#i just have a fear of shitty ladders and falling and cracking my head open on concrete floors

[babsaros]

*10 feet up on the store ladder, which is even less trust-worthy than the ladder at my last job, trembling ever so slightly, trying to maintain 3-points of contact while i put boxes of glassware and ceramic mugs into the overhead storage*: no i don't have a fear of heights i'm good dw

[tainted-wine]

Past Due

Reader X Giran, Dabi, and Mr. Compress (NSFW)

(OOF, This little bastard of a fic has been fighting me every step of the way. It took so long because I was second guessing every single sentence I wrote. Finally, here’s the darkest shit I’ve written so far.)

(This is pre-Overhaul arc, so the bois Giran and Compress are still whole)

Words: 7.8k

Heed These Warnings: Murder, Kidnapping, Noncon/Dubcon, Giran being a dangerous dude, Knives, Forced Oral and Anal, Voyeurism, Humiliation, and the Protagonist just being a total dumbass

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For as long as you have lived, luck has been by your side like a bipolar twin attached to your hip. It was thanks to luck that you were born into a quirkless family in the trashiest of neighborhoods, your penniless parents separating and leaving you to fend for yourself. The streets had no use for you; no quirk, no charisma, no money, you were just another parasite desperately clinging onto the city’s rotten underbelly.

But it was also thanks to luck that you survived this long. The average person can remember each and every brush with death in their life clearly, but you—you’ve lost count of how many times this cruel world has tried to pick you off. So far, you have dodged every bullet, knife, and blast of quirk-based power aimed in your direction. How do you keep slipping past all of these dangerous criminals? Your reckless ass has no idea. Luck was simply a sadistic douchebag that enjoyed dangling you over the jaws of death, only to yank you back up and repeat the process like a sad little yo-yo.

As you drove to your place in a panic, you wonder if luck has ever fucked you this hard before.

———

Things had gotten somewhat organized, and by that you mean that you finally had some sort of plan instead of gravitating toward the nearest opportunity that didn’t look ready to tear you apart and throw your remains in an alley. You’ve even made an accomplice, a woman not quite as powerless as you, but an unfortunate soul with less experience in this…line of work. To make things even better, you managed to strike a deal with a prominent broker. Giran was a name known all throughout Japan’s black market, and to think that he’d see potential in a quirkless broad whose notable trait was simply not dying—it was your lucky day. He supplied you with weapons that will make surviving in this hellhole much easier, telling you to pay him within the next five days.

Your partner in crime asked if this was a good idea, that you didn’t seem capable of gathering that amount of money in the span of time you were given. There was no reason for her to worry; with the heat the two of you were packing now, you now had the ability to rob more than distracted civilians wandering the streets.

But before you could even enjoy your brand new firepower, luck decided to be a total asshole again. It was only the second day when you both were ambushed by a group of ruffians. Their quirks were pretty damn impressive, honestly. One of them levitated your gun right out of your hands before you could even fire, instantly leaving you helpless so that the other dudes could close in and beat the snot out of you.

The two of you woke up, bruised, bloodied, and stripped of Giran’s weapons. Damn, you don’t remember a deal ever going south this quickly. Must be a new record.

Alright, so your weapons were gone and you only have a fraction of the money so far. You can figure this out. Your partner was fuckin’ hysterical and you have to smack her before she gives herself a heart attack. The money was barely coming in, and before you knew it, the fifth day had arrived.

Yeah, you weren’t ready to face him yet.

Look, you weren’t exactly running away from him, you were just making sure to give yourself some space while you got your shit back together. That’s why you immediately moved to another part of town and now made sure to never drive down the same route twice. No, you weren’t gathering money for yourself and completely brushing off Giran, like your partner was suspecting. She has no idea what she’s talking about so she needs to shut up already and help you sell this jewelry that you worked so hard in stealing.

Okay, maybe Giran has been trying to call you for the past couple of days and you were officially ghosting him, but she didn’t need that knowledge to add to her stress. You probably weren’t even in any danger. The deal didn’t cost that much, and he didn’t seem like the type of guy to get truly pissed over some petty crook like you, right?

It’s been a week since the due date, and you both were still safe and sound. It was time to get your paranoid little buddy and discuss your next course of action.

When you reached her shoddy rented room, the door was already cracked open. Strange, and very careless; she should know better. You pushed it the remainder of the way and strutted inside. “Don’t leave your door open, dumbass. Anyway, I gotta—”

Your partner was sprawled out on the bed, open eyes still showing hints of the terror that she most definitely felt before her body became riddled with bullets. The smell of smoke and blood finally reached your nose when the shock of the scene before you wore off. The poor gal probably didn’t deserve such a gruesome fate.

“Oh…nevermind.” You close the door and briskly walk through the hall and out of that dangerous building.

------

This all led up to you speeding to your own run-down apartment.

‘Don’t jump to conclusions, now. This might have nothing to do with Giran. Maybe she pissed off some guys behind my back, or maybe I pissed them off and they found her before they found me. I keep forgetting just how many shit-lists probably have my name on them.’

Whatever it was, that instinctive twist in your gut was telling you that it was no longer safe around these parts. You had overstayed your welcome, anyway.

You glanced in every direction as you entered the building. At what time was your partner killed? If they’re after you too, do they already know where you live? There was no time to waste.

Checking to see that you weren't being followed, you entered your room and went straight to packing. You were basically a drifter, so you had few long-term possessions, so few that they could all fit into one bag. You packed your clothes, essential groceries, and your knickknacks that were ripe for selling. You’re loaded up and ready to go, and you don’t even need to go through the trouble of contacting an accomplice anymore. It’s those paper-thin silver linings that keep you going through this endless shitstorm of a life. With a silent goodbye to your short-lived home, you made your way to the door…

And a series of knocks freezes you in your tracks.

The sudden quickening of your heartbeat was dizzying. Shit. Shit shit shit. Whoever is on the other side can’t be friendly, but you had checked! You made sure no one was tailing you!

You backed away while your eyes darted around, deciding if you should defend yourself or find an alternate route to escape. Your only line of defense was a switchblade, so fighting was probably as bad of an idea as it usually was. You looked back to the single window in the room. ‘The fire escape.’

Several harder knocks spurred you into action. You unlocked and pulled at the old window, the worn frame almost breaking off as it opened. The damn ladder and stairs were one room across, but you can jump across the sills if you were careful enough.

There were more knocks, this time followed by a male voice. “Why the hell are we knocking? She’s not gonna answer.”

Another man responded. Shit, there’s more than one? “True. I just like to give the peaceful route a try.”

Something happened to the door that your fear-addled mind couldn’t comprehend. In the span of a second, the wooden door’s shape was warped and shrunken down into a small sphere. You didn’t spend any time to observe the two men at the entrance—you were already scrambling out of the window. The small ledge was difficult to balance on. If you could just get enough leverage for a jump…

“Oi!”

Fuck, you had to take the leap now, but before you could, a pair of hands took hold of you. In a blind panic, you drew your small blade and swung wildly at your attacker, doing your best not to lose your footing. One hand drew back and you heard a hiss of something like “little bitch”, and you thought this was your chance to break free and get away, but the hand still gripping the waist band of your pants got hot, so hot that it reached your skin and had you yelling in pain from the intense heat. With a powerful yank, you were falling back into the room and being pinned to the floor.

‘No no come on, Lady Luck. You’re always here to save my ass, right? I could use your help right fucking now.”

You thrashed and screamed, but then you saw the face of your captor and ew, that shit made you scream even louder. At least make the last face you see more appealing and less���burnt.

The burned man just looked annoyed while holding you down. “Just compress her already.”

Compress? What? Were they about to crush you? That sounds like a really shitty way to go. A gloved hand was pressed to your head, and everything began to distort at a rate too fast for your mind.

It was dark…you felt like you were floating…are you dead? Did it happen that fast? At least it was painless. There was a voice echoing somewhere, but all you saw was blackness. It sounded like it was coming from above. “God?” He’s real, after all?

God sounded very similar to the burnt asshole that attacked you. “That was easy. Why did he need us for this?”

The other voice that you still couldn’t attach a face to answered. “Giran does a lot for the League. It’s only fair that we do him the occasional favor, isn’t it? Her partner has already been taken care of.”

Well shit. Not only were you still alive, but you had been captured in some way to be delivered to him. You wanted to believe that you were in no serious danger, but no one sends two guys to break into your place and abduct you unless they had something sadistic in mind. Maybe your late partner was onto something this whole time.

The talking continued, but the sound was so faint. It’s like you were wearing a thick pair of earmuffs. This entire void, or whatever it is, was uncomfortable—the darkness seemed vast, yet it felt claustrophobic and heavy, like a powerful gravity preventing you from moving. What kind of quirk was this?

The mystery man was talking again. “Your arm is bleeding.”

“Oh right, she caught me with that little blade.” The burnt one said calmly. “It’s not that bad. My arms can’t feel much.”

“It’s not the pain I’m worried about; find something to wrap it up!” There was a sound that was difficult to discern, possibly a long sigh. “She made quite a scene at the window. I hope she didn’t bring any attention to us.”

You heard a grunt from the burnt one and could picture him shrugging. “If anyone asks, we’ll just say that she was a jumper and we stopped her.”

“…Who in the world tries to jump from only three stories?”

“A dumbass, and I’m pretty sure that’s what she is.”

The burnt guy can kiss your ass.

Their conversations were the only indication of time passing. Maybe you heard a few noises from whatever area they were currently in, such as a car passing by or a dog barking, but it was all too muffled to know for sure.

You hope you won’t be stuck in this prison for too long. The emptiness of it all was going to drive you insane. The abyss apparently sensed your distressed, shaping lights and colors all around and lifting the phantom weight off of you so quickly that you had to hold down a rush of bile in your throat.

It’s still fairly dark…a dimly lit room, no furniture, your knees on a hardwood floor, a figure sitting in front of you…

“Good morning.”

A greeting has never filled you with so much dread, uttered by a voice you haven’t heard in nearly two weeks.

The big-time broker himself was seated before you in a simple metal chair. When you met him in the bar to do business together, he had such a nonchalant aura around him, friendly yet detached. The smirk on his face seemed permanent, wearing it even now as he stared down at you, the little rat that has been hiding in the cracks of the city to avoid his sight. You didn’t feel threatened at all when you spoke in the bar; part of you knew that this man was in no way harmless, but he didn’t go out of his way to intimidate.

But now, even with the same relaxed posture and the same informal tone, his presence was sending strong chills down your spine with your brain screaming DANGER.

Giran leaned in, elbows resting on his thighs and a lit cigarette tucked between his fingers. The hanging bulbs illuminated only parts of his face, leaving the rest in a menacing shadow. “How have you been?”

You had no idea how to answer that. “F-fine?”

He gave a satisfied hum, as if he cared about your wellbeing. “That’s good to know. You’ve been hard to contact lately, so I had no idea.”

You swallowed, or at least you tried, but your throat was forgetting how to work properly. “I…” A cough escaped you. “I’ve been busy.”

His gruff chuckle unsettled you. “Of course. We’re all so busy these days, aren’t we? I’m not the type to stick my nose in others’ business, but may I ask what you’ve been so busy with? Hopefully something that involved gathering my money?” There it was.

Creating some more distance between your potential killer might help you think a little more clearly through the loud beating in your head, so you crawl backwards on shaky limbs like a drunk crab. “Y-yes! I’ve been doing my best, it’s just that I ran into a little problem an—” You bumped into something, turning your head to see a man looming over you. His attire was sharp, like that of a showman—even had a damn top hat. However, the mask he wore was rather ominous, the strange pattern resembling an abstract face. He didn’t budge when you had backed into his leg, only looking down at you as if you were a scared kitten.

In the corner of your vision you noticed the burnt one leaning back against the wall, watching you with disinterest. If it weren’t for the cold stare and the peril that he’s already put you through, you’d dare to admit that the greenish-blue hue of his eyes were kind of pretty.

“Don’t mind them,” Giran said with a lazy wave. “Those two are being kind enough to stick around in case I need them again. So, you were saying?”

You tried to recall where you were in your improvised excuse, and decided that you couldn’t risk having such a lie backfire. “I-I’m working on it. I have most of it so far. I just need a little more time.”

Giran’s face didn’t change. “And how much do you have?”

“Um…I…” What the hell do you say? Are you just digging yourself deeper? Is it possible to go any deeper? “Maybe I don’t have most, but I will soon so—”

“How much do you have?” It was firmer this time, making you shrink back. Dancing around his question wasn’t a good idea.

With a shaky breath, you answered quietly, “A hundred thousand yen.”

Giran placed the cigarette between his lips and took a long drag before blowing out a small cloud of toxic fumes. “A hundred thousand…of my three hundred thousand yen.”

Fuck, when he says it like that, maybe that is a lot of money to be missing out on.

You honestly wished he would show some sort of anger; his unwavering calmness was making you more anxious than any kind of rage.

“Can you tell me what you didn’t understand?” He asked.

“Huh? What…do you mean?” You couldn’t hold back the tremble in your voice.

