#ready to take the world down by their sheer determination to win the world and have full trust over their capabilities!!!

[saturfied]

jeffy collecting cats like they're pokémon-

[elikajinnie]

I Let The World Burn For You - N.R |Part 2

P: Serial Killer!Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions, Murder, Manipulation, Attempted Murder, Injury/Blood, Teasing, Angst, Obsessive Behaviour, Mind Games, Ni-ki is a nerd.

Synopsis: You’ve always loved crime shows, captivated by the mystery and mind games, but you never expected to live in one. When a killer develops an unsettling obsession with you, you’re thrust into a deadly game where you’re not just a target—you’re the centerpiece.

a/n: i see i made Ni-ki a GIANT red flag!! mhh but i love horror so whatever :) @totallynotj3zz you gave me too much power.

See request here | Read part 1 here

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The door bursts open, and there he is, silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway, his figure towering, his shadow stretching across the floor like it’s ready to swallow you whole. But you’re ready this time. Your grip tightens on the wrench, and as he steps into the room, you swing.

The wrench cuts through the air with a force that surprises even you, but he’s fast—unnaturally fast. He sidesteps, the tool narrowly missing his masked face. The momentum of your swing sends you stumbling forward slightly, but you recover quickly, your grip on the wrench tightening as you raise it again, desperate and determined.

This time, you swing with even more force, aiming for his chest, but his hand snaps out with alarming speed, catching your wrist mid-swing. The impact jars your entire arm, pain shooting up from the sudden grip. His fingers digs into your skin as he pulls you closer, wrenching the weapon from your hand and tossing it to the floor with a metallic clatter.

You’re pulled into him, your chest nearly colliding with his as you struggle against his hold. His mask looms inches from your face, and you can hear his heavy breathing beneath it, eerily calm despite your thrashing. One hand keeps your wrist firmly pinned, while the other tilts your chin upward, forcing you to meet the blank, haunting stare of the mask.

“Well, aren’t you feisty,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. His grip tightens slightly as he leans closer, his head tilting as if to study you. “I like that. Makes this so much more fun.”

Your breath catches in your throat, a mix of fear and fury bubbling inside you. You feel trapped, but you refuse to let him win. His hand lingers on your chin, tilting your face slightly, as if he’s savoring the moment.

“Such a pretty little thing,” he taunts, his voice dripping with amusement. “Shame you don’t know when to quit.”

Before he can say anything more, your legs jerks up, slamming into his shin with all the force you can muster. The impact is solid, and his grip falters as he lets out a grunt of pain, momentarily stumbling. You take the opportunity and yank yourself free, adrenaline surging through you as you spin and bolt for the doorway.

He curses behind you, a sharp sound filled with irritation, but you don’t dare look back. Your bare feet skid against the wooden floor as you push yourself forward, your lungs burning with each ragged breath. You can hear him recovering, his footsteps heavy and fast as he begins to follow you again, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You barrel down the hallway, your heart hammering in your chest, searching desperately for another way out. Doors blur past you, each one closed, each one a potential death trap if you’re cornered again. Your mind races as you try to remember the layout of the house. There has to be another way down, another way out—anything to put more distance between you and him.

The only thought in your head is survival.

Your heart pounds like a war drum in your chest as his heavy footsteps echo behind you. The house is a labyrinth of creaking floorboards and peeling wallpaper, and every turn feels like it leads you closer to him. But somehow, you manage to stay just out of his reach, darting through doorways and ducking under tables, fueled by sheer desperation and adrenaline.

You burst into a dusty living room, skidding on the wooden floor. Your eyes scan for an escape route, and you spot a heavy armchair near a window. Without hesitation, you shove it toward the door just as he rounds the corner. His masked face tilts, almost amused, as he watches you struggle to block the entrance.

“Smart move,” he taunts, his voice laced with a twisted sort of admiration. “But not smart enough.”

You dive for the window, frantically trying to lift the old, stuck frame, but his footsteps are closing in fast. He’s almost on you when, in a flash of inspiration, you grab a nearby lamp and hurl it in his direction. It smashes against the wall, shards flying, forcing him to pause and shield himself. You use the moment to slip past him, sprinting back into the hallway.

“Always so clever,” he calls after you, his voice carrying a strange mix of irritation and delight. “I love it.”

You find yourself in a small kitchen, the counters cluttered with decades of dust and grime. You grab a drawer handle, yanking it open to reveal a collection of rusted utensils. Your trembling fingers close around a knife, and you whirl around just in time as he bursts through the doorway.

He lunges at you, and you slash wildly. The blade grazes his arm, and he lets out a sharp hiss of pain. For a moment, you see him falter, but then he laughs—low and rich, like he’s genuinely enjoying this.

“Feisty as ever,” he says, clutching his arm, his stance relaxed despite the blood seeping through his sleeve. “You make this so much fun.”

You don’t waste time responding, instead darting past him again. His hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist, and for a brief moment, you’re yanked back against him. His grip is ironclad, and you twist and thrash, trying to break free.

“Caught you,” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost tender. “You know, it’s so sweet for me when I finally catch you.”

“Let go of me!” you scream, your free hand clawing at his arm, but he only chuckles, his mask tilting down as if he’s watching you with amusement.

“Why would I let you go? You’re the prize, sweetheart.”

Fueled by anger and fear, you stomp hard on his foot. He grunts, his grip loosening just enough for you to wrench yourself free. You sprint out of the kitchen, back into the endless maze of hallways. You hear his laughter behind you, echoing through the house like a sinister melody.

“You can run all you want,” he calls out, his tone teasing, almost playful.

You whip around a corner, slamming a door shut behind you and locking it. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, pressing your ear to the door. His footsteps grow louder, then stop right outside.

“You’re not bad at this,” he says through the door, his voice muffled but still unsettlingly calm. “But I’m better.”

The knob rattles, and you back away, searching the room for anything you can use to defend yourself. Your eyes land on a metal curtain rod, and you grab it just as the door bursts open. He steps inside, his shoulders squared, his head tilted like he’s enjoying the sight of you scrambling.

“Stay back!” you shout, holding the rod in front of you like a spear.

He pauses, then raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll play along.”

But the moment you lunge at him, he sidesteps effortlessly, grabbing the rod and yanking it out of your hands. You stumble, and before you can react, his arms are around you again, pinning you against his chest.

“Got you,” he whispers, his voice soft but dripping with satisfaction. His grip tightens as you thrash, his laugh rumbling against your back. “You’re such a fighter. That’s what makes you so perfect.”

“What the hell is your problem?” you shout, your voice cracking with frustration and fear.

He leans down, his masked face close to your ear. “You,” he says simply, his tone almost reverent. “You’re my problem. My reward.”

That word sends a chill down your spine, and your instincts kick in. You throw your head back, slamming it into his mask. He stumbles, momentarily dazed, and you break free once more, running with every ounce of strength you have left.

The chase continues, his footsteps never far behind, his laughter haunting every turn. But one thing is clear: he’s not just chasing you for sport.

You burst into another hallway, your lungs burning from the effort. Your legs feel heavy, but adrenaline keeps you moving. The sound of his footsteps behind you is relentless, echoing through the abandoned house like a predator stalking its prey. Every step sends a fresh wave of panic through your body.

Your eyes dart around, searching for an escape, a weapon, anything that could give you the upper hand. You spot a door slightly ajar to your left and dive into the room, quickly pressing your back against the wall. Your breaths come fast and shallow, your body trembling as you strain to hear his movements.

The footsteps stop.

The silence is deafening, wrapping around you like a vice. You clamp a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the sound of your breathing. A creak comes from the hallway, followed by his voice—low, teasing, and far too calm.

"You're so close," he singsongs. "I know it."

You grit your teeth, the urge to cry nearly overwhelming, but you swallow it down. This isn’t the time to panic. You inch toward the edge of the doorway, peeking out just enough to see his shadow moving across the opposite wall. He’s taking his time, dragging it out like he’s savoring the chase.

You step back into the room, your hands fumbling in the darkness for something—anything—that can help. Your fingers brush against a broken table leg lying on the ground. It’s splintered and rough, but it’s better than nothing. You grab it, holding it tightly, readying yourself for his inevitable arrival.

And then you hear it—a faint creak right behind you.

You spin around, swinging the table leg wildly, but it hits nothing but air. He’s standing there, just out of reach, his white mask tilted slightly as if he’s amused by your attempt to defend yourself.

“You’re getting predictable,” he says, his tone almost playful.

“Stay back!” you shout, your voice trembling but firm.

He takes a step closer, his boots crunching against the old wooden floor. “You’re not really in a position to give orders, are you?”

You swing again, but he moves too fast, ducking under your attack and closing the distance between you in an instant. His gloved hand grabs the makeshift weapon, yanking it from your grasp and tossing it aside like it’s nothing.

Before you can react, he’s on you, his hands gripping your wrists and slamming you against the wall. The force knocks the air out of your lungs, and you struggle against him, but his grip is like steel.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost affectionate. “That fire in your eyes. I love it.”

“Let me go!” you scream, kicking at him, but he easily avoids your strikes, his body pressed too close for you to gain any leverage.

He tilts his head, studying you like you’re some kind of puzzle he’s desperate to solve. “Why would I do that? We’re having so much fun.”

“You’re insane,” you spit, your voice shaking with anger and fear.

He chuckles softly, his gloved hand brushing a strand of hair out of your face. The gesture is oddly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence of the situation. “Maybe,” he says, his tone almost contemplative. “But you make it worth it.”

Summoning every ounce of strength you have left, you lift your knee sharply, aiming for his stomach. He grunts, his grip loosening just enough for you to shove him back and dart past him.

You don’t look back as you run, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. The house feels endless, the hallways stretching on forever, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Behind you, his laughter rings out, cold and unhinged. “Run all you want!” he calls after you.

You burst into another room, slamming the door shut and locking it behind you. Your eyes dart around, searching for an exit, but all you see are boarded-up windows and a single, dusty wardrobe in the corner.

The door rattles violently, and you back away, your body trembling as the lock starts to give way.

You find an old crowbar leaning against the wall. Without hesitation, you grab it and rush to the boarded-up window. The wood is old and brittle, but the panic coursing through your veins gives you strength as you wedge the crowbar between the planks and pry them loose, one by one.

The door behind you shakes violently as he slams into it again and again, each hit sending splinters flying from the frame.

“Hurry, hurry,” you mutter under your breath, sweat dripping down your temple as the final plank falls free.

You look through the shattered glass and gasp. The drop is much higher than you anticipated—two stories at least. Your heart sinks, but the sight of thick, overgrown bushes below gives you a sliver of hope. You glance back just in time to see the door burst open, the lock snapping off entirely.

There he stands, his chest rising and falling as if the chase had been a thrill for him, the white mask gleaming in the dim light. The way he tilts his head, slowly and deliberately, makes your stomach turn.

"Going somewhere?" he teases, taking a step forward.

Without thinking, you climb onto the ledge, gripping the sides of the window for balance. The cool night air bites at your skin, and your heart races as you glance down at the bushes.

“Don’t,” he warns, his voice sharp now, losing the playful edge.

You don’t wait for him to finish whatever twisted thing he was about to say. Instead, you suck in a deep breath and leap.

The air rushes past you, the world spinning for a split second before you crash into the bushes below. The impact knocks the wind out of you, branches scratching your arms and legs as you tumble through the foliage. For a moment, you lie there, stunned, your lungs burning as you try to catch your breath.

Above you, his figure appears in the window. He doesn’t follow immediately; instead, he leans out, watching you with a predatory stillness that makes your skin crawl.

"You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?" he calls, his voice echoing in the night air.

Ignoring him, you scramble to your feet, your muscles screaming in protest. The bushes have softened the fall, but you’re bruised and battered.

You take off running, your feet pounding against the uneven ground. The house looms behind you, its shadow stretching out like it’s trying to pull you back. The grocery bag left behind.

The house’s silhouette fades into the distance as you sprint down the overgrown path, branches snagging at your clothes and sharp stones biting into the soles of your shoes. The air is cold, sharp, but it does nothing to dull the heat of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

For a moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing and the thundering of your heart in your ears. The silence feels eerie—too quiet. Your instincts scream at you to keep going, but a flicker of doubt slows your pace.

That’s when you hear it.

The heavy thud of footsteps slamming against the ground, gaining on you.

You risk a glance over your shoulder, and your blood runs cold. He’s there, his long strides closing the gap between you. The mask hides his expression, but his posture, the way his shoulders hunch slightly forward in pursuit, tells you everything: he’s not letting you go.

“Run faster,” he taunts, his voice carrying through the still night air. It’s playful, like he’s enjoying the chase.

Fear electrifies your limbs, pushing you to move faster. The path ahead disappears into a thick forest, the tree line dark and menacing under the faint moonlight. You hesitate for just a second, but the sound of his footsteps—closer now—leaves you no choice.

You dart into the woods, branches whipping at your face and tearing at your jacket. The uneven forest floor threatens to trip you with every step, but you refuse to stop. The tall trees feel suffocating, their shadows long and jagged, closing in on you as if the forest itself is conspiring with him.

His footsteps follow, crunching leaves and snapping twigs. He’s still behind you, relentless. The sound is maddening, his pace steady, like he knows he’ll catch you eventually.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he calls out, his voice unnervingly calm now. “You can’t hide from me.”

You stumble over a root, barely catching yourself on a nearby tree. Gritting your teeth, you push forward, weaving through the trees, hoping the dense forest will slow him down.

Your lungs burn, your legs ache, but you can’t stop—not when you can still hear him.

Then, up ahead, you spot a small clearing. You race toward it, desperate for open space, for anything that might give you an advantage.

But as you burst into the clearing, you realize your mistake. It’s a dead end, surrounded by towering rock formations on three sides.

Panic grips you as you spin around, searching for another path. The forest is silent again, but it’s the kind of silence that makes your skin crawl. You know he’s there, watching.

And then he steps into the clearing, his figure tall and imposing against the dark backdrop of the trees. The mask tilts slightly, like he’s studying you, savoring the moment.

“You’re making this so much more exciting than I imagined,” he says, his voice low and smooth, almost like a purr. He takes a step closer, the blade glinting faintly in his hand.

You back away, your chest heaving, your mind racing for a way out. But the rocks block any escape, and the forest behind him feels like a trap.

“Don’t look so scared,” he says, taking another step forward. “You’ve been so clever tonight. It’s almost a shame it has to end.”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to think.

Your back presses against the cold rock, the jagged surface biting into your skin through your jacket. Your breaths come in sharp gasps, your chest heaving as you try to think. Anything. A way out. A distraction.

He steps closer, his boots crunching on the forest floor, deliberate and unhurried. He knows you have nowhere to go. He tilts his head, studying you like a predator savoring its prey.

“You know,” he says, voice dripping with mock affection, “you really are something else. I’ve chased plenty before, but none of them…” He pauses, gesturing toward you with the knife, “…none of them made my heart race quite like this.”

You feel your stomach churn, the sheer audacity of his words igniting a spark of anger amidst your fear. But there’s no time for a retort—he’s only a few steps away now.

His eyes—hidden behind the mask—feel like they’re boring into your soul. You glance around the clearing, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. A stick, a rock, anything.

He notices your shifting gaze and chuckles. “What’s the plan now? Going to throw a pebble at me?”

Focus, you tell yourself, swallowing the lump of fear rising in your throat.

When he’s close enough, you act on impulse. You crouch low, grabbing a fist-sized rock near your feet. With all your strength, you hurl it at him.

He reacts quickly, dodging the rock with ease, his body twisting to the side. But it’s the distraction you needed. As he recovers, you dart to the side, aiming for the gap between him and the edge of the forest.

He’s fast—faster than you expect. You feel his hand graze your arm as you slip past him, but you manage to keep running, your feet pounding against the dirt as you plunge back into the dense trees.

“You’re just delaying the inevitable!” he shouts behind you, his voice tinged with amusement but also frustration.

You don’t stop. The forest is darker now, the moonlight barely penetrating the canopy above. Every branch that snaps under your feet feels like a signal to him, guiding him closer.

Your lungs burn, and your legs threaten to give out, but the primal need to survive keeps you moving. Then, in the distance, you spot it—lights. Faint, flickering, but unmistakable. A cabin? A campsite? You can’t be sure, but it’s hope.

You push yourself harder, your eyes locked on the distant glow. But the footsteps behind you grow louder, closer. He’s gaining on you.

And then—crash. You trip over a root, your body slamming into the ground with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. Pain radiates through your knees and palms as you scramble to get up, dirt caked on your hands.

Before you can move, his boot slams down on the ground beside you, the blade of his knife glinting as he crouches down.

“There you are,” he says softly, his voice dripping with mock relief, as if he’s found something precious. His hand reaches out, grabbing your wrist before you can crawl away.

“Let me go!” you scream, kicking and thrashing. One of your punches lands on his chest and he grunts in pain, momentarily loosening his grip.

You seize the chance, wriggling free and stumbling to your feet. Your eyes dart back to the lights in the distance, and you take off running again, ignoring the burning pain in your legs and the pounding in your chest.

“You’re just making me want you more!” he shouts after you, the words sending a fresh wave of terror coursing through your veins.

The lights grow brighter as you draw closer. You don’t know who or what you’ll find there, but it’s your only chance. Please, you think desperately, please let someone be there.

Behind you, his footsteps quicken, and you know he’s not far.

You don’t even hear him closing the distance behind you until it’s too late. A hand suddenly clamps over your mouth, muffling the scream that instinctively rises in your throat. His other arm snakes around your waist, locking you against his chest like iron.

Your heart pounds wildly as you thrash and kick, but he’s too strong, dragging you backward as if your struggling means nothing.

“Caught you,” he murmurs in a low, almost amused tone, his breath brushing against your ear.

The lights in the distance—your last shred of hope—fade further and further away as he drags you back toward the clearing. The forest seems darker now, the shadows deeper, closing in around you as if they’re working with him.

When he reaches the clearing, he wastes no time. He throws you down to the ground with a force that knocks the wind out of you. Your back hits the dirt, and before you can even think about scrambling away, he’s on top of you, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other pressing firmly against your shoulder to keep you in place.

“Stop squirming,” he growls, his tone no longer playful. It’s sharp, commanding, like he’s finally losing patience.

You try to buck him off, twisting your body and kicking your legs, but he doesn’t budge. His weight presses down on you, and the knife in his hand gleams in the faint moonlight.

“I really don’t want to hurt you,” he says, his voice softening into something unsettlingly tender. His free hand brushes a strand of hair out of your face, his gloved fingers lingering against your skin. “But you’re making it so difficult.”

You glare up at him, fire burning in your eyes despite the fear gripping your chest.

“God, I love that,” he says with a low chuckle. “That fight in you. You don’t even realize how much you stand out, do you? How much more alive you are compared to everyone else I’ve met.”

His words send a chill down your spine. You thrash again, but he only tightens his grip on your wrists, leaning in closer until his masked face is mere inches from yours.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers, his tone almost mocking. “You should be thanking me. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be just another nobody. But now…” He trails off, tilting his head as if he’s admiring a work of art.

You turn your head to the side, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying out in frustration or fear.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice low but firm. When you don’t comply, his grip on your wrists tightens painfully, making you wince.

You turn your head back to glare at him, hatred burning in your eyes.

“There she is,” he says softly, almost reverently. “That fire… Don’t ever lose that.”

The knife in his hand flashes as he moves it closer, and for a horrifying moment, you think he’s going to stab you. But instead, he presses the flat of the blade against your cheek, the cold metal sending a shiver through your body.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And no matter how far you run or how hard you fight, I’ll always catch you.”

You grit your teeth, your mind racing for a way out. He’s too strong, too fast—but maybe, just maybe, you can use his arrogance against him.

“Go to hell,” you spit, your voice trembling but defiant.

His laughter fills the clearing, low and dark, as if your defiance only fuels his twisted amusement. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in closer, his mask nearly brushing your forehead. “Hell is wherever you aren’t.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, the weight of them suffocating. His voice is smooth, almost sweet, but the malice behind it is unmistakable. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, fighting the fear clawing its way through your chest.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he murmurs, tilting his head as if observing you from a new angle. “You can run, you can fight, but in the end, it’s always going to be me and you. No one else matters.”

Your breath catches as his gloved fingers trail down your cheek, the contact both gentle and deeply unsettling. You flinch away, but the weight of his body keeps you pinned to the ground.

“Still so stubborn,” he muses, almost fondly. “It’s adorable, really. Makes this so much more satisfying.”

You glare up at him, your jaw clenched tightly. You feel your pulse pounding in your ears as your mind races, searching for any way to escape. His grip isn’t as firm now—his arrogance has left an opening, and you have to act fast.

With a burst of adrenaline, you jerk your knee upward, slamming it into his stomach. The air leaves his lungs in a sharp gasp, and his grip on you falters just enough for you to slip free.

You don’t waste a second. Scrambling to your feet, you push past him and take off running, your heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else.

Behind you, his laughter rings out again, low and cruel, but you don’t dare look back.

“Run, sweetheart!” he calls after you, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Let’s see how far you get this time!”

You tear through the forest, the branches clawing at your arms and face. The air is cold and sharp in your lungs, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

The sound of his footsteps behind you sends a fresh wave of terror through your veins. He’s faster than you, more experienced in this game of cat and mouse. But you refuse to let him win.

As you weave through the trees, you spot a cluster of rocks up ahead—jagged and uneven, but large enough to provide some cover. Without hesitation, you dive behind them, crouching low and trying to steady your breathing.

The footsteps slow, then stop.

“Where are you, little mouse?” his voice calls out, taunting and playful. “I know you’re close.”

You press a hand over your mouth to muffle your breathing, your entire body trembling. He’s so close you can hear the crunch of leaves under his boots as he moves.

“You can hide all you want,” he says, his tone almost sing-song. “But you’ll come back to me eventually. You always do.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to steady your racing thoughts. There has to be a way out of this. There has to be.

The sound of his footsteps fades slightly as he moves further into the forest, but you know it’s only a matter of time before he circles back. You glance around, your eyes darting between the trees and the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the canopy.

Then you see it—a narrow path winding down the hill, almost invisible beneath the dense foliage. It’s risky, but it might be your only shot.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you take a deep breath and bolt from your hiding spot, darting toward the path as silently as you can.

But his laughter follows you again, closer this time, chilling and relentless.

“Oh, there you are!” he exclaims, and the sound of his footsteps erupts behind you once more.

Panic surges through you as you sprint down the path, the uneven ground threatening to trip you with every step.

You darted down the narrow path, your smaller frame weaving effortlessly through the low-hanging branches and dense underbrush. Every breath felt like fire in your lungs, but you had gained some distance. His heavier, taller frame wasn’t as agile as yours, giving you the upper hand in this chase—at least for now.

Your mind raced as you spotted a small clearing ahead. You knew you couldn’t keep running forever; he was relentless, and eventually, he’d catch up. But you had something he didn’t: creativity and a desperate will to survive.

Scanning the area quickly, you noticed a tangle of vines hanging from a low branch, some loose rocks scattered on the ground, and a sturdy fallen tree trunk. An idea sparked in your mind, and you didn’t hesitate.

Grabbing the vines, you tugged them free from the branch and looped them across the path at ankle height, tying them tightly between two trees. Next, you placed the rocks strategically along the trail, half-buried in the dirt to make them harder to spot. Finally, you pushed the fallen tree trunk to the edge of the path, balancing it precariously against a rock, so the slightest nudge would send it rolling.

You heard his footsteps approaching fast, his taunting voice cutting through the silence.

“Getting tired, sweetheart? You’re making this too easy!”

You ducked behind a thick tree trunk, your heart pounding in your chest. You clutched a thick branch in your hands, ready to fight if your trap didn’t work.

The sound of his boots hitting the ground grew louder until you saw his dark figure barreling toward the clearing. He didn’t slow down, too focused on chasing you to notice the subtle trap you’d set.

The moment his foot caught the vine, he stumbled forward, his balance thrown off. His boot slammed into one of the hidden rocks, sending him lurching sideways. Before he could recover, the fallen tree trunk tipped over and rolled directly toward him.

“Shit!” he snarled, barely dodging the trunk as it crashed into the ground.

The commotion gave you the distraction you needed. While he cursed and scrambled to his feet, you slipped away, keeping low and moving as quietly as possible.

You didn’t stop until you found yourself on the edge of the forest, the dim glow of the streetlights in the distance signaling safety. Gasping for breath, you spotted your abandoned grocery bag near the roadside. Without thinking, you grabbed it, clutching it tightly to your chest like a lifeline.

Reaching into your pocket, your fingers fumbled over the smooth surface of your phone. Relief surged through you as you unlocked it, your shaking hands dialing the police.

The line rang twice before a calm voice answered. “Emergency services, what’s your location?”

“I… I’m near the forest,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “There’s—there’s someone chasing me. He’s dangerous. Please, you have to send help!”

“Stay on the line,” the operator said firmly. “Officers are on their way. Can you describe the man?”

You glanced back at the dark forest, half-expecting to see that white mask emerge from the shadows. “He’s… tall. He’s wearing black, and he has a mask. Please, hurry!”

“Stay where you are, and keep yourself safe,” the operator instructed.

You nodded, even though they couldn’t see you, clutching the phone tightly as you kept your eyes fixed on the forest’s edge. Your body trembled with exhaustion and fear, but you refused to let your guard down.

In the distance, you heard the faint wail of sirens. Help was coming. You just had to hold on a little longer.

As the sound of the sirens grew louder, you felt a flicker of relief—hope that maybe, just maybe, this nightmare was coming to an end. You stood rooted to the spot, your breath shaky and uneven, staring at the dark line of trees, half-expecting him to step out at any second.

The grocery bag in your arms felt like dead weight now, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of it. It was the only thing grounding you in reality amidst the chaos.

Suddenly, a rustle came from the forest’s edge. Your heart leapt into your throat, and your entire body stiffened. There he was.

He didn’t move closer—he just stood there, half-hidden by the shadows, watching you.

You stumbled back, gripping your phone tighter. “The police are coming!” you yelled, your voice cracking. “You’re done!”

He cocked his head, unmoved by your words, his hand slowly reaching up to adjust the mask as if to taunt you.

The sirens were deafening now, blue and red lights flashing in the distance. A police car screeched to a halt at the curb, two officers stepping out quickly, their hands hovering near their holsters.

“He’s there!” you shouted, pointing toward the forest.

But when you turned back, he was gone. The trees were still, the shadows undisturbed. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air.

One of the officers approached you cautiously, his flashlight scanning the area. “Miss, are you hurt?”

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was right there. He… he was watching me.”

The second officer moved toward the forest’s edge, his flashlight sweeping across the trees. “We’ll check the area,” he said, motioning for his partner to follow.

They disappeared into the woods, leaving you standing by the police car. The operator on the phone was still speaking, but their words sounded distant, drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

A few minutes later, the officers returned, shaking their heads. “We didn’t see anyone,” one of them said. “But there are clear signs of movement in the brush. We’ll keep searching.”

“He’s out there,” you insisted, your voice trembling. “He’s the one who… who killed those kids. He tried to kill me!”

The officer nodded, his expression serious. “We believe you. We’ll make sure the area is secured. Do you have somewhere safe to stay tonight?”

You hesitated, glancing down at your phone. Ni-ki’s name flashed across the screen in a text notification. For a brief moment, you considered calling him, but then you shook your head. This wasn’t something you wanted to drag anyone else into—not him, not anyone.

“I’ll be fine,” you lied, your voice barely steady.

The officers exchanged a look but didn’t push further. “We’ll escort you home,” one of them said, opening the passenger door of the car for you.

You climbed in, clutching the grocery bag like a lifeline as the car pulled away. Through the window, you stared back at the forest, half-expecting to see that mask watching you from the shadows again.

But there was nothing.

Just the trees, silent and still.

--

You lay in bed, the blankets twisted around your body, but the warmth of them did nothing to calm the chill that had settled deep in your bones. Your phone sat on the nightstand, screen glowing softly in the dark, but you hadn’t looked at it in what felt like hours.

