#the three of them together are barely a threat in a fight

[shroudandsands]

Prompt #5: Barbarous

Sometimes it paid to be her. Flanked on both sides by her employees- Set and settled for their roles. To play, as it were, the interference. What were they interfering with? The question of the day.

Ardeth had donned his nigh-signature black and golds. A look only brought out like a blade unsheathed; for a purpose and for but a moment. Laoet stood opposite in all the same ways; cloaked in white silks lined with silver. Both with their opposite’s blade upon their hip. She thought that was a particularly fun touch and could hardly resist her grin whenever she looked upon them both. Her attention returned to the purpose of the night as both of them caught her stifling a laugh. Another party, more business, a wonderful time for one and all... if you enjoyed pontificating and being an object of attention in the midst of a myriad of people who could make you feel as if they would sell you for a singular corn chip. All in all? Something of a regular arena for herself. Though a first for Laoet in all his misfortune.

“All you have to do-” Sonono laughed as she waved her finger in a pointed gesture. “-is stand there, pretty and silent, and look intimidating. You’ll even have a mask on, just like Ardeth.” “And he keeps his mouth shut?” “He has the last several times I’ve taken him.” They both turned at the short belt of laughter from Ardeth, kicked back on the lounge chair in her office. “I’ll have you know even I’m capable of it when I try. It’s made up for by the looks on their faces- and how they look at her once they’ve looked me over.” Sonono held her palms up in a shrug as the two began to bicker almost on cue. A click of her heel brought them back to earth for a moment. “And since I keep bringing him along- and I have you on deck for once, rather than elsewhere- I thought it would be a rather fun idea to add you to the entourage. It’s... fitting. Though maybe a bit overplayed.” “I still don’t think he’s necessary-” And Ardeth started the argument once again...

She waved off the memory as she swirled the glass in her hand. So far the plan had gone swimmingly. Ardeth was keeping his mouth shut. Laoet, too. Both stood tall and intimidating... and all she had to do was smile and play nice with the rich and well-to-do who wanted strange curios or materials with which to flaunt their wealth. All of the comments on her well-behaved ruffians slid off of her as best as she could make them. Ruffians, yes. Well behaved, no. The tone it was said in? As grating as always. But that was the game. At least the two were happy to step closer at a flick of her wrist. A great conversation ender, especially when it was a simple moment of them staring down her opponent-

“Didn’t we used to rob people like this?” Laoet’s question hung in the air for a moment. Punctuated, of course, by Sonono’s palm meeting her face. She watched as the man in question sped off as fast as his legs could take him. As she heard the audible whack of Ardeth slapping the lights out of the other. She sighed.

[meadowfics]

hiding from rage

kang dae ho x f!reader

warnings: threats, angst, enemies to lovers, homicidal rage

based off of this request linked here

SPOILERS FOR SQUID GAME SEASON THREE BELOW -> DON'T CLICK 'KEEP READING' IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS!

don't say I didn't warn you.

the starry night maze stretches before you, full of brick and gravel walls that seem to pulse under the eerie glow of a moonless sky.

you're surround by the kind of air that clings to your skin and makes every rustle of feet sound like a threat.

you’re a seeker on the red team, so there is no threat for you.

your heart is pounding not just from the game but from the festering wound of betrayal that’s been eating at you since the escape plan fell apart.

daeho, your daeho, screwed it up.

no ammo.

no way out.

just you, him, and a group of survivors left to fend for themselves and survive even longer in this hellhole because he couldn’t deliver.

you can still hear your own voice screaming at him, the fight that tore through the camp like wildfire. you wanted to leave, to escape this nightmare, but he failed you.

worse, you’re terrified of losing him.

that fear twists inside you, a psychosis that’s turned your mind into a broken record: 

his fault, his fault, his fault.

the hide and seek game is your chance to make him pay.

your knife gleams in your hand, its weight a promise of retribution.

the rules are simple: find the hiders, eliminate at least one before the timer.

for you, it’s not about the game...it’s about daeho.

you’re not just hunting; you’re hunting him.

the red team’s objective burns in your mind, but the blue players? they’re nothing.

you barely register them as you stalk through the maze, your boots crunching against the gravel, your breath sharp and ragged.

some blue players stop and run from you, not realizing that you are not chasing after them.

all you see is daeho’s face, his lies, his failures.

the mantra in your head grows louder: 

his fault, his fault, his fault.

you move like a predator, your senses sharpened by rage.

the maze is a tangle of dead ends and sharp turns, the brick walls cold and unyielding under your fingertips.

you hear whispers of movement, the faint scuffle of feet, but you ignore them or hope that it is him that will pop up.

blue team hiders are irrelevant.

except for one.

the shaman.

you spot her first, her silhouette darting behind a wall, her long hair catching on a jagged brick. she’s quick, but you’re quicker.

your knife finds her before she can scream, and she crumples to the ground, a blue team casualty.

you don’t even pause to look at her.

she’s not daeho.

she’s not the one who broke you.

you just needed a kill in order to get out of this game alive.

just incase you couldn't go through with getting daeho.

your mind is a storm, a whirlwind of anger and fear and something deeper, something you don’t want to name. you’ve always been scared of losing him, even before this mess.

daeho, with his silly promises, made you believe you could survive this place together.

he lied.

he lied about being a marine, about having the skills to get you out.

you could tell, even back then, that something was off...his stories didn’t add up, his confidence too forced.

you trusted him anyway.

now, because of his lies, people are dead.

good people.

people who counted on him, on you.

the guilt is a blade in your gut, but you turn it outward, let it fuel your hunt. 

his fault, his fault, his fault.

you round a corner, and there he is.

daeho.

he’s crouched behind a low wall, thanks to an ankle injury that led a blood trail right to him.

the blue blends into the "sky" above.

you know him too well...his broad shoulders, the way he tilts his head when he’s listening for danger.

your heart lurches, a traitor to your rage.

you don’t hesitate. you charge, your knife glinting as you leap over the stairs and tackle him to the ground. he hits the gravel hard, a grunt escaping his lips as you pin him down, your knees pressing into his chest.

you straddle him, your knife raised high, its blade catching the faint starlight.

you’re shaking, not from exertion but from the storm inside you as he holds your wrists to stop you from stabbing him.

“you bastard,” you hiss, your voice trembling.

“you lied to me. you lied to all of us.”

daeho’s eyes are wide, but not with fear.

there’s something else there...regret, maybe, or something softer.

it only makes you angrier.

“y/n, stop it! listen—”

“no!” you snap, the knife trembling in your grip.

“you don’t get to talk. y-yo-you don’t get to make excuses. you said you were a marine, daeho! you said you could hep us get out. now they’re dead. they’re dead because of you!” your voice cracks, the weight of those losses crashing over you.

you see their faces... your old friends, your allies, gone because daeho couldn’t deliver the ammo, couldn’t hold up his end of the plan.

“i could tell you were lying about that stupid tattoo and being a fucking marine,” you continue, your words venomous, “i knew it, but i let myself believe you. now look at us. look at this.”

you gesture wildly at the maze, at the blood on your hands, at the knife poised to end him. your chest heaves, your vision blurring with tears you refuse to let fall. 

his fault, his fault, his fault. 

the mantra is deafening now, urging you to bring the knife down, to make him pay for every mistake, every life lost.

he’s looking at you, and there’s no defiance in his eyes, no fight.

just… him.

“y/n,” he says, his voice low, steady, cutting through the chaos in your head.

“i’m sorry.”

you laugh, a bitter, broken sound.

“sorry? sorry doesn’t bring them back. sorry doesn’t fix this. you lied, daeho. you lied about being a marine, about knowing what you were doing. you got us into this mess, and now you’re hiding like a coward.”

he winces, but he doesn’t look away.

“i know,” he says, and there’s a rawness to his voice that makes you pause, “I am one. I lied. i wasn’t a marine. i… i wanted to be someone you could rely on. someone who could protect you. i screwed up, y/n. i know i did and i’m sorry.”

daeho's words hit you like a punch, but they don’t soothe the rage. they stoke it.