“When we talked, I thought I made my measures clear. I give you the weapons, you pay me within the next five days. For every late day, I add more to what you already owe me. And if you take way too long, I’ll have to personally show you why you shouldn’t make deals where you can’t hold up your end.” He took another drag. You’re getting a feeling that the shrinking roll of tobacco is playing a big role in maintaining his leveled head. “Well, that all sounds clear to me, but there must be something in that explanation that didn’t get through to you, because you just ignored all of it.” Those final words were topped with a humorless laugh.

Just like that, every foolish decision you’ve made during the past week slams down on you. You were like a child that was confident they could escape whatever punishments were planned for them, now that they were finally caught, they just wanted to blubber endless apologies in hopes of being forgiven, and that’s exactly what you do. “Please, please just give me more time. I’m sorry. I just need another chance.”

Giran simply rests his head in one of his hands while pondering. “You know, this normally wouldn’t bother me. I consider myself an even-tempered guy. But you just had to go and run, avoiding my calls and hiding away for an entire week. If there’s anything that steams me up,” his brows furrowed, the first physical sign of anger that he’s shown. “It’s when an uncooperative client runs from me. Sorry about your friend, but I had to make sure I got my point across. Now it’s your turn.”

He reached into his violet jacket and pulled out a knife. Most of it was a large bulky handle, topped with a short but efficiently thin and curved blade. A wood carving knife.

As he rose from his chair and approached, you were suppressing the urge to just laugh at your own distress, a habit of yours that has caused more than one misunderstanding in the past.

“Compress, if you will.” Giran’s hand beckoned you upwards.

The man still behind you, apparently named Compress, locked both of your wrists at your back before pulling you up on your feet. “Hey-I-Wha-Wait a minute! We can talk! I can fix this!” You stuttered in pure desperation. Giran was poking at the tip of the knife and testing its sharpness, paying no attention to your pleas.

“It’s a shame, really. I happen to have one major weakness,” he admitted while inspecting his pricked finger. “Women. I’m always going easy on them—giving them more chances than they deserve. I can’t help it.” He grips your cheeks roughly, making you squeak. “And it really breaks my heart that I have to ruin such a pretty lady.”

“You don’t have to.” Your squished puckered lips sputter out, making you look and sound ridiculous. “Maybe I cou—"

The knife hovering so close to your face silences you. “Where should I start?” He wondered. You hold as still as possible while the sharp metal lingers dangerously close to your eye. “Maybe I should take out an eye? Maybe both?” His grip on your face prevents you from turning away, so you shut your eyes instead, accidentally releasing the tears that have been gathering in the corners. You feel his hand lower to hold your chin so that he can press the blade against the side of your face, so close to breaking skin. “Or maybe I’ll carve out your cheeks?” A thumb brushes against your lips and pushes past them. “You are quite a talker. Maybe I ought to go in there and remove that tongue.”

Your eyes remain closed, trying to focus on something else. The full-body tremors that you couldn’t stop, the press of Compress’s body against your back as he held onto your wrists, anything but the deadly blade trailing across your flesh. Every time the cruel man applied pressure, you braced yourself for the pain of cold steel cutting into you like fresh produce, but he would always pull back. It was pure torture and he hasn’t even harmed you yet.

“Hmm, you really are a cute one,” you heard him murmur as the knife trailed down your neck and across your collar. “Do I really want to carve such pretty skin?”

There was a loud groan, prompting your eyes to open and look to the burnt one who left his post at the wall. “For fuck’s sake, old man. How about I handle this so you don’t have to play mental tug-o-war with yourself?”

Giran didn’t seem fazed by the crude way he was addressed. “Oh? What did you have in mind, Dabi?”

Dabi gave an evil smirk of his own as he walked over. “I wonder how badly I can burn a person without killing them.” A scarred hand was placed on your shoulder and you squirmed at the rising heat. “Maybe we can find out together. How about it, girlie?”

You felt the other man behind you shake with a soft laugh. “So cruel, Dabi. I’m a gentleman myself. I could help, but taking a limb or two from such a beauty would be an unforgivable crime.” The implication of what he could do with his quirk made you fear for your arms that were still in his grasp.

“Great. Chivalry isn’t dead in the world of villains.” Dabi rolled his eyes. “You’re not wrong, though. She doesn’t look bad.”

There were too many hands on you. A rough aged hand caressed your throat and jaw, a gloved hand was tenderly running through your hair, and burned ones were shamelessly groping your chest and squishing your breasts. “Stop! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Shut it.” Dabi snapped, not letting up his assault. “Burning you might be a waste. Maybe I should just fuck you instead.”

Your stomach twisted in disgust at the very thought. The other two men pulled back and stilled at the suggestion. This nasty motherfucker wishes he’d get some. At least there were more reasonable voices in the room to keep the sicko away.

“Well now, that’s not a bad idea.” Giran declared with a nod of approval.

‘Ex-fucking-scuse me?’

Compress gave your shoulder a suggestive squeeze. “A vulgar way of putting it, but it’s an idea I can get behind.”

“Then it looks like we’ve all come to a new agreement.” The sleazebag exhaled smoke right into your face, stinging your already watery eyes and forcing several coughs out of you. “I hope you’re alright with that, darling.”

You shook your head fast enough to disorient yourself. “No! This is sick! Get your hands off me!”

“No good, huh? You think I should stick to the original plan?” Dabi dared you with a dazzling blue flame appearing in his palm. The memory of his scorching touch had you freezing up. “I’m just kidding, I don’t give a shit if you want this or not. This ain’t a friendly hookup.”

Compress leaned into your ear, voice sounding horribly close even with the mask protecting you from his lips. “I’m going to let you go now, and you’re going to cooperate with us, right? Surely you know how outmatched you are.”

Yes, you knew, yet there’s a little voice strongly urging you to fight and attempt an escape anyway. But you knew that will only end in pain and possibly death, and even though you were dreading what they had planned for you, the pitiful survivor in you is willing to sacrifice your dignity to stay alive. And so, you nodded.

“Very good,” you heard the smile in his praise. Your tender wrists were released so that he could take the hem of your shirt and slowly begin to pull it up. Your arms remained stiffly at your sides, the oppressive air around the three dangerous villains suffocating and leaving you light-headed.

“Cooperation, remember?” Compress reminded you.

With a hitched breath, you raised your arms, allowing him to peel the shirt off and throw it aside. Dabi wasted no time in exploring your newly revealed skin, while the gloved hands moved on to work at your bra and Giran undid your pants. You try to keep your breathing steady as you’re stripped, even when your pants fall down to your ankles. The second your bra is unclasped, you move to cover your freed breasts, only for the scarred bastard to slap your arms away.

“Quit it, I’m trying to feel you up,” He wasn’t very gentle in handling you, and his texture was so strange, wrinkled skin and the staples keeping him together scraping across your mounds. While he ventured lower, the other two men took their turn with your feminine assets.

Giran was fondling you slowly, but he seemed to be paying much more attention to your face, the face that you were having a very hard time keeping blank while Compress was massaging your other breast way too tenderly. It would help to shut your eyes once again, but that only enhances their touches, sparking goosebumps all over and threatening to pull a moan from your throat. You chose to look to the side and hide away from the broker’s dull gaze, but there was no avoiding Dabi’s hand palming your clothed sex, making you yelp. “AH! Don’t! You can’t just—”

He squeezed you down there, sending a foreign buzz through your abdomen. “What the hell did I just say?” He scolded. “I think I know how to shut you up.”

Giran made an amused hum. “Well Dabi, given you were the one who suggested this, I’ll grant you the honor of teaching her a lesson first.”

Your stomach dropped at the rough lips parting into a toothy grin. “You’re too kind.”

“Just don’t ruin her too quickly, alright?” Compress urged him before patting your back and stepping away. Giran also turned away and returned to his chair, leaning back with one leg crossing over the other.

The only one holding you now was the fiery villain; it had you sweating profusely even without the use of his quirk.

“Now, on your knees,” he ordered and pushed down onto your shoulders, forcing you to kneel. Your chest was tightening painfully when he unbuckled his belt to draw his half-hard cock. It wasn’t exactly any comfort, but it was wholly intact unlike the rest of him. “Start sucking.”

You kept your lips sealed and shook your head, only to have your hair grabbed and yanked back. Your pained cry was all he needed to shove his meat into your mouth. Your shout changed into a gag from the fleshy intrusion.

“Sweetheart,” the pet name was uttered with a mocking venom. “I’m trying to give you the benefit of a doubt and believe that you don’t have the memory of a dead goldfish, but in case you do, let me remind you that we brought you here to hurt you.” That dreaded heat was back, his hand threatening to call those blue flames and set your hair ablaze. “So which would you rather deal with: being carved and burned into a bloody mess, or having to please a couple of dicks? Doesn’t the latter sound more bearable?”

You couldn’t pull back to answer, his hold on your head tight and unyielding, so you nodded.

But for some reason, that didn’t satisfy him. “I need you say it. Come on, you can do it.”

‘No I can’t, you overcooked motherfucker! What do you want from me?’ Having no idea what to do but also not wanting to try his patience any further, you worked your voice around the thick rod and managed a choked and barely comprehensible “mmyeff.”

The sloshed word made Dabi laugh and you felt him twitch on your tongue. “Cute. That’s good enough. Now put that mouth to work so I won’t have to turn your head into a torch.”

Admitting defeat, you moved your head to take in more of his growing erection, wriggling your tongue in a poor attempt to get away from his salty taste, only to stimulate him in the process. You feel him respond with shaky breaths, but the fact that you’re servicing this terrible man doesn’t make you want to try any harder.

Dabi realizes your slow pace isn’t changing and his grumpiness quickly returns. “Oh come on, put a little more energy into it. A quirkless bitch living in the worst part of town, this can’t be the first time you’ve had to suck dick to save your life.” You look up and glare at him, which didn’t do much to intimidate when you were blowing him at the same time. He only smirked. “If you don’t pick up the pace, then I’ll have to take charge, and I don’t think you’d want that.”

You push yourself to put in more effort, taking in more of his now fully swollen cock and gagging pathetically. Despite what the singed shithead had guessed, you weren’t experienced with this. Your sex life boils down to a couple of hookups. This hectic existence with its cast of untrustworty characters wasn’t suitable for any kind of serious relationship, and sexual favors were something you tried to avoid as much as possible. Those rare nights with a partner were nothing like this, and you sure as hell would never ask for a fucking audience. A wisp of smoke nearby reminded you of Giran’s presence.

The sick broker was just sitting and watching with interest, his smirk still present. He seemed satisfied with just watching you in this humiliating state. Compress stood out of sight, but he was most likely doing the same. It made you just want to curl up and hide from these hungry eyes.

You heard a tired sigh over you as Dabi adjusted his grip and was now holding both sides of your face.There was no warning when he thrusted forward to jam himself into the back of your throat, the sting making your eyes well up.

“Sorry, but I think I’ve given you enough chances,” Dabi panted while reveling in the feel of your mouth all around him. His cock slid back and allowed you to breathe for just a second or two before plunging back in.

Breathing through your nose was the only option as he pumped in and out of your throat with little restraint. You gurgled helplessly and tried to push at his thighs to keep him from going so deep, but that only made him chuckle and fuck your mouth more roughly. He was in complete control now, so all you could do was take it as best as you could. Saliva gathered as your throat was violated, some of it oozing past your lips and running down your chin.

“Look at you, turning into a drooling mess for my cock. You like having your mouth fucked just like a pussy?” Demeaning words were spoken between his grunts, commenting on the depraved state of your face—you could only imagine how you looked at the moment with your extra lubricated mouth allowing him to move in and out more easily.

The erratic slams of his hips against your face signaled that this torture will be ending soon, as long as you could endure the assault on your windpipe that was making you dizzy. Any cry of distress or plea to slow down was reduced to wet gurgles and more spit bubbling from your mouth. With a teeth-clenched growl, Dabi presses your face flush against his pelvis, engulfed by his musky scent as cum shoots straight down your throat. Black spots were appearing in your vision with both your nose and throat blocked. ‘Can’t breathe…can’t…’

“Hang in there, just need to make sure you swallow every last drop.” He keeps your head locked in place so that you could feel every spasm as he feeds you his seed. Finally, he releases you and steps back, allowing oxygen to rush into your lungs as you coughed and wheezed.

“Whoops, maybe I went a little overboard,” Dabi joked at your shaking form that was hunched over hacking up a mixture of saliva and semen. That fucking bastard…

“You think?” A sarcastic remark sounded from an approaching presence behind you. Compress kneels beside you, placing a hand on your back as your coughing fit slowly died down. “That’s not my ideal way of punishing a lady. Wouldn’t you agree, Giran?”

You didn’t have the strength to look at said man and the amused expression that he was undoubtedly wearing. “I’m not picky myself. It was a good show,” you heard him say. You can physically feel your dignity leaving you.

“Well, I can give you a better one.” The phony gentleman grabbed and straightened you up. You noticed that he had removed his hat, his head concealed by what may be a ski mask. It was strangely symbolic—beneath all of that pizzazz was just another unforgiving criminal. “Dabi certainly did a number on you, didn’t he?” He observed, fingers tracing over your chest and the drying drool that had trailed down. You heard a “damn right” from Dabi who had returned to his spot at the wall. “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t leave you so roughed up.”

