#she weaponizes her charm and leans into that expectation

[quantummindclassicalheart]

Here's my plug for Essek/Jester (donutmancy), because it's just a delightful dynamic.

Consider: Jester is big on physical affection, cuddles and hugs and all that. Essek is learning to like it (especially when it's coming from her).

Jester's all about the pranks and chaos. Essek likes things well-organized, but he's not above messing with other people if he thinks it will be funny ("I don't actually like soup."), and (post-campaign) he's definitely willing to spend a high-level spell slot to cause some mischief.

Essek spent a lot of his early life crafting a facade to keep himself safe, building a persona so other people wouldn't ever know how vulnerable he was. And Jester? Jester knows a lot about what that's like.

I was chatting with some friends about some other M9 rare pairs and came up with this list, enjoy

[thatbugkidd]

Cyn and Uzi have a particularly.. interesting relationship in this AU

Their dynamic is a tedious journey of manipulation, mistrust, and gradual vulnerability with one another!! In the beginning their relationship is definitely very tense, with Uzi suspicious of any of Abso's subordinates and Cyn very manipulative and demeaning. Despite this, they do have a deep rooted respect for each other, not that either of them would admit it. It is a bit overshadowed by Cyn's manipulative tendencies and uzi's defensive hostility. Its.. not super healthy. But they still have an undeniable attraction to each other. Cyn admires Uzi's bite, and willingness to talk back to her, something few others do.

And Uzi might oddly admire Cyn's confidence, her ability to turn any situation to her advantage. She's quick on her feet and has wits, Uzi can respect that.

Uzumi, more generally known as Uzi, is quietly renowned for her innovation and knack for building weapons, which catches the attention of the head crime lord, Abso. Cyn is tasked with keeping an eye on Uzi to make sure she doesn't become a threat and is kept underway. here's a little snippet i planned for their first meeting hehe

Cyn enters the tattered workshop uninvited, leaning casually against the doorframe, smirking as she takes in the scattered tools and half-finished contraptions.

"So this is where the magic happens. I expected something... less chaotic. But then again, chaos has its charm."

Uzi, without looking up, coldly responds "If you’re here to buy, I don’t sell to Abso’s lackeys."

A harsh scoff was heard, Cyn exaggerating faux offense, "Lackey? Ouch. I like to think of myself as... freelance talent. Though, I do have a certain reputation to uphold."

Finally looking at her, unimpressed, Uzi snarls her nose "Yeah, I’ve heard. ‘Queen of Cyn.’ What, did you come up with that yourself, or was that Abso’s idea?”

Cyn chuckles, moving closer to inspect one of Uzi’s gadgets.

"You’ve got a sharp tongue, I’ll give you that. But I’m not here to pick a fight. I’m here to talk business. You and I—we’re not so different, you know." She trailed off, tracing the rough metal of the gadget, "we're both just trying to get by."

Uzi snatched the gadget out of Cyn’s hands, glaring at her, "We’re nothing alike. Now, leave before I show you how fast this thing can melt through steel."

Cyn grinned, leaning in closer "Oh, I like you."

The arcane au has been a lot of fun so far, I'm enjoying giving it its own story. >:3

Unfortunately small little update!! My mental health has been taking quite a dip and with holidays coming round, I'm just really stressed out as of late so activity may drop for a bit while I focus on myself. I got some art backed up that I'll try to be posting :3 but I'm gonna spend a couple weeks taking it slow and doing some art studies, games, etc bc my art has just been frustrating me so much!! If it had a physical vessel I'd beat the shit out of it rn tbh BUT just wanted to give a little heads up

[geneviveleocardius]

morning notes & unlikely encounters

feat. ellie williams

You wake up to the faint glow of sunlight streaming through the window, the soft rustle of the wind outside lulling you into a slow start to your day. Rolling over in bed, you notice a folded note resting on the nightstand. Abby’s handwriting is unmistakable—strong, neat, and straight to the point.

“Had to head out for a mission. Be back soon. Love you.”

Smiling to yourself, you stretch lazily, your oversized shirt—a shirt that’s definitely Abby’s—shifting slightly as you move. The faint scent of her still clings to the fabric, comforting in her absence.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you pad barefoot to the kitchen, the wooden floors cool against your skin. The rustic charm of the house feels cozy, warm, even if the silence is a little louder without Abby around. You brew a cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the space, and call out softly for Milo, your loyal companion.

“C’mon, boy,” you say as the golden retriever bounds into the kitchen, tail wagging furiously. Grabbing your coffee, you head outside, holding the door open for Milo to trot into the yard.

The morning is crisp, the air fresh and quiet. You take a slow sip from your mug, leaning against the porch railing, your eyes scanning the peaceful surroundings. Milo sniffs around the grass, happy and oblivious, while you lose yourself in thought.

Far off in the distance, someone else is watching.

Ellie Williams moves silently, her grip firm on the rifle in her hands as she surveys the area. Her breath is slow and measured, her boots crunching softly against the dirt path. She’d been told this was the place—where Abby Anderson was said to be living.

This is it. Anderson’s, she notes, her gaze shifting to the wooden sign hanging on the fence.

But then, Ellie’s focus shifts. Her eyes lock onto you.

You’re standing on the porch, coffee in hand, wearing an oversized shirt that clearly doesn’t belong to you. Your brunette hair falls loose around your face, and even from the distance, Ellie can see how effortlessly beautiful you are. The scene feels oddly peaceful, almost domestic—a stark contrast to what Ellie expected.

She lowers her rifle slightly, her brow furrowing in confusion. Abby has a girlfriend?

Ellie hadn’t considered that possibility. She had assumed Abby to be as hard and unyielding in her personal life as she was in battle. But seeing you there, so soft, so… happy, Ellie’s anger falters for a brief moment.

And then Milo barks.

The sharp sound jolts you from your thoughts, your eyes darting toward the treeline. That’s when you see her—a figure in the distance, partially obscured but unmistakably watching you. Your heart skips a beat, fear creeping into your chest as you notice the weapon slung across her body.

“Milo, come here,” you call softly but firmly, your voice trembling just slightly. The dog hesitates, barking again, before bounding toward you.

With shaky hands, you grab his collar and step inside, closing the door quickly behind you. You slide the lock into place and peek out through a crack in the curtains, your breath hitching as you catch another glimpse of the intruder.

Ellie doesn’t move closer. She’s still standing there, watching the house. She knows Abby isn’t here—it’s obvious. But the sight of you has planted something unexpected in her mind. Abby Anderson, the woman she’s spent so long hunting, has someone waiting for her. And not just anyone—you.

Ellie lowers her weapon fully, taking a mental note of the house and its surroundings before stepping back into the shadows. She doesn’t know what to make of this yet, but one thing is clear: Abby’s life isn’t as simple as she’d imagined, and you? You’re a complication she never saw coming.

[igotanidea]

Family unity: Dick Grayson x reader (pt 1)

Request: Damian's fullblood older sister age 19 and Dick's ex coming to live with Bruce and Damian. She gets shocked about seeing Dick and it's obvious they both still have feelings for each other. But upon realising that she had a romantic history with Dick, Bruce and Dami goes into full protective mode.

A/N: this is part 1, with part 2 coming, cause I wanted to really dive into that "protecive mode" without writing a story of 20 pages :D

***

“So this place is like a hellhole?” she asked, watching Gotham’s landscape unveil from behind the windows of Bruce's limo.

“Indeed. But in time I think you might find some charm to it.”

“Charm? Damian, please, don’t joke like that.” Y/N Al-Ghul Wayne scoffed at her younger brother. Don’t you remember the surroundings of the league of assassins? That had a charm to it. And this place –“

“I’ve been here for almost two years, sister. I believe I may have a better background to claim Gotham has a charm too.”

“You have changed, little brother, haven’t you?” the girl raised an eyebrow at him, only earning a boyish smile in response. No matter how much Damian was trying to hide it, there was something softer about him. And something more mature and human in respect of his behaviour.  And there was no chance in the world that this switch wouldn’t move something in her older sister’s heart.

Using the moment of Damian’s complacency she leaned forward on her seat and ruffled his hair playfully. Almost like back in time in Eth Alth'eban. They may have been raised by Thalia and Ra’s to be living weapons, but aside from all that, the same blood running in their veins was insurmountable. Both Damian and Y/N were similar on so many levels and trusted only each other when it came to showing that more human face.

Well.

Almost.

In Damian’s case that has clearly changed during the few months of their father’s upbringing.

And in her case…

There was one person she trusted back in the days. The boy she liked. Maybe even more. But it backfired on her, leaving her with a very painful lesson that people come and go, feelings flee and you end up getting hurt. After two years of losing him, she was still careful with her heart and even more careful with letting down her walls.  

“Y/N…” Damian asked softly, seeing her blurry eyes fixed on the horizon as they turned and got on the driveway to the manor. “What are you thinking about…?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. There was truly no way to burden Damian with her past. Not when he was clearly starting to open up to the world.

“Hey…” the younger boy slowly reached for his sister’s hand. “You’re my sister. I care.”

“I know, Dami. I know.” She squeezed his fingers and sent a soft smile. “I know and I got a feeling it might be handy if I am to stay here.”

“My katana is still sharp.” Damian smirked, but underneath that teasing face expression she could see obvious concern for her well-being.

“Are you fighting skills?”

“Duh! Fighting room is the first place I am going to show you.”

‘Can’t wait for that.”

Before she could add anything else the car pulled off signalling that they’ve reached their destination. Second later, the door opened and Y/N was greeted with the sight of the Wayne Manor.

“That’s it?” she tilted head, taking in the magnificent building with its surroundings. “Thought it was bigger.”

“I know. At first I was disappointed too. Still am. But you’ll get used to the poor housing conditions. Oh, there’s father… Hello father.”

Bruce was already descending the stairs to greet both his real kids home.

“Y/N.”

“Father.”

“Welcome to Gotham.”

“Such generosity of you to let me crash here.”

“Hm.” Bruce grunted. This exchange was awkward to say the least and not the way he thought it would come. Perhaps he should have expected that being raised by her mother would not exactly make Y/N open and trusting, let alone a chatterbox. If anything, she was keeping her emotions and her words close to her chest, examining the surroundings as if internally coming up with contingency plans.

Just like Damian when he first came to Gotham.

Just like Bruce himself.

The fact that she was his daughter was undeniable, after all the blood does not lie.

And that was why Bruce had to take a different approach to her.

“Let me help you with that.” He reached for her backpack, quite small considering the fact she was keeping most of her belongings there. Not much fancy clothes, make up stuff or anything you might expect of a 19 year-old – woman.

“No need. I’ll handle it.” Y/N effortlessly swung the bag over her arm. “Shall we?” Her watchful gaze moved between Bruce – a man who helped bring her to life and yet, who she did not know – and Damian – who was standing idly by. “I mean – we are going inside, aren’t we?”

“Hm.” Bruce grunted again, only adding fire to Y/N’s assumption that living here would be a huge challenge, and slowly led her towards the manor door.

***

“Miss Y/N. A pleasure to meet you. I am Alfred. The butler.”

“Pennyworth?” she made sure, connecting the dots in her head, examining the older man from head to toe.

“Yes. And you, Miss, are truly a spitting image of your father and brother. I suppose everyone within the Wayne blood range has an utterly terrific tendency to use last names instead of the first…”

“Y/n?!”

The exchange between the girl and Alfred was abruptly interrupted upon the appearance of a young man with just a towel around his waist, bare chest and wet hair, all of the above indicating that he has just finished taking a shower.

“Master Dick, how many times do I have to tell you to not wet the floor?”

“Grayson!” Damian hissed, taking quite a different approach to his older brother’s attire. “Dress up! We got a woman in the house and you will not deprive her with your nakedness.”

The situation was already hilarious but 12 year old Damian talking about the depravity of his 19 year old sister only added to the grotesqueness.

And then Y/N finally realised what both Damian and Alfred said.

Master Dick.

Grayson.

And that half-naked man, leaving water marks on the floor, knew her name!

Shit.

No.

***

“What was that?” Damian asked half an hour later, while he and Y/N were in her room, having stopped her from spinning on her feet, running out the door and going back to League of Assassins even if she had to crawl there for a month. “Since when do you run Y/N? That’s disappointing.”

“You are not going anywhere.” The door opened and Bruce walked inside.

“Hm.” She only muttered turning towards the window with her back to him. Bruce’s blood for crying out loud. She might as well stay in this position for the hours, days and weeks to come, but upon looking down she noticed that fuckingly annoying Dick Grayson looking up, right at her window, now fully dressed, with a  smirk and  carelessly waving at her.  “I’m going back home.”

“You are violating my privacy.” She hissed.

“Did you have much of that while living with your mother?”

“You will not speak about my mother.” The girl looked at him with anger and need for revenge in her eyes “You didn’t care much about her when you banged her and left with a kid, did you? And then, you did not care much about me, when while I was 7 you showed up to have another steamy banging with her, did you?”

“Y/n.” Bruce muttered with a hint of warning

“Y/n…” Damian muttered at the same time, having forgotten how straight-forward and oblivious to societal norms his sister could be. And listening to their parents’ turbulent history in Y/N’s words wasn’t pleasant for the younger one either.

“Shit. Sorry, Dami. Didn’t mean to bring that out, it’s just-“ she clenched her fists.

“Just what?”

“Damian, please leave me alone with Y/N for a moment will you?” Bruce turned to his son. Whatever was eating up the girl it was quite obvious that a kid, that Damian still was, should not listen to it. If his daughter was having something against him, Bruce was not going to drag the entire family into the fight.

“No.”

“Damian.”

“I am not leaving her alone with you, father.”

“But-“

Damian frowned, getting up and walking towards his sister, taking place right next to her in a form of stubbornness and quiet support. Shockingly, those actions made his father both proud and annoyed but it was obvious that a parent stood no chance against the joined forces of his assassins kids.

“Fine.” He grunted. “So you hate me Y/N. You have every right to and –“ in fact, the great Bruce Wayne, the CEO of a company, honorary citizen and benefactor of charity causes had no idea how to talk to a young woman.

“I hate all men…” she muttered, with fists still clenched and jaw tight.

“Hm?”

“I hate-“

“We heard but-“

“What did he do?” Damian cut their word exchange, being faster than his father to caught up on details.

“What?” Bruce looked between their kids with a confused frown.

“He left me…” she whispered, looking at the floor.

“When?”

“Two years ago…”

“What are you two talking about?!” Bruce finally exclaimed, getting two mocking gazes from Y/N and Damian. At this moment neither of them could believe that with such an amount of obliviousness their father claimed to be the greatest detective in the world. Ignoring him, they continued their conversation.

“How did that even happen?” Damian inquired “How did you meet? When did you meet? Did you – ugh! – did you two--?!”

“You should not be concerned with that—”

Bruce quietly sighed and sat on the nearest chair, almost blending into the wall, figuring out that it was best to gather information by pretending he wasn’t even there in the first place.

“He hurt you, didn’t he?” Damian asked her, but she only fixed her eyes on him with no sign of emotion. “You can’t use that trick on me, sister.”

“I’ve taught you that trick.” She pointed out.

“And since the apprentice has surpassed the master you can’t use that trick on me. He hurt you.”

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“No one will be killing anyone here.” Bruce decided this was the time to cut in, before someone got hurt physically. “Did he… um… I assume we’re talking about Dick?” Another batch of condemning looks was enough of an answer “ Did Dick break your heart?”

“Father!”

“That’s it. I’m going home!”

“What did I say this time?!”

“Y/N does not have a heart to break!”

“You have no right to interfere in my life! I barely know you!”

“Well I want to help!”

“Why do you even care?!”

Three Waynes under one rooftop were clearly too many, because their similar characters caused them all to start fighting and yelling at each other, forcing Alfred to walk upstairs, sat each of them in the different corner of the room, threatening with putting all the house duties on them, forcing them to stop the screams and actually start the talk.

***

It's been an hour since Alfred’s intervention and neither of them said a word.

Y/N was mad at the question about her emotions.

Damian was waiting for Y/N’s word to support her against the father.

And Bruce was making plans and schemes on how to best approach his daughter with a belated teenage rebellion going on.

“When Damian left for Gotham…” she finally started, with a voice so quiet it was barely audible in the room. “I wanted to see some of the world too… I packed my bags and just moved.”

“Grandfather couldn’t have been happy about it.”  Damian muttered

“You were always his favourite. After your departure he didn’t pay much attention to me, so –“ she shrugged. “Anyway, I started travelling. And during one of my travels I met Dick Grayson.”

“He was having his self-exploration time at the moment…” Bruce added and Y/N nodded.

“That’s what he said to me too. Not that I asked. Honestly, I never asked him a single thing. He just seems to have that effect on people when…” her voice broke a little and in that short moment of hesitation both Damian and Bruce moved to sit closer to her, leaving their respective corners. “I was 17 and out in the world for the first time. Such a stupid kid…”

“You liked him.” Bruce said softly, knowing he had to thread carefully.

“Too much apparently.” A single tear fell from her eye but instead of getting cold because of that, she felt warmth in the area of her hands. Looking down she realised that both her brother and father were holding them as a form of reassurance she decided to accept. “I knew he was Nightwing. He knew I was trained as an assassin. I even told him we could work together, but – “

“He left.”

“Yes.”

“He came back to Gotham, because of his duties here.”

“Well, I know that now…”

“Y/N.”

“I got closure now, right? He put the duties before whatever stupid thing we had going. You can learn from heartbreaks, right?” she was trying her best to not fall apart, but it was too much.

After all, behind all those layers of indifference, harshness and assassin upbringing she was only a girl whose heart was broken and who never let it in. After Dick abandoned her, she dug her emotions inside, instead deciding on travelling more and forgetting about the incident.

Only now, when she saw him again, after two years, this deeply hidden thorn has pierced the layers of inaccessibility she has built around herself. Bringing out tears.

And that was as surprising to her as it was for Damian and Bruce, who froze at first.

But when Alfred decided to open the door once more, getting alerted by the ominous quietness coming from upstairs, he saw three Waynes on the floor, almost snuggled together (which was the Waynes equivalent of sitting next to each other with Bruce’s arm around Y/N;s shoulder and Damian’s head on her shoulder).

And even though he was as quiet as a mouse, he got three pairs of eyes fixed on him immediately, warning him to not speak a single word about it to anyone.

***

She was just like he remembered.

With fire in her eyes, intelligence on her face and a fighter attitude.

All the traits that made him fall for her.

All the traits that made him stay in love with her.

Little did she know, that when he was waving at her from the driveway, with that teasing smirk and aloof attitude it was not supposed to tease her. It was a desperate attempt at reaching out. A foolish belief they could mend the gap and maybe – maybe …

No.

She was not going to forgive him let alone let him enter her life again.

And the worst part was that he was already in the lost position.

For all his golden boy attitude, all his friendliness and the fact he was Bruce’s first adopted kid and Damian’s favourite brother was nothing in comparison with the fact that with Y/N coming to live in the Manor the roles switched.

Bruce becoming a protective father and Damian turning into a revenge seeking sibling.

It was going to be a hard time for Dick Grayson. 

[magnagaruzenmon]

Fit For A King

A little follow up to a day to remember

Breaking the Mirror

The training hall echoed with the steady sound of Tiberius’s strikes against a wooden practice dummy. Sweat dripped from his brow as he moved with precision, alternating between slashes, strikes, and spinning flourishes with his naginata in its shortened blade form. His focus was absolute, his breathing steady.

That focus shattered the moment the doors burst open, and an energetic voice rang out.

“Tiberius, the man of the hour!”

Tiberius froze mid-swing, his head snapping toward the intruder. There she was, Ive’s Yujin, striding into the training hall like she owned the place. She was all confident and bright, her athletic build and infectious smile giving her an air of effortless charm.

“What the—” Tiberius muttered, lowering his weapon.

Yujin pointed a finger at him, grinning like she’d just caught him doing something embarrassing. “You’re really working up a sweat, huh? Training for Lucion, I bet. Mind if I watch? Or, better yet, join in?”

Tiberius blinked, thrown by her sudden appearance. “Uh… do I have a choice?”

“Nope!” she replied cheerily, plopping down onto a nearby bench without waiting for an invitation.

Tiberius sighed, wiping his brow with a towel. “Alright, what’s the deal? Did someone send you here?”

Yujin put on her best innocent face. “Me? Sent? Nah, I just thought you might want some company. You’ve got that lone wolf vibe going on, and trust me, it’s overrated.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

She laughed, leaning forward with her chin in her hand. “Fine, fine. Maybe I was encouraged to swing by. But can you blame them? You’ve been taking this whole ‘tournament’ thing way too seriously. Ever heard of balance, Tiberius?”

Tiberius shook his head, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about balance.”

Yujin gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? I am the epitome of balance. Watch this.” She stood and immediately attempted a high kick, but the motion sent her tumbling backward into a roll. She sprang up as if nothing happened, brushing herself off with a grin. “See? Perfect recovery. Balance.”

Tiberius couldn’t help but chuckle, despite himself. “Okay, I’ll give you points for effort.”

“Darn right you will,” she said, plopping back down. “But seriously, you need to lighten up. You’re going to burn yourself out before the fight even starts.”

Tiberius glanced at his weapon, twirling it absentmindedly. “I don’t have time to lighten up. Lucion isn’t someone I can just mess around with.”

“Maybe not,” Yujin said, her voice softening slightly. “But you don’t have to take the whole world on your shoulders either. You’ve got people rooting for you, you know. You’re not alone in this.”

The sincerity in her tone caught Tiberius off guard. He looked at her, expecting to see the same teasing expression, but there was warmth in her gaze.

He sighed, setting his naginata down. “Fine. Let’s say I take a break. What exactly do you suggest?”

Yujin’s grin returned in full force. “Glad you asked. First, we eat. You can’t fight on an empty stomach. Then, we hang out. I’ll even let you teach me how to use that fancy weapon of yours. And who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

Tiberius arched an eyebrow. “Surprise me how?”

She winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He groaned, but there was no malice in it. “Alright, fine. Just try not to trip over yourself too much.”