“you think an apology fixes this?” you scream, leaning closer, the knife still raised as his strong hands stop your wrists from plunging the knife into his chest, “you think saying sorry makes up for the blood on your hands? for the people we lost? i trusted you, daeho. i trusted you, and you let me down. you let all of us down.”

he doesn’t flinch, even with the blade inches from his throat.

“i know,” he says again but softer this time, “i know i failed you but y/n, listen to me. please. i never wanted to hurt you. i never wanted any of this. i lied because… because i love you and I wanted you to think better of me.”

the world stops.

the maze, the game, the knife in your hand.

it all fades, leaving just you and daeho and those three words hanging in the air.

your breath catches, your grip on the knife faltering.

“what?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“i love you,” he repeats, his eyes locked on yours.

“i’ve loved you since the moment we got stuck in this nightmare. i lied because i wanted to be enough for you. i wanted to be the guy who could get you out, who could keep you safe but i messed up, y/n. i messed up bad, and i’ll carry that for the rest of my life. but i swear, i never meant to hurt you.”

your mind reels, the mantra stuttering.

his fault, his fault— no.

it's not.

that broken record is weaker now, drowned out by the pounding of your heart. you want to scream at him, to tell him he’s lying again, but you can’t.

you see it in his eyes, the truth he’s been hiding all this time.

he loves you.

whoever above help you, you love him too.

you always have, even when you were screaming at him, even when you were terrified of losing him.

that’s why his betrayal cut so deep because he’s not just anyone.

he’s everything.

“you don’t get to do this,” you say, but your voice is shaking, the knife lowering slightly.

“you don’t get to say that now, after everything. you don’t get to make me feel this way.”

“i’m not trying to make you feel anything,” he says, his hands slowly moving to your hips, not to push you off but to ground you, to keep you there with him.

to others, this position might look suggestive.

“i’m just telling you the truth. i love you, y/n. and i know i don’t deserve you, but i’m begging you...don’t do this. don’t let this place turn you into something you’re not by killing me.”

you want to hate him.

you want to drive the knife down and make him pay.

fortunately, his hands are warm on your hips, his eyes so painfully honest, and you feel the fight draining out of you.

the tears you’ve been holding back spill over, hot and angry, and you drop the knife.

it clatters against the gravel, useless now.

you've already killed the shaman, you didn't need to kill another person to survive.

you collapse forward, your hands fisting in his jacket as you sob, your forehead pressing against his chest.

“i was so scared,” you choke out, the words spilling out in a rush, “i was so scared of losing you. and then you lied, and you failed, and i thought… i thought i’d never forgive you. i love you, daeho. i love you, and i hate you for making me feel this way.”

daeho's arms wrap around you, strong and steady, pulling you closer but being mindful about the door behind him which leads into the cliff.

“i know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair.

“i know, y/n. i’m so sorry. i’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, i swear.”

you lift your head, your eyes meeting his, and the world narrows to just the two of you.

the maze, the game, the blood... it all falls away.

you’re still angry, still hurt, but you can’t deny what’s between you.

you lean in, or maybe he does, and your lips crash together in a kiss that’s all fire and desperation.

it’s not gentle; it’s raw, full of everything you’ve been holding back...anger, fear, love.

you’re still straddling him, your hands tangled in his hair, his fingers digging into your sides as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

when you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, your foreheads pressed together.

“we’re not done fighting about this,” you warn, your voice low but fierce, “you don’t get to just kiss me and make it all go away.”

he nods, a small, rueful smile tugging at his lips.

“i know but i’m not going anywhere, y/n. not unless you tell me to.”

you stay like that for a moment, the weight of everything settling between you.

after a minute, you climb off him, offering a hand to help him up.

he takes it, his grip warm and solid, and you both stand, brushing gravel from your clothes.

the game is still ongoing, but you don’t care.

daeho’s alive, and so are you, and that’s enough for now.

you make your way to the main room, the heart of the dorms where everyone alive regroups.

the other players are there, some nursing wounds, others whispering about their own hunts.

shit, you discovered that your closest friend gave birth during the maze game!

you and daeho sit in a corner, away from the others, your knees brushing as you face each other.

the air is heavy, but it’s different now...less like a storm and more like the calm after.

“we need to talk about this,” you say, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest, “about your lie. about what happened.”

he nods, his expression serious.

“i know. i… i made up the marine thing because i thought it would give you hope. i thought it would make you trust me and like me. it was stupid, and it cost us. i cost us. im a coward.”

“you cost lives,” you say, and the words are sharp, but there’s no venom in them now.

just truth.

“people died because we didn’t have the ammo, because you didn’t know what you were doing. i can’t just let that go, daeho.”

“i don’t expect you to,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.

“i’ll carry that guilt forever. but i’m going to do better, y/n. for you. for us. i swear.”

you study him, searching his face for any hint of another lie.

all you see is daeho...flawed, human, and yours.

“you’d better,” you say finally.

masterlist

[yandere-sins]

Bad Guy

First Prompt! And I just so happen to find a character that I thought would really match the vibe I wanted to go for. I'm so excited to write for him since I've been mostly keeping out of writing for LaDS, but I do love the characters ♥

Fandom: Love and Deepspace Pairings: Yandere!Sylus x AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Dub-Con, BJ, Gagging, Non-Con Touches, Lingerie, Reader is a virgin and inexperienced, Pet names, Degradation, Nicknames), Mention of Body Issues, Forced Captivity, Swear Words, Long Post Prompt: @sintember Innocence - What would you do to preserve it, what will be done to tarnish it?

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"Come now, you make me look like the bad guy."

Legs quivering, you could barely stomach looking down at yourself. It didn't help that you felt how skimpy the outfit was with every move you made. Felt the strings that kept the fabric together pressed into your skin, bit you as if the shame was not enough harm. But looking up and straight ahead was not an option you had either. Not when you knew the smirk on the face that awaited you. Knew about the hungry, predatory sheen in Sylus' eyes if you met them head-on.

Why you? Why did he choose you? You kept wondering as you stood in his bedroom, barely two steps from the man who had ruined your life. You couldn't think of a good reason as to why he needed to keep you to himself, lock you up like an exotic animal, and demand to be the only one to put their eyes on you. Maybe if you had been especially pretty or incredibly rich, his infatuation would have made sense. But it really didn't. None of his actions made sense.

And by now, you didn't even know if you wanted to cry or be angry with him anymore.

The sheer, triangle coverings did nothing to hide, only to expose your nipples, strained as you felt the nubs getting harder. The fabric rubbed them a little more every time you breathed, lungs expanding. Bitterness overcame you as pleasure turned to shame turned to helplessness. You could only stand there, both hands reaching down to hide your privates, all while you heard the man in front of you chuckle.

"Glad to amuse you," you muttered bitterly, biting your lip so hard it tore beneath your teeth. Wearing an outfit that split right around your pussy, giving even easier access than it gave a full view of it, was proof of how you couldn't win against him. If he wanted to, he could be sneaky and uncaring about what you wanted, and forcing you to wear this was yet another challenge he was winning to hold above your head. Sylus had long begun to chip away at any pride or dignity you had, finally ready to deliver the final blow. But although you wanted to break down and cry, hide from the embarrassment, your feeble fighting spirit refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break down and beg for your clothes back.

You'd be giving him exactly what he wanted—power.

Power over you. The upper hand in this month-long dispute. You had sought him out for a deal, an equal exchange. And he had broken that deal the moment you put your trust in him just so he could keep you for whatever twisted reason. People had warned you of deals with the devil, but you had been too stupid to listen, now finding yourself in a situation too horrifying to speak of. Captivity.

It wasn't like he made you work to earn your keep. There were three meals provided to you every day, and Sylus tried to join whenever he could. He bought you expensive clothes, accessories, and entertainment, always asking what you needed, but never reflecting on his actions, not even when you told him he couldn't buy your love. There was constant surveillance, and the outside was a threat to your life, so the windows and doors stayed locked tightly. You had no means to escape, only able to stay indoors and wait like a good pet.

"But you are the bad guy here, forcing me to wear this."

Your addition seemed to make him thoughtful, a small hum escaping Sylus before he extended his arm towards you. It was a bad idea, you knew that. But if you refused to take his hand, he'd simply come to get you, and you couldn't afford to struggle looking like this.

