#still figuring it all out maybe there’s a way to get around but man

[milktiicup]

Could you write a fic where we figure out a way to bring Mr Crawling shopping with us? Maybe he could be put in a wheelchair so his height isn't as scary or suspicious to other humans

a day out!

“Junk food,” you explain. “Not good for you.” “Want junk,” he says immediately, reaching for a bag of neon orange cheese puffs. Your resolve crumbles. “Fine. One junk.” You lean down beside his head. He turns to you, a smile of wonder on his face, and you stress, “One.” His giggle rings down the aisle and he places the chips into the basket. 

Leaving Mr. Crawling at home all day left you wondering- does he need fresh air? Does he want fresh air? If you left your old world in the name of romance just to be left inside all day while your partner goes to work and has extra curricular activities at night time- you’d like to think you’d crave being outside, too. 

It gave you the bright idea- why not take Mr. Crawling grocery shopping?

Of course, your roommate-boyfriend-thing couldn’t really walk outside all willy-nilly if he wanted. And yeah, you already knew that he’s not that noticeable to other people- but he’s still noticeable. He needed a makeover, a new wardrobe, and one thing for certain- a wheelchair! 

You felt bad stealing from the hospital, but what could you do? Pay for one? Those things were expensive! You may be a murderer, you may be a monster, but one thing for certain is- you’re not that much of a thief… You paid for his clothes, obviously. A simple oversized black t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. You even decided to treat him to a pair of… black socks. 

You were such a good, kind person. 

“Crawlingggg,” you sang, stepping into your apartment. “I have a gift for you!”

He sits there in the hallway, head tilted and a smile that stretches ear to ear. “Gift? You give object?” 

You wave the shopping bags. “I give object! Give you!”

“Give me?” He giggles, and you’re promptly tackled to the floor in a heap of hair and raggy kimono in a hug. 

You don’t know what you were expecting by giving Mr. Crawling a pair of normal human sized pants, but they fit… for the most part. His entire calves were exposed. He was like a fussy baby when you insisted you had to put the socks on his feet, but with a pout, he let you. Mr. Crawling was quick to look at himself in the mirror, and after you changed out of your work clothes, you were ready to go!#

“Ready?” you ask, gripping the handles of the wheelchair with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. This was, after all, a brilliant idea. Mr. Crawling finally gets to experience the great outdoors. A small trip, sure, but a big leap in the world of integrating your… unique roommate-boyfriend-thing into normal human life.

He glances down at himself, his oversized shirt sagging a little off one shoulder, his sweatpants cinched tight around his too-thin waist. His hair still moves with its own mind, curling around his arms like curious tendrils. Maybe a hair tie would’ve been a good idea. “Look… human?” he asks, poking the fabric of his shirt.

“Close enough,” you say brightly, patting his shoulder. “And trust me, no one will question it. People don’t actually pay attention to other people in public. It’s one of the few perks of modern society.”

He tilts his head, not understanding a word you just said, but he nods anyway. “You push chair. Fast?”

“No,” you say firmly, cutting that idea off before it even starts. You had to be mature, and fight the urges to make him do wheelies down the street. You were an adult. “We’re going normal speed, like normal people, doing normal grocery shopping. Normal.” You give him a pointed look, and he grins wide.

You manoeuvre him out of the apartment and down the hall, the wheelchair gliding smoothly. His fingers twitch as he grips the armrests. “This… fun,” he murmurs, glancing up at you. “You like push?”

“It’s like pushing a very large, very creepy man,” you mutter, though there’s no real malice in your tone. “But yeah, it’s kind of fun.”

The trip down to the street is uneventful. Nobody spares you a second glance, save for one elderly woman who frowns a little at Mr. Crawling’s hair. Damn… Men can’t have long hair these days, apparently. You quickly steer him away before she can get a closer look, and see the fact he quite literally has no eyeballs.

“Outside,” he whispers in awe as you roll him onto the sidewalk. His fingers tap the armrests excitedly, his head swivelling to take in the towering buildings, the cars, the smoggy sky. “Big.”

“Yeah, welcome to the human world,” you say. “It’s not all bad, though. See those pigeons? They’re kind of cute, right?”

He stares at the birds for a long moment, then tilts his head. “Consume?”

“No!” you hiss, your voice a little louder than intended. A couple walking past gives you a strange look, but you wave them off. “We do not eat the pigeons. We buy food from inside the store. That’s the whole point of this trip, remember?”

Mr. Crawling frowns, but his smile returns as fast as it left. “I understand!”

“Good. Great. Let’s go.”

The grocery store is just a few blocks away, and you’re relieved when the automatic doors slide open. The bright fluorescent lights and neatly stacked shelves feel almost comforting in their mundanity. It’s a sense of normalcy that you… kind of, but only kind of have at home. Your roommate-boyfriend-thing is a monster from another realm. 

Mr. Crawling, on the other hand, looks like a kid in a candy store. “Many object…” he murmurs, his head swivelling in every direction. “Human eat this?”

“Yeah,” you say, grabbing a basket. “You’re about to see how humans stock up for the week. Ready?”

He nods, his grin widening. You just hope the poor cashier is ready for whatever this trip is about to become. You let Mr. Crawling hold the shopping basket in his lap, and push him down the first aisle. 

You knew Mr. Crawling wasn’t dumb by any means. He’s smart enough to pick up things from the TV, understands a majority of the stuff you say in your own language, but you’d never imagine that the day would come that you had to explain what broccoli was to him. 

“What this?”

“Little tree. You know tree?”

“Know tree… Little tree… Healthy?”

“Healthy. If you cook it.”

“Cook little tree…” 

You’ve mystified him. 

Your next aisle - the snack aisle - has Mr. Crawling enamoured. “What this?” he asks, picking up colourful chip bag after chip bag. If he had eyes, you knew he would be eyeing up those boxes of cookies like no tomorrow. 

“Junk food,” you explain. “Not good for you.”

“Want junk,” he says immediately, reaching for a bag of neon orange cheese puffs.

Your resolve crumbles. “Fine. One junk.” You lean down beside his head. He turns to you, a smile of wonder on his face, and you stress, “One.” His giggle rings down the aisle and he places the chips into the basket. 

By the time you reach the checkout, the basket is loaded with a mix of essentials and Mr. Crawling’s curious additions- things like canned soup, frozen potato waffles, and a box of pudding cups that he grabbed without even asking. And of course, the box of cookies that you knew he would eye up eventually. 

The cashier barely glances at the two of you, though she does raise an eyebrow at Mr. Crawling’s hair. You pay quickly, and wheel him outside with your bags of groceries in tow.

As you head back home, he turns to you, clutching the bag of cheese puffs in his lap. “Shopping fun,” he declares, beaming. “Human smart.”

“Yeah, well, let’s see if you feel the same after cooking some of this stuff,” you reply, shaking your head with a smile. “Ready for that adventure next?”

He nods, munching a cheese puff as if it’s the greatest thing he’s ever tasted. “Cook tiny tree.”

You laugh. “Okay, Crawling. We can cook the broccoli together.”

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead on Main short part 3

Debating if this can actually still be called a short....

Masterpost to find earlier parts, or my other work.

Danny shudders underneath him and grips the front of Jason’s jacket with both hands. They are both about to make the kiss deeper, when Jason hears the sound of Bats surrounding them. 

Jason can recognize that they make for a weird picture. Jason, kissing some man no one else in the family knows, with the Joker’s dead body five feet away. But he just wants to groan at the interruption. He needs to take Danny back to a safe house so he can learn everything about him as soon as possible. 

Maybe figure out how exactly he killed the Joker while he’s at it. Not that the means change anything about the end point, but Jason is curious.  Because as much as Jason wanted to kill the Joker, planned to kill the Joker, would have if it had come down to it, if this night had ended a little differently.

 The Joker did always seem a little unkillable though. He had a way of coming back. Like a cockroach. Jason may have to make sure that they burn the body.

Jason pulls away from Danny before he could continue the kiss, causing a truly adorable pout. Jason chuckles lightly, stepping back and letting his arms fall to his sides. Batman jumps down from the fire escape he was lurking on. He lands directly behind Jason, with a growl of “Hood”, that Jason knew was both a question and a command. Jason ignored it and watched as Robin jumped down as well. 

Robin crouched next to the Joker and did his own assessment of the body. 

“Dead.” The announcement is not a surprise to anyone present. It still brings Jason joy to hear.

“Hood.” An even lower growl than before. Getting more gravelly, Jason is starting to push Bruce’s tolerance for his bullshit.

It’s not funny. It shouldn’t be funny. But Jason throws his head back and laughs. He laughs for a god ten seconds before he calms and glances behind him at Danny, smiling so wide his cheeks are starting to hurt. Danny gives a small, nervous chuckle when Jason turns to him, but he keeps glancing between him and Bruce. Clearly nervous about Batman’s reaction to the manslaughter.

Jason turns back to Bruce, and his voice comes out so chipper when he talks it elicits another chuckle from Danny.

“I think we should burn him!”

“Hood!” And this one is as exasperated as Batman will allow himself to get in costume. 

Jason saunters over the Robin, whispering at him conspiratorially “We should maybe do this full-vampire style. Chop him up into pieces and then burn him.”

“I can’t help but agree.” Robin mutters, kicking Joker lightly in the arm. Jason liked this kid before, but his affection was growing. Jason  put his arm around Robin in a quick side hug. 

Robin was not expecting it, which gave Jason a full second before he had to dart away from a knife, laughing. 

“Explain. Now.” Batman’s main focus is on Robin and Hood, but he is also crowding Danny, who looks like he is trying to sink into the wall.

“Hey, leave him alone.” Jason walks back over, quickly, hoping Robin will start with the body while he distracts Bruce. He has faith the kid is good for it.

“What is he doing here and what were you doing with him?”

“Batman, this is Danny.” Danny gives a short wave. “Danny here was startled by the Joker, who confronted him while he was very innocently minding his business. Danny then defended himself against him, and now the Joker is dead.”

Batman gave him a blank stare. “Danny killed the Joker.” It’s flat, but conveys his disbelief perfectly.

“Do you see any bullet holes?” 

“Hn.” Batman grunted, turning to look back at the body. Which Robin might have actually been about to get started on. Jason spares a thought for what they would have donw about all the blood

“Robin!” The shout is sharp, and Robin lowers his knife, despondently putting it back in its sheath. “Robin, bag him and get him ready for transport.”

Robin sighs, but starts doing as he was asked.

Batman turns back to Jason and Danny. “ What were you two doing when we arrived?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Look old man, I know kissing is not unfamiliar to you.” Batman grunts again. “But Danny, my new favorite person,” Jason takes Danny’s hand as Danny smiles at him. “Is my soulmate. Recently discovered, obviously. Just after he did what all of you refused to do for me, and by accident.”

There was a moment of quiet.

“I really didn’t mean to, Batman, I swear.” Danny is still holding Hood’s hand, squeezing it intermittently. Jason squeezes back every time. “Wait, what do you mean they refused to do for you?” Danny peers at the stoic faces of Batman and Robin, before nodding to himself. “Not the time.” 

“Hood, cave for debrief.”

Batman immediately started to turn around, but Jason scoffed. Jason could not believe the nerve actually, gaping a little at Bruce as he turned back around, before turning to look at Danny and then back at Bruce.

“ Hood, I understand the situation, but this is something that must be discussed.”

“B, you can’t be serious! He-”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Jason and Bruce both shift their gazes over to Danny. “I understand that meeting your soulmate in costume is probably not ideal. You don’t know me, and I’m not going to pretend you trust me yet.” Danny’s entire focus was on Hood.

“Go, talk things out with your group. My name is Danny Fenton. I’m sure you can find whatever you need on me with that. Find me later, okay?” Jason looked upset and it hurt Danny to already to see it.

“I’m okay with getting to know you in a mask if need be. Find my number, text me, call me. I can and will wait until you trust me.”