Every time you closed your eyes, the image of that mask—the twisted, mocking grin—seemed to float in your mind, just out of reach. You could almost hear his voice in your head, low and smooth, the way he’d whispered into your ear, the way he’d taunted you. “Hell is wherever you aren’t.”

The words had haunted you all evening.

You had tried to shake them off, to bury them beneath the numbing exhaustion that should have come with the adrenaline you’d been running on, but your body refused to cooperate. Even with the police’s reassurances, you couldn’t stop the feeling that something was still lurking just beyond the edge of your awareness.

What if he was still out there? What if he had been watching you tonight, too? The thought of it made your pulse race, your heart thumping too loud in the silence of your room.

You grabbed your phone, staring at it in your hands, weighing whether to text Ni-ki. He had sent you a message earlier, asking if you were okay, but you hadn’t responded. Part of you wanted to reach out, wanted to tell him everything, but another part—no, a bigger part—didn’t want to drag him into this any deeper. He didn’t deserve it.

You tossed the phone aside and stared up at the ceiling, the quiet of your apartment settling around you like a heavy blanket, thick and suffocating. The rain had started up again, tapping lightly against your window. You listened to the rhythmic pattering, your mind drifting in and out of awareness, trying to push away the lingering fear.

It wasn’t long before the sound of the doorbell echoed through the apartment.

Your heart leapt into your throat, your whole body freezing, every muscle stiffening at once. The sound of the doorbell, so sharp and unexpected, felt like an intrusion, a sign of something you couldn't escape.

You waited, breath held, listening for footsteps. But there was nothing. Not at first. Just the sound of rain falling and the eerie quiet of the house.

Then, a faint knock at the door. Three taps.

You didn't move. Didn't even breathe.

And that's when your phone buzzed, the text you had been avoiding lighting up the screen.

"Are you okay? Please let me know."

You knew it was Ni-ki. His concern was so evident in the words, the kind of concern that made your heart ache. You felt a wave of guilt rise in your chest.

But that knock, those taps on the door—they wouldn’t go away.

Your heart hammered in your chest as the knock echoed again. You sat frozen, unsure of what to do, your mind racing with possibilities. Was it him? The killer, the masked figure who had haunted your every step since that night? Or was it someone else—someone who could help you, someone who had heard your silent cries for help?

You reached for your phone, your fingers trembling as you unlocked it and quickly typed a response to Ni-ki.

I’m okay. Just… a little freaked out. I’ll be fine.

You hesitated before sending it, but the longer you sat there, the more you realized you couldn't keep the fear buried. You needed help, but you didn’t want to drag him into this. You didn’t want him to be in danger, especially when you didn’t know who or what was on the other side of that door.

But the knocking continued. Three slow, deliberate taps again. This time, it felt more urgent. Like whoever was out there knew you were in the apartment.

You moved cautiously to the window, peeking through the blinds to see if there was anyone outside. The rain had let up slightly, but it was still dark, the street barely visible in the dim light from the streetlamp. There was no sign of anyone.

Still, the knocking continued.

Your mind raced. Could you trust it?

You quietly moved to the door, pressing your ear against it, listening for any sounds from the other side. The knocking had stopped, and the silence stretched on for a few moments, stretching your nerves thinner with each passing second.

Then, without warning, the door handle jiggled. You stiffened, holding your breath as you backed away.

Whoever was out there was waiting.

You reached for the lock, your hands shaking, and with a quiet click, you turned it. Just as you were about to open the door, you heard a faint voice, soft but clear.

“Y/N?”

Your heart skipped a beat. The voice was familiar.

You opened the door, and there he was. Ni-ki. Standing in your doorway, looking concerned, his expression soft but full of worry. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of distress.

“You… you came?” You whispered, surprised and relieved all at once.

Ni-ki stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. “I got worried,” he said quietly, his voice low.

You nodded, a wave of relief washing over you. But before you could speak, Ni-ki’s eyes caught something on the table—your phone, with his message still displayed.

His expression faltered slightly, his eyes lingering on the text as if searching for the truth behind it.

“Are you really okay?” he asked softly, stepping closer to you. “I know you said you were fine, but… I’m not sure I believe that.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, but you managed a weak smile, trying to reassure him. “I’m okay now… I’m just… I’ve been a little scared, that’s all.”

Ni-ki didn’t say anything. He simply walked over to you, and without another word, he wrapped his arms around you.

Ni-ki gently guided you to the couch, his touch reassuring and steady as he helped you sit down. The weight of everything—of the fear, the tension, the uncertainty—finally began to crash down on you all at once. You buried your face in your hands, your shoulders trembling as the tears you’d been holding back for so long finally spilled over.

Ni-ki sat next to you, his presence calm and warm, like a shelter from the storm. He didn’t say anything at first, just let you cry, the sound of your sobs the only noise between the two of you. His hand found its way to your back, rubbing slow, comforting circles, as he whispered softly to you.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle. “I’m here.”

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself lean into the comfort. The tears flowed freely, the weight of everything you’d been through crashing over you in waves, but there was no judgment, no rushing to make you feel better.

“I know it’s been so hard,” Ni-ki continued, his voice steady and warm. “But I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, the sobs slowly beginning to subside as his words sank in.

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, the gesture simple but grounding. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I swear.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t want to burden you with all of this. I didn’t want you to have to deal with my… my fear.”

Ni-ki shook his head, his eyes softening. “Hey, don’t apologize. You’re not a burden. You’re my friend, and you mean more to me than anything. I don’t care what’s going on, I’m not leaving you to deal with it alone.”

His words wrapped around you like a lifeline, and you felt a warmth that cut through the cold fear still lingering in your chest.

"Thank you," you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. "I don’t know what I would’ve done without you."

Ni-ki gave you a soft, reassuring smile. "You don’t have to. I’ll always be here for you."

After he put on a movie, its soft glow illuminating the room, you felt yourself slowly relaxing next to Ni-ki. The weight of everything still lingered in the back of your mind, but his presence beside you—calm, steady, unwavering—made it easier to breathe, to forget, even if just for a little while. The tension in your body began to ease as the gentle hum of the movie filled the space, and before you even realized it, your eyelids grew heavy.

You shifted slightly, curling up against the couch, subconsciously inching closer to Ni-ki, the warmth of his body providing comfort. It wasn’t long before you drifted off, the quiet rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Ni-ki, noticing your soft exhale, glanced down at you, a small, amused smirk curling at the corners of his lips. You were so still, so vulnerable in your sleep. His gaze softened as he studied you, his fingers gently brushing the strands of hair that fell across your face, tucking them behind your ear.

His heart beat faster as he took in the sight of you, lying so trustingly beside him, completely unaware of the way his eyes roamed over you. His fingers lingered, caressing your skin. He admired the way your features softened in sleep, how relaxed you looked.

“I’d do anything to make sure you’re always by my side.” He whispered, his voice low, barely audible.

His smirk deepened, his thumb lightly grazing your cheek. “You’re far too precious to let anyone else have you.”

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered into your ear, “I’ll protect you, forever. You’re my treasure, and I won’t let anyone take you away. Not now, not ever.”

Ni-ki pulled you a little closer, adjusting your position so you were nestled more comfortably against him, and he rested his head against the back of the couch, keeping his gaze fixed on you. The way you slept so soundly in his arms sent a strange rush of satisfaction through him.

Ni-ki's fingers gently brushed over your hair, his touch tender as he continued to gaze at you. His mind raced with thoughts, each one swirling around the way you looked so peaceful, so trusting, in his arms. There was a sense of calm that settled over him too, a deep, almost primal satisfaction in knowing you were there—safe, protected, and unaware of the way his heart beat faster with each passing moment.

He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you, as his gaze moved from your peaceful face to the way you nestled against him. The warmth of your body, the slow rise and fall of your chest, all of it made him feel something deep within, something that told him, you’re mine. His fingers slid down your arm, brushing lightly against your skin as if to remind himself that you were right here, with him.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, his feelings for you had become so much more than just care or friendship. You had a hold on him—one that was impossible to ignore, impossible to break free from. He’d always been protective of you, sure, but now, as he looked at you sleeping so soundly, he realized how much deeper his attachment had grown.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Rest now," he whispered, barely audible, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the perfect moment. "I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to worry about a thing."

The way you fit against him, how natural it felt to have you there, was enough to make his heart ache in the best way. You had no idea how much he needed you, how much he wanted to keep you close, but he would make sure you felt that care every single day.

He wasn’t going to let go of this moment—not yet, not ever. He would make sure you were safe and happy. You were his world now, and he would do anything to keep it that way.

--

As the days passed, you started to notice two things. The first was that Ni-ki seemed to be… everywhere. Whether it was during lunch, between classes, or after school, he was always by your side. It wasn’t just that he was constantly close to you; he somehow made sure that no matter what, your attention was on him. Even when you tried to talk to your friends, he'd find a way to insert himself into the conversation, either by cracking a joke or pulling you away with a light touch on your arm, directing your attention back to him. e was making sure he had some kind of excuse to keep you close—whether it was an excuse to study together, a reason to walk you to your next class, or just a casual invitation to hang out after school. He was clingy, yes, but it didn’t feel suffocating.

The second thing that began to weigh on you was the strange shift happening around the school. It wasn’t a loud change, but it was impossible to ignore. The usual bullies, the ones who would taunt others, pick on those weaker than them, and make life miserable for anyone they considered "lesser," some of them were gone entirely, never seen again. Others were found in a state that was… unsettling. And the ones who still lingered, seemed to have a new fear in their eyes. They were nervous, always looking over their shoulders, as if expecting someone to jump out at them at any moment. You heard hushed whispers in the hallways about how the only people who were being targeted were those who’d tormented others—bullies who had crossed a line and had paid the price for it.

It wasn’t just idle gossip anymore. There was a clear pattern forming—those who’d been mean, those who had taken pleasure in others' pain, were the ones disappearing or found dead. And no one wanted to be the next victim. It was almost like there was a sense of fear hanging in the air, suffocating the usual bravado that these students carried.

One afternoon, as you sat with Ni-ki in the cafeteria, you couldn't help but notice the change in the atmosphere. The usual suspects who would pick fights or belittle others were nowhere to be seen. A few students whispered nervously, glancing at the empty seats where the loudest voices used to sit. Ni-ki, ever the observant one, seemed to catch on to your unease and leaned closer, his voice low as he spoke, “It’s strange, isn’t it? How quiet it is now. Not many people causing trouble anymore.”

You glanced over at him, slightly startled by his words, but the look on his face was almost… satisfied. It was as if he knew more than he was letting on. "Yeah," you said quietly, lowering your voice, "I haven’t seen some of them around lately. It’s… like they’re just gone."

Ni-ki smirked slightly, a glint of something dark in his eyes, but he didn’t comment further. Instead, he reached for your hand, gently brushing his fingers against yours as if to reassure you, but also claiming you in his own quiet way. “People like them never last long. They always get what's coming to them.”

You looked at Ni-ki, about to say something, to defend the idea that not everyone deserved what was happening. But as you paused and really thought about it, the words didn’t come. What could you really say in defense of them? The bullies at school had picked on others without mercy, with no regard for the pain they caused. They had gone out of their way to hurt people, and more than once, you had seen how cruel and relentless they could be. They never showed any sympathy. So why should you feel sympathy for them now?

The thought sat uneasily in your chest, but you couldn’t find the words to oppose what Ni-ki had said. Instead, you turned your attention back to your lunch, pushing the food around on your plate without much appetite. You shrugged casually, as if the whole thing didn’t matter to you.

But in that moment, Ni-ki's grin grew wider, a silent triumph flickering in his eyes. He’d been watching you closely, sensing that shift in your mindset, and now, he had won this silent battle. You didn’t argue. You didn’t fight him on it.

For a moment, you felt his gaze linger on you, as if trying to decipher the change within you. His fingers tightened around your hand just a little, a subtle claim, as if to mark his success.

“Good,” he said softly, almost under his breath, as he leaned back in his chair, still watching you with a look of quiet satisfaction.

You were barely aware of how much Ni-ki had already influenced you—how much his presence and his words had started to shape your thoughts. You couldn’t deny that you felt a strange sense of security when you were around him, a feeling that only grew stronger with each passing day.

As the lunch bell rang and people started to get up, you stood with him, quietly gathering your things. Ni-ki followed you out of the cafeteria, his presence close behind you, and you didn’t voice it, you didn’t mind having him by your side. Not one bit.

The days blurred together, and without realizing it, Ni-ki’s influence over you deepened. It started small, with offhand comments he’d make during class or when you were walking home together, words that felt comforting at the time, like whispers of protection. “No one understand you like I do,” he’d say, casually brushing your hair out of your face or squeezing your hand.

At first, it was easy to dismiss. A small comment here and there, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t alone. But slowly, those comments became more frequent, more insistent. Ni-ki’s voice seemed to crawl into your mind during the quiet moments when you were alone, when the noise of the world faded away.

“You don’t need them,” he’d tell you, his voice soft but certain. “They only want something from you. They don’t care about you, not like I do.”

It was subtle at first—just little seeds of doubt about the people around you, people you had known for years. The classmates who had once made you feel safe now started to feel like strangers, like people who would only bring harm.

The bullies, those who had tormented you and others for so long, would occasionally come to you, apologies on their lips or fake smiles plastered on their faces. They’d try to beg for your forgiveness, as though everything could just be forgotten with a few words. You had tried to be kind, to forgive them in the past, but now? Now it felt wrong. Ni-ki’s words echoed in your mind every time one of them came near.

“You don’t owe them anything,” he’d whisper. “They don’t deserve your kindness. Don’t be fooled by their fake apologies.”

And so, you didn’t. You turned away, ignoring their desperate attempts to make amends, not feeling guilty or conflicted anymore. They didn’t deserve your forgiveness. They hadn’t earned it, not after everything they had put you through.

But it wasn’t just the bullies. Ni-ki’s words had woven themselves into your everyday life, shaping your thoughts and actions, slowly erasing the boundaries you once held so firm. He started influencing the way you saw people, the way you interacted with them. Slowly, everything became a reflection of what Ni-ki wanted, a twisted mirror of his desires.

And Ni-ki knew it. Every time you followed his guidance, every time you chose to act in a way that fed into his plans, there was a dark satisfaction in his eyes, a quiet pleasure in his smile.

It was as if he could feel the power he had over you, the way your thoughts bent to his will, the way your heart seemed to beat in time with his words.

“You see?” he’d murmur, that sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The world’s a lot easier when you’re with me, isn’t it?”

You didn’t have the words to fight back. You didn’t even want to anymore.

The more he was with you, the more his words echoed in your mind, the more you realized that the satisfaction he found in your compliance wasn’t just for him. It was for you, too. You wanted to make him proud, to feel his approval. It became your quiet obsession, that each small action you took to please him made you feel good.

The line between what was right and wrong began to blur, as Ni-ki’s influence crept deeper into every part of your life. You found yourself thinking less about what you had always known and more about what Ni-ki told you was true. His twisted view of the world started to become your reality.

And somewhere deep inside, you knew this wasn’t normal. But it felt too good to stop. It felt too easy, too natural to follow him, to listen to his words.

And with every step you took further into his world, Ni-ki’s smile grew just a little wider.

--

The late afternoon sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the streets as you walked home. The air had a faint chill, and your bag felt heavier than usual after the long day spent visiting your family. You adjusted it on your shoulder, absently scrolling through your phone as you neared your apartment.

Suddenly, someone walking toward you collided into your shoulder. The impact jolted your phone from your hands, and it clattered loudly onto the sidewalk. You gasped in surprise, looking up at the person who’d bumped into you.

“Watch where you’re going,” the man snapped, his tone laced with irritation. He didn’t even glance back as he shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and kept walking, his head bowed against the wind.

Your mouth opened to retort, but you decided against it, your annoyance bubbling silently. With a sigh, you bent down to retrieve your phone, brushing off the faint scratches on its case. Muttering under your breath, you straightened up and continued on your way, your steps quicker now as the fading light seemed to make the streets feel emptier.

But you didn’t get far.

Just a few blocks from your building, you collided with someone again. This time, the impact was sudden and hard enough to make you stumble back a step. “Oh, I’m so sor—” The words barely escaped your lips before you felt something press firmly against your face.

A cloth.

You froze in shock as a strong hand gripped the back of your head, holding the cloth against your nose and mouth. You struggled immediately, panic coursing through your veins. You thrashed, clawing at the arm that held you, your muffled cries lost in the fabric. The sharp, sickly-sweet scent of chemicals invaded your senses, making your vision blur.

Your heart raced as you kicked out, trying to fight against the overwhelming dizziness that began to take hold. Your bag slipped off your shoulder and fell to the ground with a dull thud, but the grip on you didn’t loosen. The person—no, the attacker—held you firmly, their breath steady against your ear as your strength ebbed away.

The world around you dimmed, your arms growing heavy as your movements slowed. Your fingers lost their grip, falling limply to your sides as your knees buckled.

The last thing you felt was the strong arm catching your weight as your consciousness slipped away, the sound of your heart pounding in your ears fading into nothingness.

You woke with a pounding headache, the world spinning as your eyes fluttered open. The smell of damp earth and mildew hit your nose, making your stomach churn. Blinking, you tried to take in your surroundings. It was dimly lit, the flicker of a single bulb swaying from the ceiling casting eerie shadows on the cracked concrete walls.

A chill ran through you as you realized you were sitting on the cold ground, your arms pulled tightly behind you. Panic surged when you tried to move and felt the rough bite of rope against your wrists. You were tied up.

Your heart raced, and you looked around the room. It was then that you noticed them—two figures sitting directly across from you, also bound. One was gagged, their muffled attempts to speak barely audible, while the other sat in stunned silence, their wide eyes staring at the floor as if processing their own horror.

Recognition hit you like a punch to the gut.

The first person was someone you recognized from school, a notorious bully. You’d seen them torment others countless times, their cruel laugh echoing through hallways. They looked disheveled and terrified now, their bravado stripped away as they squirmed uselessly against their bonds.

The second person made your blood run cold. It was the man who had bumped into you on the street, the one who had insulted you without a second thought. His face was pale, his body trembling as he glanced around the room like a caged animal.

“What the hell...” you muttered under your breath, your voice shaky and raw.

Neither of them responded to you directly. The bully’s gag prevented them from saying anything coherent, and the man’s eyes darted nervously between you and the rest of the room.

You tried to calm your breathing, your mind racing for an explanation. Why were you here? Who had brought you here?

Before you could piece things together, a sound broke the tense silence: the creak of a door opening.

Your head snapped toward the far end of the basement, where a narrow staircase led up to a heavy wooden door. The hinges groaned as it slowly swung open, and for a brief moment, the only sound was the faint echo of dripping water from somewhere in the room.

Then, slow, deliberate footsteps descended the stairs.

Your breath hitched as the figure came into view—a familiar white mask catching the dim light, its hollow eyes fixed on the three of you. The killer’s tall, looming form filled the narrow staircase, and your heart plummeted into your stomach.

It was him.

He moved with a terrifying ease, his boots thudding against the worn wooden steps. The bully across from you froze, their muffled cries growing more frantic. The man from the street tried to scoot backward, but his bindings kept him in place.

The killer reached the bottom step, pausing to survey the room.

Then his eyes found you.

“Awake already,” he said, his voice low and smooth, laced with a mockery that made your skin crawl. He stepped closer, the soft scrape of his boots against the concrete amplifying your fear. “I was hoping for a little more suspense, but I guess this works too.”

You couldn’t speak, your throat tightening as he approached. Your heart pounded so loudly you thought it might burst.

The killer stopped just in front of you, towering over you like a shadow. He crouched down slowly and you flinched back instinctively, the ropes biting into your skin.

“Don’t be scared,” he said, almost soothingly. “I’d never hurt you. Not like them.”

He jerked his head toward the others, his tone darkening. “They’re the real problem, aren’t they?”

The bully whimpered, their body trembling violently. The man from the street muttered something incoherent, his face pale with terror.

The killer’s head snapped toward them. “Quiet,” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. Both of them fell silent instantly.

He turned his attention back to you, his tone softening again. “You don’t belong here with them,” he said, his gloved hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “But I couldn’t risk letting you get hurt, either.”

You recoiled from his touch.

The killer chuckled, low and dark before standing to his full height. “You’ll thank me someday.”

He turned his back on you, walking toward the bully, who was now shaking their head violently, muffled pleas escaping through the gag. The killer tilted his head, as if considering them.

“You,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “The things I’ve seen you do. The way you treat people. It’s pathetic.”

He pulled a knife from his belt, the blade gleaming under the flickering light. Your stomach lurched.

“No,” you said, your voice trembling. “Don’t—”

He turned his head slightly, addressing you without looking back. “Don’t what?” he asked, his tone mockingly sweet. “They deserve it, don’t they? After everything they’ve done? After everything they would’ve done to you if I hadn’t stepped in?”

Your mind raced, panic gripping you. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

You pulled against the ropes desperately, but they didn’t budge. Your heart pounded as you watched the killer raise the knife, his focus solely on the bully.

You couldn’t look away.

The killer crouched over the bully, his movements methodical, almost clinical, as he ran the blade down their arm, leaving a crimson trail. The muffled cries of pain filled the room, mixing with the sound of your own panicked breathing.

“Shh,” the killer whispered, his voice soft, mocking. “We wouldn’t want to disturb anyone, would we?”

The bully’s head shook frantically, tears streaking their face as they squirmed against the restraints. The knife moved again, this time slicing into their leg, and they screamed against the gag, their body convulsing in agony.

You felt frozen, your mind screaming at you to look away, to close your eyes, but you couldn’t. The horrifying scene played out in front of you, each sound, each movement burned into your memory.

The killer leaned in closer to the bully, his head tilting in that unnerving way. “This is what happens,” he murmured, his voice dripping with venom. “This is what you get for being cruel. For thinking you’re untouchable.”

Blood pooled beneath the chair, thick and dark, as the bully’s movements grew weaker. Their muffled screams turned into whimpers, their head lolling forward.

The killer stood up, the knife dripping in his hand. He turned to the other man—the one who had bumped into you earlier. The man’s eyes widened in terror, and he struggled against his bindings, managing to let out a strangled noise.

The killer took slow, deliberate steps toward him, his boots squelching in the blood-soaked floor. The man’s cries grew louder, more frantic, and you could see the pure panic in his eyes.

“Quiet,” the killer snapped, his voice sharp. “It’s your turn, but I promise to make it quick.”

You saw the man try to shout, his body thrashing violently, but the killer moved with chilling efficiency. He raised the knife and plunged it into the man’s chest with a sickening thud.

The man’s body jerked once, his muffled scream cutting off as blood bubbled at his lips. The killer twisted the blade before yanking it out, letting the body slump back into the chair, lifeless.

The room fell into a deafening silence, save for the sound of your ragged breathing and the drip of blood hitting the concrete floor.

Then, slowly, the killer turned towards the bully.

He reached up, fingers hooking under the edge of his mask. You held your breath, your body stiffening as he began to lift it.

The white mask came off in one smooth motion, but from your position, you couldn’t see his face. His back was turned to you, shielding his identity.

What you could see was the reaction of the bully, who weakly lifted their head, their bloodied face twisting in horror. Their eyes widened, and a choked sound escaped their throat—half gasp, half sob.

The killer crouched in front of the bully, setting the mask down beside him. “You should’ve stayed in your place,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

The bully’s lips quivered, as if trying to form words, but no sound came out. They slumped further, their body trembling.

You didn’t dare move, your heart racing as you strained to make out his features, but the angle made it impossible.

The killer stood again, slipping the mask back on before turning his attention to you.

Your stomach churned as he began walking toward you, his footsteps unhurried, almost casual.

You pressed yourself against the chair, your mind racing for a way out, but there was nowhere to go. You were trapped.

His voice was calm, disturbingly so, as he crouched down in front of you, his bloodied knife resting casually in his hand. “People like them… they take and take, hurt and hurt, until someone stops them. I’m just doing what no one else will.” He said softly, almost as if speaking to a child.

You thrashed against the ropes binding you, the rough fibers biting into your skin. “You can’t just decide that!” you shouted, the words pouring out before you could think. “You’re not some kind of… of judge or executioner!”

The killer leaned forward, his presence overwhelming, his masked face inches from yours. You could feel the cold metal of the knife near your leg, the blood dripping from it staining the floor beneath you. “I don’t decide anything,” he murmured, his voice quiet but firm, laced with a sinister undertone. “They decided it themselves. Every cruel word, every time they tore someone down, every life they ruined… they sealed their own fate.”

You shook your head vehemently, your breathing ragged. “That doesn’t make it right!”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound reverberating in the hollow space of the basement. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “You still think the world is black and white, don’t you? That there’s some kind of fairness in it all?” He stood abruptly, towering over you, the knife twirling between his fingers. “The world isn’t fair. It’s a cruel, ugly place where people like them thrive because no one holds them accountable.”

Your voice cracked as you shot back, “And what makes you any different? You’re not saving anyone—you’re just a murderer!”

For a moment, the room fell deathly silent. The killer froze, his grip tightening on the knife. Then, he let out a dark, humorless laugh, his shoulders shaking. “A murderer?” he repeated, almost as if testing the word. “You’re wrong. Cause the difference is I know what I am.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, your body trembling as he slowly crouched back down, his masked face so close to yours.

“And here’s the thing, doll,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Deep down, you know I’m right. You’ve seen what people like them do. You’ve felt it.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as his words wormed their way into your mind. You hated how his tone softened, how it made him sound almost reasonable.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he continued, brushing a finger lightly against the ropes binding your wrist, his touch so delicate it sent chills down your spine. “You get it, even if you won’t admit it.”

Your breaths came out in short, shallow gasps as you watched him, your mind racing.

The killer stilled, his head tilting as he studied you, the sharp edge of his knife glinting in the dim light. “Where did the good version of you go?” he asked softly, almost disappointed. His voice carried a quiet intensity, laced with frustration. “The one who listened to me. Who followed my instructions without question.”

You blinked, confused and terrified, your lips trembling as you struggled to process his words. “What are you talking about?” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of your fear.

He let out a sigh, shaking his head like a disappointed teacher scolding a wayward student. Slowly, he reached up to the edges of his mask, his fingers brushing over its smooth surface. “I guess it’s time we stopped playing this little game, huh?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, dread building with every passing second as he began to remove the mask. First, his chin came into view, sharp and familiar. Then his mouth—lips curved in a small, knowing smirk.

“No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your stomach twisting into knots.

The mask came off fully, and your breath hitched as the rest of his face was revealed. Those eyes, dark and piercing, stared back at you with a twisted mix of affection and amusement. It was a face you knew better than anyone else’s.

“...Ni-ki?” you stammered, tears spilling from your eyes as your mind struggled to reconcile what you were seeing.

He tilted his head, his smirk widening into something more sinister. “Surprise,” he said, his tone almost playful, as though this was all some sick joke.

Your body froze, every muscle locking in place as you stared at him, shaking your head in disbelief. “No… no, this can’t be real.”

“Oh, it’s very real,” Ni-ki replied, crouching down in front of you so you were at eye level. His gaze softened for a moment as he reached out, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. It doesn’t suit you.”

You jerked your head away from his touch, your breathing ragged. “You—how could you—”

“How could I what?” he interrupted, his voice sharp now. “Do what needs to be done? Protect you from people like them?” He gestured toward the two lifeless bodies still slumped in the room.

“Protect me?” you choked out, incredulous. “You call this protection? You’re killing people, Ni-ki! This isn’t normal, this isn’t—”

“Shh,” he cut you off, pressing a finger to your lips. “Don’t ruin this moment with your panic. I know it’s a lot to take in, but think about it. Haven’t I always been there for you? Always protected you?”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to speak as he leaned closer, his face just inches from yours.

“I did this for you,” he whispered, his tone eerily tender. “Every single one of them… they hurt you. Or they would’ve. And I couldn’t let that happen. I won’t let it happen.”