Embarrassed, you forced one hand away from hiding what should have never been exposed in front of the likes of the leader of Onychinus, someone you thought would be interested in what you had to offer in exchange for the help you needed. Now, it almost seemed like all he wanted was your body, although you doubted it. You never liked seeing yourself in the mirror, but you didn't know anyone who enjoyed seeing themselves. You just thought it was normal not to feel like you were special, and yet, Sylus made you wear something that hid nothing of your insecurities from him.

A shuddering breath escaped you as his fingers wrapped around your hand like a snake suffocating its victim. But he moved on quickly from the threatening touch, twisting and turning his palm until it slithered beneath yours, fingers entwining before he gave you a jerk, forcing you towards him.

You couldn't help but wonder what changed in that one month, although you were lying if you said you didn't see the change in your captor. You thought he was out for ransom at first, keeping you just for the sake of exploiting more out of you than what you were willing to give. Then you caught him watching you, eyes almost softening as he observed. He'd done more than enough touching and manhandling over the course of the month, but he never forced you to wear lingerie and expose yourself.

Admittedly, your fall wasn't graceful as you were pulled forth. Your legs staggered over the sudden jerk, your free hand coming down just behind Sylus's shoulder. One of your legs hit the edge of the couch, knee bending with nowhere else to go until your shin was settled next to his thigh. You sacked forward, the strength in your torso handicapped from the awkward position, but it was better this way. Anything was better than to look into his face.

"The bad guy, eh? So far, I've been pretty nice to you. I have no idea what you mean."

Sylus played with the skimpy fabric around your waist, rubbing the material between his fingers as if to gouge its value. He was tugging at the strings, threatening to undo the triple knots you had made to keep it all together. All while you were shivering from the cold and the hatred he invoked inside of you.  

Anger flooded your mind, and you threw your head back, ready to let him have it! Too late did you realize he baited you, forcing you to look at him despite your refusal, the grin on his lips disgustingly victorious, his expression almost besotted now that you met his eyes. There was strength to be drawn from your embarrassment, fury brewing in the pit of your stomach. Your free hand curled into a fist, and you fixated your gaze on his stupid face, ready to bash in that smirk he loved to give you so much!

"Not quick enough," Sylus lamented as he caught your fist in his hand, closing around it in a painful grip. You winced, and he brought your arm down, twisting it behind your back while squeezing the other hand he hadn't given up on holding. "Now, now, let's play nice. And here I thought you liked my gift."

Slinging his whole arm around your midriff, Sylus suddenly pulled you on top of his lap, your legs losing balance, and forced your hips down to settle on top of the bulge in his pants. The second your crotch met his, you felt nauseous, the helplessness making you desperate to get away. You hated every second of this interaction, hated this man for all the abuse he put you through. Was this what he had wanted all along? A sex toy? Why wait this long if he intended to defile you anyway?

Even though you tried to be still as a board, when Sylus bent you backward, closely following behind, you shivered as his hot breath grazed over your nipple. You stared down in horror as his tongue slid out, only the tip of it flicking over your nipple before he watched the nub bounce back into place and, using the flat side of his tongue, pressed down onto it. You shuddered, biting your lip again to hold back a moan.

The room wasn't cold, but his breath felt incredibly hot through the mesh fabric of the coverings, his tongue almost like a hot iron pressed to your skin. Sylus looked up, and you saw the agonizing sight of yourself in the reflection of the red irises, exposed and vulnerable. He smirked, opening his mouth just far enough to take your nub between his teeth, pulling it towards him as you sucked in your breath.

You couldn't help it. Couldn't help the pleasure zapping down your spine and between your legs, the mewl that escaped you as Sylus's teeth slipped off your nipple and bit into the mesh fabric. Your reflection looked so pathetic, but he seemed pleased as he kissed your abused nub, as if to appease it after his teasing.

"I heard something interesting," he muttered against your chest, trailing kisses from one side to the other, briefly burying his face in your body and letting out a content rumble. "Heard you've been wholly neglected, poor thing."

"What do you--"

Giving the hand behind your back a firm shake, warning it to stay in place, Sylus released it, only to drive his hand down to your ass. He slipped lower as you piped up, only to silence you again with his touch. It made you realize fairly quickly what he meant, his fingers curiously slipping through your slick.

"That's not true at all," you argued, closing your eyes and shying away from his keen gaze.

"Really now?"

Feeling his lips curl into a grin above your other nipple was an unfamiliar torture, the fabric of the cover transferring every movement dutifully, heightening your sensitivity. "So the reason you are so wet is because you are experienced. Is that what you're saying? You're not a virgin whose anticipation is making you eager, Kitten? Did you secretively hope I'd help you release some of the tension?"

You felt his fingers apply pressure to your cunt, threatening to slip inside and forcing you to shoot upwards, recoiling from the touch. The throb of his cock beneath your slit vanished, and you cursed your body for aching, almost longing to return to his lap. But how could you? At this rate, he was truly going to take your virginity from you, even though you tried to act as if he wasn't.

It was such a stupid sentiment to cling to the concept of virginity, especially in the situation you were in. There could be potential gain by losing it, yet you were holding on to it like a lifeline. Considering that, in one month, you had lost all kinds of things that made your life yours, it was understandable that crossing this line scared you. It was a small rebellion that would prove you weren't completely lost to this man's whims if only you could keep it.

"No! No, wait!" you huffed as his hold on you tightened, trying to keep you in place so he could continue evading every little piece of privacy you still had. If only for your sanity, you had to at least try to conserve it. You weren't keeping yourself for marriage necessarily, but having your first time with the man that kidnapped and imprisoned you would definitely do you no good.

"I'm... I'm unwell! I'll do something else for you, but not this. Let's not go there... Sir."

Halting all his movements, Sylus's brows furrowed, and he leaned back, looking up at you. Of course, you didn't miss how he tensed when you called him Sir, but even though it cost you a lot of your pride to call him that, it was the most you got for a reaction. You could only assume he could see the fake, nonchalant expression you forced, perhaps your embarrassment too. But you hoped it would deter him. When you looked back at him, he almost seemed... concerned. Hopefully, that would be in your favor.

"Are you sick?" he asked, both accusatory and worried at the same time. As if he was offended, you didn't tell him.

"No, I'm... Actually yeah! I feel sick! I got cramps, and I'm sure my period is just around the corner--"

"Darling," he interrupted you, and your heart rate quicked at the sly grin playing around his lips. "You're so adorable when you try to lie, but I'll have you know that a bit of blood has never stopped me.

Tell me the truth, or I'll assume you're just nervous."

Fuck, you thought to yourself, chewing your stinging lip again as you thought about what to do. Sylus returned back to your chest, pressing his lips to your unattended nipple again before sucking it in for a tease. You drew in your breath sharply as you thought about a lesser evil to deter him from taking your last strand of dignity, the one thing you could hold over his head. But it would cost you greatly to protect your virginity, and you almost wavered in your determination to keep it a secret.

"I'll... I'll suck you off."

Sylus stilled, and you saw his eyes widening. For a moment, no one said anything, and although it was hard to endure his inquiring gaze, you forced yourself to face it head-on, showing him you meant it. One of his eyes felt especially exposing, the red so much more vibrant. But just a moment later, his lips curled into a wide smirk, freeing your nipple as he drew back.

His expression was almost soft as he gazed over your body, all the way down to where your hips met. You saw the longing in his gaze and felt the throbbing of his cock against your pussy, but then he looked up at you again, and for a moment, you felt adoration wash over you. Approval, genuine desire.

And it was gone right the next second.

Before you knew it, Sylus lifted you off his lap. You yelped in surprise, only to sink to your knees, his legs spread widely to comfortably accommodate you between them. "Alright then," Sylus chuckled. "Show me what you got."

Another wave of shameful heat rushed into your head as you watched the cocky bastard wait for you to stick to your words. Excitement and impatience radiated from the way he looked down at you to the tapping of his food next to your thigh. He'd not wait forever for you to act, but he was enjoying your hesitation.