[archangeldyke-all]

hii bestie i loveee ur writing <33 the arcane finale is literally driving me insane holy shit and i just keep thinking about how all the old bitches on the council are probably bigoted assholes to our beloved sevika at first (hopefully) and was wondering if you’d consider writing the reader comforting her after these council meetings or letting her take out any stress on the reader from these meetings heheh okie bye thanks hope you’re doing amazingly <3

GOD. i've been thinking about it more lately (the euphoria of her making it through the series alive is wearing off too) and i just. really need to hug her. because YES she lived and YES zaun is getting a voice and YES she is the best person for the job, but... she lost EVERYTHING. and now she's gonna have to be treated like shit forever for her city. and of course she's gonna stick it out because that's who she is and she'll do anything for zaun but FUCK. i need to hug her so bad. okay lets write lol.

men and minors dni

it's been a hard year.

you and sevika got your worlds rocked when isha and jinx stumbled in your lives, and then you got your hearts broken when they stumbled back out.

there wasn't even a moment to catch your breath before you had to start rebuilding efforts and negotiations with piltover.

and then sevika was appointed to represent the free nation of zaun in piltover's council as the sister cities figure out how to rebuild and get the undercity on it's feet as it gains independence.

and, in a way, it's everything sevika's ever wanted. she's there to assure that the topsiders treat her city right, she's there to demand everything zaun deserves. she gets to oversee development in the undercity, she gets to open schools and parks and libraries.

but in another way, she's never been so miserable in her life.

the councilor's are all members of the wealthiest families in piltover-- and they do not take kindly to sevika's sudden addition to the council.

shoola's been sevika's one true ally, her biggest advocate and defender in the council room. they're friends, in that the same tentative way sevika was friends with silco, but... maybe a little kinder. a little more lighthearted.

shoola's become a close friend of yours, too. she learned quickly that sevika keeps her cards close to her chest, and she often comes to you for an insight into what your wife is thinking. it's fun to have someone to laugh with over sevika's quirks, and you're endlessly appreciative of the woman's fierce protection of your wife in the council, when you can't be there to defend her.

still, though. shoola isn't always there, and she can't control the whispers sevika overhears.

and it's not like your wife is new to being insulted. but it's one thing to be cursed out by a man you're fighting in the street, and a different thing entirely to overhear posh accents whispering about 'sump rats' and 'undercity trash.'

especially when those same posh accents are the people demanding tax cuts for the wealthy, and budget cuts for the undercity.

so, you've been anticipating this.

this being your wife breaking down in silent sobs, crying so hard she can't make any noise, kneeling before you the moment you gets home to bury her face in your stomach.

but just because this has been a long time coming, doesn't mean it breaks your heart any less.

"oh, sevika." you whisper shakily, kicking your boots off before kneeling down and wrapping your arms around her. she buries her face in your shoulder, her arms circling your waist with desperation. "fuck, baby. i'm right here. let it out." you say.

sevika shakes against you, taking desperate gasps for air between her sobs. "i'm so tired." she stutters out. you start crying at her words, settling down onto your ass to pull her into your lap.

"i know, baby. you've been working your whole fuckin' life." you say, scratching her scalp and rubbing her back as she curls up on top of you.

"and i fucking miss them." she cries.

you let out a choked cry and nod, kissing her forehead as tears stream down your cheeks. "yeah." you choke out. "me too."

there's nothing else to say. everything else sevika already knows. you love her. you've got her. jinx and isha are together now, and zaun is free. none of it makes it any better, though.

so you just hold her.

in a while, you'll both run out of tears and get sore from your spots on the floor. you'll dry both of your tears, kiss sevika soundly, and comb her hair from her face as you whisper her praises. you'll call for food to be delivered, draw a nice bath, and you'll make sevika eat and soak until her eyes droop. and then, you'll take her to bed. in the morning, sevika will go back to the council, despite the fact that everyone in that building looks down on her, because sevika is nothing if not loyal to zaun. and tomorrow evening, you'll be waiting here at home to build back up all her confidence that those rich assholes managed to tear down throughout the day.

but, for now, sevika's still crying.

so, for now, you just hold her.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz @strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed

[spookwriter-xo]

Coppélia

Chapter 6 - The Kim Estate

Chapter Summary - A little bit of Y/N's backstory and her family's history. She gets a tour of the Kim Estate from San and Wooyoung and gets a brief glimpse into the boys' private lives.

warnings: San does get a little violent towards the end, and Wooyoung cracks a few sex jokes (MDNI)

Series Masterlist

The house I grew up in was nothing short of a prison. I had all the luxuries of high society, yes, but that didn't mean I felt the same warmth and compassion children should be surrounded with.

My father owned a fashion company, Belluxe, one of the biggest in our part of the world. He had a lot of ties with some dangerous and powerful people, and as I got older I realized how much it had really gotten to his head.

The power. The greed.

I was forbidden to talk to him when I was young, only if we had guests. If I did without permission, he'd get angry. He had only gotten physical with me once, and that was when our family bond broke forever.

I was nine years old, home from boarding school with Christmas like I normally would be. My younger sister was ecstatic to have me home, finally having someone other than our mother to play with. Our older sister, she wasn't around this time. I figured she'd stayed at school for the holidays, but as I got older I found out she had run away.

I went by a different name back then, first and last. I'd changed it once I was disowned at 17, wanting to leave that old life behind. It was a lot easier than it should have been, all things considered.

I remember we were sitting at the dinner table, the only sound coming from our cutlery scraping across the porcelain plates. My mother had asked briefly how school was, and I gave a short but honest answer; "It was alright."

My father leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty seat where my sister should have been. He cleared his throat, causing us all to turn our heads in attention.

"Chariya, you'll be the next heir." He says simply, my old name, it felt weird hearing it even if it was just a memory. "Since Chalita has failed to exceed my expectations."

My family was Thai on my mother's side. She'd named us all after members of her family still in Thailand, bringing a piece of her old life with her.

Mother and Father married after father knocked my mother up with Chalita, the eldest. My mother used to say he was a kind man until she gave him too many daughters and no son. I think she just used it as an excuse to hide the snake he really is.

"My love, she is too young-" My mother states before she is cut off.

"Enough! I told you not to speak against me." He shouts, slamming his fist down on the table. My little sister, Chaluai, begins to cry at the sudden noise. My mother bows her head and stands, taking Chaluai with her as she exits the dining room.

I stare down at my plate, hearing the sound of his chair creaking as he leans back.

"Your mother doesn't understand the ways of this world." He says. "But one day you will."

I was startled awake by a knock on the door, causing my body to jump from my skin.

"Hello?" I call out groggily, sitting up.

"Uhm... Y/N? It's San." A muffled voice from the other side of the door calls out.

"Right..." I murmur, the events from the last few nights creeping their way back into my head. I stretch and swing my legs over the side. My feet hit the wood as I shuffle towards the door, opening it slowly.

San stands there on the other side, wearing a suit a little different from the one he wore last night. His eyes widen as I open the door, quickly looking up.

"Just thought I'd wake you... Wooyoung and I are home whenever you want that tour." He says, finding the ceiling very interesting.

"Oh! Just give me a few minutes and I'll come find you." I say, fingers gripping the door. San nods before hurriedly rushing down the hall and towards the stairs. I watch him go before closing the door. He was a lot shyer than last night. Maybe something was on his mind.

I walk into the walk-in wardrobe and look around at all the luxurious clothes hung up for me. There was a cabinet in the center, inside millions of dollars worth of jewelry for me to choose from. I feel a shiver run up my spine at the sight. It had been so long since I'd seen anything like this, and it felt wrong.

I hadn't worked for it, I didn't buy it myself. These men had only met me last night yet they were already willing to spend millions on me. Why?

I settled on a simple top and skirt, slipping on some fluffy slippers that were positioned neatly beside my bed before making my way out into the hallway.

The eery silence shared with the darkness of the hallway settled a sick feeling in my stomach. It was so quiet, that no chatter or thumping of footsteps could be heard. I figured Wooyoung and San were downstairs somewhere, praying that they weren't the type to jump out and scare me.

I head towards the staircase, the scenery getting brighter as I peek down at the pretty white marble that now glittered in the sunlight. My hand slides down the railing as the stairs take me to the lower floor. I gaze at the paintings on the wall, one of all 8 of them positioned on and around a fancy-looking couch, and another with a younger-looking Hongjoong, who I assumed to be his mother, father, and brother.

I didn't know he had a brother, I wonder what happened to him?

I glanced left and right once I reached the bottom of the stairs, the house felt like a maze, going on forever in both directions.

"San? Wooyoung?" I call out, my hands finding my elbows as I glance around. I decided to go left, entering what seemed to be the main living room based on the three couches and the fireplace with a television situated above it. I reach my hand out and press my fingers into the plush cushions, feeling the soft fabric beneath my skin.

"Y/N?" A voice makes me jump, I turn around to see Wooyoung standing in the doorway I just walked through. He had a grin on his face. "Scared ya?" He says with a light cackle.

I splutter for a moment before crossing my arms tighter. I watch as he scans my figure, admiring my figure.

"Eyes are up here, Wooyoung." I tease, as he stares a little too long at my legs.

"Yeosang picked your wardrobe well." He says, ignoring my words and stepping a little closer. "Would prefer you don't wear it around me though."

I hold my hand up and stop him from coming any closer right as San enters from another door behind me.

"Hongjoong said we should give you a tour." He says gruffly, his hair looking a lot messier than it was when he visited maybe 20 minutes prior. I glanced at his knuckles, noticing the light bruising that had begun to blossom before he quickly hid them in the pockets of his jacket.

"I'm ready to start whenever you are," I say, offering him a smile which he hesitates to return.

"Well, this is the main living room. Pretty obvious since it looks like a living room." Wooyoung chirps, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "Don't mind if San is a little quiet. He gets grumpy when he has to work early."

I glance back at San as Wooyoung starts to lead me through another archway into a large room. I gasped as the realization hit me that this was a ballroom. A large and grand ballroom, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. There was a grand piano on a small platform tucked away into a corner, floor-to-ceiling length windows with a matching door that led out to the backyard and a large diamond-clad chandelier dangled from the ceiling.

I could feel Wooyoung's grin as I slowly moved away from him, my jaw hanging slightly as I walked to the center. There were mosaic patterns that formed a lily flower on the floor under my feet which made me smile.

"Seonghwa told us to open the curtains for you, they haven't been opened since Hongjoongs parents were alive. The only person that uses this room is Mingi when he wants to play piano." San says from behind me. "Hongjoong's mother painted the lily flower herself."

"It's a painting?" I ask, turning to look back at both of them in surprise.

"Doesn't look it right? She was extremely talented at making things look different than what they are." Wooyoung says, the same grin on his face.

The tour went on, and every room amazed me more than the last. The kitchen was huge, almost twice the size of my bedroom with a dining room attached to it which was just as big. My mind wandered to all the grand dinners they must have hosted when Hongjoongs parents were still alive. Did they host balls too? It would be foolish not to considering how beautiful the setting was.

There was a pool, a greenhouse, and even a golf course in the backyard. I glanced over the hill and caught a glimpse of a tennis court on the far side of the golf course. I wondered how many acres this house was on. We weren't that from the city, however I couldn't see any other buildings for miles.

Inside on the first floor, there was a two-story library, another 2 smaller seating rooms, and laundry/housekeeping quarters behind the kitchen. The hallways were twisting in all directions, as if intentional. Was the layout meant to confuse people? Maybe intruders?

It would be smart if it was, all things considered. The house was intimidating from the outside just on its own, getting lost on the inside felt like a terrifying idea.

"Do you guys have maids?" I ask my arm now linked with Wooyoungs. I'd hate to be a worker here, having to clean this house would have to take days. Not only that but cooking? Laundry? Maintenance work would be a nightmare too.

"We do, they have Sundays off." Wooyoung answers, leading me back to the main stairwell. "Upstairs is mostly bedrooms and bathrooms. Hongjoong's home office is at the end of the hall on the right." He adds.