“Deal,” Yujin said, hopping to her feet. She extended a hand toward him. “Come on, let’s go grab something good.”

As Tiberius reluctantly followed her out of the training hall, he realized that Yujin’s presence, as overwhelming as it was, had managed to lift a weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying. Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected distraction wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Tiberius and Yujin left the training hall and wandered into town, Yujin leading the way like she’d lived there her whole life. She chattered nonstop, pointing out little details of the marketplace and cheerfully engaging with vendors as if she were on a sightseeing trip.

Tiberius trailed behind, his weapon tucked securely in its sheath. “Do you always talk this much?” he asked, feigning irritation.

“Only when I’m trying to drag a stick-in-the-mud like you out of their funk,” Yujin teased. “Come on, live a little!” She darted toward a food stall and returned holding two steaming skewers of grilled meat. “Here, eat.”

Tiberius accepted the skewer, eyeing it suspiciously before taking a bite. It was surprisingly good, and Yujin’s smug expression made him roll his eyes.

“I can’t believe this is all it takes to get you smiling,” she said, laughing.

“I’m not smiling,” Tiberius countered, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

“Sure, sure,” she said, dragging him toward a cluster of small restaurants. “Let’s find a spot to sit. This next part of the ‘Tiberius Rehab Plan’ involves a proper meal.”

As they walked into a cozy pizzeria, the warm smell of melted cheese and baked dough greeted them. Yujin didn’t wait for Tiberius’s opinion and ordered a large pepperoni pizza for the two of them.

“Pepperoni?” Tiberius asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s classic,” she replied. “Trust me, you’ll love it. Besides, you look like you could use carbs.”

As they waited for their order, the door jingled open, and Chowon walked in. She froze when she spotted them, her gaze flicking between Tiberius and Yujin.

“Chowon?” Tiberius said, surprised.

“Hey, uh… hi,” Chowon said, hesitating by the door. Her eyes lingered on Yujin, who was grinning as if she’d just found a new playmate.

“Oh, is this your girlfriend?” Yujin asked, leaning toward Tiberius with a mischievous smirk.

Tiberius sputtered, but Chowon recovered first. “No! I mean, we’re friends. Just friends.”

“Good,” Yujin said, standing and grabbing Chowon’s hand. “Then you can join us. I can’t be the only one dragging this guy out of his shell.”

Chowon hesitated, unsure how to react to Yujin’s boldness. But Yujin didn’t give her a chance to decline, pulling her into the booth.

“Yujin,” Tiberius said, rubbing his temples. “Can you not overwhelm everyone you meet?”

“Overwhelm? Please, I’m just being friendly,” Yujin said, handing Chowon a menu. “So, what’s your favorite pizza topping?”

Chowon blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… mushrooms?”

“Mushrooms?” Yujin wrinkled her nose in mock horror. “Alright, we’ll order another pizza for you. You’re not touching my pepperoni masterpiece.”

Despite herself, Chowon chuckled. Her usual reserved nature started to slip as Yujin’s relentless energy pulled her into the conversation. Within minutes, the trio was laughing over the most ridiculous topics—Yujin’s failed attempts at learning to cook, Chowon’s stories from the hostel, and Tiberius’s deadpan reactions to their antics.

When the pizzas arrived, the table fell quiet as they devoured the food. Yujin, unsurprisingly, was the loudest, praising the chef between bites. Chowon found herself smiling more than she had in days, and Tiberius, despite his initial reluctance, seemed to relax in their company.

As they finished their meal, Yujin leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Alright, new plan. After Tiberius beats Lucion, the three of us celebrate with karaoke. Chowon, you’re coming, right?”

Chowon hesitated, but Yujin nudged her with an encouraging smile.

“Sure,” Chowon said softly, glancing at Tiberius. “As long as Tiberius agrees.”

Tiberius sighed, a small but genuine smile breaking through. “Fine. But only if you two stop ganging up on me.”

“No promises,” Yujin said with a laugh.

Chowon laughed, too, surprising herself at how easily Yujin had drawn her out of her shell. Maybe this loud, overbearing girl wasn’t so bad after all.

As the trio left the pizzeria, walking together under the soft glow of streetlights, Chowon felt lighter, her worries about Tiberius’s next fight momentarily forgotten. And Tiberius, for the first time in a while, felt like he wasn’t facing the tournament alone.

Later that night, Yujin burst into her apartment, still buzzing with energy from her impromptu pizza outing. She kicked off her shoes and tossed her bag onto the couch, not noticing Gaeul and Wonyoung seated at the dining table, sipping tea and waiting expectantly.

“There you are,” Wonyoung said, her sharp gaze fixed on Yujin. “Took you long enough. How’d it go?”

Yujin flopped into a chair with dramatic flair, her grin nearly splitting her face. “Oh my gosh, you won’t believe the day I had!”

Gaeul arched an eyebrow. “We’re waiting.”

“Well,” Yujin began, leaning forward conspiratorially, “first of all, Tiberius is so much cooler than I thought. I mean, he’s still got that grumpy vibe going on, but once you get past the walls? He’s actually really funny in a dry, sarcastic kind of way. And Chowon showed up—she’s so sweet, by the way—and the three of us had the best time!”

Wonyoung and Gaeul exchanged a quick glance, their expressions neutral despite the flicker of interest in their eyes.

“We got pizza, talked about the tournament, joked around—it was honestly the most fun I’ve had in weeks. And Chowon? Oh, I think she might secretly be as competitive as Tiberius. She just hides it better.”

“Interesting,” Gaeul said, resting her chin on her hand. “So… what’s your take on Tiberius? Think he’s distracted?”

Yujin tilted her head, considering the question. “Hmm… I wouldn’t say he’s distracted. But he’s definitely opening up a bit. I mean, the guy’s been under a lot of pressure. Maybe having people to talk to is good for him?”

“Good for him,” Wonyoung repeated, her voice laced with a subtle sarcasm. “Or good for us?”

Yujin laughed. “Oh, come on, you two! You’re acting like I went there to sabotage him or something.”

Gaeul gave a tight-lipped smile. “Of course not.”

“Anyway, I think Tiberius’s gonna be just fine,” Yujin continued, oblivious to the calculated expressions of her roommates. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes down Lucion. The guy’s got serious potential. And Chowon? She’s totally his secret weapon. I swear, she’s got this calming effect on him.”

Wonyoung sipped her tea thoughtfully, hiding the slight upward twitch of her lips. “That’s… great to hear, Yujin. Really.”

“Yeah,” Gaeul added, her tone deceptively casual. “It sounds like you’re doing a great job, keeping him… engaged.”

“Thanks!” Yujin said brightly, completely missing the subtext. “I’m telling you, we’re gonna be besties by the end of this tournament!”

As Yujin bounded off to her room, humming a cheerful tune, Gaeul, and Wonyoung leaned closer, their voices dropping to a whisper.

“She has no idea,” Wonyoung said, shaking her head.

“Nope,” Gaeul agreed, a sly smile forming on her lips. “But it’s working. If Yujin keeps this up, Tiberius won’t know what hit him. By the time he realizes how much time he’s spent bonding, Lucion will have the upper hand.”

Wonyoung smirked, clinking her tea cup against Gaeul’s. “Cheers to that.”

As Yujin’s laughter echoed faintly from her room, the two schemers settled back in their chairs, quietly pleased with how their plan was unfolding.

The sun had barely set when Yujin burst into Tiberius’s room at the hostel, followed closely by Chowon. Tiberius, who had been sitting cross-legged on his bed with his eyes closed, pretending to meditate, cracked one eye open and frowned.

“You two again,” he muttered. “What now?”

“Karaoke!” Yujin announced with a grin that could power a city. She was already pulling on his arm.

Tiberius didn’t budge. “No.”

Chowon crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t make me team up with her, Tiberius. You won’t win.”

“I have a fight tomorrow,” he replied flatly, shrugging off Yujin’s insistent tugging.

“Exactly!” Yujin shot back, hands on her hips. “You need to loosen up. You’re wound tighter than Chowon’s farm accounts at tax season.”

“Wow,” Chowon said, giving Yujin a sidelong glance. “Thanks for that.”

Yujin waved her off. “The point is, you’re overthinking. A little fun won’t kill you. Come on, Tiberius, live a little!”

Chowon softened her tone, stepping closer. “You’ve been working hard, Tiberius. Maybe Yujin’s right. One night won’t ruin you. And who knows? It might even help.”

Tiberius sighed, glancing between their hopeful faces. “Fine. But one hour.”

“Four hours,” Yujin countered immediately.

“Two,” he said.

“Deal!” Yujin grabbed his hand, practically dragging him toward the door. Chowon followed, hiding her amused smile.

Karaoke Chaos

The small, neon-lit karaoke room buzzed with energy. Yujin was in her element, belting out a high-energy pop song, her voice occasionally cracking from laughing too hard. Chowon cheered her on, clutching a tambourine she wielded like a weapon, adding rhythm to the chaos.

Tiberius sat in the corner, arms crossed, watching them with a bemused expression. But when Yujin handed him the microphone during the next song, he surprised everyone by not only singing but absolutely nailing the deep, soulful ballad.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Yujin shouted, nearly dropping her drink. “Since when can you sing like that?”

“I can’t,” Tiberius said, deadpan, handing the mic back.

“You literally just sang like a pro!” Chowon exclaimed, her eyes wide.

“It’s the same as focus training,” he replied with a small shrug. “You channel energy into precision.”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying,” Yujin groaned, but she was grinning. “Do another one!”

By the end of the night, all three of them were hoarse from laughing and singing. Tiberius, despite his earlier reluctance, couldn’t deny he was having fun. He even allowed Yujin to teach him a ridiculous dance to accompany one of her songs, much to Chowon’s delight.

After their little incursion, Yujin heads back to her apartment where Gaeul and Wonyoung await Yujin leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, her lips pursed in thought. Across from her, Gaeul and Wonyoung stood, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and amusement as they listened to her recount the latest developments.

“So,” Gaeul started, raising an eyebrow, “how was it? Your little hangout with your new besties Tiberius and Chowon?”

Yujin rolled her eyes at the teasing tone but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips. “It was… fun, actually. Like, 's surprisingly fun. I mean, I thought dragging Tiberius out of his stoic bubble would be the hard part, but Chowon? She’s the real surprise.”

“Oh?” Wonyoung’s eyes glinted with interest as she leaned forward. “Do tell.”

Yujin sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Chowon’s so different when she opens up. She’s sharp, but not in a mean way. She gets Tiberius in a way I don’t think many people do, but she’s also kind of awkward and shy in the cutest way.” She paused, her cheeks warming slightly. “It’s, uh, kind of endearing.”

Gaeul smirked knowingly. “Endearing, huh? Sounds like someone’s got a little crush.”

“On Chowon?” Wonyoung added, her tone playful. “Or Tiberius? Or… both?”

Yujin groaned, pushing herself off the wall and pacing the room. “That’s the problem! I don’t know! At first, I was just messing around, you know, flirting with Tiberius to throw him off his game. But then he turned out to be… actually really cool. And Chowon? She’s so different from me, but we clicked in a way I didn’t expect.”

Gaeul exchanged a glance with Wonyoung, both of them struggling to hide their grins. “So, let me get this straight,” Gaeul said, folding her arms. “You spent time with Tiberius and Chowon, and now you’re standing here confessing that you might have a thing for both of them?”

“Ugh, don’t say it like that,” Yujin muttered, her face flushing. “I’m just… confused, okay? They’re both amazing in their own ways, and I don’t know what to do with these feelings.”

“Sounds like you’re living your own little love triangle,” Wonyoung teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Who knew our Yujin had such a soft spot for the quiet and brooding types?”

“I’m serious!” Yujin snapped, though there was no real bite in her tone. “This isn’t some joke. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s like… when I’m with them, everything feels lighter. Like I can just be myself.”

Gaeul’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. “Okay, fine. We’ll stop teasing. But, Yujin, you’re going to have to figure out what you really want. If you keep leading this on, you’re going to hurt someone—maybe even yourself.”

Yujin sighed, flopping down onto a nearby bench. “I know. I just… I didn’t expect this to happen, you know? I was supposed to be helping you two throw Tiberius off his game, not falling for him—or Chowon.”

Wonyoung crouched beside her, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. Feelings are messy, but that’s what makes them real. You don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

Gaeul nodded in agreement. “Just… don’t lose sight of who you are in all this, Yujin. Whether it’s Tiberius, Chowon, or neither of them, you’re still you. That’s what matters.”

Yujin looked up at her friends, a small, grateful smile breaking through her conflicted expression. “Thanks, guys. I’ll figure it out… eventually. Until then, I’ll just try to survive being around them without making a total fool of myself.”

“Good luck with that,” Wonyoung quipped, her grin returning. “Because if what you’re saying is true, it sounds like they’ve both already got you wrapped around their fingers.”

Yujin groaned again, throwing her head back dramatically. “Why do I even talk to you two?”

“Because we’re the only ones who’ll call you out on your nonsense,” Gaeul replied, grinning.

As the three of them laughed, Yujin felt a little lighter. Her feelings for Tiberius and Chowon might still be a tangled mess, but at least she wasn’t facing it alone.

The next morning, the change in Tiberius was impossible to ignore. He strode into the arena with a relaxed, almost cocky confidence that had been absent before. His steps were light, his shoulders loose, and his eyes gleamed with a focused intensity that caught everyone’s attention.

The reporters swarmed him during the pre-fight interviews.

“Tiberius, you seem... different today. Did something happen?” one asked, leaning in eagerly.

“Different how?” Tiberius asked a hint of mischief in his tone.

“You’re... brighter,” another reporter said, searching for the right word. “More lively. What’s your secret?”

Tiberius smirked slightly. “No secret. Just good company.”

From the sidelines, Chowon and Yujin watched with proud smiles.

“He’s glowing,” Yujin whispered to Chowon. “That’s because of us.”

Chowon rolled her eyes. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

As Tiberius walked toward the preparation area, the buzz among the crowd and media was clear: this wasn’t the same Tiberius they’d seen before. Whatever he had done the night before had transformed him into a fighter who wasn’t just ready—he was eager to take on the challenge.

And for the first time, Tiberius allowed himself to enjoy the anticipation.

In the quiet, private lounge overlooking the arena, Gaeul and Wonyoung watched Tiberius’s interviews play out on the large screen. Tiberius’s relaxed demeanor and sharp, confident answers immediately caught their attention.

“This... this isn’t right,” Wonyoung said, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms. “He’s supposed to be frazzled! Stressed! Overthinking himself into a loss.”

“Instead, he looks better,” Gaeul muttered, leaning forward on the couch, her expression growing colder with every passing second. “What happened last night?”

Wonyoung turned to her. “You sent Yujin to distract him. How did that backfire?”

Gaeul’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know. I told her to annoy him, get under his skin, and keep him off balance. She wasn’t supposed to... I don’t know, inspire him.”

Wonyoung groaned, throwing herself dramatically back into the cushions. “Yujin probably did her usual thing—being overbearing, loud, and somehow impossible not to like.”

“She always turns everything into a party,” Gaeul said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I should’ve known better than to trust her to follow a plan.”

They watched as Tiberius finished his interview with a smirk, casually brushing off the reporters’ questions about his training. He walked away with a spring in his step that made it clear he was feeling better than ever.

“He’s glowing,” Wonyoung said, her voice filled with disbelief.

“That’s not just confidence,” Gaeul said, her tone sharp with annoyance. “He’s... happy.”

Wonyoung sat up, eyes wide. “Do you think Yujin helped him? Like, accidentally gave him the boost he needed to perform better?”

Gaeul’s silence spoke volumes.

“Oh no,” Wonyoung whispered.

“Oh no is right,” Gaeul muttered. She stood and began pacing. “We’ve got to think of something else. If Tiberius goes into this fight feeling like this, Lucion won’t stand a chance.”

Wonyoung frowned, pulling her legs up onto the couch. “But... if he’s this strong now, maybe we should switch gears. Instead of trying to stop him, maybe we should try to... I don’t know, guide him?”

Gaeul stopped pacing, turning to her with an incredulous look. “Guide him?”

Wonyoung shrugged. “Think about it. If he’s destined to win, wouldn’t it be better to be on his side when he does? We could steer him toward something beneficial for us.”

Gaeul didn’t respond immediately, her mind clearly racing.

“Fine,” she said finally, sitting back down. “Let’s see how this fight goes. If he wins, we’ll reevaluate.”

“And if he loses?” Wonyoung asked.

Gaeul smirked faintly. “Then we won’t need to worry about him anymore.”

The two leaned back, their expressions shifting from frustration to calculation. For now, they would watch and wait, their next move hinging on the outcome of Tiberius’s battle with Lucion.

Momotaro stood in the training hall, his blade resting against his shoulder as he watched the replay of Tiberius’s latest interview on the holographic screen. The room was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the polished floor as he leaned against a pillar, arms crossed. His usual stoic demeanor was firmly in place, but his eyes narrowed with every word Tiberius spoke.

“He’s... different,” Momotaro muttered to himself, frowning.

The Tiberius on the screen was nothing like the opponent Momotaro had fought. This version of Tiberius was sharper, more collected, and undeniably confident. It wasn’t arrogance, but a calm, centered assurance that radiated strength.

The door creaked open behind him, and Hulk stepped in, his massive frame barely fitting through the entryway. “You’ve been watching that for a while, Taro. What do you think?”

Momotaro turned his head slightly, acknowledging Hulk but keeping his focus on the screen. “He’s grown,” he admitted, his voice low. “Whatever happened after our fight, it’s made him stronger. More dangerous.”

Hulk grinned, stepping forward to join him. “That’s what competition does. Pushes people to evolve. You didn’t think he’d stay the same, did you?”

Momotaro clenched his jaw. “I expected him to improve. I didn’t expect him to become... this.” He gestured at the screen, where Tiberius’s playful smirk lingered after another sharp answer.

Hulk chuckled, folding his arms. “He’s got fire now. Looks like someone reminded him why he’s fighting. That’s the kind of thing that makes a warrior unstoppable.”

Momotaro turned fully toward him, his expression unreadable. “I’ve seen fire like that before. It burns bright... but it’s reckless.”

“You sure about that?” Hulk asked, raising an eyebrow. “He doesn’t look reckless to me. He looks like he’s having fun. That’s a dangerous place to be for someone who knows how to fight.”

Momotaro’s grip on his sword tightened slightly, but his face remained calm. “It doesn’t matter how much he’s improved. He’s still going to lose. Lucion won’t let him get through this fight unscathed.”

“And if he does?” Hulk pressed, watching him carefully.

Momotaro’s eyes flickered with something—determination, perhaps, or something darker. “Then he’ll come for me again,” he said flatly. “And next time, I won’t make the same mistakes.”

Hulk nodded slowly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Good. I was starting to think you weren’t taking this tournament seriously enough. Let him push you, Taro. Let him remind you why you’re here, too.”

Momotaro didn’t respond immediately, his gaze returning to the screen. Tiberius’s confidence was unnerving, but it also lit a fire within him—a need to prove himself, to reclaim the focus and dominance he’d once held.

“He can grow as much as he wants,” Momotaro said at last, his voice low and resolute. “It won’t change the outcome. He’s still beneath me.”

Hulk grinned, clapping him on the back. “We’ll see, kid. We’ll see.”

As the door closed behind Hulk, Momotaro remained in the training hall, staring at the screen. He watched Tiberius’s final words before the interview ended:

"I’m ready for whatever comes next. Bring it on.”

Momotaro smirked faintly, his hand tightening on his blade. “Careful what you wish for, Tiberius.”

The arena was electric with energy, the crowd roaring as Tiberius stepped into the ring for his fight against Lucion. The clash was set to be one for the ages—both warriors had made names for themselves with their unique fighting styles and unrelenting determination. In the stands, Yujin and Chowon sat side by side, their eyes glued to the combat below.

Tiberius entered the ring with his usual calm confidence, his movements deliberate and precise. His katana glinted under the harsh arena lights, and the quiet intensity in his eyes was enough to silence even the most skeptical audience member.

“He looks… different,” Yujin remarked, leaning slightly toward Chowon as the fight began. “More focused, but also… I don’t know. Lighter?”

Chowon nodded, her gaze never leaving Tiberius. “That’s because he’s more in tune with himself. He’s not just fighting to win anymore. He’s fighting for something deeper.”

Yujin raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You’re pretty poetic about him, you know. Maybe you should be the one interviewing him after the fight.”

Chowon’s cheeks flushed, but she kept her eyes on the ring. “I’m just stating the truth. Look at him. Every move is deliberate. He’s reading Lucion’s every intention before he even makes a move.”

As if to prove her point, Tiberius effortlessly dodged one of Lucion’s powerful strikes, his counterattack swift and almost too precise to follow. The crowd erupted in cheers, but Yujin and Chowon stayed silent, both watching with growing admiration.

“You think he practices that smirk in the mirror?” Yujin asked suddenly, her tone teasing but her voice carrying a note of genuine curiosity. “The one he just did after dodging Lucion’s attack?”

Chowon bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “It’s not a smirk. It’s just… confidence. He’s earned it.”

Yujin tilted her head, studying Tiberius as he parried another blow. “Confidence looks good on him, though.”

Chowon turned to glance at Yujin, her expression softening. “You really think so?”

Yujin caught the tone in her voice and smirked. “Wait a second. Are you crushing on him, Chowon?”

Chowon froze, her composure cracking for a split second. “What? No! I mean… maybe? I don’t know!”

Yujin’s eyes widened, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “This is hilarious. You totally like him!”

“Shh!” Chowon hissed, her face turning red as she looked around to make sure no one else had overheard. “You’re one to talk! You’ve been practically swooning over him this entire time.”

Yujin leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms with a playful pout. “Fine, I’ll admit it. He’s… intriguing. And yeah, he’s got that whole ‘mysterious swordsman’ vibe going for him. But I’m not swooning.”

Chowon raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You literally gasped when he took off his jacket at the start of the fight.”

Yujin waved a hand dismissively. “Okay, that was objectively a moment worth gasping over. Have you seen his shoulders?”

