing is calm and quiet, like the steps she takes. She goes through every room, looking for anything important, while skillfully avoiding anything that could make noise on the floor.

A creaking sound comes from near her. She stops moving, listening for the origin of the noise. When nothing can be heard anymore, she continues moving, though now even more cautious than before. There’s a door ajar in front of her. She sneaks right next to it, gripping her gun better, before slamming the door open. Pointing the gun towards the mostly empty room, she suddenly notices a shaking figure at the corner of the room.

The person is holding their arms up and eyes closed, trying to appear as non threatening as possible. “Stand up.” Natasha’s voice is cold. She keeps staring at the figure, who is slowly getting up. It’s a woman. “Who are you?”

“I’m Y/N,” she opens her eyes carefully, “I am a former Black Widow agent. I was caught by HYDRA after the Red Room fell.” Her voice is shaky and quiet. Her eyes meep darting all over Natasha, analyzing her, trying to see if she’s a good guy or not.

Natasha glances at the door behind her. It’s a heavy metal door, meant to keep people in. The room is small with no windows or unnecessary furniture. There’s only a thing mattress and a hole that’s supposedly the toilet.

“One of the agents was bringing me back in until all the loud noises started. He ran away and forgot to lock my door because of it.”

Putting her gun down, Natasha relaxes her stance, though she’s still vigilant, ready to shoot if the woman in front of her decides to attack. “I’m Natasha Romanoff and I’m here with the Avengers. Are there any other prisoners here?”

Y/N shakes her head. “They were moving us out to a different location, don’t know where. I think I was the last person to be moved.”

That explains why the facility is so lightly guarded, there’s nothing important left here. Everything has already been moved somewhere else. “If you came with us willingly, would you to tell us everything you know about HYDRA?”

“Yes.” The answer comes out quick, with no hesitation. She’s desperate to get out.

“Come on then,” Natasha starts leading her back towards the way she came from. “Stay beside me and be careful.”

Y/N looks around the empty interrogation room. It’s very white, with bright lights. There are two cameras in the upper corners of the room. Although, they are hidden, Y/N can easily recognize them. Her hands are cuffed to the table as a precaution, which she understands. She did come clean to being an ex Black Widow assassin after all.

Natasha walks into the room. Her clothes are different. She is out of her mission suit, now wearing clothes with the SHIELD logo on them. She sits down to the chair opposite of her. The chairs are metallic, uncomfortable. “What did you do after the Red Room fell?” She goes straight to questioning.

“I tried to get away as far as possible, but I guess HYDRA heard what happened and wanted to collect as many assassins as they could.” Y/N keeps her eyes locked on the gray table between them. Her head is tilted downcast, not enough so she wouldn’t see Natasha’s expressions from her prephilial vision, but in a way that makes her seem more submissive. “I obviously didn’t get far before they found me.”

“How long were you locked up there?”

“Years.”

Natasha nods. She was the one to shut down the Red Room all those years ago. It still haunts her at nights, but one casualty is nothing compared to the whole organization being shut down. “What were they doing to you there?”

“Torturing,” she shrugs, trying to remember any significant moments or conversations she over heard, “I think they were trying to recreate the Super Soldier serum with us, but to my knowledge they have been unsuccessful so far. Without the original vials, they can’t be sure what the formula contained.”

Glancing at the camera in the corner, she nods. There’s a file on the table she opens. She slides a picture towards Y/N. “Does this person look familiar?” The picture is blurry, most likely because it’s taken from a security camera feed, but the man’s face is still recognizable.

She stares at the picture. Y/N does know the man. “Yes.” She lifts her eyes back up, this time looking at Natasha’s face, though avoiding direct eye compact. She doesn’t want to stare at the man any longer than she has to. “He is the one behind the whole program. He supervised all of our…sessions.”

“Sessions?” Natasha’s brows furrow. It’s the first time she’s showing anything else than neutrality on her face.

“Injecting the test serums in us, interrogations,” her eyes glance over the room then, though she’s in a different place, it feels incredibly familiar, “torture and, other things.” Her voice turns quieter. She isn’t keen on everyone behind the wall hearing her. “I’m sure you understand, you were in the Red Room.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Natasha puts the photo back inside the file, closing it afterwards. She nods again. “I’m going to take you to medical, so Doctor Banner can check you out, just in case.” When she turns to look at Y/N, her face is changed. She has a small smile on her face. It’s sympathetic.

Tony and Steve glance at each other, they’re watching the interrogation through a screen in a different room. It’s supposed to last longer, but they trust Natasha, so they push away their worries.

Y/N nods with a small smile. Natasha takes out a key from her pocket and opens the cuffs, making Y/N’s hands instantly move to rub her wrists. Although, she’s used to tight handcuffs, they’re never comfortable.

“Come on.” She walks to the door, Y/N right behind her.

As they step out to the hallway, Y/N starts looking all round her. The training is still ingrained in her brain. Look for every possible exit and weak spot. The compound is modern and minimalistic, it looks a bit like a hospital with its long, white hallways and multiple closed doors.

Natasha opens a door and ushers Y/N inside before her. Bruce Banner is waiting in the room. He is wearing a white lab coat with Dr Banner written on it and his hair is all over the place, he looks like he hasn’t slept in a while. “Dr Banner will do tests to see if you’re physically okay, and to see if the Super Soldier tests have changed anything in you.”

“Got it.” Y/N sits down with slight hesitancy, she doesn’t have to fondest memories on hospital chairs.

“Would you like me to stay?” Natasha asks. She surprises herself when the question slips out of her mouth. She’s already becoming too close to the case, but Natasha feels some kind of responsibility over the whole situation. No one could understand all this better than her.

Giving her a small smile, Y/N nods, her posture relaxing a bit. It makes Natasha feel better. Maybe by helping her she can wipe away the red in her ledger for good and make sure something like this won’t happen to her sister. The thoughts swirl inside Natasha’s head as Bruce conducts the health inspection on Y/N. She could really help her adjust to a more normal life, to a better life. She if anyone knows what the woman has been though in her life.

Bruce hums, looking at the tablet, which brings Natasha’s attention to him. “Everything okay?”

“She’s malnourished and dehydrated, understandably, but there seems to be no permanent problems from the serum, at least ones that I can see.” He turns to look at the two with a smile on his face. “I think with rest and food you’ll be fine. Of course your wounds and such need to be bandaged, but I’m sure you can manage that.”

“Yeah,” Y/N lets out a breath she was holding, “thanks, Doctor Banner.” She slides down from the table.

Bruce has a small smile on his lips as he nods nervously. He knows he is just as useful as Doctor Banner as he is as Hulk, maybe even more, but it feels good to hear genuine thank yous every once in a while. He feels like him being a doctor doesn’t get appreciated as much as the green monster in him.

Natasha and Y/N walk out of the room. Taking Dr Banner’s advice seriously, Natasha decides to show Y/N an empty guest room next to her own room, they could do all the official stuff later. “You can sleep here,” she opens the door wide, letting Y/N walk in before her, “you’ll of course be under some kind of supervision by FRIDAY, but I hope you understand that.” Y/N nods, looking over the room. “Mine is right next to you.” She stares at at the other woman, who stays quiet while slowly walking around the room. “I know it’s not much, but-“

“It’s great.” She says quickly. Y/N doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. “It’s better than I have ever had.” Her hands are in front of her stomach, fingers pulling the skin around her nails as her eyes wonder. “It’s big.”

Natasha leans her side against the doorway. The room isn’t that big, it’s the smallest bedroom they have, which obviously in Tony’s standards still needs to be spacey, but it’s nowhere near the lavishness of the other rooms of the compound. But, she understands how Y/N is feeling. Anything bigger than a tiny cell feels overwhelmingly huge. “There’s also has a bathroom connected, over there.” She points at a door on one of the walls.

“Oh, I can use it? Whenever I want?”

“Of course.”

Humming, Y/N nods as an answer. She doesn’t open the bathroom door. Her eyes linger on the big window on the back wall of the room, it has soft looking beige curtains on the both sides of it and the bed is placed right next to it, so you can look out of it while laying down.

“The window is locked,” Natasha states, “but if you decide to stick around, we can unlock it.”