Swallowing hard, your mouth had never felt as dry as it was now. With jittery hands, you reached upwards, seeing the stains you had left on his trousers and feeling the heat underneath your palms. But before you could unzip Sylus's pants, he caught your wrists in his grip, clicking his tongue at you, chastizing.

"I'm sure you know a more creative way to start this."

You were disgusted by the thought, but even a virgin like you could imagine what he wanted. Lifting your butt off the floor, you placed your teeth around the zipper, slowly dragging it down. Sylus chuckled, but to your surprise, when you looked up at him angrily, he let go of your wrists and looked away, hiding his full face from you. Was he ashamed? Mocking you? Or did he enjoy seeing you opening his trousers with your teeth that much?

You used the moment of freedom for your hands to unbutton the pants on top, completely taken aback when without the restraints of underwear, his cock sprung free, surprise and horror overcoming you. "You're not the only one who was anticipating this," Sylus clarified, and although he still hid his face behind his hand, the gleam in his eye was as mischievous as ever.

Bastard, you thought, but a small part of you wondered if he had been walking around in just his pants all day or if he changed out of his underwear before meeting with you. It was a completely scientific question of course! You needed to know how long he anticipated and planned this. If his sudden carnal desire had been a surprise or a long time coming, although you never thought it existed.

"Are you giving up already, Sweetheart?" Sylus tore you out of your thoughts. "Less scowling, more sucking."

For the record, you didn't do as he instructed because he told you to. You did it because you wanted to get it over with. You kept telling yourself this, over and over, even as you brushed your fingertips over his length. But there was one problem. One you couldn't tell him about.

You had no idea what to do.

Of course, the general concept of a blowjob was familiar to even you, but how were you going to pull it off? Was it enough to take it into your mouth? Did you need to kiss it? Would it taste bad? Could you even put your lips around it?

There was no time to panic and let Sylus find out you were an inexperienced virgin with no idea what you were doing. His cock bopped impatiently in front of you, waiting for your caress, and you had to please it regardless of not knowing how.

Reaching up, you wrapped a hand around it, steadying it with your grip. The stiff feeling surrounded by soft skin was almost mesmerizing, leaving you in a moment of awe before you returned to reality. You expected something rougher, more like its owner, but the heat and eagerness spoke of vulnerability more than Sylus's usual domineering ways.

There was a click of his tongue from above, and you knew your time was running out. Giving him a coy glance from below, you leaned forward, steading yourself on Sylus's thighs to kiss the throbbing cock in your hand. You felt his leg tense beneath your palm, then relax, and when he neither mocked nor pushed you away, you concluded you were onto something.

Kissing a trail up the shaft, you smoothed over his cock, taking note of the ridges and veins that seemed to pop out the longer you were giving it attention. Soon, you reached the edge of the tip, the form of his shaft dipping into itself for a moment before forming the bulb on top. It was so fascinating that, for a moment, you forgot the situation you were in, your tongue dipping out to lick along the edge out of curiosity.

Sylus drew in a sharp breath, and you looked up with more inquisitiveness. For the first time, you saw an expression akin to pain on his face. You wondered if you were hurting him somehow before satisfaction hit you. Red was drawn along his cheeks, and you realized it was pleasure and not pain; the firmness of his expression was merely showcasing that he was holding back. How gracious.

Slipping the flat of your tongue over his tip, you soon brushed your lips over it. Cock jerking, the tender flesh jumped against your mouth, smearing a strange-tasting liquid all over it. Precum, you thought to yourself, recognizing that this meant you were doing something right.

It almost got you excited.

You remembered the way Sylus had played with your nipples, the teasing and sucking. The way he forced you to feel pleasure despite not wanting to, and it gave you an idea of how to return the favor. If it worked on you, it might just work on him the same way! Sure, he wanted this, but you'd not make it easy on him!

Wrapping your mouth around the tip, you began to suck gently, drawing your lips lightly back and forth and wetting the top to make it more smooth. Sylus groaned, his right hand coming down to cup yours on top of his thigh, pressing it into the muscles there.

"That's it, Kitten," he mumbled, and you felt his hand brush up your neck and into your hair. Immediately, you drew back, staring at him with your mouth forced shut. His cock bopped in complaint, and Sylus's expression hardened, but you challenged him with your glare.

"No forcing it," you established, getting great satisfaction from his annoyance. "You will let me do it."

"Fine," he spat out. "Hope you got a bit more than that, though. Otherwise, we'll be here forever, Sweetheart."

"Fuck you," you bit back, not waiting for him to respond before putting your lips back around his cock. This time, you went deeper, his tip brushing your teeth as you weren't used to his size yet. His hand sunk back to the nape of your neck, playing with a few strands of hair there. You could feel him testing out the boundaries of your rules, applying pressure softly ever so often. Still, after you drew back one more time, he gave up, the warmth of his palm remaining unmoving at the back of your head.

"No fun," he complained, but his words had no bite. They were followed by a soft groan, Sylus's head rolling to the side as he watched you work your way down his shaft. It was more strain than you expected, his cock seemingly never-ending, even when you forced it deeper than anything ever before. You'd not accept defeat, not let him win this round, especially after coming this far!

But it was nasty. Drool dripped down your chin, and your sucking became more and more sloppy. You barely had enough strength or training with your tongue to keep up an even pace, and your desperation to get this over with made everything quite boring, evident by Sylus not reacting like you thought he would while you worked your mouth over his cock.

"Is this your first time?" he finally asked, and you grimaced, mouth full of cock and exposed anger burning in your eyes.

Sylus smirked, and you knew that he knew.

"Did you really think you could hide the fact from me that you have no idea what you're doing? Come let me help."

Without waiting for your response, he pressed your head forward, tears shooting to your eyes as the newly reached deepness pried your jaw open. "Now, use your tongue and lick upwards all the way. Slowly."

You hated this! You hated him! You hated this man so much!

"That's it, Kitten."

Pulling you back by the roots of your hair, the strain disappeared, but all the drool and fluids pooled inside your mouth, making you cough. Sylus showed you no mercy, even after seeing you struggle to keep yourself together.

"Now the tip again, just like the beginning. You need to alternate sometimes."

Reluctantly, you opened your mouth again, willing the pain away as you began to suck and lick at his tip. The next time Sylus pushed you forward, you braced yourself, although he didn't go as deep, instead bopping your head back and forth. As much as you hated following his instructions, you did the same with your tongue as when he forced you to take it in completely, moving the muscle along the sides while Sylus directed your head.

This time, he let out a loud, content sigh, his head falling back. His pressure never stopped, though, sometimes slamming you forward to dangerous depths again, other times letting you rest at his tip. There was a steady increase in speed, and you felt the control slip from you pitifully as he worked you up and down his shaft as he pleased. Were you just a sex toy to him? That's what you wondered as the first tears fell, your reflection so pitiful in Sylus's eyes.

Although, he seemed ecstatic for some reason.

His nails dug into your hand still on his thigh as he pushed you steadily deeper with every thrust of his head. Soon, you felt the tickle of the fabric of his pants against your nose, his cock taking up all the space in your mouth as it throbbed. You, too, dug your nails into his thigh as you heard Sylus breathe heavily, knowing all too well what was going to happen now.

You couldn't believe he'd be so barbaric, knowing it was your first time, as to force you to take all of his dick inside as he came. But with a slight thrust of his hip and his hand pressing down at the same time, you were caught with his cock throat-deep as hot splurts of semen sprayed everywhere. Sylus grunted as he came, and you couldn't help but splutter, gagging on the length shoved down your throat, and almost fainted from the lack of air as he waited until the very last drop of his cum to be emptied inside of you.

If not for his cock stuffing your mouth, you might have thrown up from disgust.

He was breathing heavily while your lungs barely shuddered. As if he regained clarity, Sylus suddenly pulled you off him, and his cum spilled from your lips together with his cock. Tears, semen, and drool all dripped from your pitiful face, and you two stared at each other, both a little less lucid than before.

The hand at the back of your neck slipped forward, thumb grazing over the side of your mouth before he slipped it inside. A grin spread over his lips; this time, he looked nothing short of insane from the satisfaction as he pushed the fluids back into your mouth, seeing the remnants of the havoc he wrecked. But then his expression grew soft, and you hated to admit it, but this was probably the gentlest look he had ever given you.