Chowon laughed despite herself, her tension easing slightly. “I’ll give you that. But it’s not just that for me. There’s something… grounding about him. He’s been through so much, but he’s still standing. Still fighting.”

Yujin’s expression softened as she looked back at the fight. “Yeah. I get what you mean. He’s… inspiring. In a weird, annoyingly attractive way.”

The two women fell into a comfortable silence, their eyes once again fixed on Tiberius as he landed a decisive strike against Lucion. The crowd erupted in cheers, but Yujin and Chowon found themselves exchanging a glance, both realizing they felt the same thing.

“Well,” Yujin said with a sly smile, “this just got interesting.”

Chowon sighed, shaking her head but smiling nonetheless. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting,” Yujin replied, her grin widening. “May the best woman win.”

Chowon rolled her eyes, but there was a playful spark in her gaze. “We’ll see.”

As Tiberius stood in the center of the ring, victorious, neither of them could deny the growing feelings stirring in their hearts. For now, though, they focused on cheering him on, knowing that the path ahead—for all of them—was bound to get even more complicated.

The two watch as Tiberius masterfully dodges Lucion’s attacks. Lucion’s bow provided little effectiveness as Tiberius closed the distance between them subtly and efficiently. Having studied all of Tiberius’s last fights Lucion was unprepared when Tiberius began throwing spells and attack patterns he had never seen before.

The fight continues as Yujin and Chowon watch pleased as Tiberius effortlessly defeats Lucion. The crowd is silent as they watch before erupting into cheers.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as Tiberius stood in the arena, his arm raised in victory. His latest fight had been nothing short of spectacular, a masterclass in strategy and precision that left his opponent on the ground and the spectators on their feet. From the stands, Yujin’s excitement was practically bursting out of her.

“That’s my guy!” Yujin shouted, her voice cutting through the noise as she jumped up and down, fists pumping the air. “I knew he could do it! That’s my Tiberius!”

Beside her, Chowon clapped and cheered as well, her smile wide but more reserved compared to Yujin’s boundless energy. She glanced at Yujin, who was practically vibrating with pride and excitement and couldn’t help but feel her heart swell at how much Tiberius’s success meant to her.

Before Chowon could say anything, Yujin spun toward her, her eyes bright and sparkling with adrenaline and happiness. Without thinking, Yujin grabbed Chowon’s face and planted a quick but firm kiss on her lips.

Chowon froze, her eyes wide in shock as Yujin pulled back, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. “Oh my gosh, I—uh—wow, I didn’t mean to just do that!” Yujin stammered, suddenly aware of what she had just done. “I was just so excited and you were right there, and—uh, okay, don’t hate me, but I think I might have a crush on Tiberius… and you.”

Chowon blinked, processing Yujin’s words, and for a moment, the noise of the crowd seemed to fade into the background. Then, to Yujin’s surprise, Chowon let out a soft laugh, her face breaking into a warm smile.

“Well, that’s… surprising,” Chowon admitted, her voice quiet but steady. She reached up and gently took Yujin’s hands in hers. “But it’s not a bad thing.”

Yujin looked at her nervously. “Really? You don’t think I’m, like, completely out of my mind?”

Chowon shook her head, her smile growing. “No, because… I think I have a crush on you too. And, um, on Tiberius.”

Now it was Yujin’s turn to be surprised. “Wait—what? You like both of us?”

Chowon nodded, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve kind of been trying to figure it out myself, but seeing how you reacted just now… I think we’re kind of in the same boat.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the noise of the arena fading away as the realization settled between them. Then, Chowon leaned forward and returned Yujin’s earlier kiss, this time with more certainty and warmth.

When they pulled apart, Yujin was grinning like a fool. “Okay, wow, this day just keeps getting better and better.”

Chowon laughed softly. “Yeah, I guess it does. But, um, we should probably talk about this more… later. After we figure out what to say to Tiberius.”

Yujin groaned dramatically. “Ugh, do we have to talk about feelings? Can’t we just cheer him on and let him keep being oblivious for a little longer?”

Chowon gave her a playful shove. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” Yujin teased, her grin widening.

Chowon rolled her eyes, but her smile never faded. As the two of them turned their attention back to the arena, the energy of the crowd surged around them, but at that moment, all they felt was the warmth of each other’s company—and the excitement of what might come next.

The duo approaches Tiberius after the fight and confesses. Obviously, confused Tiberius says, “Wait me really?”

The girls nod and say, “We make such a good team I think that we should stick together,” Chowon starts.

“Besides this way, we can protect you from the crazies,” Yujin finished.

Tiberius thinks for a moment and then says, “Okay let’s do this,”

Locked in My Head

The arena was silent as Burai’s massive frame hit the ground, the dust swirling around him in the dim light. His sword lay broken a few feet away, glinting faintly in the aftermath of the battle. The once-boisterous crowd, who had been roaring his name mere moments ago, now sat stunned, their cheers replaced by an uneasy silence.

Paladin loomed over Burai, his armored silhouette casting a long shadow across the defeated warrior. His Ikkakalaka, a monstrous weapon forged from an unholy alloy of Vibranium, Dragonite, and Uru, rested lightly on Burai’s chest. The jagged edges of the weapon seemed to hum with restrained energy, crackling faintly as if eager for more destruction.

Burai, battered and broken, forced himself to lift his head. The pain in his limbs screamed for him to stay down, but his pride as a warrior compelled him to meet his opponent’s gaze. What he saw, or rather didn’t see, unnerved him.

Behind the featureless mask that obscured Paladin’s face, there was no anger, no triumph, no humanity—just a chilling, predatory calm. The same quiet malice that had defined every strike of their fight. Paladin leaned down slightly, his voice low and barely audible over the faint murmurs of the crowd.

“Don’t get up,” he whispered, each word dripping with icy finality.

Burai’s instincts told him to resist, to rise, to fight back. But he knew. Paladin wasn’t making a threat—he was making a promise. Burai glanced down at the Ikkakalaka, its edge glowing faintly with the remnants of some destructive magic. One wrong move, one twitch of defiance, and Paladin would finish what he’d started.

For the first time in his storied career, Burai made the choice he had always sworn never to make. He slammed his fist against the ground in submission, his voice hoarse as he called out, “I yield.”

The crowd, initially stunned, erupted into boos and jeers. The air was thick with their dissatisfaction as they vented their frustration. Burai, the fan favorite, their golden warrior, had been dismantled by someone they didn’t understand and didn’t want to embrace.

Paladin stood straight, lowering his weapon. He didn’t acknowledge the crowd, didn’t bask in the victory like so many others. Instead, he turned silently and began walking back to the tunnel that led to the prep rooms.

As he disappeared into the shadows, the audience’s boos only grew louder, a deafening cacophony of anger and disapproval. It wasn’t just Burai’s loss they mourned; it was Paladin’s impenetrable aura, his refusal to play into their expectations.

The private viewing room was dimly lit, the trio sitting in tense silence as the fight between Paladin and Burai replayed on the large screen before them. The aftermath of the battle had shaken the tournament to its core, but it was the way Paladin had dismantled Burai that truly disturbed them.

Wonyoung leaned forward, her hands gripping the armrest of her chair as Paladin delivered the final blow with cold precision. The crowd’s boos echoed faintly through the speakers, but Paladin’s expression never changed. His face remained obscured, his movements methodical, almost mechanical.

“That was…” Gaeul trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Efficient,” Momotaro finished, his voice low. His sharp eyes never left the screen as the replay cut to the slow-motion highlights. “Too efficient. He wasn’t just fighting Burai—he was dissecting him.”

Wonyoung frowned, her brows furrowed. “Burai was supposed to win. He’s one of the strongest fighters in this tournament. How does someone like Paladin come out of nowhere and take him down like that?”

“It wasn’t just strength,” Gaeul said, her voice steady despite the unease creeping into her tone. “Look at the way he moves. He’s reading Burai like a book—countering every habit, exploiting every flaw. It’s like he’s studied him for years.”

Momotaro replayed the fight again, slower this time. Paladin’s movements were precise, almost surgical. Every step he took seemed calculated to draw Burai into making a mistake. The final blow wasn’t just powerful—it was perfectly timed, delivered with a level of control that bordered on terrifying.

“I’ve seen enough,” Momotaro said, pausing the footage. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “We need to know who this guy is.”

Wonyoung and Gaeul exchanged a glance before nodding. “Let’s dig,” Wonyoung said, pulling out her tablet.

Hours later, the trio sat in silence once again, their expressions grim as they stared at the information they had uncovered.

“Dargo “Dragon” Brando,” Gaeul said, breaking the silence. “Mutant Nephew of storm. Formerly affiliated with the Fantastic Four/ Future Foundation.”

“And fought Hulk,” Wonyoung added, scrolling through an article. “Back when he first returned from Sakaar. High ranking agent of the Wakanda Future Alianxe ”

Momotaro narrowed his eyes, leaning forward. “That alliance—between the Wakandans and Future Foundation. They were the ones who helped Reed and T’Challa escape when the war started turning against them.”

“Paladin—Dargo—was part of that,” Gaeul said. “He wasn’t just some foot soldier, either. He was a key player. Look at this—he helped design the extraction plan that got them off-planet.”

“And he fought Hulk,” Wonyoung repeated, her tone laced with disbelief. “Do you know what kind of power it takes to stand against him, even for a moment? And now he’s here, in this tournament, taking down people like Burai with ease.”

Momotaro’s jaw tightened. “He’s not just a fighter. He’s a tactician. A predator. He doesn’t just beat his opponents—he breaks them. Takes everything they’re good at and turns it against them.”

“Which means,” Gaeul said, her voice quiet, “he’s already watching us. Studying us.”

Wonyoung shivered, her grip tightening on her tablet. “How do we stop someone like that?”

Momotaro stood, his eyes hard with determination. “We don’t let him control the fight. If we ever face him, we have to make him fight on our terms. Force him to adapt. Otherwise…”

“Otherwise, we’re just his next prey,” Gaeul finished grimly.

The three exchanged a heavy look, the weight of what they had uncovered settling over them like a storm cloud.

From the champion’s box, Hulk leaned back in his seat, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He’d watched the fight closely, analyzing every move. Paladin’s precision, his cold efficiency—it was brilliant, undeniable. And yet, the crowd hated him.

“He’s too silent,” Hulk muttered to himself, his massive hands resting on the arms of his chair. “They can’t connect to him. He doesn’t give them anything to hold onto.”

Paladin’s face was always hidden, his body language guarded, his fights devoid of showmanship or flair. To the crowd, he was a phantom—a shadow of destruction they couldn’t cheer for or against. And yet, Hulk couldn’t help but admire him. His mystery intrigued the hulk and reminded him much of himself when he was on Sakaar.

In the prep room, Paladin stripped off his armor in silence. His movements were deliberate, methodical, as he folded the pieces into his locker. He swapped his battle gear for plain, dark clothing, pulling up a hood that shadowed his already obscured face.

As he finished, he caught his reflection in the cracked mirror on the wall. His hands lingered for a moment, brushing against the edge of the hood. Beneath the fabric, beneath the mask, his expression remained unreadable.

Hulk entered the room without knocking, his massive frame filling the doorway. The dim light of the prep room cast long shadows, making the space feel smaller. Paladin sat at the far end of the room, still in the process of cleaning the blood and dust off his Ikkakalaka, its jagged edges gleaming faintly. The air between them was heavy with unspoken tension.

“That was some fight,” Hulk began, his voice even but weighted. He folded his arms across his chest, the muscles in his forearms bulging. “But the crowd… they’re not with you.”

Paladin didn’t look up, his focus remaining on the weapon in his hands. “I’m not one for pageantry,” he said flatly, his voice cold and indifferent.

Hulk stared at the young contestant, his brow furrowing as he took a few steps closer. “But why? The crowd’s cheer plays a very important part in wins and losses,” he pressed, his tone edging into frustration.

Paladin stiffened at the comment, the cloth in his hands pausing mid-motion. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured but laced with quiet defiance. “The same crowd that cheered when you were exiled without a trial? The same crowd that cheered when Blue Marvel was forced to retire because no one was ready for a ‘Black superhero’? The same crowd that cheered for the Registration Act, sending heroes into a civil war? The same crowd that cheered when the Illuminati raised an army against you?”

Each word landed like a hammer, forcing Hulk to confront memories he’d tried to bury. His massive fists clenched involuntarily at his sides as he remembered the betrayals, the pain, the hypocrisy of those who had once cheered for him and then turned on him without hesitation.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Hulk said finally, his voice softer now, almost weary. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Paladin, searching for something behind the mask that covered the young fighter’s face. “But can’t you give the crowd something? A little nod, a smirk, even a damn fist pump? You’re not making it easy for anyone to root for you.”

Paladin didn’t respond immediately. He resumed cleaning his weapon, the quiet scrape of the cloth against metal filling the room. After a moment, he placed the Ikkakalaka down with care and rose to his feet, his full height almost matching Hulk’s imposing frame. He turned his head slightly, his voice low and steady as it echoed in the small room. “I don’t fight for them.”

Hulk frowned, his frustration bubbling up again. He stepped closer, his towering form casting a shadow over Paladin. “Then what are you fighting for?” he demanded, his voice firm but tinged with curiosity.

Paladin hesitated, his gloved hand brushing against the edge of the hood that obscured most of his face. For a moment, it seemed as though he might answer, as if the armor around his words might crack. But then he shook his head, his voice colder than ever. “That’s not your concern.”

Hulk exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You’re good—too good to ignore,” he said, his tone softer now. “But talent only takes you so far. You want to win this? You want to matter? You need to connect. Otherwise, you’re just another fighter in the arena. No one remembers the ghost who doesn’t leave a mark.”

Paladin’s mask tilted slightly, as though he were considering the words, but he gave no reply. Instead, he turned back to his locker, unhooking a plain black jacket and pulling it over his shoulders. Without another word, he picked up the Ikkakalaka, slinging it across his back, and strode toward the exit.

“Think about it,” Hulk called after him, his voice carrying an edge of desperation. “The crowd isn’t your enemy. They don’t have to be.”

Paladin paused at the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light of the hallway. He glanced over his shoulder, the faintest hint of his voice escaping from beneath the mask. “They were never my enemy. But they’ll never be my reason, either.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Hulk alone in the silence of the prep room. The towering hero stared at the empty doorway, his thoughts a jumble of admiration, frustration, and concern. Paladin was a fighter like no other, but Hulk couldn’t shake the feeling that the young man’s silence wasn’t just a shield—it was a burden. One that could either make him unstoppable or be the very thing that broke him.

Paladin didn’t answer. Instead, he sheathed his Ikkakalaka and slung it across his back, walking past Hulk without another word.

As the door closed behind him, Hulk stared after him, a mix of frustration and respect in his gaze. Paladin’s silence was his strength, but it was also his weakness. And in a tournament where winning wasn’t just about skill but about leaving a legacy, Hulk wondered if Paladin’s approach would ultimately cost him.

In the tunnel leading out of the arena, Paladin moved like a shadow, the noise of the crowd fading into the distance. Whatever they thought of him didn’t matter. He wasn’t here to entertain them—he was here to win.

Paladin stepped into the dimly lit room, the faint smell of oil and metal lingering in the air. It wasn’t much—a repurposed office space in the abandoned factory he called home—but it was quiet, secure, and his. Or at least it had been until tonight.

His eyes fell on the group of armored women scattered across the room. The air was tense, heavy with a silent challenge. They weren’t ordinary intruders. Their stances, their weapons, the faint glow of otherworldly energy surrounding some of them—this was a team of killers. His gaze stopped on the leader, her blonde hair glowing faintly under the flickering light.

“Magik,” he said flatly, recognizing her immediately.

The other women turned their heads sharply at his tone. Magik stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not supposed to know that name.”

Paladin shrugged, casually tossing his bag onto a nearby table. “I don’t care what you do, just don’t make a mess. You can use the place for now.”

Magik didn’t flinch, but her voice carried a dangerous edge. “You know, now that you’ve seen us, we have to kill you.”

“Um, no, you don’t,” Paladin replied, his tone bored.

A tall, tan woman with a sharp glare stepped forward, the weight of her presence almost tangible. “Actually, yes, we do.”

Paladin sighed, his body language calm as he unsheathed his blade. He moved with precision, readying himself for a fight. But then, as if reconsidering, he sheathed the weapon again, giving the group a disinterested look.

“Is this it? Is this all you’ve got?” he asked, his tone tinged with faint mockery.

Magik’s lips curved into a smirk, though her eyes remained hard. “You think I’m afraid of the Hulk?”

Paladin rolled his eyes and stepped closer, his tone softening. “Illyana, please don’t do this.”

Her smirk faltered. The room grew still. The Hellions exchanged uneasy glances, and Magik tilted her head slightly. “How do you know my name?”

Paladin raised a hand and slowly removed his mask, revealing a face marred by scars but undeniably familiar. Magik’s eyes widened as recognition struck her.

“Dragon?” she whispered, her voice almost trembling.

He gave her a small nod, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, Magik stared, her tough exterior cracking. Then, without hesitation, she crossed the space between them and pulled him into a tight hug. The Hellions lowered their weapons, watching the unexpected reunion unfold.

“I thought you died,” Magik said quietly, her voice tinged with guilt.

“I almost did,” Paladin—Dragon—replied simply.

Magik pulled back, her hands gripping his shoulders. “You’re so dramatic,” she muttered, though there was a flicker of relief in her eyes.

He gestured to the space around them. “My home is your refuge for now,” he said, his tone softer.

Magik gave him a small smile, motioning for her team to stand down. As the Hellions began to disperse, two of them lingered—Jihyo and Jeewon.

Jeewon, her face a mix of emotions, stepped closer. She looked at Dragon hesitantly, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her armor. “Dragon… are you okay?”

He nodded slowly, his gaze steady. But before he could speak, Jeewon closed the distance between them, her hands reaching up to gently remove the faceplate from his armor. She stood on her toes and kissed him, her lips soft but filled with urgency.

For a moment, Dragon froze, caught off guard. Then, as if a dam had broken, he returned the kiss, his arms wrapping around her. When they finally broke apart, Jeewon’s voice was breathless but steady.

“I’m never leaving you again, my hurricane,” she whispered, her hands trembling slightly as they rested against his chest.

From the corner of the room, Magik let out a soft laugh, her arms crossed as she watched the scene. “You two are so sappy,” she teased, though there was warmth in her tone.

Jihyo, still standing nearby, cleared her throat. “Dragon, what about Greyhound? Is he…”

Dragon looked at her, his expression softening. “He’s okay. He’s with Charles and the rest of the Illuminati.”

Jihyo’s face brightened with a smile. “Good,” she said simply, stepping back to let Jeewon have her moment.

Jeewon grabbed Dragon’s hand and led him toward the makeshift room he had built in the factory’s old office. Inside, the space was sparse but functional, with a bed pushed against one wall and a small table cluttered with maps and tools.

Jeewon sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes scanning his face with a mix of relief and concern. “What happened after we left you on Earth?” she asked softly, her gaze lingering on the scars that crisscrossed his skin.

Dragon hesitated, his expression darkening. “A lot,” he admitted finally. “More than I can explain in one night.”

Jeewon reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek. “Then we’ll take it one night at a time,” she said gently.

For the first time in what felt like years, Dragon allowed himself to relax, the weight of his past momentarily lifting as he sat beside her.

“Well I guess it starts when i decided to go through with Hulk’s realm champion tournament.” Dargo began

The sounds of the forge filled the air—hammer on steel, the hiss of cooling water, and the low hum of machinery working in unison. The heat was oppressive, but it felt like home to Paladin—no, to Dargo. It had been years since he’d stepped into a forge like this, but the familiarity of it all tugged at memories he’d tried to bury.

Near the anvil stood the Forge Master, a stout yet commanding figure with arms thick from decades of crafting weapons for the strongest warriors and heroes across the realms. His beard was streaked with gray, his eyes sharp beneath bushy brows as they flicked up at the figure entering the room.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Dargo the Dragon,” the Forge Master said, his gruff voice tinged with amusement. “Back from the dead, eh?”

Dargo pulled back his hood, revealing his scarred face. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Miss me, old man?”

The Forge Master let out a hearty laugh that echoed through the chamber. “Miss you? Boy, you were always too stubborn to miss. Thought you’d finally kicked it for good, though. Guess the rumors were exaggerated.”

Dargo chuckled lightly, his gaze drifting toward the molten metal glowing in the forge. “I’ve heard that one before.”

The Forge Master shook his head, still grinning. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here. What’s your game this time? Looking to make trouble, or are you finally trying to get yourself killed?”

Dargo’s smile faded, replaced by a more solemn expression. He leaned against a workbench, his voice quiet but steady. “I’m here because I’m tired of watching everything fall apart. I’m tired of wars. I’m tired of heroes fighting each other. I want to bring back the peace that existed before the Registration Act. Before everything turned into chaos.”

The Forge Master let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “That’s wishful thinking, boy. But…” He sighed, his tone softening. “It’s a noble goal. Someone’s gotta try, I suppose.”

Dargo’s gaze hardened, his resolve unshakable. “If no one else will, I will.”

The Forge Master studied him for a long moment before nodding. “If you’re serious about this, you’re gonna need more than just resolve. You need a weapon worthy of your fight.”

He turned and moved to a large chest at the back of the forge, its surface blackened from years of heat and soot. With a grunt, he opened it to reveal a pair of weapons that shimmered with an otherworldly glow.

“This,” the Forge Master said, pulling out a massive ikakalaka—a hybrid weapon that functioned as both a club and a blade—“is Achilles. Forged from vibranium, dragonite, and uru. It absorbs energy from every blow it lands, making it stronger with each strike.”

He then held up a shield, its surface etched with intricate runes. “And this shield? Same alloy. It’ll take whatever energy it absorbs and send it right back at your enemy.”

Dargo stepped forward, his hand brushing over the weapons. They hummed with power, as though alive, resonating with his very soul.

“These are yours,” the Forge Master said. “Weapons for a warrior with a purpose. Just don’t forget—power like this doesn’t come without a price. The stronger they get, the more they’ll demand of you.”