“Stick around?” Finally Y/N turns to look at Natasha again. Her head is tilting to one side, her hair moving with her head.

“Yeah,” she shrugs, “if you want to. We could use someone capable with an extensive skillset.” Her back is straighter as she explains this to Y/N, somehow starting to feel warm under her gaze.

“Oh.” With that, Y/N looks away again.

“Do you like the sound of that? We could give you a home here.” She smiles slightly, though she knows Y/N isn’t looking at her, maybe that’s why she has the courage to smile at her.

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Find a home here.”

“I-“ she hesitates, “I found a place as close to home as I could, I think.” In her mind, Natasha is cursing at the vulnerable sound of her voice. She shouldn’t be opening up yo the newcomer this much, someone from HYDRA especially, but the way her smile flushes away all of her worries is making her feel things she hasn’t felt in a long time. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “I’m not sure I know what a home is. If it’s something you love or hate, run to or run away from.” Her voice comes out as a mumble.

“I think it’s both. Sometimes you can’t stay there even for one second, but other times it physically hurts to be away.”

“Sounds difficult.”

Natasha laughs, though it’s more of a huff coming from her nose. “Yeah.”

“I’m not sure if it sounds worthwhile.”

Rubbing her own arm, she bites her lip. “It might not be,” Natasha comments, “but don’t you want to make sure before deciding?”

Y/N stares at her in silence for a while. Her mouth is moving as her teeth press together every once in a while. “I suppose so.” Her words come out quietly, but they’re clear enough for Natasha to hear.

Somehow this makes Natasha the happiest she has ever been, besides reuniting with Yelena, she has to fight the smile trying to make it way to her lips, so she wouldn’t give away the joy she is feeling. “I’m sure you won’t regret it.” Is the only thing she says, before walking out of the room, closing the door behind her to give Y/N the well needed rest.

“I have a feeling I won’t.” She whispers to the closed door with a slight smile on her face.

[thollandneedy]

Ghost face mask- Tom Holland

A/N: My friend came up with the idea and i love it. Honestly, i don't have this mask kink, but i think i turned out good. Btw, more halloween themed oneshots to come this week

Summary: Tom catches you seeing a specific tiktok video, and decides to try do the same, but on you

Warnings: Sexual activity (Fingering), and descreption

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

His slender fingers with freshly manicured black nails slid across the shiny screen of his cell phone, which was already completely addicted to TikTok. If I were to see how much time he spent on that app, it would be worrying. Y/n spent most of her time on her cell phone because of her work, but like any other drug, her cell phone also got her hooked on short videos. The days were numbered for Halloween, and most of the suggested content was on the same theme. The idea of shirtless men masquerading as Ghostface had been circulating on the app for a long time, but this was the first time she felt something different at the thought of trying something like this with her boyfriend. Even though they had been together for a long time, her shame seemed to be greater.

The girl shook her head, trying to rid herself of the idea, but every time she thought about it, she became more alive. To think that she wouldn't be able to read his expression, let alone understand his intentions with his striking brown eyes. At an unexpected ring of the doorbell, the woman left her cell phone open on the sofa in the living room and quickly got up to answer the door. Holland, at the same time as his girlfriend, went downstairs to answer the doorbell, but realized that she had already answered it. The loud ringing of his cell phone drew his attention to the device on the sofa and he was confronted with the image of a muscular man wearing the mask of the villainous assassin.

The brunette tilted his head to one side, coming closer to make sure he knew what he was looking at. Maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe she was drawing his attention to something she wanted?

“ Honey! Your package has arrived.” The girl in the white sweater caught his eye, causing him to turn away from his cell phone, straightening his posture as he followed her sweet voice. “Why did you order a skeleton in a Captain America costume?” The girl laughs

“To decorate the house” The dark-haired man in the olive green shirt replied, taking the package from her hands.

“I thought we'd finished decorating here at home.” The girl looks around.

Holland had been a great Halloween enthusiast since he was a child because of his parents' tradition of always decorating the house with the theme, and when he grew up, that didn't change. The bedrooms were decorated with pumpkin latte scented candles, the bathrooms with mirrors decorated with spider webs, the living room with decorative cushions, and especially the entrance to the house with various images of the dead post-endgame Avengers. Although it wasn't the best idea in the world to put superheroes in pieces in the garden of his the idea was already in the actor's hands.

“Is your battlefield complete now?” Y/n asked, picking up the unprotected cell phone and stowing it in his pocket without expressing any reaction. “Almost. We just need to turn on the lights at night to see if it turns out the way I imagined.” The man crossed his arms, trying to decipher whether his girlfriend was going to say anything about the video, and he was wrong.

“Of course! We need to go to the costume store to buy my apron for my Love Quinn costume for tonight's party,” Y/n mentions, passing by her boyfriend and heading for the kitchen.

Shit

“We have several aprons in the kitchen.” The man mentions, following his girlfriend who sits on the worktop, leaning her weight on the marble of the table, following with her eyes her boyfriend who sits in front of her.

“We have three.” The girl replies. “And I'm not going to get fake blood on a good apron”

Holland kept staring at her, as if he was trying to draw something out of her that was hidden in his sweet eyes. The girl frowns, squinting in an attempt to read her boyfriend's mind, who repeats the action without breaking eye contact. Maybe she hadn't really meant it, and he was crazy, but if she wanted to, it would be hard to get the idea out of her, unless she was drinking wine or was quite comfortable sharing the idea without even thinking about the Brit's reaction.

“What are you staring at?” Y/n confronted him.

“Nothing.” He replies quickly. “Let's go and buy your apron”

(...)

The sound of keys opening at two in the morning was almost violent, given the silence of the entrance to the house. The floor of the room was cold, but the couple's bodies were warmed by the coats worn over their last-minute costumes inspired by the series they were watching together. The man opened the door for his girlfriend, who was still on edge from the party, while the actor had only had non-alcoholic drinks because he was going to drive. Y/n took off her shoes, held them with her hand and headed for the beginning of the staircase with its light wooden handrail.

“Come on, love.” The girl caught the eye of the brunette, who was wearing a dark cap and a white shirt with fake blood on it.

“I'm coming.” He says, locking the door behind him. “I'm just going to get something from the kitchen. Wait for me in the bedroom.” The Brit says.

“Take this roll to the kitchen for me and wash it. It's got red dye on it, but I think if I leave it to soak it'll come off tomorrow morning.” Y/n holds out a wooden spool that she used to make up her costume, hands it to her boyfriend who nods in agreement, then goes into the kitchen.

The lights are turned on by Alexa, and then the man prepares a mixture of soap and warm water to leave the roll resting. Scrubbing his hands in the running water in the kitchen, he wipes them against his dark-wash jeans, walking to the opposite side of the sink and fixing the worktop overlooking his backyard swimming pool, also decorated with ghost-shaped lights and a few buoys floating in his pool. Reaching out to open a drawer, he pulls out a white bag from the same costume shop he had gone to with his girlfriend. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out the mask he had seen on his girlfriend's cell phone, wondering again if it was a good idea.

The brunette tried to think of possible ideas as to why she was so attracted to the idea of not seeing his face. He didn't understand what her intention was, or even why she had never mentioned anything so different from her sexual routine.

Y/n was in the bathroom washing her face after removing her make-up with make-up remover. The girl was looking at herself in the mirror, observing her body and having a brief idealization of her boyfriend behind her, holding her waist tightly, making her feel his hardness against her perky ass. Her eyes closed briefly, allowing that fantasy to develop, and once again that mask was there.

“Fuck, Y/n. What the fuck?” The girl scolds herself, nodding and adjusting the strap of her black bra.

The girl loosens her hair into a ponytail, running her hand through the strands to get rid of the elastic mark. Taking a deep breath to herself, she made her way to the bathroom door, feeling the cold golden knob between her palms, opening it slowly and turning her back to the bed, trying not to make a sound, as she didn't know if her boyfriend would go straight to sleep due to his apparent desperation to get home soon.