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head, your voice cracking. “You’re not the Ni-ki I know. You can’t be.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Oh, but I am. I’m the real Ni-ki. The one who loves you enough to do what no one else will.” His hand reached out, cupping your face as his thumb traced your cheek. “You just don’t see it yet. But you will.”

You flinched under his touch, bile rising in your throat as you tried to twist away from him. “You’re crazy!”

“And you’re perfect,” he countered, his voice sweet, dripping with affection. “That’s why I can’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.”

Your breathing was shaky as you stared at Ni-ki, his face so familiar yet warped by the sinister edge in his expression. Tears blurred your vision, but you forced yourself to speak. “When… when did this start? Ni-ki, why—how did you—” You struggled to find the right words.

His head tilted slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a strange, unsettling mix of amusement and frustration. “When did it start?” he echoed, almost as if asking himself the same question. He leaned back slightly, still crouched in front of you, one knee on the ground, his arms resting on his bent leg.

There was a flicker in his dark eyes, a spark of something—anger, pain, sadness—all swirling together. He took a deep breath, his expression shifting to something almost depressing.

“You remember that week you got sick?” he asked softly, his voice calm but laced with something far darker.

You blinked, startled. “When I had the flu?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. You were out for almost a week. Barely even answered my texts. I was worried about you, of course, but… it wasn’t just that.” He paused, his jaw clenching as his tone grew colder.

“That was the week they started targeting me,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

You froze, the blood draining from your face as you realized what he was saying.

“They,” he continued bitterly, his gaze hardening. “The second you weren’t there, they saw me as an easy target. Your absence gave them permission to attack.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “I thought I could handle it. At first, I did. But then… it got worse. They didn’t stop.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done. His words poured out now, each one sharper than the last.

“They’d corner me. Taunt me. Spread rumors. Push me around in the hallways like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t even human. And the worst part?” His voice cracked slightly, his fists tightening at his sides. “You weren’t there. You didn’t even know. I told myself it wasn’t your fault—you were sick—but I was alone, and no one cared. No one stopped them.”

His voice rose with each word, anger and hurt dripping from every syllable. You could see his hands trembling slightly, his chest rising and falling as his breathing grew heavier.

“Ni-ki…” you started softly, guilt twisting in your stomach.

“I didn’t deserve it,” he snapped, cutting you off. His eyes burned with fury now, his voice trembling with emotion. “I never did anything to them. I was your friend, but that was enough for them. Just being close to you made me a target.”

Your mind reeled, piecing everything together. Memories of those days flooded back—how Ni-ki had seemed distant when you returned to school, quieter, more withdrawn. At the time, you’d thought he was just giving you space to recover, but now you understood.

Your lips parted in recognition, the realization hitting you like a punch to the gut. “It was them,” you whispered. “Those same people. They’re the ones who—”

Ni-ki’s head snapped toward you, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes: validation. He nodded, his expression a mix of satisfaction and pain. “You understand now,” he said, his voice quiet but intense.

But you weren’t finished. “They’re the reason you… snapped,” you said, the word tasting bitter on your tongue.

His lips curled into a humorless smile as he tilted his head at you, studying your face like you were a puzzle he was finally solving. “Yeah,” he admitted. “They pushed me too far. And then… something inside me just… clicked.”

He leaned in closer, his voice soft but chilling. “I realized they didn’t deserve to get away with it. Not with what they did to me! They’re parasites, and the world is better off without them.”

You stared at him, trembling, your tears flowing freely now. “Ni-ki… this isn’t you. This isn’t—”

“It is me,” he said firmly, cutting you off again. His hand reached out to gently cradle your face, his touch surprisingly tender despite the blood still staining his fingers. “Oh, but this is the real me doll!”

“You can’t…” you choked out, your voice breaking. “You can’t just decide who deserves to live and who doesn’t. That’s not your choice to make!”

He smiled, his thumb brushing against your cheek, smearing a tear. “Oh, but it is. Because no one else will. And I’ll keep doing it—again and again—even if that makes me seem crazy.”

You shook your head, sobbing quietly, but he only leaned closer, his forehead almost touching yours. “Don’t cry,” he murmured, his voice softening again. “I’m not the villain here. You’ll see that someday.”

You turned your head away, unable to meet his gaze, but his grip on your face tightened just enough to bring your attention back to him. “Someday,” he whispered, his lips brushing your forehead, “you’ll thank me.”

Ni-ki’s voice was calm yet insistent, each word weaving its way into your mind like a snake, coiling tightly around your thoughts. “They were the problem,” he repeated, his tone soft but unwavering. “Every single one of them. They hurt you, they hurt me, and they would’ve kept going. People like that don’t change.”

You shook your head weakly, tears blurring your vision. “No… no, you can’t just… You can’t decide—”

“I didn’t decide anything,” he interrupted, his voice sharpening just slightly. “They chose this. They chose to torment others, to stomp on anyone they thought was beneath them. You’ve seen it yourself. How many times have you been their target? How many times have they made you feel small?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came. Memories of those moments flashed through your mind—the taunts, the rumors, the laughter at your expense. You could still hear their voices, their mocking tones, still feel the sting of their words.

Ni-ki leaned in closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “They didn’t care about you. About anyone. They’re leeches, feeding off other people’s pain. And you want me to just… let them live? To give them the chance to hurt someone else?”

Your heart pounded in your chest. “People can change,” you whispered, though even you could hear the doubt in your voice.

“Can they?” he challenged, his lips quirking into a bitter smile. “Tell me, have you ever seen one of them apologize? Have they ever truly felt sorry for what they’ve done? Or do they just pretend to care when it benefits them?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He sighed, his hand brushing a strand of hair out of your face as if he were comforting you. “You’re too kind,” he murmured, almost wistfully. “That’s what I love about you. But kindness doesn’t work on people like them. They see it as weakness. They use it against you.”

His words slithered into your mind like a viper, sinking their fangs into your thoughts. They coiled around the doubt already lurking there, tightening their grip.

“They were the problem,” he repeated, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “You know I’m right. Deep down, you’ve always known it.”

You shook your head again, but it was weaker this time. The venom of his words was spreading, clouding your judgment. Memories of the bullies flashed through your mind again—how they’d laughed at you, taunted you, humiliated you. How no one had stopped them. How no one had cared.

“They didn’t deserve it,” you whispered, though the conviction in your voice was faltering.

“Didn’t they?” Ni-ki pressed, his gaze never leaving yours. “Think about it. Think about everything they’ve done. Everything they’ve said. Did they ever feel sorry? Did they ever stop to think about how their actions hurt others?”

You stayed silent, your breathing shaky.

“They didn’t care,” he said, his voice low but firm. “They never cared. And they never will. People like them… they only stop when someone makes them.”

His words kept slithering into your mind, twisting around your thoughts until they were all you could hear. You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but… was he?

You felt your resolve cracking, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a heavy stone. Maybe… maybe he wasn’t wrong. Maybe they really wouldn’t have stopped.

Your silence seemed to embolden him. He smiled, leaning closer, his forehead almost brushing yours. “See?” he whispered. “You’re starting to understand. I’m not the monster here. I’m the one who’s doing what no one else will.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you didn’t speak. You didn’t deny him. You couldn’t.

Ni-ki smiled wider, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek, wiping away a tear. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with a twisted kind of pride. “You’ll see. One day, you’ll see that I did this for us. For you.”

You closed your eyes, trying to block out his words, but they were already there, buried deep in your mind.

You barely registered what was happening. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you, the emotional toll of the past hours rendering you too drained to fight or even think straight. When Ni-ki untied your wrists and re-bound them in front of you instead, the shift barely registered in your foggy mind. You flinched slightly at his touch, but even that was weak.

Before you knew it, he was scooping you up, his arms cradling you securely as if you were something precious. Your legs, still bound, dangled uselessly. The motion made you groan softly in discomfort, but you didn’t resist. You couldn’t resist.

He carried you up the stairs, out of the dim, suffocating basement, and into a softly lit living room. The space was strangely simple, furnished with a small couch, a coffee table, and a few personal touches—a bookshelf in the corner, a stack of neatly folded blankets on a chair. It felt too… normal. Too domestic.

Ni-ki carefully lowered himself onto the couch, keeping you in his arms as if he were holding a fragile doll. He adjusted your position so you were leaning against him, your cheek resting against his chest. His fingers moved gently, brushing strands of hair out of your face, his touch light and tender.

“You’re so tired,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You’ve been through so much. But it’s okay now. I’ve got you.”

Tears continued to stream down your cheeks, silent and unrelenting, as if your body didn’t know how else to process everything. You didn’t have the energy to speak, to scream, or even to flinch when his hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tears.

“Shh,” he cooed, his lips curling into a soft smile, though his dark eyes gleamed with something far less gentle. “No more crying, sweetheart. They can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe now. Safe with me.”

You wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he was the danger you needed saving from, but the words wouldn’t come. Your chest felt tight, the weight of everything suffocating you.

Ni-ki’s other hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling lightly in your hair. “You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he whispered, his tone achingly sweet. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you. Just like I always have.”

The warmth of his embrace was suffocating in its own way, the tenderness of his touch a cruel mockery of the terror coursing through your veins. But as the minutes ticked by, your body, weakened and overwhelmed, began to betray you. Your muscles slackened, your breathing evened out, and though your mind screamed for you to resist, the exhaustion dragged you closer and closer to unconsciousness.

Ni-ki noticed the change immediately. He shifted slightly, pulling a blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over the both of you, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment.

His eyes softened as he watched you, his gaze lingering on your face, as if he were memorizing every detail, every emotion flickering across your features. His fingers brushed lightly over your cheek, tracing the path of a tear you hadn't realized had fallen.

Then, slowly, he leaned down. You could feel his breath against your skin before his lips ever touched you, a soft, tentative brush against your temple. It was the faintest of touches, but the moment it happened, your heart skipped in your chest. His lips moved slowly across your skin, tender, careful, as if testing the waters.

You closed your eyes instinctively, your breath catching, not sure what to make of the emotions stirring within you. Your body reacted before your mind could process it—an unexpected warmth spreading from your chest outward, the quiet, gentle touch of his lips on your skin softening the frantic thoughts that had been chasing themselves through your mind.

Ni-ki’s kiss lingered on your forehead, then your cheeks, as though savoring each moment. He was taking his time, savoring the moment in a way that made everything feel too intimate, too personal.

As he kissed your jaw, you couldn't deny that your heart raced. It was a strange feeling, unfamiliar, and yet somehow soothing. His lips were tender, his touch softer than you expected. When he finally stopped, you opened your eyes, only to find him hovering over you, his lips just barely brushing yours.

He looked at you then, his dark eyes intense, searching. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but there was something else in his gaze—something that felt more possessive than loving.

"Can I?" he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper, as if seeking your permission.

You blinked, the weight of his question sinking in. You had no words, no deflection, only the silent pounding of your heart in your chest. You looked up at him, and the moment seemed to stretch on forever.

With a soft sigh, almost as if resigned to whatever this was between you, you nodded. “Yes.”

The moment you gave your consent, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. Ni-ki kissed you with a quiet hunger, the kind that felt as though he were marking his place in your world, making sure you wouldn’t forget him. And in that moment, with his arms wrapped around you and his lips claiming yours, it was hard to think of anything else.

Ni-ki, sensing your acceptance and the lack of resistance, initiated a deeper kiss, his lips pressing more firmly against yours, his tongue teasing and exploring.

You gasped softly, your breath catching in your throat as the intensity of his kiss took you by surprise. With your bound hands, you instinctively gripped onto his arms, your fingers tightening around his muscles.

The sensation of your touch seemed to drive him wilder, his kisses becoming more passionate and demanding, his lips moved from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of passionate marks. His teeth grazed your skin lightly, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

As Ni-ki pulled back just a fraction, you watched with a mixture of curiosity and tension. His hand reached down into the pocket of his jacket, and for a moment, you tensed—your body still wired with caution. But when he pulled out a knife, it wasn’t the sharp gleam of the blade that caught your attention. It was the way his gaze remained locked with yours, intense, but strangely calm.

He held the knife with practiced ease, his fingers brushing against the rope around your wrists. You held your breath as he made a precise cut, the rope falling away in seconds. The pressure on your wrists eased, but you didn’t move, not immediately. You kept your eyes on him, and he studied you back, as if waiting for a reaction, something that might hint at what you were thinking.

But instead of pulling away, instead of running, you found yourself unable to budge. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but they held you in place, as though you were stuck in an invisible web.

The silence between you stretched, and without thinking, without second-guessing, you slipped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He didn’t hesitate for a second. His lips found yours in an instant, and the kiss was urgent, almost hungry, as if he had been waiting for this moment. His hands moved and there was no mistaking the way he pulled you into him, as if he never wanted to let go.

When he finally pulled away, his lips still lingered over yours, his breath warm against your skin. You looked into his eyes, seeing the satisfaction there.

Ni-ki, with a hint of sadistic pleasure in his eyes, leaned in and kissed your lips, his movements calculated and precise. As he pecked your lips, his words flowed like honey, sweet yet dark.

"You know I only want what's best for you, don't you, doll?" he whispered, his voice laced with control. "I'm the only one who truly understands you. I can give you everything you desire, everything you've ever wanted."

Your lips, soft and pliable, parted slightly as if in agreement. You nodded, a slight movement that confirmed your acceptance of his words, your mind clouded by the intense passion he had instilled in you. The depth of your love for Ni-ki had clouded your judgment, making you susceptible to his every word.

"I can make you feel things you've never felt before," he continued, his voice low and compelling. "I can take you to places only I can show you. Trust me."

Your heart raced at Ni-ki's words, your mind a whirlwind of excitement and anticipation. "I trust you," you said, your voice filled with surrender.. "Take me wherever you wish."

Your logic, once a steadfast companion, had fled, leaving you vulnerable to the allure of his charm. His words, like a drug, had you addicted and longing for more.

Ni-ki, with a calculated smirk, leaned in close, his eyes piercing into yours. His voice, laced with a hint of dark seduction, whispered, "You know you belong to me, don't you? I've crafted you into the perfect companion, one who adores and loves me unconditionally."

You no longer questioned, no longer resisted, for you had become a willing participant in his world.

Ni-ki's hands roamed over your body, a gesture that was possessive. His touch, once gentle, had transformed into a commanding force, a reminder.

"You're perfect," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You nodded again, your mind a maze, created by Ni-ki. You had become his willing captive, a puppet. Your love, once pure and innocent, had morphed into something complex.

Ni-ki's kisses became more frequent, more insistent, as if he were claiming ownership over your very being.

"I love watching you surrender to me," he purred, his eyes dark with desire. "You're mine to command, and I will make sure you never question that."

You, under the spell of Ni-ki's kisses and his presence, felt a surge of something unknown.

"I want to be yours," you whispered, your voice soft and surrendered. "Command me, control me, and make me yours forever."

Ni-ki's kisses became more intense, his lips moving from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands, strong and assertive, roamed over your body, leaving no part untouched.

--

The next day at school, you walked through the halls with Niki at your side, the two of you almost in sync. Everyone around you seemed unaware of the shift, the change in the air. To the teachers, you were just another student; to your friends, you acted as though everything was perfectly normal. You laughed at their jokes, smiled when needed, and joined in conversations as though the world hadn’t turned upside down just a day ago.

But when the moments between you and Niki were private, things were different. You weren’t the same person you had been before; you were only his. Every glance he gave you, every touch, sent a spark through your body. And you, in turn, clung to his words, listening intently as he spoke, like they held the key to everything you needed to know.

The moments alone with him, in the quiet spaces between classes or in the halls when no one else was around, were when you felt the most alive. He’d find ways to hold you close, one hand on your back, the other gently cupping your chin to pull you in for a kiss that felt like it could last forever. Each kiss left you breathless, like it was all you needed in that moment.

You began to notice that Niki, too, seemed to only listen to you. The way he would react when you spoke, how he would follow your requests without hesitation, no matter how small or trivial. If you asked him to do something, he did it—immediately, without question. If you needed him to hold you, he would. If you wanted him close, he was always there, like he couldn’t bear to be any farther away from you.

--

Standing in the empty hallway, the buzz of the school day fading into the background, Ni-ki's strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you against him. His lips, soft yet demanding, met yours, and the kiss ignited a fire within you.

With each passing second, the kiss grew more intense, more passionate and you welcomed it with open arms, or rather, open lips.

As Ni-ki pulled back slightly, his breath warm against your lips, he smiled, a smile that held a mixture of satisfaction and mischief. "See how easy it is to let go?" he whispered, his voice low. "The way you surrender, the way you let me take control…"

You nodded, you didn't need to speak; your actions and your body language spoke for you.

His smile widened, and he leaned in once more, his lips finding yours with precision. The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing and exploring.

The wall behind you provided support as Ni-ki pressed his body closer, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you tighter against him.

As the kiss lingered, you could feel his breath against your neck, his hot words whispered against your skin. "I love having you like this," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "So ready to give in to me."

You nodded again, a silent affirmation of your agreement.

Ni-ki's smile, a triumphant smile, told you everything you needed to know - you were his, and he had you exactly where he wanted you.

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

[nautiscarader]

Azure reunion - ch 5

(Ao3)

As she felt Ash's cock pressing against her folds, a nagging voice rang in her head, stretching her indecisiveness into what seemed like eternity. She had condoms in her bag, all the way on the other side of the campfire, and it would take her at least twenty seconds…

Conflict brew in her head, fuelled by the closreness of her lover and her own heat….

She stared into Ash's eyes seeing the same impatience and longing, and with another whimper, she made the decision.

"Are you ready?"

"Oh yeah.", was all he could say.

A flock of Murkrows flew into the air as joined voices of Misty and Ash awoke them from their peaceful slumber. Misty slammed herself down onto Ash's cock, feeling every inch of his manliness spreading first her lips, and then filling her up, in what seemed like the perfect fit.

Shivers ran across her skin, her arms and legs locked instinctively behind Ash's back, as he arched it as well, his body becoming a missing puzzle piece to hers, while their lips sought each other to explain their feelings in a series of short,ravenous kisses and moans.

"Take that, Melody", Misty thought, "You might have gotten first smooch, but now I am riding the Chosen One, the big dummy that he is…".

Misty wasn't sure how long have the two remained locked in their passionate embrace, enjoying their very first time. Seconds? Minutes? All she knew that once she opened her eyes again, she saw fire and determination in his, and this time didn't have to ask him a thing.

She felt his grip tightening on her thighs as she lifted herself gently, experiencing again his entire length sliding out of her wet, needy pussy. She took a sharp breath of air as a cry nearly escaped her mouth, preparing her for the proper one a second later when her crotch made contact with his again.

But this time, it was their joined effort. Ash dragged her down onto his cock at the same time as she let herself fall, flooding their brains with myriads of emotions as their bodies became one, again and again. Next time Ash's strength proved to be even fiercer, as he slammed her athletic body, throwing a gauntlet to the flexible swimmer, turning their joined dance into a heated competition.

Misty loved it,and with her on top, it seemed she was an easy winner, her strong thighs easily controlling her rises and falls, but she did not expect one move from Ash that put her plan to ruin.

She let out a gasp when she felt his breath on her sensitive nipples, and before she could protest - npot that she ever would - Ash Ketchum was peppering her breasts with ravenous kisses, throwing her off-balance as his arms lockedbehind her back suddenly controlled her movement around his cock.

Misty briefly lost her lead… and loved every second of it.

She felt light-headed from the sheer pleasure and Ash's devotion, digging her fingers into his ruffled hair, prompting him to kiss and caress her bosom, while his hips took over, properly diving his cock deeper and deeper with each thrust.

Misty felt her world spin, and as she was about to be pushed to her back, she fought it, knowing it will sadly deprave her of his sweet, sweet kisses. She will have more of them later, she thought. For now, she had to win.

Her feet flexed against the ground, and she grabbed Ash's shoulders, prompting him to look up, sporting a quizzical look on his face. Next thing he knew,he was falling back, as Misty properly straddled him, pressing her hands against his chest, feeling not only his beating heart and his erratic breath, but also tightening of muscles, she onlysaw faint traces of before.

Even though he has been pushed back, Ash did not give up, his hands locking onto her hips again, this time having to work against her entire body, as she dictated the tempo of her ride.

Ride which she knew would end soon; Ash sudden collapse delayed his climax, but the constant throbbing she felt reminded him he was catching up with her, making her work so much more difficult. She wanted it to happen at the same time as hers, she was struggling, bouncing furiously to match the tempo of his hips thrashing underneath her, trying to figure out where her own edge is, eluding her as her mind was bombarded with emotions…

She was close, feet, inches, second, minutes from it, as her and his breaths synchronised with their furious bucking. Their eyes locked as Misty leaned gently forward, knowing exactly what he will happen next.

"M-Misty!", the Pokémon Master cried, "I-I-think-I-I'm gonna-"

The same nagging voice awoke in her mind again, dangerously threading on her road to pure bliss. She knew the risk, and what it could mean for them, but she also knew her needs, the heat that burned in her loins… And when their eyes met again, she knew exactly what to say.

[sciencestyled]

Nano-Munchies: How Tiny Tech is Taking Over Your Tacos!

Greetings, beloved learners of the nano-revolution! Gather 'round as we embark on a wild ride through the fantastic, frenzied world of nanotechnology in agriculture. Picture this: you’re scrolling through your TikTok feed, your mind blown by the latest dance challenges, when suddenly – BAM! – a video of a farmer using nano-fertilizers to grow a carrot the size of a baseball bat pops up. This, my dear students, is not some fever dream but the dazzling reality of how nanotechnology is revolutionizing food production. Buckle up, because we’re diving into a whirlwind of nano-fertilizers, nanoparticle pest control, and nanosensors that will make your head spin faster than a TikTok dance craze.

First up, let's talk about nano-fertilizers. Imagine, if you will, tiny, magical particles – no bigger than a grain of sand – infused with the power of a thousand protein shakes, ready to pump up our plants like they’re prepping for a bodybuilding competition. Traditional fertilizers are like that one friend who promises to help you move but only shows up with a single roll of tape. Nano-fertilizers, on the other hand, are like an entire moving crew, armed with boxes, bubble wrap, and sheer determination. These itty-bitty wonders deliver nutrients directly to plant roots with pinpoint accuracy, ensuring every drop of nutrient goodness is absorbed. It’s like feeding your plants a gourmet meal, instead of tossing them a bag of stale chips.

Picture this: Farmer Joe is out in his field, looking at his crops with the same despair you feel when you realize your favorite series has been canceled. But then, like a superhero swooping in, nano-fertilizers save the day! These tiny particles are designed to release nutrients in a controlled manner, meaning plants get a steady diet of all the good stuff they need to grow big and strong. It's like upgrading from a Flintstones vitamin to a multivitamin that actually gives you superpowers. The result? Crops that are healthier, more resilient, and yield more produce than ever before. Move over, Jolly Green Giant; there’s a new kid in town!

But wait, there’s more! Let’s talk pest control. Traditional pesticides are about as subtle as a sledgehammer – sure, they get the job done, but they also tend to wreak havoc on everything around them. Enter nanoparticles, the ninjas of the agricultural world. These sneaky little guys can be engineered to target pests with the precision of a laser-guided missile, taking out the bad bugs while leaving the beneficial ones to party on. Imagine you’re at a house party and the bouncer (our nanoparticle) only kicks out the rowdy troublemakers, leaving the rest of you to enjoy your avocado toast in peace. It’s a win-win!

Now, I can see the gears turning in your minds. “But how do these nanoparticle ninjas work?” you ask, eyes wide with curiosity. Well, dear students, these particles can be designed to disrupt the pests’ biological processes. It’s like planting a Trojan horse inside the pest, wreaking havoc from within. The pests, blissfully unaware, munch on the nanoparticle-laced bait and – BAM! – they’re done for. And the best part? These nanoparticles can be engineered to break down into harmless substances, making them eco-friendly. It’s pest control that’s effective and won’t leave Mother Earth crying into her compost heap.

And now, onto soil health – because let’s face it, soil is the unsung hero of agriculture. Think of soil as the foundation of a skyscraper. Without a solid foundation, the whole building comes tumbling down faster than a Jenga tower at a frat party. Nanosensors are the ultimate soil detectives, snooping around the dirt to provide real-time data on moisture levels, nutrient content, and even the presence of contaminants. It’s like having Sherlock Holmes, but in nano form, solving the mystery of soil health one particle at a time.

Picture this: a farmer equipped with a high-tech gadget that connects to these nanosensors, providing a constant stream of data about the soil. It’s like having a Fitbit for your fields, telling you exactly when and how much to water, fertilize, or rest your crops. This precision agriculture not only boosts crop yields but also conserves resources. We’re talking about a future where water waste is as outdated as dial-up internet, and farmers are hailed as eco-warriors, saving the planet one field at a time.

Now, let’s tie all this madness together with a delightful bow of nanotechnology education. In the middle of our frenetic journey, it’s essential to remember that understanding this tiny tech is crucial. Just like you wouldn’t trust a surgeon who learned their craft from a YouTube tutorial, we need farmers and scientists who are well-versed in nanotechnology to harness its full potential. Through comprehensive nanotechnology education, we can ensure that these innovations are used responsibly and effectively, creating a sustainable future where our food is abundant, safe, and eco-friendly.

To wrap up our wacky, wild adventure, let’s recap. Nano-fertilizers are the muscle-bound heroes pumping up our plants, nanoparticle pest control is the stealthy ninja taking out the bad guys, and nanosensors are the detectives ensuring our soil is in tip-top shape. Together, these technologies are revolutionizing agriculture, making food production more efficient, sustainable, and downright exciting. So next time you bite into a juicy, perfectly grown tomato, take a moment to thank the tiny tech that made it possible. And remember, in the world of nanotechnology, the small stuff really does make a big difference.

Now, go forth, my brilliantly bonkers students, and spread the gospel of nanotechnology in agriculture! May your crops be bountiful, your pests be vanquished, and your soil be as healthy as a kale smoothie. And don’t forget to share your newfound knowledge with everyone you meet – because the future of food production is nano-sized, and it’s happening right now!

[rocorambles]

Jealousy

Pairing: Atsumu x Reader (Main), Osamu x Reader (Side)

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Rape/Non-Con, Misuse of Duct Tape, Non-Con Bondage, Forced Breeding, Forced Impregnation, Delusional Mindset

Summary: Atsumu is determined to prove that he’s the better twin for you.    

The first time Atsumu meets you he doesn’t remember you so much as he gets stuck on the fact that Osamu is dating someone. Osamu is fucking dating someone and Atsumu is still here single and alone in his late twenties, not a girl anywhere even in sight. It makes him livid as he stares at the identical face gently smiling at you, affectionately holding your hand, looking so damn happy and content. 

What does he have that Atsumu doesn’t? A successful food chain? Cool. But is he a pro-athlete? A medal winning Olympic athlete? One of the best setters in the country? In the world? It’s infuriating to think about and as much as Atsumu loves volleyball, even he dreams of love, marriage, a family of his own late at night when he’s alone on a hotel bed, only Sakusa’s breathing from the other bed in the room keeping him company. 

And those thoughts consume him long after he bids farewell to Osamu and you and suddenly the MSBY Jackals are in an uproar as every team member takes turns being sexiled by their blond setter when they’re off at their away games, as Atsumu nonchalantly strolls into the locker rooms to prep for practice, back littered with scratch marks that Bokuto tries to shield from Hinata’s eyes when the orange haired athlete curiously asks when Atsumu got a cat. 

Girl after girl walks in and out of his bed, his life. Most never lasting more than a night, a few returning for a couple more rounds in the bedsheets, one even manages to interest him enough to grab a cup of coffee with. But it’s the same verdict every time. He’s good enough to fool around with and he’s great in bed, but Miya Atsumu is not husband material, not when he’s already married to volleyball. 