Dargo took the ikakalaka and shield, testing their weight. They felt perfect, as if they’d been waiting for him.

He turned to the Forge Master, his voice quiet but firm. “Thank you.”

The Forge Master waved him off. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a hell of a fight ahead of you, Dragon. Let’s see if you can live up to those scars.”

Dargo strapped the weapons to his back, his smirk returning faintly. For the first time in years, he felt ready—not just to fight, but to stand for something worth fighting for. The weight of the weapons on his shoulders was nothing compared to the weight of his resolve. This wasn’t about revenge or glory; it was about restoring the balance he once believed in.

Jeewon listened intently as Paladin recounted his story. His voice was steady but distant, as if he was narrating the life of someone else rather than his own. She could sense the hesitation behind his words, the deliberate omissions as he danced around the full truth. He was holding back, shielding himself from fully opening up to her, and it broke her heart. This wasn’t the Dragon she remembered. The man she had known was unflinchingly honest, brimming with passion, and carrying a spark of hope that could ignite an entire room.

Now, that spark was gone. The light that once defined him was buried beneath layers of pain and isolation. Jeewon’s heart ached as she watched him, his eyes heavy with the weight of his burdens, his movements careful and restrained, as if he was afraid to let himself feel anything.

Without thinking, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his tense frame and pressing her head to his chest. She let her warmth flow through her, hoping it would reach him. Paladin stiffened at first, unused to such closeness, but slowly, almost reluctantly, he relaxed into her embrace. It was one of the first genuine moments of comfort he’d allowed himself in years.

“Dragon,” Jeewon whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Please come back.”

Paladin didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. She could feel the walls he’d built around himself, thick and unyielding, but she wasn’t ready to give up.

“This stoic act, it’s not you,” she continued, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “You’re easygoing and happy, not guarded and cold. You used to laugh, even when things seemed impossible. You used to believe in people, in us.”

Jeewon reached up, her fingers trembling slightly as she unhooked the metal plate obscuring his face. The action was gentle, deliberate, as if she was peeling away the mask he had hidden behind for so long. When the plate fell away, she saw the face she remembered—the face of the man she had loved before war and responsibility had carved so many scars into his soul. His eyes, though weary, still held a flicker of the fire she knew was buried deep within.

“I want my Hurricane back,” she said, her voice breaking as tears welled in her eyes.

Paladin’s gaze softened for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. He closed his eyes, a deep sigh escaping him as he struggled to respond.

“You don’t understand, Jeewon,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “The man you knew… he doesn’t exist anymore. I’ve seen too much, done too much. I can’t be him again.”

“Yes, you can,” she said firmly, her hands cupping his face. “That man is still in there. I see him, even if you can’t. He’s in the way you hesitate to hurt others unnecessarily, the way you protect those who can’t protect themselves. You might not feel it, but he’s still here, Dargo. And I’m not giving up on him.”

Paladin shook his head, his jaw tightening as he tried to pull away, but Jeewon wouldn’t let him. She pressed her forehead to his, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“You’re not alone, Dargo. You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself. Please, let me in. Let me help you.”

For a long moment, the room was filled with silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing. Paladin’s hands slowly came up to rest on her wrists, his touch hesitant, unsure.

“I’m afraid,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I’m afraid of letting you see how broken I’ve become. Of letting anyone see.”

“You’re not broken,” Jeewon said softly. “You’re hurt. But hurt can heal. It just takes time… and people who care about you.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she continued, her voice trembling. “I care about you, Dragon. I always have. And I’ll be here, no matter how long it takes. I’ll wait for you to find your way back, but please… please don’t shut me out.”

Paladin’s shoulders sagged, the weight of her words breaking through his defenses. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to feel something other than numbness. He rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Jeewon tightened her embrace, her heart swelling with hope. She could feel it—the first cracks in the walls he had built around himself. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

As the night wore on, Jeewon remained by Dargo’s side, her arms wrapped protectively around him. The tension that had been etched into his every movement began to ease, his breathing slowing into a steady rhythm. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to surrender, to let go of the constant vigilance that had kept him alive but had also worn him down.

Jeewon held him close, gently stroking his hair as his head rested against her shoulder. She could feel his exhaustion, not just physically but emotionally, and it broke her heart to think of all he had endured. Yet, for now, he was at peace.

“Sleep,” she whispered softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’re safe here.”

Dargo’s lips moved slightly, a faint murmur escaping as he drifted into a deep sleep. Jeewon stayed awake, watching over him, a small smile playing on her lips as she felt the faintest glimmer of hope for the man she loved.

The early morning light filtered through the cracks in the factory’s walls, illuminating the makeshift bedroom with a soft, golden glow. Dargo stirred, his eyes fluttering open as he felt the warmth of the sun on his face. For a moment, he was disoriented, the memories of the previous night flooding back.

“Good morning, Hurricane,” Jeewon murmured, her voice laced with affection.

Dargo blinked, turning his head to see her still sitting beside him, a gentle smile on her face. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the door to the room creaked open.

“Well, well,” came a familiar voice, sharp and teasing. “The great Dragon finally wakes up.”

Dargo sat up quickly, his body tense as Magik stepped into the room, her arms crossed and a smirk playing on her lips. She was dressed in her battle attire, her soul sword resting against her shoulder.

“Ilyanna,” he said, his voice still groggy.

“Don’t ‘Ilyanna’ me,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been sulking in this place long enough. Time to see if you’ve still got it, protégé.”

Dargo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Magik said with a grin, tossing him a wooden practice sword. “I want to see if all that brooding has dulled your skills.”

Jeewon gave Dargo an encouraging look, gently squeezing his hand. “You should go. She won’t let up until you do.”

With a resigned groan, Dargo stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders as he grabbed the practice sword. “Fine,” he said, glancing at Magik. “But don’t blame me if you regret this.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Magik replied, her grin widening as she led him to the sparring area.

The two faced off in the wide, open space of the factory floor. Magik twirled her sword with practiced ease, her movements fluid and precise. Dargo, now fully awake and focused, settled into a ready stance, the wooden sword held firmly in his grip. He set his armor back in place and he was Paladin once more. Both Jeewon and Magik noticed his change in countenance as he armored up. It saddened them to see him so guarded and mechanical

“Show me what you’ve got,” Magik said, her tone challenging. Paladin nodded before getting in a ready stance. He faced her with a malicious silence that put the rest of Magik’s Hellions on edge. Magik charged. Using her stepping disc she tried to get the edge on Dragon but found it difficult due to his hardened reflexes. He anticipated her every move and the one after that leaving her on the ropes.

Jeewon watched from afar saddened by Dragon’s almost mechanical movements and stiff attacks. His fluidity was gone which she noticed is probably from all of the scar tissue covering his body. She made the mental not to try rejuvenation on Dragon later tonight to hopefully mend more of him.

After Paladin’s fight with Burai. Leviathan began running some calculations with his girlfriend as to who his next opponent would be. Had Burai bested Paladin it would have been Burai but due to his loss and Paladin’s new seating after his most recent fight his schedule was in flux.

Eventually the math checked out to be a fighter named Diobronto

The preparation chambers were dimly lit, the echoes of the arena still faintly audible through the stone walls. Leviathan leaned against a pillar, his face a mask of quiet contemplation. Across from him, Heejin sat cross-legged on a bench, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that matched her concern.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Heejin said, breaking the silence. “Something tells me it’s not just the fight you’re thinking about.”

Leviathan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not just any fight, Heejin. It’s Diobronto.”

Heejin arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “Diobronto? The crowd favorite? The one who cracks jokes mid-fight and has the whole arena eating out of his hand?”

“Yeah, that Diobronto,” Leviathan replied, his voice heavy. “It’s not just the crowd that makes him a problem. It’s who he is—and what he’s fighting for.”

Heejin leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Go on.”

Leviathan hesitated, his fingers drumming against the pillar. “You’ve seen how the crowd loves him. They adore his charm, his humor. But what most people don’t know is that he’s not here for glory or fame. He’s here for revenge.”

Heejin tilted her head, intrigued. “Revenge? Against who?”

“Burai,” Leviathan said, his jaw tightening. “Apparently, they were allies once, partners in the field. But Burai… stabbed him in the back. Literally. All for a shot at success. Diobronto barely survived, and now? He’s made it his mission to fight his way through this tournament just to face Burai again.”

Heejin whistled softly. “That’s… intense. No wonder the crowd loves him. A personal vendetta makes for a great story.”

“It’s more than that,” Leviathan said, his voice lowering. “Diobronto not just a skilled fighter—he’s unpredictable. He uses his humor to throw you off, but underneath it all, he’s calculating. Every move he makes is designed to exploit weaknesses. And after what Burai did to him, he fights like someone who has nothing to lose.”

Heejin studied Leviathan’s expression, noting the tension in his shoulders and the shadow of unease in his eyes. “You’re scared of him,” she said softly, not as an accusation but as an observation.

Leviathan didn’t deny it. “I’d be stupid not to be. He’s got the crowd on his side, a grudge fueling his every step, and skills that rival anyone in this tournament. He’s dangerous, Heejin. And what’s worse? He’s smart. He’ll study me, find every flaw in my technique, and use it against me.”

Heejin stood and crossed the room, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You’ve faced dangerous opponents before, Leviathan. What makes Diobronto so different?”

Leviathan met her gaze, his voice steady but laced with a hint of vulnerability. “Because he’s not just fighting to win. He’s fighting for something he believes in. And that kind of conviction? It makes people unstoppable.”

Heejin nodded slowly, processing his words. “But you’ve got something too, Levi. You’ve got your own reasons for being here. Don’t let his story overshadow yours.”

Leviathan gave her a small, appreciative smile. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Part of the job,” Heejin teased, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “But seriously, Levi, you’ve got this. Diobronto may be a crowd favorite, but you’re not fighting for their approval. You’re fighting for you. And that’s just as powerful.”

Leviathan exhaled deeply, some of the tension leaving his body. “Thanks, Heejin. I needed that.”

“Anytime,” she said with a grin. “Now, how about we strategize a little? If Diobronto’s as unpredictable as you say, you’ll need a game plan.”

“Good idea,” Leviathan agreed, his determination returning. “Let’s figure this out. Together.”

Vendetta

After my most recent fight, I headed home. It was another win—another opponent defeated, another step closer to what I really wanted. But it wasn’t Burai. Again. For the fourth time, I’d asked to face him directly, but Hulk had been adamant that I needed to earn my way there. “The right way,” he’d called it. He said my petty vengeance wasn’t fair, that it undermined the tournament’s purpose.

Unfair? It wasn’t like I planned to stick around afterward. My goal was simple: beat Burai, settle the score, and disappear back to my little corner of the world. But no. Instead of wrapping things up quickly, I’d been forced to climb this ridiculous ladder. The more I fought, the more my fame and legend grew, and the more tangled I became in the tournament’s narrative. Now people were rooting for me like I was some sort of hero. It was exhausting.

When adapting Mei to Mei Washio, her introduction gains a layer of serpentine mystique and a duality of nurturing and danger that fits her unique presence. Mei’s snake-like features and confident aura would shift the focus of her character, emphasizing her as someone both alluring and potentially treacherous. Here’s how this could adjust her introduction:

When I finally reached my door, I stopped short. A young woman stood waiting for me, leaning casually against the frame. Her presence was magnetic, her confidence almost tangible. She had an aura that was both motherly and serpentine—a strange combination of sultry allure and gentle composure that left my thoughts scattered.

Her body was undeniably captivating, but it was her subtle, reptilian features that caught my attention. Scales adorned her collarbone, shimmering faintly under the light, and her golden eyes were slitted like a snake’s. A mutant, I thought, my gaze traveling over her. I tried to keep my appraisal focused and respectful, but it wasn’t easy.

“Diobronto?” she asked, her voice smooth, with a teasing lilt that made it impossible to ignore her.

I nodded slowly, unsure what to make of her. Her smile widened as she stepped forward, moving with a grace that felt both deliberate and effortless. “I’m Mei Washio,” she introduced herself, her tone light yet tinged with intrigue. Her piercing eyes locked onto mine, and I felt like she could see straight through me.

As I hesitated, she tilted her head, her scales catching the faintest glimmer of light. “Like what you see?” she asked, her voice a soft purr.

I nodded again, unsure how else to respond. Her chuckle was low and melodic, sending a shiver down my spine. Without waiting for an invitation, she opened the door and stepped inside, her movements as smooth as flowing water.

Once the door closed behind us, I found my voice. “Why are you here?” I asked, my tone wary. “You don’t know anything about me.”

She turned back to me, her expression playful yet enigmatic. Raising a finger to her lips, she shushed me gently before stepping closer. “Oh, but I do,” she said, her smile revealing the faintest hint of sharp teeth. “You’re the funniest and most interesting part of this entire tournament’s story. You and Burai? That whole drama? It’s like something out of a myth. Two creators of great stories and characters… and then Burai stabs you in the back, both literally and metaphorically. And now you’re out for revenge? It’s perfect. You couldn’t write a better narrative.”

I sighed, her words cutting deeper than I expected. “That’s not entirely true,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “Burai and I were good friends—or at least, I thought we were. Then something happened. I don’t even know what. Maybe I said something he didn’t like, or maybe I pissed off the wrong person. Whatever it was, he stopped talking to me out of nowhere.

“I could’ve handled that,” I continued, my voice growing sharper. “But then he goes around airing his grievances to everyone but me. And then—then—he stabs me in the back. I’m not letting that slide. It’s bullshit, and I hate it.”

Mei’s laughter burst forth, loud and unrestrained, as if I’d just delivered the punchline to the world’s funniest joke. She doubled over, clutching her sides, her golden eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s even funnier,” she said between breaths. “So let me get this straight—you’re facing off against some of the world’s best fighters just to be petty?”

I shrugged, feeling a little defensive. “Pretty much.”

She leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, a smirk still playing on her lips. “You do realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?”

“Oh, I know,” I replied, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “In my defense, I told Hulk to just put me in against Burai early on so I wouldn’t screw up the tournament for everyone else. But no, he wouldn’t do it. And now I’m four victories in, and more than half the contestants are out. So yeah, I look like even more of a jackass.”

Mei shook her head, her laughter fading into a softer chuckle. Her eyes, however, remained sharp, as if she was reading deeper into me than I was comfortable with.

“You’re unbelievable,” she said, though there was a strange note of admiration in her voice.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered, slumping into a chair.

She studied me in silence for a moment, her playful demeanor softening into something gentler. “You know, Dio,” she began, her voice quieter now, “you might think this is all about vengeance, but maybe it’s about something more. Something you haven’t admitted to yourself yet.”

I frowned, her words catching me off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She leaned forward, her movements deliberate, her golden eyes locking onto mine. “Revenge might be your excuse, but it’s not your purpose.” She smiled again, enigmatic and knowing. “You’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

Mei then got up and approached me before kissed me as she did she wrapped her plush thighs around my waist and all semblance of self-control or restraint left as soon as she put my hands on her ass. We broke the kiss and she slid her panties down from her skirt.

“Naughty boy,”Mei cooed as I took her top off, before bringing me in for a sloppy kiss. Her tongue wrapped around mine like an anaconda trying to suffocate mine and I was totally into it. When she broke the kiss she elegantly uncoiled from around me and began to strip fully. She smiled as she led me to my bedroom as if she had done a thousand times.

We were both fully nude by the time we both entered the room. Mei pranced around my room wearing only her teasing smirk. Her body was even more insane bare. Full ripe breasts, a plump ass you could bounce coins off and the plushest thighs I have ever seen. My dick throbbed witnessing such a vixen. I closed the distance with another kiss. She purred at the control she had over me. I wrap a hesitant hand around her thigh and Mei goes berserk as she spreads her legs and coils her hands around me like a snake and pulls me in closer. “Fuck I gasp as she coils herself around me tighter and tighter. She whispers in my ear.

“Im not letting go until you pass out.” she smiles as she leglocks me before having my cock embedded in her pussy. I groan as I bottom out. Mei moans before grinding against my crotch. I lift her from the bed and her coils tighten around me as I thrust in and out of her. She is ungodly tight but so fucking wet. Her pussy drools almost hungrily as she takes me in and out of her lower gluttonous gullet. Her body snakes around mine as she whispers more and more filth into my ears. She smiles as I thrust in and out of her.

Somehow she seems to get tighter I groaned as her pussy constricts my cock.

“Fuck you're suffocatingly tight,” I groan. Mei smiles then says

“I am! Now Cum!” her voice was commanding and I acquiesce exploding inside of her. Mei’s greedy pussy milks me for all I'm worth. She forces my mouth on her full tits and oh my fucking god she tastes amazing the salt of her sweat congrats the sweetness of whatever thing she’s wearing. It’s spicy and reminds me of cinnamon. As I devour her breasts I can’t enough, so I suck and I suck. As she coils tighter around me she moans in ecstasy. I groan as I flip her over to get a view of that plump ass. Mei yelps

“Oh how brutish… more!” she pleads so I give her more. I bend her over before spanking her.

I barely can hold on as we spend the rest of the night fucking, and fucking, until I black out.

I woke up in a mild haze. Mei’s body strewn against mine. As I stirred Mei smiled at me and said, “Fuck babe you were an animal last night,” my mind raced as Mei kissed me on my cheek before saying, “lets get ready.”

I nodded and we were off.

After getting breakfast, Mei and I sat on a bench overlooking the arena grounds. The morning sun painted the sky in hues of orange and gold, and the chatter of early spectators drifted in the air. Mei had insisted we come here, claiming it was the perfect spot to “reflect.” Whatever that meant.

She took a long sip from her drink, her eyes watching the arena as if sizing it up. “So,” she began, her voice light but probing, “what’s the plan? If you make it to the last battle, and it’s you versus Burai… and you win?”

I leaned back, stretching my legs out in front of me. “That’s the plan. I win. End of story.”

Mei turned to face me, raising an eyebrow. “End of story? Come on, Dio, you can’t honestly believe that.”

“Why not?” I countered. “I get my revenge, put him in his place, and then I’m done. No more tournaments, no more fighting. I go back to my quiet little life, just like I planned.”

She tilted her head, studying me like I was some kind of puzzle she was trying to solve. “You really think it’s going to be that simple?”

“It’s not complicated,” I said, shrugging. “He betrayed me. He deserves to pay for it. Once that’s done, there’s nothing keeping me here.”

Mei set her drink down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Okay, but what happens after you beat him? You think all this—” she gestured broadly at the arena, the crowds, the tournament—“just goes away? People already see you as this larger-than-life figure. If you take down Burai, you’ll be a legend. You think they’ll let you disappear after that?”

I frowned, her words sinking in. I didn’t want to be a legend. I didn’t want the fame, the attention, or any of it. All I wanted was to settle the score and move on. But deep down, I knew she had a point.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I muttered. “I just wanted to fight Burai. That’s it.”

Mei smiled softly, her tone gentler now. “I know. But the world doesn’t work like that. You can’t control what people see in you, Dio. And if you win… well, you’re going to have to decide what kind of legend you want to be.”

I looked away, the weight of her words settling over me. “I don’t care about being a legend,” I said quietly. “I just want to be free of all this.”

She reached out and placed a hand on my arm, her touch grounding me. “Maybe you should think about what ‘freedom’ really means to you. Because right now, it sounds like you’re running from something. And I don’t think beating Burai is going to fix that.”

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped. She wasn’t wrong. As much as I hated to admit it, this wasn’t just about Burai. It was about everything that had led me here—everything I’d lost, everything I’d buried.

Mei gave me a small, knowing smile, as if she could see the gears turning in my head. “Take it from someone who’s watched you fight, Dio. You’ve got more in you than just anger. Maybe it’s time you figure out what else is driving you.”

I sighed, leaning back on the bench. “You’ve got a lot of opinions for someone who just met me.”

She grinned, a playful glint in her eye. “What can I say? I’m invested in the story. And you, my friend, are the most interesting character in it.”

Despite myself, I chuckled. “You really think this is all just some big story, huh?”

“Of course,” she said, her grin widening. “And the best stories? They’re the ones where the hero figures out who they really are.”

I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’m no hero, Mei.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms with a confident smirk. “We’ll see about that.”

Mei leaned into my shoulder, her breathing slowing to a soft, steady rhythm. It didn’t take long for me to realize she had fallen asleep. The warmth of her body, the steady rise and fall of her chest, and the silence of the room worked their magic, and soon enough, I drifted off as well.

The next thing I distinctly remember is waking up to the sensation of a massive hand lightly shaking my shoulder. Blinking groggily, I opened my eyes to see Hulk looming over me, his expression a mix of sternness and warmth. His sheer size filled the space, but it was his knowing look that caught my attention. He wasn’t angry; if anything, his eyes carried a strange kindness that felt out of place, given my usual interactions with him.

“Good to see you so relaxed, Diobronto,” he said, his deep voice tinged with amusement. “You’re usually so uptight.”

I groaned, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Mei stirred next to me but didn’t wake immediately. Stretching, I looked up at him and muttered, “Sorry for falling asleep in the arena.”

Hulk waved off my apology with a chuckle. “No need to apologize. You’re one of the few fighters here who understands the point of this whole thing. You get what this tournament is really about.”

I squinted at him, trying to shake off the lingering fog of sleep. “And what exactly is it about, big guy?”

He gave me a look that was both knowing and paternal, crossing his massive arms as he spoke. “This tournament isn’t just about who can throw the hardest punch or land the flashiest move. It’s about building something bigger—creating the next generation of heroes. And whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve become the aspirational everyman. The crowd loves you because you represent something they can believe in.”

I frowned, the weight of his words pressing down on me. “I’m not a hero,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I’m here for revenge. That’s it.”

Hulk laughed, the sound booming and filling the room. Mei, now fully awake, joined in with a chuckle as she leaned back against the wall, her sharp eyes watching the exchange with interest.

“Whether you think you’re a hero or not, it doesn’t change the fact that you act like one,” Hulk countered. “Despite your whole ‘revenge plot,’ you carry yourself with integrity. You’re upstanding, moral—well, mostly—and you respect your opponents. You understand what this tournament is trying to achieve, and you lean into it. You play the part of a hero without even realizing it.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “How? How exactly am I playing the part of a hero?”