I nod, my neck craning to look at the paintings lining the walls once again. There was a painting of a woman, a beautiful woman with long black hair and piercing green eyes with freckles dusting her cheeks. I stared at the painting for a moment, getting a sinking feeling that she was staring back.

"That's Aurora." Wooyoung murmurs, eyes on the painting too. "She was... The one before you." He hesitates to say, glancing down at me before looking back up at the painting. I let go of his arm and climbed a few steps to stand directly in front of her painting.

"She's beautiful... Pretty name too." I say softly, my eyes softening as more details reveal themselves.

"You would have liked her," San says, his arms crossed as he looks at the painting, a sad look in his eyes. "She was like you, not a dancer though... More of a reader."

"If you wanted to find her she'd only ever be in the library," Wooyoung says with a small chuckle. "Most of the books in there were gifts for her, from us." He says.

"What happened to her?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I turn back to them. They're both staring up at the painting, Wooyoung lowers his head and lets out a soft, pained sigh once he registers my question.

"We'll tell you in time. You should get settled first." San answers, his voice low.

Oddly enough, I didn't feel an ounce of jealousy. It was obvious she wasn't in the picture, whether she was alive or not. However, the pained look on Wooyoungs face and the behavior of the other boys when she is mentioned made me think it was the latter. I felt sad for them. It was obvious they loved her, maybe more than I would ever realize or truly know.

A part of me was envious of that fact. To be loved so unconditionally was something I had dreamed of since I was a little girl. But, another part of me was scared. Did their work have something to do with her death? It made sense in a way.

A loud crash made me jump from my thoughts. I look to San and Wooyoung who are suddenly on high alert before San grumbles something and storms off into the direction of the main living room. I glance at Wooyoung as I step down the stairs to follow but the man stops me.

"Don't follow him." He says in a hushed voice, gripping my hips in a tight hold as I glance behind him. My eyes widened, the door San had entered through at the start of the day was wide open with a man stumbling through. San grabs the man by the back of the neck and practically drags him back into the darkness beyond the door.

The man lets out a string of curses and begs as San slams the door shut behind them both, his cries fading into nothing the further they go.

"It's the basement," Wooyoung says, answering my question before I even had to ask. "It's the only place in this house that you are not allowed to go. Understand?" He says, his expression void of any playfulness I had come to associate with his character.

"I understand," I say, staring back up at him with the same wide-eyed expression.

"Good girl." He says with a grin, hand cupping my cheek briefly before moving away, heading towards the staircase. "Come, I'll show you everyone's rooms."

I glance at the door to the basement for a moment before following Wooyoung up the stairs.

I've decided to update the story consistently every Tuesday at 12 am (AEST). A Christmas special is being planned which will be set a few years after the events of this book.

I urge minors to not interact beyond this chapter, for it's going to start getting heavy from this point. I will be checking profiles to make sure so please have something to prove your age on your profile! I don't want to traumatize children <3

Also, I closed the taglist a little early however I'll be going through the comments and the past few posts and making sure I didn't miss anyone. If you aren't on it when this chapter is posted, I'll add you to the next one.

taglist:

@bellaptv @arilevenatz @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @hecateslittlewitchling

@neuviloved @monstacheol @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

@vtyb23 @bigbabygremlin @professormingiglasses

@pinuspot @astral-trashcan @ateezswonderland

[ladymochimochi]

✦♡✦ Take A Break ✦♡✦

Katakuri x Fem!Reader [AO3 Link] Description: It's Katakuri's birthday but he's too busy working on paperwork, so you try to get him to take a break. Tags: Size difference, Reader is average human size, Thigh Riding, Dry Humping, Grinding, Tit job, Facial, Kata is a shy boy, Reader & Kata are married, 18+ MDNI Words: 1.5K ₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

The soft click of your heels reverberated down the hall as you searched for your husband. It was a special day today and you wanted to spend as much time as you could with him. You had looked all over the manor the two of you lived in on Komugi Island but there was only one place left that he could be. 

As you approached his office door, a sigh came from you. Of course, this was where he would be, even today.  

You gently opened the door to find Katakuri at his desk, grossly involved in his paperwork. His eyes didn’t even lift from the page in his hand as you entered further into the room. 

“I thought I said no more interruptions.” Katakuri said gruffly, as he put the paper down to write on it, still not looking at you.  

“Not even from your wife?” You asked, a light snark to your tone and your arms now crossed.  

His head snapped up to look you, now standing in the middle of his office. Katakuri could only fumble out your name as he tried to gather himself, a light blush dusting the tops of his cheeks you could see over his scarf. 

The two of you had been married for about six months now but he was still shy around you and you couldn’t help but revel in it. This man - basically triple your size and with this tough, badass exterior - melted every time he was alone with you. It was so endearing to you but there was also a part of you that loved to make his blush redder and redder. 

A feline-like grin spread across your face as you gave him a small wave.  

“S-Sorry.” He said, fiddling with the pen in his hand. “I just kept getting visits from my siblings all morning.” 

“Well, it is your birthday today, my love.” You told him, that smile still on your face. His body jolted slightly and Katakuri averted his gaze, blush spreading more.  

Your smile only grew. 

“I didn’t know that you knew that was today...” He said softly, bringing a hand up to adjust his scarf and you quietly tracked the movement. You still had not seen what was under that piece of fabric and as much as you loved to tease the big man, even that you knew was off limits.  

“Of course I know that.” You replied, taking your gaze away from his scarf and back to his still averted eyes. “You are my husband, after all.” 

You started to make your way over the side of his large desk as you asked him the question on your mind. 

“And with it being your birthday today, why are you cooped up in here all by yourself?” 

“A-Ah, well...” He started, looking down at you as you now stood next to his seated form. “I had some down time today so I figured I could get this paperwork done.” 

You nodded your head in response, looking over what you could see of the stacks of paper on his desk. You had wanted to spend some time with him before he was swept away by the family for his birthday celebration later this evening. At this rate though, with all this work, that wasn’t going to happen.  

“How about taking a break?” You asked him, hopeful he’d say yes. 

“Sorry, I have to get this done.” Katakuri told you, an apologetic look on his face. “M-Maybe you could sit in here with me though?”  

You gave him a soft smile, liking that idea.  

It was at least something, you supposed. 

But after giving the room a quick glance, there wasn’t really any furniture you could sit on without his help. 

“Could I be up there with you? Maybe on your lap?” You asked him, looking back up at him. 

Katakuri froze, eyes wide and staring at you. 

That light blush from before was now beet red and all Katakuri could respond with was small, quick nods as he reached to pick you up. 

He set you gently on his thigh near his hip and checked with you that you were good. After confirming with him, Katakuri went back to his work and you watched quietly, kicking off your heels.  

Being this close to him sent a shiver down your spine and you could tell by his rigidness that it was the same for your husband. 

The two of you sat like that for some time - him scribbling notes or signatures on various papers and you watching, making idle chatter. 

As you talked with him, your hand started to idly stroke his thigh which made his breath hitch. It made that spark inside you ignite again and you rubbed your hand along his thigh more purposefully now. His breathing picked up and it made you have to bite back a smile.  

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a break?” Your tone was sultry and Katakuri’s grip on his pen was near breaking. It hadn’t been what you originally had in mind but now that you were here, you decided to shoot your shot. 

“Maybe a small one won’t hurt.” He replied, his voice low and you looked back up at him to see him staring intently at you. That blush was still ever present but his eyes portrayed his arousal. You grinned up at him and shifted yourself so you straddled his thigh, facing him. 

The two of you had only been intimate at night and in the privacy of your bedchamber. So, to be doing this here and now like this added another level of excitement that you knew Katakuri was also feeling. 

You had been wearing a strappy dress that day and you lowered the straps to show off your breasts to him. A low groan came from him as his eyes roamed your chest.  

You started to rock your hips, rubbing your clothed core against his thigh. A breathy moan escaped from your lips and you used your hands placed behind you to anchor yourself. Katakuri pressed his thigh harder against you, letting you use him to chase your pleasure. Your hips rocked faster and your head lolled back, moans spilling from you.  

Katakuri could only watch you like he was in a trance. Seeing you lose yourself to the pleasure made his cock so hard it was near painful.  

As you continued to rub yourself against him, you reached forward to press your hand against his cock still kept behind his leather pants. A loud groan came from your husband and you matched it as your toes curled. 

You loved hearing him moan; you could almost get off on it alone. Being able to have this large man be putty in your hands was everything to you. It gave you a high like no other. 

As you continued to rock your hips, you could feel your climax building in your lower stomach. Your moans pitched higher and higher until you cried out, your orgasm washing over you.  

You slumped forward, your hand still pressed against Katakuri’s cock. After some deep breaths, you lifted your head up to lock eyes with him. 

“I need It." You told him, panting. Katakuri’s eyes were blown wide after watching you and he just nodded in response. 

He lifted you from his leg and placed you on his desk, moving the papers out of the way. You laid on your back as he stood up and removed his cock from his pants. 

The two of you weren’t really able to have intercourse but you found other ways to be intimate that you both enjoyed. As Katakuri got closer, you hurriedly removed your dress and panties. 

Now it was his turn to use you. 

He placed his large cock against your stomach, your legs spread around it and the tip resting between your breasts. You pressed your tits together and Katakuri started to thrust, his cock rubbing up against your whole body, balls hitting your thighs and ass.  

Being so overwhelmed by his massive length and the stimulation of it rubbing against your clit and nipples, you could do nothing but moan and roll your eyes back. Soon your chest was getting smeared with precum and Katakuri picked up his pace, groaning deeply.  

You brought your hands up and rubbed them along his shaft as he went, making his moans near whines. In this position it didn’t take long for Katakuri to finish and you could tell by the way his body tensed that he was close.  

You tightened your spread thighs around his cock and moaned out his name. Soon enough, his hot seed was shooting out of him and all over your chest and face. His cock slid off of you and he pulled back, panting as he looked you over.  

You were a sexed-up mess, but you didn’t care. The way he gazed at you like you were a goddess made your heart warm. 

As you came down from your high and you were able to take in your current state, a smile spread across your face once more. 

“Well, I don’t think I can show up to your birthday party looking like this.” 

Katakuri hid himself in his scarf in embarrassment.  

[auroracalisto]

stay outta trouble, yeah?

tangerine x southern!reader, 3.7k words summary: he's taken by their southern accent, much like they're taken by his british one. color him intrigued, because why not? he'll be getting them to safety as soon as he can get away from the fight--or rather, telling them to get to safety. a/n: before you read the rest... there are a few lines i took from the movie to keep part of the plot alive. and then it goes haywire... anyway. listen i was just thinking about how incredible it would be to talk to tangerine and not actually hide my personal accent. here you go, pookies. (i'm from west virginia if that helps you). i've also never been farther than türkiye, so my knowledge of what it's like to travel to japan is very limited. pardon my inaccuracies even though i only talk about it for like... .2 seconds, at most. tw: major canon divergence, talks of blood, wounds, cursing, etc.

It'd been a long few days in Tokyo. Traveling for your own enjoyment was always an incredible thing, but good lord, was it exhausting.

The flight, which was non-stop from the Washington Dulles Airport, thank goodness, was nearly sixteen hours. No connecting flights, no dealing with confusing and unfamiliar airports. But just the flight itself was enough to send your sleeping pattern to all kinds of craziness. Don't even mention the fact that you had to drive to the airport, which took several hours just to get there...

Wasn't the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last.

Travel was a luxury so many never had the opportunity to experience. When you had the chance to go to Japan, you took it. It was practically a dream vacation, despite how exhausting it truly was.

You'd come back to Tokyo after a few days in Nagoya, the second to last stop on this bullet train, maybe a quick day trip to Kyoto after, but time was of the essence. You may not have planned every little detail for this trip of a lifetime, but you had a good idea as to what you were going to do.

The bullet train would be at your stop in nearly two hours. That was plenty of time to take a nap and probably figure out what you'll do in Nagoya after finding your planned accommodations.