The rejection only fuels his inner turmoil and the green eyed monster inside of him grows and grows, festering and spreading throughout him the more he stops attempting his futile attempts and instead turns his energy to loitering around Osamu and you, inviting himself over for dinners after practice, trying his hand at helping you in the kitchen for brunch on the weekends, crashing in your guest bedroom to the point that Osamu and you gift him a spare key to your shared home. 

Neither of you think much of it, Osamu joking to you privately that this is just Atsumu being the needy emotional brother he really is while you’re just glad to be able to get to know Osamu’s family better. So none of you notice how brown eyes inquisitively trail after the both of you, watching how the two of you seamlessly work out both your hectic lives, never letting the long hours at your job or Osamu’s restaurant get in the way of your relationship, always directing a warm smile or gaze at the other despite how obviously exhausted or far away from a good mood you’re in. 

And Atsumu lets himself believe that this could be his as he hungrily stares at the way you gently caress his brother’s hand, the affection in your gaze as you tenderly kiss him on the lips, the playful wink you give his twin when you tell him you’re getting ready for bed. He lets himself dream that it’s him who you direct those loving gazes to as you cheerfully greet him in the morning, handing him a coffee made just the way he likes it, placing a plate full of delicious piping hot food in front of him. He lets his hand wander down his shorts at night, straining to hear every detail, every decibel of your moans as Osamu and you make love at night, closing his eyes and stroking his cock as he imagines it’s him who’s forcing those beautiful cries from your mouth. 

But it’s not all a picture perfect paradise and Atsumu carefully listens in, alerted by the raising voices he hears through the walls as more and more time passes by. He’d noticed the growing tension in the house, noticed how the two of you were less affectionate, almost awkwardly shuffling around each other when both of you were home from work these past few months. But he couldn’t think of what could have caused both of you to act so strangely, so suddenly, when everything had seemed so swell. 

Curiosity has him placing his ear on the wall and he winces when he hears you shout, anger and hurt in your voice that makes his heart clench painfully, asking when Osamu was going to propose, telling his brother how you’re sick of waiting, how you want to get married and have kids soon. Something shattering inside of him when your voice becomes small and hesitant. 

“I thought that’s what you wanted too, Osamu. Isn’t that why we decided to start living together?”

He expects his brother to leap at the opportunity, to reassure you, yes, absolutely yes, we can get married right away. He knows that if their positions were switched, that’s what he would be doing. But his jaw drops in disbelief, morphing into a scowl when Osamu pleads for you to calm down, to be patient. 

“I do want that. But just not right now.”

“If not now, when? We’re not getting any younger, Osamu.” 

“But my chain is in talks of expanding and there’s so much going on. I just don’t have time-”

There’s a heavy silence as Osamu is quick to snap his mouth shut and Atsumu knows he’s cursing himself for the slip of his tongue, already knows the next words that are going to come out of your mouth, words he himself is all too familiar with from his own past failed relationships. 

“You just don’t have time for us? Me?” 

“That’s not what I meant…”

But it’s too late and Atsumu flinches when he hears loud angry movement, Osamu’s voice imploring you to calm down and stop what you’re doing to no avail as you stomp out of the house, slamming the front door behind you as you make your way to a friend’s house to spend the night apart. 

No one speaks of that night after you return to the house the next day and the three of you continue as normal. Or at least as normal as you can be after an unresolved disagreement that your relationship ultimately hinges around continues ticking like a time bomb in everyone’s minds. And it finally counts down to zero when Osamu packs his bags and plants a cold chaste kiss on your lips before heading to the airport and making his way to seal the deal on the restaurant expansion that’s taken over his entire life. 

Maybe it’s Atsumu’s fault that the two of you are drunk out of your minds, sprawled out on the living room floor. Scratch that. It’s definitely Atsumu’s fault and he drunkenly smiles at how out of it you are, heart warming at the giddy genuine smile spread across your face, happiness in your eyes that he hasn’t seen ever since that argument Osamu and you had. And oh, he didn’t mean to say that out loud and he panics, quickly sobering up when your smile falls at his words, eyes glazed in reminiscence as you think of that night. 

Atsumu isn’t known for his patience, but he waits, not uttering a single word, not moving an inch as you open yourself up to him, telling him your hopes and dreams that so closely match his own of a loving relationship, marriage, family, sharing about the argument Osamu and you had (unknowing of the fact that Atsumu already knows far more than he should). But when you frustratedly laugh at yourself, asking him rhetorically if you’re just being silly and naive, if you’re just a grown woman trying to fulfill a little girl’s childish dream, you’re stunned by the fierce denial from the blonde athlete determinedly staring at you.

“No. You’re not being silly or naive. ‘Samu’s being the idiot. Any man would be lucky and proud to have you as his wife and to create a family with you.”

Those words resonate with you, linger in your mind, further branded into your memory by the sheer sincerity Atsumu drowned them in. And maybe that’s why you find it impossible to play house anymore, find it impossible to live a forced and fake lie when you’re not truly happy anymore. It’s hard, heartbreakingly so, to part ways with the silver haired man when he still holds a part of your heart, but it’s for the best. Why continue when neither of you are on the same page in the long run? Why waste more precious years when you can actively work towards your desired future with someone else who wants the same things as you? 

It’s logical. It makes sense. And yet when you meet up with Atsumu at his apartment for dinner one night to catch up a few months or so after the break up you’re still doubting your decision. 

You had been surprised the blond setter had been so adamant about keeping in touch even after his brother and you separated, but if you’re honest, he’s surprisingly sweet and caring, someone you consider a true friend. So as awkward as it might seem to outsiders, the two of you remain in close contact and you happily agree to his invite when both your busy schedules finally match up. 

But as much as you like Atsumu, the two of you really need to stop drinking so much when you see each other and you let out a cry of frustration when your eyes immediately tear up when Atsumu casually asks how you’re doing as both of you sprawl out on his couch, trying to wave away his worried face as he hovers far too close to you, telling him it’s just the alcohol making you more emotional than usual. 

And you still blame all the drinks he had generously kept refilling for you for the way you sob and cling onto him as he wraps you in a tight hug, telling him how you worry all the time about whether or not you made the right decision to break up with Osamu, whether or not you’re ever going to find someone else, ever going to get married, ever going to have that dream romance you’ve always wanted, ever going to have the happy full family you’ve always yearned for. 

It all comes out of you so easily. But everything with Atsumu has always come easy and you don’t think much of it, finding comfort in his solid presence as he continues to hold you, letting him readjust and find a comfortable position-

You scramble to separate from him when lips tenderly meet yours, limbs flailing as you shove the man away from you, eyes comically wide open as you stare agape at Atsumu. 

“What are you- We can’t- No no no. All of this is wrong. This would KILL Osamu-”

Something inside of Atsumu snaps when he hears his brother’s name from your lips. Even after all this time, you’re still thinking of him? You still care about him? When the better twin is right in front of your fucking face? 

He doesn’t even register he’s shouting those questions in your face, barely registering your terrified eyes as you try to shrink away from him. But your movement of pulling away from him snaps him back to reality and reflexes has his hand twisting in your hair, grabbing you by your roots, fury making him numb to the way you desperately claw at his grip as he drags you to his bedroom. 

You’re too focused on soothing your aching skull when he finally releases you by throwing you onto his bed and pitiful tears stream down your face as you gingerly hold your head, ignorant of how the athlete is rummaging through his closet. In hindsight you’ll wonder why you didn’t try to run while his back was turned, although you already know the answer. This is just Atsumu in one of his moods. He didn’t mean to hurt you. He’ll apologize in just a second. Those are the thoughts fleeting through your mind amidst the sore ache Atsumu has left behind. 

But a warning bell rings relentlessly inside of you as you finally look up when you sense him approaching you, a thick roll of silver duct tape in his hands. 

Had Atsumu always looked so...intimidating?

You try to fight back as you’re suddenly pinned to the bed by a muscular body, flailing and thrashing as calloused hands hold your arms above your hand, tightly wrapping your wrists together, looping extra lengths of the tape around the headboard, securely fastening your arms up and out of the way. But it’s useless, pathetic really, although Atsumu thinks there’s something adorable about how hard you’re trying, only to be easily batted away by his much stronger body as he tears off your clothes and bends your knees, taping your calves to your thighs, one side at a time until both your legs are bound. 

And then there’s silence and stillness other than your wriggling tied form as Atsumu sits back and admires the view of your naked body, reality so much more lucious and gorgeous than he had ever imagined. You struggle against your tight restraints, recoiling as brown eyes leer at you, ravenously devouring the sight of your heaving breasts, raking down your figure before finally landing on your bare pussy on full display as his hands spread your bound legs on either side of you, palms searing your inner thighs with their unwanted warmth as he holds you open. 

One day he won’t need the resilient tape to hold you down and keep you still. One day you’ll let him have you of your own free will. One day you’ll see that he was always the one for you. But he can’t help but feel that there’s something breathtaking about how vulnerable and pretty you are, laid out for him like a wrapped present, something filthily attractive about how striking the silver stripes are against your skin. 

One day he won’t need the resilient tape...but that doesn’t mean he'll stop using it. 

You shudder as he trails his fingers over the duct tape, grinning at you all the while. 

“Can’t have you moving too much if I’m going to breed you. You’ll make all my cum spill out of you.”

He tsks when you frantically struggle at his words, pathetic begs and pleads spilling from your lips as dread fills you from learning exactly what Atsumu has planned for you and suddenly you’re all too aware of just how exposed you are, how tight the front of his pants look as his erection presses against the fabric, how far too close he is to your most intimate part. And you sob as he leans on top of you, pressing his toned body against yours, something hard pressing against your bare pussy as he captures your lips in a kiss to silence you. 

“I thought you would be more thankful considering how you were practically in my arms begging me for kids not even a hour ago. And now I’m here ready to give you what you want and you’re making such a fuss.” 

He rolls his eyes, scoffing as you only sob even harder, body shaking and trembling, sniveling as you stare up at him with teary eyes, begging him to stop. 

“Oh shut up. What? Are you worried about the order of things? Worried I’ll just knock you up and leave you alone? Don’t be stupid. I’ll make sure to put a ring on your finger and marry you after this. Who cares about the order of things when the end result is the same.” 

Your mouth opens and shuts a few times, unsure where to even begin telling him just how wrong his reasoning is, unsure how to even process his words. Ring? Marry? What-

But thoughts fly out of your head when a hungry mouth suddenly descends on your breasts, harshly sucking a nipple between wet lips, fingers roughly twisting and pulling at your other nipple and you wail at the jolt of sudden stimulation, too focused on the tongue lapping at your nipples and lances of arousal swirling inside of you to notice how his free hand is shoving his pants and boxers down and off. 

You hate how quick you are to melt into the delirious pleasure, body craving for the touch of another, to be brought to new heights by another after being left to your own devices for the past few months and you can feel your pussy clench and throb, feeling so exposed and empty, practically begging to be stuffed full as slick begins to form between your legs. And as if Atsumu can hear your body’s silent cry for more, he begins to push the tip of his cock inside of you and your back arches, mouth instinctively opening as he takes his time, pressing past your tight opening, slipping further and further inside of you until he’s finally fully sheathed inside of you, letting your body adjust to him as he continues licking and sucking on your breasts, groaning as he feels your tight walls clamp around him with every move of his mouth. 

Atsumu is not known for his patience, but he tries his damn best to take it as slow as he bearably can for you, dragging his cock back and forth against your gummy walls, constantly adjusting the angle of his hips with every stroke until you’re crying out, and he smirks triumphantly, memorizing the exact position and angle that has you seeing stars as he continuously hits that spongy spot inside of you. And all it takes is for his hand to slide between the two of you and gently circle your clit as he continues his steady assault to have you breaking to pieces underneath him, garbled versions of his name escaping your mouth as your orgasm washes over you in heavy tall waves, his own release joining with yours as your pussy convulses and milks him of his sticky white liquid. 

As post-coital bliss disintegrates, shame and relief flood through you, shame for enjoying it, relief that this ordeal is finally over and you wait. Wait for him to remove the tape. Wait for him to pull out of you. Grimacing as he affectionately nuzzles you and litters your face with kisses. But you panic, pure fear flooding through you when you feel his cock twitching inside of you once more, growing inside of you again. 

“You didn’t think we were done, did you? Need to make sure I fill you with so much cum that your body has no choice but to get pregnant.”

And he stays true to his words, fucking you over and over again, sometimes hard and rough, sometimes passionate and sensual, sometimes soft and gentle, but always finishing inside of you, adding to the splattered pooling mess inside of you. You feel disgusting, the increasingly wet noises as he thrusts in and out of the sticky wet mess inside of you permeating throughout the room, stomach feeling so bloated with cum that you swear you must be pregnant already. 

Quiet, relieved sobs wrack your body when the weight on top of you finally lifts, when he finally pulls out of you and your body slumps down, all the tension leaving it, discomfort taking its place as you feel a torrent of liquid move to rush out of your overfilled cunt, the beginnings of it already starting to trickle out. But despite your aching dry throat, you manage to let out a strangled cry of disbelief when your hips are uncomfortably raised up, upper body almost folded in half as Atsumu keeps your glistening pussy upright, not allowing even a single drop more to escape. 

And in this new position you have no choice but to watch, anxiety coursing through you when he tears off another piece of duct tape, chest hyperventilating as he places it over your gaping hole, effectively sealing you shut and despite the fact that you thought you had no more tears left to shed, new salty teardrops slide down your cheeks at the debauched site of your own pussy being treated as nothing more than an object, a receptacle for his seed, his beaming smug face between your legs only adding to your humiliation as he smiles down at his handiwork. 

All you can do is mindlessly stare when he directs his smile at you, verbally praising himself for how smart he is for finding a way to keep his cum inside of you and making sure all his hard work doesn’t go to waste, mind and body feeling numb and broken as he finally lets your body lay fully back on the bed, slumping down next to you in exhaustion and cuddling your listless and still bound figure. 

“We can go pick out rings together tomorrow, okay? Maybe try a few more times for some runts after. You think the more I cum in you, the better the chance that you’ll have twins?”

You don’t know, but you have a sinking feeling that you’ll soon be finding out.

[xaharadesert]

Badass & Chill MC - Headcanon

Arcana Characters (Main 6) x MC

A/N: This one is for @sam-gad, although Tumblr won’t let me tag them for some reason!! They were very helpful in determining where I would take this prompt! The premise is fairly self explanatory— MC who is chill for the most part, but can absolutely kick anyone’s butt if necessary! Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes :) requests are open! And thank you everyone who has continued to send in support over this past week, it means the world to me!

❤️Julian❤️

Oh, this man is more than excited to find out that you can destroy anyone in a fight

When he first met you, and saw how relaxed you seemed to be, he was worried that you wouldn’t fit well with his more… dangerous lifestyle

But the moment the two of you had ended up in danger, with seemingly no way out, you practically changed into a different person

He had been ready to defend the both of you, but clearly there was no need

From then on, it was usually you who would do most of the fighting (Julian would do his best to help, but let’s be real, you could probably take down two or three people in the time it took him to take down one)

Julian would likely find himself getting injured or arrested significantly less than before, which he would only be mildly disappointed about

When you weren’t helping him out in a fight, your relatively chill demeanour would certainly help keep him from doing anything more reckless than necessary

In personality, you seemed to be opposites, but your lifestyles complimented each other perfectly

Where you will calm, he was dramatic, and where he was clumsy, you were infallible

🧡Portia🧡

Admittedly, Portia isn’t exactly the kind of woman to need much help in a fight

She more than makes up for her lack of combat training with enthusiasm, and, honestly, most people would flee after she tries to bite them

However, having someone as skilled as you around for when some stubborn jerks refuse to back down is always a good idea

Portia is super excited to see how awesome you are in a fight, and absolutely wants to learn some of your cooler moves

(You might have to break her heart a little by telling her it takes a very long time to learn, but she’s nothing if not determined)

Your relaxed personality is a big help to her in day to day life, seeing as she’s so excitable

That’s not to say her enthusiasm is a bad thing, it’s just good to have someone around who can keep a level head and work through things calmly when she tries to charge ahead with nothing but her emotions

You two balance each other out perfectly— she makes sure your day to day life is exciting, and you make sure the adventures you take her on are as safe as possible

💛Lucio💛

As we all know, Lucio is absolutely one to talk about his past battles; or, more specifically, one to tell grand tales about his many glorious victories

With that being said, you would likely allow him to ramble on about himself, not too concerned about comparing your own skills to his

So when the moment to fight comes, and Lucio tries to step in front of you in an attempt to protect you, and you absolutely demolish the enemy within moments, suffice to say, he was shocked (and maybe a bit disappointed he didn’t get to show off)

He shakes off his initial surprise easily enough, and immediately starts declaring that “of course you’re one of the strongest warriors to walk the Earth, I have impeccable taste in romantic partners”

(And let’s be honest, he’s only all the more attracted to you after he finds out how amazing you are in battle)

He brags to everyone he meets that his partner is an undefeated champion of combat, even if you may be significantly more humble

Admittedly, he is slightly insecure about the fact that you could beat even him in a fight— he always prided himself on his combat ability, and thought it would be one of his more charming aspects that he could bring to the relationship

If you agree to spar with him, it might be in your relationship’s best interest to let him win a round or two, if only to motivate him into practicing harder until he really can defeat you

You having a more calm approach to life definitely helps keep Lucio grounded; he sometimes struggles with his temper and pride, and having you with him helps him to keep himself from flying off the handle at whoever dared breathe wrong in his direction

💚Muriel💚

You never lose a fight? Thank goodness, then he can let you handle yourself

Muriel doesn’t enjoy fighting, and generally prefers to not be involved at all, but he knew that if it really came down to it, he would protect you however necessary

But when he found out that you were more than capable of looking after yourself, his relief was monumental

He was still somewhat irrationally nervous about you going to dangerous locations alone, and insisted on accompanying you, but every time he witnessed you knocking someone out it only served to reassure him that you genuinely would be fine without him

Furthermore, your calm personality helped reduce his anxieties greatly

Spending time with you, enjoying the simple pleasures of life, and seeing how you were supposedly never really worried about anything brought him great amounts of comfort

You were like a rock he could always rely on for support: unshakable, strong, and dependable

Honestly, not a lot of people picked fights with the two of you

Between your completely relaxed demeanour in even the most threatening of circumstances, and Muriel’s sheer size and intimidating presence, most people did their best to stay out of your way

💙Asra💙

Asra is, perhaps, the only person who could rival your calmness on a day to day basis

The two of you seem to be completely in sync with your emotions (even without the help of your shared heart), and constantly exist in a state of relaxation

Even when you journey to the far ends of the Earth, the two of you seem to be completely comfortable with whatever situation you find yourselves in

You could be kidnapped and tied up in the back of a wagon, and you’d be joking with each other, seemingly not at all concerned with the circumstances

Of course, this is largely in part of the fact that both you and Asra now you could destroy anyone you really wanted to

Not that you would, but you absolutely could

Asra feels very reassured by the fact that he doesn’t have to protect you, even if he wants to do so anyway (although, the exception is anytime you appear to be sick, at which time he panics and refuses to allow you to do anything that may make it worse)

In all honesty, despite your skill, Asra doesn’t particularly want to encourage fighting

He would much prefer the two of you to cuddle up in the shop, drinking tea, and discussing what you did in the few parts of the day you weren’t together

💜Nadia💜

Admittedly, she’s a bit worried when she first witnesses your prowess on the battlefield

As incredible as your skills are, she worries about what you will do with him (her past with Lucio still makes her anxious, no matter how irrational the thought may be)

However, she’s greatly reassured when she sees how calm you are otherwise

She’s grateful to have someone relaxed in her life, to remind her to slow down and process what’s happening in her life, if even for a moment

Nadia enjoys hearing about your perspective on topics that are often emotionally charged— you seem to be able to remain level-headed when her couriers cannot

She also enjoys sparring with you when she has some time off

It’s a great way to relieve stress, and, since you’re a much more impressive fighter than she is (as outlandish as that may seem), she feels as though she’s actively improving for each moment longer she manages to stand against you

Please don’t go easy on her, she doesn’t appreciate being condescended to, and she’s eager to learn

Nadia appreciates that the two of you have so much to offer each other; learning and growing together is one of Nadia’s favourite parts of your relationship

[littleoddwriter]

Hi can I request a zsasz mask x male reader where reader gets in a argument with victor and roman and reader just gets tired of their bull so he goes to get ready for his match (readers a boxer) and it's a big match for him. After being mad for a bit they go to the match and see that reader is injured really badly but keeps fighting anyway cause he's going to win no matter what.

Match | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz x Male!Reader | ZsaszMask x Male!Reader

I am so sorry it took me this long! I hope you're still interested in it and enjoy what I've done with your request! Again, I apologise for taking so long.

summary; See above.

notes; TW // Open Wounds; Blood; Fights. Brief Mention of Sex in the end. Polyamorous/-sexual relationship; Declarations of Love.

Fuming, your blood boiling under your skin, and shaking with the force of your anger and the effort of holding it back, you got ready to go out for your boxing match in an hour. You clenched your jaw, almost painfully so, as you zipped up your bag. Then you practically stomped out of your room and the penthouse, slamming the door behind yourself.

Fucking Roman and Victor.

While you got fully dressed and prepared for your match, you thought about what had gotten you so angry in the first place.

It was a stupid fight with Sionis and Zsasz.

All you did was bring to their attention that they could at least try to pay more attention to you as well, and actually show you that they liked you, that they liked having you around.

Roman flew off the handle right after it had left your lips, which wasn’t surprising, but it didn’t help your situation and only agitated you. So you yelled right back at him. Victor, always so fucking protective of Roman, got a bit physical, grabbing your wrist in a bruising tight grip glaring at you and telling you off in his deep, gravelly voice. You weren’t scared of him, though.

So you just twisted your arm out of his tight grip and shoved him, yelling at both of them now that this was exactly what you meant. They were always an item, even in a fight; they ganged up on you, instead of including and actually talking to you, instead of looking for a solution and being open for suggestions.

In a way, you wished you hadn’t brought it up at all, but it needed to be said, no matter what. You were unhappy with the way things were at the moment and you didn’t just want to break up with them over it. You loved them after all. You just wished they’d show you they loved you, too. And now you might have just ruined all chances of that. Fuck, they were probably packing your things while you were here, and throwing you out the moment you’d get back.

“Y/N, you’re up in 10,” your coach told you and you nodded.

Taking a few deep breaths, you shook your head to clear it of the fight. The match was more important now. You couldn’t let something like this ruin your chances of winning, although the anger that was still thrumming through your body might help you.

All the while, Roman and Victor have stayed home. Sionis had been blinded by rage after he’s heard you leave. He was screaming and trashing things.

Zsasz could just barely get through to him at all, breathing a quiet sigh of relief, when he finally did, holding onto Roman’s wrists and seeking intense eye contact with him, so he could bring him back to the real world, the here and now.

Breathing heavily, Roman’s face was still set in a deep scowl, frowning, his eyes piercing with anger, yet still a little glazed over from how overwhelming it was.

“Do you think he’s right, Victor?” he asked eventually, his voice broken and raw, abused from all his screaming.

“Maybe,” Zsasz conceded. He hated to think that anyone but Roman and he himself could ever be right, but he had to admit that they may have neglected you a little bit.

“Fuck.” It was weak, but carried all of Roman’s frustration nonetheless.

“We need to make it up to him. Where did he go anyway?” he continued after a short moment.

“Match. Big one tonight, remember?”

“Right, of course. Why the fuck couldn’t he have chosen any other fucking day to bring this up?”

Zsasz just shrugged, not knowing a good answer to that. While he knew Sionis better than he knew himself, Victor still struggled to get on that level with you, too.

“Whatever. Get dressed. We’re going to that match and make it up to him afterwards, ‘kay?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

When they arrived and got into the front row (thank fuck for their connections and having people naturally fear them, so that they made way), you have already been far into your match. Both of them took in the sight of you in your element.

As Roman got a better look at your front, though, he immediately grabbed onto Victor’s arm, tightly. “What the fuck?!” he muttered.

You were bleeding out of your mouth and a pretty big gash on your forehead. It was a lot of blood, too. He wondered if you had even noticed it, or if you were just too focused on winning that you didn’t take in anything but your opponent anymore. It has happened before.

“He’s going to get fucking killed if he keeps going,” Roman hissed.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s tough, you know that.”

Sionis shot Victor a piercing glare. “Yeah, and everyone has a limit, even you and me. Especially he, though! Fuck!” His grip on Zsasz’s arm only tightened, sure to leave a bruise.

“It’s not his time yet, I promise.” With that, Roman loosened his hold just slightly. He knew Victor wouldn’t ever lie to him, and he also knew that he had a very well working intuition for these things, so he believed him.

For all it was worth, Sionis knew he couldn’t stop it, anyway. You were too stubborn and determined to win; you would fight until you truly dropped dead if you had to.

Fortunately for him, another right hook from you had your opponent fall back to the ground, and not getting back up within the required 10 seconds.

You had won.

Booming loud cheers erupted around the facility. Victor and Roman cheered for you, too, while relief washed over Sionis in waves.

After a couple of minutes you were led away by your coach, back to the locker rooms. You sat down on the bench, pressing a clean towel to the gash on your forehead.

“You really need to stop doing that, Y/N,” your coach chided you.

“Yeah, yeah, next time,” you muttered.

“You’ve said that the last five times already. Get a grip on yourself, or else you can look for a different coach. I don’t want your blood on my hands, son.”

You rolled your eyes, “Don’t worry. I promise it won’t happen again. Okay?”

“Fine–,” your coach probably wanted to say something else, but was interrupted by Roman and Victor coming into the room.

Wait, what the fuck were they doing here anyway?

“What the fuck,” you greeted them.

“We should be the ones saying that, Y/N,” Roman replied, frowning.

You desperately wanted to smooth out the crease between his eyebrows that had deepened significantly with his frown.

Fuck. No, you were mad at them!

“I suppose I’ll leave you alone then,” your coach said and walked out. He knew when Victor and Roman were with you, he needed to be gone.

Your eyes were fixed on Roman as he walked over and sat down next to you on the bench. Then you looked over to Zsasz, who retrieved the first aid kit from your locker and started getting out supplies to sew your wound closed.

“I thought you’d kick me out,” you near whispered in disbelief.

“What? Fuck, no!” Sionis said, looking as offended as he sounded.

Victor then sat down on your other side where your wound was and gently, yet firmly, grasped your hand and pried out the towel from your grip. Silently, he got to work, disinfecting the skin around the gash, picking out the sterilised tools and thread. Promptly, he started closing up the gash with practiced ease.

It did have some advantages to have someone like him as your boyfriend, you mused.

“Look, uh, I’m sorry for the fight. I should have known better than to- I don’t know. Bring that shit up. I knew it’d upset you.” Now that all your anger was gone, washed away by the sheer presence and treatment you were just receiving from them, you really felt a little stupid and apologetic for it all.

“It’s not your fault. You were right. We didn’t pay you enough attention and you were right to talk about it with us. Or try to, anyway. My bad for exploding like that.” Roman took one of your hands in both of his. Despite the tape and boxing gloves, your knuckles were bruised. He stroked over them with his leather-clad thumb.

“Will you promise me to change it?” you asked then, quietly, cautiously, as if afraid to destroy this dream-like moment.

“I promise to at least try, ‘kay? Is that fair enough for you?”

“Yeah, I guess. And you, Victor?”

Snipping the thread and unpacking a big band-aid to put that over the suture, Zsasz nodded. “Sure, I’ll try. Promise.” He smiled at you, crookedly, his two golden teeth glinting in the fluorescent lights of the locker room.

“Alright then,” you breathed, smiling at them both. “Thank you.”

Instead of answering, they both leaned in and kissed either of your cheeks.

“I love you guys. So much,” you chuckled.

Then you first turned to Victor and kissed him on the lips, passionately, but briefly. After that you did the same with Roman.

“We love you, too,” they said simultaneously, making all three of you laugh. It was a magical moment, really. And in the back of your head, you were a little rattled at them admitting they loved you. It was the first time they had ever uttered these words to you.