Her eyes widen, allowing her lungs to lose air in a startled cry as she sees the image of the actor lying on the bed, his forearm resting against the bedspread and his muscular abdomen exposed while his waist is hugged by black sweatpants and the black and white mask of the killer character, Ghost face. The girl didn't say a word, still processing whether she was imagining too much or whether her boyfriend really was psychic. The room was dimly lit, with only a few candles to complement the mysterious, warm air.

A smile broke out on the younger woman's pink lips, still enraptured by the image of her boyfriend in bed. It was a mischievous smile, but at the same time he seemed surprised. The image of the Brit gets up from the bed, without saying a word, projecting his body forward and tapping the bed three times, like a silent request for her to obey him. The girl nodded in agreement, moving towards the masked man and sitting down in front of him, with her eyes fixed on his image. Holland wasn't quite sure what to do, or even what to say, but the one thing he did know was how to turn his girlfriend on.

In a gentle movement, one of his hands finds the cheek of the girl, who is still watching him curiously and submissive to his actions, allowing his thumb to caress it. Y/n tilts her head to the side, allowing herself to be touched gently. In a slight movement, the same hand that had been caressing her was now lightly squeezing her neck with force at the ends so that her breathing could be controlled. With the weight of the actor's body closer to his girlfriend, the girl stretched out on the bed and lay down. Thomas placed himself on top of her, on top of her legs so that she couldn't escape his movements. There was absolutely no noise, and perhaps that's what made the room warmer than usual, because it wasn't known whether he was enjoying or disapproving of her actions, and not even if she was allowed to speak.

“Spying on other people's cell phones is ugly, masked man.” Y/n says, having her covered breasts groped as a gentle caress against the bulge factory.

“And so is talking without permission.” Holland says.

Y/n smiles to herself, nodding and closing her eyes as soon as she feels the strap of her bra slide down her shoulder.

“Open your eyes.” The man orders."I know you can't see me, but I want your eyes open.” His voice sounded thicker than usual, but his accent was still strong.

The brunette pulls her up by placing one of his hands on her back, holding the weight of her exposed body and reaching into the back of her bra, removing it with a single “click”. Her breasts were exposed like a work of art, and her clitoris seemed to be swollen more than usual from the excitement that was coursing through her body like lightning. Unable to respond, the black bra is thrown across the room. Holland feels the factory of his sweatshirt getting tighter and tighter because his cock is already begging to be put inside his girlfriend.

“What were you thinking when you watched the videos, Y/n?” The voice caught her attention. “When you thought about the idea of not being able to see me?”

Y/n opened her mouth, wondering if the words she was about to say were really hers.

“I don't really know.” The girl admits, watching the older man's fingers trace a line down to the edge of her panties. The way it was touched was so careful that it even felt like a feather landing on her belly. Her hips rose, as if asking to be touched. “I couldn't see your face. Your hungry eyes when I use something you like, and especially your expression when you come. It's like you're selfish enough to let me taste it, but not see it all.”

Holland's fingers come into contact with her sensitive, throbbing spot. He didn't need to dip his fingers into his mouth to lubricate her, as her body was already doing that for itself. Her clitoris is stimulated by the actor's middle finger, which is then joined by his ring finger so that it can take up more of her hard-on. Holland had one of his hands resting on the side of the girl's head, who tilted her head to the side, getting a 4k view of his veiny arm. Her chest rose rapidly each time his movements seemed to connect with the speed of her heart, as they became strong and hurried.

“Why are you moaning quietly, hm?” The brunette asked, biting his lip behind his mask, trying to put all his sexual desire into satisfying his partner.

“Because you haven't given me a reason to moan loudly.” Y/n challenges him, receiving the same two fingers in her wet pussy.

His fingers curved in a movement as if he were calling for an orgasm to hit his girlfriend. The girl held on tightly to his wrist, letting out the pornographic sounds she had been holding in for ages, and the neighbors couldn't complain. The actor moaned quietly as he listened to his girlfriend, still wanting to get out of those clothes and put her on her back, so that he could feel her getting tighter and tighter around him. Y/n tried to move one of her arms so that it could find her breast in order to be stimulated, but a strong hand held her down, preventing her from pleasuring it.

She grunts in frustration, attracting the attention of the masked man, who immediately increases his movements, making her squeeze the pillows.

“Yes, my love. Come for me,” he ordered, and she complied.

He was majestic, brutal and thirsty.

Her fingers were squeezed by the force of her wet walls, while the man moaned to himself in approval of her attitude.

“Fuck, Y/n. You're so good at what you do, aren't you?”

Y/n agrees in a sly moan, catching her breath. The girl lifted her posture towards her boyfriend, who was now wearing only a pair of boxer shorts to show how long and thick he was. Y/n frowned, holding back her desire to attack him right there without permission. The brunette brought his cum-soaked hand up to his girlfriend's lips, which opened, sucking in the warm, sweet liquid.

“Good girl. Now get down on your knees. I want you to take care of me, darling.”

[soldierrcore]

Ghostbusters

𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐎𝐂!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫.

swearing, sexual innuendos.

Steve slammed Natasha against the wall. Vincent was leaning against the wall next to them, holding a pack of peanuts he got from the vending machine.

"Where is it?" Steve hissed, frustrated with the redhead.

"Safe." She replied.

"Do better!"

Natasha looked into his eyes, looking for an answer. "Where did you get it?"

Steve put more pressure on her arms. "Why would I tell you?"

"Fury gave it to you. Why?"

Damn! This is just like watching an episode of Real Housewives.

Steve got the idea that she had opened the file. "What's on it?"

"I don't know." She answered truthfully.

"Stop lying!" He gritted through his teeth.

Vincent could see the slight smile on her face. "I only act like I know everything, Rogers."

"I bet you knew Fury hired the pirates, didn't you?" Steve looked out the room's window to make sure nobody was about to come in, or nobody was watching them.

"Well, it makes sense. The ship was dirty. Fury needed a way in, so do you."

Steve lifted her a little by her jacket. "I'm not gonna ask you again."

"Steve, watch it now, will you!" Vincent spoke, lightning sparking at his fingertips again.

Natasha looked at Vincent, giving him a look that it was fine. "I know who killed Fury. Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists. The ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years."

"So he's a ghost story." Steve deadpanned.

Guess we got upgraded to ghostbusters...

"Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. Somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control and went straight over a cliff, I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him straight through me." She pulled up her shirt to show him the scar on the side of her stomach.

"Soviet slug, no rifling. Bye-bye, bikinis."

"Goddamn," Vincent mumbled to himself turned out it wasn't quite enough because Natasha looked at him with a smirk and winked.

"Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now," Steve told her. Natasha slightly smiled.

"Going after him is a dead end. I know, I've tried."

Natasha held up the flash drive. "Like you said, he's a ghost story."

Steve took the flash drive from her. "Well, let's find out what the ghost wants."

Natasha nodded and looked at Vincent. "First, we need to stop at a store to get mr. pretty boy over here a shirt."

___

"First rule of going on the run is, don't run, walk," Natasha informed the two.

Steve looked down at his shoes. "If I run in these shoes, they're gonna fall off."

"Thank you, Nat for telling me. I thought it was to run and catch everybody's attention." Vincent sarcastically chuckled while trying not to trip on his untied shoelaces.

"Shut up." She hissed stepping on his left shoe.

Vincent hit her arm. "Natasha, we've been through this Do. Not. Step on my Nike Air Trainer III's."

"Don't step on my shoes." She mocked.

"Shut up." He huffed.

She smirked. "Make me." That made Vincent speechless till they made it to the Mac store.

"The drive has a Level Six homing program, so as soon as we boot up SHIELD will know exactly where we are." Natasha acquainted.

"How much time do we have?" Steve questioned.

"Uh...about nine minutes from..." She popped the flash drive into a MacBook Pro.

"Now."

"Fury was right about that ship, somebody's trying to hide something. This drive is protected by some sort of AI, it keeps rewriting itself to counter my commands."

Steve looked around the store looking for any Strike agents. "Can you override it?"

"The person who developed this is slightly smarter than me. Slightly."

"Fucking shit," Vincent whispered next to them.

Natasha and Steve both looked at him confused.

He shrugged. "I was so close to the high score on subway surfers." He pointed to the phone.