He grinned, pointing a massive finger at me. “Remember that kid who came up to you after your last fight? He asked you how he could be like you, and you didn’t brush him off or tell him something dumb. You told him to eat his vegetables, exercise, brush his teeth, and finish his homework. That’s the kind of stuff heroes do, even when they don’t have to. You inspire people, Dio. Families come to watch your fights because they see someone worth rooting for.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Really? That many people care?”

Hulk nodded. “You’re the kind of fighter they bring their kids to see. You’ve got the strength, sure, but more importantly, you’ve got the heart. That’s why the crowd loves you.”

Mei chose that moment to chime in, her voice sultry as she leaned forward. “It’s also why I can’t get enough of you,” she purred, her tone teasing yet laced with sincerity. Her piercing gaze locked onto mine, making her intentions abundantly clear.

Hulk barked out a laugh, clearly amused by her boldness. “See? Even she knows you’re a hero. And I need you to stay in this tournament, Dio. You’re too good at this to throw it all away for some petty revenge. Heroes like you don’t just win fights—they give people something to believe in.”

I sighed, leaning back against the wall as I processed his words. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” I admitted. “I just wanted to fight Burai and be done with it.”

“And yet here you are,” Hulk said, clapping a massive hand on my shoulder with surprising gentleness. “You’re here for more than just yourself, whether you like it or not. Don’t waste it.”

Mei smirked, tilting her head as she watched me. “Guess that means you’ve got to stick around, hero.”

I glanced between the two of them—Hulk’s unwavering belief and Mei’s playful admiration—and sighed. Maybe they were right. Maybe there was more to this than I wanted to admit. But that didn’t mean I had to like it. After hulk’s little pep talk he got up and said,

“Youre next fight is Burai. I do hope you make the right choice after,”

A rush of emotions and thoughts go through my head as Hulk and Mei laugh while Hulk leaves.

Here was everything I ever wanted but at what cost?

As the door closed behind Hulk, the room fell silent. Mei shifted closer to me, her gaze soft yet inquisitive. I could feel the weight of the moment settling over us. Burai. The name echoed in my head like a drumbeat. I had fought so hard, clawed my way through this tournament, just for a shot at him. And now, the fight was finally within reach.

“You okay?” Mei’s voice broke the quiet, her tone gentle but probing.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t know. I mean… this is what I wanted, right? Burai’s next. Everything I’ve done so far has been for this moment. But now…” My voice trailed off as I stared at the floor, trying to piece together what I was feeling.

“But now you’re wondering if it’s worth it?” she finished for me, her expression unreadable.

I looked up at her, surprised. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

She shrugged with a small smile. “You’re not as hard to read as you think, Dio. You might act all tough and brooding, but deep down, you’re a lot more thoughtful than you let on. You care, even when you pretend you don’t.”

Her words struck a chord, and I found myself nodding slowly. “It’s just… Hulk said some things that I can’t shake. About being a hero, about people looking up to me. I didn’t ask for any of that. I’m not trying to inspire anyone. I just want to settle the score with Burai and move on with my life. Is that so bad?”

Mei tilted her head, studying me intently. “It’s not bad, but maybe it’s not that simple anymore. Whether you like it or not, you’ve become something bigger than yourself. People see you as a symbol, Dio. A guy who stands up, fights hard, and doesn’t back down—even when the odds are stacked against him. That matters to people. It matters to me.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. Then she leaned back, resting her head against the wall, her eyes thoughtful.

“What happens after you fight him?” she asked quietly.

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s your plan? Let’s say you beat Burai. You get your revenge, the crowd goes wild, and the tournament wraps up. What happens next? Do you just disappear? Go back to your ‘little corner of the world,’ as you put it?”

Her words hit harder than I expected. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. All my focus had been on reaching this point, on confronting Burai. What came after was a blank slate.

“I… I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I thought beating him would be enough. That it would give me closure.”

“And now?” she pressed, her gaze unwavering.

I exhaled heavily, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “Now I’m not so sure. Hulk’s right—this tournament has become something bigger than me and Burai. I don’t know if I can just walk away from it all without feeling like I let everyone down.”

Mei reached out and placed a hand on mine, her touch warm and steady. “You don’t have to decide right now,” she said softly. “But when the time comes, just remember that you’re more than your grudge. You’re more than what Burai did to you. You’ve already proven that.”

I looked at her, searching her eyes for any hint of doubt or insincerity. But all I saw was genuine belief—belief in me.

“Thanks,” I said after a long pause. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, but… it helps to hear that.”

[writing-until-i-drop]

Rough Sex | Javy "Coyote" Machado x reader | wc: 1,274

No use of y/n | 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings! rough sex, biting, dirty talk, spanking, lmk if I missed anything

a/n: thank god for @closetspngirl because this piece kicked my ass and I debated skipping it and hoping no one noticed but you convinced me to finish it

Ao3

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

When Coyote transitioned to a two seater jet he knew he’d be getting a backseater. What he hadn’t expected was you. You had walked into the Hard Deck wearing a sundress that had made his mouth run dry and when you had figured out he was your new pilot, you had greeted Coyote with a hug and a key on the cheek. Then the jackals (his friends) had descended. 

Hangman was first up to bat, trying to charm his way into your pants but you had shot him down. Next was Rooster, who’s cheesy pick-up lines were more effective at turning your cheeks pink than Coyote would have liked. Phoenix had you under her spell with a few whispered words in your ear but she still struck out. Fanboy and Payback had kept things light, shooting for the friendzone and hitting their target, and Bob had just given you a wave. It irritated Coyote how much his squadmates wanted your attention which caught him off guard.

Coyote had never been directly responsible for another person’s safety in the air. Phoenix had warned him that it would be a new experience, what he hadn’t realized was just how…protective he would feel over you. Hangman claimed it was more possessive than protective but Coyote denied everything. He wasn’t possessive. He just didn’t like it when other guys talked to you, or put their hands on you, and he wasn’t particularly fond of the way men looked at you when the team went out for drinks. 

He wanted to be the only one you focused on, especially when you were together. And for the most part, you were good at that. In the air you were constantly in his ear, updating him on navigation and the weapons system. Coyote had assumed that having a backseater in his ear would be annoying but he found himself asking you questions just to hear you talk. The fact that you had moved into the apartment across the hall from him was a bonus, Coyote had helped you finish unpacking and offered to car pool, reveling in the fact that even if 

Right now you were sitting with Phoenix, chatting animatedly with your hands, leaning against the wall at the Hard Deck. When he heard what you were saying, he nearly dropped his beer.

“Honestly, you wouldn’t think it’d be this hard to find a guy willing to fuck the shit out of me.” Phoenix cackled, throwing her head back as if that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard but Coyote didn’t find it funny. He looked around, no one else was listening in except for poor Bob whose cheeks were cherry red.

“What about that guy I set you up with last week?” Last week? You had gone on a date last week? You groaned,

“He wanted to be all kissy and affectionate which is weird with a guy you don’t really know, at least for me.” 

“As much as I hate to say it, Bagman could probably get the job done,” Absolutely not. Coyote put down his beer, approaching your table. He liked the way your cheeks flushed pink when you caught his eye,

“Ready to go home, sweetheart?” Your brows scrunched in confusion, normally the two of you stayed much longer, but since we was your ride, you nodded, saying goodbye to the team. Coyote took a chance, pulling you into his side, his grip tight on your waist.

“Jav, what’s going on?” 

“You told Phoenix you needed something,” Your little gasp was enough to break the last of Coyote’s restraint. “And I’m the only one who gets to give you what you need. If you’ll let me.” Coyote pushed you against the side of his car, lips attacking your neck. You said you didn’t want kisses and affection, you wanted something rough, and he’d be damned if he let anyone else do it. “What do you say, sweetheart?” 

You moaned, tilting your head to give him better access, spurring Javy on. He nipped at your neck, savoring the sounds you made for him.

“Is that a yes?” 

“Do you need a written invitation, Jav?” You pushed his shoulders but didn’t let him get far, gripping his shirt. The look you gave him was dark and flirtatious, you had used it on him several times before. Your favorite pastime seemed to be teasing him but he never thought you meant anything by it because you’d laugh it off the second you said it, falling back into normal conversation. “Am I going to have to walk you through this? Should I go back in there and see if Bagman can get the job done?” 

“Get in the fucking car,” Javy snapped and after a second, you complied. 

“Fuck,” Your moans were muffled by the pillows on Javy’s bed as he plowed into you from behind. He was gripping your thighs tight enough to bruise, raising them to the perfect angle that let him hit deep inside of you with every thrust. You would never be able to look at your pilot the same way again, not when he was rearranging your insides while growling in your ear.

“You have been driving me crazy for fucking months, do you know that?” You couldn’t respond, your mind focused on the feeling of his cock filling you completely. “Letting the other guys flirt with you when you’re mine, all fucking mine, arent’ you?” God, being his sounded like a dream. “My backseater, my responsibility, my girl.”

“Yours,” You whined, “Spank me.” Javy didn’t hesitate, bringing his calloused hand down on your ass. He did it again and again, your ass stinging, Javy wasn’t holding back and you couldn’t have been happier. Fuck he felt good. He was doing everything that every other guy you had slept with thus far had failed to do.

“I’m the only one who gets to do this, do you hear me?” He pulled out and you instantly felt empty, crying out. “Tell me what I need to here, sweetheart, tell me the truth.” Javy rolled you onto your back, stroking himself over you. 

“Only you, all yours, please,” You were babbling but you meant it. This was all you had wanted for months, ever since you had first walked into the Hard Deck and found out that he was your pilot. “Javy, please. I need you.” 

“Good girl,” Javy thrust into you, leaning over your body. You were writhing beneath him, desperate for your release. He captured one of your nipples between his teeth and you cried out, scratching down his back. “Play with yourself, sweetheart. I want to feel that pretty cunt squeezing my cock and I want to feel it now.” You reached down, rubbing your clit, and it didn’t take long to send you over the edge.

Your orgasm was earth shattering, you couldn’t tell if you were screaming but your throat was burning. Javy kissed your neck, spilling inside of you, fucking his hot cum inside of you with short, hard thrusts. When he pulled out of you he rolled onto his back beside you, bringing you into his side.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Javy asked as you snuggled into his waiting arms. You rested a hand on the back of his neck, 

“Can I get a kiss finally?” Javy hadn’t kissed you once the entire time and you were in dire need of his lips on yours.

“I thought kissy, affectionate sex wasn’t what you wanted?” 

“Not with other guys but you’re my pilot,” You pulled his head down, brushing your lips over his. “And I want you to kiss me.”

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[0omillo0]

Dude hear me out: han and 9th member reader doing the teen vogue compliment battle and reader is trying to bring the ✨rizz✨ while han keeps doing the goofy voice with

HAN X READER

VOGUE COMPLIMENT BATTLE

a/n: I really liked this idea I hope this is what you wanted <3

ᡣ𐭩 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Setting: Stray Kids and Y/N are invited by Vogue for their “Compliment Battle” series. The challenge is to take turns reading fan comments in the most dramatic way possible. The catch? You can’t laugh. Whoever stays serious the longest wins the round.

The crew is gathered on set, with everyone seated in pairs. Y/N is up first, facing off against Felix, while Han watches from the sidelines.

Vogue Producer: “Alright, for the first round, we have Felix and Y/N. Let’s see who can keep it together!”

Felix (giving a warm smile): “I’m ready to win this!”

Y/N (laughing): “Don’t get too confident, Lix.”

They both sit across from each other, and the producer hands them some tweets to read.

Felix (reading dramatically): “Y/N, your smile is brighter than the sun, and your laugh is the cure to all my bad days. Marry me, please.”

Y/N giggles but tries to maintain composure.

Felix: He leans in, grinning, and takes Y/N’s hands dramatically. “Did you hear that? They need you. You’ve cured them. You’ve healed their soul.”

Y/N (struggling not to smile): “Felix, stop. You’re making it worse.”

Han watches from the sidelines, eyebrows furrowing as Felix holds Y/N’s hands. He crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair with a small pout.

Han (muttering): “Why’s he gotta hold her hands like that…”

Lee Know (noticing Han’s expression): “Are you jealous already? It’s the first round.”

Han (quickly): “No. Just… competitive, you know?”

Vogue Producer: “Alright, Y/N’s turn.”

Y/N (grinning as she reads): “Felix, your freckles are a constellation that guides me through my darkest nights. How can one person be this ethereal?”

Felix smiles wide, clearly flattered, but he’s trying hard not to crack.

Felix (fanning himself): “Stop, I’m blushing.”

Y/N dramatically reaches out to lightly cup Felix’s cheek.

Y/N (whispering, trying to flirt): “Don’t blush too much, angel. We need your beauty to stay intact.”

Felix starts laughing, breaking the game, and the producer calls the round. Y/N wins, but all eyes are on Han, who is visibly not amused by Felix and Y/N’s playful flirting.

Han (quietly to himself): “Seriously, with the cheek touch? I could’ve done better…”

Vogue Producer: “Next up, Y/N versus Han. This should be fun!”

Han straightens up, determined to be goofy and break Y/N’s composure. They take their seats, facing each other.

Y/N (smiling): “Ready to lose, Han?”

Han (grinning mischievously): “I don’t think so. I’ve got a secret weapon—my charm.”

Y/N (smirking): “Is that what you’re calling it these days?”

Han (reading in an exaggerated, goofy voice): “Y/N, your beauty transcends time and space. Every time you walk into a room, it feels like all of my troubles melt away… like butter on hot toast.”

He makes a dramatic “melting” gesture with his hands.

Y/N (already stifling a laugh): “Not the toast metaphor, Han.”

Han (deepening his voice comically): “But it’s true! You’re the butter to my toast, the ketchup to my fries.”

The whole room laughs, and Y/N has to bite her lip not to crack.

Y/N’s turn. She leans forward, eyes locking with Han’s, and lowers her voice into a flirtatious tone.

Y/N (softly): “Han… every time you laugh, it’s like music to my ears. Your smile? It lights up my world. And honestly? I think about it all the time.”

The room goes quiet, expecting Han to start goofing off, but he’s suddenly caught off guard. He blinks, clearly taken aback. Thinking maybe it’s not a fan who wrote it.

Y/N (leaning in even more): “You make everything better just by being there. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Han doesn’t laugh. Instead, he looks genuinely surprised, his playful smile faltering. The atmosphere shifts slightly, and Y/N, realizing she might’ve sounded too serious, quickly pulls back with a teasing grin.

Y/N (laughing): “Come on, don’t tell me you’re giving up already.”

Han (flustered, trying to recover): “I—uh, no! No, I’m just… I didn’t expect that. You’re really trying to win, huh?”

The producer calls time, ending the round. Y/N wins again, but Han is left quietly staring at her, clearly still thinking about her words.

After the challenge, backstage.

Han is pacing around, clearly conflicted. He approaches Y/N as she’s grabbing water, the others busy with interviews.

Han (hesitant): “Hey, uh, Y/N.”

Y/N (turning around, smiling): “Yeah? What’s up?”

Han (awkwardly scratching the back of his neck): “So… about what you said. During the challenge. Were you, uh, were you just messing with me, or…?”

Y/N pauses, sensing his nervousness, and a soft smile tugs at her lips.

Y/N (teasing): “Which part? The part where I said you light up my world, or that I think about you all the time?”

Han (flustered): “Both. I mean… you don’t actually think about me all the time, do you?”

Y/N takes a step closer, their eyes meeting. She lowers her voice, her playful tone softening.

Y/N: “Maybe I do.”

Han’s eyes widen slightly, his heart skipping a beat.

Han: “Wait, really? You mean that?”

Y/N (grinning): “Why do you sound so surprised?”

Han stares at her for a moment, realizing she’s serious. He chuckles softly, his usual goofiness replaced with a warm smile.

Han (quietly): “Well, maybe I think about you a lot too. Just… didn’t know how to say it.”

Y/N’s teasing expression softens as she steps even closer.

Y/N: “Guess we’re both bad at saying things, huh?”

Han lets out a small laugh, feeling the tension ease between them. But there’s something different now—an unspoken understanding.

Han: “I guess so. But you know what? I’m glad you said it.”

They share a quiet moment, the game long forgotten. In the background, they can hear the others laughing and talking, but for now, it’s just the two of them.

Y/N (smirking again, breaking the moment): “Does this mean I officially won the challenge, by the way?”

Han (laughing): “Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself. I’ll get you back next time. Maybe with more toast metaphors.”

Y/N: “Bring it on, butter-boy.”

[briarvayne]

A little jealous, are we?

Klarion x reader one-shot Got inspiration @writing-prompt-s

There’s a reason you were added to The Light - a reason Klarion adores and despises in equal measure.

You’re an assassin, but not in the way most would expect. Your weapon isn’t a blade or a gun; it’s seduction. You don’t kill your marks directly. Instead, you charm their spouse, twist their minds, and persuade them to kill their husbands.

Brilliant. Devious. Klarion loves that part.

But the other part? The part where you’re charming them instead of him? Oh, that drives him mad. Because, honestly, you should be flirting with him - not "wasting your time on those dull mortals."

Klarion paces the room, his boots clicking against the stone floor as his arms flail dramatically. Teekl perches lazily across his shoulders, her tail flicking back and forth like she shares her master’s irritation. Red sparks of magic crackle in Klarion’s fingers, fizzing out occasionally as if even his power can’t decide whether it wants to explode or simmer.

“Are you done yet?” he snaps, his voice sharp and petulant. “All this ridiculous… cooing and battling of eyelashes with those stupid mortals is making me sick.”

I lean casually against the wall, adjusting my jacket and flashing a smirk that only seems to rile him up more. “Jealous, Klarion?” I tease my tone light and knowing.

Klarion turns to me, his eyes glowing faintly red as he jabs a finger in my direction. “Of them? Ha! Don’t make me laugh! They’re pathetic worms grovelling at your feet! But you - you’re supposed to be working for us! Not giving heart palpitations to dimwitted fools!”

I raise an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving my lips. “It’s part of the job,” I say, my voice smooth, almost taunting. “The Light brought me in for this exact skill, remember? You should be grateful.”

“Oh, I’m so grateful!” Klarion spits, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he throws his hands in the air. “Watching you giggle and play nice while I’m stuck here babysitting Teekl! What a delight!”

Teekl swishes her tail, purring irritated at that jab, seeing as it's mostly the other way around. “Mrrrow.”

My smirk deepens. “Careful, Klarion, you’re starting to sound attached.”

“Attached?!” Klarion’s voice rose, a vein visibly throbbing in his temple as red fire briefly flares in his hands. “I’d sooner turn you into a tree than admit that! And don’t even think I’d let you be a nice tree - no apples, no shade, just some scraggly little thing no one wants to sit under!”

That makes me laugh, and I step closer, tilting my head. “Relax, Klarion. You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?”

His cheeks turn a faint shade of red against his light blue skin as he scowls, visibly flustered. Teekl hops down from his shoulders, landing gracefully on the floor, but Klarion barely seems to notice. “I don’t care about being ‘cute’!” he snarls. “I care about loyalty! You should be using those ridiculous charms on me, not wasting them on… losers!”

I lean even closer, my voice dropping to a soft, playful tone. “Why would I need to use my charms on you? You already can’t stop looking at me.”

Klarion lets out a noise that is somewhere between a growl and a scream of frustration, his hands lighting up with magic again before he clenches them into fists, snuffing out the flames. “Gah! You’re infuriating! You’re like… like… a tick! Yes, a tick that I can’t get rid of! A very… annoyingly attractive tick!”

I grin, clearly enjoying his tantrum. “Well, ticks usually burrow in deep. Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Klarion staggers back as if my words physically hit him, and his scowl deepens. He points a finger at Teekl. “Teekl! Tell them something insulting!"

Teekl stretches lazily, her tail flicking as she looks up at me with half-lidded eyes. She doesn't bother to even purr before licking her paw.

“Ugh!” Klarion throws his arms up in the air, spinning on his heel. “You’re both useless! Fine! Just… just go flirt with another idiot already! But if they so much as touch you, I’m turning them inside out! So have fun! Snap an arm!”

I can't help but laugh as he storms off, Teekl trotting dutifully behind him. “I think you mean, ‘break a leg’” I call after him, the laughter evident in my voice.

“I DON’T CARE!” Klarion shouts from the distance, his voice echoing through the hall as he disappears in a swirl of red smoke.

(23/01/2025)

[delfiore]

—DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT. (1/3)

pairing: natasha romanoff x android!reader

synopsis: you are sent to gain intel on the black widow by the organization that made you. a relationship with her makes you realize the joys of being human.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: this idea has literally been in my draft for almost two years now lolz

PART II, PART III

When you were activated, you were fully aware of your mission. You gained access to the instructions in nanoseconds; find information on the mind control mechanism used by the Red Room, and retrieve concrete formulaic data.

Tony Stark rarely opened interviews for a lab assistant, but you were invited right away for your ‘excellent display of scientific knowledge and skills in the laboratory’.

You anticipated your moments to be present in the lab. You knew Stark was working on improvements for Black Widow’s electro shock weapon. You stood a little straighter, looked a little too focused on reorganizing Stark’s projects, just to conceal your interest in the woman.

When she entered the lab, you let her eyes linger on you a little, before looking up. Her eyes were greener than you had thought.

Mission Log 001

First contact made. No sign of hostility. Amicable acquaintanceship expected.

FD700-16.

You went on your first date with Natasha a couple of months after your first meeting, all the while you made sure to play your part well. She took you to a fair down by the piers, where you pretended to miss your shots when trying your luck at the shooting range, so that she could display her skills and win you a teddy bear. By the end of the night, Natasha had felt comfortable enough to hold your hand as she walked you home.

“Tonight was fun,” she laughed quietly, the way lovesick teenage girls do.

“Yeah, it was,” you sighed.

All of your research told you the Black Widow rarely showed her true self to people. Even amongst her own Avengers teammates, Hawkeye was the only one she truly trusted. And yet, she grabbed your hand gently, and leaned in to kiss your cheek, and giggled when she pulled back.