The fight between you completely forgotten now, you were only eager to get back home, shower and have make-up sex with them. Maybe even both at the same time, you smiled to yourself.

[lazysublimeengineer]

you bring color to my monochrome world

Summary: Her smile was the burst of psychedelic hues to Takemichi’s dull, greyscale life.

His loyalty and conviction brought out a multitude of colors to Hinata’s sepia life.

His candid, azure irises painted a sheer, rich texture of prismatic hues to Mikey’s void, insipid life.

Characters:Takemichi H., Hinata T., Manjirou S.

“I wish you a kinder sea.”

— Emily Dickinson

i. I will protect you.

Takemichi was drowning.

He was drowning in the sea of doubt and hopelessness. What was he thinking? Going back to the future to undo every mistake that he did there and save Hina? He couldn’t even save himself from Kiyomasa’s punches and roundhouse kicks. He clenched his fists as he stared at the blinking street lights around the city that evening, ignoring the stares from the other people because of his mottled face and bruised body.

However, was it the right thing to do? To run away again? To struggle in vain and restart his stale life all over again?

He could feel his eyes started to water as he remembered Hina’s forthright yet breathtaking smile when she uttered those words at him in the midst of his own torment and wretchedness: I will protect you.

Her smile was the burst of psychedelic hues to Takemichi’s dull, greyscale life.

And he swore to himself that he won’t fail her this time around.

He would save her.

Even it could him his own sanity and life in the long run.

ii. The only way to win is to kill me! I definitely won’t lose!

The first time that Mikey saw Takemichi was when he was in the middle of an underground fight with Kiyomasa which was to be honest looked like a one-sided battle since the poor guy was being treated like a punching bag by his opponent.

He pursed his lips. Underground fights were stupid and he didn’t want to have the name of the Toman to be tainted by a useless slugfest like this. He was about to make his way there when he stopped midway upon hearing the young man’s speeches that was brimming with firmness and determination.

“The only way to win is to kill me! I definitely won’t lose!”

But the one that caught his full attention was his deep blue eyes shining with tenacity and valor. There were only few people around the world that possessed that kind of reckless yet admirable conviction.

He hadn’t seen that kind of eyes and fighting spirit since his late older brother.

That day he had made up his mind. He needed to have a buddy like Takemichi into his life.

He signaled for Draken to make their presence known when Kiyomasa was getting berserk and demanding for a bat.

The crowd went in complete, deathly silence as they presented themselves and was already beating up Kiyomasa after he succinctly made his existence well known in front of Takemichi.

“Takemitchy. See ya later.” He shot him a carefree grin before he turned away and left the place completely. The young man’s befuddled yet ingenuous expression was forever etched into his memory.

His candid, azure irises painted a sheer, rich texture of prismatic hues to Mikey’s void, insipid life.

iii. I ain’t gonna give her up ever again!

Hinata’s hand was trembling.

Nevertheless, she wouldn’t give these people the satisfaction of seeing the fear creeping up slowly within her. She knew that Takemichi was too trustful and forthright to a fault even though it’s also one of the reasons why she had fallen in love with him.

She just can’t stand there and watched the two delinquents domineered him into their own whims and wants whenever they wanted to. She promised Takemichi that she will protect him after all and she always held and fulfill her own promises.

However, she made a mistake of thinking naively that they can get away unscathed after she pulled out a brave yet foolish stunt of slapping the blond right in front of the class. She tried not to shake as she felt a hand gripped her wrist and heard the threat of the tall male with braided locks that made her swallow thickly.

“Hey. Do you want me to kill you, bitch?”

She heard more words and threats that came out of his mouth before she decided to respond and gave him a piece of her mind. Takemichi was always bruised, crestfallen and lost every time she saw him dropping by her flat. She had enough of these people dictating and treating him like their own slaves. Even if this will put her in a risky situation, she will defend and protect the man she loves.

She was now ready for the consequences of her actions but she was taken aback when Takemichi’s hand gripped the tall male’s shoulder firmly and demanded him to let her go. No. No. No. No. She didn’t want Takemichi to suffer and take the brunt of her actions. If she had to intervene again to save him, then she will have to do it even if it could cost this her own life.

She was about to speak again when Takemichi’s next words made her eyes widened briefly and rooted her to the spot.

“I ain’t gonna give her up ever again!”

It was stated with raw conviction and firm temerity that she had to double take and stared up at him with wide eyes that was brimming with amazement and concern for his well-being now that he challenged the two delinquents in front of them.

‘Takemichi-kun…’ Hinata restrained a gasp as she observed Takemichi in silence. It was like seeing another facet of him that was different from what she used to see. But she liked his tenacity and firmness. He may be a crybaby and wore his heart on his sleeve but she knew that his heart was in the right place.

After a troublesome misunderstanding later and apologies pouring from her lips, she waved goodbye to Takemichi and let him hang out with his newfound friends.

His loyalty and conviction brought out a multitude of colors to Hinata’s sepia life.

And she could never get tired of loving him.

iv. That’s why I’m going to create an era for delinquents.

Mikey stared at the horizon in front of them with a serene smile on his face.

Takemichi observed him from a few distances away, looking at the quiescent male who was sitting on the grass. Draken was also standing a few meters away from them, sporting an unflappable expression on his face.

From what he observed so far, Mikey was a delinquent but he was not a bad guy. He was simply a person who possessed some radical beliefs on his own and translated it into his actions that may be questionable to other people due to his carefree yet strong personality and straightforward manner of speaking.

He had also noted some odd yet interesting behavior from the gang leader himself. Even though he’s mostly laid back and insouciant he had a habit of flipping a switch to his moods seamlessly, revealing a hidden cold anger and ruthless nature from within as he had witnessed on how he just beat up Kiyomasa like it was nothing.

There was a saying that the eyes were the mirror to the soul.

But when he looked at Mikey’s onyx eyes it was a bottomless pit of nothingness. Devoid of any emotion and was a vacuum of an empty black hole. He remembered how he stared down at Kiyomasa like he was nothing more than a pathetic insect under his palm that’s waiting to be crush. And how Mikey’s eyes almost suck the life out of him earlier in that tense situation with Hina, almost resigning himself for the inevitable punch that would come from his hands only to be tricked and playfully derided by him that he’s a dummy and he doesn’t hit girls.

Hence, he had reached a conclusion that Mikey was hard to understand and read his intentions sometimes.

However, one thing was for sure: Mikey was not a bad person and he’d be willing to help and save him alongside with Hina to prevent them from meeting their miserable future and demise.

He just had to convince Naoto to get to the bottom of the problem and find out the reason why Mikey turned out the way he was in the future.

“That’s why I’m going to create an era for delinquents.”

The gang leader didn’t need to convince him twice when he asked him to join his gang after he shared his goal and vision to him. Just looking at his charismatic smile and earnestness, Takemichi knew that he was drawn in. Hook. Line. And sinker.

v. You should come with me. I like your guts. Hanagaki Takemichi.

He stood up but he was still looking at the horizon when he finally revealed his vision and intentions to him, uttering his name correctly for the first time.

“You should come with me. I like your guts. Hanagaki Takemichi.”

Mikey couldn’t picture out his exact reaction to his words but he could already surmised the genuine astonishment and wonder that was written on his clear blue eyes. Then the seriousness and determination that would crossed his face afterwards.

That’s the kind of guy Takemichi was. Honest, sincere, determined yet reckless sometimes when it came to defending his beliefs and the people that he mostly cares about. It’s easy to read him. Just dropped a verbal bomb in front of him and he’ll be getting a multitude of interesting expressions from his face.

…and there were times that he isn’t.

He had seen how Takemichi would be like an open book but with hidden pages that was not visible to the naked eye. Takemichi wasn’t a liar yet he was a secretive person as well. He cannot forget his initial reaction when he asked him casually if he’s really a middle schooler in that school. It was an unguarded moment for the young lad and he had a look that screamed of panic and anxiousness.

Interesting.

Even though Takemichi was an emotionally expressive person and vocal about what he believed was right and wrong, he still couldn’t decipher what his real purpose was. All he knew as of the moment was, he was too protective of his girlfriend Hinata who gave him an amazing slap earlier.

He was willing to defend and fight for her even against to the people like them.

What a reckless guy. But he guessed that was a part of Takemichi’s own charm. He couldn’t help but to be intrigue by this person who possessed those electrifying sky-blue irises and a sheer will determination.

‘Hinata huh? What a lucky gal…’ Mikey thought as he gazed at Takemichi’s profile.

For now, he could only basked in the vibrancy and vivid hues of Takemichi’s presence, coloring his monochromatic world with the promises of hope for the future.

(A/N: I don’t own Tokyo Revengers and any of the characters from this franchise. Inspired by the scenes that shows the relationship and interactions of Takemichi with Hinata and Mikey. I believed in Takemikeyhina supremacy but I lived for some drizzle of angst and pining hence the end results of this one shot. Apologies in advance for some grammatical errors and if some of them are OOC as English is not my native language and I’ve tried my best to keep them in character. Reviews are amusing hence I look forward to hear them from you).

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

Visions of sugarplums

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x female reader

Content: Pining, workplace romance, fake dating if you squint, oh no we’re snowed in, mention of food, kissing, making out, mostly-non-explicit sex (under-18s, jog on), so many sweet pet names you’ll get cavities, romantic Jack because apparently I'm a sucker for that

Word count: ~4800 (yeah. Jack is a demanding muse)

Prompt: “Hoping one day you’ll make a dream last” (Let Her Go, Passenger), for @yespolkadotkitty‘s follower celebration writing challenge 🎉

Note: I said canon Whiskey who? This cowboy drinks respect women juice.

Part two: Kentucky welcome Part three: Just say you will

Taglist (if you’d like to be tagged, un-tagged, or make a request for future fics, feel free to let me know): @writemessystarwars @keeper0fthestars @flightlessangelwings @yespolkadotkitty @emesispo @songsformonkeys @beccaplaying

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

A whirl of snow stings your cheek like a slap as you hurry through the grounds of the posh ski resort that sprawls across the valley, dotted with cozy cabins and million-dollar chalets.

Your sheer stockings, low-cut dress, and teetering heels are no match for snow bursts and the wind that cuts through you like a  knife. Inwardly cursing your alter ego and her penchant for skimpy fashions, you tug your thin coat more tightly around you.

This mission was supposed to be a piece of cake. A few days at a luxe resort, posing with your partner as an arms dealer and his girlfriend to get close to your target, and everything was going swimmingly...until your search of the target’s study during a cocktail party was interrupted by two of his security staff making their rounds ahead of schedule. The adrenaline rush of your narrow escape is still humming in your veins.

Beside you, long strides making quick work of the path, Jack Daniels has transformed himself from intelligence agent to wealthy gun runner with the world on a string. The cashmere overcoat that cost more than your first car is the perfect finishing touch to his sharp suit, and his dark good looks stand out even in the hazy moonlight.

Rounding the corner of a chalet, Jack slows his steps to a stroll. A strong arm pulls you flush against his side as he walks, letting an easy laugh float on the wind like you’ve said something witty. Before you have time to wonder what’s going on, another couple materializes in the pool of light from a lamp, squinting against the gusts that throw fresh powder into the air like confetti.

“Evening,” Jack says with a tip of his hat and a winning  smile, the very picture of a genial Southern gentleman. “This weather sure is pickin’ up, ain’t it?”

The couple mutter their agreement  and hurry on their way. Once they’re out of sight Jack’s hand slides to the small of your back, guiding you as you both quicken your strides again. Your teeth are chattering by the time the wind blows you onto the porch of your own cabin, and in a fumble of hands on the doorknob you step together into the blessed stillness of the spacious room.

A  cheerful whistle pierces the air and you turn to find Jack brushing snow off of his black Stetson and favoring you with a lopsided smirk. Even damp with melting snow he manages to be striking, all sultry eyes and dashing mustache and wayward strands of dark hair curling over his  forehead.

“Nothin’ like a little skirmish to get the blood pumping.” He carefully sets the hat on the fireplace mantel to dry. “I feel like...”

“...A tornado in a trailer park,” you finish with him, earning one of those wide, dimpled grins that always dazzles you a little in return.

“Just so,” he says.

“That’s another one in the ‘win’ column.” You try to suppress a shiver as you pull the flash drive that might as well be a smoking gun from the cleavage of your dress. “A few bumps in the road, but we got what we needed.”

Jack ignores the congratulations, stepping close to take your chilled hands between his large ones. His hands aren’t much warmer than yours, but the thrill that trickles down your spine has nothing to do with the cold.

The frown lines between his brows deepen. “Darlin’, you’re colder than a well-digger’s belt buckle. Go on and have yourself a hot shower while I get a fire started and check in with HQ.”

“I can wait, I’ll help you,” you offer.

He shakes his head, already moving toward the fireplace. “Don’t you worry, sugarplum, ol’ Jack’ll have this place snug in no time. You just get comfortable.”

Helpless against the lure of hot water and fuzzy socks, you rummage in your suitcase for a change of clothes. Still, you stop at the bathroom door to look back at Jack where he’s stacking logs with the same determination furrowing his brow as when he’s reviewing dossiers or cleaning his guns.

The two of you have been almost inseparable for the year that you’ve been working for the Statesman agency. Even your code name was assigned with your partnership in mind, a little inside joke Champ never gets tired of telling when he introduces the two best agents in the New York office: “...Because you can’t have a Manhattan without Whiskey and Vermouth!”

Jack comes on as strong as his namesake liquor, but you’ve seen the  steely nature under his flashy Southern charm, the practice behind the effortless shows of skill, the tender heart he hides with bravado.

And he has no idea you’ve fallen in love with him.

As though he can feel your gaze, Jack looks up, his stern expression relaxing. He gives you a wink and waves one hand to shoo you along before getting back to his task.

With a sheepish smile, you duck into the bathroom and turn on the shower before you can do something stupid.

Like asking him to join you.

***

"Mission report, Agent?”

Champ’s projection flickers into the armchair across from Jack, looking like some kind of Halloween effect with the flames dancing over the logs in the fireplace behind him.

“We’ve got all the intel we need.” Jack adjusts his glasses, stretching his legs out in front of him with a sigh. “Agents ready for pickup.”

“Glad to hear it. Where’s Vermouth?”

Jack glances toward the sound of running water. “She’s just showerin’ to warm up. We got caught in a snow flurry coming back to the cabin.”

“That so?” The ghost of a smile flits over Champ’s face. “I thought you’d want to be the one warmin’ her up.”

Jack’s not sure if he’s more annoyed by the teasing, or how quick he is to take the bait. “Champ, this ain’t a Fourth of July picnic. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m on a delicate mission with my partner.”

“Now, don’t get your feathers ruffled, son,” Champ says mildly, reaching for a highball glass. “You confided in me about your feelings, and I’m just givin’ you a little nudge of encouragement.”

“I did not confide in you.” Jack leans forward to jab a finger at the hazy image of his boss. “You tested Ginger’s new truth serum on me.”

Champ’s grin is distinctly unrepentant. “Well, you looked like a man who needed to get somethin’ off his chest. ‘Sides, I won twenty bucks from Tequila for being right.”

Jack only grunts, slumping on the couch again. “Your granny’s special mint julep recipe, my ass.”

“Jack, she’s a pretty girl. Smart as that whip of yours. You think you’ll be the only one to notice? Anybody can see Vermouth thinks the world of you, but one of these days she’ll be wearin’ another man’s ring if you don’t stop pussyfooting around and make good on all that flirtin’ you do.”

That idea settles in Jack’s stomach like a bad oyster.

Of course, Champ has a point.

You are pretty. No, scratch that...beautiful. You’re a hell of a good agent -- the quickest route to Jack’s bad side is to suggest otherwise -- but you’re so much more than that. Your sweetness and spirit are more than a man like him can hope to deserve, but damn if the way your eyes light up when you smile doesn’t thaw something long dormant in his chest.

If he’s been hell-bent on keeping things professional between you, his dreams are anything but. When he closes his eyes he sees you, soft and yearning and his. His to have and hold until he wakes up aching, with your phantom touch lingering on his skin.

He’s starting to forget why professionalism was so important to him in the first place.

“Champ, you got anything else related to this mission? Been a long day here.”

“Matter of fact, I do.” Thankfully, Champ has the grace to go along with the change of subject. “That storm’s kickin’ up too much snow to get a jet in there. You’ll have to hunker down and wait for a pickup in the morning.”

Well, if the universe wants to hand Jack another night in your company, who is he to argue?

“Copy that,” he says out loud. “We’ll await contact in the morning.”

Champ smiles. “Plenty of time for any long-overdue conversations you might want to have.”

“You’re startin’ to break up. Whiskey out.” Jack pulls off the glasses and tosses them unceremoniously onto the coffee table, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Sparing a glance at the darkening sky outside the window, he hauls himself off of the couch to put another log on the fire, trying not to think about how Champ just might be right.

***

When you emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, Jack is lounging on the couch in front of a crackling fire. He’s traded the designer clothes for jeans and a faded button-down shirt and managed to tame his tousled hair. You know he takes pride in his trademark hat and bespoke suit jackets, but there’s something about him when he’s dressed down and softer around the edges that tugs at your heart.

He looks up when you come into the room, cheek dimpling with a smile. “Well, don’t you look like a new woman? Thought you were fixin’ to turn into an icicle on me for a minute, there.”

“Here’s hoping our next assignment involves sandy beaches and umbrella drinks.” You hug your sweater around yourself. “What’s the word from Champ?”

“Looks like we’re here for the night on account of this storm.”

As if on cue, a gust of wind rattles the windows, making you jump.

“Come and have a seat by the fire, sweetheart.” Jack picks something up from the coffee table and waves it at you. “Got a protein bar and some water for you. I don’t know about you, but a handful of damn canapes ain’t going to see me through to morning.”

“You sure know how to wine and dine a girl, cowboy,” you tease, dropping onto the couch.

His laugh is as good-natured as ever. “When we get back home, I’ll cook you the best steak you’ve ever had.”

“The best steak since the last one you cooked for me?"

“Well, a man should always be improvin’ his technique to keep a woman happy.” His dark eyes twinkle with mischief, and you roll your eyes but can’t quite smother a laugh.

The protein bar tastes something like chocolate-flavored chalk but you’re hungry enough to make quick work of it, washing it down with gulps of water. Jack nudges your shoulder and you find him offering his flask with a wry smile.

“’Fraid it’s all I've got in the way of dessert.”

The whiskey inside burns its way down your throat and mellows to spread its warm glow through your chest. With a sigh, you hand back the flask, watching Jack’s throat ripple with the swig he takes before reattaching it to his belt.

The liquor’s fire contrasts with the chill of the day in your bones, setting off a shiver that shudders through your shoulders and arms.

“Honey, you still cold?” Jack’s voice is rough-edged with weariness and whiskey.

“Well, I like a nice walk in the snow as much as the next girl, but I was half naked in that ridiculous outfit,” you say dryly.

One corner of his mouth quirks upward. There’s something unreadable in those fathomless eyes as he watches you for a moment before opening one arm, arching a brow in invitation.

Some tiny, winged creature takes up residence in your chest where your heart should be, and you immediately scold yourself. Jack’s your partner and your friend. Of course he has the decency not to want to see you miserable after a long, cold day.

So you tell yourself, even as you go to him, nestling into his side and letting his arm come around you to hold you close. His hand is relaxed on your shoulder, his thumb trailing back and forth in a gentle rhythm.

“Better?” he murmurs.

You feel like home, you think.

“Better.”

With Jack’s heartbeat steadfast and comforting under your palm, the last of your reserve dissolves. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck and melt into his warmth, breathe in his scent, musky and tinged with leather and sandalwood.

Quiet descends on the room, fleece-soft and a little sleepy, as you stare into the fire and let your mind wander. The hypnotic trace of Jack’s thumb over your shoulder is the only indication that he’s still awake.

You sneak a look at him. His eyes glitter black in the gathering dark and his profile is regal, carved into the stern dips and hollows of a Roman sculpture by the play of light and shadow from the fire.

He’s beautiful. You wonder if anyone’s ever told him.

“Jack?”

He hums in answer, almost the purr of a contented cat.

“Do you ever think about retiring?”

A soft snort of laughter rumbles against you. “You callin’ me old?”

“We both know I’d punch anyone who did,” you scold, giving his chest a playful swat. “I just mean...do you ever imagine doing something else? Something more peaceful?”

“Well, I’ve got a patch of land in Kentucky with a farmhouse. One day I suppose I’ll give up the apartment in the city and trade the Silver Pony in for a ridin’ mower.”

You frown. It’s a jarring reminder that after all this time, Jack still has his secrets. “You do?”

He nods. “It’s been in my family for generations, my granddaddy left it to me. Always thought I’d raise a family there. Houseful of kids, dogs, the whole nine yards,” he says ruefully.

He doesn’t have to tell you why he never did.

The tragic loss of Jack’s wife and unborn son is no secret in the agency, and you might know better than anyone about the hole they left in his life. It’s always broken your heart for him, but the idea of this family home that sits empty but for his ghosts makes it suddenly, achingly easy to imagine Jack building a cradle in the barn and reading bedtime stories and teaching little ones to ride their first horses.

“Maybe it’s not too late,” you offer. “You never know.”

He squeezes your shoulder for an instant, a silent recognition of your kindness, before going on with a breezy sigh. “What about you? You fixin’ to go plant yourself by a pool somewhere with a fancy drink in one hand and a book in the other?”

“What, and not get to play fake criminals at cocktail parties with you?” you scoff. “Not a chance.”

His smile is sharp and sweet as molasses. “Well, I'm always happy to escort the most beautiful woman in the room.”

There’s something so plain and sincere about the sentiment that you’re taken aback.

Jack throws around compliments like other people talk about the weather. But you know when he’s just greasing the wheels of conversation, filling the space between words...and this isn’t it.

Ignoring the rush of heat into your cheeks, you default to the safety of humor. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Agent Whiskey.”

The smirk, the laugh, the sly innuendo you’re expecting don’t come. He shifts to look at you, so close and so handsome it hurts, and the naked admiration in his eyes makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Ain’t flattery, sugarplum.” His thumb travels fleetingly to the bare skin of your neck above the collar of your sweater. “You’re as pretty as a Kentucky sunrise and twice as bright, and that’s the truth.”

“Jack, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me...that anyone’s ever said to me,” you blurt out, and mean it.

His dimple deepens, and a dash of his usual devilish charm flashes across his face. “Well, if we’re bein’ honest with each other, I must confess to thinkin’ lots of complimentary things about you.”

You can barely hear him over the hammering of your heart.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls. The flicker of his glance to your lips is so quick, you could almost miss it.

But you don’t.

Maybe it’s the whiskey, maybe it’s the wind wailing in the eaves, maybe it’s the thrill of almost being caught by the bad guys, but something prods you on, dares you to play with fire. Your hand shifts almost imperceptibly on his chest, letting the tip of one finger find the warm, tanned skin at the open neck of his shirt.

“And what are you thinking right now?”

Something hot and swaggering flares in his eyes and you know, you know he’s picked up your gauntlet.

“Well, sweetheart...” His hand moves from your shoulder, trailing lazily to the nape of your neck. He tilts his head to watch goosebumps erupt in the wake of his touch before turning that smoldering gaze on your face again. “Right now I’m wonderin’ what you’d say if I were to kiss that pretty mouth.”

“I’d probably ask what took you so long.”

You barely finish the sentence before his hands cradle your face and his lips are on yours, stealing your breath with their plush softness.

Nothing in your experience of lukewarm flirtations and flaky boyfriends has prepared you for Jack’s affections. He’s a force of nature, possessive and generous by turns, and his approving hum when you open for him and the hot slide of his tongue against yours have you clinging to him like you’ll drown if you let go.

It’s only when you’re nearly dizzy that you break away for air. “Jack,” you whisper, sinking a novel of emotions into one syllable.

His lips brush your forehead. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. My beautiful girl.”

“I’ve always been your girl, Jack.” You rest your forehead against his, closing your eyes against the glaring, shimmering audacity of the words. “I love you.”

The exhale that fans over your cheek is your name. Your real name, the one thing he almost never calls you. His hand is gentle, tilting your chin up. “Look at me.”

You gather the nerve to lift your eyes to his, only to find them soft. Happy.

“Honey, I love you.” His dimple makes an appearance with an apologetic smile. “Hell, I was smitten from the first handshake. But you were a new agent, and things were workin’ out so well, I never wanted to upset the applecart by tellin’ you so.”

Your laugh is breathless with relief. “Well, then,” you say, toying with the button that stands between you and his bare chest. “I guess we’ve got some lost time to make up for.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” With the agility of his training, he hooks one hand around the back of your knee and the other around your waist and moves you to straddle his lap. His big hands splay across your back to pull you snugly against him as he traces the line of your jaw with his nose. “Now where were we, darlin’?”

Your head is spinning with the nuzzling of his nose over your pulse point and the broad warmth of his chest pressed to yours and the growing hardness under the tight denim of his jeans.

“You were--” You break off in a gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck. “You were kissing me better than anyone else ever has.”

“Baby, I’m gonna make you forget about ever kissin’ anybody else.”

You don’t bother telling him you’re way ahead of him.

Jack’s hair is soft and thick when you weave your fingers into it like you’ve always wanted to, stroking where it hints at curling at the nape. When your hand slips under his collar to shape the strong column of  his neck, caress the vulnerable skin under his jaw where his pulse is thundering in time with yours, the low growl in his throat sends heat spiraling straight to your core.

He surges up to capture your mouth again, a hot, demanding crush of lips and tongues that makes you move restlessly against him, wanting more. He doesn’t miss it, and when he slides one hand to your lower back to press you even closer on his muscled thighs every nerve in your body lights up.

“I want you, Jack,” you plead between kisses. “Need you.”

His hands slide underneath your sweater and come to rest, warm and calloused, on the soft skin over your ribs. When you least expect it, he gentles the kiss into something almost chaste and when he pulls away, just enough to look into your face, his eyes have gone solemn.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart. I will.”

You could burst with love for this man.

“I’ll strangle you with your own lasso if you do.”

Jack barks out a surprised laugh, lighting up with a grin before he goes in for another kiss. “Gonna take care of you, sweet girl.” His voice is silky against your lips. “Gonna give you everything you need.”

His hands move, bringing your sweater with them to whisk it over your head, and you feel the weight of his appreciative gaze roving over your bare skin and sheer bra.

“I can’t remember when I’ve seen anything so gorgeous.” His hands are back at your sides, fingertips teasing at the edges of the purple lace that leaves little to the imagination. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re blown dark and deep with desire. “And I reckon you’d look even prettier spread out for me on that big bed.”

That’s all it takes to have you scrambling to your feet, shimmying out of your leggings and socks as you cover the handful of steps to the luxurious bed that faces the fireplace. You reach for the clasp of your bra, but a click of Jack’s tongue halts your movement.

“Slow down, there, honey.” There’s a hint of command bleeding into his voice that you know well from missions, the sound of him giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed that always kindles a flame in you. “Let your man unwrap his gift.”

A blush warms your cheeks and trickles down your neck as you drop your hands to your sides and wait for him beside the bed, anticipation tingling in your limbs.

Jack has beautiful hands, as graceful as they are strong, but they’ve never been so mesmerizing as they are now, making quick work of his shirt’s buttons and carelessly shedding it to the floor.

You’ve seen him shirtless before -- it’s hardly avoidable when you spend most of your lives together -- but never like this. Never when you’re openly staring at his broad shoulders and lean waist and the smooth planes of his chest, all bronzed in the glow of firelight. And certainly never when he’s calling himself your man and looking at you like he’s starving and you’re his favorite meal.

His arms slide around your waist and the heated press of his skin against yours tears a soft whimper from your throat. He catches it with his mouth, blends it with his own hum of satisfaction in a searing kiss.