Natasha continued to try and find out what's on the flash drive. "I'm gonna try running a tracer. This is a program that SHIELD developed to track hostile malware, so if we can't read the file, maybe we can find out where it came from."

"Can I help you guys with anything?" An apple employee asked.

Natasha grabbed Steve's arm. "Oh, no. My fiancé was just helping me with some honeymoon destinations."

"Cool, where-"

"Umm Aaron, do you think you could help me with this?" Vincent asked pointing to a Mac book two down from Natasha and Steve.

"Sure." Aaron followed Vincent to the Mac.

"So I was thinking about buying this, now how would I set it up?"

"The first time your MacBook Air starts up, the Setup Assistant walks you through the simple steps needed to start using your new Mac. Choose a country or region to set the language and time zone for your Mac. You can respond to all the prompts, or skip some and choose "Set up later" when you see that option. For example, it might make sense to set up Apple Pay, which requires a verified credit card, and Screen Time, which you can set for different users, after initial setup. Read on for more information about setup tasks." Aaron explained to a 'trying not to fall asleep' Vincent.

"Thank you. Can I give you my card to pay for it?" He told the employee.

"Yes, you can." Aaron walked to the front of the store and swiped Vincent's card and went to the back and grabbed a bag with a Mac in it. He walked back over to Vincent handed him the bag.

Vincent shook his hand. "Thank you, sir."

"Anytime." Aaron nodded and walked away.

Vincent walked over to Natasha and Steve. "You said nine minutes, come on."

"Shh, relax. Got it."

Vincent scoffed. "Relax? You're telling me to relax are you serious."

The screen zooms in and the signal is coming from Wheaton, NJ. "You know it?" Natasha asked Steve.

"I used to. Let's go." Steve pulled the flash drive from the computer and they walked out of the store.

"Natasha, you own me fucking nine hundred seventy-nine dollars and eighty-six cents for keeping the employee busy."

"I didn't tell you to buy anything."

Vincent scoffed. "How else did expect me to distract him?"

"Standard tac-team. Two behind, to across, two coming straight at us. If they make us, I'll engage, you hit the south escalator to the metro." Steve told them as two agents are coming straight towards them.

"Shut up and put your arm around me, laugh at something I said," Natasha addressed confusing Steve

"What?"

"Do it!" Steve quickly put his arm around Natasha and laughed as Vincent looked down at his shoes making sure there were no smudges.

As they are going down the escalator Natasha spotted Rumlow on the escalator next to them going up, she turned to Vincent knowing if he saw Rumlow it would be it for them.

"Kiss me."

Vincent's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable. Take this Steve." She handed Steve her phone.

"Yeah, I guess they do." She quickly pulled Vincent's jacket collars down to her level so she could reach him, his hands landed on her hips, he felt her arch into his hold.

Rumlow rolled his eyes and looked away as he goes past them on the escalator.

Natasha pulled out of the kiss and started walking off the escalator with the two men following her. "You still uncomfortable?"

"Wishing the escalator was longer." He replied putting his hood on.

Steve handed Natasha her phone back. "I'm glad it's over, those things make me sick."

Vincent chuckled putting an arm around Steve. "Let's go grampa.

____

"So we have to steal a car?" Vincent asked his two superheroes/super-spy best friends...only friends except for Milo.

Natasha pushed a strand of her straight red hair out of her eyes. "Yes."

"And none of you know how to do that?" Vincent snorted.

Steve and Natasha rolled their eyes. "Yes, Vince."

"This is going to be fun I haven't done this sinc-." Vincent cut himself off as he remembered why he stopped.

"Since what?" Natasha questioned.

Vincent shook his head. "Nothing."

____

He watched as a woman parked her Chevrolet Silverado 1500 LTZ. After the woman walked inside the Mall and nobody was around the truck he hotwired the truck, as soon as the truck started Natasha opened the door to the front and climbed in and Steve climbed in the backseat.

"Where did Vincent Lanez learn how to steal a car?" Natasha questioned him.

"My older brother Timothee." Vincent smiled making a right turn. "And we're borrowing. Take your feet off the dash."

Natasha glared at him and took her feet off the dash.

"Timothee?" Steve asked, the whole time he knew Vincent he's never seen or heard about an older brother.

"Uhh, he died a year ago."

Steve frowned. "I-I didn't know, I-I'm sorry."

"It's fine Steve."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Natasha asked frowning.

Vincent sighed. "Because I can barely speak about."

Natasha nodded. "Alright, I have a question for you, oh, which you do not have to answer. I feel like if you don't answer it though, you're kind of answering it, you know?"

"Natasha."

"Was that a bad kiss?" She asked him, taking a drink of a water bottle Vincent had got her from a gas station earlier in the trip.

"No, it was a really good kiss. Why did you think it was a bad kiss?"

"I didn't say it was a bad kiss I asked if it was a bad kiss." She giggled defended herself.

They stopped at a red light and Vincent unbuckled his seat belt, he reached over the armrest console and kissed her.

"Was that a bad kiss?" He asked as he buckled his seatbelt back.

"N-No...No it wasn't." She stammered blushing.

___

Two hours into the trip Steve fell asleep and Natasha was dosing off and on.

"Why don't you go to sleep we have about thirty-two minutes left. I'll wake you when we get there." Vincent told her.

She nodded and grabbed Vincent's right hand that rested the armrest console and held his hand in hers.

Natasha soon fell asleep softly snoring. Vincent would occasionally glance down at the sleeping redhead he adored.

Vincent hopped out of the truck and woke up Steve.

"Son of a gun," Steve mumbled as he was shaken awake, he grabbed his shield and got out of the truck.

Vincent opened the passenger door and pushed a strang of Natasha's hair out of her face. "Natasha, wake up." He spoke softly.

Her eyes slowly opened and she sat up and looked around at their surroundings and shivered. "Vinnie, can I have your jacket?"

"Yeah." He took off his jacket and handed it to her, he helped her out of the truck.

"Thank you." She shivered, putting the jacket over her hoodie.

"This is it," Vincent spoke as he went to shake the gate but Natasha grabbed his arm.

Natasha put her phone in her back pocket. "The file came from these coordinates."

Steve looked at the sign on the gate that read Camp Lehigh. "So did I."

Vincent looked at him bewildered. "You were born here?"

Steve sighed while Natasha smiled.

Later that night as they walked around the base trying to pinpoint where the signal came from. "This camp is where I was trained."

"Now you tell us, after we've been here for forty minutes," Vincent murmured picking up a rock chucking it at a wall.

He and Natasha were walking on a platform while Steve was down on the ground.

Natasha held up her phone looking for a signal. "Changed much?"

"A little." Steve glanced at a camera on a pole.

"I think Steve is in la-la land." Vincent chuckled.

Natasha turned around and glanced at Steve. "Wonder what he's thinking."

"Come on Vinnie boo let's continue looking." She dragged him along with her.

____

Natasha and Vincent walked back to Steve. "This is a dead-end. Zero heat signature, zero waves, not even radio. Whoever wrote the file must have used a router to throw people off." She addressed putting her phone in her back pocket.

Vincent noticed a building ahead of them, he jumped over the railing of the platform walking towards the building.

"What is it?" Natasha questioned as she and Steve walked over to the building.

"Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within five hundred yards of the barracks. This building is in the wrong place." Vincent sighed.

"How do you know that?" Steve asked.

"Army kid."

Vincent stood back and Steve opened the lock with his shield and they entered inside, when they turned on the lights they noticed it's a SHIELD office.

"This is SHIELD." Natasha breathed out.

"Maybe where it started," Steve commented.

Vincent opened a door that entered into a room where they found old framed portraits of Howard Stark, Peggy, Col. Chester Phillips, and Vincent great great great grand father General. Thomas Lanez.

Natasha pointed to an unbalanced picture. "There's Stark's father."

Steve acknowledged. "Howard."

Natasha glanced at Steve. "Who's the girl?" Steve doesn't respond, he turned away and followed Vincent who didn't take interest in the pictures.

Vincent walked further down the room and stopped by a massive bookshelf and noticed a cobweb swaying.

"Fuck this is heavy." He mumbled as he pushed the bookshelf and it slid open to reveal an elevator behind it.

"Elevator?" Steve asked.