“Goodnight.” She said, her voice as soft as the night’s winds.

You watched her leave for a moment before going back inside.

Your maker entrusted you to succeed. You were reminded of it everyday by the engraving on the sole of your foot that read ‘Property of VULCAN’. And you will.

You learned that Natasha liked to used sly comments to deflect personal questions. She could be very charming when she wanted to, but also genuine. You needed to appear harmless. So you opted for brighter colors in your outfit for the date in which Natasha asked you if you wanted to be in a relationship with her.

“Would you maybe . . . wanna be my girlfriend?” There was an unusual meekness to her demeanor that you haven’t really seen since your first date, but it made you all the more fascinated with your subject, and how multi-faceted she could be. Is this what all humans are like?

How do I be more like them?

“If not you, then who?” You let her swoop you into a feverish kiss.

For a moment, you felt at ease, light, human.

Mission Log 063

Subject has made advances and suggested a romantic relationship. Relationship established.

FD700-16.

You played along being her lover, all the while sending detailed information about her back to headquarters, where your maker, a man you only knew as Caesar, would receive them.

She also told you about her sister, and her adoptive parents one day when she came back from visiting them. She said they would be thrilled to meet you. You smiled and said you’d love to come to hear all the embarrassing stories about her when she was a kid.

They served you all the wonderful Russian delicacy when you came to visit which you were grateful for, and for the fact that you were made with a sense of taste and a digestive system. Yelena defended you from her parents when Alexei and Melina kept asking you too many questions. Her family was a weird bunch, but they worked together. You almost felt like you belong.

Mission Log 078

First contact made with agents from 1992-1995 Ohio mission.

Alexei Shostakov (adoptive father)

Melina Vostokoff (adoptive mother)

Yelena Belova (adoptive sister)

FD700-16.

Every touch, every hug, every kiss you shared with Natasha, you acted to perfection. It was imperative that she be convinced you loved her for you to gain her trust. You let her glide her hands anywhere she wanted along your body, touch you with the intensity she deemed right.

For the first time, you were shown the way humans show affection on a deeply personal and intimate level. This was what sexual intercourse was, you thought. You were aware that you would never be one of them, but you didn’t hold back sighs and moans of content when Natasha kissed you and touched you in all the ways that stimulated all the right nerve endings.

Though when Natasha lay naked beside you, her eyes closed as she slept soundly did you get the chance to really look at her without worrying about how she would look at you. And if you knew anything about beauty, you’d say it was her.

Caesar was getting impatient to find more information on the chemicals from the Red Room, so you needed to hurry on your search of the location of the file.

You tried to slip the conversation in as smoothly as you could, whenever it was just you and Natasha, whenever her guard was down. She never suspected a thing, and told you that the formula had been copied onto a disk, which has since been destroyed.

“I just think that it’s horrible.” You mumbled. “The key to weaponizing free will all contained in a tiny disk.”

“Okay, little Detective.” She chuckled and kissed your forehead. “I’m gonna crash now.”

You nodded and snuggled back into her arms.

“I love you.” She murmured.

You bit down on your teeth and held her closer.

Perhaps you loved her too.

“Close down for the night, will you?” Stark said before grabbing his coat.

“I will, Mr. Stark.” You nodded with a smile.

You watched him walked through the door of the lab. Once you were sure he was out of sight, you found a place to sit down, pretending that you were resting so as not to raise F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s suspicion.

Mission Log 085

The formula had been duplicated onto a disk, but subject thinks it has been destroyed.

Standby until further useful information is acquired.

FD700-16.

The next day, you woke up to a distressing message from Caesar:

“Advancing on Avengers Compound on the 25th. Retrieve the disk before then, or you’re shut down.”

The 25th was next Saturday. There was a coldness that ran down your back, a chilling dread at the pit of your stomach. Dread, fear. These feelings couldn’t have been in your original program, you were built to be fearless, but Caesar also built you to learn. Just like you learned to love Natasha.

Your Natasha.

She looked so peaceful in her sleep. It was a rare occurrence to see her let down her guard like this. She had just returned from a mission that took two weeks, and you convinced her to get a full night’s sleep instead of working on reports right away.

You let your fingers glide along her fringes, moving them out of her shut eyes, down to her cheekbones, then ghosting ever so slightly over her lips. You had become so familiar with her plump lips, and the way they behave like creatures in their own rights. Most of the time, you wished to press your own against them, and the pillowy sensation of it gave you what one could only describe as bliss.

“Morning,” she mumbled sleepily.

It was just the two of you here, the morning was early and still. Caesar could never take it away from you. You made sure to store this in your secret compartment, in which you only kept the most important files. Funnily enough, it was full of her.

You knew this day would come, you’d have to do what you were sent here for. But it didn’t hurt any less. You wanted to laugh: you have learned to hurt.

Mission Log 085

Give me two weeks. I’ll have it before then.

FD700-16.

At breakfast, you barely had the stomach to eat anything. You needed to come up with a plan to find the disk without Nat noticing. Every scenario you calculated resulted in the biggest catastrophes, none of them a happy ending.

Happy endings are for humans, not androids.

You felt a hand press against your thigh, and Nat was looking at you with a concern smile. “You okay, honey?” She asked. You felt tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. In a twisted scenario you conjured, void of the logical algorithm you were installed with, you saw yourself happy with Natasha. You wanted to throw your arms around her neck, and cry and confess everything, hoping that she had the heart to forgive you.

Instead, you only smiled, and intertwined your hand with hers. “I’m fine. Just a bit sleepy,” you lied.

A couple of days passed, and still, you heard nothing back from Caesar. You could only hope that he heeded your request.

The time not spent worrying about Caesar’s next move, you spent thinking of a way to extract the information you needed. You thought about texting Yelena or Melina to ask about it, but it would seem way too suspicious for Natasha to ask about something so important over text. So you opted for sweeping through her laptop. Sometimes what you seek lies right under your nose.

And rewarded you were. You found a lead in a file buried deep inside harmless looking files, titled ‘Photos’. The file needed decoding, but nothing that you couldn’t handle in a few minutes. You hovered your pinky over the USB hub, and when the tip of it morphed into a port, you quickly copied the file over.

“What are you doing?” Your blood ran cold. Natasha was walking over to you, unalarmed. Thankfully you were sitting against the bed frame.

“Just shopping around for ideas for Saturday night,” you shrugged casually, retracting your pinky. “What are you wearing?”

She let out a quick laugh. “You know I don’t care for Tony’s parties, so whatever’s on top of the pile.”

“And somehow you always manage to look gorgeous. Don’t you think it’s a little unfair?” You teased, setting the laptop aside.

A blush crept onto Nat’s cheek, as she found your hand to press a light kiss to it. When she looked back up at you, there was a tenderness in her eyes that made your knees buckle.

“I love you,” she confessed, “I never thought I’d ever be so happy. But you, you just—“ She shook her head with a smile, “you might have saved me.”

You were at a loss for words. There was an uneasy feeling bubbling in your stomach; pain, guilt, anger, you didn’t know. You loved her too, so much, and this moment should have been beautiful.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Nat cooed softly, wiping away at the corner of your eyes.

You only brought your arms around hers and kissed her deeply, afraid your words might fail you. Natasha, I’m not human, I’m a machine, I’m a spy, I was sent to ruin everything, you wanted to blurt out.

I’m not worthy of your love.

“I love you too,” you said instead. “So much.”

As much as a machine can love.

You spent the day tangled up in Natasha’s arms, warm and loved, until you receive Caesar’s message:

“New objective - FD700-16:

Eliminate Natasha Romanoff. Effective immediately.”

PART II, PART III

[doumadono]

Can I ask for Viking Dabi being pinned down by a female reader during their training? (she's a shieldmaiden)

A/N: here you go, darling! ♥

KVITRAVN - MHA VIKING AU

In the rugged terrain of the Viking training grounds, Dabi casually strolled over to a group of shieldmaidens immersed in their practice. His half-lidded eyes scanned the scene as he observed the female warriors honing their skills with shields in hand.

"So, girls, how's the training going?" Dabi inquired, leaning against a nearby post with his trademark nonchalant demeanor.

The female shieldmaiden, who had caught his attention earlier, stepped forward, a smirk playing on her lips. "We're perfecting the art of pinning down our opponents, care to join, my lord?"

Dabi chuckled, "Maybe later. Just making sure you're not getting rusty out here."

As the shieldmaidens continued their drills, Dabi's eyes followed the graceful movements of their shields and the strategic strikes they executed. His casual interest turned into genuine curiosity, and he found himself drawn to the intricacies of their training.

The shieldmaiden who had challenged him earlier grinned, "You're welcome to join anytime, my lord. But be prepared for a lesson in humility."

Dabi raised an eyebrow, "Humility, huh? That's not really my style. And what's your name, woman?

"It's Y/N," she replied.

Dabi, after observing for a while, decided to join in on the action. With a nonchalant smirk, he chose the Y/N as his opponent.

The atmosphere buzzed with anticipation as Dabi and Y/N squared off, swords clashing in a display of skill and determination. The training ground became a stage for their fiery exchange, each strike and parry a testament to the unexpected camaraderie that had formed between the warrior and the shieldmaiden. The clash of their swords echoing through the air.

The shieldmaiden skillfully maneuvered, using her shield to parry Dabi's fiery attacks. The two circled each other, a dance of blades and wit.

"So, Y/N, any special moves up your sleeve?" Dabi quipped, twirling his sword.

She grinned, swiftly changing tactics. With a swift move, she managed to disarm Dabi and pin him down with her shield against his chest. "Looks like I've got you where I want you," she declared triumphantly as she sat on his lap, squeezing his sides with her knees.

Dabi, unfazed, raised an eyebrow and smirked, "Well, well, this is an interesting turn of events. Didn't know you had a thing for pinning men down."

"Consider it a lesson, hotshot," she replied, a playful glint in her eyes. "Even the fieriest flames can be tamed by a well-placed shield," she grinned.

Dabi couldn't help but appreciate the unique challenge presented by his shield-wielding opponent. "So, what's your secret weapon, hmm? Charm, or just this sturdy shield?" he inquired with a sly grin as he let one of his hands rest on her knee.

She leaned in, their faces inches apart, and whispered, "Maybe a bit of both, my lord. You'll never know."

Eventually, she released him from the pinned position, and they both stood, catching their breaths.

His gaze swept her figure, lingering from the bottom up, until his turquoise eyes met hers. "Tomorrow, same place, same time. I want to train with you a little more," he declared, grinning slightly.

She responded with a cocky smirk, "Sure thing, Endeavorson. But don't expect me to go easy on you. You might need more than a little training to keep up with this shieldmaiden."

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 7

Velkommen Til Tønsberg | Loki x Reader

Loki and Thor take you to see the new King of Asgard in the hopes of finding more answers. Charmed by the quaint village and welcoming Asgardians you dream of a better future there. But not everyone is friendly and they're certainly not safe.

Warnings: mostly fluffy...mind the ending. Family drama, talk of forced marriage/marriage of convenience and Reader's family. Implied sexual content, implied loss of virginity.

A/N: From here on in there's going to be talk of other panethons,specifically from Irish mythology, so I'll put a little info at the bottom of the chapter if you're interested! Other mythologies will be depicted in the same way Loki & the Asgardians are in Marvel and the MCU. This is very much a fictionalised account, although there are, like in the MCU, elements of the original stories. You don't have to read about them, but I've tried hard to embed a lot of mythology into the story so although it's easily readable without it, I think it's more fun if you know!

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

“So you met a woman who can set fire to stuff, makes everyone around her horny and you’ve let him,” the woman pointed at Loki, “teach her to shift and mind read?” She walked around the coffee table in the middle of the cosy living room, keeping her eyes trained on your face as if you might drag the crackling fire out of the hearth and set fire to her sofa.

“Yes - But, in my defence, she could already do a lot of it and it wasn’t my idea.” Thor gave her a massive grin, taking a butter cookie from the plate in front of him while she flopped onto the chair opposite you. 

“I’m -” you paused, unsure of what to call yourself. No one had really addressed you since you arrived at the compound, should you use the name you’d discovered with Loki? When you’d dreamed of Asgard together? Or should you use your old name, the one your Grandfather gave you? 

“This is Estrid.” Loki took the decision out of your hands, and you were grateful for it, leaning into his side a little for reassurance while he patted your knee. 

She took your hand in both of hers and gave them a firm squeeze, her palms were soft, but there were calluses below her fingers that told you there was more to her than the oversized jumper, piles of books and well stocked bar cart could tell you. 

“I’m Brunnhilde,” Brunnhilde gave you a warm smile, far more comforting than you’d expected when Thor had described the warrior on your journey to Tønsberg. He’d described the fights they’d engaged in together, her bravery during Ragnarok and her ability to lead as a fair and firm King for the new Asgardian settlement. He talked about her armour and weapons, whirling his hands around as he acted out his favourite moments from the final battle. Loki had rolled his eyes and told you that she was a skilled and proficient fighter and a sensible leader, despite Thor’s terrible caricature. 

The woman before you looked softer than their stories, she was wearing an oversized knitted sweater that hung down to her thighs over tight black jeans, her hair was styled in long braids that fell over her shoulders and she fiddled with the end of one as she continued to watch you. 

“Valkyrie,” Thor insisted through a mouthful of biscuit. But Brunnhilde, just rolled her eyes exaggeratedly and gave you a knowing smile, as if the antics of gods were commonplace in her life. 

“You can call me Brunnhilde or Valkyrie, Val, if you like,” she had an easy manner of speaking, relaxed and welcoming, in keeping with the homey warmth of her cottage and she pushed the plate of food towards you. “Do you want to tell me about these dreams?”

The hesitancy you felt on arriving in the little fishing village began to melt away. Initially you’d been overwhelmed by the crisp, salt scent of the sea and the shock of the cold. But here, in the stone house nestled in the centre of the village, you felt at ease and allowed yourself to relax into the cushions. The atmosphere that had been so shockingly different on arrival was now settling inside of you, the clean smell sea smell of the harbour mixing with the woodsmoke in the village was familiar somehow. 

You’d arrived in the dead of night while the village was asleep, tucked into the hillside with only a few lights along the dock still bright. The sea had called to you then, a wild thing that beat against the boats and rattled the stones of the shoreline until you were on the edge of the dock, leaning over into the abyss of darkness. 

Loki had pulled you away and wrapped your frozen hands in his own while Thor had looked on, a knowing smile spreading across his face. But you allowed Loki to pull you close, snaking your arms around his waist and tucking yourself half inside his black wool coat. He rubbed his hands up and down your back to warm you, the press of his fingers turning into the weight of your own coat as Loki’s magic flickered over you. 

You’d stood together for what felt like forever and yet not enough time at all, bathing in the darkness and the rhythmic sound of the sea as it crested and crashed on the harbour wall. 

Thor was intrigued by Loki’s behaviour, he’d never seen him act in such a controlled and measured way, nor had he seen him spend more than a few days with any consort since their adolescent years in Asgard. 

He was starting to think this was some sort of elaborate courtship that his brother had thought up, for once he decided he would forgo the teasing, happy to see his brother with a partner he actually approved of, and had left you in the cold air, wrapped together under Loki’s coat. 

Your mind had wandered, rubbing your thumb over Loki’s cool palm, and felt his own relaxed thoughts wash over you, your cheek touched his shoulder and he lifted his arm to tuck you into his side, the movement unconsciously casual and comforting. 

“Are you okay, Estrid?” The Valkyrie’s voice called to you through the memory and you sat upright again with a start. “I think I do remember you - hmm,” she paused and looked up at the ceiling. “You’re Brigid’s daughter? Right? I remember your mother, I was assigned to her guard a few times when she visited Queen Frigga.”

Her words raised goosebumps on your skin, a mother? Without thinking you grabbed at Val’s hands, pulling her to the edge of her own seat so that you could study her face, waiting for her to reveal a lie or a joke. “Show me, can I see? Please,” you begged, eyes filling with tears. 

 Brunnhilde flicked her dark eyes at Thor, hesitating, she had been King of the Asgardians for only a short time and although Thor was more like a brother to her now, she didn’t want to upset either Prince by revealing too many of Asgard’s secrets. 

You hadn’t noticed her hesitation, your only thoughts on seeing your forgotten mother again. “I don’t remember my mother at all. What was she like?” You asked, looking around the room to see if any of them would be willing to share. 

Loki, surprisingly, looked at Thor as well, a silent conversation passing between the two brothers before Thor answered. 

“I don’t see the harm, after all we brought her here to learn, if this is what she requires then she should hear it.” He said, already a little bored and messing with the trinkets on the shelf beside him, hadn’t he differed his responsibilities to Valkyrie for this exact reason?

Brunnhilde leant forward and, with some encouragement from Loki, you met her halfway, your fingers hovering over her temples. “I promise I’ll just look at my mother. Just think about her a lot, when you worked for her, what you saw.”

Loki’s hand found your knee and squeezed, “Remember, Asynja, calm." You concentrated on his breathing, on his scent, on the feel of his trousers below your own hand and closed your eyes. 

She appeared out of the gloom, a tall woman with fiery red hair in a mass of curls flowing down her back. Her clothes reminded you of your dreams, airy and bright. She had a gold crown on her head adorned with gemstone flowers, tulips, daffodils and snowdrops mixed with clover and daisies. On her back a sage green Cape trailed behind her and from one corner peaked a little face. 

“My baby, you stay in there, safe and sound,” her voice was like warm salted caramel, sweet, burning with love and measured by her strength. A fierceness behind it that would surely scald anyone coming too close. Behind her strode the Valkyrie in their armour, as they marched through the corridors of Asgard to Frigga’s chambers.

Once inside the luxurious chambers, a little face peaked out again.

“Mother?”

“It is safe, Estrid. You may come out. This is my friend, Queen Frigga. You are to stay with her a while.” The other woman held out her hand, her fingers adorned with all manner of shining gems and opaque turquoise, her hair flowed from a golden diadem, but she was dressed casually in a sky blue dress, draped around her shoulders and elbows. A Queen, yes, but a mother also. 

“Estrid, you  very welcome here in Asgard. May I present my son, Loki. He has similar talents. Perhaps he could show you the palace.” A shaggy head of black hair peered around Frigga’s legs. “I have another son, Thor, but my dear Brigid tells me that you love to read and walk, rather than fight and wrestle,” she paused, tugging Loki forward, and bent between you both, “my darling Loki can show you his library, he will be sure to share.” She gave Loki a little nudge forward and dipped her chin at him. 

With practised steps he moved towards the little girl, “Princess” he bowed, formally, looking back up at his mother for approval. Frigga patted the boy on the shoulder and he hid behind her skirts again. 

“Prince," you gave a shy curtsy, holding the folds of your elaborate dress as you moved, your memories drifted towards him and away from your parents. Your juvenile conversations floating through lazy mornings within his library, giggling together while you spied on the court from the gallery. The clothes that Loki had created for you with a glimmer of magic so that you could climb the same trees and tumble down the same hills, splashing together in the fountains of the gardens until his governess chased you back into the palace.

Your small hands clasped together as he walked you through the halls of Asgard, the sheen of sweat on his brow when you ran together through the gardens, hazy and warm and glittering with gold it morphed into a lazy dream, full of clouds and the endless sky and…

The dream faded and Val pulled away.

“You’re distracted.” She looked at Loki and narrowed her eyes. “Loki was very important to you back then, and I see that he still is," she gave Loki a sly smile, “but he’s distracting you. Bugger off and annoy someone else please." She waved the two princes away. 

Loki kissed your hand and stood to walk out with Thor. He had the same shy, boyish smile that you'd seen in your memory. The one that had made you feel welcome and at peace. He lingered, unsure about whether he could push his affection further than a kiss on the cheek. You hadn’t discussed your evening together, but he longed to keep you in his arms. Meeting his eyes you allowed your mind to wander to his and he bent over you on the sofa, his hands either side of your head, and lowered his face to yours. Brushing his nose against your cheek he kissed you softly. 

“I’ll come for you? I can show you the people." He suggested, “I’ll meet you at the harbour when you’re finished.”

“They’re my people now, don’t forget!” Brunnhilde called after him.

“How could I!” He bowed low, “my Queen." His tone was filled with sarcasm as well as mirth. With a final wink Thor pulled him out of the door.

Brunnhilde rolled her eyes and then turned her attention back to the tea tray, pouring a cup for you both. She settled back into her chair and tucked her feet up under her. 

“Brigid was a wonderful Goddess, a Queen herself really, but here on Midgard,” Val took a deep breath and sighed it out, “she made the flames dance, brought the spring and the flowers, and protected the land during winter. She took care with all her subjects and friends, her matchmaking skills, in particular,  were something to behold. She helped Frigga and Odin in their early courtship and had many friends across the nine realms and the Otherworld.” Brunnhilde stopped to look at you, your wide eyes glistening as you listened. “Is this bringing any memories back?” She dunked a biscuit into her tea and watched you as she ate. 

“Yes, a little.” A tear started to fall slowly down your cheek, pooling on your lip, a bittersweet taste of a grief and longing you still couldn't truly comprehend, couldn’t even remember. “She had a cloak,” you wrapped your arms around yourself, “I always felt so safe in there.”

“That’s because it was safe, it created a protection around those who wore it, or who were under it. She used it to protect the land during winter, but when she had to hide you it worked for you too.”

“Did she hide me here? Is that why I don’t remember?” 

“Oh no, she used to hide you on Asgard, mostly, but you visited other realms too.” 

“So is she still hiding in it? Is that why we’re not together?”

Brunnhilde reached out and patted your arm, “no, she’s not hiding in it. I’m sorry to tell you, she died, and she took all of her magic and secrets with her. The cloak was never Asgardian to begin with, so we couldn't have looked for it, though Frigga tried. It's been lost for a long time, but I'd bet if it's anywhere, it's here on Midgard, waiting for you." 

You nodded, contemplating the possibility that it may be out there and, if it was, it was yours now. A Goddess’ cloak. 

Just the thought of it made you feel dizzy. You sipped your tea, allowing the warmth of it to spread through you before you built the courage to ask your next question. 