He keeps his lips on yours even as he eases you back onto the bed, laying you down on the fluffy comforter with his hand cradling the back of your head. He stands again for as long as it takes to shuck off his jeans and kick them away before he’s crawling over you, settling his warm weight over your body and into your welcoming arms. You’re so swept up in the kiss that reunites you that you barely notice the skillful flick of his fingers that frees you from your bra...until he bends his hot mouth to your breasts and lightning spikes through your veins.

“So perfect,” he praises against your tender skin. “So good for me.”

He’s perfect. Even more than you’ve imagined on the lonely nights when you give yourself over to fantasies just like this, of Jack pressing you into a mattress and murmuring sweet sentiments in that liquor-and-honey voice while his clever hands find you more than ready for him.

A whine escapes you when the cool air of the room suddenly replaces the heat of his body, leaving you bereft.

“Don’t you worry, honey.” Jack’s voice drops an octave, even as a smirk coaxes his dimple out of hiding. “I said I’d take care of you.”

Warm hands slide your panties down your legs and off, and he strips off his own boxers to come back to you in all his naked glory.

His strong biceps cage you in and his mouth finds yours again as your hands roam greedily over golden skin and taut muscles and the hot, hard length between you.

“Jack, you’re so beautiful,” you sigh, over his panting breaths into your neck. “I’ve wanted this. Wanted you, for so long.”

He raises his head to look at you, lush lips parted and eyes blazing. “Honey, you’ve got me. For as long as you’ll have me.”

He kisses you like he’s sealing a promise.

And then he’s inside you, like he belongs there. Maybe he always has.

Every surge of his body, every stroke of his hands, every gritted curse and word of praise pressed to your skin makes stars burst behind your eyelids, and when you’re clutching blindly at his back and keening his name like an incantation, his voice is a desperate rasp in your ear.

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.”

You do. And he does.

And when he grips bruises into your thigh and shudders in your arms and buries a broken declaration of love in your hair, you know beyond a doubt there will never be anyone else.

***

If there’s a heaven, Jack’s pretty sure he's died and gone there to be lying in a cloud of down comforters with you tucked close to his side, head pillowed on his shoulder and legs tangled with his own. The bare skin of your back is petal-soft under his stroking fingers as he watches the firelight dance on the ceiling.

“I love you, Jack,” you murmur, and his heart swells too big for the prison bars of his ribs.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He laces his fingers with yours on his chest, brings them to his lips. “You know, I dreamed about this,” he confesses.

You raise your head, resting your chin on his chest to look at him. “You did?”

“I did. Felt a little guilty about it, if I’m bein’ honest, but I don’t guess I could help it.”

“I won’t hold it against you.” Your eyes sparkle at him in the dim light. “Did I live up to your dreams?”

He smiles, sweeping a stray lock of hair away from your face. “Oh, honey, they couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.”

You look pleased with that answer, nuzzling a kiss into his neck before settling your head on his shoulder again.

“I can’t wait to get you home,” he muses. “Have you in my own bed.”

He feels you smile against his skin. “As many nights as you want, cowboy.”

“Careful, there. I might take you at your word, you’ll go home and find movers at your place.”

You sigh out a laugh that’s music to his ears and draw idle shapes on his skin with your fingertips in the quiet.

“Jack,” you say again, soft as a peach blossom.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Will you take me to that farmhouse sometime?”

His greedy heart can already see you there, breathing life into the place.

You, perched on the kitchen counter, feet swinging in time with your chatter while he cooks for you. Sitting with him on the porch swing to watch the sunset splash its tapestry of pink and orange and lavender across the sky. Soft and sweet underneath him in the big cherry wood bed, greeting the pale glow of morning with sleepy eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

A backyard wedding.

Tiny, mewling cries in the night and your silhouette framed with moonlight from the picture window while you nurse a baby who has Jack’s eyes back to sleep.

The peace that washes over him is too good to be true, too hopeful for his battered heart, too honest for his life of compromises.

He closes his eyes, drinks it in anyway. Claims it. Squeezes you a little closer in his arms.

This is the dream that lasts.

“That’s a promise, sugarplum.”

[smallestchances]

The Fourth Horseman (Thor x Reader)

synopsis:  thor has done everything in his power to be seen as an actual powerhouse and threat to the mobs of new york, but the council of the horsemen are in the way. knowing they could lose everything they’ve built, mor goes to the people she knows can make things happen, and strikes a deal with the apocalypse wives.

word count: 4.9k

a/n: Welcome to the first installment of the Apocalypse wives!! Buckle up for a ride and send in asks when you’re ready for more :)

warnings: cursing, slight smut, mentions of abuse & murder

MASTERLIST /// WIVES!MASTERLIST

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

 You were a lot of things to a lot of people. Some people knew you as a determined spitfire who was fierce, protective, and not afraid to get her hands dirty for the people she loved. They knew you were an amazing friend.

Others knew you were an even worse enemy.

They knew you as an unforgiving bitch who painted her nails with the blood of those who wronged her. You were an unbothered, spoiled witch who wouldn't know humility if it was beneath your red-bottomed heel.

Thor knew that you were all of those things on a good day.

You sat with him now, in the middle of SHIELD. It served as the hottest and the most dangerous club in the state, and therefore your meeting place. Thor's hand is fit snugly around your waist, the sheer panel of your body suit allowing you to feel a semblance of his touch.

He's happy at the moment--genuinely happy and it's something you haven't seen in a long time. You can only look at him fondly, the low light of the club highlighting his jaw and the laugh lines that appear. His eyes twinkle as he talks with Loki, their relationship finally repaired after the trickster was fatally wounded trying to save your husband’s life.

Though you're still skeptical of the mischief maker, you have yet  to remember the last time you saw Thor this happy. Knowing this is the only reason you've allowed Loki to build his way back into your lives, you let him know that you have a dagger with his name on it should his loyalties change again.

As they talk, your eyes can’t help but linger to the exclusive third floor of the club — the circular balconies that complement the hollow interior of the building. The people up there sneer at those below, and you feel your jaw tick. Escorts, wannabes, and the closest inner circles of the underground world are found up there, and you knew that's where Thor belonged.

Three years. Three years, you and Thor had to fight and claw your way to get anywhere in the mafia world, and still you weren't at the top. Thor has already gained throes of power, influence, and support. 

You just had to take him further. 

"He won't be a problem."

Thor's words snap you back to the brothers' conversation, realizing the tone has taken a turn.

"You've only experienced Odin's grace," Loki replies. "He knows how to keep the appearance of kindness. Don't forget that I know his wrath more than anyone else.”

Thor swallows heavily at the reminder of his father's sins. "Loki—“

"No need for pity brother,” Loki interrupts, a genuine smile creeping on his face. "Despite my past, I've finally found a way to win against certain demons. I've gained you, a home, a psychotic sister-in-law—”

You wink at him.

"I'm in a better place than before," Loki concludes. "However, Father sees you taking me in as a personal slight. That, coupled with your growing success—“

"We've become his targets,” Thor finishes.

Those simple words cause the bass of the club music to become white noise. Blinking rapidly, you sit up quickly, leaning forward into Thor's space. "Your father now has you both on a hit list?” The disgust can’t help but drip from your voice. Loki only nods. Your eyes fall to the floor, tracing the patterned tiles as you process the information. "What does Frigga know about this?”

Thor makes a noise at the back of his throat. "Mother was the one who warned us."

You nod, chewing on your lip. "So we take him down first.”

Both men clear their throat sharply, Loki looking around cautiously. “Odin is the oldest living patriarch of the New York’s...companies. He has the support of the Horsemen— taking him down will not be simple."

"Nor should we announce it so blatantly my love," Thor shifts, pulling you onto his lap effortlessly, and his arms never leaving your sides.

"Your coward of a father wants to assassinate his sons because of the power they've gained,” is all you can grit out. “Something has to be done—”

“If we move too quickly, then we risk losing everything,” Loki interrupts. “Odin will declare us as enemies, and per his requests, he'll have the arsenal of Conquest, the men of Famine, and the tactics of Pestilence at his fingertips. Right now, we don't stand a chance.”

You bite the inside of your cheek harder, going through what you know of the Horsemen and their capabilities. You yourself have had little interaction with the infamous mobster, once before you married Thor and once to get Loki out of his clutches of abuse. He’s well known for being the first Horseman to retire instead of die, but his seat of War hasn’t been empty for long.

Frigga, his wife, was the one you knew well and respected. You knew her as a woman who did the best in every circumstance she found herself in, and fell in love with a man who changed too much before she realized what happened. Frigga had one of the largest hearts you knew, and you were certain she was the only reason the Asgardians were still standing as a viable threat.

"Without the council, we can defeat him," Thor mumbles.

Loki answers with a sarcastic laugh, downing the last shot on the table. "Turning the Council on a veteran member is impossible; especially since we don't have an insight into their ranks.” He gestures to the third floor of SHIELD. "We either lay low and build an army...or surrender while we still can."

You scoff at the two suggestions, rolling your eyes only to balk at the fact that Thor has yet to answer. "You can't seriously be considering this,"  you spit at him. At the answering silence, you slide off his lap to the far end of the couch. If we build an army, we’ll be  forced to outsource outside of New York— and that means making the horseman an even bigger enemy for after the war. Don't even get me started on what these potential ‘allies’ will want.”

"And surrendering is not an option,” is all Thor mumbles, his jaw ticking as he rubs his palms together nervously. "Do we strike a deal?”

You stand abruptly, avoiding Thor’s sorrowful stare as you barely announce that  you’re going to grab more drinks. You don’t want to hear another word of their conversation, but their words echo through your head as you descend the stairs to the first floor. Pushing past bodies, your mind barely registers that you pick up the pace when the bar is within eye-distance.

After ordering your drink of choice, you scrub a hand over your face in an attempt to clear all the thoughts in your head. You have half a mind to try to take out Odin yourself and with your bare hands, but you know everything Loki said was right.

Thor was so close to the finish line. He’d tried so hard to establish his reign separate from his father’s, trying to do better for the people and the misfits that found their way to him. Odin had started to spit on the values of being a Horseman, even towards the end of his reign. He allowed his community to fall and even hung Frigga out to deal with his coming consequences, and Thor got tired of it when it got too close to the people he loved.

Just thinking about the night everything came to a head, and how far you all have come, your eyes unconsciously float to the third floor.

There.

There, you find a glimpse of the very men Thor & Loki spoke about. Tony Stark, Conquest; Steve Rogers, Famine; & Bucky Barnes, Pestilence.To the left of them, you find another group that everyone else in the club seems to have looked over.

Stunning under the multicolored lights, their skin tones are radiant as their tailor made attire fit their body types marvelously. They seem to be keeping to themselves, talking to each other in low tones, while holding themselves differently than the escorts around them.

The Wives.

You take a thoughtful sip of your drink as a glimpse of a thought passes through your brain...and you lie in wait to prove your theory. You don’t have to wait long as a commotion brings your attention back to the Horsemen, and you find Conquest and Pestilence unusually close to each other, tempers flaring.

Pestilence gets shoved back by Famine, and just as things comes to a head, faster than lightning, the Wives are there. Sekhmet Stark’s arms have wrapped around Conquest, Hecate Barnes has the attention of Pestilence solely on her, and Kali Rogers has found Famine’s lips on hers.

And that’s the moment that you knew the solution to your problem--well Thor’s problem. You’re almost vibrating in joy as you down the rest of your drink before going back up to the stairs.

Its surprisingly easy to get up to the third floor--just until you make it to the glass doors that separate the landing from the exclusive section.

Straight ahead, on a raised dias, you see that the Wives have returned to their place, with Sekhmet in the center, Kali to her left, and Cate to her right.

Taking a deep breath, you hold your head high and push the glass doors aside--just to be stopped by a bouncer.

“No walk-ins. Exclusive VIP only.”

You simply raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Exclusive Personnel only,” he repeats.

You flash him a wicked smile and tilt your head to the side, trying to give him as much of a condescending look as you can muster. Satisfaction fills you as the bouncer deflates just slightly. You try your luck as you step forward again, but stopped again. 

“Who are you,” he asks, but the waver in his voice gives him away.

You see your window, and cross your arms while pursing your lips. “I’m going to pretend you didn't ask that and let you go this time around.”

He doesn’t move. “I cant let you in.”

“Really? Fine,” you shrug. “Explain to the Wives why you’re keeping them waiting.”

When the bouncer looks back at the women you mentioned, you know he’s exactly where you want him. “I’m going to have to loop back to you--”

You snap your name impatiently, and he mumbles it back with a nod before walking away. You wait with baited breath, knowing that with this stunt you could either end up with a bullet in your skull or the world at your feet.

Your throat tightens when you catch Sekhmet’s gaze.

When the bouncer makes his way back to you, he looks pale and motions with his head for you to follow him. “I’m so sorry (Y/N),” he says. “Right this way.”

You don’t allow yourself to breathe, even as you walk the short path to where you want to be. You feel curious eyes on you, but you don’t shy away from either of them, and instead hold your head higher as if you’re meant to be there--because you were.

Sekhmet stands when you both reach the Wives, a sharp, gleeful smile on her face as she opens her arms up in expectation. “Darling! Hello, so nice to see you again!” 

The pleasantries continue with all the wives until you’ve sat in the middle of them,  and you know it’s the most dangerous place to be.

When the bouncer walks away, the smiles drop. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Is what Sekhmet demands, her eyes focused solely on you. 

You don’t put down your guard, but you cooly reach for one of the full glasses of drinks on the table before all of you. You take your time taking a sip. “I’m someone who knows who you all are,” you say when you’re ready. 

Hecate simply hums in unamusement. “Are we supposed to be impressed?”

“As if the wives of the most powerful men in new york are a secret,” Kali giggles.

You don’t let their words phase you. You hum back in response. “See I know that you’re the very people who keep New York from burning to the ground.”

A surprised silence follow your statement, before Sekhmet picks up the next words quickly and carefully. “I don’t think I know what you mean,” she smiles. 

You roll your eyes. “Mind you, this is coming from someone who understands just what you hold within your palms.”

The next silence stands longer. Hecate leans in, her hands gripping the couch beneath, her eyes intense as they pour into you. “How do you know you’re right?”

You let a small smile slip, and take another sip before gesturing down to where you can see your husband and Loki still speaking intensely. “Thor. I love him to death,  I really do, and there’s not a heart out there that I wouldn’t rip out for him. He has power, a lot of it, and he's starting to develop quite a hold on New York.”

Kali nods. “Thor Odinson. I’ve heard of him.” She tilts her head to the side, looking out into space. “That New Jersey border deal was ingenious, I’m disappointed a Horseman didn’t execute it.”

Her words get grunts of agreement, and pride swells in your chest, 

“You & I both know that Thor didn’t have a hand in that deal until he showed up the day he needed to,” you giggled, and they stare at you openly. 

“Well shit,” Sekhmet laughs out loud, picking up her own glass.

Before you know it, you’re toasting with the most powerful women in New York, laughing with them and even exchanging high fives.

“I told  y’all a man couldn’t pull that off!” Sekhmet cackles. 

Hecate nods. “It was too good to be true.” 

“We didn’t know he had a wife,” Kali winks. 

Smiling with them, the anxiety in your chest lessens. 

“So what do you need?”

Sekhmet’s words bring back the somber mood, and you laugh nervously.  “What do you mean?

Kali speaks up seamlessly. “Thor is the eldest son of Odin. Odin, the retired horseman of War, who controls the upper parts of New York as the Asgardians. If Thor’s wife has enough pussy to show up uninvited to confront us, you can’t expect us to believe you don't want anything.”

Looking at them all, you decide to lay all your cards out on the table. “Odin is going after Thor.”

No one replies, so you continue.

“Loki & Thor have made amends and their father now sees them as a threat to his empire. He’s going to call on the Horsemen to wage War…” you trail off, cursing internally as they exchange looks. “But by the look on your faces I’m guessing he already has.”

Kali only nods.  “He approached them with a meeting this morning. The old dick had the audacity to pull rank and get me thrown out of the room when I spoke against him.” She takes a deep gulp of her drink, her jaw clenching at the memory.

The hope that allowed you to strut your way into the third floor comes back tenfold. “So you aren’t on his side?”  

“Fuck no,`” Hecate snorts.  “I’ve unfortunately seen every side of that man when he and Brock were on the council together and…” she trails off, her eyes distant. “New York has never seen a darker time. How Frigga stays with him, I’ll never understand.” 

“Even with all the power as she has, he won’t let her leave,” you mumble. The conversation comes at a standstill, but a tense once that allows all of you to look in upon your own relationships--and just how bad it could get. Clearing your throat, you go in. “Don’t support him.”

No one answers you, but you see curiosity glint within the eyes of the Wives.

“Talk to the Horsemen,” you continue, sliding to the edge of your seat. “I know you have more sway than I ever could if I talked to them. Don’t allow them to back Odin, let him hang to dry and I’ll take care of the rest with Thor & Loki.”

Kali is the one who answers you. “Unfortunately, they’re not allowed to just sit this one out. If The Horsemen stand aside when something as big as this happens we’ll look like we’re going soft.”

 “And I swear to you,” you promise lowly. “That any retaliation you face will be borne by Thor & I. On the blood of my heart, I will do anything for you if you step back for this and let us take him down.”

Your heart has crawled into your throat, pulsing so strongly you don’t know if you can breathe. They haven’t said no outright, and you could practically taste the possibilities, taste exactly what you & your husband can achieve--

“On your heart?” Hecate repeats.

You nod sternly. “On my heart.”

Hecate and Kali merely look at Sekhmet. She gives you a thoughtful look, and blinks slowly, tipping her head down slightly. “Seems we have a lot to talk about. Will you give us some space?”

The last question is directed at you, and you can’t help but nod vehemently and stand up. “Of course,” you breathe, walking away.

You bite your lip hard enough to force yourself not to look back.

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

Sekhi’s eyes roll into the back of her head as she leans back heavily onto the bathroom mirror. Gripping the edge of the counter tightly, a strangled moan rips out of her throat as her husband’s lips wrapped around her clit, sucking at just the right pressure.  Wetness drips down the junction of her thighs, and still Tony takes it all in stride, moaning vulgarly at her sounds. He lets up only slightly to grab Sekhi’s hand to shove it into his hair, and it gives her enough space to remember that she had another objective when she got him alone.

“We--” She moans when his lips reattach and tug his face away from her core. He lets her breath, only to lap at her cum on her inner thighs. “We have to drop Odin,” She finally breathes out.

He only sighs, pausing to give her a quick peck on the skin he was worshipping. “That is not the name I want on your lips right now.” 

“We cant—Tony!--we can’t endorse him for his war.”

With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly gets up and places both his hands on either side of his wife. He leans in and she automatically reciprocates, lips meeting to exchange tastes. When they finally pull away, Tony speaks. “Since you won’t let it go...why the sudden interest in Odin, and betraying him.”

His words unconsciously allow a memory to flash behind Sekhi’s eyes, and she shakes it away just as quickly as it’s come. “You don't…” She tries to find the words before restarting. “I know he welcomed you into the Horsemen and helped you build your empire...but that man who sat in as War is not the same man today. He’s  an ass, too much of a risk, volatile—”

Tony shrugs. “People say the same about me.”

“Tony, you can’t imagine the things he’s done,” is all she snaps back.  “Since he’s retired he’s—”

Her lips run dry as the memory scratches again. Warm palms cup her chin and bring her gaze to meet warm brown eyes flooded with concern. “He’s what? Baby, has he done something?”

Even though his words are soft, you hear the threat behind it. The underlying danger that follows Conquest. Sekhi reaches up and holds his hands in hers, kissing his palm softly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Tell me—”

“Tony.”

After a moment he backs down and nods solemnly. He drops his hands back to their previous position on the counter. “Okay. Say we don’t back him. You know we have to choose a side in this or we’ll look vulnerable.”

“So choose Thor’s.”

Tony stills in thought before stepping closer to his wife. “I’m listening.”

——-

“If we back Thor, Odin doesn’t stand a chance.”

Steve turns over Kali’s words in his head, rubbing her calf that’s been thrown over his lap. He ignores the bustle of the club around him, the quiet corner they’ve found the perfect setting for their conversation.

“He’d be decimated without too much of a fight,” he mumbles.

“Exactly.” Kali leans closer into him, lacing his fingers with hers at her ankles. “We support Thor, and gain his loyalty now...I’ve heard things. Things stirring in the air about him and how powerful he’s becoming. We show that he’s not a threat, that he's on our side—”

“And he immediately isn’t a threat any more. He becomes an ally.”

“Bingo,” Kali smiles brightly. “And, he’s just reconciled with Loki, meaning he’s got one of the biggest minds in the game on his team.”

Steve nods, turning his head to look her in the eyes. “So what you’re saying is we take him into one of our sectors.”

Kali shakes her head. “I’m saying more than that my love.”

——-

Bucky downs his shot before scrubbing a rough hand down his face. “You’re suggesting he becomes a Horseman.”

Hecate nods. 

Bucky can only sigh while pointing his eyes to heaven. “Doll—”

His wife only groans, wrapping her arms around his waist so that he can’t help but absorb him into her. “You’ve never said no to me before, don’t you dare start now.”

Bucky laughs nervously. “I’m not. But think about it, if we turn against Odin, we’re deliberately breaking the laws that say he’s under our constant protection after he’s left the table. If we break them now, there’s no turning back.”

“You won’t be breaking it! You’ll be bending it.” Hecate shines an innocent smile at him, trying to press her nose into his as their foreheads lie together. “The title is merely passing down onto his son--as it should have, had Odin kept his actions honourable. Thor’ll have the loyalty of  Asgard, Frigga, and the men he has now. No one will fault you.”

Bucky doesn’t answer.

 “Bucky!”

He groans. “I get it doll, I do. I’m as fond of that man as you are, but we’d have to have hard evidence that he’s broken our bylaws before we do. And even if we did, swearing in a new horseman is not a decision only I get to make…” Bucky trails off, sighing with a short laugh. “By the look on your face I’m guessing the girls are already on it.”

“Maybe.” Hecate gives her husband a quick peck on his lips, once, twice, until he melts into her. “Just tell me you’re on my side. You’re with me, aren’t you Buck?”

“Yea doll...I’m with you.”

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

When the bouncer comes down to meet you on the second floor, it takes everything in you to prevent yourself from smiling. You just know. 

As he escorts the three of you onto the third floor of SHIELD, you feel the men beside you tense even as you relax. When the bouncer called you by name, Thor’s eyes haven’t left you. 

“My love,” his deep timber resonates deep within you, caution in his voice. “What’ve you done.”

You meet his gaze levelly. “What needed to be done.”

Your husband doesn’t answer you before staring straight ahead again, the hallways you all turn becoming less and less populated until you find yourself within black marble halls.

“You work quickly,” Loki chuckles lowly in your ear.

“Enough to keep the title of psychotic sister in law?”

He smirks at you. “Seems so.”

The bouncer stops abruptly in front of a heavily bolted door, and after typing in a code it swings open. You lead the way in, but then hang back to grasp onto Thor’s forearm. He allows you to, but he’s tense and you bristle at the fact that he doesn’t respond immediately to your touch.

But the way he angles himself between you and the most powerful mobsters in the room, with the way his fingers flex towards his gun--you know he’s not directly angry at you. 

Sekhmet, Kali and Hecate sit on the opposite side of the room, in a similar set up to the one you infiltrated merely half an hour before. Their faces are nonchalant, but when Sekhemet winks at you, no words can describe the relief and the pure joy that passes through you.

Tony, Steve, & Bucky stand between you and the Wives, and you know you all will fit perfectly.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Tony says cordially, gesturing towards the couches in front of them. Bucky goes off to the side to pour a drink, and Thor’s eyes trail him carefully. “How do you feel about hypotheticals?” 

Loki takes it upon himself to sit first, and you follow, tugging your husband along. Only when you’re both sitting does he reply. 

“I find them fun to indulge in…” He trails off, grasping the glass that Bucky hands him, not even bothering to take a sip before he sets it down.

“Then indulge with us.” Bucky smiles, and within a blink of an eye everyone has guns pulled out on you. 

The tension in the room is palpable, and Thor stands defensively in front of both you and Loki. The latter presses a small knife into your hand, before standing beside his brother. 

“Let’s say you come in here,” Steve smiles, shrugging casually, his grip on his weapon firm. “As an invited guest of the Horsemen. You have the audacity to not drink the wonderful poison Pestilence has poured for you, so things have to get a little messier than intended.”

Tony is the one who continues. “We’re feeling creative, so we shoot you in the kneecaps, to make you helpless. We shoot your wife between the eyes to make it quick. Your brother, however, we make it slow. “ Thor’s whole body clenches tightly. “We get all the information out of him, about your home base, your arsenal, your men--”

“And then we kill him,” Bucky takes it up. “We let you go. You’re no threat, your empire belongs to us, and the most important people in your life are dead.”

“What would you do about it?” Steve finishes.

Thor stays quiet for a really long time. No one takes their eyes off of him, and he takes his time to look Tony, Steve, and Bucky straight in the eye. You wait with baited breath on just exactly he might do, ready to  fight your way out if needed--if he wanted you to.

It’s when he presses his chest directly against the barrel of Tony’s gun that your breath hitches, and you scoot slightly towards him. 

“I’d leave, and thank you for sparing my life,” Thor answers. “A year down the road, I’d have enough physical therapy to start walking again, with a cane most likely. I’d make it a nice one, lightweight but made of vibranium to give it leverage, with the names of who I lost engraved on the stem. Two years down the road, I have all of your whereabouts, your routines, your dealings, your accounts, all under the sole of my shoe.

“Year three, I let you know I’m co ming. But I make it slow. I take out the men around you, so you know I’m on my way, and when I finally get to you?” Thor steps closer, but Tony keeps his gun steady. “I incapacitate you with the head of my cane, just in the right spots of your kneecaps to make it irreversible. I shoot your girls in between the eyes to make it quick, and I kill Rhodey, Sam & Natasha slowly. For them to give me information I already know. When I’m done with them, I kill you all myself, but make sure to watch the life leave your eyes as your blood pools around my feet. The last bullet I’ll leave for myself.”

The standstill is unbearable. Thor’s confessions hang heavily within the air, and it doesn’t dissipate when Tony puts his gun away, the others following suit. 

“Gosh, you’re morbid,” he chuckles. “And three years? Seems a little tedious.”

Everyone goes back to casual stances around the room, but Thor stays clenched in the same spot. Loki looks at him warily, and you notice the way the others see that he hasn’t calmed down.

You get up from your spot on the couch, dragging your hand across the back of his waist leisurely. That simply action causes him to deflate, and he watches you walk over to the Wives, who have a drink ready for you. 

“Personally, I think their smartest plan was getting rid of me,” you declare, and laughs that resonate through the room.

“Getting rid of you? I was the one that they kept around for information,” Loki challenges.

“Mmm, maybe. But obviously they killed the biggest threat first.”

Thor looks at you fondly as everyone laughs again, watching you toast with Sekhmet, Kali & Hecate. 

“As pleasant as this exchange has been,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Is there a reason you brought me here besides to threaten my wife and my brother?”

Kali nudges you on the shoulder, and you take the sign to walk up to him slowly. He presses you into him immediately, and watches as Tony approaches him with a glass of gin. 

When Thor gives it a side glance, he merely rolls his eyes and takes a sip before handing it over. Your husband takes it gladly, but just before he’s about to take a sip, Tony’s words stop him. 

“How do you feel about becoming a Horseman?”