"Good job, Darling."

You choked as you held back a sob. The situation was so maddening it was almost funny. Just seconds ago, it felt like he'd kill you with his dick, and now he was praising you, looking at you as if you were the greatest treasure in this world.

But you didn't have the time to lament. Not even a moment later, you were pulled from the ground, set down pussy to cock on his lap, feeling the sticky heat from his crotch matching your own. You hadn't even noticed your own arousal, the way your body found appropriate to act. It only shamed you more.

"You were so pretty down there, doing amazing, Darling."

Next thing you knew, he had toppled you over and laid you down on the couch beside him while your eyes widened. You snapped your legs shut immediately, although his hands roaming downwards snaked their way between them. Looking at you, unblinking, a victorious smile played along Sylus's lips before he effortlessly pried your legs apart, not even breaking a sweat.

"We said only sucking off!" you mewled, part scared, part frustrated. What else did you need to do to make him stop? Why was he doing all of this? Why did it have to be you?

Resting his lips on your thigh, Sylus kissed it briefly, eyes closed, appearing almost reverent as he peppered some more kisses.

"You said that," he finally muttered against your skin, and all the hope to make him see reason in the end was lost with just a few words. "I am going to return the favor now. Can't let anyone think I'd not take good care of my Darling."

"You are so mean," you whispered, tears now falling freely. You didn't care anymore if he saw them. If they could soften his heart—good! If not, it didn't matter anymore. He was going to do what he wanted anyway; there was nothing you could do but to let him.

"Sure, I can be mean," Sylus chuckled, but his expression darkened. It was unlike his usual cockiness, and it infuriated you. How dare he feel upset about your comment! How dare he wallow in your misery! Your pain wasn't his to share! He didn't get to feel bad from seeing you hurt by the actions he inflicted!

So why did he look like you were the one hurting him?

"After all..." he mumbled, leaning forward until his face hovered over yours. For a moment, he simply stared at you, and you wondered what he could find in your terrified gaze. How far he could really look into your soul and if that would deter him or if he'd still choose to ignore your feelings in all of this like he had ever since he locked you up.

"You made me the bad guy, Darling."

[lemonsdietcoke]

Parting Gift - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

This is part 2 of my mini series love ridden (you don’t have to read part 1 but it helps you get a deeper understanding of their relationship)

Warnings: Toxic relationship,Emotional manipulation and gaslighting, DUBCON/implied sexual misconduct, power imbalances and coercion,mentions of substance abuse,threats of self-harm, mentions of bruising, vomiting, unreliable memory

Summary: “It ended bad, but I love what we started.” A night out, was supposed to be a distraction, a step to moving on. Instead it leaves you questioning everything. Loosely inspired by Parting gift-Fiona apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: ahhhh here it is! This is very much a wild ride so be prepared and get comfortable lol. Lmk if yall fw. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!!

……………………..

“Two years.”

It echoes in your head as you stare at your phone. The screen blinks, illuminating the dark, quiet apartment, and your reflection stares back at you. Hollow eyes. Lifeless skin.

You don’t even recognize yourself anymore.

Two years of late nights.

Two years of broken promises.

Two years of fights that always ended the same way — with you apologizing for things you hadn’t even done.

Two years of Su-bong.

The notifications keep coming.

Messages. Missed calls. Voicemails.

You blocked him a week ago. You had to.

Before that, you let the calls go unanswered. You left his texts on read. But after that voicemail, you couldn’t take it anymore.

It wasn’t just the things he said.

It was the way he sounded.

Drunk. High out of his mind. Slurring his words like he could barely get them out.

You’d heard him like that before, of course. Countless times. But this was different.

The shaking breath at the beginning of the message.

The muffled sound of a bottle cap hitting the floor.

The distinct rattle of a pill bottle.

And then his voice —

Low. Rough. Desperate.

“You know, if you don’t fucking answer me…”

There was a pause. You could hear him breathing.

“Maybe I should just end it all.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

The sound of pills being shaken in his hand.

“It’s in your hands now.”

You remember sitting on the floor of your new apartment, the phone clutched in your hands, shaking so hard you thought you might drop it.

That was the breaking point.

You blocked him.

It was hard. Very hard.

What if he was serious?!

What if he did it and it was your fault?!

But it didn’t stop the nightmares.

It’s been a month since the breakup, and you haven’t left your apartment in days.

The dishes are piled up in the sink. Your laundry is overflowing.

You haven’t brushed your hair in three days.

The weight of it all feels suffocating.

You thought leaving him would make you feel free.

Instead, you feel empty.

When your phone buzzes again, you ignore it.

It’s probably Ji-hye.

She’s been trying to get you to go out for weeks.

“You need to live a little,” she said last time you saw her.

But you don’t feel like living.

Still, when your phone buzzes again, you pick it up.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:17 PM): Come out with us tonight. Please?

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:18 PM): There’s a new club opening in Itaewon. It’ll be fun.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:19 PM): I’m not taking no for an answer.

You stare at the messages for a long time.

The thought of going to a club makes your stomach turn.

You haven’t been out in two years.

You haven’t been you in two years.

But the apartment feels too small.

Too quiet.

Too empty.

Fuck it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shower burns your skin.

You scrub until you feel raw, as if you can wash away the last two years.

But no amount of scrubbing erases the bruises —

The ones he left on your heart.

When you step out, you wipe the fogged mirror and stare at your reflection.

Your hair is a tangled mess.

Your eyes are rimmed with dark circles.

You look like someone who’s been barely holding it together.

This isn’t who I am, you tell yourself.

You plug in your hair straightener. You do your makeup.

By the time you’re done, you almost feel like yourself again.

You rifle through your closet, pulling out a black dress you haven’t worn in years. It still fits — snug and short, hugging your body in a way that feels foreign after months of oversized hoodies and leggings.

When you step into your heels, you wobble for a second.

It’s been so long since you’ve worn anything but sneakers.

But when you look in the mirror again —

You see her.

The girl you used to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ji-hye and her friends are already tipsy when you meet them outside the club.

She squeals when she sees you.

“Look at you! You look amazing!”

You try to smile, but it feels forced.

The club is packed.

Neon lights pulse to the beat of the music.

Bodies move together on the dance floor.

Ji-hye hands you a shot as soon as you walk in.

“Drink up!”

You down it quickly, the burn making you wince.

“Another?”

Why not?

By the time you lose count, you’ve had at least six shots.

Maybe more.

You stopped counting after the first round of tequila.

The room spins slightly, but you feel good.

Better than you’ve felt in weeks.

You laugh with Ji-hye.

You dance with strangers.

For the first time in a long time, you feel free.

And then you see him.

At first, you think your eyes are playing tricks on you.

But when you blink, he’s still there.

Su-bong.

He’s standing near the bar, his eyes locked on you.

His hair is messy, his shirt unbuttoned at the top.

He looks the same as he always does —

Rough around the edges, disheveled in that careless way that made you fall for him in the first place.

But there’s something in his eyes —

Something dark.

Your stomach twists.

The room feels too hot.

You grab Ji-hye’s arm.

“Ji-hye. Is he…?”

Her eyes widen.

“Oh shit.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

She bites her lip, looking guilty.

“I didn’t know. I swear. But he’s friends with Seung-ho.”

She nods toward one of the guys in their group — a guy you don’t know well.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a wild, frantic beat.

You down another shot, your hands shaking slightly.

Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll go away.

But he doesn’t.

When you look up again, he’s moving toward you.

You see him before he speaks.

The way he weaves through the crowd, his gaze locked on you like he’s on a mission.

You look away.

You try to pretend you didn’t see him.

But it’s too late.

He’s right there.

“Hey.”

His voice cuts through the noise, low and rough.

You don’t turn around.

You keep your eyes on your drink, your knuckles white as you grip the glass.

“I didn’t know you came here.”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

Your whole body goes stiff.

“Fuck off, Su-bong.”

Your voice is steady, but your heart is pounding.

He doesn’t move.

Instead, he slides into the seat next to you.