His words did nothing to alleviate the growing fear as his hand wandered down to your panties, fingers pressing against the damp cloth. “Oh my…and here I was thinking he was being too hard on you. Looks like you didn’t hate it as much as I thought.”

You shuddered at the small chorus of laughter from all three men. Dabi took the opportunity to taunt you again. “I had a feeling she was the type that loves being treated like a hole. The bitch probably would have gotten off if I went a little longer, not that she deserves to.”

“Ah, but I think she does. In fact,” Compress pulled the underwear to the side and touched your slick directly, making you gasp. “I’d say she deserves more than she can handle.”

“N…St…op…” Your voice was hoarse from the abuse your throat had gone through. His fingers began soft strokes against your glistening folds, a feeling that wasn’t unpleasant, but you held back your whimpers to avoid both the vocal strain and giving him any gratification.

The gloved digits moved skillfully across your sensitive lips, kindling a hot desire deep inside of you. No, you really didn’t want to be feeling that from him. Your own hands curl into fists when you feel him prod at your opening, just barely penetrating you and making you bite your lip in a painful effort to suppress a moan.

He looks right at you; you can only guess what face he was making. “Trying not to make any noise, are you?” His free hand removed the patterned mask, revealing chocolate eyes and a smile that wasn’t at all sweet. “I sure do love a challenge. Then again, I already know that I’ll win.”

Any retort you had prepared died on your lips when two fingers slipped into your heat, unable to hold back your whimper even with your mouth closed. “There it is,” he purred close to your face. “But I think we can do better.”

Your cunt throbbed with each brush against your walls. He couldn’t go too deep in your current position, but that didn’t deter him as he pistoned in and out, flexing his fingers every which way until he found that forbidden spot that made you wail. The white hot heat was threatening to smother you completely. You found yourself grasping his arm and weakly pushing at it, silently begging to make it stop before you burst.

‘Don’t look ahead…Giran is watching…don’t look ahead…’ The mantra repeated in your head, echoing loudly to distract you from the unstable knot in your core. The inner chant was to no avail—several hard presses against your nerves had you crumbling beneath the searing heat of your climax. With no restraint remaining, your broken whines rushed out of your convulsing body and echoed through the room. A thumb circles your clit and prolongs the all-powerful sensation.

“Try to bear it, darling.” Compress says to you, but his voice sounds so far away, drowned out by the vibrations starting from your pussy and spreading all over, engulfing you. Even after your orgasm passes, the assault on your sensitive womanhood doesn’t stop, the sensations becoming painful. You would have fallen over if Compress wasn’t holding you, his arm wrapped around you in an insultingly affectionate embrace as he continued to overstimulate you. The words falling from your lips were weak and incoherent, the occasional ‘no’ and ‘too much’ being heard.

Sobbing in the villain’s shoulders, you can make out the blurred violet figure in your foggy vision, still lounging and taking silent delight in your struggles. You just barely noticed the slight curve of his lips as Compress forced you to cum again, pitting your muscles against another wave of excruciating spasms. This time he did let you collapse, your body sprawled out on the floor as your walls continued to clench.

“Hmmph, not bad.” Dabi can be heard, and his voice alone makes your throat burn again.

Compress was still close, curiously squishing your juices between his fingers. “I could have gone for longer, but she still needs energy for the main act.”

You hear a dark laugh from Giran. “So generous of you Compress. What would I do without you gentlemen? Just do me one more favor and remove the rest of your clothes.”

“Of course,” the showman moved over to fully strip you. You stayed limp as he pulled your drenched panties down along with your pants that were still hanging at your feet, then moving on to remove your shoes. You were now completely bare, body shivering despite the warm still air of the room.

“Alright, miss. That’s enough rest. Time to get up and come over here.” Giran orders coolly. There was no urgency in his voice, but you knew you shouldn’t keep him waiting. If only your entire lower body wasn’t screaming. Compress sensed your plight and took hold of your waist, prepared to pull you up.

“No no,” Giran held up a hand while stomping out his cigarette. “She’s a big girl and can stand on her own.”

Compress simply shrugged and retreated, leaving you to force your aching arms and legs to move and lift you up.

Even after being violated, you still couldn’t resist covering your chest and mound as you slowly approached the man that you deeply regret ever getting involved with. You tried to ignore how gross your body felt—the salty fleshy taste lingering on your tongue, the wetness that continued to run down your  legs, your bare feet shuffling across the old dusty floor. There was a prominent bulge in his pants, revealing just how much this was all exciting him.

“Sit down and have a ride on me.” It was said so casually that you needed a moment to comprehend.

Dabi barked impatiently. “Hey, don’t just stand there like a modest statue.”

Realizing that Giran isn’t going to take out his erection himself, you lean in to open up his pants, fighting every urge to pull your hands away as they work at the buttons and zipper, pulling down his underwear to watch his cock spring out. He didn’t seem to react, only watching your face like he has been since you’ve been tossed into this damned place. You stare at his waiting dick until you accept that you have to get closer, standing over his legs before lowering yourself down onto his lap. You have to grab the soft yet firm organ to keep it in place as it touches your opening.

He was so close, smoke-scented breath hitting your skin. There was no way to avoid his gaze at this proximity. He was free to see all of the shameful details on your tear-stained face.

It pains you to admit that Compress’s fingers made the stretch more bearable as Giran’s head pushes into your cavern that was still sensitive from the previous man’s onslaught. You had to place your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself as your hips sunk down on him, breaths shallow throughout your poor attempt to stay relaxed and not tighten up. Several inches later, you had him fully sheathed inside you.

“Good. Very good.” His voice was low and rugged, eyes closing briefly so that he can take in your surrounding heat. “Now start moving. I didn’t bring you over just to keep me warm.”

You didn’t have enough pride left to protest, so you did as instructed, slowly lifting your hips before bringing them back down, ignoring the strain put on your thighs. Giran placed a hand on your ass, the contact making your pace falter for just a second. He looked so at ease as you bounced on him that you wondered, if it was just the two of you, perhaps you could have taken this as an opportunity to attack. But in the current situation, it would only lead to certain death. The thought leaves your mind as quickly as it came.

“Three days.” The two words cut through your weary breaths and the squelch of your pussy. You give Giran a look of confusion before he specifies. “I’m giving you three more days to collect the money.”

The news surprises you enough to halt your hips, an action he doesn’t approve of.

“I didn’t say stop.” The warning in his tone had you instantly moving again. He lightened at your compliance; he sure knew how to flip his friendly mode on and off like a damn light switch. “Very good. I’m trying to show you some more mercy here. Don’t ruin it for yourself. Anyway, you need to hurry and do whatever you can to get that money. Steal, call some old friends, maybe sell your body? I don’t think you’d be half-bad at that.” He gave your rear a light smack, making your walls squeeze him in shock. “If you don’t have enough by the time we meet again, your lovely body won’t stop me from peeling your skin off a second time. Are we clear, sweetheart?”

The fear from his threat grips your chest as you keep trying to please him, moving in a way that keeps his dick away from your g-spot. “Yes,” you whimper through your pants.

Giran caught on to what you were doing. “I’m not convinced.” Both of his hands take hold of your hips and push you down, forcing stimulation on your hypersensitive bundle of nerves. A scream rips through your burning throat. “I’ll say it again: Are we clear?”

“Yes!” Your voice cracks and tears are flowing down your face once again.

“You won’t run from me again?”

“No! I swear I won’t!”

“Good girl.” He was the one setting the pace at this point, forcing you up and down in pursuit of his release. There was another agonizing orgasm growing in your abdomen, but the hands controlling your movements weren’t giving you a chance to escape the inevitable storm.

The final slam collides his throbbing cock with your cervix, and the pained pleasure has you quivering in his hold, crinkling his shirt with your white-knuckled grip as you cried out from every foul spurt into your womb. His soft groans were heated against your neck.

His pats of approval on your back are enough to push your worn figure into his chest. He chuckles and rubs you like a lover that didn’t just force you into the most disgraceful moment of your life. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.”

Despite your limbs feeling like pure lead, you wanted to get off this man as soon as possible. “Please just let me go.”

His smile filled you with a fresh wave of dread. “Soon, darling. But I need to make sure I’ve made my point. I think the other two gentlemen would appreciate a turn.”

You heard the quick footsteps before he even finished, scarred hands grabbing and pulling you off of Giran’s softening cock. Fuck, the two had been so quiet for the past moment that you forgot about their presence.

You jolt at the feel of Dabi’s revived hard-on pressing against your back while Compress stops right in front of you, his own length bobbing freely. You flinched at the damp gloves caressing your chin and lips.  “Are you ready to return the favor? Don’t worry, I won’t treat your mouth as badly as Dabi did.”

“Sadly,” The crueler man behind you added before pressing down and bending you forward, your head now leveled with Compress’s waiting dick.

“Open up for me,” he orders with a hand resting in your hair. Your jaw still ached from the last cock in your mouth; you hoped that he truly was going to at least be more gentle as you parted your lips and took him in.

Dabi rubbed up and down your spine as he watched. “Well look at you, such an obedient little bitch now.” He began to knead your ass cheeks before spreading them, your body tensing in fear as a finger toyed with your back entrance.

“I’m not a fan of sloppy seconds, guess I’ll have to take another hole.” It was the only warning he gave before his thickness was pushing forcefully into your unprepared ass. The searing pain was as intense as his quirk, your muffled shrieks vibrating against Compress and making him moan. Dabi smiled at your suffering. “Can’t complain, ‘cause this sounds a lot better. Hope I don’t do too much damage in there.”

He fucked you as hard and fast as your tight passage would allow, pushing the other villain’s dick further into your throat with each thrust.

Soon, they will switch places. And then they will take you separately. And Giran will stay seated, taking pleasure in watching you break.

Your mind eventually wanders to what will happen afterwards, if there is any possible way to right the biggest wrong you’ve ever committed…or if you simply had three days left to live.

It feels like luck is done saving you.

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

tagging @mothwithteeth​ because their thirst for Giran inspired me. Go check them and their awesome work out!

[bakugou-tm]

fate’s design; bakugou

Okay so this was one of the few ideas I had going on but this one I had after I heard about the live action Tangled being made (literally wanted to be cast for that so bad). But anyways the reader has a healing quirk from her hair just like Rapunzel’s when she sings the song, and you can find out the rest as you read ;)

word count: 3000+

warnings: kidnapping, mad angst but a happy ending :-)

Emotion was a long lost friend of yours.

When you were younger, your life was filled with emotion.

The joy you felt when your family came over for summer cookouts and you got to play in the pool with your cousins while the sweet smell of meat burned on the grill. The sadness you felt when you had to reveal to your parents that you flunked your first math test. The anger you felt when your father ate the last cookie you had made with your mother that weekend, though it was quickly resolved when he returned to the store with a fresh batch.

All of these emotions, no matter good nor bad, you were at bay with. Content with even. Because at that time it was just so nice to.. feel something. Anything.

How you wished you could feel again, have a family again, a life.

That was all ripped from your grasp when you felt your very last emotion: pain.

The day was just like any other, you were walking home from school on sixth year in primary school. Your classes were beginning to grow harder, but thanks to your helpful friends and wise parents you had no troubles. After all, you and your peers were preparing for high school.

You remembered how excited you were for high school. Getting to meet new friends, join new clubs, play new sports. Perhaps you watched too many cliché high school movies, or maybe you had been too naive.

Probably the ladder.

You took the same path you always took, crossing through pretty neighborhoods with large historic trees and cracked sidewalks that brought back memories to your youthful days.

Just as you turned the corner you felt that feeling of comfort in your chest upon seeing the rustic color of your home, the smell cherry blossom tree overwhelming your senses as it did every afternoon.

You allowed the faint breeze to flow through your long soft locks, the occasional blossom falling far from the tree and into your hair.

You would always think... silly flower, you don’t belong in my hair. You belong in the tree with your family.

Walking peacefully down the street you made sure to skip over each crack, the knacking fear of the old children’s tale still in the back of your head.

To you it was just like any other weekday, the same old routine, same old walk, same old emotions.

But that day was far from normal, it was the last day you had the luxury of feeling.

You remembered the way a shiver ran up your spine when you felt someone entwining their fingers in your long locks. You remembered the way your parents ran outside at the sound of your shrill screams. You remembered being held back as you were dragged into a rundown van, your poor excuse of trying to escape proving to be useless. You remember having to watch your parents get engulfed in flames, their screams of agony filling your ears which over-rid the sound of tape being slapped across your mouth and body.

But the one thing that really swam in your mind like poison was the torn blossom that laid much to peacefully on the palm of your hand as tears of pure fear danced down your cheeks.

Silly flower, you don’t belong here.

Things have never been the same since that day. Sometimes you tried to think back on that day, those memories, just to try feel something again. But it never worked, nothing worked.