Natasha pulled out her phone and scanned the keypad.

She typed the password in and pushed the button it opened to Vincent's surprise the old thing worked.

Steve and Natasha walked into the elevator while Vincent gulped. "Y-You know what I-I'll stay here."

Natasha sighed and grabbed his arm. "Come on scaredy-cat."

They go down the elevator which took them to a room with old looking computers.

The elevator doors opened to a dark room, they walked out of the elevator the doors closed behind them.

Vincent gulped, he turned around and looked at the closed doors. "Oh hell no."

Natasha grabbed his hand to calm him down.

She took a glance around the room. "This can't be the data-point, this technology is ancient."

They walked to what looked like the main console. The lights flickered on. Natasha noticed a small flash drive port, she placed the flash drive in it which then activated the ancient computer.

"Initiate system?" The computer spoke.

Natasha typed using the keyboard. "Y-E-S spells yes. "

Natasha smiled and turned to Steve as the old computer started to cranks up. "Shall we play a game?" It's from a movie that...

"Yeah, I saw it." Suddenly they hear an accented voice speaking.

"Rogers, Steven. Born, 1918. Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna. Born, 1984. Lanez, Vincent. Born, 1990."

They see an old camera moving above them as it analyzed them.

Natasha looked at the camera puzzled. "It's some kind of a recording."

"I am not a recording, Fräulein. I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me, prisoner, in 1945, but I am." The computer screen shows an old photo of Dr. Arnim Zola.

Natasha turned towards Steve. "Do you know this thing?"

"Steve buddy, we need to talk about your friends." Vincent sighed.

Steve walked off the platform looking behind the computer. "Arnim Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull. He's been dead for years."

"First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive. In 1972 I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body, my mind, however, that was worth saving on two hundred thousand feet of data banks. You are standing in my brain."

Vincent scoffed. "You weren't very popular as a child where you?"

Steve walked back up where Natasha and Vincent were. "How did you get here?"

"Invited."

"It was Operation Paperclip after World War II. SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic value." Natasha informed.

"They thought I could help their cause. I also helped my own."

Steve scoffed. "HYDRA died with the Red Skull."

"Cut off one head, two more shall take its place." Vincent could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Prove it." Steve challenged.

"Accessing archive." The computer screen shows them old footage of Johann Schmidt/Red Skull, of how the original SHIELD founders.

"HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize, was that if you try to take that freedom, they resist. The war taught us much."

"Holy shit," Vincent mumbled.

"Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly. After the war, SHIELD was founded and I was recruited. The new HYDRA grew. A beautiful parasite inside SHIELD. For seventy years HYDRA has been secretly feeding crisis, reaping war. And when history did not cooperate, history was changed."

Natasha walked closer to the screen. "That's impossible, SHIELD would have stopped you."

"Accidents will happen." The computer screen showed them HYDRA had killed Howard and Maria Stark making it look like a car accident along with the recent death of Fury.

"HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA's new world order will arise. We won, Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your Life; a zero-sum."

In anger, Steve smashed the computer screen.

"As I was saying..." Zola spoke.

"What's on this drive?" Natasha questioned getting frustrated at the computer...or person.

"Project Insight requires insight. So I wrote an algorithm."

Natasha walked closer to the computer screen. "What kind of algorithm? What does it do?"

"The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it."

Natasha looked at Vincent in slight fear of what it meant by 'Too dead to hear it.' As much as she hated to admit but she was scared.

Suddenly the doors started to close, Steve tried to stop it by throwing his shield in between them but he's too late. He ran over to the door and tried to pry it open with his hands but it didn't work it was sealed shut.

"Vince, Steve, we got a bogey. Short-range ballistic. 30 seconds tops." Natasha addressed with worry laced in her voice.

"Who fired it?" Vincent inquired as he looked around the room for an entrance.

"S.H.I.E.L.D."

"I am afraid I have been stalling, Captain. Admit it, it's better this way. We're both of us...out of time." Zola told the three of them.

Vincent noticed a small opening on the ground, he threw the metal door aside and grabbed Natasha, Steve jumped in just as the place exploded and protected them with his shield.

Steve and Vincent managed to get out from under the building rubble just as STRIKE agents arrived to roam the area for them.

"Fuck." Vincent groaned picking a piece of glass out of his leg. He leaned down and picked up Natasha who was out cold.

"Come on we need to hurry," Steve spoke moving rock out of the way.

____

"She's going to be alright. Right?" Vincent asked Steve who was driving, Vince had sat in the back with Natasha who had her head resting on his lap asleep.

Steve looked in the rearview mirror. "She will be fine, Vince."

Natasha groaned as she regained consciousness. "What happened?" She asked her voice rasper then usual.

"A building fell on us," Steve uttered to her. He looked away from the road just for a split second to look back at the redhead.

"Sure feels like it." She groaned.

She looked down at her waist to see Vincent's left arm resting on her, Natasha noticed something off about it.

She and noticed when he would move his arm a little his body would tense. "What happened to your arm?"

"Nothing." He responded quickly which was a red flag for Natasha.

She reached down and touched his arm, again his body tensed. "I think your arm is broken."

"It's not, It's just sore you landed right on it." Vincent chuckled.

She looked up at him. "Sorry."

"It's fine, I still want you to pay me back."

"I'm not paying you back so get over it," Natasha rolled her eye.

Vincent gave her a playful glare before turning to Steve. "Aye, grampa where are we going?"

"To see a friend."

[stephsageek]

A preview of the Five x Lila one-shot I'm working on:

“Seriously?” she demanded.

“’Seriously’ what?” he deadpanned.

“Well, it’s Friday-bloody-night!”

“And?”

“Oi! What do you mean ‘and?’ You know damn well, I only get one night a month! One night where I make up an excuse to hang out, get out of the house, and let down my hair! And here you are, washing bloody dishes! Is that honestly all we’re going to be doing tonight?! I might as well be sitting in front of the telly watching the last of Diego’s brain cells die off while he watches Naked and Afraid!”

“What? You got a hot date with somebody else?” he quipped, tossing the towel he’d been using over his shoulder and opening a cabinet to his right. “Believe it or not, Lila, but I am not here on this planet to entertain you. You're the one who invites herself over just as an excuse to get out of the house--that has nothing to do with how I plan on spending my evening. A night of actual drinking and reading is plenty for me. I’m not the one living in a ‘domestic hellscape.’”

“Why do you have to be such an old man all the time?!” she whined.

“Maybe because I am an old man, crazy lady,” he replied, sounding unbothered, as he began to put dishes back into cabinets. Even with his back turned, Lila could hear the smile in his words. He thought this was funny!

“Believe me, I am more than aware,” she huffed.

“Don’t like it, toots, go darken somebody else’s doorstep for ‘book club,’ or whatever the hell other B.S. you feed that half-wit brother of mine,” Five snarked as he finished his chore.

He finally turned to face her, resting one hip against the counter. Lila noted he must have had a long day that day judging by the stubble along his jaw. And yet, despite his protests to the contrary, he didn't kick her out. If he didn't want her around bothering him, why give her his spare key? She watched him smile, his eyes crinkling ever so slightly in amusement. It was still strange seeing the signs of his advancing age. She’d gotten so used to him being so young that Lila found herself disconcerted to realize he was nearing physically twenty years old soon.

“C’mon, old man! Give a girl a break! I’m trapped in a bad episode of The Brady Brunch and Mr. Brady is a whiney sod!”

Five didn’t react other than to chuckle. He casually went over to another cabinet and retrieved a bottle of wine. He turned back to Lila and tipped the bottle, silently offering. She jutted her lip stubbornly. His smile widened. He turned back, returning with a bottle of scotch. He lifted his eyebrows invitingly.

Lila grinned and nodded.

Five nodded back, retrieved a pair of glasses, and went to get ice from the fridge while Lila continued with her diatribe. “I am trapped in a loveless marriage; I’m surrounded by needy people day in and day out! It’s nothing but an endless stream of carting around children, appeasing grumpy forgetful old people—no offense—”

“—None taken—”

“—trying to tune out gossipy aunties, and stroking an inept man-child’s ego! Five, I want to do something fun for a change! Something exciting! And my best and frankly only mate is a boring ass sexagenarian! Do you have any idea how sad that is?! That you of all people are the only one I look forward to seeing anymore! I love my kids and folks, sure; but it's not the same! You seriously don't have anything planned?”