Like he belongs there.

Like nothing happened.

“Come on,” he says, his tone light, almost teasing. “You’re really not even going to say hi?”

You turn to him, your eyes flashing.

“Why would I?”

He shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because you missed me.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Missed you?”

You set your drink down, leaning closer.

“You left me voicemails threatening to fucking kill yourself. Do you know how fucked up that is?”

His expression doesn’t change.

He doesn’t flinch.

Instead, he tilts his head, studying you.

“Did it scare you?”

Your blood runs cold.

“What?”

“Did it scare you?” he repeats, his voice soft.

“Did you think I was going to do it?”

You stare at him, horrified.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His lips twitch into something that might be a smile — but there’s no warmth in it.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” he says, his tone almost casual.

“And you wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t talk to me.”

“So you thought threatening to kill yourself was the way to get my attention?”

Your voice is shaking now, anger and fear mixing in your chest.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he reaches for your hand.

And you’re too stunned to pull away.

“I missed you,” he says softly.

“I don’t know what to do without you.”

You rip your hand away, standing up so fast your chair scrapes against the floor.

“Don’t fucking do that.”

Your voice is loud now, cutting through the music.

“Don’t pretend you’re some fucking victim.”

His expression hardens.

“I’m not pretending.”

“You are.”

You step closer, your chest heaving.

“You always do this. You always make it about you. Like your fucking pain is the only thing that matters.”

He stands up slowly, towering over you.

“I’m in pain because of you.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.”

His voice is low now. Dangerous.

“You love me.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

He steps closer.

“I know you do. You wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t.”

You hate how he gets in your head.

How he twists your words.

“I don’t love you,” you say again, but it sounds weaker this time.

He leans in, his breath brushing against your cheek.

“Then why haven’t you moved on?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut.

And you don’t have an answer.

“Let’s go outside,” he says.

His voice is softer now, coaxing.

“It’s too loud in here.”

You hesitate.

“Please.”

He reaches for your hand again, and this time, you don’t pull away.

“Just talk to me.”

Your heart is pounding.

Your mind is spinning.

And against your better judgment —

You follow him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The alleyway outside the club smells like cigarette smoke and spilled beer.

You cross your arms over your chest, shivering slightly. The night air feels too cold against your skin, cutting through the warmth of the alcohol.

Su-bong lights a cigarette, his hands shaking slightly as he brings it to his lips.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then —

“What do you want from me?”

Your voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and strained.

He exhales a cloud of smoke, his gaze steady on you.

“I just want you.”

You laugh, bitter and harsh.

“Do you even hear yourself? You had me, Su-bong. You had me for two fucking years, and you—”

Your voice cracks.

“You fucking broke me.”

His jaw tightens.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

Your chest heaves, your breath fogging in the cold air.

“Over and over again.”

“I know.”

He takes a step closer.

“And I’m sorry.”

It’s the softness in his voice that undoes you.

That fucking softness.

Because for a split second —

You almost believe him.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

His words hang in the air between you, soft and deliberate, like he’s trying to carve them into your skin. And you hate how much they make your chest ache.

You hate that it’s him standing here, saying these things. Again.

“You say that like it fucking matters.” Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “Like it changes anything.”

He exhales smoke, eyes never leaving yours. “It does matter.”

“No, it doesn’t.” You shake your head, your arms tightening around yourself like it’s the only thing holding you together. “You’ve hurt me too many times for it to matter.”

A pause.

A flicker of something in his eyes.

And then, softly —

“I couldn’t stop.”

The words hit you harder than you want them to.

Your chest tightens, your mind flashing back to the nights he stumbled through the door, high and out of it, mumbling half-assed apologies through the haze.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he continues, his voice quiet. “Not without you.”

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay put.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you whisper. “You can’t keep blaming me for your fucking choices.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what the fuck is this?” You gesture between the two of you, your voice rising. “What do you think you’re doing right now?”

“I’m trying to fix it.”

Your laugh is sharp, bitter. “Fix it? You can’t fix this, Su-bong. You can’t.”

He flinches at the way your voice cracks.

But he doesn’t back down.

“I can try.”

You shake your head, the weight of it all pressing down on you. The months of pain, the sleepless nights, the voicemail that still echoes in your mind.

“You’re fucking selfish.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t deny it.

“You don’t love me,” you say, and it feels like you’re ripping your own heart out. “You love what I do for you. You love having someone to pick up the pieces when you fall apart. Someone to save you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Your chest heaves. “You only ever show up when you’re desperate. When you need something. And I’m fucking done being that person for you.”

He takes a step closer, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers, burning down to the filter.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

You hate the way your heart twists.

“I want you.”

You shake your head again, but it’s weaker this time.

“I love you.”

And there it is.

Those three fucking words.

The words that used to make your heart explode. The words that used to make you believe in him, in a future that never existed.

“I can’t do this without you,” he says, and his voice breaks, just a little. “I’ve tried, Y/N. I’ve tried to be better, but I’m fucking lost without you.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“You’re only lost because you never tried to find yourself,” you whisper. “You’ve always expected me to do it for you.”

His eyes soften, that familiar vulnerability creeping in.

“I’m trying now.”

“No, you’re not.” You take a step back. “You’re trying to pull me back in. That’s all you ever do.”

A beat of silence.

Then —

“I miss you.”

The words cut through the night, soft and raw.

And you feel yourself wavering.

Fuck.

You press your palms to your face, trying to breathe, trying to steady yourself.

“You don’t get it,” you whisper. “You don’t get what you did to me.”

He takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the heat of his body.

“I never stopped loving you.”

Your chest heaves, your heart pounding.

“I don’t want to hear that.”

“You need to.”

“No, I fucking don’t.” Your voice cracks, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. “What I need is to move on.”

His hand reaches out, tentative, trembling.

But when his fingers brush against your arm-

You flinch.

It’s instinctive.

A reaction you couldn’t stop if you tried.

And the look on his face?

It’s devastating.

He pulls his hand back slowly, like he’s been burned.

“I’m not him anymore.”

The words are quiet, almost desperate.

“I’m not the guy who fucked up. I’m not the guy who hurt you.”

“You are.” Your voice is soft, but firm. “You’ll always be that guy, Su-bong.”

His gaze drops to the ground, and for a moment, you think he’s going to give up.

But then he looks up again.

“I just want to talk,” he says. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You hesitate.

The rational part of you — the part that’s spent the last month piecing yourself back together — is screaming at you to walk away.

But your heart?

Your heart is still caught in the web he’s spun around you.

“ we’re already talking…” you slightly slur your words, the alcohol taking full effect.

“Five minutes,” he says again, softer this time. “At my place. Please.”

And against your better judgment —

You nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake to the sensation of weight.

Heavy. Suffocating.

An arm draped over your waist. A body pressed too close, warm breath against the back of your neck.

And for one blissful second, you’re still half asleep. Still caught in that hazy space between dreams and reality, your mind fogged over with sleep, soft and pliant.

But then your eyes open.

And everything sharpens.

The bedroom is dark — curtains drawn, faint slivers of morning light sneaking through the cracks. The air is stale, tinged with cigarette smoke and something faintly metallic. It smells familiar.

And the weight around your waist?

It’s Su-bong.

Your stomach lurches.

No. No, no, no.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your heart pounding in your chest, the dull ache between your temples throbbing harder with each beat. Your mind scrambles to piece together how the fuck you ended up here. The last thing you remember clearly is the club — Ji-hye pulling you onto the dance floor, shots of tequila burning your throat, the neon lights swirling around you.

And then —

His voice.

His hands.

And now you’re here. In his bed.

You hold your breath, every muscle in your body going rigid. His arm is still heavy across your waist, his hand curled loosely against your hip, fingers twitching like he’s dreaming.

Carefully — so carefully — you think maybe you can slip out from under him.

Carefully, you reach for his wrist, your fingers trembling as you try to lift his arm off you. The sheet rustles softly, the sound too loud in the suffocating silence. You freeze, your breath hitching.

He stirs.

A small, unconscious noise slips from his throat, his fingers curling slightly against your hip.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

Please don’t wake up.