 -----------------

Tags: @angelmashelle​ @fuckinglittlekitten​ @youngdreamer3214​ @rose-bliss​ @amethyst09​ 

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[slytherinsnekxvii]

let's talk about severus snape. he's one of the most controversial characters the internet has to offer, with several blogs, channels and pages dedicated specifically to hating him, despite him having one of the most—if not the most—intriguing character arcs the series has to offer. so, as a result of me coming across far too many of said blogs, channels or pages, here's an extremely detailed explanation of why i like him and think he's easily one of my favourite characters :)

1. he's not that bad of a teacher.

just so you know, i'm a teenage girl fresh out of high school. so, my experience with teachers? still keeps me up at night :)

my family is pretty strict about religion. you can guess what that means. anything that was magic-adjacent, especially something that, god forbid, had an entire school dedicated to witchcraft and wizardry was a hard no if i wanted to have any sort of freedom over the media i paid attention to, and any opportunity to go about my life without being monitored to make sure i wasn't suddenly possessed or something. thanks to this, i ended up secretly reading the philosopher's stone in my last year of primary school. i would've been 11 at the time, just about to turn 12, so a little bit older than harry and co. going on what i'd heard from those who had already read the series, i went in expecting to absolutely despise this man. i went in expecting to read a demon. i finished the book and came out thinking... that really wasn't that bad.

my mom found out, so i didn't get to read the rest of the series until i ended up on the executive committee for my school's book club and my friends were appalled that i'd only read the first book. at this point, i'm still expecting him to get worse and... he just doesn't. when i was in primary school, i had multiple teachers break wooden meter-long rulers across my classmates' backs. the first time it happened, i was in infant year 2 (about 6/7 years old). i had teachers who would insult us, based on anything from hygiene to behaviour to intelligence if you looked at them wrong. my sister (who was three years ahead of me) had a teacher who kept her in hours after school was over because the teacher had a written a note in her workbook upside down, and when my sister corrected her, the teacher made her rewrite it, turning the book each time the note was written so it would never be done the correct way.

in secondary school, i had teachers who would actively humiliate us in front of the class if we didn't do as well as they wanted. i had teachers who would throw markers and whiteboard erasers at us if we did something they didn't like during class. i had a teacher who looked for a friend of mine who was petrified of attention and then mercilessly picked on her until she went to the bathrooms to cry. these are the kinds of teachers that i was used to. so, when i read harry potter and read snape, who would have probably been one of the nicer teachers i met in my lifetime, i thought to myself, he's really not that bad. he's just... strict.

antis claim that he traumatised every kid that ever went through his class, that he straight up abused them and... no. he didn't. all of them are comfortable talking back, they talk during his class, no one trembles when he walks past, except for neville, who usually bore the brunt of snape's anger because he was consistently messing up in a potentially lethal class.

after school, i hated the thought of formal education, so now i'm working until i feel ready to do university. coincidentally, one of my jobs is teaching maths and english to kids writing the end of primary and secondary school exams. given the sheer amount of annoyance i feel sometimes, i actually respect him for not being more harsh with them, especially when they're all running off into danger or exploding cauldrons.

he really isn't that bad of a teacher, and we know this, since his classes' owl results are said to be consistently good.

plus, he was written in the 90's when all this was okay behaviour for teachers. hell, compared to some of the teachers in text, given that he goes out of his way to make sure the students are always protected, he's a lot better than most people give him credit for.

2. i relate to him.

come on, the man grew up to be a dramatic, queer-coded, petty bitch who wears all black all the time and likely has at least one mental disorder. i'm a petty, emo bisexual with (actually diagnosed, don't worry) depression and anxiety and I'm in a theatre group. what did you really expect from me?

on a serious note, both of the schools i went to were considered "prestigious". i got into my primary school because of a teacher's recommendation (she was a family friend). the second school i got into was because i scored ridiculously high on the placement test that would determine which school i went to. in primary school, i was the poor, really awkward, really smart kid who got left out of everything, and my best friend was the only kid who was worse off than me.

in secondary school, i was just as smart as everyone else... but i was still poorer, and still more awkward and still got left out of everything.

i got that isolated feeling, that feeling of not being good enough, that feeling where life always seems to have it out for you and that's even though i still got dealt a better hand than snape ever did. so, i get it. i'm never ever going to have it as bad as he did, but i acknowledge what he went through and i sympathise, because i have a chance, but it only ever got worse for him.

3. i genuinely enjoy his character.

this dude went through absolute hell for basically his entire life. the best years he had were probably when he was neck-deep in the group of people who hated witches and wizards like him, but somehow managed to treat him better than the good guys.

all of that, and he still manages to be one of the most entertaining motherfuckers in the whole series, with one of the most interesting character arcs ever. it's the witty lines, the sheer dynamic of his character, the change from the twitchy, hypervigilant kid from the slums to the adult that managed to spy on the Dark Lord himself and save the wizarding world in the process, while still being a hot mess of a person. it's the managing to get shit done while everybody hated him and everything was going to hell. it's the everything, and i haven't even talked about how badass he is.

come on, potions prodigy turned master, exemplary duellist (cough, cough, winning 4-on-1 vs McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Slughorn, and leaving a scratch on nobody, while managing to not take a single hit himself, cough, cough), spellcrafter, spy and one of the only wizards to ever figure out unaided flight. dark arts master, proficient at healing (dumbledore would've been dead a lot sooner, if it weren't for him, most likely). he's one of the most powerful wizards of his time. i've said that any universe where he's actually a bad guy—or just legitimately loyal to the death eaters—is a universe where voldemort wins and this is why. if he was motivated by literally anything other than lily, the wizarding world was more than likely fucked.

the point is, i just think he's neat.

4. spite.

every time i appreciate snape, a snater feels like someone is walking over their grave. every time i appreciate snape, a snater turns blue out of sheer rage. every time i appreciate snape, a snater loses their mind looking for their non-existent reading comprehension.

the spite in my veins is tempered only by the broth of instant ramen and ungodly amounts of sugar, and i'm going to use them all in my mission to cause antis pain when they refuse to acknowledge their lack of critical thinking and analysis skills.

so, yeah. why do i actually like snape?

tl;dr: he's not that bad. for a teacher written in the 90's and compared to teachers i've had within the decade, the guy's just strict. sure, he's a dick (who i personally think is hilarious), but he always makes sure the students are safe and he didn't leave any lasting effect on any of the students. he's really not that bad of a teacher. and hell, he's not even that bad of a person. i fully admit that he was an asshole and i entirely believe he was prone to self-destructive behaviour, but he still tried to atone for his mistakes and he did, is the thing, even though the odds were stacked more or less completely against him. i like him because he entertains me, and because i relate to him, as a teen who went through some shit and probably would have joined up with some bad people if it weren't for my friends and family, and as a teacher who really can't stand my students sometimes. i also like him because it irritates people who don't like him :)

also, istg if any of you respond to this with "bUt hE was ObseSsED with LiLY and just WAnTEd to FUCK hEr," i'm crawling into your bedroom window with the most unrealistic, mangled interpretations of your favourite characters and making sure they haunt you in your dreams. meet me in the fuckin' pit, babe. reread the series, actually think about it and come with receipts that aren't Voldemort, because i don't think you want to have the same opinion as the character who canonically doesn't understand love, now, do you, sweetheart? when you do that, then, and only then, will i consider entertaining your bullshit :)

that's about it from me, thanks for reading!

[octopodeez]

The Devil in Your Bed Pt. 1 (NSFW Edward Kenway x Reader)

He fights like a devil dressed as a man, and fucks like one, too except not yet bc in this chapter he’s stressed af

WC: 2125

Edward looks at you as if he’s never seen a woman before, and you know immediately he’s married. His eyes never stay in one place. They dart around your body comparatively, and you can only imagine what’s going through his mind. The image of her is surely floating behind you as he takes note of a small scar she doesn’t have, a freckled shoulder where hers is bare, lashes that don’t curl quite as much. You’re different, and he’s trying so hard to pretend it doesn’t shake him.

He waits for you to undress, and while you consider making a sly remark, you decide this is not the time or place or man for any of that. Not if you want to fuck him, anyways, and Jaysus, you do. He’s a devastating specimen, with a thick Welsh accent and smile that could end you, and you’ll never forgive yourself if you scare him off. So, you bite your tongue and tug at the ribbons of your stays, working quickly in case he starts to lose his nerve.

As you’re busy shedding the layers of skirts and petticoats and everything that makes you a proper lady, he casts his tunic to the side. It’s a simple motion, albeit somewhat infuriating that he gets to use such little effort while you struggle in a sea of faded cotton, but the thought is quickly forgotten when you get a good look at him. Edward is a masterpiece, all tan and smooth, save for a tattoo of a woman on his bicep. The wife, most likely. Something he surprised her with before he left—a promise to stay true and come home once he had the means to give her a good life. Damn privateers are all the same.    

Edward has never felt more exposed. God is watching him right now, he’s sure of it. Not even gone a month and already he’s laying with another woman. Or trying to, anyways. His guilt is crippling and the rum doesn’t help, but he’s determined to see this through. Johnson and Fletcher—or was it Williams and Smythe?—shoved him your way, and who is he to say no? He’s in desperate need of a little respect and they’re the type of men worth impressing. There are certainly worse ways to earn it than fucking a whore.

This is for his career, he reassures himself. This just brings him one step closer to the better life he promised Caroline—Caroline who isn’t even his anymore. But he’s not ready to admit that yet.

God continues to watch.

 You’re naked and chilly and his hesitation is beginning to lose its charm. Edward still has his britches on, so you decide it’s time to move things along. Reaching for the candle by the bedside, you offer a coquettish smile, which he half-heartedly returns, and take a last look at his chiseled body. His sandy hair. His handsome face. Perhaps bedding him in the darkness isn’t such a bad thing after all. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but there’s a quality about him that overwhelms you. It’s sexy, alluring, and driving you mad.

You lick your fingers and pinch the flame out. A silly parlor trick you learned ages ago that, for some reason, men found irresistible. Edward is no exception. His demeanor shifts now that he can hide behind the darkness. He’s more confident now and able to confirm your suspicions that yes, his hands are good for more than tying knots on a ship. Even so, the thought doesn’t escape you that maybe he’s simply having an easier time pretending you’re her. It’s not the best feeling in the world, but it’s one you’ve grown accustomed to—a hazard of sleeping with sailors. Their hearts always, always, always belong to someone else first.  

His trousers drop unceremoniously, and he pushes you to the bed. It isn’t quite the reveal you would have hoped for, but the silhouette of his cock standing at attention is still something to behold. You bite your lip at the sight of it. It’s built like the rest of him, defined and perfect, with a slight curve. A familiar emptiness grows inside you; a ravenous hunger that can only be sated right here and now with that, so you reach for him, suddenly feeling more like a snake than a woman, sexy and slithering effortlessly towards a frightened little bilge rat.

A frightened little bilge rat. You purse your lips and sigh, choosing to rest your hand on his hip rather than his cock. Even the married ones have relaxed by now, but Edward remains tense. Snake or woman, it’s killing the mood. You need your men eager.

“Edward,” you say, “we don’t have to do this.”  

“What?”

“We don’t have to do this,” you repeat gently. “We can just sit here for a while and I’ll make a big show of wobbling down the stairs to make it believable for your men.”

He looks offended.

“Is something not to your liking?” he asks, making a gesture to his nether region. You don’t miss the genuine surprise in his voice, and it occurs to you that this is perhaps the first time a woman has rejected him like this. He’s a handsome man from a small town with all his teeth intact, not to mention the ruggedness about him that especially must have attracted the wealthier girls, bitter in their arranged marriages.

“You seem hesitant, is all.”

“I’m no virgin if that’s what you’re getting at.”

He sounds like a pouting child, and you try your hardest not to giggle. God, he’s cute, which is starting to make things complicated.

“No, that’s not what I’m getting at. But even if you were—”

“I’m not.”

“—even if you were,” you say again, ignoring him, “there’s no shame in that. I wouldn’t mind getting first crack at a man looking the way you do.”

Edward blinks as he processes what you said, and then smiles. A genuine smile that makes his eyes twinkle, followed by a lighthearted chuckle, and then a kiss. It’s a fluid motion. He leans down and presses his rough lips to yours, tenderly, gently, softly—much softer than a man whose breath tastes so heavily of rum should be capable of. And then you remember: he’s married. He’s married and you don’t win a wife with harsh kisses. Edward hasn’t been at sea long enough to forget how to be…sweet.

He grazes his tongue along your jaw, all the way down to the crook of your neck and sucks at the skin. His arm shifts as he pumps at his cock in long, deliberate movements. You try to get a small peek at what could only be the most erotic sight you’d ever see, but he’s relentless in his sucking and keeps you pressed firmly to the mattress. You’re growing wetter and much more impatient.

“Edward,” you sigh. He makes a muffled noise of acknowledgement against your neck.  “Fuck me.”

 Edward freezes. To you, it’s brief. To him, it’s an eternity. His brain is overloaded with the breathy sound of your demand: fuck me. He can’t recall if he ever heard Caroline swear. She was smart as a whip and much too worldly to need words like those—it was what made him fall in love with her to begin with—but god, did he miss the dirt that came with girls who said things like fuck me while they spread their legs and beckoned him in.

Caroline is gone, and even though he still hasn’t fully accepted it, he knows it’s true. Caroline is gone, off to live the life her parents wanted, and though it hurts, Edward knows she deserves better than him, anyways. Caroline is gone, and so is the part of him who loved her—the part who wanted to have a wife and a family. Caroline is gone, and though she left a gaping hole, he’s more than happy to cauterize the wound with pretty girls like you who say fuck me.

And so he does.

 Edward’s teeth sink into your neck and you gasp, surprised at the sudden change. There’s a beast inside him that you didn’t see before, and it’s all rabid fangs and claws that aim to mark every last inch of you. He’s the impatient one, now, and doing everything he can to be inside you, and Jaysus; you’re more than happy to oblige.

“Hands and knees,” he grunts, already gripping your waist to flip you over.

He’s radiating that special feral type of energy that builds within sailors when they’re out at sea. Adventure boils the blood and—smack. Edward slaps your rear with an open palm, leaving behind a wonderfully stinging sensation and (probably) a bright red mark. Your jaw goes slack at the feeling, and then you smile and make a show of arching your back more.

Edward exhales sharply through his nose as he admires you. Farmgirls and small-town heiresses were all so shy, many of them never doing more than lifting their petticoats—granted, that had its own appeal, especially behind taverns and barns when their husbands or fathers could round the corner at any moment—but never has he seen someone so on display. He spanks you again, harder this time, and bites his lip at the slickness of your sex.

“Ready?” He feels stupid asking. Your ass is in the air and your pussy is dripping—of course you are, but he was raised proper. He always asks.

“Yes,” you whine. You’re aching all over and if he doesn’t do something you might explode from the sheer frustration.

 He rubs the tip of his cock over your opening, marveling at the feeling before pushing himself inwards. Edward lets out a long, breathy groan as he does, inhaling only when he reaches his hilt. Fuck.

“Fuck,” you hiss his thoughts out loud and drop your head. Your shoulder blades look so lovely from his perspective. They tense and then relax as you adjust to him; that slight curve of his cock already doing wonders to your body. Edward places his hand right where they meet, partly to steady himself as he begins to thrust, and partly out of admiration. You’re a stunning, sexual creature who could be with any of the other sailors who leered at you back at the pub, but you chose him. Sheep farmer, Edward Kenway, who had spent barely a month at sea.

He wants to be slow so he can enjoy this, but the way you shift and groan and whimper is too much—and frankly, its been far too long since he’s had someone. It’s a crying fucking shame that he’s a human man, but fuck, fuck, fuck, you feel incredible.

 Edward moves his hand to the scruff of your neck and pushes you down further into submission, and Jaysus, you love it, you love it, you love it so much. Your head is smashed against the mattress and it feels so delightfully dirty, you don’t care that you can hardly breathe. He thrusts harder and you moan louder.

The pad of Edward’s finger finds your clit, and you cry out in surprise. It was so rare to find a man who actually knew where it was and what to do with it, but he knows what he’s doing. He knows what patterns to rub and what spots make your toes curl the most. You curse. You say every dirty word you know, and maybe invent a few, too, as he keeps thrusting and rubbing and—

He spanks you again. He fucking spanks you again, and you’re certain the force made your soul leave your body and ricochet against the walls. And then:

“You like that, eh? Such a dirty little thing.” You don’t have the breath to spare in order to ask him to keep talking, but did it matter? His voice is nowhere near as confident as his words. It shakes as he tries so hard to keep himself together, but you can feel the sweat on his hands and loss of rhythm in his thrust. He’s close.

Edward’s fingers abandon your clit as he scrambles to pull out of you. He nearly falls to the ground as he does, but manages to regain his balance just in time to spill all over your back—all over your shoulder blades that rise and fall so beautifully as you pant. He grunts as he does. It’s loud and guttural, and you’d do anything in the world to hear it again, but fuck. You’re nowhere close to climax.

And he’s already getting dressed.

Damn privateers really are all the same.

This can also be found on Ao3! Kudos are always appreciated (and if you MAYBE wanted to leave a comment, that’d be pretty cool too). Find it here: (x)

[robininthelabyrinth]

Lotus Pier was always loyal, aware in the way that objects only are after hundreds of years, and she expected to disappear after she was destroyed. Instead she wakes up, rebuilt in both place and spirit, stronger than ever, at the hands of a grieving Jiang Cheng.

The Lotus Pier always loved the bright spirits of the world, the free and unrestrained; she held them cupped in her hand like birds, ready to fly away, to go where their whim takes them, to return because they loved her. Her cultivators reflected that, shining bright, standing against the world and attempting the impossible.

But they were only humans, their lives short and too easily cut shorter; when the invading armies came to the Pier, she tried her best to help her people – help them fight, help them flee – but the enemy was already invited inside her gates.

There was nothing she could do.

Her walls were thrown open, her treasures taken, her children killed – her very core, layer upon layer of arrays painted by all the Jiang sect disciples through all the years, violated.

The Wens sought to make her their own, in their blunt, stupid, grasping way. They didn’t know what she was, of course. No one knew. Only the Sect Leader – each one learning about her from their predecessor at the moment of their accession, the secret as well as a set of vows, an oath of mutual loyalty, and those who refused the oath were killed at the very moment of their supposed triumph.

Her children were good to her. In return, she was good to them.

When the Wens tried to seize control of her, to make her nothing more than a fortress, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to disappear – to die, destroyed in both body and soul, rather than allow herself to be used by those who killed her children.

She did not expect that anyone would be able to reawaken her.

Who could? It was impossible. Only the Sect Leader knew her secrets – and he was dead, dead long before he could pass along his knowledge to his heir, and of course it wasn’t written down anywhere.

Awakening, therefore, came as a surprise.

It was even more of a surprise to realize that she was still herself, still the Lotus Pier of old; she had half-expected the Wen sect to have cracked open her arrays and found a way to make her obedient.

But no.

It was not the Wens.

It was a single man, little more than a half-grown boy, kneeling in the center of an array painted in his own heart’s blood, his chest still wet as the bandages slowly soaked through.

He was wearing her purple, embroidered with her lotuses.

“My name is Jiang Cheng,” he said, and her heart thrilled: of course he was a Jiang. Only her children would be brave enough to attempt something as insane as this. “Great Spirit, I come to you as a supplicant. I need your power to help me protect my home.”

He did not know who she was.

It amused her not to tell him – meaning only to hide it for a little, only at first, of course. He was a Jiang, and Sect Leader; they were bound together, the two of them, like the Nies and their sabers.

It was fun at first.

Jiang Cheng was rebuilding her body, each plank and each joint fitting together, the wood from the best of trees, the arrays hidden within the walls. He spoke to her about it, sometimes – it took him a while to get used to her dwelling inside of him, her presence at the back of his head, but in time he got used to it.

It didn’t seem as if he had anyone else to talk to.

He loved her, dearly. She could see it in the way his hands were soft over her, the way he worried over small details, the way he insisted everything had to be perfect.

He did not think she loved him.

She didn’t find that out until some time in: he was proud, her little Jiang, full of pride, but his shoulders were weighed down with grief and responsibility. He was not spontaneous, preferring rules that he could understand and implement – he had been a disappointment to someone once, and it had sunk into his bones. With a rule he could do the right thing and hope to please; without, he was on his own, and he had no faith in himself. He knew himself to be no genius, knew that all he had to offer was his hard work – and oh, he worked so hard. He tried, so hard.

And he thought that it meant nothing.

“Wei Wuxian knew the motto better than me,” he said once. “The impossible was easy for him, a snap of his fingers…impulsive, reckless, free. A proper Jiang. He always said he had a mother and a father, that all the rumors about my father being his were false, but how would he know? Was he there when he was conceived? Or maybe it’s just easy enough to understand, so easy that someone else’s son can do it, and only I fail to even grasp it.”

The Lotus Pier did not pay much attention to the bright sparks that drifted above her, certainly didn’t know them by name; she did not know who Wei Wuxian was. Still, her heart hurt to hear her Jiang speak about himself like that.

You did the impossible, she reminded him. You survived. You revived. You returned. You summoned me.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I only did it because I’m the only one left. Anyone else would have done a better job than me, but there was only ever me.”

She argued with him, confused as to how the Jiang sect motto had been so perverted – it didn’t matter if he was stiff and stern, if he liked rules, if he liked winning, if he was grumpy and rude and prone to yelling, expressing affection through his scolding rather than warmth; it didn’t matter if his first thought each morning was of his obligations and what he needed to do, rather than what he wanted, that he put his sect first in his heart over all other matters; it didn’t matter that he needed to think about what was right and what was wrong rather than simply knowing immediately in his heart what he should do.

That was who he was, the boy he was born and the man he’d become. That was fine.

All she’d ever cared about was that they be resolute and determined, brave enough to do what must be done without flinching.

Her little Jiang Cheng – he did the impossible every day, all alone, and he never once realized it.

Eventually, she told him who she was.

He did not take it especially well. But then, she’d expected that – he was most sensitive to matters of deception, tender in only the way a boy who had been a little too trusting could be. She regretted that she’d hurt him, that she hadn’t realized that he wouldn’t enjoy her teasing the way some of his ancestors did – but in the end he had bound himself to her, body and soul, so it wasn’t as though all his storming around could really have an impact.

He did leave, for a while. When he came back, he had a small child asleep in his arms and a beatific expression of sheer joy.

“My sister’s child,” he explained, having apparently completely forgotten how she’d hurt him. He’d remember later, of course, in the dark of the night when he counted all his grievances, but right now he needed to tell someone and she was, very sadly, the only person he knew. “Jin Ling. When he’s older, I’ll introduce him to you.”

She reminded him that her presence was usually a secret kept to the Sect Leader.

“What good does that do? If I get killed, won’t you just disappear again? Besides, he deserves to meet you. He deserves everything I can give him, and more.”

It turned out the sister was dead, too. Dead, like his parents, like Wei Wuxian – he’d had an old grandmother who’d come to help for a while, but she hadn’t long survived burying her black-haired daughter.

He only had the child – and her.

Time passed quickly enough, and the Lotus Pier flourished under Jiang Cheng’s control. He indulged her just as he indulged his nephew, building her more bridges, more buildings, another pier or two; she was pleased by it, spoiled by it.

Used to it.

And then something came and nearly destroyed it all. Someone.

She wasn’t aware all the time, spending much of her time simply being the Pier, and so she only saw a small part of it – Jiang Cheng screaming (not new), sobbing (not especially new), and then running around like a maniac, begging for people to try to draw a sword from its sheath (new and a little disturbing).

He retreated to the room that held her core and collapsed on the array.

“It’s not mine,” he said, his face covered. “It’s all been him. Everything I’ve done – all his. Same as always. I’m always second to him –”

He said more than that, too. Not very intelligently, or coherently, but in time the story came out.

He gave you nothing but power. You did the rest. You were the one who build me back up from nothing, alone; not him, you. He left. You stayed.

“Just wait,” he said. “Just wait. He’ll come back, one day, and then you’ll see – he’s just like what you like best. Better than me. Everyone likes him better. Even Jin Ling – you’ll see.”

The Lotus Pier did not keep people by force: she let her birds fly free, following their hearts. She did not consider herself abandoned when people left, no matter how good or bad the reason. And yet…

“He loves him,” Jin Ling told her, curled up in his room. “Uncle loves Senior Wei so much. He gave up everything for him. Did he tell you?”

I live in his mind. I know.

“I don’t know why he won’t make up with him!”

Wei Wuxian followed his heart. Jiang Cheng followed his. Their paths conflicted; their hearts broke. Who is to say the path chosen by one, trying his best, is better than the other’s attempt to do the same?  

“But they’ll both be happier if they make up. Senior Wei is – I don’t know. I like him. It’d make Uncle happy to have him back. Even if only sometimes, if only for a little. I wish there was something I could do!”

Your uncle is competitive. Remind him that you love him best. It will help calm him.

It wasn’t clear to her what exactly Jin Ling did – it wasn’t at the Pier – but somehow Wei Wuxian came to visit, his husband in tow, a wary but hopeful expression on his face. They had dinner together, all of them. It was awkward and awful, Jiang Cheng alternating between snapping and biting his tongue, Wei Wuxian making light of things he shouldn’t and dismissing past pain, Lan Wangji looking as though he would rather be dead and Jin Ling with his head in his hands more often than not.

Bring him to see me.

“Absolutely not!” Jiang Cheng blurted out.

Wei Wuxian, who had been in the middle of complaining about eating nothing but vegetables at family feasts, stared.

“He wasn’t talking to you,” Jin Ling clarified, but that didn’t help; if anything, Wei Wuxian looked even more concerned.

He won’t understand. Bring him to me.

Jiang Cheng swallowed, his fingers clenching in fear; she has told him time and time again that she would never abandon him, couldn’t, but he still didn’t believe her.

Still – he loved her. He loved her best.

He stood up.

“Come with me,” he said.

“Where?” Lan Wangji asked, suspicious.

“The ancestral hall.”

“I thought you said I wasn’t allowed there,” Wei Wuxian said with a nervous laugh.

“I need to show you something,” Jiang Cheng said. “Just you. There’s – someone I want you to meet.”

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #3: Hallucinate: Mirio Togata

In which you and Mirio assume (incorrectly) that you’re way too wholesome for the campus bar. 

Characters: Mirio Togata x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) nightclubs, aged up characters, mentions of drinking, mentions of breakups, tipsy dry humping, strong language. 

Notes: Title inspired by this song. Feel free to rock out. Today’s prompt is “Thigh Riding”! As always, all characters depicted in this story are adults and, in this case, of the legal drinking age. 

Additionally, if you liked this story, feel free to tell me what you think! I’m new to writing on Tumblr, so I’m open to all forms of commentary, suggestions, and feedback. 

Ride on- and happy Kinktober!

Kinktober Masterlist

(edit: guess who’s an IDIOT and didn’t paste the whole story in? Updated....) 

“I’m going to throw up.”

Those words ring alarm bells in your head that they might not have on a weeknight. Your best friend is one too many shots deep and the lights at this club flash so brightly, they’d nauseate anyone unfortunate enough to stare too long.

But you see the firmness of sobriety in her expression as you check her over. In fact, her gaze is turned entirely elsewhere. And then you realize what she’s spotted.

“Don’t look now,” she hisses, grabbing your shoulder before you can spin around. You haven’t been drinking quite so heavily as she has, but you’re far from subtlety. It doesn’t matter, anyway. You don’t need to look to see who it is. The only reason you’re here anyway is because she’s determined to “win” her breakup.

Whatever that means.

If it were up to you, you’d be spending your Saturday curled up back at the apartment, taking advantage of a night with the place to yourself by spending the whole thing with…

“Mirio,” you sigh, spotting his blonde head bobbing above the crowd as he sidles his way back toward the two of you. He agreed, the absolute angel, to come out with you tonight. And he’s been taking good care of you. Just like always.

He appears in full, popping out from behind a couple dancing as closely as you wish you were. You know this kind of place isn’t normally your thing, but he’s wearing this burgundy button-down and you think maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you were here just the two of you.

He spots you and grins, and suddenly he’s your sweetheart again and you bet he’d catch you if you swooned right into his arms.

“Let’s see… ah, gin and tonic,” he mumbles, passing you the highball. Drinking these will always make you think of him now. On your first date you let him try your gin and tonic and he hated it so much he nearly choked. He’ll never understand your love of the obscenely strange-tasting drink.

But he buys them for you anyway.

“And vodka cranberry, hold the vodka,” he chuckles, passing a red-tinted glass full of ice over to your friend. She takes it, but she’s pouting.