You followed the same routine everyday. Wake up, eat whatever scraps you could get, sit in the corner silently with no thought in mind, wait for one of the injured villains to come in, sing your song, heal them, hope they didn’t ask for much more from you, sleep, repeat.

You used to hate it so much, helping the people that took your life away against your will. Knowing you were the power of the sick people that ruined other people’s lives everyday. But at this point, you didn’t even know what it felt like to hate.

All you knew how to do was sing that sickening song and sleep. Nothing sounded the same anymore, nothing felt the same, nothing tasted the same. The bottom line was, nothing was the same.

And for six years that was your mindset, nothing would ever be the same. This would be your life til the day you die. That is, if you were lucky enough to see death’s doors.

But one day that mindset changed, your life changed forever. Thanks to the boy with crimson eyes.

-

You sat in the corner of your room, your bottom growing numb against the hardwood floors but you couldn’t care less.

Admittedly your room had gotten some upgrades since you first arrived here. From 11 to 18 you had finally been able to see a bed again, but it mattered not. The bed felt the same as the floor at this point.

Your (e/c) orbs were glued to the floor, your eyelids forcing themselves open pitifully as you traced the outlines of the hardwood as you did everyday.

With your room being below ground, probably in the middle of some rundown city, you weren’t able to hear much of what was going on in the outside world. Sometimes you would imagine what was happening, what holidays were going on and what families were spending time together.

It probably felt nice.

When a loud bang arose from upstairs, your eyes merely flicked to the door with uninterested. Probably one of the villains getting in a fight. Their hideout was in a rundown bar of sorts, this leading to the buffoons always being a drunk mess.

All you could do was hope that they would be sober enough when they had their daily visit with you.

The banging only proceded to get louder, shouts filling the air but you simply ignored it. Letting your head lower to the ground again as your (h/c) locks showered along your face.

Through everything you’ve been through, one thing that never changed was your hair. No matter how much you tugged and pulled at it, wishing it would fall out and end this misery you called a life: it remained.

Soft and gentle as ever, the strands never bothering to move out of place as the cascaded down your smooth shoulders.

It made you absolutely sick.

As the banging grew closer to your door you swore you almost felt a bit of curiosity fill your mind. But who were you kidding, you knew it was only your mind playing tricks on you.

Even as new voices filled the air and quirks seem to go off every which way, you failed to believe it was anything of your concern. You had been tricked long enough, you wouldn’t dare fall for hope again.

Curling your scratched up knees to your chin you let more of your hair cascade around your face, hoping to drown out the sounds and maybe even fall asleep.

The vibrations along the walls were surprisingly lulling to you, your head leaning against the cold concrete as you let your (e/c) irises see the last of this damp room for today. 

But apparently your luck was runnign short today. Just before you could doze off into what freedom you had, the door slammed open.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, your (e/c) orbs peaking up to see which villain you had to heal today, only to see a figure you didn’t recognize.

He was dressed in a uniform, perhaps a villain you’ve never met? But he had no serious injuries, what else could he be here for?

One thing that stuck out to you was the slight confusion and horror that was washed over his expression as he looked you up and down.

If you had any bit of feeling left in your body you would almost be intimidated by the handsome man, his crimson iris’ slicing through you as his lips formed into a snarl showing off his near perfect teeth.

“You’re the flower they’ve been talking about?”

The sound of the word flower made you grimace, the word making you sick to the stomach as a quick flashback of the broken blossom in your hand so many years ago came to mind.

When arriving this the dungeon you now called home, the villains took note of the many blossoms in your hair from your tree at home, deciding to give you the nickname “flower”.

The word you once loved now made you sick.

Your flinching didn’t go un-noticed by the man before you, his eyes narrowing into mere slits as he clenched his fists.

“Sick bastards.”

Before you knew it he was walking over to you, extending out a palm to you awaiting you to take it.

He stood there, his eyes glancing back at the door to make sure no other shitty villain was coming before he glanced back at you only to see your body shoved even further into the corner.

His eyebrow rose in confusion as he shook his hand in an annoyed manor. What the hell were you doing?

“I’ve already done my job for today, please let me rest until tomorrow.” You spoke with quivering lips, only leading the ash blond to click his tongue.

“I’m not here to use you I’m here to get you the hell out of here, I’m a damn hero.”

In that moment you had never felt so overwhelmed in your life. So confused and unsure what to do. Hero? There was such a thing? How could this be real? You were sure your doomed life had been planned out, what was going on? Could life not let you chip away in peace?

The so called “hero” before you was growing impatient. He quickly crouched down on his toes, letting his arms lay across his knees as he looked at you with stern eyes, mumbling something about this being shitty Deku’s job.

“Listen I’m a fucking pro-hero okay? We’ve been chasing this case for months, hearing that the League of Villains had a secret weapon called their “Flower” that’s been the source of all their success these past few years,” The man explained with a sigh as he grit his teeth, “We expected you to be an actual flower, not a damn human, but it turns out these assholes are more disturbing than we expected.”

Your eyes felt glazed over as he offered his hand out once more.

“Now I need you to fucking trust me so I can get you out of here got it?”

For once in these past long years... you felt something. You felt the warm salty water dance across your cheek. You felt the rough rubber of this man’s glove as your slender fingers slid across his own. You felt... damn you say it.. hope.

Swallowing what saliva you had formulated in your mouth, you gave a quick nod before completely taking his hand and allowing him to lift you up from the floor.

One moment you were in the room you had lived in for six years, now you were running down the hallway. Nothing was in your way, it felt so surreal.

This had to be happening for a reason, maybe this was a test. Were they going to kill you if you betrayed them? Who were you kidding, killing you would be the easy way out. They needed you.

When the sight of stairs came into sight your eyes widened, you remembered those from your first day here. Upstairs, outside those doors was the real world.

For a quick second you almost felt like smiling, like screaming from pure joy. But you should’ve known what that would lead to. As a bullet sunk through the chest of the hero before you a scream did end up releasing from your chest.

But not from pure joy.

The hero sunk to his knees, his free gloved hand grasping his now bloodied chest before falling to the ground.

“Now now look what you’ve done flower, you know we have strict rules to keep you safe here.” The villain spoke before you, his gun flicking around his finger as if it were a toy as he began to walk towards you.

So the universe was still playing tricks on you, it wanted to make sure that you knew life still could be worse. And it was, it just kept getting worse and worse.

At least before you didn’t have to see the lifeless bodies that you had caused, but now as you saw the hero before you losing any sign of life in his crimson orbs you felt as if your body was being torn up from the inside. Just like when you saw your parents.

“Come on now flower, let’s get you back to your roo-”

A loud explosion from upstairs was heard causing you and the villain to stumble to your feet. Glancing up you noticed that heavy amounts of dust and ash from the cement walls were clouded around the villain before you.

In that moment you saw two choices. Two choices that life had bestowed upon you. You could either wait for those five seconds and allow the villain to take you back to that prisoned hole.

Or you could safe this hero and possibly have another chance at life. But why would you even try. Had you not learned after six years that life was not in your favor? What was even the point?

As your (e/c) eyes flicked down to the lifeless hero you wanted so badly just to lay beside him and give up, accept the cursed fate stowed upon you.

But as you looked into his crimson eyes, the only thing you could see were the eye’s of your parents. The lifeless look across their expressions as they screamed in pain from the intense flames engulfing them.

Back then you were too weak to do anything about it. You had to watch that happen and allow your life to become what it was. You... You couldn’t do that again.

No.

Gritting your teeth you dragged the hero through one of the now broken down doors, hastily wrapping your locks of hair around his chest as he coughed most likely from pain, holding at his wound.

You narrowed your eyes intensely and focused on making sure you hair wrapped around every inch of his wound.

The ash blond hero narrowed his own eyes up to you weakly, fighting to speak as he watched you maneuver around his corpse.

“W..What the hell are y..you doing?” The hero rasped, his hand trying to grasp around your wrist in an attempt to stop you, “Get the fuck out of here, save... save yourself!”

You simply ignored his pleads, tightening your locks of hair before inhaling deeply.

“Flower, gleam and glow, let your power shine..” You spoke softly, your eyes closing in focus as the hero before you gave you a crazed expression, “Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine.”

Initially the hero was disturbed by your soft singing, wondering if this was some sort of song of lost hope. How could you accept your fate like this? He couldn’t seem to plug anything together until he noticed your roots of your long (h/c) locks glow a bright golden color, the bright effect slowly cascading down your locks like a waterfall.

“Heal what has been hurt, change the fates’ design,” You sang peacefully, channeling your quirk’s energy to the man’s injury, “Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine...”

Upon those words of the song your gentle (e/c) eyes opened slowly to glance down to the hero beneath you, his eyes growing wider as a mix of shock from your quirk’s magic and his sudden energy being brought back to him.

“What once was mine.”

The ash blond failed to notice his steady breathing once again, rather focusing on your hair’s golden shine fading away as your locks began to loosen from around his chest. His eyes followed down to his once bloody chest to now see the hole from the wound completely gone.

Suddenly it all made sense.

You were their healing flower, the source of their power. None of the members of the League of Villains were being taken down because they had unlimited lives. That’s why they had no fear running into battles, they knew they had no risk. Because they had you.

The young hero wasn’t sure if it was from the purely radiant song you sang, or maybe it was the action that had become of the song, or maybe now he was realizing just how truly beautiful you were inside and out. As if he had known you for years. But there was one thing he knew for sure.

Sitting up from his laid down position, the hero gently held both of your palms into his own as he gave you a gentle yet stern look.

“Flower, I will protect you at all costs, from this day on. You will never see the likes of these sick bastards again. We’re going to survive this and I’m going to be your damn hero.”

What was that feeling? The overwhelmingly warm surge through your chest. It felt as if he you had been stabbed in the heart, but it wasn’t pain you were feeling at all. In fact the warmth was spreading through your entire body, as if something inside you had been reawakened.

Part of you wanted to feel concerned about it but you just couldn’t with the other thought swarming in your head.

The hero just called you by the name you swore you would hate for the rest of your life, and yet you felt nothing but trust in the man. The word you swore would always make you feel sick... made you feel hope. 

And for once in six years you allowed the corners of your lips to rise as you took his hand and spoke the first words of your new life with this crimson eyed man.

“I trust you hero.”

[bates--boy]

Peter was just about done with work that day, cleaning the bottles for the infant animals when his phone buzzed in his pockets. He shut the sink off, yanked off the wet rubber gloves, and pulled his device out of his pocket. “Oh!” he chirped, seeing the name of the sender.

         [Naseem] Yo, Pete, it’s Naz. Was wondering if you have plans for lunch today? 

         [Naseem] I wanted us to do some extra rap practice and maybe go over the lines between Troy and Stefan before our big night

          Peter turned to sit back against the lip of the sink, hugging one of his arms across his torso as he typed. 

          [Peter] i have a half-day today so i’m free once i clock out at twelve.

          [Peter] i’d be happy to buy you lunch if you haven’t eaten yet. i know a great place to get a bite to eat.

          [Naseem] Bet. My break’s half past noon. See you at your work?

         [Peter] fine by me! see ya!

          Smiling at the screen before shoving his phone into his pocket, Peter finished cleaning the rest of the bottles, went to the changing area to wiggle out of the waterproof overalls, and then to the employee area to punch out at the time clock and fetch his hoodie and his copy of the stage play from his locker. He looked down at the practically beaten-up book, some pages curled in, corners folded, colorful tabs poking out of the pages: pink for Josef’s spoken lines, blue for Troy’s; green for Josef’s songs, yellow for Troy’s. Slightly crinkled from the times Peter shoved it into his bag to carry at all times, or when he had his quick bursts of sleep while reading over the thing.

          With a quick cleaning at the employee basin, Peter made a brisk walk back to the grounds, heading to the entrance area. He sent a quick message of his location and waited with the play lying open, quietly murmuring Josef’s verses. Soon, the familiar deep blue XC60 rolled onto the lot, with the Nigerian, Palestinian, and Swedish flags painted across the back. Naseem climbed out and waved as he strolled over, a leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his copy of the play rolled in his hand. When he drew close enough, Naseem said, “Wow, it’s been a while since I last came here.”

           “Ah, so you probably don’t know about the new aerial arts performance they have here,” Peter grinned as they walked back to the conservatory grounds together. 

         Naseem shrugged. “I have. And I’ve been meaning to come check it out, but, you know. Schedule..”

          “Well, the next time you’re free, come on over! I can even sneak you in for a show!” Peter nudged his shoulder against Naseem.

           “How are you gonna--” Naseem stopped once he saw the coy grin on Peter’s face. “Lemme guess: you’re the star?”

          “One of them.” Peter bobbed his shoulder and looked away in faux modesty. He giggled and patted Naseem’s arm. “Come on, I know a great picnic area we can practice in.”

          Peter and Naseem took the stroll to the benches, dodging giggling little kids darting everywhere to get to the next animal enclosure that caught their eye, and the wandering animals that escaped their habitats, mainly small bird and marsupial species. After Peter bought them both bottled smoothies at one of the snack kiosks, they settled at a table near the wooden fence post, drawing annoyed glances from passersby as they sat on the tabletop instead of the benches.