You found a seat in the "quiet" car, almost giddy to know that there was a car specifically for that. Being from the southern United States, the only actual train you could recall was the Amtrak Trains, but even then, you didn't know as much as you could have about them.

You kept your backpack close to you, trying to find your earbuds so you could have them before you actually sit down.

As you walked, absentmindedly, of course, you bump into a rather tall and, might I add, breathtaking man with one of those 80s' mustaches—like the guy from that one season of American Horror Story. It rather suited him, but that's not what you were thinking as the words quickly spilled from your mouth:

"I'm so sorry," you said, southern drawl instantaneous. "Wasn't watching where I was goin'."

The man looked down at you, blue eyes curiously catching yours. He smiled, and you could feel your heart melt within you. Or maybe your lungs. It seemed hard to breathe for a moment.

"No worries, love," he said, a very British accent joining his words. He scrunched his nose a bit and moved out of your way, while the man behind him muttered something under his breath. "No harm done."

You return his smile, although hesitantly. God, was he gorgeous. But that was beside the point. You moved around him, knowing you probably looked like a mess—you had only spent two nights in Tokyo, and they weren't very restful. Skincare could only do so much to make you look awake and not like you've risen from the dead just hours prior.

You choose a seat nearby where the British man and his two friends were sitting, putting your backpack on the table just in front of you. You grabbed your phone from your pocket, making sure you still had your charger in the pack, before you set up your earbuds and your music.

Your eyes flickered over to the British man, not saying anything as you opened your preferred playlist. He briefly glanced back at you and sent a rather cheeky smile before he looked back to the man in front of him.

"Fuckin' hell, mate," Lemon said as he looked at his brother. The man had made him move just so he could have an eye on the American who bumped into him. "Go and talk to ‘em, yeah? Leave me out of it."

Tangerine rolled his eyes. "Fuck off," he said. "We gotta job, yeah? Speakin' of." He stopped and looked towards the White Death's son, blinking slowly for a moment. "You gonna tell us much else or are you keepin' us in the dark?"

The Son mumbled something under his breath, tiredly looking out the window. He didn't know why he was here, other than the two brothers saying they were hired by his dad to get him to safety.

Right. Safety. What a joke.

"Right, so," Tangerine began. "Our job is to keep you safe and to recover the briefcase with the ransom money inside. And I plan on completin' my job and keeping..."

Tangerine looked at his brother, narrowing his eyes. "Lemon."

Lemon looked up at him. "Hmm?"

"Where's the briefcase?"

"Oh, I stashed it."

Tangerine stared at him in admonishment for a bit longer than necessary. "The case, Lemon. Go get me the fucking case."

"We got his son. That was our job."

"Our job was to come back with his son and his 10 million." Tangerine groaned softly and looked out of the window, sucking in a breath. "Three words describe our situation right now. Do you know what they are?"

"Sure do," said Lemon. He held up a hand and counted them off as he spoke: "Saved his son."

"Motherfucker," Tangerine blurted. He went on his spiel about the White Death, which seemed to be quite imperative as Lemon hadn't read the email he forwarded to him. Of course he hadn't—when did he ever? Why did he bother?

"He asked for pros who wouldn't fuck up," Tangerine said. "Three words, Lemon. We are..."

"Fucked." They say the words together, and if it had been another time, perhaps just hours prior, it would have been fun. Not this time. No, this time, they knew they were in deep shit.

They needed to get that suitcase and quick.

They returned to the Son only for him to be... well, let's put it frankly, bleeding from his eye-sockets and mouth, and so very dead.

"Well, shit," Tangerine sucked in a breath as he looked at the boy who had called him a liability only moments earlier.

The two trained assassins set to work on making it look like he was merely sleeping, even going as far as giving him Momonga glasses. You never know.

Tangerine looked at Lemon, frowning deeply. "We need t' find that briefcase," he said.

"Right," Lemon returned, staring at the Son for a moment before he looked up at Tangerine, nodding. "Right. Phone's on me. See if that American you ran into saw anything. Never know, yeah?"

Tangerine narrowed his eyes and glanced over his shoulder, seeing the object of his curiosity. "Hm. Go, Lemon. You see the case, deal with whoever has it."

"All right, how do I do that? Talk to him, or, like, talk to him?"

"I don't know, why don't you tell him about the story about how Gordon met Percy and how Percy's now bleeding from his fucking eye sockets!"

Lemon scoffed and left his side, going down the opposite side of the train.

"He means kill him. Of course he does."

Tangerine took one last look to the boy before he made his way to you, just a few seats down. He saw that you were asleep—surely, if you had been awake, you would've said something, right? Right. He's assuming, anyway. He keeps walking, knowing that he's got to find this briefcase and fast or else he and Lemon may not get a chance to even think about which arm they'd rather have cut off.

About twenty minutes into your restless nap, there's a loud noise blaring in your earbuds, and you jolt awake, grabbing onto your phone. You paused it, heart pounding in your chest.

"Damn," you cursed, knowing it was only from the song and nothing more. This song was notorious for loud noises. You take out your earbuds, a soft groan escaping you. Might as well stretch your legs and use the restroom since you're awake. It didn't seem like sleep was going to come easy on this train.

A voice came over the intercom, saying something about stopping momentarily, but you didn't catch the name of the station.

You stood and stretched, looking towards where the British man had been. He's not there, and neither is his one friend, but the other is there, sleeping. He's got the strangest glasses on, but you say nothing of it.

"Bathroom," you mutter under your breath, looking over your shoulder. You see a sign and follow it, taking your phone with you just in case.

You're quick, doing your business and washing your hands all under two minutes. Must be a record—the airplane bathrooms are so much more different than this.

You go to leave and open the door, and once again, you're not paying attention. You nearly bump into the tall, handsome British man, but this time, he is paying attention.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, a soft huff escaping him. "Watch yourself, love," he said, a playful smile on his lips (like he's not currently in one of the most stressful situations he's ever been in). "You're gonna get yourself hurt, now, aren't ya?"

Wide eyed, you looked up at him. "Shit, I'm sorry," you said. "It's—hell, I can't even give you a good excuse, but I didn't mean to."

"Nah, you're alright, love, just watch yourself for me, yeah?"

He let go of your shoulders, and you almost find yourself missing the touch.

"Go back to your seat, yeah? Keep an eye out for anyone weird for me."

You blinked slowly but nodded anyway. "Yeah, sure," you said. "You—"

But before you can continue, he sees something in the corner of his eye—either that or he hears something. You're not really sure. He flashes you a soft smile before he walked past you, clearly on a mission.

You let out a soft sigh and walk back to your seat, sitting down quietly.

As you get there, the British man's friend is back, and with another man—you don't catch their conversation, but whatever it is is rather heated. You simply put your earbuds back in and let your head fall back, unable to stop your eyes from fluttering shut. There's a few noises, but the sleep is far too good to come out of. At least, for now it is.

At some point, you feel someone shaking you awake. You quickly open your eyes, seeing the British man sitting across from you. He's got a few cuts on his face—not something he had before. You sat up and check your phone, eyebrows furrowed.

"What are you—"

You'd only been asleep for another twenty minutes.

"You're cute, love," he said, grabbing your phone from you.

"Hey—"

He held up a finger to you and quickly typed in a text message to his own phone. When he heard the buzz, he handed your phone back to you.

"Where's your stop, hm?"

"Nagoya," you answered. "Why?"

"Get off sooner, yeah?"

"What?"

He gave you a cheeky smile. "Get off sooner, love," he said. "Conductor must've missed you cuz you were sleepin', but he was sayin' that everyone needs to get off before Nagoya. Somethin' about the train needed worked on."

You blinked slowly. Were you still sleeping? You felt like you were. "Why the hell would they do that for? That don't even make sense—"

"Love, do it," he said, staring you down with those pretty blue eyes. "Get off on the next stop, yeah? I'll even give you the money for another ticket or somethin' if you need it."

You shook your head. "I can get another ticket, I just—"

There was something about the man that screamed danger, but no where did it scream liar. At least if he was a liar, maybe it was for good reason. Your gut feeling had been pretty good in the past, warning you against several things that could've gone terribly. Perhaps this was the Universe screaming at you to listen to it.

"Okay. I got the money. I'll just... I'll get off at the next stop."

He smiled softly at you. "Good. I'll be seein' you then, yeah? Keep yourself outta trouble."

He stood up, giving you a soft wink, before he left you in the quiet car.

You didn't see him again for the rest of the train ride, but you did listen to him. You got off at the next train stop and bought a new ticket, wondering if the cuts on his face had anything to do with his request.

It was a pretty nice warning, as crazy as that shit was.

Waiting for the next train, which would be there only momentarily, you pull out your phone. The only thing he had typed to his number was simple: Tangerine.

Was that codename for something? The fuck did fruit have to do with anything?

Nagoya, Japan.

A beautiful city with equally beautiful architecture (you'd be sure to visit the castle and the shrine after you finished exploring the city on your own terms).

You hadn't gotten a text from the handsome British man, but it didn't really bother you much. You didn't know him—just nearly ran into him a handful of times before he told you to get off the train.

Two days after the train ride to Nagoya, you find yourself on the streets, following your phone's GPS as best as you could to get to the castle. You should have just waved down a taxi cab, but you also wanted to experience the walk. That, in itself, was just as important as the journey over. Besides, your phone said only five minutes, but it seemed like it was re-routing and doing the exact opposite of being an accurate GPS.

You curse under your breath and go to type in another address in an attempt to see if it was just the castle address that was making your GPS wonky when you heard a familiar voice—you felt a familiar hand grab onto your shoulder.

"Be careful, love," the British man said, keeping you in your spot. You looked up—you're not even about to walk into anything, this time. You looked back at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh, hell," you blurted, wide eyed. "What the hell happened to you? Are you—" You pause, mouth gaped open as you look on in surprise. His friend, and that one long haired blonde guy, stand nearby. The one leaned up against the wall of a supermarket, while the other runs a hand through his blonde locks.

You looked up at him, lips parted. "Is that why you told me to get off the train?"

He gave you a pained smile. "Smart, love," he said.

There's a few people that pass by, mumbling about the sight of the rather bloodied and injured men.

"Shit," you said. "You—did you just come to Nagoya in hopes I'd still be here? What if I had been in Kyoto?"

"Guess some luck's on my side, then," he said.

"My—hell, come on, I've got a hotel room," you said. "You lot look like you've been to hell and back."

"Somethin' like that," the British man said.

"Shit," you mumbled once more, putting your hotel name back into your GPS. You had just come from there, but just in case, you didn't want to mess anything up. Especially not now. "Shit, dude, I don't even know your name—"

"Tangerine," he interrupted.

You blinked slowly as you began to walk. His friends follow behind.

"Like the fruit?" you question.

His friend snorted from behind the two of you. "Yeah, love, like the fruit."

You shrugged. "Codename?"

"Smart," Tangerine repeated, giving you a cheeky smile.

For someone who looked like he was in an immense amount of pain, he was sure cheerful.

You led them up to your hotel room, where the blonde immediately goes to the bathroom, running water in the sink and using it and a towel to try and clean some of the blood from his face.

Tangerine and the other, whom you now know as Lemon, sit on separate sides of the room—Lemon sits at the table and groans at the action, a hand on his side, while Tangerine sits on the edge of the bed.

There goes your plans to see the Nagoya Castle, but hell, this didn't seem like it would be anything you'd wanna miss out on. How often do you get three men in your hotel room like this?

Ah, fuck, scratch that—how often do you get a hot British man looking at you like that regardless of how beat up he currently looked?

You bit your lip and sit your phone on the dresser. "I, uh, my friend gave me a little kit of medicine and things before I left," you said, going to your open suitcase and pulling out a black bag. "Has like, bandaids and ibuprofen. Tums, maybe. I didn't even look to be honest."

You hand the bag to him.

Tangerine snorted softly, taking the bag from you and opening it up. You watch, seeing the scabs on his knuckles.

"Damn, what the hell happened to y'all?"

Tangerine glanced up at you, a small smile quirking on his lips. "All in due time," he said. "Don't think it's anything I wanna drag you into just yet."