Five shrugged looking non-plussed. Lila shook her head, dismayed.

“You’d think working as a time-traveling assassin and then as a government agent, you’d have developed a personality besides being annoying and uptight!”

Lila threw herself onto the table, her arms outstretched and her forehead landing on the hard surface with a knock.

She heard Five sit down across from her, patiently waiting. He sat her drink within her reach.

“Alright. I’ll bite; what did you have in mind?”

Lila turned her head slightly, peeking an eye out from between the heavy fringe of her bangs. “You’ll let me pick?”

Five sighed but smiled indulgently. “I suppose if I’m your only friend, than that means you’re my only friend too; I suppose I can be generous to somebody so pathetic as to call me of all people their friend.”

Lila sat up so quickly that Five flinched, drawing back ever so slightly in surprise.

She reached into her pocket and slapped a deck of cards on the table between them.

Five lifted an amused eyebrow. “Cards? And you call me old—”

“Not just cards, my dear man—poker!”

“Poker’s hardly what I’d call—”

“Oh! But I didn’t finish!” Lila wagged her finger, opening the cards and spreading them out on the table.

Five glanced down and reached across the space to pick out one of the jokers Lila had been searching for, removing it from the others and setting it aside.

“Oh? What’ll it be? Five-card draw?” He grinned ironically as Lila swatted at his fingers so she could dig out the other joker and set aside the ‘rules’ card. He continued. “Texas hold ‘em? Omaha?” Five took a long draw of his drink.

“Strip poker!”

Pfff!

Five expelled his drink, coughing into his fist after.

[dragonbabes]

The Thorns that Bind

AN| I've taken it into my own hands and am writing a short series on the weeks that Rook is stuck in the fade. This is based off my Crow!Rook playthrough. I'm posting it through AO3 as well, because why not. And buckle up my friends, this is gonna be a long ride and is very much going to be a passion project.

Words | 4,366

Pairing | Rookanis, for sure

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 (In progress)

Chapter 1 | Here Lies my Grief, Consuming

He comes to notice the ache in his jaw first. How that dull throbbing is slowly spreading up into the base of his head, and then down into his shoulder and neck; oh, how he ached all over. The familiar burning of muscles from being pushed to their limit, and further, has him releasing a groan and a mumbled curse. His eyes crack open and drag mindlessly over the floating shelves and rings of the astrolabe that is suspended in the lighthouse…

The lighthouse? When did he get here? What happened?

A form — long hair spilling over their shoulders — leans over him, eclipsing the bright light he’s been squinting at while collecting his thoughts. They extend a hand to him.

“Rook?” He clasps onto the hand that forcefully pulls him up and then steadies him as his head spins. No, not Ise. Brown eyes stare back at his, brows slackened with uncharacteristic worry, and lips in a thin line.

“Did you have to hit him so hard?” Neve snaps over her shoulder, her gaze hardening at Taash. The young Qunari crosses their arms and shrugs, keeping their position between Lucanis and the stairwell leading down to the eluvian. He takes note of Harding, standing at the top of the other set descending steps. The assassin puts together that his lapse of memory may have as much to do with Taash’s blow as Spite’s influence.

“We don’t need him hunting down Solas and getting himself killed.” Taash confirms it with her own hard look at Neve. Lucanis rubs at his jaw and shuts his eyes at the sharp pain that jolts through it. What made Spite take over? He doesn’t recall going to sle-

“Get the dagger!” The line — one that comes with blurred images of bright red and the smell of metal — echoes in his head. He remembers being thrown back. From what? He squeeze his eyes shut and turns away from the others, so they wouldn’t see the confusion flittering across his paled skin. His heart begins pounding, his muscle tensing; Lucanis stands on the edge of a watery memory, desperately trying to get a clear view of what he was seeing or where he was.

“Lucanis?” Neve sounds like she's shouting from the other end of a tunnel.

There’s a crushing force pressing down against him, a fierce wind lashing out at him and throwing dirt and debris against his cheeks; it burned. He could only push himself to his hands and knees. He used one hand to block the blinding light trying to catch sight of-

“Rook! Get the dagger, Rook!” It’s a sudden shift that has his cheeks and arms running cold, and his heart coming to a dead stop from its hammering beat. There’s a flash of her long burgundy locks whipping in the wind, her hand latching around the hilt of the dagger – a swell of triumph in his chest because he won, he stabbed and killed the elvan god Ghilan’nain, and he smiled – and then her scream tears through his head.

“Where’s Rook?” Lucanis’ voice is drawn tight, his hand reaching out to stop Neve from stepping closer to him. He can feel and hear Spite fighting for control; bellowing that he gets her out. If he loses control again, he fears what Spite will do if they were to step between him and his goal: deny the Dreadwolf, kill Fen'Harel.  “Where is Isehari, Neve?” He pushes as the silence persists

“You don’t remember?” The mage’s voice is full of a pity that Lucanis can’t stand to hear. Why pity him? His flaring eyes dart to Neve’s, where the fire within him is immediately extinguished at the watery look she gives back. She wears a slack brow over downturned and wobbling lips. For the stoic Neve to have that look on her lovely features; Lucanis’ eyes flutter at the burn in them.

“What, Neve?” He grinds out, impatiently looks to the other for answers. Ghilan’nain is dead, Rook had the dagger. His gaze pleads with Neve to tell him what he doesn’t remember.

“After you killed Ghilan’nain and Ise grabbed the dagger, a tear occurred in the Veil… She was pulled into the fade, and – and,” Neve begins a pace, “we don’t know what went on in there, but it was the same at Solas' ritual, except this time Solas came out and…” She stops and surrenders her hands in front of herself. “And Isehari didn't.”

“So…” Lucanis blinks at the others. So, she’s trapped in the fade? Trapped in the prison that ancient mages, so powerful they were considered gods, couldn’t escape themselves for thousands of years? It digs up the suffocating feelings he thought he’d buried with Zara. Feeilngs that made him slam his fists against his cell walls, made him pace and scream and tear at his hair; feelings that he's smothered a thousand times before. He heaves in a sudden and deep breath, burying the corners of his lips into his cheeks.

“She’s imprisoned in the fade.” Taash does him the favor of saying it for him. He swallows thickly and focuses to keep his legs under himself. Lucanis reminds himself to count his breaths, deep and slow, until the pounding in his ears subsides.

“Thank you, Taash.” Lucanis nods to them. “Can we get her out?” Taash’s eyes flick to Neve, piercing into the mage.

“The question of the hour.” Lucanis raises his brow at Taash’s words and then takes in the closed off stance they hold toward Neve. The tucked chin, arms crossed over their chest, feet a shoulders width apart. He could cut the air between them like butter; the hard stares he’s finally taking note of making his feet shift.

“Am I missing something?” The assassin asks. Neve hums at him and holds her hand out to Taash.

“Oh, yes indeed!" Neve motions towards the dragon hunter, "Taash was enlightening me on how I don’t care about Isehari.” Neve’s voice is hard, and a tight-lipped smile returns to her face. Taash rolls their eyes.

“Neve…” Harding’s voice is shaking with nerves. Lucanis can see it on her round face, in the flush of her cheeks and her darting eyes, the way she holds her hands out in front of her as if she’s trying to calm a wolf. He imagines she feels that she is, somewhat, sandwiched between the towering form of Taash and the cool look Neve is giving. He’d be on edge too. “I don’t think Taash means it that way.”

“I do.” They don’t waste a beat.

“How can you say that?” Neve scoffs. Lucanis’ trained ear picks up the strain in the investigators tone. He looks back to Taash.

“Not really sure how ‘let’s leave Rook to rot in the fade’ exactly says you care about her.” Taash narrows their gaze. Neve throws her hands out and shakes her head. Lucanis holds his hand up and shakes his head.

“Wait – we’re considering leaving her?” Taash shrugs.

“I’m not.”