“How did she die?” The question squeaked out of you, barely a whisper, and you found yourself curling into the cushions of the sofa as you spoke. 

“I wish I knew." Brunnhilde looked sincere and you could feel the sorrow radiating from her as her eyes misted, "she brought you back to Asgard many times, sometimes she would stay and you would holiday around the city, sometimes she would leave you under the Queen’s care. The last time you visited you were just of age, celebrating your birthday and looking forward to your ascension. She left to speak to a potential suitor in Vanaheim, your mother and Frigga had many friends there, and together they sought someone who could match your spirit, but provide you protection, a good match." 

"A good match?" 

"I know it's a lot to take in, but you were, are, a very important child not just to your mother, but to us all. Children are rare in the Nine Realms, especially among the Aesir, skilled children are rarer." 

"Skilled?"

"Your magic. When you first came to Asgard you were wild and untamed. Frigga helped you to channel your energy and taught you alongside her own sons. I believe Loki is helping you again now, but there was a time you trained together. And that kind of magic, in the hands of the wrong realm, the wrong husband. It could've been catastrophic." 

"Husband, why would I have to have a husband?!" You were incensed, "why couldn't I just train and be by myself." 

"It was a difficult time for the Nine Realms, for us all, a time of change. But you were as angry then as you are now, I’m pleased to see you haven’t lost any of your fire.” Angry as you were, you could see that Brunnhilde was telling the truth, and there was no teasing or malice in the way she looked at you. 

The King sat her cup down an came to sit beside you, bringing your hand up to the side of her face, she opened her memories again. 

You were sat in Frigga’s private chambers, a fire glowing in the grate, wine, fruit and bread on the table. Frigga held you close, patting your hair and singing a soft lullaby.

“My dear, you are still so young to lose a mother and we will always be here for you. But you must listen to the wishes of your court, and of your King at least consider his plans. A chaperone and entourage are being sent to take you home.”

“I won’t go with them, I barely know him. Why won’t Odin let me stay?” You sobbed. 

“He will not overrule your father. There will be a ball for you, and then your Father will come and collect you. I imagine you will be introduced to your betrothed and then your ascension will begin, you will be crowned and named to solidify your position."

Brunnhilde pulled away, she was unsure of how the evening played out any further, you had fled the room and not returned. Frigga had asked her to look for you when your maids said you were not in your bed. The Valkyrie had assumed you remained in the castle, but to no avail. To Brunnhilde’s knowledge you had hidden yourself all night, returning in the morning in sodden clothes, covered in soil and grass, and had assumed you’d spent the night in the gardens, perhaps sleeping in one of the follies scattered around the hedges. 

You slid back against the sofa cushions, lost in your own memory, eyes shut but twitching as if in deep sleep. Brunnhilde draped a blanket over your lap and propped your head onto a cushion, leaving you to your memories. 

You stood, tossing aside the blankets and sheets and carefully opened the doors of your balcony. Long since a trellis had been built into the stone wall outside and you used it, as always, to climb down from your rooms into the quiet of the gardens. Out in the night, the lanterns led the way slowly fading as you moved further from the safety of the palace until you were in darkness surrounded by the trees at the edge of the palace land. Above you the forest loomed, foreboding and fascinating all at once. You expected to be alone, out in the night, but as you slowed to a halt, panting breaths that circled you in the midnight air, a voice called to you through the manicured lawns and trained roses, echoing from the mountain behind you, sad and low. 

Loki’s arms found your waist, pulling you back against his chest. Firm and real in the ethereal night, and took your weight as you cried again. 

“My darling, please, you can not leave me here." He begged, nuzzling into your neck and breathing you in. You could smell him too, your memory so vivid that it filled your senses.

“What choice do I have?" You sagged further into his hold, his strong arms keeping you against his chest. 

Together you tumbled to the ground. Loki kept you close in his lap, attempting to stop your skirts from catching in the grass and mud, but you pushed them away, taking his wrists and placing his hands on your waist. With panting breaths you stared at each other, the moonlight glowing in his eyes. Then he kissed you. With no hesitation, no shyness. His tongue licking into your mouth and claiming you. 

You fell into his kisses, the moss below you becoming a blanket as he lay you down. You pulled him closer, sinking into the feeling of his magic as it surrounded you, allowing him to mould himself to your body.

“Your dress, it will be noticed," he mumbled, pulling the silk and chiffon back onto the blanket. 

“If I have to leave in a week, why should I care what anyone thinks? I’ll never be allowed to live again. And I want to live Loki, I want to be free!” Your hands were on his shoulders, in his hair, on his arms pulling him closer, clinging to him as if to life itself. 

“You are still a Princess, soon you'll be a Queen too. I should take you back to the palace.” He propped himself up on his elbow, warring with himself over whether to take you back to your chambers or keep you here forever. Loki was losing his fight, confusion writ across his normally controlled expression. Your kisses tasted like wine and figs, intoxicating and enticing. He had held himself back for so long, kept his feelings deeply hidden for so long he was struggling to keep his hands from you. 

“Is that not enough for you, my Prince? Or is it because you are a God? Am I not Goddess enough?” You started to sit up, confused in the depths of your emotions. If you weren't enough then you wouldn't be humiliated. 

“My darling, my Princess, my Queen, Ásynja. I would worship at your feet." He insisted, cupping your cheeks, his eyes swirling with need, with desire, with something you couldn't name. "But you will have to hold court here, you must be respected as the Goddess of Spring, there is some purity required," he hinted, his hands clenching in the swirling fabric at your waist. 

Loki kissed across your brow, your nose, your cheeks, every kiss more reverent than the last. Filled with the love he was too frightened to name. 

You laughed, a harsh bark compared to the usually tinkling lilt of your joy, “Is that what you think they’ll crown me? Because of my mother?” 

You felt him nod against your neck, pressing his lips against your pulse, enjoying the taste of you while he could, before he let you go. 

“What else could you be? How could you be anything but pure love and joy, there is no other who could replace her, it has to be you,” his hands played with the jewels that seemed to eternally adorn your hair, turning each pink diamond green beneath his touch. 

“Lust. That’s what I've heard I will be, a humiliation, a jest. What do you get when you marry spring and fertility with chaos and brawling? Lust, he said, violent lust. And I shall marry a war lord from Vanaheim too, to confirm my position. He made it clear I wasn’t to fall in love while I was here, I must keep myself pure so that my lord may enjoy his wife to the fullest." You ground your teeth, tearing at the blanket beneath you. "His greatest trick. Naming his own daughter Goddess of Lust as a - as a - as a virgin." Your face screwed up in anger, sobs wracking you as you thought of giving yourself so intimately to your betrothed. But Loki stopped. 

“You love me?” He asked, suddenly shy, his grasping hands holding you close. 

You met his gaze again, soft and full of admiration. “Endlessly,” you breathed, and he lay you back down among the moss, the growing flowers and new shoots, the warm sun rising and the scent of spring surrounding you. 

You woke to Brunnhilde stoking the fire, the curtains drawn now and the lights low. She smiled as you stirred and came to sit beside you again. 

“Pleasant dreams, were they?” She asked, raising an eyebrow, and you felt hot suddenly, even without the crackling fire. 

“I still have so many questions,” you pondered on what you needed answered first. 

“My father? Was he cruel?” You asked, curling your feet under yourself and tucking one of Brunnhilde's many blankets over your knees. 

"I never met him properly." Brunnhilde admitted, though a little awkwardly. "I know he was a god here on Midgard, and that your mother kept you closely guarded on Asgard while he was holding court here. I believe it was an arranged match, and there was no love between them. It was perhaps why she was so keen to see you well married, in the end. But I haven't seen him, not since he took you back."

Married. You had already found out that you were a Goddess, what would be marriage compared to that? To some unknown war lord no less, perhaps he would already be dead. But it was some comfort to know that, even then, you had given your heart and soul to Loki instead. 

Brunnhilde watched you, waiting for the next question. 

“You said Loki meant a lot to me. Will you show me?” You felt the heat of embarrassment creep up your spine, you knew exactly what he meant, but you had to know whether it was a dalliance born of extreme emotion, or something more. 

The King looked awkward for a moment. “I didn’t see a lot of it. You were both private, but also royalty. I wasn’t there, but I do  remember the last ball you attended together, the one in your honour. He danced with you the whole night and refused any other offer, the court was abuzz with whispers of your courtship.  Your father was angry that you'd allowed yourself to become the subject of gossip and he took you early in the morning before anyone else was awake. You had planned a final breakfast on the terrace with the Princes and the Queen, Loki was distraught for a day and then it was as if you were never there. No one spoke of you, and Frigga made it clear your name was never to enter the gossip of court again, for everyone’s safety." 

The whole thing had been so odd, all you wanted to do was speak to Loki and share your new knowledge with him, to see if he could remember it too. Brunnhilde called Thor while you layered your coat and scarf on again, tugging your boots on with one hand on the wall in the small hallway. 

She stood in the doorway as you left, and directed you away from her cosy home, back towards the harbour and to another stone cottage before she closed the door for the night, leaving you to your thoughts. 

You walked slowly across the small village, enjoying the crisp air and the bob of the boats in the harbour. It was calm here, away from the world, and you contemplated asking Loki if you could continue your training here instead of returning to the bustle of the compound. 

"Princess Estrid,” a deep voice said behind you. The title was new and brittle, but you assumed it must be another Asgardian, perhaps someone you once knew and, with a new found excitement, you turned to them with a smile. 

“Yes?"

And then everything went black. 

<<Part 6

Part 8>>

Gods & Goddess' mentioned.

This is just from my own reading, I'm by no means an expert, just a fan, so if you know more and want to talk to me please send me a message/ask!

Brigid - beloved Goddess from the Tuatha Dé Danann. Brigid is often cited as the goddess of spring, the dawn, fertility. Brigid is so popular she was made into a Saint as Christianity became more widespread. She's often linked to a magical cloak which gives protection to those that wear it, you can leave cloth outside of your house on Imbolc for her to bless and in some stories it's her cloak that covers the ground during winter. She's also linked to cattle and craftsmen (including metal work and those that use fire), mothers and children.

Brigid is well loved and celebrated still as a Pagan Goddess and Christian Saint.

[justiceforanders]

A Recipe for Disaster

Part of the "Wings and Blades" Lucanis x Rook Stories

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook (she/her)

Rating: G

Words: 1.3k

Available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61026115

Summary: Lucanis attempts to teach Rook how to bake the hazelnut torte. "Attempts" is the keyword.

A Recipe for Disaster is a story written for @meowzilla93, as part of my "Wings and Blades" series exploring the romance between Lucanis and different Rooks.

The Lighthouse kitchen was a wreck. Flour dusted every surface like a fresh snowfall, and smudges of apricot preserves streaked the wooden table. The sink overflowed with bowls, spatulas, and one forlorn whisk leaned precariously over the edge. It was a battlefield of culinary chaos, and at the center stood Delphine de Riva, cheeks dusted with flour, triumphantly holding a mixing bowl in one hand and her dagger in the other.

“Do not move,” she declared, pointing the dagger at Lucanis Dellamorte, who was crouched behind the dining table, clutching a half-empty bag of sugar like it was his most prized possession.

Lucanis peered over the counter, his brown eyes crinkling with amusement. A streak of batter clung to his moustache. “Rook, if I recall correctly, I’m not the one who started this war.”

“You threw the flour first!” Del accused, though the grin tugging at her lips betrayed her delight.

“You were aiming for my head with the eggs. What was I supposed to do?” He stood and sat on the edge of the table, feigning innocence, the sugar still firmly in his grasp.

Del planted the bowl down with a flourish, sending a puff of flour into the air. She sheathed her dagger with casual precision and crossed her arms. “If you wanted me to take you seriously, you wouldn’t have that batter moustache.”

Lucanis wiped at his face, smearing the batter further before realizing his mistake. He gave her a mock glare, and she burst into laughter so loud it filled the entire kitchen. Lucanis’ eyes softened immediately at the sound, his fondness for the other Crow clear as day.

“Fine,” Lucanis sighed dramatically, setting the sugar down. He stepped around the mess toward Del, his boots crunching against what might have been eggshells at some point. “You’ve won,” he added, a small smile on his lips. “Do your worst.”

Del tilted her head, pretending to ponder, her short grey bob bouncing with the movement. “Oh, I’ll do my worst,” she said, reaching for the chocolate icing she’d been attempting to make for the dessert. Before Lucanis could react, she swiped a generous dollop of it onto her fingers and smudged it across his cheek.

Lucanis froze, blinking. Then, slowly, a wicked grin spread across his face. “Oh, amor. You shouldn’t have done that.”

The next few seconds were a blur. Lucanis lunged for the frosting, and Del ducked under his arm with the grace of an assassin, darting to the other side of the table. She grabbed the bag of flour, brandishing it like a weapon.

“One step closer and I’ll…”

She never finished the threat.

Lucanis, faster than she expected, grabbed a handful of frosting and leaped across the table to smear it across her arm.

Del gasped in mock outrage, then hurled the bag of flour at him. It burst open mid-throw, raining down on them like a cloud. When the dust settled, they were both covered in white, their hair powdered, their dark clothes barely visible.

Lucanis coughed, shaking his head like a wet mabari. “You are impossible,” he said, his voice laced with laughter.

“And you’re terrible at dodging. You sure you can handle being the First Talon?” Del shot back with a giggle, wiping her face with the back of her hand, though it only smeared the mess further, mixing with her heavy makeup.

For a moment, they stood there, catching their breath amidst the wreckage of their baking attempt. Del leaned back against the table, blue eyes shining with mirth as she looked at Lucanis. His frame, now thoroughly dusted in flour, still carried that undeniable charm. Even covered in icing and chaos, he managed to look like he belonged on a recruitment poster for the Crows.

“What are we even making?” Del asked finally, gesturing to the disaster around them.

“You wanted to learn how to make the hazelnut torte, no?” Lucanis replied, straightening up and attempting to brush off some of the flour. “At least, that’s what it was supposed to be before you declared war on your First Talon.”

Del snorted, reaching for a damp cloth to wipe her hands. “You started it when you wouldn’t let me mix the batter.”

“You were eating half of it!” he countered, though there was no heat in his words.

“And you weren’t?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

Lucanis didn’t deny it. Instead, he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “Alright, Rook. Let’s finish this before the others come in and decide we’re unfit to use the kitchen ever again. We can’t have Harding taking over our kitchen rotations. Truce?”

Del gave him a mock suspicious look but finally nodded. “Truce. But if you throw anything else at me, I swear I’ll…”

“Relax, Rook.” He reached past her, grabbing a clean bowl. Their hands brushed, and for a brief moment, the playful energy between them shifted. Del’s heart skipped a beat as Lucanis’ fingers lingered just a second too long against hers.

Clearing her throat, she stepped back. “Right. Let’s bake this... Whatever this mess is.”

They worked together, surprisingly well despite the mess. Del handled the frosting while Lucanis focused on finishing the batter. Their banter continued, light and easy, though every so often their eyes met, and the horrors of the world outside the Lighthouse seemed to fade.

Finally, the torte was assembled, though it looked nothing like the one Lucanis had made for Del when they’d decided to give this whole dating thing a try. Still… It was better than anything Del could’ve made on her own.

She slid it onto a plate with a flourish. “Not bad for two assassins who’ve probably spent more time stabbing people than baking.”

Lucanis chuckled, pouring two cups of black coffee and setting them on the table. “Not bad at all. Though, I think you might have used salt instead of sugar for the cake.”

Del’s eyes widened. “You’re joking.”

He smirked. “Only one way to find out.”

She took a tentative bite. Immediately, her nose scrunched. “It’s definitely salt.”

Lucanis burst into laughter, and despite herself, Del joined in, the sound echoing through the messy kitchen.

As they sat at the table sipping their coffee, the torte abandoned, Lucanis glanced at Del, his expression softening. In the dim firelight of the kitchen, surrounded by the chaos they had created, she looked like a masterpiece.

“You know,” he said, his voice quiet, “I think I’ll remember this disaster more fondly than any flawless mission we’ve ever pulled off.”

Del looked up, startled by the tenderness in his tone. Her blue eyes searched his face for a moment before a soft smile curved her lips. “Careful, Lucanis. If you keep saying things like that, I might think you enjoy my company.”

“I do,” he replied simply, the sincerity in his voice making her heart stumble.

Del blinked, her smile growing a little wider. “Well, you’re alright too,” she teased, though the warmth in her tone betrayed her affection. She nudged the abandoned torte in the center of the table with a finger. “Even if you’re a terrible teacher.”

Lucanis chuckled, reaching out to place his hand over hers. “And you, Rook, are a terrible student.” His fingers squeezed hers gently. “But I wouldn’t trade this mess for anything.”

Del glanced at their joined hands, warmth creeping into her cheeks. The playfulness of their earlier battle still lingered in the air, but now it was underpinned with something softer – something unspoken but deeply felt. She tilted her head and quirked a brow. “Not even for a proper hazelnut torte?”

“Not even for that,” Lucanis said, leaning back in his chair with an easy grin.

[ponyosmom35]

going home

Simon ghost Riley x reader

Liability chapter fourteen!

summary: reader bids her friends goodbye as she readies herself to go home and deal with the aftermath of her sisters death. Having to say goodbye to Simon proved much harder than she ever imagined.

Liability masterlist:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

Simon walks into the base and hands his weapon to one of the soliders who took care of it. He pauses as he spots a familiar redhead speaking to a group of medics. He wasn’t expecting to see her again, he figured that she woud’ve left by now. Part of him was thankful that he was given another chance to say goodbye, another part wished she’d gone. Each time they spoke it was harder to push her into the back of his mind. He lingers in the area for a few minutes before her eyes find him. She hugs the medics and moves over to him holding her suitcase and bag in her hands. 

“didn't expect to see you here, thought you were leaving” he comments 

“got delayed” she says softly 

He noitces the sadness in your eyes, and the pain that's eating away at her “how have you been holding up?”

“I'm doing my best to keep my shit together” she admits sadly ”if one more person tries to talk to me about her I think I might scream, anyways how was the mission, seemed like you were in and out”

“it was just a routine operation. Not too much action or anything special” he says taking her bags and setting them on the ground. 

“I'm glad that I caught you guys before leaving” she smiles

“thought you already said your goodbyes?”

“one more can't hurt right?”

“alright, then, get to it” he jokes

“I am gonna miss you Simon, who else is gonna tell me the dumbest fucking jokes all day?” she asks, causing him to laugh.

“and you're gonna miss my brilliant sense of humor” he says this in a sarcastic, yet playful tone. “you just love to hear me talk, don't ya?”

“I like your accent” she admits,  mocking his voice

“oh, really? well you wouldn't be the first to find it charming and irresistible” he brags

She laughs loudly, playing it off as a joke, though she knew it was true. “yet another thing I'm gonna miss, your massive ego”

“a massive ego?” he questions, not even bothering to deny it “I mean, it's the truth, innit?”

“hand to god it is the truth” she admits 

“You might be the only person who can make me laugh at myself”

“someone needs to knock you down a peg” she says hitting his arm 

He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms, while maintaining a playful tone of voice, “ah yes, that's right, you used to be a real brat back then, didn't ya? thought you knew everything, and could teach me a few things” he teases

“I'm a fountain of knowledge” she shrugs 

“a fountain of pride, more like it” he teases, watching as you laugh “and a fountain of attitude”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, all that from the most arrogant and stubborn man I’ve ever met”

“just 'cause I'm the best at what I do, doesn't mean I'm arrogant or stubborn, does it?”

“I hate to break it to you but, you might just be the most-” she is cut off by Soap sprinting over to them. He hops over her luggage and wraps his arms around her, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. Simon looks over to Soap and shakes his head, noticing his playful antics with her while slightly rolling my eyes, and grinning playfully to himself. 

“precious cargo suds!” she yells as she hits his back, trying to get him to set her down. Giggling at him. 

He continues to spin her, then sets her down on her feet. “ankle biter I thought you were leaving!”

“I'm leaving in ten, got delayed”

“Well that means we got time...for a game of hide and seek” He puts his hands over his face and starts counting.

“shut the fuck up, normally I wouldn't turn down an opportunity to hide from you but I'm gonna have to raincheck this time” she smiles sadly.

Soap drops his hands a sighs, placing a hand on her shoulder  “what am I gonna do here without you lass? who's gonna debate with me all day?”

“you'll just have to call me when you feel like getting verbally assaulted” she says making them laugh  “what I'm concerned about is nobody making sure you don't eat more than 12 tacos on taco Tuesday”

“12 is light work”

“you have to save some for everyone else!” she repremands, He starts rubbing the back of his head sheepishly and mumbles

“Yeah alright. I'll save some” He pauses for a moment and looks at her. his face is filled with worry. he then speaks in a more serious tone. “are you gonna be okay? should I be worried?”

“everyone keeps telling me I'll be okay eventually, I'm not sure right now. I think being with my parents is what's best right now”

“Yeah...Yeah. You'll be okay” He steps forward, and pulls her into into a hug. He holds her tight for a few seconds, and then let's go. The smile comes back to his face. “You're strong lass. One of the strongest out there. Trust me”

“thank you Johnny, I'm really gonna miss you”

“Take care of yourself alright? you know my number, you have any trouble or need anything at all, get in touch with me.”

“don't worry whenever I feel like fighting, you'll be getting a phone call”

“perfect”

“I've already got a list of stuff we're gonna discuss”

“A full list?!” he asks in shock

“ten topics and counting”

“God help me”

She leans up and kisses his cheek gently “ bye Johnny”

“Bye lass”

She spots Kyle walking through the base, he takes off his vest and she runs over to him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders. He holds her tightly and rubs her back. “Glad to see you haven’t left yet”

“Just saying my goodbyes” she admits as she pulls back

“I’m gonna miss you red”

“What are you guys gonna do without me?” she jokes

“Cry probably” 

“Me too” she laughs 

“When do you think you’ll be comin back?”

“I’m not sure” she responds 

“Take your time love, allow yourself to feel it”

“I’ll do my best” she nods 

“You’ve got my number yeah?”