         “Which scenes do you want to practice today?” Peter asked before pulling a long draught from his bottle. “We can just do a couple so I can treat you to lunch.”

          Naseem skimmed the pages he had marked, going back and forth and shrugging. “Ones that have our characters singing so we can work these vocal cords. Let’s start with...” he consulted his shorthand notes. “Act III, scene 4. So, my character comes up to yours.”

          Naseem clambered down the picnic table, took a few steps away, and stomped back. The chills Peter felt may or may not have to do with the complete switch of energy Naseem made. Even his green eyes flared with fury.

          “Why the hell did you do that to Josef?!”

          Peter sighed as his character did, shifting on the table and leaning forward on his knees. So cool and unaffected, to the point of almost being despondent. Peter still couldn’t figure this Troy out, but he spoke his lines.

          “I didn’t do a thing to him, Stef.”

           Naseem crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Oh, really? So when he said no to that stage deal because ‘his mom’s gonna die alone in their apartment while he’s out singing for pocket change’, that wasn’t you?” Peter had to pause here, as Troy struggled to find an excuse. Naseem threw up his arms. “God, what is wrong with you?! What kind of a friend are you?!”

          “A realistic one.” Peter’s tone remained calm, stoic - a stoner too mellowed out to get worked up.

          Naseem rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Realistic. Jo finally had what he needed right in his lap, and you couldn’t even be supportive of him because you’re realistic. That’s bull crap, even for you.”

          “You can say whatever you want about me, Stef, but of all these people feeding him these wild dreams --” Peter swept his hand about, gesturing to a figurative crowd while a few eyes turned their way. He pointed to his own chest. “--I’m the only one looking out for him.”

           “No, looking out for him would be helping him with this. He has a chance to get a better life, but you don't want that for him!"

          "I don't--?!" Peter gave a scoffing laughing and rolled his eyes. "You're so far off, it's funny!"

           "Yeah? So all this time you kept telling him to don't do it, it's not because you know you're wasting your own life being some bum mad that you lost your trust fund and you're angry that Josef can make it?"

          "No!" Peter's voice started to boil, Troy's cool, arrogant façade starting to crack and chip. His free hand curled into a shaking fist.

          "Then why? Why are you being such a shitty friend?!"

          Out of the corner of his eye, Peter could see a uniformed figure walking up to them, parents trying to distract their kids from the argument.

          "Because this would break him just like it almost did me!"

          In a blink of an eye, and a sudden flush of heat on his cheeks, Peter was on his feet, too, feeling Troy's despair as he and Naseem were practically nose to nose. For all the anger, the anguish, and the overprotective adrenaline Troy was supposed to feel at that moment, Peter channeled the underlying heartache and exhaustion; he sounded tired.

          "Like it did my sister."

          "Er, excuse me," the uniformed man said when he came close enough, a hand reaching out to them. "Is there a prob--"

          Naseem stared at Peter for a breath. "Your sister?"

          Peter gave a soft, sad laugh. "Oh, that's right, I never told you about Anna, did I?" He silently filled his lungs with air.

You don't know the story of a boy and a girl Mommy pleasers destined to dominate the world

           The worker looked between the two men, casting an especially long glance at the singing one. "...What?"

Born to hold the dreams that Mommy tucked away Cause she got bare footed and pregnant Waiting on her someday

          The worker furrowed his brows. “What is--” he spotted the open scripts in their hands and lowered his own hand. “Oh... okay...”

         Peter felt a tickle of a grin almost appearing on his lips, amusement almost breaking his character. Almost.

Commercial deals, toddlers on every single ad Barely out of diapers, and we’re out there selling fads Taught to walk so we could tap dance and do a twirl And hold our hands out for all the gold, silver, and pearls

Yanked outta school when the lime lights calling us Daddy got you a gig, so you better not fucking fuss! Tuck in your gut, tilt up your chin, chest out and sing You’re gonna make it worth taking this diamond ring

What you do with heavy makeup and cameras flashing? Swallow cotton and pinch our cheeks red to stay dashing Seeing enemies in friends looking for a ladder to climb Trying to bring you to ruin when they find the right time To strike, like vipers on the hunt for your big juicy kill And the only way to stop the cracks is a tiny yellow pill

A tiny yellow pill A tiny yellow pill A handful of tiny yellow pills Until her heart went still

          Naseem slowly started to unfold his arms, his character Stefan hit with a world-shattering realization. “Oh...”

          Peter turned his face away. “Yeah...”

         Naseem shook his head and sighed. “Man, I’m... I’m sorry. But, see, here’s the thing...”

 I had never known you were crushed this hard Ruled by your fears, beaten, tattered, and battle scarred Now that I think it, so much shit start to make sense Is this why a little stage work gets you so incensed?

I hate that for you, all this pain you’ve been burdened Chasing a high and identity that doesn’t leave you hurtin’ But it’s unfair how you hurt Josef with your sister’s ghost Breaking a dream for someone else’s overdose

What does it do for the person on the other spectrum Piss poor, tryna get meds for his ailing, dying mum When even his close friend is robbing him of a dream Cuz he can’t stop himself from falling apart at the seam? Still blinded by phantom lights, suffocating at the gills? What about Josef’s mum little pills?

Her little pills Her life saving pills If she don’t get hers, then her heart will stand still.

          This was the part where Peter is stunned into silence, indignant, hurt, scrambling for more excuses, still trying to cling to the death of his sister -- the crux of Troy’s listlessness and indifference. But then a loud cry rang out around them.

          The crowd of mere picnickers grew during their rehearsal, it seemed, now cheering and clapping and whistling, someone even going “You tell him, baby!”

          Stuttering, Peter looked towards Naseem and exchanged smiles with him. They stood closer together, held hands, and took a bow.

          “Thank you, thank you!” Peter called out, waving to the cell phones held out. “If you want more, purchase tickets for Inner City Lights before they sell out!”

          “Written and produced by Gunnar Didig!” Naseem added, calling out the website to purchase over the hooting and whistling.

[writetobuildtheworld]

BLACK

Power, sophistication, formality, elegance, wealth, mystery, fear, evil, anonymity, unhappiness, depth, style, sadness, remorse, anger, underground, grief, and death.

"hello, for the prompt game, could you do Adrien from ml with the color black? i think it would be interesting to see our sunshine boy be angsty."

Hello friends, and welcome to pt.2 of my akumatized!Adrien fanfic. I hope you enjoy!

Read pt. 1 here. (Or don’t, but you might be kind of confused going into this.)

I apologize in advance if the line break doesn’t work. Tumblr is being shitty again, but what else is is new?

xXx

The end of pt.1:

Marinette awoke to a soft knock on the skylight in her bedroom. “What on Earth?” she muttered groggily. She pulled herself out of bed and opened the skylight, jumping as Chat Noir climbed down into her bedroom.

“Hi, Marinette,” he said, sitting cross-legged on her floor. “There’s something that you and I need to talk about.”

Marinette yawned, rubbing her eyes. “Couldn’t it have waited until morning?”

“No. It’s too important.”

Marinette stared at the superhero, and noticed an unfamiliar dark gleam in his eyes.

Chat Noir offered her a smile, but it wasn’t his usual goofy grin. It was cold, calculating.

This person... This was someone else entirely.

xXx

"Uh," Marinette stammered. "Sure. Okay." Internally, she was in complete panic mode. She didn't know why her partner was acting the way he was, and part of her was afraid to find out. She sat down on the edge of her bed, scooting towards the end away from Chat Noir. She doubted she was successfully hiding her discomfort. "So... What's going on?”

Chat Noir sighed, resting his chin on his hand and staring up at her from his seat on the floor. His eyes weren't their usual vibrant green - they seemed darker, somehow, yet also faded. Emptiness was not a look she liked on him. "Princess, has someone close to you ever kept a secret?"

Marinette wasn't sure whether it was worth lying to him. The knot of fear coiled in her stomach suggested it wasn't. "I mean. Probably. People keep secrets all the time."

"Not like that." He sat up straight, and Marinette noticed him clench his fists. "I mean a secret that never should have existed in the first place."

"I - No?" She laughed, and her voice jumped up an octave. Ugh. It couldn't have been more apparent she was freaking out, could it? "I don't think anyone has ever kept something like that from me. At least I hope they haven't."

"Huh. Well, you're lucky."

Marinette bit her lip, glancing sideways at Tikki, who was hiding in a crevice between a bookshelf and a portrait on the wall. "I guess so." She clapped her hands together, standing up. "If that's all you needed, you really should get going. I need to get back to sleep because my parents are expecting me to wake up early to help out in the bakery tomorrow - we've got these big orders from Mayor Bourgeois, you see - and I really think it'd be best if you -"

Before Marinette could blink, Chat Noir had jumped to his feet and grabbed her, pulling her close to him as he placed a finger on her lips. "Shh," he murmured. "You talk too much when you're nervous... M'lady."

Marinette's heart was racing, beating out of her chest. Her voice was caught on a dozen blades in her throat, ice seemed to flow through her veins instead of blood, her lungs were lead and she couldn't breathe -

He knew.

He knew she was Ladybug.

Marinette's legs became Jello and she would have collapsed if Chat Noir hadn't still been holding her close to him.

Shit. She was going to pass out.

"Marinette? Are you okay?"

She looked up at Chat Noir, and for a moment, her partner was back. The person she cared for to a fault and was incomplete without. Vibrant green eyes stared down at her with deep concern, and his grip loosened on her waist. Whoever had been there before, whoever it was that had climbed through the skylight into her room - he was gone.

Marinette reached up and gently cupped his cheek in her hand. He leaned into her embrace, closing his eyes. For a moment, he seemed to melt into her warmth.

But it couldn't last.

Her partner reopened his eyes, and the stranger was back.

Marinette shoved him away. "Sorry!" she managed to say. "I need to - uh, well, I gotta..." She trailed off. Of course her ability to generate excuses would fail her now, when she desperately needed time to recalibrate and think.

"Is something wrong?" Chat Noir asked, taking a step towards her. "You know you can trust me, Marinette."

"No, no, everything's fine! It's just, I need to - er, my period started!" she blurted out.

Chat Noir froze, and - oh my God. Was he blushing? That would have been hysterical if she wasn't so terrified. "Oh," he stammered. "Well, ah, you should probably go take care of that."

The period excuse. It never failed with men.

"Sorry," she apologized, already halfway down the ladder out of her room. "I'll be back in a hot second, I swear." She closed the trapdoor behind her, jumped the rest of the way to the floor, and practically flew down the hall to the bathroom. Tikki was waiting for her there.

"Not your classiest excuse, Marinette," Tikki teased.

Marinette rolled her eyes and locked the door behind her. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides - it's a solid backup plan." She really didn't understand why men turned into a quivering mess around the word "period," but she certainly didn't mind using it to her advantage.

"Speaking of a backup plan... What are you going to do about Chat Noir?"

Marinette sighed, hugging herself tightly as she leaned against the door. She was still shaking. "I don't know, Tikki." She glanced at her kwami. "Do you have any idea what is going on with him?"

Tikki shrugged. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's been akumatized." She glanced at her chosen. "Do you think...?"

The question was left unspoken.

Marinette sighed. "Yeah. That's what I'm worried about." She ran her hands through hair. "Tikki, he knows I'm Ladybug! This is bad, this is so, so bad!"

Tikki flew over to her. "You don't know that for sure, Marinette. Let yourself breathe."

Marinette glared at the kwami, her fear turning into frustration. "He called me 'M'lady.' He only calls Ladybug that. I don't know how he figured it out, but he did. He knows."

Tikki sighed. "If you're right, if Chat Noir is akumatized and he does know you are Ladybug, then the odds that Hawk Moth knows your identity, too, are much higher."

Marinette groaned. "I would say this couldn't get any worse, but I'm sure it can, and I don’t want to jinx myself." She looked at her reflection in the mirror. A small, frightened girl was staring back at her. "Tikki... I don't know what to do."

The kwami flew next to her, landing on Marinette's shoulder. "And that's okay, Marinette."

Marinette almost laughed. "Aren't you supposed to tell me that I'll figure something out?"

Tikki shrugged. "Maybe. But I don't think that's what you need to hear right now." She flew up next to Marinette's face, nuzzling her cheek. "Do I believe you'll come up with a plan? Of course I do. You're my chosen, and therefore the most clever person in the world. But it's okay to not know what to do, Marinette. No one is perfect. We're in a sticky situation right now and I'd probably think you were crazy if you told me you already had a foolproof plan."

Marinette closed her eyes and allowed tears to fall down her cheeks. "It's the middle of the night. One of my best friends has probably been akumatized and also knows my secret identity as Ladybug, not to mention he basically broke into my house. I'm having an emotional breakdown, and I am currently being comforted by a small, magical creature who gives me magic powers when I say the right words." She started to laugh. Or maybe cry. She wasn't sure. "Can my life get any weirder than this?"

Tikki didn't answer. Marinette hadn't expected her to.

She let silence fall. For a few minutes, that was what she needed. Quiet.