You stay frozen, your body stiff, your breath shallow. His arm feels impossibly heavy against your waist, like it’s anchoring you to the mattress. Slowly — so slowly — you ease it off you, inch by inch, until it finally falls to the bed.

He murmurs something in his sleep, low and unintelligible.

You freeze again, your pulse roaring in your ears.

He doesn’t wake.

You let out a shaky breath, the sound barely audible, and sit up as quietly as you can. The room tilts slightly as you do, your head pounding with a dull, persistent ache. You press a hand to your temple, blinking against the dizziness.

The sheets are tangled around your legs, the fabric twisted and damp with sweat. You untangle yourself carefully, your fingers trembling, your movements slow and deliberate.

His body shifts slightly behind you, his breathing deepening for a moment before settling back into a steady rhythm.

Move.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the floor cold against your bare feet. The hem of your dress rides up as you stand, the fabric wrinkled and twisted, clinging to your skin.

You glance back at him, your chest tight.

He’s still asleep.

But his face is turned toward you now, his hair falling into his eyes, his lips parted slightly. He looks softer like this, his usual sharp edges dulled by sleep.

It makes your stomach turn.

Focus.

You force your gaze away, scanning the room for your things.

Your phone.

Your purse.

Where the fuck are they?

The panic sets in slowly, creeping up your spine like cold water, inch by inch. You scan the room, searching for your things, but the room looks almost exactly the same as when you left a month ago.

Cluttered. Messy. The ashtray on the nightstand is overflowing. Empty bottles litter the floor. The same crumpled blankets. The same cigarette burns in the carpet.

Like time stood still.

Like he hasn’t moved on.

Your stomach twists painfully, nausea creeping in at the edges. You stand, your legs unsteady, your head pounding. The ache in your body — between your thighs, in the muscles of your legs — is impossible to ignore.

You take a step toward the bathroom, your hands trembling as you reach for the door handle. You need a moment to breathe. To think.

To figure out what the fuck happened.

The bathroom is as grim as you remember. The light flickers when you turn it on, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. The mirror is streaked with water stains, the sink cluttered with half-used toiletries.

You close the door behind you, locking it with a shaky hand.

And then you catch your reflection.

Your lipstick is barely there anymore, smudged at the edges. Your mascara streaked under your eyes. Your hair is a tangled mess, the carefully straightened strands now knotted and frizzy.

But it’s the rest of you that makes your breath catch.

The dress you wore last night is twisted around your waist, the hem wrinkled and pulled too high. Your thighs are bare. You pull at the fabric, tugging it down, but your hands freeze when you see the faint bruises.

Finger-shaped bruises.

They’re light, barely there, but you know what they are.

Your stomach drops.

You lift the hem of your dress higher, revealing more bruises along your inner thighs. Some small, faint smudges of blue and purple. Some darker.

You press your fingers to them, your skin flinching under your own touch.

Did I fall?

Did I—

Your mind races, scrambling for an explanation, for anything that makes sense.

And then your eyes flicker lower.

Your underwear is backward.

You stare for a long moment, your brain struggling to catch up with what you’re seeing. The waistband digs awkwardly into your hips, the tag twisted around to the front.

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Your stomach churns violently.

You lift the toilet lid, falling to your knees as you retch. There’s nothing in your stomach but bile, burning its way up your throat.

When you’re done, you sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. The bathroom spins around you, your head pounding, your chest heaving with shallow breaths.

You reach for the sink, pulling yourself up slowly, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles turn white.

Your eyes flicker back to your reflection.

The bruises.

The backward underwear.

The ache between your legs.

Did we—

No.

No, no, no.

You grip the sink harder, your nails digging into the porcelain.

‘I don’t remember.’

That’s the worst part.

You don’t remember anything.

You remember seeing him at the club. You remember yelling at him, calling him out for the voicemail. You remember him pulling you outside, the alley reeking of cigarette smoke and beer.

And then it’s all a blur.

Flashes of his voice. His hand on your arm. The way he looked at you — dark, desperate.

But nothing else.

Your chest tightens painfully.

You want to leave.

You need to leave.

You unlock the bathroom door with shaking hands, your heart pounding in your chest as you step back into the bedroom.

But when you step inside —

He’s awake.

Su-bong is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers tangled in his hair. He looks up when he hears you, his gaze locking on yours.

And the first thing you notice?

He’s sober.

There’s no haze in his eyes. No slurred speech. No unsteady hands.

He’s completely sober.

Your stomach twists painfully.

“Morning.”

His voice is soft, tentative.

Like he’s testing the waters.

You don’t say anything.

You take a step toward the nightstand, searching for your phone. Your purse. Anything.

But he stands up slowly, blocking your path.

“Hey.”

His voice is softer now, coaxing.

“You don’t have to run.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“I don’t remember anything,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I don’t—”

“I know.” His eyes soften, his brows pulling together in that familiar expression of concern. “You were really drunk.”

Your heart sinks.

“What happened?”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “You saw me at the club. You… you wanted to come back here.”

You shake your head, your stomach churning.

“I don’t remember that.”

You must’ve been really drunk because from what you remember you weren’t exactly happy too see him. How did you go from fighting with him to begging to be back at his apartment?

“You were drunk,” he says again, like it’s the answer to everything. “It’s okay. I took care of you.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

The bruises.

The backward underwear.

The ache.

“What do you mean, you took care of me?”

His gaze flickers away for a moment, his jaw tightening.

“You wanted to come back,” he says softly. “You told me you missed me. That you wanted to… you know. Talk. Figure things out.”

Your mind spins, scrambling to fill in the blanks.

“I don’t remember,” you whisper again, your voice shaking.

“I know.” He steps closer, his voice low, soothing. “It’s okay. I missed you too.”

He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours.

You flinch.

But he doesn’t pull back.

“I missed you,” he says again, his voice softening. “I love you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. They only hurt so bad because he was saying them now. After everything.

And for a moment —

You don’t know what to believe.

“You were wasted, Y/N.”

His words come soft, careful, like he’s tiptoeing around something fragile. His body language matches it — slouched shoulders, a furrowed brow, the faintest slump in his posture like he’s weighed down by concern.

Your stomach churns.

“I… I wasn’t that drunk.” The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. A lie to yourself, as much as to him. You’d lost count at six shots. At least six. Maybe more.

His lips press into a thin line, a faint shake of his head following. “You could barely stand.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, knuckles trembling.

“I don’t remember…” You force the words out, hating how small they sound, how they let the power tip toward him.

He exhales slowly, running a hand down his face.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. You were crying. Saying you missed me. That you needed me.” He pauses, eyes meeting yours, steady and unwavering. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Just leave you there?”

The breath punches out of you. Crying? Saying you missed him? Needed him?

That couldn’t be true. That can’t be true.

But your mind betrays you. A flash of his hands steadying you on the dance floor. His voice coaxing you into the alley. The warmth of his hand brushing yours.

Pieces fall together, but the picture is fractured, missing the crucial moments. And that’s what he’s counting on.

“I don’t…” Your voice cracks, a fresh wave of panic rolling through you. “I wouldn’t—”

“You did,” he says firmly. Not loud, but firm enough that it cuts through your protest. “You were falling apart, Y/N. I couldn’t just—” He stops, dragging his hand through his hair like he’s trying to collect himself. “I had to help you.”

Help you.

The bruises on your thighs burn like a brand.

“By bringing me here?” you snap, your voice rising. “By—by—” You stop yourself before the question comes tumbling out: Did you touch me?

His face hardens just slightly, enough to send a shiver skittering down your spine. “I wasn’t going to let you go home alone. Not like that. You don’t even know what could’ve happened.”

“What do you mean what could’ve happened?” Your voice cracks, pitching higher, panic seeping in. “What did happen?”

He holds your gaze, and for a moment, his expression softens again. “Nothing happened.”

The words should feel like a relief. They don’t.

“Nothing?” Your voice is small, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

“Nothing,” he repeats, stepping closer. Too close. “You needed me, Y/N. And I was there for you. Like I always have been.”

Always.

Your mind spirals, reaching for anything concrete, any moment from last night that you can grab onto. But it’s all a haze, smothered by the tequila and the smoke and him.