“I said hold the cranberry,” she insists.

“Yeah… The bartender wasn’t so sure that was a good idea,” Mirio replies, and you can tell by the look in his eye that the bartender had nothing to do with it. You move close and grab his hand behind your backs, squeezing.

Smart move, you wish you could tell him. Unfortunately, you’re still not sober enough for subtlety and your friend rolls her eyes, pretending to gag into her cranberry juice.

“That’s it,” she quips. “I can’t take you two tonight. Don’t wait up, I’m not coming home if it’s gonna be alone.”

You call to her, but she’s cut through the crowd before you can even reach out. Like iron gates the crowd closes in around you, and the best you can do is turn back to your boyfriend. Luckily, he looks just as sheepish as you do.

“Don’t worry, baby,” you plead, throwing an arm around his neck. You know for a fact that your friend thinks the world of Mirio. But she was with her ex for a long time. And a breakup that nasty had turned her harsh and bitter. Maybe she wasn’t coping as well as she might have. You were ready to ride it out.

You just hoped Mirio wasn’t letting it get him down.  

“My phone’s on,” you murmur in his ear, a silent promise that if she needs you you’ll be there, but there’s no reason to go after her tonight. She came here with one mission- and nothing is going to put that on hold. If you know your best friend, you can guess that much.

His hand slides into the small of your back out of sheer habit, but it sends a little shower of sparks up your spine. You haven’t forgotten how good he looks tonight, nor how good he smells now that you’re pulled so close.

“Wanna dance?” You push your lips against the tender spot between his jaw and his ear and he chuckles all deep and loving, the sound vibrating against your palm as you brace it against his solid chest.

“Might as well,” he rumbles and you shiver all over again. His hand slides from your back to your hip, the other one tracing up and down your side as you start to move your hips.

Suddenly he’s gone from golden retriever Mirio to incurable flirt Mirio, shooting you a smirk so devilish you know you’re going to hell. He grabs your hand and spins you, pulling your back flush against his front.

“Have I told you what that dress is doing to me?” He purrs, making you keen. You’re not even shy about it as you start to slowly rock back and forth, matching the thrumming bass around you. You love dancing close to him like this and based on the way his hands roam across your front, he does, too.

“Bad,” you scold playfully. The dark satin of your tight dress is starting to ride up your thighs, helped along by the path of his fingers as he traces his palm from your thigh to your ribcage.

“I mean it,” he groans, shifting a little behind you. He pushes one thigh forward, sliding his knee ever so slightly between yours. You can feel where this is going, but you’re of no mind to stop it. It wouldn’t be the first time you got a little frisky in public. And you’re far from alone, underneath the low-slung ceiling of this shitty college town club.

“You got any idea how pretty you are?” He presses.

“You do your best to remind me,” you mumble back. You can’t take facing away from him any longer and spin in his arms. You twine your fingers in his hair and pull him down to you. Hard. He lets out a low grunt as you kiss him harshly and his hands slide immediately to the curve of your ass.

Stinker.

It feels like you’re in a new relationship with him all over again, making out in the middle of the dance floor like this. You’re both tipsy- you can taste the whiskey ginger on his tongue- but you’re in love and you don’t give a damn who sees.

“Mirio,” you gasp, gripping tighter at his hair as his mouth escapes yours to trail down your jaw.

“So sweet for me, princess,” he mumbles.

“Baby,” you whimper, tighter this time. The ache between your legs refuses to be ignored, burning urgently with every breath he puffs along your skin.

He grabs you by the upper arm, taking you a few paces forward. You lose your sense of direction for a moment, but when you come back to yourself, you’re against the rough cement wall of the place. The cool grooves dig into your skin, but Mirio’s kissing you again before you have time to care.

This time it’s carnal- a bruising press of lips as his tongue licks forward like he could swallow you whole. One hand plants itself on the wall beside your head, the other holding your shoulders against the wall. You lean into it as best you can.

You love this.

He’s never been shy about loving on you in public, but you can tell that it’s the whiskey driving him this far forward. You’re too desperate and horny to care, though, and you twine your fingers in his golden hair one more time, combing your fingers lovingly through the gelled strands.

He doesn’t give you much time to adjust before that denim-clad thigh is pushing forward again, shoving itself between yours and pushing your dress even higher around your hips. You’re not sure who’s looking but you know it’s got to be somebody.

“Lemme take you home,” he mumbles against your lips.

“Can’t,” you choke, “c-can’t wait that long.”

You tilt your hips down against his thigh, firm and strong. He can bear your weight easily on it, but you keep your toes on the floor even as you start to rock yourself against his jeans. There’s something about the angle he’s holding you and the fabric between your bodies and the desperation of your arousal that’s catching you just right. And the familiar sensation hits you- you might actually cum if you keep this up.

He seems to catch on at the same time, pulling his face back a fraction of an inch with an expression of thrilled shock settling into it. He barely hesitates an instant before he’s on board, though, pushing his knee higher and ducking his head into your neck.

He attacks the skin there, licking, sucking and nibbling away at the spot where he knows you’re sensitive. That sends fresh shivers through your body that rattle down your spine and land with a splash in the pit of your stomach, shooting more pleasure between your legs where you’re unapologetically grinding your clit against his thigh.

Whatever insignificant scrap of underwear you picked out tonight isn’t doing much to keep you covered and you’re sure you’ll be mortified when you inevitably leave a spot on his jeans but you’re both too wrapped up in each other to care much now.

“Miri-“ you start to groan. That all-too-familiar wave of pleasure has started to build, and you’re chasing it like your life depends on it. You grab for his shirt, forcing him against you with a jerk.

“Are you gonna cum for me right here, princess?”

That’s a blow you’re not ready to withstand. Instead of answering him, your peak hits you hard and fast. You seize in his arms, your fists crushing the fabric of his shirt as you whine into his ear and come, high and shallow against his thigh.

You come back to yourself slowly, sagging against the wall as he peppers kisses along your collarbone. He carefully lets you down- one foot at a time, holding you by the hips to make sure your legs don’t give out.

“Y’okay?”

You tilt your chin up to look at him, breathless and flushed. On some level, you can’t believe that just happened. But one look at the glint in his eyes and you’re not so shocked anymore. Your man has a dirty side, and you’re the only one who gets to see it.

“I just came on your jeans,” you pant, making him chuckle.

“So that wasn’t a fever dream?” He’s teasing you, nuzzling the tender spot on your neck where you know he’s left a mark. You might have cared, if you weren’t in so deep with him already. Hook, line and sinker. You don’t care who sees.

Probably a good mental state to occupy, when half the club just saw you dry-humping each other against the wall.

“Can we go home yet?” You mumble. You’re hazy and pliable now, sleepy and weighty and ready for bed. Or, at the very least, to be alone with your boyfriend.

“Yeah,” he replies, taking a softer, tender tone with you. You reach up and touch his cheek, stroking your fingertips lovingly along the angle of his jaw. You really do love him. More than you ought to, at this point in your relationship.

But he smiles down at you, and you see the same feeling reflected in his gaze. He bends his head and captures your lips- soft, almost chaste, if you weren’t still basking in the afterglow- then nuzzles his nose against yours.

“Yeah, I think we can.”

[giuliafc]

When Magic Fails chapter 1

When Magic Fails

Read on Ao3 || Read on FFN || Read on Wattpad

The Miraculous Cure can fix the damage caused by a specific akuma. But what happens when said damage comes after the Miraculous Cure? When the damage isn't caused by an akuma? Follow Ladybug through the worst day of her life. The day where her identity, or Chat's, won't matter any more. The day when she will discover what's really important. But at what price?

Lovesquare story. Warning: this is really intense!

Written by: JuliaFC

Betas: KhanOfAllOrcs, Agrestebug, Etoile-Lead-Sama, Speckleflower, AmberLambda, Anonymousfriend27 and MiniNoire

Big thanks to: Momo|MarinetteAgresteBrand and Genxha

Cover art and chapter art credit: Rosehealer02 on Deviantart.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by (c) Thomas Astruc; TS1 Bouygues, Disney Channel, Zagtoon, Toei Animation. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

oOo

Chapter 1 - Bad timing

It all started at the end of a very tough battle against one of the worst akumas they had ever encountered and required a full recharge by both Ladybug and Chat Noir, twice. After calling the first Lucky Charm, which took the shape of the Miracle Box, an unwilling Ladybug had been forced to give back a temporary Miraculous to Rena and Ryūko.

“I don’t want to put our friends in danger, but there’s no way I can find new holders on such short notice!” Ladybug had said, as she asked Chat Noir to cover her for a few minutes, while she looked for help. And it had been the right decision; it was only with Rena and Ryūko’s help that they finally managed to win.

"Miraculous Ladybug!"

Chat Noir watched as Ladybug threw the red and black trumpet in the air and released the magical ladybugs, which brought everything back to how it was before the fight. As the four heroes bumped fists at the sound of ‘Pound it!’, the crouched figures of Mlle. Mendeleiev and Mlle. Bustier appeared in place of the akuma and Ladybug moved towards them.

"What… happened to me?" The women sounded very confused. They were all standing atop the first level of the Eiffel tower, not exactly where the two teachers had been when they got controlled by Hawkmoth, at the school.

Ladybug smiled warmly. "You were akumatised. Are you feeling okay?”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Ladybug…” said Mlle. Bustier. “All I remember was M. Damocles calling us in his office and showing us Lila’s…”

Mlle. Mendeleiev grabbed Mlle. Bustier’s hand and squeezed it. “Caline. It’s confidential information.” Mlle. Bustier blushed and lowered her gaze.

Ladybug gave a determined look to the teachers, clenching her fists and shaking with what Chat supposed was sheer anger. He knew why she looked so furious. It was no secret that his Lady didn’t like Lila. And to be completely honest, when her name was mentioned even he felt his blood boil at the thought that his favourite teachers got akumatised because of something that she had done — or said. He wished there was a way to expose her lies and to finally get rid of her dangerous presence in their classroom.

But suddenly, his ears perked up. His gaze darted around. His heart raced.

Danger.

There was danger.

He could feel it. He could smell it. He could taste it.

How? Where from? His eyes darted around, his confident smile dying on his face.

There. A shadow. Towards…

His heart stopped.

“Watch out!” he shouted as he threw himself towards his Lady, slamming her on the ground with so much strength that she rolled off quite a distance. He saw Ladybug lay limp where she had landed, but Rena ran hastily towards her.

Chat Noir forced himself to take his mind off his Lady to concentrate on the shadow. He took the hit and fell right on his face, flying into the side of the tower from the force of the impact. He staggered back up and jerked around, heart racing.

Another hit made him fly the opposite way. He coughed. He couldn’t see his opponent, even with the added senses of the cat.

“All a blur.”

A black shadow sped around, hitting him in the groin. He coughed and rolled off as he finally grabbed the foot that hit him. Her face flashed in full view for just a second.

“Mayura.”

“What the…” He barely stood and she hit him again. A few seconds. The fight with Mayura had lasted only a few seconds. And he was already on his knees. A coppery taste filled his mouth. His ring beeped its first warning sound. Four pads left. Amazing to think that only one minute had passed since he used his cataclysm during the akuma attack. He cleaned his lips and saw traces of blood. His ears perked. She was charging at him again.

She was fast.

Too fast.

Another hit. He couldn’t see her. His eyesight blurred as a sharp pain spread all over his stomach and ribs. He closed his eyes shut anticipating a hit that never came.

CLANG!

He opened his eyes. Ryūko’s bokken shielded him.

“I’ve got you,” she said as they exchanged looks.

Gratitude overwhelmed him. He tried to stand but just barely managed to, as his legs felt like jelly and his throbbing head made the world spin all around him. But he hadn’t even been standing for a second before he was brought back to the ground, as Mayura’s next move swiped the two heroes off their feet. He rolled on the metallic floor of the tower with her, ending up on top of Ryūko. She stood much faster than he did and threw herself screaming towards the black shadow. He stood up. He needed to help her.

His ears perked up again. His gaze blurred. His head spun as something hit him in the back. A sharp pain spread across the whole left side of his body. His suit felt damp. Was that blood staining the metallic floor underneath him? Weren’t they almost invulnerable in their suits? His side started feeling numb. What… he could barely move.

A hand grabbed him by his suit collar and lifted him just enough to keep him off balance, bringing him face to face with... Hawkmoth. “Magic poison breaks through magic suits.” The older man smirked. “Did you know that there are poisonous moths?”

“It’s a bluff.” Chat coughed and stared in bewilderment at the blood that stained his own gloved hand.

Hawkmoth’s smirk widened. “Pitiful nuisance. I will take your Miraculous off your dead body.” As he said it, he threw Chat with all his strength, off the side of the Eiffel Tower. The world spun around Chat Noir as he fell. His eyes locked for a painful instant into the terrified ones of the girl he loved. All became black; the last thing he could consciously hear was the wailing scream of his Lady.

“CHAAAAAT!!”

oOo

She opened her eyes, woken up by the warning beep from her earrings. Four minutes left, she thought and then her eyes focused on Alya’s — Rena’s — face.

“Are you all right, Ladybug? Chat was a bit rough,” she said, but as Marinette regained complete consciousness, she suddenly realised where she was. The first level of the Eiffel Tower. And she remembered what had happened. She’d been comforting her teachers for having been akumatised… and Chat had thrown her out of the way. Quickly, her gaze darted around looking for her partner.

Then she saw him. Her heart froze as blood drained completely from her face.

Hawkmoth had grabbed Chat Noir by the collar. And before she could do anything, she watched as their nemesis said something and then pushed Chat away with immense strength. For the briefest second, all she saw was the piercing green of his eyes widening as they caught hers. Her whole attention, her whole soul, every nerve of her very being was focused on the horrific sight of Chat Noir falling off the side of the Eiffel Tower.

“CHAAAAAT!!” she heard herself screaming.

“Go after him, Ladybug. I’ll deal with the bastard!” Rena’s voice seemed to come from a far away land. From a different world. Marinette didn’t even acknowledge her friend, or the fact that Hawkmoth stood right there, ready to attack. She grabbed her yoyo and zoomed her way to the side of the platform, just in time to see the limp body of Chat Noir collapse with a sickening ‘Crunch!’ against the roof of the information kiosk underneath the tower. The impact destroyed it and Chat Noir disappeared underneath the ruins.

“NOO!!” Her heart stopped. Literally stopped. She didn’t care about someone seeing her tears, or hearing her screams. All she cared about was that Chat was buried under that pile of rubble. And there was no way she was going to leave him there. She wrapped her yoyo around the metallic structure of the tower and used it to lower herself onto the destroyed top of the collapsed building.

“Chat? Can you hear me? Don’t you dare give up on me! CHAT? ANSWER ME! CHAT!” She couldn’t see a thing, her eyes were full of tears and the dust that surrounded the destroyed building blurred her vision. She started picking up pieces of concrete and metal, trying to dig her way inside the ruins to look for her partner in a mad frenzy of pure panic.

“Ladybug? Can you tell the press what happened to Chat Noir?” Marinette froze. Who on Earth… she wiped her tears from her eyes with a dirty gloved hand and looked around, blinking out the mixture of tears, sweat and dirt to figure out that the person talking to her was Nadja Chamack. She stood at the bottom of the collapsed kiosk, looking up at the heroine with a frown on her face. A couple of cameramen were next to her, filming intently.

“Chat’s life is in danger, Nadja! Who cares about the press! You need to help me, we need to dig him out of here before he dies!” New tears rolled out of her eyes as she once again began her mad dash to search for her partner, hoping that the miracle suit had cushioned all the damage.

A terrified look spread across Nadja’s face as she put down her microphone and gestured to the cameramen to put down their cameras. She gestured for the whole troupe to come and help. Ladybug kept digging madly with her bare hands, trying to break through enough to find his body. As she was doing that, more and more people started joining the TV crew that was helping her.

BEEP!

Her earrings didn’t make any sound. “You must be close, mon minou… I can hear your ring beeping…DON'T GIVE UP, Chaton. Please! BE ALIVE! Please! Me and you against the world! Don’t leave me alone!” Her own Miraculous beeped now. She had three minutes. “Be alive!” She whimpered loudly, growled in frustration and didn’t even try to hold her sobs. "Don't leave me, PLEASE!" Three minutes to find him and to bring him to safety before her transformation would drop.

And so would his… who knows what condition he’s in? The miracle suit would be protecting him right now, but once the power dissipates… No. She needed to find him before—. Bring him to safety before—. She redoubled her efforts, grateful that her hands were covered by the magical gloves of her suit. As she pulled up a rather big piece of laminate, which she would never have been able to lift herself if she hadn’t been transformed, she saw fragments of mortar fall off and reveal a big void underneath. And that’s when she saw him. Lying limp at the bottom of that horrible mess.

“CHAT!” She jumped into the void created by Chat's collapse, completely oblivious to the risks that the building could finish collapsing on her. Carefully she picked up his body bridal style, staring in pure horror at the blood staining the left shoulder and chest side of his suit, and the side of his head.

Marinette suppressed a choked sob that threatened to leave her lips on seeing her kitty in such a broken state. He was so pale, so limp, and full of dirt. But he breathed. She looked on with immense relief at the regular rise and fall of his chest.

“Oh goodness, Minou. Keep hanging on, please! For Paris, for Plagg... for-for me! Don’t give up on us, Chaton, just hang on! I will get you to safety soon.”

She resisted the urge to hug him tightly, knowing that her comfort-seeking gesture could cause more harm than good to her already injured kitty. She jumped out of the building carrying him in her arms and landed on the pavement next to the metallic structure. Nadja ran over to her and picked up the microphone from the ground.

“Is he…” she heard Nadja say, but the woman went quiet when Ladybug shot her a death glare.

“The nearest hospital. Where is it?” She hissed.

Nadja paled. “Is he alive, Ladybug? What happened? Have you got any word for the press?”

“DAMN THE PRESS! I ONLY HAVE THREE MINUTES, NADJA! THREE. BLOODY. MINUTES. WHERE’S THE NEAREST P.U. (1)? PLEASE!” She crouched a little more protectively, noticing that the cameramen had returned to their cameras and were now filming the scene and that Nadja had picked up her phone and was messing with it madly.

“Hôpital Necker,” she eventually whispered. “Go towards the Ministère de la Santé, pass the Esplanade Jacques Chaban-Delmas and carry on straight.”

“That way, Ladybug!” one of the cameramen said, pointing to the right. “Maybe a couple of kilometres!”

She gave both a grateful look. “Thank you!” she whispered and jumped off.

Notes:

P.U. - Pavillon des Urgences (A&E/ER)

Author's Note:

Hi! *hides*

I know, I know, this is very strong. Please don't hate me!

I'll cut the fluff and get straight to the point. In the next instalment of "When Magic fails", "Code Polkadot",

“I need a doctor, quickly!”

“You saved my boyfriend when he was akumatised. This is the least I can do.”

“WILL YOU ALL PLEASE GO FASTER? HIS SUIT HELPS HIM, BUT THIS COULD BE THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HIS LIFE OR HIS DEATH! HE’S ONLY GOT A FEW MORE SECONDS TO SPARE!”

I know, I'm cruel. If you want to kill me, I mean, if you read this and you’re not part of our wonderful Discord server already, but you enjoy reading, writing and talking about Miraculous, please join our Discord server, Miraculous Fanworks . See you there soon. Not sure when I will update this story but it won't be too long! Promise!

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Let's Save the Day

Word Count: 1809

Characters: Hatake Kakashi, Uchiha Obito, Maito Gai, Nohara Rin

Warnings: None

Summary: It's the middle of a world-ending war, everything is going wrong, and Obito can't help but think that things might work a bit better in their favour if an old friend showed up

All eyes were on him. Everyone was expecting him to save the day. To put a stop to Madara and Sasuke’s plans and prevent the world from being put into an infinite dream. He could feel the weight of all those expectations on his shoulder, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t figure out what to do.

There was no plan forming in his mind, and brute strength wasn’t helping him win the fight. He was outmatched, even with the entire shinobi army standing behind him ready to fight by his side. After everything he had done to protect all of his friends, it was starting to feel like a lost cause.

“We can’t give up,” Gai’s hand came down on his shoulder, pulling his attention to his side where his friend was now standing by his side. “We have to keep fighting.”

“I know that,” of course he did. It was just starting to feel like a hopeless fight. Like they were doomed to loss, no matter how hard they fought. “We need a plan. Throwing punches at them without one isn’t working.”

“That is true,” Gai sighed. “If only Kakashi we’re here-”

“Well, he’s not here!” Obito snapped. For years he had wished for Kakashi to come back and fight alongside them. To prove the village wrong about him by their side, but he refused. No matter how many times Obito tried to get through to him, or how many times he told him the villagers' opinions didn’t matter. Kakashi always turned his back to him.

“Don’t give up so fast, Obito,” Throwing his signature thumbs up pose out towards Obito, Gai beamed. “Kakashi will be here, I just know it. Until then I’ll keep These two weirdos back while you recharge.”

“Rich words, coming from someone looking like you,” If he wasn’t in the middle of a battlefield, Obito might be tempted to laugh when Uchiha Madara, one of the strongest shinobi known in history, stomped his feet and yelled at Gai. “I might just have to teach you a lesson before I deal with Hashirama, you little brat!”

“Just rest,” Gai continued, completely ignoring the angry god-like shinobi yelling at him. “By the time I’m done, Kakashi will arrive.”

Obito’s eyes widened when he realized just what Gai was saying. “Gai, Wait!” But it was too late. With a calm breath, Gai suddenly burst with chakra. The sixth gate bursting open and his power multiplying exponentially.

Obito had only seen the gates in action once before when Gai opened the fourth gate during the fight against The Akatsuki in Konoha. It was nothing compared to this. So brilliant and bright, Obito found it difficult to look at his friend as the sheer power of his chakra surrounded his body.

“Gai, wait!” Rin ran past Obito, but it was too late. In a burst of incredible speed, Gai was gone. Headed directly towards Madara, determined to hold him off. “Damn it! He’s going to get himself killed!”

She wasn’t wrong. There was no way that Gai would be able to beat Madara on his own, but at the same time, they didn’t have much other hope. They had tried everything. Fought with all of their energy, and they weren’t any closer to winning.

At least Gai was trying something new.

He hadn’t given up, which was more than Obito could say for others. Just looking around the field he could see all of the hopeless, broken expressions. Looks that wrote a story of doubt and fear.

“He has to try,” he whispered, smiling up at Rin when she looked his way. “He’ll be fine. It’s Gai after all.”

Nothing could take Gai down, no matter how hard it tried.

“Well, I hope you have a plan forming in that head of yours,” Turning her attention back towards the fight, she watched as Gai threw a punch towards Madara’s head, just barely missing as the man ducked under his hand and struck a blow to his stomach. “And fast. I don’t know how long he’ll last.”

Unfortunately, he was all out of plans. No matter what he had come up with, it didn’t work. Madara and Sasuke were always one step ahead of him, and Naruto-Sensei hadn’t been able to pull himself out of his slump since finding out who was behind that ugly blue mask.

They were doomed.

“Gai!” Looking up, he watched as Gai took a kick to the chest and was sent flying off to the side at top speed. Apparently, their time was already up.

Digging his heel into the ground, he prepared to run after his friend. To at least be there by his side when he came to a stop if he couldn’t catch him. Before he could though, a burst of orange went flying past him. Brilliant and hot, he watched as it ran between everyone until finally reaching Gai.

Only then did Obito finally see who it was.

The person surrounded by such a brilliant, bright chakra.

“Kakashi…”

Watching as his old friend caught Gai mid-flight, he couldn’t help but smile. After giving up hope and setting his goals on saving the world by himself, Kakashi had finally shown up. He’d made it to the battlefield, and Obito couldn’t be happier.

Together, there was no doubt in his mind that they could beat Madara and put a stop to a war that had already taken so many lives.

“I can’t believe it,” Rin’s voice was soft when she spoke, her eyes glued on the scene in front of her just like Obito’s. Watching as Kakashi pulled Gai close to his body and dug his feet into the ground to slow down their movements until finally coming to a stop. “He actually came.”

Kicking himself for doubting his friend, Obito forgot about Madara and Sasuke for the moment and rushed towards him while Rin followed close behind. For three years he had been chasing Kakashi. Trying to get him to come back home to Konoha and find his peace with his friends once again, and finally, he was here.

He was back.

“You’re late!” Coming to a stop beside Kakashi, Obito threw a punch into his shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt him, but enough that it forced him to take a small step back. “Of all the times to be late! And to think you’d always give me a hard time about being late to training, just to pull this?”

He’s not sure what he expects. Maybe a scolding for ‘wasting time’, or a sharp reminder that it was more than just training he had been late for. What he’s not expecting, though, is to see the way Kakashi looks at him with eyes full of sadness and regret.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, fingers curling into Gai’s shoulder as he stands there. “I...Got lost on the path of life.”

For a moment Obito’s stunned. Unsure of how to respond to Kakashi’s words, but it passes quickly and laughter starts to bubble up in his chest. Slowly, he lets it spill out. Small chuckles at first, and then bright and happy laughter that fills the air around him.

“You’re so…” closing his eyes, he gave his head a shake. “Please tell me you have a plan.”

“Wait, seriously!?” Rin grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around to face her. “After everything he has done, we’re just going to trust him!?”

“He’s our teammate,” Obito reminded her with a soft smile. “Isn’t that right, Bakashi?”

Returning Obito’s enthusiasm with an unimpressed look, Kakashi sighed when the Uchiha didn’t budge an inch. “I guess,” he whispered before turning his attention back to Gai. “That was dumb of you. I expect dumb things of Obito, but you Gai?”

“H-hey!”

“Sorry,” The shocked look that had made its home on Gai’s face as soon as he saw Kakashi disappeared suddenly and was quickly replaced by that signature blinding smile of his. “But it worked. I knew you’d show up if I help him off a little longer, and here you are.”

The logic was flawed, but the results had worked. He was willing to give Gai that.

“Just don’t do something stupid like that again,” Kakashi continued to scold Gai, his hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment longer while that brilliant orange chakra slowly transferred over and started to surround Gai’s body as well. “If we’re going to beat these idiots, we’re going to need all of us.”

A plan. That meant that Kakashi had a plan!

“Before we start,” he cut Obito off before he even had a chance to ask him what his plan was, his hand reaching out towards him. “I need to make sure everyone’s safe.”

Safe.

“You mean…” looking down at the hound hovering in front of him, Obito thought about it for a moment. Kakashi wanted to share his Chakra. To make sure everyone was safe.

What had gotten through to him after all of this time? Why was he suddenly changing his mind about being here with them? Protecting them.

“We can talk about it later,” Meeting Kakashi’s eyes, Obito searched for any sign of ill intent. Something that would tell him that Kakashi wasn’t here for them. That he’d turn against them as soon as Madara and Sasuke were dealt with.

No matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find anything.

“Alright,” grabbing his friend’s hand, he inhaled sharply as a comfortable warmth spread over him while Kakashi’s chakra engulfed him. Covering every part of his body in a protective body of chakra. “What is…”

“Kurama’s chakra will help keep you going,” Kakashi assured him. “He’ll also protect you, even when I can’t.” Once he was done sharing the chakra with Obito, he turned to Rin and held out his hand towards her. “You don’t have to trust me. You don’t even have to like me, but right now I need everyone or this plan isn’t going to work.”

Watching as Rin glared at Kakashi, Obito waited patiently to see what she would do. Out of the three of them, she had the least reason to trust Kakashi. She had been the one to give up on him first, and the one who had tried to attack him when Iwagakure put his name in the Bingo book believing that he had killed their Jinchuriki.

“I trust you,” She whispered, reaching out to grab his hand and gasping when the chakra started to surround her. “But I hope you know that If you betray us-”

“You’ll find a way to bury me six feet under the ground?” Kakashi cut her off, a playful look visible in his eyes. “I don’t doubt it. For now, though, let’s focus on saving the world from the worst plan I have ever heard of.”