You pursed your lips.

"Fuck," Tangerine mumbled. "This whole thing has been fuckin' bullocks," he said as he pulled out a couple of things from the kit.

"You can say that again," Lemon said, scoffing softly.

Tangerine tossed him a bottle of pain killers before he, himself, picked up a small bottle of antiseptic. "Be a doll and grab me a washcloth, yeah?"

You do as you're asked, moving past the blonde in the bathroom. He looked a bit worse for wear, but he seemed like he was doing far better than the other two.

You brought back the washcloth for Tangerine. "Can I help?"

"Nah, love, I'll be fine. Not the first time."

You grimaced. "Sounds painful."

"C'est la vie," Lemon said from where he sat, taking the unopened complementary water from the table and using it to take the pain killers. "You're a life saver, love."

"Hmm," you hummed, frowning softly as you looked at Tangerine.

He glanced up at you as he cleaned his knuckles. He had plenty of other places to clean, of course, but the idea of moving from his spot on the bed sounded like hell. His abdomen was screaming at him for just breathing.

"I never got your name," Tangerine softly said.

"Yeah," Lemon interjected. "Been callin' you his little American this whole time. Don't let him lie to you."

Tangerine blanched, glaring over at Lemon, before he looked up at you. "Maybe," he said. "Don't listen to him. He's a little shit-stirrer."

You smiled a bit. He's endearing if not... unconventional in his methods. Whatever that meant. You'd learn soon enough, it seemed.

You gave him your name.

He repeated it, and it was almost like heaven pouring from his lips as he spoke.

God, you'd have a hell of a time trying to explain this back home.

Tangerine snorted softly and finished cleaning up his knuckles—just on the one hand, though. He still had so much to get through.

"Must've made quite an impression if you come to Nagoya just to find me," you blurted, taking the bottle of antiseptic and the cloth from him. He didn't protest. He simply watched as you wet the other side of the cloth and took his hand in your own to clean his knuckles.

"Yeah, well, what can I say? The accent got me."

You blinked slowly, eyes flickering to his. "The accent?"

"Oh, yeah, love," he said. "Ladybug in there is an American, but you? It's like a whole other breed of American. I don't know if I can get enough of it."

Lemon scoffed and tossed the bottle of painkillers to his brother. "Stop flirting and let them clean your hand."

Tangerine rolled his eyes, watching your hands as they moved against his wounds.

"Sorry," you mumbled.

"Sorry? For what?"

"For not having anything to really help you," you said. "I'm sure it woulda helped if I had a first aid kit or somethin'."

He raised an eyebrow. "Think you would've been insane for havin' a first aid kit when you're traveling all alone," he said. "Who woulda thought you'd run into little ol' me?"

"Little ol' you, hm?"

Tangerine's soft smile is unmistakable, but you make no mention of it. You let go of his hand and he examined it, letting out a soft hum. You did well enough, he supposed.

Tangerine let out a soft groan as a pain rippled through his abdomen. He laid back on the bed without another word, a hand resting on his body. This would be a hell of a pain to heal, but he was sure it would happen soon enough.

"Sorry for barging in on you like that, love," Lemon spoke up. He drew your attention away from Tangerine. "Tangerine over there kept quippin' on and on 'bout how he just had to see you again. Thought he was a broken record or some shit with how often he said it."

The handsome man in front of you didn't even object this time. He just went with it.

"Right, yeah, and what were you sayin'? Hope they have a nice hotel room that fits all us, yeah?"

"Absolutely not," he scoffed. "Don't be a prick."

Tangerine rolled his eyes. "Lemon—"

"—anyway," Lemon interjected. "We'll be out of your hair as soon as we possibly can. Don't want to outstay our welcome, and I'm sure you've got plans, hm?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"—we won't stay long, promise."

"No, I—I mean I do have plans, but you can stay as long as you need to."

Tangerine snorted softly and glanced at you from where he laid on his bed. "You're rather trusting, aren't you?"

You blinked slowly. "Well—"

"—be careful, love," he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "You should really watch yourself, before you get yourself into trouble."

You parted your lips, and the words escaped you before you even thought to stop them: "Think I'm a bit too late for all that."

[silvercap]

if ur still taking prompts :3 “silent fury” but make it h/c? maybe one of leon’s boys goes on a “rampage” to save him orrr maybe someone is angry at the dso for almost killing him again or ya know whatever strikes your fancy

OHHHH I LIKE THIS!! (Prompts)

7. Silent Fury

Chris coughs frantically as the gas invades his lungs, throwing his oxygen-starved body at the sealed metal laboratory door with enough force that he can practically feel his shoulder bruising upon impact. Beside him, Leon sags against the wall with half-lidded eyes, gun hanging from limp fingers.

"Fight it," Chris chokes, but Leon's body has already succumbed, knees buckling beneath him as he collapses bodily to the floor and doesn't move again. Chris grits his teeth, ignoring another wave of dizzy lightheadedness in order to redouble his assault against the locked door. The room has no other exit, round and filled with glass tanks that Chris can't make out when his vision is blurring so badly but knows are filled with half-formed specimens suspended in bubbling liquid. The green glow makes him nauseous, casting the walls and his skin alike in eerie neon.

Chris throws himself into the wall with one last desperate effort and drops to his knees, heaving for air. His throat hurts from breathing in chemicals and god knows what else, muscles aching and spasming as it attacks his body. Leon doesn't move when Chris drops the rest of the way to lie beside him, weakening arms reaching out to scoop up the other man and pull his unconscious body close. Chris presses their foreheads together and blacks out an instant later.

-~-

When Leon wakes, it's to harsh light and a hand in his air, eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to make sense of the figures towering around him. An experimental shift reveals that his hands have been tied behind him, the hardness of a chair pressing into his back as his head is stretched backwards to expose his throat. He coughs.

"With us, again?" an accented voice drawls, one of the figures stalking towards him to reveal a tall man in militaristic clothes, a blade in his hand. Flinty eyes stare Leon down as he tries and fails to think of who this wannabe tough-guy could possibly be, the man's calloused fingers twining around the knife in a delicate way that reminds Leon of Krauser and his knife tricks---and tells him that the man knows how to handle it. He leans in close, drawing the sharp tip very gently down the curve of Leon's bottom lip. "We're very pleased to have you as our guests today, Mr. Kennedy."

He grins, letting the knife follow the natural line of Leon's jaw and down to a collarbone, where he presses into the skin just enough to make a bead of blood bubble between Leon's clavicles. Leon rolls his eyes. "Is this supposed to be scaring me? Get on with it, will you?"

The man laughs, standing upright. "It's not you that I'm trying to scare." He shifts away so that Leon can see past him into the dingy, cement-floored room he's been placed in---and the other chair several feet in front of his own, one Chris Redfield secured to it with rope around his wrists and ankles. There's blood on his temple, eyes blazing dark with silent rage that would be terrifying if only he weren't looking at Leon with such tender concern at the same time. Leon feels his blood run cold.

"Chris?" he calls. "Don't give them what they want. I'm trained for this, alright? Don't fucking tell---"

A hand grabs Leon's chin with force, a thumb shoved between his lips before he even registers what's happening. He thrashes, about to bite down, before a blow to the side of the face distracts him. Leon reels, attempting to kick one of his bound legs towards the large man who'd been brandishing the knife, but it's no use. He's the one holding Leon's jaw, a large wad of cloth in his other hand. It's all too easy for him to jam it hard into Leon's mouth, pushing so much fabric in that Leon, well, gags.

His eyes water as duct tape is wrapped far too tightly over his lips and around the back of his head, clinging to his cheeks and sparking a wave of panic at the claustrophobic feeling before he forces himself to exhale slowly through his nose. He's okay. He's faced worse. It's going to be---

"Lets begin," the man drawls, and plunges his blade deep into the flesh of Leon's thigh without warning.

Leon doesn't even try to hold back his cry.

He's not sure how long they torture him for, just that the world quickly goes foggy and distant with pain, shouting voices demanding things that Leon can't give. He can't see Chris through the hair that's fallen over his eyes as he lolls his head to his chest and heaves for breath, the wounds on his body, broken fingers, and ribs pulsing in time with his thundering heart. His cheekbone aches where a particularly nasty hook had split the skin, nose damp with blood that makes it even harder to breathe properly. The gag fills his mouth, saliva dampening the heavy fabric and muffling his pathetic whimper of pain as the man who's been beating the shit out of him offers one last slap to the side of the head.

Chris has been yelling incoherently for the past few minutes, but Leon can't hear his voice anymore. Maybe they gagged him, too.

"I'm tired of this, Redfield," the man says, a flash of metal the only warning Leon gets before the edge of his knife is up against Leon's throat, putting pressure on his trachea that makes him cough. The man digs in harder in response, the bright sting of Leon's skin splitting open on the blade's edge enough to make him wince. "Agree to the terms, or I cut his---"

There's a commotion that Leon can't make sense of, the blade leaving his throat so that he can suck in a relieved gasp of air. His eyelids flutter. Fuck, he's tired.

"Leon?" Leon can't open his eyes to see who's calling his name, the fear in their voice nearly tangible. They're talking fast, panicked. Chris, it has to be. Hands tug at the duct tape on his face, an effort that doesn't accomplish much more than wrenching Leon's aching neck. "Leon, don't do this to me. Leon? Open your eyes, Leon."

Pain spikes as Leon obeys, the harsh light upsetting the headache that had exploded into being three or four punches in. Chris's worried gaze appears before him, haloed in the glow.

"Good, that's it. Eyes on me, okay?" His voice is calm, collected, but Leon can hear that he's on the verge of tears, blood shivering down Chris's wrists as he carefully slices open the tape and peels it quickly from Leon's face. His hair is wild, eyes sharp with anger, but his touch is nothing but gentle. Even when Leon grimaces as his hair pulls free of its follicles, he's careful. "I've got you, I've got you."

Leon spits out the gag before Chris can even get to that point, the rag falling into his lap as he coughs and heaves for breath. He's dimly aware that he's trembling, but Leon's certain it's too small of a detail to notice. That is, until Chris pauses in his ministrations to run soothing hands up and down Leon's arms, leaning their foreheads together.

"It's okay. It's okay," he soothes, something dark stealing into his tone. "I took care of them. Let me deal with these cuts and I'll untie you, okay? I've got you."

Leon glances to his left and sees a growing pool of blood. He swallows, letting his eyes fall shut as Chris puts pressure on the deep gouge in his leg. "I trust you," he rasps, and means it.

[cyb-by-lang]

Cascade (part 8)

Wherein player [x+1] joins the battle.

“Don’t drown him, Gekkō-san.” 

Midoriya seemed less alarmed by Kei’s choices and more just resigned. She’d already demonstrated to his satisfaction that nobody died in her watery doom constructs unless she wanted them to. Else the USJ would’ve had a lot fewer arrested villains and a lot more body bags than just the big one.

At least it gave them data on how the Nōmu guys worked. Still, Kei nodded. “I won’t. Oh, and Iida-kun?” 

Iida couldn’t turn his face away to hide from her, thanks to whatever Stain’s Quirk was, but he did close his eyes. It was all he could do. 

Maybe it would help to hear this. Maybe it wouldn’t. But Kei could at least be honest this once. “You already know I’d kill him.” And that got Iida to look up. Just with his eyes. “If this man targeted my little brother, he’d be dead.” 

And her hold on Stain’s throat never changed, despite that. 

Iida’s expression was a terrible whirl of turmoil. Like he couldn’t believe Kei’s blatant hypocrisy any more than Stain’s fragmented philosophy. Whatever he’d been forced to listen to before Midoriya and Kei showed up, at least. “But—”

“I don’t pretend that’s a good thing. Just a human one.” And not something they should be discussing here. 

Even if Kei had no actual intention of letting Stain go free, she had to at least pretend to care about procedures. If Obito recovered from his Kamui overuse and returned to the greater Tokyo metropolitan area tonight, Kei figured shoving the problem off on him was a decent backup plan. After, say, the police or heroes. Obito would remember not to kill the guy, right?