“Yeah”

“I expect at least one call a week”

“How about two?” she smiles, he holds his heart

“How did I get so lucky?”

“Nobody knows” she smirks 

“Take it easy alright? Know that you’ve got people here who love you, anything you need you let us know”

“Thank you Kyle” she smiles as she hugs him once more 

“Miss you already kid” he murmurs 

“Save your tears for another day” she says pulling away as she sees Simon and Price waiting near her car. She walks up to them and Price sets his hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you for all of your work here, you’re presence here will be missed”

“Thank you sir”

“Take all of the time you need, and when you’re ready, you give me a call alright?” 

“I will”

“Don’t hesitate to reach out” he says before wrapping her in a quick hug. “I’ll leave you to it Simon”

She moves closer to him with tears in her eyes. He steps forward to meet her halfway, and embraces her tightly for a long, strong hug, letting her lean her head on his shoulder, as he comforts jer and rubs her back reassuringly, all while trying hard to hold back his own tears, and his voice shaking from all of the suppressed emotion, barely able to get out a few words.

 “It's alright…” he whispers in her ear “you remember what I said?”

“I remember”

“Good…” he pulls away and gently cups both sides of her face, making sure to look deeply into her eyes, noticing how red and swollen they are from all of the crying, and wiping away her tears with his thumbs. 

“don't be a stranger ghost” she whispers “make sure you don't forget about simon, he deserves a life too”

Simon nods, and opens the vehicle door for her. He looks at her once more before shutting it. He throws her luggage in the back and hits the tuck twice. He watches as they drive away. He does not move from his spot until the vehicle disappears from his view. There she goes, the only woman he’s ever loved. 

[mysoulspiralbound]

drew the Omori party in outfits a little more fit for their adventures than there pj's

explanations, dnd classes, close up's, and Mari & Basil under the cut

Omori is the party's bard, despite looking and acting like a rogue. as both an artist and a poet, i thought bard suited him better. working with his monochrome color palette was a challenge, but i'm really happy with how it turned out. a fun fact is that me wondering where the heck omori was keeping a knife on his person (combined with my horror at him running around deep well in his socks) is what inspired this design series. i'd like to imagine that Mewo is his familiar.

Aubry is a barbarian based on her focus on strong attacks and her ability to channel her anger into large damage. i tried to keep the shaping and color of these designs mostly the same, though obviously more embellished, as she's literally running around barefoot in a nightgown in cannon. sturdy gloves and boots are an adventuring must, and i picked her meteor hammer cause i think it's her coolest weapon. i will never understand why Sweatheart's pillow somehow deals more damage.

Kel is a kind of trickster rouge — he's not great at stealth, but he's got the highest dex of the party and he's not bad at traps. he's got a lot of colors in his shirt which was kind of a challenge, and i really went back and forth on what player class to give him. his pouch is for additional amo, and his gloves are based on archers globes, since he's the only one who uses ranges weapons in the party. if i redoing this, i would might get rid of his undertunic and/or leg wraps. they were added for protection, but i feel they're mostly just cluttering up the design.

lastly, Hero is a paladin, based both on his healing abilities and his knight in shining armor energy. i picked pink as his accent color cause it contrasted best while still remaining in the omori pallet. his pj's were the hardest to match into a proper adventurer's outfit, so Hero's armor is largely independent of his canon design. the rose on his chest is a reference to his charming personality, the chivalry expected of knights, and his flower from basil's garden. it's also there to fill space, as his design was looking a little to plain otherwise. his kitchen knife is gold to match his little sparkles and to avoid having it blend too deeply into his armor.

Basil definitely has some strong "your princess is in another castle vibes, so that's what i went with for his outfit. he's got his classic flower crown, and i tried to put as much plant imagery as possible into his dress. i switched the princes gloves for gardening ones in his redesign, as well as changing how the dress layered so the lacing didn't run all the way down the garment. the frills on his sleeves and hem are designed to look like petals!

last but not least it's Mari! i've kind of got two versions of her, but i do very much like both. first, i drew her as a wizard, based a little bit on gandalf's habit of showing up, lending the party a helping hand before disappearing to do "important wizard stuff." she's important and helpful when she shows up, but ultimately, the party has to do things on their own. her spell component pouch and her staff both have her picnic basket theming added, as it's symbolic of her healing abilities and the safety she provides the party.

the other version i drew of her leaned more towards cleric based on her role as healer. she'd be a deeply religious figure, possibly having it be revealed later on that she's more powerful than the party knows. i incorporated her picnic pattern here as well, and kept the style of her shoes, since she is literally the only one of the main six who wears them in the dreamscape. like wizard!Mari, her necklace and the ribbon around her head are both callbacks to the ribbon tied around her neck in her original design.

[creative-frequency]

Raphael x Reader: Act I: The Ring

Summary: It's always the terms and conditions that you get into a mess. And with Raphael, there always seems to be a lot of those. This is the second flashback oneshot for the main story of the series. Word count: 2269 Notes: Some romantic tension, warning for (slightly drunk) int8 Tav.

My writing masterlist

Your rounds walking around the merrymaking camp had begun to resemble the tottering of a deep rothe kid. There was drinking, dancing and as tasty a cuisine as one might expect in the middle of a forest, but most importantly, everyone was alive and well. The three goblin leaders were dead, so the tieflings were free to continue their journey towards Baldur’s Gate. Your group had a little pit stop to make on the way at Moonrise Towers, but the plan was to eventually follow them – to go back home.

Wine had been flowing a bit too generously in the course of the evening, so you stepped away for a breather by the water. You had just leaned down to wash your hands in the river, when out of the corner of your eye, you saw the grass rustling.

“Who’s there?” you asked, straightening up and ready to summon a weapon into your hand.

In the grass before you stood a dark-haired dwarven woman, smiling benignly and fully given up on trying to hide. She looked at you up and down with curiosity. The woman didn’t seem to pose a threat, but you sharpened up as best as you could, already feeling dishearteningly sober.

“You’ve got keen eyes, warlock,” she said, not at all taken aback by being discovered, “Korrilla Hearthflame. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” She bowed her head down slightly as a mark of respect.

“And why is that?” you asked in suspicion, still ready to sling a bolt of fire at her if needed.

“Raphael is terribly excited about you… and your condition,” Korrilla explained.

Your shoulders relaxed at the implication.

“He is your patron too.”

“Yes, the respectable Raphael is my master.”

Out of courtesy, you fought back the urge to raise a brow or snicker at her choice of words. You were quite new to this warlock deal, but if Raphael started insisting you call him ‘master’, the deal would be off, no matter the consequences.

“You and I will have time aplenty to speak – but not tonight,” Korrilla continued and a fiery portal opened behind her, “This night is one of celebration – enjoy it while you can.”

Without any further explanation, she stepped into the portal and disappeared with a small wave of her hand. You quickly looked around, wondering how no one had seen your little talk or the light of the portal. The noise your companions and the tieflings were making was gradually increasing under the starry sky.

You decided to bring the matter of Korrilla up first thing in the morning, but for the time being there was nothing else to do besides splash some cold river water on your face and get back to the party.

Idly, you wondered would your patron himself even deign to visit you. Surely Raphael had more important matters to attend to. You tried not to be disappointed at the thought.

The party got noisier and rowdier with each passing cup of wine as you continued your rounds, chatting with your drunken companions, the celebrating tieflings, the druid Halsin and inexplicably melancholic Zevlor. From afar, you cast a wide side-eye at Withers, the skeletal companion who seemed to always know where you were going to camp next. He was the only one you had not talked to yet. No one else seemed to notice or care about him. You opted out of a discussion about the ever turning wheels of fate and paced into another direction.

Astarion was standing by his tent, nursing a cup of wine and looking uncharacteristically bored for a night of celebration. With everything he had told you about himself and his past, you would’ve thought he would be delighted in an event of such revelry.

The moment he saw you approaching, his face lit up with a charming smile. “Ah, there you are, darling.”

“Having fun?” you asked in lieu of greeting.

“Not quite as much as I would like,” Astarion said and sipped the wine. His cunning eyes scanned over you.

“Hah. Not enough of a party for you?”

“It’s missing the key element of a blood sacrifice,” he deadpanned, “The music could be… better, too.” He glanced at the bard Alfira in the middle of camp. She had been strumming her lute and singing with some of the other tieflings for hours.

Smiling playfully, you said: “Well, the night is still young. I’m sure we can find a proper sacrifice for you yet. Let’s see…”

Playfully, you looked around to complete the joke. Before you could comprehend what you saw, your heart started beating faster and you had to do a double take. The grin faltered on your lips, but Astarion was too busy draining his cup of wine to notice.

“You’re always such a delight, darling,” Astarion purred and stepped to lean in closer.

Chatting with one of the drunken tieflings, was Raphael. Your eyes met. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips and his one brow elegantly, invitingly arched.

“So, I was thinking… we could make our own entertainment,” Astarion drawled on. He ran one finger seductively down your arm as he spoke, but you barely registered it. He had been throwing some flirty remarks here and there earlier too. Most of the time you had just deflected them with a nice thank you or a laugh.

You turned Astarion’s hand out of the way, eyes fixated on your patron and didn’t know what came out of your mouth as you started to leave:

“What? Oh, sure, I guess. Hold on a moment, I’ll be right back…” 

Raphael was actually there in your little camp. He looked even more handsome than you remembered – and more relaxed. He was visibly expecting you to join him.

Astarion spread his hands in confusion, mildly offended and muttering as you brushed past him and made a beeline towards the devil.

Had Korrilla told Raphael that you were celebrating? Was it customary for a patron to check in with their warlock at such events? You had no idea what to make of it as you walked closer, heart hammering and breaths short.

Raphael said something to make the tiefling leave and turned his full attention to you. He looked impossibly complacent. The back of your neck was tingling – in excitement, you soon realised.

“Ah, good evening,” Raphael greeted you with a small bow.

Despite the lack of courtly manners, you attempted a light curtsy. It made his smile curve steeply with amusement.

“Good evening, Raphael. What are you doing here?” you said in a more composed manner than your inner turmoil let on.

Raphael spread his arms to emphasise how pleasing he thought the environment was. “I was delighted to hear you were throwing a little party to celebrate the slaughter of all those goblins. A whole camp, indeed,” he mused.

It twisted your insides when phrased like that. “That’s… correct.”

“A true testament to your skill,” he continued with an incline of his head.

You couldn’t say whether he was mocking you or not. You shifted on your feet.

“Um. Thank you,” you said and swallowed, “But surely you didn’t come here just to sing my praises?”

Raphael chuckled with mirth. “As per our agreement, I’ve come to provide you with the means to summon your patron,” he touched his chest with a hand, “Namely, myself.”

You weren’t so sure you liked his expression. “‘Means’? What ‘means’?” you asked warily, brows drawing in puzzlement.

Raphael merely crooked a smile. “Give me your hand, my little raven.”

A shiver coursed through you. “‘Raven’?” you retorted.

Ignoring the question, he said: “A gift, for you.”

Nervously, you extended your right hand to him.

“The other hand, please. We wouldn’t want to hinder your sword arm.”

Raphael reached out to take your left hand – his hands were so warm against yours that it first took you by surprise. The second surprise got you as he slid a golden ring onto your ring finger. Too thrown off to protest, you just ogled at him, slack jawed and the wine churning inside your stomach.

Wearing an almost mischievous grin, Raphael gently touched your chin and withdrew.

“Clause H, section 7; ‘The soul-bearer shall never withdraw the magical focus item from their person.’”

Blinking and looking up and down from the ring to the devil’s face and back, you couldn’t quite understand what he was reciting.

“W-what?”

Raphael pointed a finger in the air as he continued: “Clause H, section 8; ‘The soul-bearer shall only use the magical focus item to attempt to summon the soul-binder. The soul-binder shall answer the call at their discretion.’”

“Are those clauses in my contract?” you asked, still stunned and examined the ring. It was a golden, petite thing with some kind of sharp symbol engraved on it. It weighed nothing but you felt its presence on you as if it were a sack of stones. Had Raphael just said you couldn’t take the ring off? And that it was magical?

“Indeed. You are welcome to visit my House of Hope to read the contract any time you wish.” There was a teasing edge in Raphael’s tone and you wondered what it meant.

“Any more of those terms and conditions I should know about?” you asked.

Raphael chuckled. The deep sound travelled through your bones, tickling pleasantly.

“Not at present, little raven.” He lifted a finger in the air. “There is one more thing to complete the ritual.”

“Ritual?”

“Listen closely, since I will state this only once: ‘Dominus, inferior ad te me flecto inferni.”

He pronounced each word with care. Your lips moved in sync with his, involuntarily but silent. The phrase was branded into your memory and you felt the ring warm against your palm in response. It was a simple summoning ritual. As long as you held the ring, you would only need to speak those words and Raphael would know. And he might answer your call and come to you – if he felt like it.

You examined the ring once again. It looked so innocent but you could feel the power radiating from it. Speaking those words had somehow activated it. It was now primed to act as the focus item for the ritual.

“...’Flecto inferni’? What’s that supposed to mean?” you finally asked.

“Every good ritual requires a fetching verbal component,” Raphael replied patiently, hand to his chin. As if he hadn’t spent the last three days perfecting the words to go with the ritual spell.

“But the left ring finger?” you insisted, ears suddenly burning from the insinuation that you only just now  realised.

Raphael had the audacity to laugh.

“You’d better start rehearsing your lies, little raven.”

Because lie you would about what the ring symbolised. You squared your shoulders and faced the gauging look on your patron.

“Well, thank you for taking the time to bring me this,” you said.

“I will always make time for you,” he purred and chuckled.

A surge of toe-curling surprise made you look bashfully away.

“A-and thank you again.” You motioned awkwardly to yourself. “For the powers.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Raphael replied with an incline of his head, “After all, I am invested in your success. Korrilla will keep me posted on your… progress.”

Sensing that the conversation was about to end, you glanced at the ring and lifted it to better see the symbol on it.

“Will you at least tell me what the symbol on the ring is?”

Raphael’s lips curved into a sly smile. “I’m sure your friend Karlach can assist in deciphering it. Let it be a surprise.” He chuckled again, impossibly satisfied. Somehow you started thinking he was doing all this just to keep himself entertained.

“I’m afraid I’m already late for my next meeting. Ta-ta, little raven!”

Raphael bowed and disappeared in a flash of flames.

You shot a pondering look at the ring and spun to look around the camp until you found the burning red tiefling laughing loudly at something Rolan had just said. Biting your lip, you  wondered if it would be worth the trouble to ask Karlach about it. On the other hand, you couldn’t imagine Raphael would give you anything nasty as a surprise. Better to take the devil by the horns. At least you would know.

“Hey, Karlach?” you waved a hand as you approached her and Rolan, who was rolling his sleeves up.

“‘Sup, soldier?”

Clearing your throat, you motioned Karlach closer. You could feel the heat radiating from her body and for a heartbeat it made you think about Raphael’s warm hand on yours. You cleared your throat again and Karlach started to look worried.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No, I just… have a weird question. What does ‘dominus, inferior ad te me flecto inferni’ mean?” Grimacing, you faced the barbarian.

Karlach’s mouth was agape. She was obviously taken by surprise with what you wanted to know and you started to panic a little since you had no idea what the sentence meant. Before you could apologise, she forced her mouth shut to think while pure curiosity glinted in her eyes.

“‘Lord or Master, I bow down to you in hell.’ Or it could also be more like ‘lie down’ for them. Y’know, in a naughty, adults-only way.” She grinned. “Why?”

That fucker.

That bastard devil.

You groaned. Suddenly, you didn’t want to show the ring to Karlach anymore. You wanted to yank it off and throw it into the River Chiontar.

“...No reason.”

This devil patron and his antics would be your doom.

[umi-adxhira]

ᝰ.ᐟ SERENITY | 006

FANDOM: TWTPTFLOB

WARNINGS: Idk mention of seduction lessons but we don't take it, Lante is his own warning

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hey yall. I've already done the writing for this and the next chapter. I wanted to plan all of the chapters before publishing them but I'll probably do that after Chapter 10. There's not a lot of reader's thoughts because I think I'm overdoing it ngl

◄ PREVIOUS CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ►

The room smells of burnt cigar, a smoky undertone mingling with the sharp tang of polished metal. Lante’s office is exactly what you’d expect from a man like him: a cold shrine to his ambition of being a powerhouse of drugs and weapons. It looks just like the manhwa. Dark, gloomy, kinda cool. He leans back in his high-backed chair, a smirk playing on his lips as you stand before his desk.

“You know why you’re here,” he says, eyes boring into you, calculating. Lante doesn’t speak for the sake of speaking. Every word he speaks is like a piece on the chessboard.

You nod slightly, uncertain. “No… what’s happening?”

His smirk deepens. “Don’t insult me by pretending you’re clueless. Yggdrasil. The most important event in the world, where alliances are forged and enemies weeded out. Where opportunity lies for those sharp enough to take it.” You are the enemy, dude. Also, Yggdrasil so soon? Well, it is it be expected. It never mentions what time of year the event takes place, but last time I checked… autumn? Yeah, the leaves are falling.

You clasp your hands behind your back, maintaining an air of innocent ignorance. “What will be required of me?”

Lante rises from his chair, pacing slowly around the room. He stops to inspect a gleaming dagger displayed on the wall, running his finger along it. “You’ll play your part, of course. You’ll smile, you’ll flatter, you’ll intrigue. It’s a simple game if you’ve the wit for it. But I’ve noticed a certain… roughness around the edges with you.”

Your jaw tightens. “Roughness?”

“Your manners,” he replies, deadpanned. “Or lack thereof. You’re seem clever, I’ll give you that. But cleverness alone won’t open the doors I need you to walk through.”

“And what do you propose?” If you say lessons I swear to the mighty Lord in the sky I will-

“Lessons,” Lante declares, the word falling from his lips like an order, not a suggestion. I hate you. “You’ll be under Griselda’s guidance for etiquette and manners. She’ll teach you how to carry yourself properly, how to speak in a way that turns heads and commands respect. You’ll learn to walk like someone who belongs.”

“Like I belong? But isn’t the part of my intregue is that I don’t belong?”

Ignoring you, he adds, “And Roxana will handle the… other aspects of your training. Seduction. Subtlety. The art of disarming someone without drawing a blade.”

“Seduction lessons?” you say, the disbelief setting on your face. “People aren’t blind. People know when they’re being seduced, they simply choose not to act on it. It’s not about some elaborate act - it’s about giving them a reason to trust me. A reason to feel secure. I feel as though it’s a small way of giving back all you have gave me, my Lord,” Besides, there isn’t enough time to teach me anything meaningful in a week anyway. Hopefully buttering him up will let me avoid taking these stupid lessons.

Lante’s brow arches at your audacity, but you can see the wheels turning in his head. For all his arrogance, he respects practicality. That’s something I’ve seen time and time again. Finally, he exhales, waving a hand dismissively. “Fine. No seduction lessons. But if your… natural charm fails us, it’ll be your head, not mine.”

“Understood,” you reply, relief hidden beneath a stoic mask.

He claps his hands once, summoning a maid from the shadows of the room. She’s new, younger than the others you’ve seen in his employ, younger than Elaine, her wide eyes darting nervously as she approaches. “Take her to Griselda,” he orders curtly.

The maid nods, gesturing for you to follow. As you leave Lante’s office, you can feel his gaze on your back, heavy with expectation.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Griselda’s chambers are a stark contrast to Lante’s oppressive office. The room is bathed in warm light, soft tapestries hanging from the walls, and the faint aroma of blooming lilies fills the air. Griselda herself stands by a long table, arranging a set of delicate teacups. Her dark brunette hair cascades down her hair, and her smile is so disarming and innocent it takes you a moment to catch the glint of mischief in her eyes.

“Ah, you must be the new doll,” she says, her voice lilting with amusement. She gestures for you to sit, her movements graceful, similar to her younger half sister Roxana.“Come. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

You take a seat, folding your hands neatly in your lap. “Uuuh, Miss Griselda,” you begin.

“Oh, no need for all that formality,” she interrupts with a laugh, though her eyes study you like a hawk. “We’ll be spending quite a bit of time together this week. Might as well skip the pretenses.” She’s a lot nicer than usual. Perhaps this is also a ploy? Maybe she doesn’t feel the need to act so coy towards Roxana. Maybe this is the side she shows everyone else as a cover? She glides to your side, inspecting your posture. “Straighten your back,” she instructs, tapping lightly on your shoulder. “Chin up. You’ll need to project confidence, even if you don’t feel it. People can smell weakness, and they’ll pounce on it like horny dogs.” Wow that was a stark contrast. Horny dogs?

The next few hours are a barrage of instructions. Griselda corrects everything from the way you hold your teacup to the precise angle of your bow. Her tone is light, almost playful, but there’s an undeniable sharpness beneath it. You get the sense that she’s enjoying herself a little too much, though she never lets it interfere with the efficiency of her lessons.

During a brief pause, as she adjusts the fall of your cloak, Griselda speaks again, her tone more conversational. “So, tell me about your old world. What was it like?”

The question catches you off guard, “Why do you ask?”

She shrugs, a coy smile playing on her lips. “Call it curiosity. You’re a fascinating puzzle, you know. And I do so love piecing things together.”

You hesitate, considering how much to reveal. Griselda’s kind demeanor is a thin veil over a calculating mind, and you’re certain she’ll twist any information you give her into something useful for her own ends. Still, you decide to give in, enough to satisfy her without giving too much away.

“It was… simpler,” you say finally. “Less politics. Well, to someone of my age. I was too young to engage in the higherups like presidents or political parties. In my world, people were more straightforward about their intentions, not covering their true intentions under a guise,”

Griselda tilts her head, intrigued. “Simpler doesn’t necessarily mean better. I imagine it must have been dull, no?”

You smirk faintly. “It had its moments. I’d watch the news or scroll on Tiktok and nothing new happens, so it gets boring a bit. But I’ve adapted to this world just fine.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” she replies, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She chooses to ignore the unfamiliar words that escapes your lips, focusing on getting you to talk. “But adapting isn’t enough. If you want to survive, you’ll need to thrive. And thriving requires… improvement.”