“I didn’t say that Taash!” Neve’s voice is raising. She takes a step closer to Taash, and Lucanis moves forward instinctively. He joins Harding in standing between the two and watching their every movement. What the pair would do — with Taash being triple the size of both of them, and Neve a force to be reckoned with — he isn’t sure. “I’m just saying that Elgar’nan is still out there. We need to deal with him.”

“Not without Rook.” Taash stands their ground. Lucanis is inclined to agree with them, too.

“Taash, not even Solas – an ancient elven god — could escape that prison. What makes you think we can get Rook out?” Neve’s voice comes out softer this time, almost as if she’s pleading with Taash.

“If we can’t, then Rook will.”

“Rook is just Rook, Taash. She’s not even a mage. What can she do?” Lucanis flinches at her words; he can see Neve recoiling at them herself. The dragon hunter’s hands find purchase in their hair as they begin pace around. “What do you expect her to do?”

“I don’t know!” Taash cries, tearing their hands from their hair and turning back to Neve. The tears reddening their eyes makes the mage draw back and swallow the other words she was poised to spew. “I don’t know, Neve. But Rook finds a way. She always finds a way.”

“And if we take the time to get her out? Elgar’nan will decimate everything in the meantime. Rook won’t have a home to even come back to.” Neve stops. As do the rest.

“If she can come back.” Harding’s head falls.

“You too?” Taash’s expression falls. “You’d turn your back on her?” Harding looks to her hands, head falling a little, and shoulders slumping forward. “No! I-“ Harding’s lip wobbles, but she steels herself against the judgement pouring from Taash with a deep and quick breath, “People are dying, Taash. We can't ignore that.” They only grunt back to Harding and then turn away, putting distance between themselves and the rest. “Varric brought us together to stop the world from falling apart. That’s what I intend to do.” Harding’s voice is soft. Lucanis’ heart pounds in his head. He sees where Neve and Harding are coming from… But…

“I can’t…” Lucanis’ voice breaks as soon as he starts. His head falls. Heaving in deep breaths, he tries to find the right words.

Does he want the world to burn? No. Of course not! But… He almost doesn’t care, with Isehari gone. The last time he fought a god with something weighing on his mind like this, he failed. He doesn’t get to fail twice. Not this late in the game, not with Elgar’nan on the cusp of breaking this world entirely…

“I can’t do this without Rook.” Lucanis’ words are rushed, and he’s positive he’ll never be able to get them out so evenly again. “It’ll be Weisshaupt all over again. I cannot do this, knowing she is trapped in there.”

“I don’t like it either, Lucanis, but what other choice do we have?” Neve reasons. “We don’t have the dagger, we don’t know anything about the rituals to open the prison, or where to look for rook, or how to find her; if she’s even still alive.” He takes in a sharp breath.

“She’s alive.” His words are hard, but his eyes are pleading. Eyes begging Neve to never utter those words again, or he may wither away to nothing. Her rich, chocolate eyes keep locked with his, steadily, before she sighs and turns away from him with a shake in her head.

“If I might…” Emmrich’s quiet and smooth voice, and the only person in the room who still seems to have a grip on even a thread of reason, finally breaks the silence he’s been keeping, “Rook has been gone for approximately four hours… We have done nothing but argue in the meantime.”

Lucanis didn’t realize it’s been so long since everything happened. It’s been a blink of an eye between now and when he saw Rook grab the dagger. Part of him deflates and he repeats those words to himself; it’s only been four hours, and Lucanis feels he’s already at death’s door…

“Yeah. All over bullshit, too.” Taash snorts over their shoulder at them. “We shouldn’t even have to argue this.”

“It’s not-“ Harding comes to an abrupt halt at Emmrich’s raising hand, the jewelry adorning him clanking together.

“Come now. We’ve been making circular arguments.”

“Because Taash won’t listen!” Neve cries. “Everyone else can see reason.”

“This isn’t about seeing reason! This is about being there for a friend that’s never let us down.”

“Oh?” Neve tilts her head toward them. Lucanis can already guess what she means — they’ve talked it over again and again — before it comes out of Neve’s mouth in a cool tone, “What was Minrathous?”

“Minrathous wasn’t just Rook’s responsibility.” There’s a glean in Taash’s eye, one that has Lucanis moving closer to them.

“Taash is right on this, Neve.” Lucanis pitches into the conversation. “I thought we worked past that…”

“I know that Rook made a hard call… But…” Neve crosses her arms over herself. “Lucanis you’ve seen my home now. You all have. I fully believed that Isehari would come through for me that day… So, forgive me if I don't feel the same about it.”

“Four hours and eight minutes we’ve been arguing.” Emmrich sighs. “Rook would have this cleared up in no time, wouldn’t she?” There’s a distant look in his eye when he says it, and a melancholy smile taking up his lips. Isehari does have a nose for trouble; she somehow shows up as soon as words started getting tense. She came with a smile and disarming green-blue eyes curved and sparkling. It’s like she sucked all their anger directly out of them. Then, she’d play peacekeeper.

“She did have a knack for peace keeping, didn’t she?” Harding gives a light laugh…

There’s a long silence after that. One that’s needed after the last twenty-four hours. He takes that time to sit down; the others soon follow. Every inch of Lucanis’ body runs numb with fatigue, his heads spinning, and his stomach twists. When’s the last time any of them have eaten? He’s still got blood dried on his gloves, and a cut on his arm he really should patch up. The others don’t fare much better than him. All disheveled, covered in blood, bruises, and dirt.

“Listen…” Lucanis leans forward. “We’re all exhausted. We need to clean ourselves up and eat something.”

“That’s an excellent idea!” Emmrich says. The assassin stands quickly and nods to the others before darting out of the lighthouse doors.

~*~

Dull eyes stare back at him. Shallow pools of earthy brown; pupils blown a little wide, the whites irritated, and the skin beneath them reddened and purple. They reflect nothing. He looks into them, and he sees nothing; feels nothing; can read nothing.

Gaze turns back down to the basin in front of him. He watches his hands turn through the cold water, barely feeling it shift against his calloused palms, and then considers how the firelight flickers off the ripples in the bowl, or the water dipping off his hands. His hands. They turn in front of him, and he examines the scarred knuckles on his right hand, the hardened skin on his palm; these are the hands that have taken a thousand lives, hands that he cooks with, the hands he used to brush Rook’s hair back from her eyes and tuck it behind her ear.

The hard and blank expression he’s practiced in the mirror falls off, his brow pinches, and his downturned eyes crest with unshed tears. He reached out to her that day without thinking – on instinct, because he couldn’t see her eyes – and took up the soft tresses that had fallen over her shoulder; her wide eyes had shot up to him and frozen him in place, hand stopping at the corner of her jaw before he quickly yanked it away. His heart was pounding, every inch of his body thrummed, he was on fire; he felt alive.

His heart beats the pace of a dirge now. His limbs are numb, and he is cold. Muscles aching at every movement, the assassin splashes water over his face and rubs at his quaking expression, until the sob swelling in his chest subsides and he can iron his expression out once more. The icy water on his face puts his feet a little flatter on the ground. He lets his head hang.

Rook is gone… She… Isehari is missing.

“Find. Rook.” Those words have been Spite’s mantra since Lucanis has come to. “She was torn away. Get her back!” Mierda, Spite knows no rest. It’s exhausting, ignoring the same thing being screamed and grunted every so often. “Ripped and torn from us!” Lucanis’ eyes flick up to the brown ones before him, and he meet’s the purple flash just behind the pupils with a wave of fresh determination hardening in his heart and setting in a frown on his lips:

He will get Rook back. At the very least, Solas will answer for his transgressions against Ise.

Lucanis steps back into the dining hall and pulls the tray holding the coffee he brewed along with cups, sugar, a small pitcher of sweetened milk, and a small jar of cinnamon off the counter… No one but Ise puts cinnamon in their coffee; he gave her a strange look the first time she followed him to the market one day to purchase a small jar of cinnamon and sweetened milk... He’s kept it stocked since.

He leaves the cinnamon on the tray and turns to Manfred, who stands close at his side, hissing his eagerness to help.