And then there was someone running their way. It wasn’t until the blue shape in the dark got closer that Kei heard a familiar voice shout, “Midoriya!” 

While most of their group either couldn’t move on their own (Iida, Native) or had more immediate problems (Kei, Stain), Midoriya did jump to his feet and wave. “Todoroki-kun! You got my message?”

“For reference,” Todoroki continued as he arrived and took in the scene of moderate carnage and a lot of awkward standing around, “try to give more information than just a location next time.” 

Though there was fire trailing up his left side and frost coating his right sleeve, he didn’t look like he’d been hurt. Just like he’d had to run all the way here, fully anticipating a fight when he arrived. Instead, he got to see a bit of a clown show instead. 

Kei shrugged when Todoroki aimed a silent question her way. She still had the armed—yes, his knife and sword were still drawn—Hero Killer in a Water Prison, it was polite of Todoroki to notice.

At least, Todoroki asked, “Did all of this happen in just five minutes?”

“Oh, y-yeah. Sorry about only using a pin, but that was all the time we had.” Midoriya didn’t bow, but it looked like a close call. “Thanks for heading here so fast, though!” 

“Not fast enough,” said Todoroki, clearly taking note of the blood still present on the ground. Sure, Kei had gotten Native away from his original bloodstain, but Midoriya didn’t have enough bandages for him and for Iida, and one of Iida’s injuries was dangerously close to an artery. 

“I think showing up before the villain kills everyone is good enough,” Kei said, and rotated the Water Prison so Stain could breathe again. When Todoroki took a step closer, possibly to freeze the villain in place, Kei held up her free hand. “I’ve got him, Todoroki-kun. Help the others, please.” 

Todoroki sighed, and the result was an icy fog. “All right.”

While getting Iida bandaged was a trial without him being able to cooperate, Stain’s Quirk wore off while Todoroki and Midoriya were trying to figure out where the catches in his shoulder pauldron were. In short order, the three boys managed to get upright and talked mostly to each other in low, sharp tones. From what Kei overheard, Midoriya filled Todoroki in on everything he’d missed. Iida, meanwhile, got two lectures right over Native’s head once all the information laid bare between them. 

Iida may have been crying. Kei focused on Stain to give him plausible deniability if needed. 

Honestly, Kei would’ve left them to it. She didn’t have anything helpful to say that they couldn’t handle without her. No canned phrases or quaint sayings. All she had was a careful balance of truth shrouded by lies and omissions, neither of which relied solely on her. Staying standoffish for most of the school year so far—barring the 1-A girls’ friendship blitz—was a good stealth strategy on paper, but it retained some key flaws. Like her total inability to comfort any of these kids after a traumatic encounter. 

What I wouldn’t give for a shock blanket—

Do you hear that? Isobu interrupted, kicking Kei back into full alertness. Like the menagerie he was, half-a-dozen animal instincts all clamored for Kei’s attention at once. 

Iida shouted, “Gekkō—!” just as lightning descended from the sky. 

[alittlebitofloveliness]

The thing is, Evie knows she’s a pushover.

She’s loud, sure, once she gets to know someone, and she likes to laugh and needle and tease, but she isn’t brave, not really. Last week when her chem partner hadn’t written his half of their assignment Evie had written it for him even though it took all night because she figured it was better than confronting him. When she was in second grade and Trip Lewitt stole her lunch every day for a year she never once stood up to him, and last Tuesday when Sandy had asked to borrow her lipgloss and hadn’t given it back, Evie hadn’t said a word.

So yeah, she’s a pushover and she knows it. But the thing is, she doesn’t need to be brave because she has Steve. 

Steve, who had given her his jacket and let her sleep in his car because she was nodding off in math after she was up all night writing that paper. Steve, who had pushed Trip Lewitt into the chain link fence when he caught him snatching her lunch one day and then made him eat dirt. Steve, who could tell she was put out about something last week even if he didn’t know exactly what so he’d bought her a milkshake and it meant she’d had just enough change to replace her lipgloss herself.

Steve Randle is the furthest thing from a coward Evie has ever met. He’s so brave she doesn’t need to be, but sometimes he makes her brave too. 

They’ve been friends for as long as Evie can remember. Her mom used to be friends with Steve’s mom before Steve’s mom left him behind, ensuring Evie would hate her forever even if she’ll never see her again. Evie’s been around long enough that Mr. Randle knows who she is- a rare feat from the man who goes from loving his son one day to hating him the next. Steve has slept over at her house, she’s bought him birthday gifts every year since she got her first job at twelve, and everyone always assumes they’re dating because he’s protective in a way most guys only get around their girls. 

They’re not dating though. It isn’t like that. She’s not in love with Steve, has never loved anyone that way; and Steve only has eyes for his blonde haired best friend who loves him but not enough, not like Steve loves him, in the kind of way that makes the world shake. 

Even still, she usually tells Steve everything. He’s her best friend even if she isn’t his, and she needs him more than she cares to admit. She never feels safer in the world than when she’s sitting beside him at the drive-in with his jacket around her shoulders, or throwing fries at him at the diner while they shit talk Sodapop’s latest girlfriend or scheme how to prank their horrific spanish teacher. 

Right now he’s down the hall half wrestling with Sodapop and Johnny Cade, laughing and as happy as he ever gets. She could join them if she wanted to, just walk up and say hello and she’d be safe. Steve would take one look at her and know something was wrong, even if she tried to hide it, and he’d walk her to class with an arm around her shoulders and a murderous glare on his face he’d give to anyone who dared glance in her direction.

As she watches, Sodapop ruffles Steve’s hair and he beams. It lasts half a second before it’s replaced with his usual scowl, but it’s enough for Evie to make a decision. He just looks so happy. Even on a good day Steve is probably one of the saddest people she’s ever met, and it drives her half crazy sometimes because if anybody deserves the truest happiness the world has to offer it’s stubborn, gentle, scowling, deadly kind Steve Randle. The fact that this kind of lightness in him is so rare is a travesty, and she won’t be the one to ruin it. She can’t. She won’t.

She sighs and pulls the sleeve of her shirt down further. Not that anyone would notice the bruise on her wrist anyway, but the purple is ugly and Sandy always says purple isn’t her colour. 

*********************

“I was thinkin’ we should maybe go to that drag race out by the rodeo grounds this weekend when I get off work. I heard from Cindy who’s sister is going with Two-bit Mathews that Sodapop’ll probably be there an’ I want him to see me in that new skirt I got.”

Sandy is jabbering on about her latest plan to attract the attention of one Sodapop Curtis- an unfortunate recent development that has left Evie between a rock and a hard place between trying to keep Sandy away from Soda while not spilling why she’s so against her friend pursing the blonde. Luckily, Sodapop is a typical idiotic fifteen year old, and barely has eyes for anyone longer than a week, and as such, has not yet noticed- or responded to- any of Sandy’s advances. Evie can see this, but whenever she points it out Sandy reminds her that she has an advantage other girls don’t considering Evie’s boyfriend is Sodapop’s best friend. She refuses to believe that Steve isn’t Evie’s boyfriend, and further refuses to believe that despite how close Evie is to Steve, she has little more than an acquaintance with the Curtis boy. 

It’s only a matter of time before she asks Evie to try and get Steve to convince Soda to go on a double date with them, in which case Evie will refuse without an explanation and Sandy will give her the silent treatment for a week. Evie’s trying not to think about it.

“Sure,” she agrees half heartedly, dodging the stuck out foot of some soc girl as they make their way down the hall, “I’m coverin’ the evenin’ shift for Corrin though so I might not be able to stay-”

She cuts herself off abruptly, books tumbling out of her arms as she locks eyes with him.

He’s standing in a group of football players, a junior to her sophomore, and he’s big, terrifyingly so, muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt. Half the hallway had turned at the commotion of her dropping her books but he hardly spares her a glance, blue eyes glinting cruelly as he gives her an unimpressed once over and turns back to his friends. 

It’s yet another slight, another reason for her to despise him though it does nothing to assuage her fear. She still remembers the feel of him pinning her against a locker, remembers the feel of his hot breath against her ear and the way his friends had jeered and catcalled, names she was used to but that stung all the same.

She doesn’t have to remember the terror- she’s feeling it again right now.

“-vie? Evie? Hello?” Sandy is giving her an exasperated look, Evie’s discarded books are piled in her arms- when did she pick them up? “Earth to Evie! Are you back with us?”

She sounds annoyed but her eyes are dart to a group of senior soc girls who are giggling and whispering behind their hands, then to the football players and him. Sandy’s nervous, she realizes, and then realizes why. They’re already at enough of a disadvantage being greasy girls. They can’t afford to be weird too, and Evie’s already enough of a freak as it is. 

“Sorry,” she forces a smile, takes her stack of books with trembling hands, “sorry I just got a wicked headache all of a sudden.”

“You’re probably dehydrated,”  Sandy seizes her arm and practically drags her down the hallway, head high even as a wave of giggle and whispers claw at them, “it’s thirty degrees out, an’ you’re wearin’ long sleeves like you ain’t never seen Oklahoma summer before.”

“Yeah,” Evie ignores the twinge of her wrist and the pounding of her heart, “I bet that’s it.”

*****************

She spends the rest of the day jumpy and tense. Sandy tires of her newfound jitters quickly and jumps on an invitation from Kelsey Morrone to go out for a smoke a little too eagerly. Evie hardly has it in herself to mind.

She doesn’t start to calm down until last period and it’s only because Mr. Horton’s geography class is so boring it trumps all other emotions. Sandy isn’t in this class either, which means they can’t even write notes to pass the time.

Her anxiety ramps up the second the bell rings. She’s all too aware of the possibility she might run into him in the hallway, and everything in her screams that that cannot happen. She takes extra care as she packs away her things, prolonging the inevitable, and then regrets it when she realizes she has no crowd to blend into as she steps into the hallway. Luckily her locker isn’t too far from the math wing, so she keeps her head down and walks quicker than usual and makes it there without any further disaster.

It’s not until the familiar scent of motor oil and fabric softener envelops her and she feels a slight tug on her braid that she finally relaxes. 

“Hey doll.”

“Hey yourself,” she swats at Steve halfheartedly, tucking her braid back behind her ear from where he’d tossed it over her shoulder.

“Hey,” he takes her hand gently- he’s always gentle with her- and pushes her sleeve up slightly, revealing the horrible mottled purple and blue bruise, “what happened?”

All day she’d sat next to Sandy and she hadn’t noticed a thing. Not a single teacher had glanced at her twice, not even when her english teacher handed back their essays and her sleeve had slipped, and yet Steve had noticed within the first minute of being here.

She looks into his eyes, at the anger hiding beneath his concern, at the scowl twisting his face that had been so happy just this morning, and makes a decision.

Even if she’s spent most of her day waiting for a chance to talk to him, she can’t let Steve Randle fight her battles forever. 

“Nothing,” she pulls her hand away and pulls her sleeve back down, “don’t worry about it.”

“Evie-”

“Steve,” she cuts him off, “it’s fine, really. What’s up?”

“I wanted to know if you an’ Sandy wanted a ride home.” He says, eyes still locked at where her bruise is hidden away under blue fabric. She can tell he desperately wants to ask for more details, just like he knows that she won’t offer any. 

“Ain’t you playin’ chauffeur to your buddies?”

“Not today,” he shakes his head, black hair glinting in the afternoon sun as they meander out the doors. He takes her backpack without seeming to think about it, slinging over his shoulder, and Evie hides her amusement at the fact that for all he’s a tough greaser he’s secretly a gentleman, “Two-bit’s takin’ the kid and Johnny, an’ Soda’s walkin’ over to the DX for work.”

“Well Sandy’s got plans with Carmen,” Evie tells him, “But I wouldn’t say no to a ride.”