But she knew she had to start brainstorming. It was time to switch into Ladybug mode - develop a plan and use what she had around her to get it done.

"Okay," Marinette began. "Chat Noir is akumatized. We need to get ahold of the akumatized object, only we don't know what that is."

"It's probably his ring," Tikki pointed out. "If I were Hawk Moth, that's what I would target."

"That makes sense. Unfortunately, if it his ring, that means I can't destroy it to get the akuma, since only a Cataclysm can destroy a miraculous. Which means we need to get the ring off of him and take it to Master Fu."

"Taking the ring off will cause him to detransform, you know. Then you'll learn his identity, too."

Marinette sighed. She'd realized that. "Yeah. But there's not really any other option, is there?"

Tikki nodded. "I understand. Assuming the ring is the akumatized object, then at least he'll also de-akumatize. But until you can get the akuma out, we can't let him put it back on."

Marinette cracked her neck. "Alright. I think I've got a plan. It's pretty simple, but I'm going to need your help to make it work."

Tikki beamed at her. "Anything for you, Marinette!"

xXx

Marinette returned to her room, hitting her head on the trapdoor as she opened it in a way only she could. "Sorry about that," she apologized. "I was starting to have bad cramps, so I took some medicine."

If it weren't for the anxiety gnawing at her stomach, Marinette would have laughed at Chat Noir's expression of discomfort. God, she hoped her plan would work.

"It's fine," he muttered. "I, uh, hope you feel better soon."

Marinette laughed and sat on her bed, pretending she wasn't trying to guess his every move. "The midol should kick in after a while. But I appreciate your concern." She crossed her legs. "So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about? You mentioned something about a secret."

Chat Noir shrugged. "Yeah. I recently learned a few people I know were keeping some things from me. And these were people I really thought I could trust." He shifted away from the bookshelf he'd been leaning against and moved next to her on the bed.

Marinette had to resist every instinct in her body telling her to move away. She needed his full attention to be on her in order for her plan to work. "That sucks," she said gently, trying to sound comforting. "Is that what you wanted to talk about, then?"

Chat Noir stared at her, and Marinette had never felt more vulnerable. His gaze seemed to pierce her body and see straight into her heart. "No," he finally said. His eyes shifted up to her ears. "Cute earrings."

Marinette touched her ear out of reflex. "Thank you. They were a gift. From a good friend of mine."

Chat Noir nodded. "Do you mind if I get a closer look?"

Marinette shrugged, chuckling. She had to keep him distracted for a few minutes longer. "That's kind of a weird request, you know."

He smirked. "Well, I guess I've never been close enough to you to notice them before."

Marinette turned bright red at that comment. "Oh. Well."

He reached to touch them, but Marinette pulled away, scrambling off her bed and moving to the other side of her room. All she had to do was keep his eyes on her - and away from the bookshelf.

"Sorry," she said. "I just... Like my personal space, you know?" Tikki needed to hurry. Marinette didn't know how much longer she could keep him preoccupied.

Chat Noir stared at her. Finally, he stood up. Marinette became very aware of just how much taller he was than her. "Let me see your earrings."

Marinette managed to hold her ground. "No."

"Marinette."

"No!" She rolled her eyes, trying to play it cool. "C'mon, kitty. You're normally pretty good about knowing when a girl needs her space."

Chat Noir smiled at her, but it didn't reach his eyes. There was only icy malice behind it. "I need your earrings.” He took a step towards her. “Ladybug."

"Ladybug?" Marinette sputtered, doing her best to act shocked. "I really don't know why you’re acting so weird tonight, but -"

"Don't bullshit me, Marinette!" he growled, his hands curling into fists.

"Any minute now, Tikki," Marinette muttered under her breath.

"It's the only way, M'lady," Chat Noir insisted, slowly moving towards her. "The ladybug and cat miraculouses, when combined, can grant any wish the user desires."

"Except it's not that simple!" Marinette protested. "You should know that! Every wish comes with a price. It's - It's equivalent exchange."

"I should have known you wouldn't understand," he sneered. "You have everything."

Before Marinette could process what he said, Chat Noir moved directly in front of her. He placed two fingers on her forehead, and energy suddenly began to seep from her body. Marinette glanced down at her arms, biting back a scream as she watched the color slowly fade from her body. Her knees buckled, and she would have collapsed had Chat Noir not caught her and helped her to her bed.

"I don't want to hurt you," he insisted. "I really don't. Not you." He sighed, muttering a curse under his breath. "I just need your earrings!" He reached for her ears.

"No," Marinette gasped. Her body was stiff, but she managed to push him away. "I won't... I won't let you do this."

A familiar purple outline of a butterfly formed around Chat Noir's face, and Marinette bit back a swear. She'd been right - he was akumatized. Sure, she'd expected that from the moment he'd entered her room, but never before had she wished so much to be wrong.

It was too late, now.

"What do you mean that should have incapacitated her?" Chat Noir demanded. Marinette knew he wasn't speaking to her. Her partner paused. "Detransform?" He sighed. "Fine." He glanced at Marinette. "Whatever it takes to bring my mother back." He held his hand up. "Plagg, claws out!"

If Marinette's body hadn't felt like it had been drained of all life, she might have gasped upon realizing who her partner was. Instead, all she managed was a weak, "A-Adrien?"

Her... friend gave her an eerie smile. His eyes were covered by a blood red ribbon and his skin was nothing short of a deathlike gray, but she could tell who he was. His arms were bare, but his veins glowed a deep red, twisting and turning up his body. On his chest, around where his heart should have been, was a red, felt, stitch-on heart, halfway peeled off. The quaintness of that didn't match the deadly black smoke curling around his fingers.

"My name is Cœur Noir," he began. "Not Adrien." He clenched his fist. "Adrien has been locked away, and he can't - he won't return until his mother returns with him."

Marinette didn't know what he was talking about, but even if she'd wanted to ask her lips refused to move.

"Sorry about this, Marinette," Adrien said as he stood over her. "I really do like you, you know. As Ladybug and as yourself. You stole my heart from day one." He shook his head. "I don't think you know how much I wish there was some other way I could do this." He stared down at her, and though Marinette couldn't see his eyes through the ribbon, she could feel an intense sadness permeating her room. "But I can't afford that anyone gets in my way." He reached towards her, the black smoke dancing around his fingers as tantalizing as it was repulsing.

Why did guys always confess to her when they were akumatized?! It really wasn't fair. "I appreciate the sentiment," Marinette mumbled. "But I'm the one who needs to apologize to you."

Adrien frowned, pausing with his fingers an inch away from her forehead. "What are you -"

"Tikki, now!"

A textbook was shoved off the bookshelf and crashed onto Adrien's head with a loud thunk, knocking him out cold. He crumpled to the floor like a rag doll.

"Don't mess with my chosen!" Tikki said triumphantly before flying over to Marinette. "I already know what you're thinking - 'is he dead'?"

Her kwami wasn't wrong.

"He's not. He’ll be fine. I think that will keep him knocked out for maybe an hour. But he probably has a mild concussion."

Marinette winced. She did feel bad about that.

Tikki's eyes narrowed, then widened as she took in Marinette's full appearance. "Marinette... Did he touch you?"

Marinette managed a shrug, even though it felt like there was a one hundred pound weight on her shoulders. "Kind of. But I got the impression the effect of the akuma was muted because he was transformed into Chat Noir at the time." She glanced down at Adrien. There was a small cut on the back of his head.

She pulled herself off the bed, allowing herself to fall to her knees next to her friend's limp body. Carefully, she reached out and removed the silver ring from his finger. She shoved it into her pocket and then watched as the effects of the akuma disappeared from his body.

God, it really was Adrien.

Marinette wiped stubborn tears from her eyes. This was no time to cry.

Part of her had been praying that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't Adrien. That maybe she'd been mistaken. But she'd recognize him anywhere.

Almost anywhere.

"I can't believe Adrien was Chat Noir the entire time," Marinette murmured. "How did I never see it before?"

"I know this is a lot for you to take in right now," Tikki said gently, flying down next to her, "but we need to get to Master Fu."

"Oh, thank God."

Marinette turned to see a small black cat floating behind her.

"Plagg, you're going to need to fill us in on everything the moment we get to Master Fu's," Tikki instructed. "Okay?"

Plagg winked at her. "Got it, sugarcube."

Tikki rolled her eyes. "Ignore him, Marinette."

Marinette hardly registered her kwami's remark. She stretched out and grabbed a small mirror off her dresser, then nearly dropped it when she saw her reflection.

No longer was a small, frightened girl staring back at her.

This girl... This girl was a hollow shell of a person.

Her eyes were no longer blue but instead gray and void of all life, and they were accentuated by bags so dark they were nearly purple. Her hair was duller than it had ever been. The pallor of her skin was ghastly in more ways than one. "I look..."

"Dead?" Plagg finished. "Yeah. That's essentially what Cœur Noir's power is. You're lucky you weren't touched for more then a few seconds, or when he was at his full strength."

"We should get to Master Fu's," Tikki said. "He'll know what to do."

Marinette nodded and placed the mirror back on the dresser, unable to stomach her appearance any longer. "Right." She forced herself to stand up, and fortunately the movement did restore some energy to her limbs. "I don't think Marinette is up for this journey. I just hope Ladybug is. Tikki, spots on!"

She could only pray they'd make it to Master Fu's before it was too late.

xXx

Chat Noir's ring was stored away in a sealed miraculous box before Plagg recounted his tale. Adrien was also tucked into a sleeping bag, with a bandage wrapped around his head where the textbook had left a cut.

"He's going to be fine," Fu had assured Marinette. "As long as he doesn't put that ring on, Adrien will remain himself, and Hawk Moth will not be able to communicate with or even locate him."

Marinette had offered Fu a sad smile. Sadness and hurt seemed to be the only emotions she was capable of feeling at the time. "That doesn't stop me from worrying."

Fu had chuckled. "Well, I would hope not."

Plagg then explained everything, from Adrien convincing him to spy on his father to the discovery of his mother's body underground.

"Oh my God," was all Marinette could say. "No wonder he got akumatized." She'd never wanted to hurt someone more in her life - Gabriel Agreste was a horrible person. Words couldn't possibly describe it. How had she ever worshipped him as a designer?!

Marinette couldn't imagine the sense of betrayal Adrien had to be going through. When he'd been ranting about secrets, she'd assumed he was referring to her keeping her identity as Ladybug to herself. In reality, he'd been talking about finding out his mother was alive after so long.

Not alive. But protected.

And worse, his father had been the one hiding it from him.

Marinette became nauseous trying to comprehend it all.

"Master Fu, is there any way we can fix this?" Tikki begged. "We don't know how to destroy the miraculous to force the akuma out without a Cataclysm."

Fu sighed. "There are only two feasible options, I'm afraid."

"That's better than no options," Marinette replied. "You know we're willing to try anything."

"The first is for Plagg to cataclysm the ring himself," Fu began. "That would effectively destroy the miraculous, but I fear the damage done to it would not be completely reversible by Ladybug's power."

Marinette exchanged a glance with Tikki. That option seemed fitting for a last resort. "What's the other way?"

"The other way is that we wait for Adrien to wake up, then have him put on the ring and force the akuma out."

Plagg winced. "Master, I don't know if that's possible, even for my chosen. Hawk Moth's will is crazy hard to break once someone is hooked. Not to mention that in this stage of grief, Adrien really will do anything in his power to bring his mother back."

"Well, he won't be alone." Fu turned to Marinette. "You will be with him."

Marinette blinked. "Me?"

He nodded. "Yes. You, Marinette, are the only one who can help Adrien fight off Hawk Moth. Ladybug and Chat Noir complete each other. He needs you."

Marinette looked down at her friend, who appeared so peaceful she could almost pretend he was sleeping instead of being unconscious.

Her friend. Her partner.

Maybe something more, like she'd always dreamed.

But that was only possible if he was deakumatized.

"Okay." She turned back to Fu, determination glimmering in her still-gray eyes. "I'll do it. I'll convince him."

"Are you certain, Marinette? While I have full confidence in you, you also must trust yourself. And I have to warn you that the effects of the akuma also will not disappear from your body until you cast your Miraculous Ladybug."

Marinette laughed, though there was no humor in it. "It's the only way. Besides." She glanced back at Adrien. "I have to help him. Whatever it takes."

Tikki smiled. "And that is why you, Marinette, are the perfect Ladybug."

Not perfect enough to stop her best friend and loyal partner from getting akumatized, she wanted to say. But she didn't. "Thank you, Tikki. That means a lot coming from you."

Fu sighed, adjusting the turtle miraculous on his wrist. "Now we must wait."

Waiting.

Sometimes, Marinette felt like that was all she could do.

Wait. Completely helpless against the flow of time.

But if it meant pulling Adrien out of the hell he'd been trapped in... Well, she'd wait as long as needed.

She'd do anything to save him.

xXx

people who were interested in a pt.2: @shayshaysspace, @sassy-bagel-to-go, @a-mahou-shoujo, @rena-rain, @ouatpancakes

(I apologize if you didn’t want to be tagged!)