“Take this to the others, please.” The spirit takes up the tray – Lucanis imagines if Manfred could smile, his lips would be stretching from ear to ear, the way he bounces about – and scuttles toward the door. The assassin returns his attention to the assortment of foods he’s prepared, counting the plates and utensils twice, before taking up the dishes and realizing he’ll have to make two trips; the plate of fruits and the puff pastries that Harding always takes two of.

“Here… I’ll help.” Harding’s voice is quiet and sudden; he almost didn’t hear her approaching.

“Thank you.”

“I’m happy to… I’m not much help in there right now anyways.” Lucanis hums his agreement; he understands. This, he casts his eyes down to the snacking meats, cheese, and sliced bread in his hand, is the best he can do. Isehari is trapped in a lonely desolate place, and all he can do is prepare a decent spread.

Lucanis cannot poison the sky; he cannot stab the veil and force his way into the fade to find her; he doesn’t understand any of that. What he does know is that no one has eaten much of anything in at least eleven hours. No one here has any appetite to eat a meal, but a snack and drink is less daunting.

The others have cleaned themselves up and taken seats in the time that Lucanis has been preparing the food. He sees that the adrenaline has finally left the others systems, just as it’s left him an exhausted mess. Their eyes have fallen lidded, shoulders are slumped forward, defeated. The loud and passionate voices from before have become withdrawn and staggered between drawn out silences.

Emmrich is hunched forward with his forehead pressed to his hands, clasped atop his walking stick; the charcoal gray hair on his head is freshly washed, but unusually displaced. Neve holds her cup out as Manfred pours the coffee with a fascinated hiss at the rising steam. Taash has resumed the same pose as before: leaned back in their chair, arms crossed over their chest, furrowed brow, a frown, a tucked chin, and a withering glare locked on the table. Lucanis sits the snacks in front them, hoping it’ll redirect their attention for at least a minute. He takes up a cup from the coffee tray, and Manfred hops over to him.

“Thanks.” Lucanis’ eye is drawn to the coffee tray as Harding pours a bit of sweetened milk in her coffee. The three cups remaining on the tray catches his attention, and it remains there. One for Davrin, another for Bellara, and the last for Rook.

“Hey…” Neve’s soft voice calls him back. He shakes his head at her questioning gaze.

“Have we gotten anywhere?” Emmrich’s head is shaking before Taash or Neve could fire another back handed word or start up another argument that bordered more on word vomit than actual reasoning.

“We’re just circling the drain, my friend.” The necromancer leans back in his chair. “We can’t come to an agreement.” Lucanis can’t help the twinge of annoyance in his chest. He swallows it into his endless pool of patience and nods instead of snaps at the two stubborn parties glaring at each other.

“Right…” Lucanis grinds out quietly. “We’re not doing anybody any favors while standing here arguing. Not for the people dying by Elgar’nan’s hand,” he levels Neve with a look before turning it onto Taash, “and not Rook. We need to do something.”

“Like Emmrich said before,” Taash begins in a surprisingly civil tone, taking up some of the cheese from the tray, “Rook would’ve had this figured out asap. We need Rook to make the decisions, whether we like it or not. If we go up against Elgar’nan without her, and we can’t come up with a plan on the fly, we’re all dead. And everything was for nothing.”

“Taash, there is so much we don’t know, and not enough time to understand it. Believe me, I want to get Isehari out; I do! But this is so much more than stabbing at the sky and pulling her out.”

“Well, duh. But, if I’m right, didn’t Rook just spend the past few months recruiting fade experts, famous investigators, and assassins? If there’s anyone that stands a chance of helping Rook, it’s us.” Lucanis nods.

“They’re right. It’s not like we have to chose one or the other, right?” Harding sits up on the sofa, and then sits her glass down as her face lightens. “Emmrich, Taash, and Lucanis, you can look into what we’ll need to do to get Rook back, if you can… Neve and I can keep tabs on Elgar’nan. Loosing Ghilan’nain must be somewhat of a setback for him.”

“Or it’s just pissed him off a little more.” Neve mumbles. Harding nods, acknowledging that that could be very true as well. The mage sighs. “You tear open the Veil, and there are going to be consequences.”

“As there always are.” Lucanis finally takes a seat.

“The consequences are something to consider.” Neve reasons. “What we could do by breaking into that prison? It could be catastrophic; we could release more blight, release more demons, or get ourselves killed in the process.” Taash scoffs.

“Rook wouldn’t let any of that stop her if it was any of us in there.” Lucanis is inclined to agree with them. “Rook would find a way. We need to do the same.”

“You’re right. Rook does things that no one expects, and she rarely considers the consequences when the stakes are high. But that’s also the whole reason any of us are here.” Neve cooly says back.

“Neve…” Lucanis shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s fair to blame all of this on Isehari.” The Shadow Dragon blinks and shakes her head.

“Oh! I’m not pointing a finger at her. I haven’t forgotten that I was pushing that beam right next to her. But that doesn’t change that we were reckless… And we released two blighted gods on the world.” Neve’s voice trails off, until she is silent again. Everyone is. Lucanis sighs and begins to run his hand over the fabric of the chair beneath him. Ise always sits here when the team gathers. She was here, in this chair, less than a day ago, and her scent is still fresh. It’s wrapping around him much like a hug. The thought places heavy weight into chest; a feeling that makes his body tense, and ache.

“I…” Lucanis’ voice comes out tight and gravelly, “I will kill as many blighted gods as I need to. Once Rook is safe.” Neve stares at him with an unreadable expression, until she takes her eyes away when she takes another drink of her coffee.

“I know.” They’re all quiet for a bit. “Bell would be far better for this than I am… I want to help Rook,” Neve’s eyes are pointed at Taash, who purses their lips and looks away, ”but I can’t ignore the threat that Elgar’nan poses.” Emmrich’s head falls as he gives a somber nod. 

“Solas has the lyrium dagger.” Harding suddenly announces, bringing the rare burst of momentum they’d found to an abrupt halt. They sit in silence, occasionally taking a drink, occasionally plucking a bite from the assortment of food on the table, and occasionally sighing.

“Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain made their own dagger. We can do the same, right?” Lucanis suggests. Both Emmrich and Neve stare at the assassin, before they look at each other, considering.

“We could, technically… But the power we would require to make that…” Emmrich looks to Neve and shakes his head, and she only responds with a shrug of her own. “I’m not sure how we would come across that.”

“When the Inquisitor closed the Breach ten years ago, she had to siphon enough mana into the mark to do it… She recruited the rebel mages from Redcliffe… Could we do something similar to that?” Harding asks.

“It could work… I’m not sure where we’d find that many mages."

“We all know a few.” Harding says. “We have connections; let's use them. I should reach out the Inquisitor Lavellan and let her know how things have turned out… She might be able to help with the dagger and recruiting enough mages to help.”

"We should get in contact with Morrigan again… I imagine she’d have some good counsel right now.” Neve adds.

“I agree.” Emmrich has straightened considerably, like a flower that had been without sun for too long, and there's a new brightness in his eye. “In the meantime, I will reach out to Vorgoth and some other associates. I’m hoping I will be able to gather more insight into the fade prison itself.”

“And I’ll see if Isabela can get started on tracking down the materials we’ll need to craft the dagger. If one of you could give me a list, that is.” Taash looks between Neve and Emmrich.

“Of course.” Neve nods to her.

“Any expenses, the Crows will cover. Spare no expense.” Lucanis says to Taash. They grin in turn.

“Well, ‘course I won’t.” Lucanis nods and swirls the coffee in his cup.

"I'll check in with with the Shadow Dragons, see what sort of movement the Venatori have been making. Bellara said she kept notes. I’ll take a look through her things to see if she kept any on the dagger.” Neve sighs, a new sense of calm masking over her features again.

“She and I looked at the dagger extensively together. I have a very basic understanding of it, but Bellara truly is the expert of it all… Her notes will be invaluable” Taash stands slowly and excuses themself to go and clean up. Dread sags into Lucanis’ shoulders, and he rests his head against the back of the chair.

“You’re not doing anything.” Spite’s voice crawls into his head. “Do. Something. Find Rook!” Lucanis rubs at his temple. He’s going to do something alright… He nearly dreads this more than he dreaded taking his first shot at Ghilan’nain.

He must tell Viago.

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