Some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders when she mentions Sandy’s busy. It’s no secret he’s not exactly a fan of her, thinks she’s sharper than she needs to be with Evie and hates her for it, the stupidly protective person that he is, not realizing that’s just who Sandy is. Still, it was nice of him to extend the invitation to her in the first place. She wonders for the millionth time how Steve got a reputation for being an asshole when he does stuff like offer a girl he hates a ride home without thinking, just because she’s a friend of Evie’s. 

“You wanna stop for a milkshake on the way home?” Steve asks, tossing their bags in the back seat, and rolling down the window. If it was hot outside, it’s a million degrees in the car, but she fights the urge to roll up her sleeves, not wanting to give him a better look at her bruise if she can help it. “I’ll pay.”

She considers his offer. First of all, damn him for knowing her so well- ice cream has always been her biggest weakness. Normally she’d say yes without hesitation, but his offer today is very obviously a ploy, a scheme, a bribe if you will, to trick her into talking about the bruise and Him, and she has decided already that she won’t. To sit across from Steve, while he looks at her with sad eyes and tries to sweet talk her into talking is not part of her plan. 

“Not today,” she shakes her head and offers him a smile, “I'm beat.”

“I can see that,” he mutters under his breath, but doesn’t protest, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot.

It’s a quiet ride home. Normally they’d chat and tease each other, but Steve’s mood is sour and she’s hesitant to start a conversation because she’s famously bad at keeping secrets and Steve knows that better than anyone. If he got her talking, sooner or later she’d let something slip and all bets would be off.

Fifteen minutes later he pulls up in front of her house and cuts the engine with a sigh.

“Thanks for the ride,” she presses a kiss to his cheek and goes to leave.

“Wait, Eves,” he catches her hand, the rough calluses on his skin at odds with the softness of the movement, “just- you know I got your back, right? No matter what.”

He’s so earnest, so worried. 

“Yeah,” she smiles, heart swelling with gratitude for this dumb boy who came into her life and never thought once about leaving, “I know.”

He holds her gaze a moment more and nods, clearing his throat abruptly.

“I’ll give you a ride to school tomorrow. Sandy’s welcome too if she wants.”

“Thanks.” She smiles, squeezing his hand and trying to put all her gratitude into it before she lets him go, closing the door gently behind her.

He doesn’t drive away until she’s safely inside, the door locked behind her. He never does.

***********

“Mornin’ doll.”

“Mornin’,” she hands him a piece of still warm bannock wrapped in a tea towel, and he shoves half of it into his mouth in one bite, humming appreciatively. If there’s one thing she knows Steve loves, it’s her mom’s baking.

He inhales the rest of the bread before speaking.

“Sandy comin’?” 

“Nah, she’s gettin’ a ride with Carmen.”

He nods and starts the engine, the car coming to life with a purr. It’s not as quiet as some of the socs fancy ass cars, but it’s the quietest tin can in all the east side and it’s all because of Steve’s magic with mechanics. She always feels an unearned swell of pride on his behalf whenever she sits in this car, stupid as it is.

It’s not until they’re halfway to Will Rodgers that she notices Steve’s hands are torn up and bruised, every knuckle split. 

They definitely weren’t like that yesterday.

“You get into a rumble or somethin’ last night? What happened to your hands?”

“Oh, that,” Steve waves a ruined hand dismissively, “don’t worry about it.”

“Steve-”

“Evie-” he mocks, flipping their argument from yesterday, “really. It’s fine.”

“I know it’s fine, that ain’t what I asked!”

He pulls into the parking lot and cuts the engine before turning to her with a sigh, 

“You really wanna know?”

“Yes!”

“Well, I heard a rumour somewhere that some of the football team- a certain captain in particular- have started to get a bit brazen in how they’ve been treating some east side girls. And Sylvia Devares seemed to think maybe Angel had mentioned something about you showin’ up late to spanish last week and shaking like a spooked horse. So me’n the boys decided it was time to have a little talk with the dear captain and his buddies.”

“You didn’t have to do that," gratitude and shame swirl in her gut, “I can’t expect you to fight my battles forever.”

He lets out an inelegant snort.

“Of course you can,” he says, so matter-of-fact she couldn’t argue with him if she wanted to, “I meant what I said yesterday: I always got your back. Always. Even if you don’t wanna talk about things, I’m always gonna be here for you.”

Yeah, she realizes, he really is, always has been always will be. It doesn’t matter if she’s a pushover or not, he’ll always have her back.

How did she get so lucky?

[swifty-fox]

Soooooo excited for more Benny and Brady heheheh

i'd show you some smut but first they're going through the Horrors

“One,” Gale murmurs under his breath, voice so absent Benny knows he doesn’t realize he’s speaking out loud, “Two, Three, Four…” 

Five, Six, Seven, Eight, come the fuck on Johnny, Nine…

Paddlefoot’s Proxy slips through the cloud cover with all the grace of a cannonball and Benny breathes exactly none because she is about as devastated as a bird could be and still soar. 

Chunks from the wings and tail sheared clean off by flak, flaps missing or only half raised, rattling with the effort, leaking fluid and debris and shuddering with the exertion of it all. There’s a hole in her belly, spilling guts across the tarmac and Gale’s shouting for an ambulance, for a fire crew, John echoing in his broader, louder voice. Benny’s not shouting, Benny’s still not breathing, he’s scared to take any air from the sky that might soften Proxy’s landing. Somehow she’s still got landing gear, somehow they spool out seamlessly and she drops down to earth with hardly more than a bounce, creaking and groaning and sobbing but coming to a graceful stop all the same. 

Benny breathes out. Feels Gale leave his side, calling for space, calling for emergency crews, the wailing sirens growing closer and closer. He won’t go, won’t risk being in the way so he’s not close enough to see the faces of the battered bloody bodies they pull from the open gut-wound of Proxy, their screams faint and tinny and smothered by the thick fog. He waits and he breathes and he listens to men die in the distance and dies exactly nothing about it because it isn’t his job to do anything about it aside from stay out of the way. 

There’s commotion up by the cockpit, human bodies crawling over the surface of her body like ants and Bennty brings the cigarette to his mouth mechanically. Smokes his way through five minutes of waiting, then fifteen, and then thirty. The ambulance leaves, laden with wounded bodies and Benny won’t go until he’s sure everyone is out but he isn’t sure who’s left at this point, if all of Proxy’s children had been chauffeured away bloody and broken.

Figures come back through the fog. Ken Lemmons, a handful of Brady’s crew, pale-faced and stricken, Major Cleven, Major Egan. Both different from Buck and Bucky, with the distinction between all in the serious set of their mouths. And then Benny stumbles, though he isn’t even walking, or maybe it’s just his heart forgetting to work for just a moment. 

John Brady, face freckled by sun and blood, hair a wet slick back from his forehead, baring every bit of the pale, blank shock written there. There’s a cut high on his cheekbone, still oozing watery blood, a bruise across the bridge of his nose like he’d adjusted the sit of his oxygen mask – a nervous habit – so many times it had left damage to the skin. But he was standing, he was walking, and had been cleared by the immediate medical crew. 

“Johnny,” Benny calls in a voice he doesn’t recognize. 

Says it again when Johnny seems to take a moment to focus on him. He leans forward and places his half-finished cigarette between the other mans lips. Johnny pauses, blinks a few times like he has to remember what to do with the tobacco, and takes it from Benny’s fingers as gently as Meatball with a treat. Normally, it would make somewhere around Benny’s hips tingle. 

“Was it bad, Jack?” he asks stupidly, like it could have been anything but bad, horrendous, soul-rotting. Just like every single time was. 

“Captian Brady’s cockpit door jammed,” Bucky says, “Flak cut comms with the crew.”

He could have been flying a graveyard, for all he knew. 

“Gotta get him to interrogation,” Bucky adds kindly. The information already given a kindness, the formality a gentle warning. 

It’s just them so Benny reaches out, takes hold of Johnny’s bloody, bird-boned wrist and squeezes once, twice, three times.

this will be out thanksgiving day!!! featuring dom bottom John Brady

[tommykinard217]

Monday motivation

Okay it is definitely no longer Monday but only by 30 minutes so it's fiiiineee. Anyways, have the first 600 ish words of that bucktommy s1 au. Yes I decided to include Abby, but who knows, I could completely rewrite this and take her out entirely. Or I could still write a s1 au without Abby and still write this. The world is my literary oyster lmao.

Buck had no idea what to expect when he called Abby, saying he was going to help her find her mom. Obviously, Abby was gorgeous, but also was going through a serious crisis, and he was promising to put his prior antics to bed. So to speak. 

He knew that it was going to be a rough day, and that finding Patricia wasn't going to be easy. 

But he didn't expect the knock at the door when Abby, Carla, and himself were trying to make a game plan. And neither, it seemed, did Abby. 

He stayed at the table with Carla, focusing more on the maps to try to get a decent idea of where to start, but he couldn't help but to be curious. Besides, the table wasn't exactly that far from the door.

“Tommy? What are you doing here?” Abby asked, seemingly confused. He looked up and saw Abby with her arms crossed. He couldn't exactly see the other figure in the doorway from this angle, but from the way Abby was looking up, he was probably around Buck’s own height. 

“You sent me a text. Patricia is missing? I know I'm probably the last person you want helping you but I actually have some experience with search and rescue. And I care about Patricia too, Abby. Even after everything between us.” 

Oh god. An ex? Was he going to try to win Abby back? Buck had no clue exactly what was going on between him and Abby, but he did really like her. He didn't want some asshole ex ruining things before they even started. But also, him stating he had search and rescue experience piqued Buck’s curiosity. Was he also a first responder? A cop, maybe? 

“You have search and rescue experience via a helicopter, Tommy. That's not exactly the same as doing it on foot.” Actually, that probably made him even more badass, though Buck hated to admit it. He could already feel his hackles rising at the mere thought of this Tommy dude helping. Which definitely made him an asshole considering any help was needed when it came to finding Abby’s mom.

Abby seemed to come to the same conclusion right before Tommy replied with whatever he was going to try to say to convince Abby to take him back. Or find her mom. Or both. Buck was starting to feel a little irrational already. 

“Fine. We need all the help we can get and we're wasting time standing in my doorway. I've already created a general radius of where she could have gotten in the nine hours she was gone.” 

Abby started walking over, Tommy in tow, and Buck couldn't help but stare. This was Abby’s ex? The man could have been sculpted by the Gods if he didn't know any better. Tall, built like a brick house. He even had a cleft. Man was basically Superman. And Buck had to compete with that? 

“And who are you?” Carla had said, breaking the slightly awkward silence that had built when Abby brought Tommy over. She looked him over appreciatively and honestly, Buck couldn't help but do the same. He was allowed to admire another guy, even if he was technically competition. 

Tommy had smiled slightly, a crooked little grin that Buck hated to admit was charming. “I'm Tommy. Abby's ex.” 

Carla’s eyes narrowed. “The guy who dumped her because she was taking care of the very woman we’re trying to find?” 

Tommy looked taken aback by the statement, and when Buck looked at Abby, she looked…sheepish was probably the best word, honestly. Tommy looked over at Abby, seemingly hurt. 

“That's what you're telling people? That I broke things off because of Patricia?” There was a hint of steel to Tommy's voice, checked in anger and hurt. “Damn, I knew I hurt you but I didn't realize you'd paint me as a total dick for it. You didn't seem the type. But I guess neither of us actually knew each other, huh? Anyways. We're here to find Patricia. You can clear things up later. Or not.” 

Abby looked regretful, and like she wanted to say more on the subject, but Tommy was right that time was being wasted on this. 

[localwebslingers]

It had been about as awkward as he expected when Norman did show up, with a couple of doctors behind him by the looks of it, but Harry had been right. Despite how Peter had initially assumed it would go, the man didn't throw him out immediately, and even was what would pass for civil about him being there. Maybe not completely pleased that Peter was, and maybe hiding his surprise at the fact, but civil. It was the best that he could hope for really. By the time it was late enough he needed to leave, not because he wanted to but becuase Harry needed sleep and so did he, there was one more issue to talk around and Peter did his best. Explaining that he lived fairly far and he unfortunately wasn't always free to make the trip back to visit. But did so as often as he could, for as long as he could, and promised that he would be back as soon as he possibly could be.