I hope you all enjoyed pt.2! I plan to start writing a pt.3 soon if anyone is interested; that will probably be the final part. I’m curious as to how you guys think all of this will be resolved. ;) Thank you so much for reading!

For more ml content by yours truly check out @yespleasefandomtrash.

(if someone drew akumatized!Adrien I would love you forever okaybyenow)

[tyrs-right-hand]

LeokumiWeek Day Three (Story Two) - Supernatural AU ((Part 1/2))

The gentle tinkling of piano keys drifted lazily through the house, the faint melody swirling through empty rooms and open doorways. Takumi shoved his pillow over his ears and tried in vain to block out the noise, clamping his eyes shut in an attempt to go back to sleep.

Every night - every night - at 3am exactly that damn piano music would start playing. Takumi groaned, rolling on his back and accepting the fact that he wasn’t going back to sleep tonight, again. “I think I know why this house was so damn cheap now” he grumbled to himself, glaring at the ceiling before heaving himself out of bed. He gulped down a glass of water and a couple of painkillers in the kitchen, rubbing his hand across his eyes as if that would alleviate the pounding behind them. He hadn’t had a single good night’s rest in the three weeks it had been since he moved into this place, and it was really starting to catch up to him. He’d fallen asleep in class for the first time ever the other day, although thankfully no one seemed to notice in the crowded lecture hall. The piano music reached a crescendo before going back to its usual volume and Takumi slammed his hand onto the counter in response, grip white-knuckled around his glass. This was the last straw. He couldn’t put up with this anymore. Takumi had torn the house apart looking for the source of the noise before, but had been unable to find it - he didn’t even have a radio, let alone a keyboard or a piano. This time, however, he was going to find where the hell the noise was coming from, even though it seemingly came from nowhere.

Takumi whisked around the house in a rage, listening intently in the hope of finding the source of the music - however, he realised to his ever growing frustration that the music seemed to be an even volume throughout the entire house. Takumi was ready to quit once again when he realised that he music did in fact seem louder in only one specific place in the house - when he stood directly underneath the trapdoor in the ceiling which led to the attic. But that was preposterous, the music couldn’t be coming from the attic! It was locked and, according to the previous owner of the house, had been for many years. The man - what was his name? Ganon? - didn’t even have a key to the trapdoor. So how the fuck was piano music coming from the attic?

I should wait, Takumi thought. I’ll go back to bed and call a locksmith in tomorrow. They can get the attic open and I’ll be able to stop this noise once and for all.

Takumi turned and headed out the back door, grabbing the axe he kept in the backyard next to a small wood pile.

Or I can just cut my way through now and be done with this shit.

A couple of swings in, it dawned on Takumi that perhaps using an axe on something above his head might not be the best idea. This thought was quickly confirmed when a shard of wood almost fell directly in his eye, but he had started now and most certainly did not want to stop, and so he hacked away until the trapdoor fell out of its frame. He hauled the ladder out of its cupboard and positioned it underneath the brand new hole in his ceiling before pausing and listening hard. The music had stopped. It had never stopped before - it always played through until sunrise. Takumi shrugged, and headed up the ladder anyway.

After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

Takumi heaved himself up into the attic, grateful for the moonlight which streamed through the attic’s single window - in his sleep deprived, frustrated haze he had forgotten to bring anything to use as a torch. He stood up straight and... stopped. There, in the center of a room which otherwise contained nothing but dust, stood a grand piano. The lid was closed, and the sheet music that sat at the front had been bleached by the sun. The entire thing was covered in a thick layer of dust - it was clear that nobody had touched it for years.

“How the fuck,” Takumi spoke out loud in his shock, “did a grand piano get into the goddamned attic?” He turned around and began to climb back down the ladder, muttering to himself as he went. “You know what? I will deal with this tomorrow. Some kids playing a shitty prank with a speaker, that I can deal with. But this?” His raised his as he marched down the hallway. “No thanks. Gods I need to sleep.” He crawled into his bed with a sigh, grateful for the silence, but no more than five minutes after Takumi lay back down did the music start up again.

He screamed.

Seething, Takumi practically sprinted back to the ladder, flying up it and bursting into the attic just in time to see a flicker of movement around the side of the piano. “I see you!” He yelled, “and I can bloody hear you too! Get out here!” He circled the piano, looking under and around it, searching for the person he knew was hiding up here. But the attic was completely empty! There was nowhere for anyone to hide, so where could they have gone? Unless...

Triumphantly, Takumi threw open the lid of the piano, yelling out a smug “found you!” as he did so. But once he actually saw what was inside the piano, he screamed again - and this time it wasn’t out of anger, but terror.

A voice spoke up from behind him. “It seems you did find me.” Takumi whirled around, heart - and stomach, gods he feels like he’s going to throw up - in his throat, hands trembling. Stood before him was a man about his age, blonde, wearing a white button down and black jeans. The normalcy of his appearance would have been almost soothing, if Takumi had not been able to see the opposite wall through his body. Dust motes danced in his chest and the moonlight shone through his head. Takumi could only stare, mouth agape.

“If you keep staring with your mouth open like that, you’ll catch flies,” the boy said smartly.

Takumi’s jaw snapped shut, and he leant against the piano for support as he felt his knees buckle. His tongue was leaden in his mouth as he fumbled for words. “You’re...”

“Dead? A ghost? Yes, I am. Quite observant of you.”

“And are- are those?” Takumi gestured helplessly to the piano.

“My bones?” The boy frowned, his gaze growing sad. “Yes, they are. Although they’re not in there because I wanted them to be.”

Takumi’s head was swimming, as was his vision, and he felt nauseous. “I think I’m going to pass out,” he croaked as he sank to his knees.

The young man sighed. “How inconvenient.”

•••

When Takumi awoke, he was still lying on the floor in the attic, the ghost of the young man sitting beside him.

“Ah, you’re awake. That’s good, for a moment I was worried you would be joining me up here,” he cracked a smile, and Takumi could immediately tell that it was something he hadn’t done for a long time. It was wobbly, and a bit strained, but it was genuine. “That aside,” the boy continued, “I do apologise that I couldn’t move you somewhere more comfortable.” He waved his arm through the air, “insubstantiality, and all.”

“Uh,” Takumi sat up slowly, one hand on his head, a little bit groggy from his unfortunate nap. “I don’t even know where to start with this.”

“Me either, truthfully,” the boy said, looking at the floor. “I haven’t been able to communicate with another person since I died.” They sat in an awkward silence for a few moments before the ghost looked up and frowned. “Actually, why did you come up here? You hacked open the door with an axe... doing some midnight home renovations, were we?”

Takumi spluttered. “What? No! I came up here because your blasted piano playing has been keeping me awake for the last three weeks!”

The boy looked stunned. “You can hear my playing?”

“Of course I can!”

“Well excuse me for not knowing, no one else has ever been able to hear it. Pianos don’t exactly work well with dead bodies stuffed in them.”

Takumi blinked. “Uh, touché.” He cleared his throat. “Weird that I could hear it, then.”

“Perhaps you’re more sensitive to spiritual energies?”

“I know I’m talking to a ghost right now, but that just sounds like a load of nonsense.”

The ghost’s mouth lifted up at the corners. “You’re right, it does. To be honest, it actually is - I didn’t even believe in ghosts until I became one.”

“That must have been quite the shock,” Takumi said, unsure of how else to reply. “My name’s Takumi, by the way. What’s yours?”

Smooth change of subject, Takumi.

“Leo,” the ghost answered. “Nice to meet you, Takumi. But, uh, sorry for disturbing your sleep for so long.”

“It’s okay as long as you don’t do it again,” Takumi said. “You can play the piano as much as you want, just please not at 3am. And you can come down into the house, too, if you’d like. I doubt it’s all that fun staying up here.”

“You’d be right about that,” Leo said, “but I haven’t been out of this attic since I died. I don’t know how I would react, walking through this house without my family here.”

“Well, you don’t have to, but the offer is still open,” Takumi replied. He glanced out the window, only to see that the sun had begun to rise. “Oh that’s just great, I’m going to fall asleep in class again,” he sighed.

•••

When Takumi came home later that day, he was surprised to see Leo sitting on his living room couch.

“Decided to come down after all?” Takumi asked.

Leo hummed. “I thought it was about time I finally bit the bullet and came down here. Face my fears, and all.”

Takumi nodded, carefully taking a seat next to Leo. “I understand... it must be so strange seeing this place with someone else living in it.”

“Well, there’s that,” Leo said, “but I haven’t seen my family, or this part of the house, in years. It’s nothing I won’t get used to.” Leo was staring at the opposite wall, unblinking, and Takumi could tell that he wasn’t really seeing it. “It’s just that... I keep on thinking I’m going to see him around every corner.”

“Him?” Takumi prompted, brow furrowed.

Leo seemed to shake off his train of thought. “Ah, it’s nothing.”

“Well, in that case,” Takumi said, unwilling to pry, “how about we do something together? Get to know each other a little bit, seeing as we’ll probably be living together for a while.”

Leo stood and clapped his hands together, eyes shining and smiling in a way that looked a lot less strained than that morning. “That sounds like an excellent idea! Do you know how to play chess?”

•••

And so, Takumi lived with a ghost. He found that Leo was surprisingly easy to get along with, even if he could be a bit of a pretentious asshole sometimes. He was highly intelligent, and was actually quite kind and funny. As an added bonus, they seemed to have the exact same interests, so their conversations were entertaining and flowed easily. Takumi could also admit to himself - sometimes, when he let the thought creep up on him - that Leo was really quite attractive.

However, Takumi soon found that he couldn’t think about Leo for very long, because doing so always made his heart heavy. How did a kid - because that’s what Leo was, Takumi realised, a kid, college aged like he was but still so, so young - end up with his body hacked to pieces and stuffed inside a grand piano? It didn’t bear thinking about, and Leo hadn’t told him about it either. Takumi was, admittedly, incredibly curious, but he didn’t dare ask.

They were content with how things were, with their midnight rants and one-sided chess matches, with their stupid jokes and stupider debates.

They were content, until one day they weren’t.

A few months had passed since he and Leo first met and Takumi knew he was in way over his head. Takumi was aware he payed more attention to Leo than he should; that he spent more time looking at Leo’s hands than the chess or shogi pieces they were moving, more time gazing at his mouth than listening to his words, more time studying the exact shade of blonde his hair was than watching whatever cheesy sci-fi movie they were watching. He knew he had a crush on Leo, as much as he tried to deny it.

Admitting it to himself killed him, a little.

Because Leo was dead, and he wasn’t, and so there was no way it would ever, ever work out. Hell, they couldn’t even touch each other; while Leo could, with great effort, manipulate small objects, he was actually about as substantial as a summer breeze. Takumi would age, and grow old, and move away, and Leo would stay exactly as he was, exactly where he was.

And it hurt. It hurt so much for Takumi to know that it would be utterly impossible for he and Leo to ever be together. And so to save himself, he tried to block those thoughts, tried to shove his feelings deep down inside himself and lock them away. But it was too late - once he had admitted his feelings to himself - the love along with the pain - they started to consume his thoughts.

He started to dream about them. About being able to touch Leo, to hold him, to tell him how he felt. One night, a few weeks after the dreams started, Takumi had a dream that was so vivid and realistic that he almost burst into tears once he woke up, filled with a sense of hopelessness at his feelings and helplessness that he couldn’t do anything about them.

He managed to hold himself together for a few minutes, until the accumulated mental strain of burying his feelings finally took its toll - the dam broke.

Leo, to Takumi’s ever growing misfortune, heard Takumi crying and came in, worried. Takumi saw Leo sit beside him out of his peripheral vision, but didn’t feel the bed move. He sighed, angrily scrubbing away a few tears.

“What’s wrong?” Leo asked softly. He was being caring, Takumi knew, but the thought just made him sadder.

“I just-“ Takumi choked on his words. He tasted salt in his mouth.

He couldn’t look at Leo.

“I just... can’t deal with it, I guess.”

“Can’t deal with what?”

Takumi visibility tensed, and Leo lifted his arm automatically, reaching out to reassure him only for his hand to pass through Takumi’s shoulder. Leo sat his hand back in his lap and wrung them together, at a loss.

Takumi took a shuddering breath and tried in vain to wipe his eyes. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping, and began talking. He didn’t really want to burden Leo with his feelings, but he just needed to talk about them, to let them out, so desperately that he couldn’t help himself.

“I’m in love with you,” he sobbed, “and I can’t even touch you.”

Leo’s face screwed up as if he was going to cry. He couldn’t, of course. He had no way to produce tears.

That didn’t change the fact that he really, really wanted to, however.

“I know this isn’t going to make anything better, but... I love you too.” Leo swallowed harshly. “Gods, how I wish I could touch you.”

Takumi smiled through his tears, finally looking away from the wall to face Leo.

“Well,” he sniffed, “if we’re going to be in this situation, I’m at least glad that we’re in it together.”

“Always,” Leo leaned in close. “Always together.”

•••

“Ugh, that was the third one this week! Are all the psychics around here just phoney?” Takumi stormed back through the front door after practically chasing yet another fake psychic from their home. He flung himself onto the couch dramatically, turning his head to look at Leo, who was gazing at him with barely concealed amusement, chin resting in his hand. Sensing Takumi’s annoyance, he dropped his smile, sitting up straight. “Hey,” he said softly. “I’m sure there are plenty of real psychics out there, we’re bound to find one eventually. All we have to do is keep looking.”

“I know,” Takumi sighed, leaning towards Leo. “But... what if we do find one, and they can’t help us?”

“Well, I can already move small things around on my own,” Leo replied, “so it doesn’t seem like too much of a stretch that with some extra help I’ll be able to touch large objects.” He smiled, reaching one hand out to run his fingers through Takumi’s hair - he moved some strands, but most of them just passed straight through him.

“Just you wait - we’ll be holding hands in no time.”

•••

“I’m home!” Takumi called out as he opened the front door. “And we’ve got a visitor.” He walked around and into the living room, where Leo was lounging on the couch, watching the tv. Leo craned his head over his shoulder. “Another psychic?”

“Yeah,” Takumi replied, dumping his bag on the floor. “She’s a friend of Oboro’s friend Orochi, apparently. I’ve got a good feeling about her.”

“You said that about the last one. And the one before that. And-“

Takumi waved him off with a scoff, leaning out of the living room doorway to talk to whoever was still in the entryway. “It’s okay, you can come in now. Thanks for waiting, I just wanted to let him know we had company.”

“That’s quite alright, dear,” came the woman’s voice.

Leo went cold.

It was a very familiar woman’s voice.

The woman stepped into the room, and if Leo had a heart if would have stopped.

He stood up so quickly that Takumi got dizzy for him, and shouted, “Camilla?”

The woman went pale, gripping onto the doorframe so hard her knuckles went white. “Leo?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Takumi’s head whipped back and forth, struggling to piece together the situation. “You know her?” He asked Leo.

“Yes,” he replied, gaze unmoving from where it had locked with Camilla’s. “Takumi, this is Camilla. My sister.”

“Your sister! Holy shit, Leo, I’m sorry-“

“It’s okay,” Leo’s voice sounded dreamy; distant. “You didn’t know.”

“Leo? That’s really you?” Camilla took small, shaky steps towards him, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“You’ve been here this whole time, and I never saw you... how could this be?”

Leo laughed, but there wasn’t any humour in it. “Probably because I never came down to see any of you.”

Camilla looked hurt. “Why didn’t you ever come to see us? We were all heartbroken - any sign that you hadn’t been taken from us completely would have worked.”

“You try coming face to face with your murderer and see how well you handle it,” Leo spat, face twisting into a scowl.

Camilla gasped. “You mean-?”

“Of course. Who else?”

“Hey uh, sorry to interrupt,” Takumi jumped in, “but can someone please explain what’s going on?”

“I suppose you do deserve an explanation,” Leo mused, “but I’ll keep it short; I don’t exactly like to talk about this.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine,” Leo smiled at him, tense. “The owner of this house, the one you bought it from, was my father. And my murderer.”

“Hang on, you were killed by your FATHER? I met him... holy shit, I shook the hand of the guy who stuffed your body in a piano.”

“He did WHAT?” Camilla screeched.

“You didn’t know?” Takumi yelled, panicked.

“Of course I didn’t know!” Camilla replied. She turned to Takumi, mouth set in a furious line. “Please tell me you at least buried him properly.”

“Uhh...”

“I asked him not to,” Leo jumped to Takumi’s rescue. “If my body is moved so is my spirit, and I would like to stay here.”

Camilla breathed in and out slowly. “Well,” she said, obviously forcing herself to stay calm, “all terrible revelations aside, I’m glad to see you again, little brother.” She smiled at Leo, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. “It’s been a long time.”

•••

“So, Camilla, how did you become a psychic?” Takumi asked later that night.

“Well,” she said, smiling fondly at Leo who was sat on the opposite side of the room, scowling at whatever book he was reading. “I actually decided to become one after Leo went missing, in the hopes that one day I would be able to see him again.”

Takumi smiled at her. “Looks like your plan worked, then.”

Camilla smiled back, but then sighed, eyes downcast. “I just wish he’d let me bring Xander and Elise to see him.”

“He will, he just needs some time - this is all a lot for him.”

Camilla nodded in understanding. “All that aside, I’m just so thankful that I can see him now.” She stood up and turned to Takumi with a flourish. “Now, shall we get started? I understand my little brother needs some help in the subtle art of hand holding.”

Takumi laughed as Leo spluttered.

•••

[alred-briarthorne]

“All the Stars” Mendicant Heart let the last sickly sweet puff of opium drift from her mouth, her annoyance at the death of the fading cherry in the bowl muted by the numbing distance the medication had provided.  Flicking the pipe off to one side, she looked around at her men, all three of them in various states of feeling and fearing neither gods nor men.  A rare giggle passed her lips at the sight as the Roegadyn woman pushed herself to her feet, knocking a brazier of coals to one side.  The attendant quickly righted it, careful to say nothing to the patron.  

Mendicant was not known to be pleasant even while stoned.

Kicking the nearest, a lanky Seeker whose name she would remember in a moment, Mendicant stepped out onto the balcony.  Even in this filthy corner of Kugane, the stars above the lamps were sharp and bright and still somehow the same, as if she hadn’t crossed half the world from Limsa.  A sneer crossed her face, countenance severe even a the best of times.  Such thoughts were not worth their time, she chided herself, turning to berate her men and leave.

She had taken one step before she stopped midstride, gaze focusing sharply despite the drugs.  The attendant was gone, the brazier back to sending threads of smoke skyward, and her men were still lounging, still as death.  Which, she reasoned less quickly than she would have liked, they were.  All three had crimson now pouring down their chests, throats opened wide and pouring their lifesblood.

A heartbeat later, Mendicant spun and leapt from the balcony to the canal below.  She would worry about how he found her later.  Right now, she was not ready for a fight.

She dove deep into the icy salt water, chill driving some of the opium haze from her mind.  But not enough, some distant part of her mind cursed as her large hands curled around a submerged grate and pulled the iron aside.  The distant, drilled survivor in her kept the woman’s body moving as her brain sluggishly tried to churn through the evening, trying to find her mistake.  As she swam into the pipe, her lungs began to burn, bringing her world back into focus as she churned through the water.  

A minute later she came up for air, gasping as she cast her head in circles.  If she had picked this as an escape route, there was a good chance the goddamn Duskie had scouted it as well.  Still, no obvious traps lay in wait for her and the shiver in her large frame demanded she keep moving.  Back under she want, taking another side pipe and following it for a ways before she surfaced in another canal, the lamps strung overhead swimming in Mendicant’s sight.  She was grateful the ladder was near at hand, and she quickly hauled herself out of the water to flop onto the still warm pavement.

“Penny for the Guy?”  came a muffled voice from nearby.

Mendicant’s eyes widened, and she tried to force her stoned body into motion, but there was an explosion of stars in her vision as a distant pain registered, and consciousness faded away.

She came to with the sea breeze kissing her face.  The haze of sweet opiate had been replaced with a headache threatening to split her skull, the bite of rope on her wrists, and the strain of her arms pulled tight towards her back.  

“Why am I still breathin’ air?” she groaned, eyes opening groggily even as he fingers began to probe the knots at her wrist.  The world swum into focus, the lamps of Kugane below, and the stars above somehow still sharp and bright.

“Cause of what’s in your lap,” came the low reply from her left.  

Blinking twice, her eyes finally cooperated.  She was seated on one of the towers overlooking the city, but she did not know what district.  The rock ledge beneath her was cold from the water still covering his skin, but her clothes were just damp and not soaking, so she had been unconscious for sometime.  The knot was solid as ever, the damn knife ear and his ropes, another set of thoughts she clamped down on.  She could be furious in a moment. Mendicant continued to make an effort at the ropes as she tried to slip her fingers towards her belt and the razor blade she kept there.

“And what’s tha’?”  she spat, gaze finally snapping towards the black skinned man.  He was crouched a few paces away, all in dark clothes and a ridiculous jingasa perched on his head.  The bright glow of a lit cigarillo stood out against the dark flesh of his hand, and he took another drag, gaze focused out on the horizon.  But he did not answer.

Without looking down, she kept talking, fingers grasping.  “What was my mistake?” she asked, screwing her eyes closed to look like she was in pain.  Which wasn’t entirely untrue, but it was as much so she could focus on her hands as that.

“Dolorous was your grandmother’s name,”  he replied, the ghost of a smile lacing his words even if she couldn’t see it.  

Her response was a snort. “Shit.  I thought you never paid attention.”  Her voice was rough with pain and concentration, but the edge of anger bit into them as well.

A dry chuckle floated to her.  “Sentimentality.  Always ends up being a weak spot.”  There was a pause.  “And maybe that’s alright.”

Mendicant stilled for a moment.  One eye cracked open, regarding the man’s face cast in relief against the city below.  

“ . . . What the fuck are you after?”

The man chuckled quietly, shaking his head and flicking the half spent smoke off the tower.  The wind below carried it away along the buildings below. “Something I don’t think you’re going to understand yet.  Fuck.  I don’t understand it,”  he said as he stood, the lanky man’s frame unfolding as he did.  The dark silk of his robe, kimono they fucking called it out here in the East, unfurled and flapped like a badly worn cloak.

“And what would that be, -sweetie,-” she replied, years of venom filling the old pet name even as her eyes darted towards her lap.  There, a thick cloth bag sat, the size of a human head.

A small sigh left the man’s lips.  “It’s time to move the fuck on.”

Eyes flaring wide, Mendicant’s lips fell open before she could think.  “You already fucking DID that, you useless, limp pricked coward.  In the night.  After I suggested we get a godsbedamned flophouse together.”

“Yep,” came the flat reply.  “I fucked up.”

That brought her up short again.  “ . . . What the thrice damned FUCK are you about here?”  she yelled over the wind, syllables echoing madly off the stone.

“Just told you,”  he said, stepping over.  She tensed, muscles ready for whatever came next.  A bit of cold metal was placed against her finger tips.  “Took that while you were out,”  he replied with an apologetic smile, something she didn’t entirely recognize on his face.

Taking the small blade in her hands, she slid the pads of her fingers along the blade, feeling for the telltale slickness of a poison.  But found none.  The man didn’t wait for her to answer, turning and walking a bit further down the ledge.

“I’ve got shit I need to do.  Things I should be taking care of.  And I can’t afford this,”  he said with an insolent flick of his fingers between them.  “Not really anymore.  I fucked you.  Hard.  I’m a fucking prick, as you so eloquently noted.  And while that doesn’t change - what I do with it might.”  His azure eyes looked back out towards the sea as he began to chew the inside of his cheek.

The gesture was familiar, something she’d seen him do in the few quiet moments they’d had.  Her fingers began to move quickly at the ropes, not certain if that thoughtful action would lead anywhere pleasant. The man kept talking.

“What’s in the bag is your cut from Olaffa’s operation.  Several accounts.  A small book of his less tender, but no less profitable secrets.  And a deed to a mithral mine out in Thanalan.  Enough for a good start.”  He turned, giving her a look.  “I’m done with this game.  I fucked you.  Nothing is gonna make that right.  But that,”  he continued, chin tilted towards the bag.  “Is enough to make us fucking square professionally.”

A bitter laugh followed.  “IF it’s what yer sayin’ it is,” came the acrid response.  

“It is,”  he reassured her as he moved over, crouching before her.  “But I think I need to make one thing very clear.  I’m getting a crew together.  Do you recall what happened the last time I got a crew together?”  His gaze met hers, eyes suddenly hard and glittering.

Even as she met his gaze with fury, inside she was cursing.  She was nowhere near through the ropes, and she knew that look.  It meant blood.

“Yeah.  I ended up unemployed,” she snarled nonetheless and was gifted with a broad grin in return that didn’t make it to the man’s eyes.

“Yes, you did.  But I need to make the point.”  He crouched in close, face a few inches from hers.  “Last time I put a crew together, I took apart the shit scraping crime lord who had me on the hook.  I stripped away his guards, had his money man wrapped up all neat with a bow, walked through his front fucking door, put his boys down like dogs, and then slit his pretty little throat before walking past his still warm corpse and took every bit of fucking material wealth he had built for himself.”  The dark skinned elezen paused there, bright eyes searching hers with aggression.  “This is where we walk away.  Fuck with me again, and I turn my crew on you.  Fucking.  Savvy?”

Mendicant replied by headbutting the asshole in the face.

To his credit, the Duskwight rocked back and hopped to his feet, but did not fall off the ledge.  “Close to an accord as we’re going to fucking get,”  he said with a mirthful voice as he pulled a kerchief from somewhere to wipe the blood from his nose.  “You deserve better than this shitty vendetta.  Take it, and go be the biggest goddamn bitch you can be.”

The woman’s eyes went wider with fury at that, but by then the man gave her a little wave, and hopped backwards off the ledge.

I hope he fucking breaks his neck, she thought to herself as she bent her attention fully to cutting through her bonds.  Fucking prick.