There was nothing he'd have wanted more than to be able to stay in that universe for several days, even weeks, while Harry started readjusting but it wasn't possible. Not realistically, and as much as Peter loved Harry he couldn't just up and abandon his responsibilities back in his own universe. Knew that if there wasn't amnesia complicating things that Harry would agree and wouldn't hold that against him. For a moment as he explained, he thought that maybe there was understanding about it still there, in it's own way, but couldn't be sure.

Only a few days had gone by when Peter was able to step away again, and with the way his own city was it seemed like he could be away for more than just the afternoon. As long as he checked the news later that night to make sure that really was still the case. The time let him get the photos fully developed though, all of Harry's city rather than his own, figuring it would be the one to be slowly recognized the easiest. Taken when he'd left, before actually going home and after touching base with MJ to fill her in. Something Peter also had asked Harry about, because it wasn't for him to decide if people got to know sooner or not, or about how much they got to know. Now the photos were developed, and after stopping at the penthouse to grab a couple of small things, Peter made his way back into the lab.

It was even easier the second time around, both because he knew the way in and this time, they knew he was coming and to just let him in. Not that Peter exactly used the front door anyways, but at least when he passed someone in the hallway they didn't threaten to call security. He still wasn't even sure if there was security on site.

Peter pushed the same set of doors open to this time see someone already in the room. It was weird to see Conners in person again, even if it wasn't the same one. He shut the door softly behind him and this time, grabbed a chair to bring with him along the way before smiling a little at the two, "Hey, don't let me interrupt the talk, I can wait my turn." the camera in the corner was already focused on him and he again wasn't sure if that was security or if it was Norman watching his arrival. The chair was set at about the same spot he had been in the last visit, and Peter set the bag down on the floor for now to sit and wait for the conversation he walked in on to wrap up.

|| @inhcritance ||

The promise of pictures was welcome, as much as the teasing was. Because there, with so much of his attention in Peter, and only a sliver of it on the approaching footsteps, he couldn't help like that was the only whisper of normalcy he'd felt in ages. Something that felt right, and natural, and meant he did feel more like a person than a caged animal, even when faced with his father's astonishment, brief and guarded as it had been. Harry had even waved at him, his own amusement grim.

The days had gone by slowly, almost boringly, in a way. But if nothing else, Peter's visit had meant changes for good: with everyone keeping outside of the room, Harry was able to have conversations again. To actually talk, and inquire, and as much as he trusted only half of what he heard -because he had nothing to compare it on- it was... a beginning.

It also meant that as much as Harry kept feeling like his instincts were always a moment away from turning him dangerous, he was not so tense all the time. He even had been handed some old papers Connors had been looking over, once he was finished with that, and between them and the newspaper, at least he wasn't bored all the time.

It didn't escape him that having Connors be researching something so close to the Lizard Serum felt almost cruel, but he didn't push on it. He didn't want his doctor to think the only thing Harry remembered of him was his greatest mistake... for all it had saved Harry's life twice already. Maybe thrice, but that was just a theory centered around Peter.

Peter, who he'd been missing ever since he left, and he knew better than to show it too much, not before his father and his doctors, and not when he was used to them both being busy, even if he could hardly recall the specifics.

He'd actually been asking Connors about the paper he'd been reading, holding back his own frustration at how he lacked so many basics and yet twice something far more complex made perfect sense, when he noticed yet another set of steps, and so much of his annoyance vanished.

Because he was there for everyone else's safety, but he'd been used to being busy and now he was bored to no end.

@localwebslingers

[nico-the-overlord]

“No usb connection just use wifi! 😁” stop making me do a bunch of bullshit steps to just use a printer

[cementcornfield]

Did you see the clip of Joe yesterday?

Is it a clip now? Oh lord....was it funny at least?

It was the first time he ever used the F word in a conference.

He cursed? Y'all lying...I be trying to get him to curse, he don't curse when I'm talking to him...

[sunmoontruth-stiles]

I need a completely rewritten teen wolf series with Derek Hale as the main character. I think it would heal me.

[more-than-a-princess]

It was then that the pain she'd felt began to fade. Sonia had half-mumbled a 'thank you' to those who had helped her up, but her focus was elsewhere. Not of the bruises she'd likely develop or the crowd's commotion. But of the fact that Shinobu had insisted the situation, the fight, was a family affair.

Sonia looked over the man she'd been escorting around campus: through the blood and swelling in his features, she noticed a similar jawline, similarly shaped eyes, a beauty mark in the exact same place on their faces. Shinobu's hair was a deep shade of red, clearly dyed, while his was left as a more naturally-occurring shade, and yet they were undeniably related. His reflexes were sharp like hers, but his gaze was softer, kinder, less intimidating. He lacked the pressure, Sonia realized, that Shinobu was under, and in return he smiled, entirely unconcerned with the obsession of talents that Hope's Peak had. Maybe he had been an Archer at one point, but from his distinct absence from Shinobu's home the time she was permitted to visit, she had a feeling he was an archer for the Yaguchi family no more.

It was then that Anzu had pushed through, Sonia so deep in her thoughts that she barely noticed her make her way through the crowd. But her efforts to dissuade Shinobu were equally in vain. She felt frozen in place: if even Anzu had no effect on stopping her, what chance did anyone else have? Shinobu was in a fit of rage that seemingly no one understood, including her brother, and yet she refused to stop. She wouldn't, likely until he stopped breathing. That second year student had gone to get help, hadn't he? She couldn't imagine what the school's Board of Governors would think of this-

But all thoughts of verbal punishments, suspensions and expulsions and the like, were silenced as a larger, burlier figure than Anzu's made his way forward. And unlike her, the crowd parted easily for him: Sakakura-sensei was intimidating even just standing still, but with anger and disappointment over his face? Even some of the alumni shivered, and they might have very well been his classmates. But niceties and barked orders were ignored in favor of Sakakura's fist being firmly planted in Shinobu's cheek. Harder than her brother may have retaliated in defense. Perhaps even harder than Shinobu herself had thrown at him.

But hard enough to bring Shinobu Yaguchi down, a shriek ripping out of Sonia's throat before she even realized she was screaming. "SHINOBU!" She cried out, causing several turned heads to look at her, assuming Sonia Nevermind was just another one of Cold Prince Shinobu-kun's many fangirls. Not that Sonia paid any heed to the stares: her hands were clapped over her mouth in shock. At Shinobu's defeat, at the fact she'd just screamed her given name, terribly rude and informal, loud enough for the entire courtyard to hear.

"Wait, hold on, what are you doing!?" She demanded. She probably should have seen to the elder Yaguchi, as she'd been responsible for showing him around campus. But for the meantime, she passed him, bleeding and bruised and likely bewildered about what had just happened, to reach out for Juzo Sakaura's free arm. His other hand was occupied in dragging Shinobu to her feet, presumably to haul her off somewhere the visiting alumni would not have to interact with her. Considering she'd beaten one of their own to a near pulp, it would only tarnish the school's image further to keep her around. "Where are you taking her, Sakakura-sensei?"

"It's none of your business, Princess!" He shouted back, forgoing the respect of utilizing her last name as teachers were supposed to. Frustration barely held back, he seemed to be in no mood to deal both with an angered Shinobu Yaguchi and a girl with way too much power and authority showing a large amount of concern for her. A call from Sonia Nevermind's parents was enough to make every school staffer's life hell, and if Masaru Yaguchi decided to press charges against his own sister, well...the Board of Governors would make things difficult for Kyosuke Munakata.

And Jin Kirigiri, but that was beside the point.

"This is a family matter, Miss Nevermind. Please don't interfere." For an instant, Shinobu had turned her attention to Sonia, a flicker of clearf concern overriding her features until she'd quickly determined that the other girl had sustained no great harm - except, perhaps, to her pride. It was understandable that she'd felt the need to interfere at first - Sonia was a kind person, after all, and must have mistakenly believed that she was breaking up some other sort of altercation. Perhaps now she realized her error. Up close, they wondered if she could see the ways in which their faces were similar - their eyes, their lips, their jawlines, even the same mark under the bottom left side of their mouths.

Still, given the choice, Shinobu would have preferred that Sonia not see her like this. There was no coming back from this sort of impression, was there? Shinobu had long been considered some sort of violent beast by a number of her classmates and peers, and surely this moment, with her brother's blood on her hand, would cement that belief for Sonia as well. Beneath the searing hot rage, they could feel the faintest pangs of disappointment and regret - but what else could they do? She'd wanted Masaru dead for years, and she wouldn't pass up the chance for her revenge so easily, not when it might never come again.

"Shinobu-chan! Stop!" The sound and sight of a small crowd assembling had been Anzu's first clue as to where Shinobu was, and though it stung to know she was too late to stop anything from beginning, she could at least try to shield her best friend from the worst of it. Maybe if everything stopped right now, she'd get off with just a slap on the wrist. "I know you're really, really angry, but try to calm down! If you don't, you might not be able to come back from this!" If she got expelled, it was over - everything would be over.

Anzu... Well, she was looking out for them, wasn't she? So like her, a girl who had pushed down her negativity in favor of a permanent smile, making herself the butt of every joke, a clownish jester by design. What could she possibly understand about this? "Stay out of this, Anzu," Shinobu barked, as Masaru barely caught her fist. "This has nothing to do with you, either, so don't get involved." This wasn't supposed to be such a spectacle. Dammit, why was everyone so irritating?

It had been a while since Masaru had needed to be quick - needed to be tough, needed to anticipate. The bar was a gentle place, where he could let the world melt away for himself, and for anyone else who needed it, when he sat behind his piano. His greatest concerns in the moment were if someone needed a refill, or if the crowd was more in the mood for "Embraceable You" or "Cantaloupe Island." That said, he hadn't lost his touch. He'd lived his teenage years jumpy and skittish, always reacting to something or other. Someone trying to hit him wasn't something he was inexperienced with, and if all he had to do was dodge and block, he could keep it up all day.

If only it were that easy. "Shinobu...?" He hadn't looked too closely, but they were wearing makeup, weren't they? And now, thinking about it, that jacket sat a bit strangely on their chest, didn't it? As a voice called out, he couldn't help but look. That person was... Anzu? And behind, "Haruna..." He wasn't ready to see her - not ready to apologize for everything, even as his red eyes lingered on her amber ones, watching her watching him.

"Don't look away from me!" Her palm crashed against Masaru's cheek in the moment of distraction, before she followed it up with drilling her fist against his mouth, spurting blood out from his lip as his teeth sliced against the inside. His concentration was broken, and Shinobu took advantage to drag Masaru to the ground, one knee on either side of him as she threw punch after punch towards his face. Anzu, Sonia, Haruna, they were all just distractions! This was about her, and her life, and her pain - nobody else's.

"It's just never enough for you, is it?" She'd meant to see him dead at the estate, laid in the rock garden or on the polished dojo flooring as if to say to her father, 'he's gone, and I'm not just a replacement anymore!' This, though... this would do, in a pinch. If she had to kill him on school grounds, to tell the world that there was only one Ultimate Archer, then so be it. "You stole from me my childhood, my happy family, my future, my LIFE!" Each indignity she'd suffered paired with another strike, blood starting to coat her knuckles. "And now, when almost everyone has forgotten you, when that hideous specter you cast over me has almost faded, you show up again to steal my friends, to steal whatever meager life I've pulled together!"

In some recess of her mind, Shinobu was aware that a hand was at her back, fingers curling and bunching up the fabric of her jacket. "I hate you! Just die!" Before she could continue punching, she was spun around, and a meaty fist collided with her face. For a moment, Shinobu wondered if she even had an eye anymore - if the punch had blown her eyeball free of its socket. She crumpled instantly, legs losing all stiffness as she dropped to the side, cradling her face with both hands, barely clinging to consciousness. No. No! Just a moment more, please, just enough time to kill...