“I don’t…” You press a hand to your temple, the ache blooming there sharp and relentless. “I don’t remember asking to come back here.”

His hand reaches out, brushing against your arm, and you flinch without meaning to.

His eyes darken at that. “You’re scared of me now?”

You want to say yes. But the word lodges itself in your throat, too big to swallow, too dangerous to spit out.

“I’m not scared of you,” you lie.

“Then why are you acting like this?” His voice is soft, low, almost tender. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N. I just—” He stops, his jaw clenching. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And now you’re looking at me like I’m a fucking monster.”

He steps closer. You step back. The space between you feels like it’s shrinking, suffocating.

“Why am I here, Su-bong?” Your voice is stronger now, the edge of panic sharpening it. “Why the fuck was I in your bed?”

He tilts his head slightly, his brows knitting together like you’ve just said something unreasonable. “You wanted to be here.”

“No.” You shake your head, your chest tightening. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t—” Your voice cracks, the words tangling in your throat. “I don’t even remember coming back with you.”

His expression doesn’t shift. “You were drunk,” he says simply. “You don’t have to make this a big deal.”

You laugh — bitter, sharp. “Not a big deal?” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Not a big fucking deal? I don’t even know what happened, Su-bong. I don’t—” Your breath hitches, your stomach twisting violently. The next words catch in your throat, almost too heavy to force out. “Did we—”

You can’t say it. You can barely think it.

“Did we have sex?”

He doesn’t react right away. Not outwardly. But you catch it — the faint flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his gaze shifts to the side before finding yours again.

“Why would you ask me that?” His voice is steady, but there’s something too measured about it, like he’s rehearsed this answer in his head a thousand times.

“Because I don’t fucking know,” you snap, your hands trembling. They curl into fists at your sides, shaking with every ragged breath. “My underwear’s on backwards, Su-bong. I have bruises. And you’re acting—” You stop yourself, your throat tightening painfully. “You’re acting like you did something.”

His jaw tightens again, and this time his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. He exhales slowly, dragging his hand through his hair.

“I didn’t do anything you didn’t want,” he says finally, his tone low but clipped.

It’s not an answer.

It’s not a fucking answer.

“What does that mean?” Your voice rises, panic flaring again. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means you wanted to come back with me,” he says, sharper now, a flash of frustration cutting through the veneer of calm. “You were all over me at the club, Y/N. I told you we shouldn’t—” He cuts himself off abruptly, his fingers raking through his hair again, the strands spiking in every direction. “But you wouldn’t let it go.”

Your stomach twists painfully, the nausea creeping back in full force.

“I wouldn’t let it go?” Your voice cracks, disbelief bleeding into every syllable. “You’re blaming me? You’re saying I—”

“I’m not blaming you.” He exhales sharply, his voice softening just slightly, like he’s trying to rein himself back in. “I’m saying you wanted this. You made that clear.”

“I don’t even remember!” Your voice breaks now, raw and jagged, splintering through the room. “How can I want something I can’t fucking remember?”

He steps closer, and this time you’re too stunned, too frozen, to move.

“Y/N.” His voice drops lower, almost pleading, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to reach for you. “You were drunk, yeah. But you weren’t—” He hesitates, his gaze flickering over your face. “You weren’t out of it. You knew what you were doing.”

The words settle over you like a lead weight, pressing down on your chest until it feels impossible to breathe. Your mind scrambles to piece together the night before, to fill in the blanks, but it’s all fog. Hazy flashes of neon lights and pounding music and his hand on your arm.

“I don’t—” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight in your chest. “I don’t know what to believe.”

His expression softens slightly, his shoulders lowering as he steps closer again, closing the gap between you.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he says, his voice coaxing, soothing. He reaches for your hand, brushing his fingers against yours.

You flinch.

The motion is small, instinctive. But he catches it, his gaze darkening for a fraction of a second before he carefully, deliberately pulls his hand back.

“I don’t know what else to say to you,” he murmurs, his tone taking on a faint edge of frustration again. “I tried to do the right thing, Y/N. I could’ve left you at the club. I could’ve let you go home alone. But I didn’t.”

He looks at you, his eyes steady and unwavering, and you hate how much they make your stomach twist.

“I stayed.” He takes another step forward, close enough now that you can smell the faint trace of his cologne, mingling with the smoke and stale alcohol lingering in the room. “Because you needed me.”

You press your back against the wall, your hands gripping the hem of your dress so tightly it crumples in your fists.

“I don’t remember needing you,” you say, your voice small but sharp, each word cutting through the thick tension in the room.

His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. When he looks up again, there’s something different in his eyes. Something dark.

“Then maybe you should ask yourself why you’re here.”

The question hits like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

And in the silence that follows, he steps back, his expression shifting to something softer, more familiar.

“I missed you,” he says, his voice low, almost tender. “And I know you missed me too.”

“Just… stay.”

The word hangs in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

Stay.

You want to run. You want to grab your things and get out of this apartment, out of this nightmare, and never look back. But your legs won’t move. Your feet feel glued to the floor, weighed down by doubt and fear and something else—something softer, something that aches when he looks at you like this.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” you whisper.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. But when he speaks, his voice is soft. Vulnerable.

“I know.” His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, then back to you. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way. But I’m not the guy I was before, Y/N. I’m trying. I’m trying to be better.”

You hate how much those words hurt. How much you want to believe them.

“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” you say, your voice trembling. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“You did,” he says firmly. “Maybe you don’t remember, but you did.”

The words cut through you like a blade, sharp and cold. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to believe him.

But the tequila haze clouds everything, blurring the edges of the truth.

“Just give me a chance,” he says, stepping closer again. “Let me prove it to you. Let me—” He stops himself, his voice catching. “Let me fix this.”

Your throat tightens, the weight of his words pressing down on you, crushing.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper.

He reaches for your hand again, and this time, you don’t pull away. His fingers are warm, steady, wrapping around yours like they belong there. Like they always have.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says again. His voice is so soft, so careful. “Just stay. Please.”

Your chest heaves, your breath shallow and uneven.

And then—

Your phone buzzes.

The sound cuts through the tension like a knife, sharp and jarring. You jerk your hand away from his, your heart leaping into your throat as you spin toward the nightstand.

Your phone is lying there, screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Ji-hye’s name flashes across the screen.

Your stomach twists violently.

Su-bong doesn’t move. He stands frozen in place, his gaze fixed on you. You don’t look at him. You don’t want to see whatever’s written on his face.

You grab the phone, your fingers trembling as you swipe to open the message.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗(9:04 AM): You good? Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.

Your breath catches, your chest tightening painfully.

“Who is it?” Su-bong’s voice cuts through the silence, low and steady, but there’s an edge to it now.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Instead, you take a shaky step back, clutching the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Y/N.” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but there’s a sharpness beneath it, something dark and unyielding. “Who was it?”

“Ji-hye.” The name barely makes it out of your mouth, your voice cracking on the second syllable.

He hums, low and quiet. “What did she say?”

You glance down at the screen again, the words burning into your retinas. You good? Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.

You don’t know what to say.

What can you say?

“Y/N,” he says again, stepping closer. His voice drops lower, quieter, like he’s trying to keep you from bolting. “Talk to me.”

Your chest heaves, your breath coming faster now. “I need to go.”

The words feel weak, hollow, and you hate how they tremble as they leave your lips.

“Go where?” His question is quiet, but there’s a weight to it that makes your stomach turn.

“Away from here.”

The second the words are out, his expression shifts. The softness in his gaze hardens, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“If you walk out that door…” He trails off, his voice cutting off like he’s biting down on the rest of the sentence.

Your heart races, panic rising in your chest. “What?”

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tightening. “If you walk out that door, you’ll never see me again.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs.

There’s a finality to them, an edge that cuts too deep. You don’t know what he means — if he’s talking about leaving your life or leaving altogether — but it doesn’t matter.

It scares you.

And he knows it.

His gaze stays locked on yours, unflinching, unwavering. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, the sound startling you. You glance down at the screen.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗(9:06 AM): If you’re with him, just leave. I’ll come get you.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

Su-bong takes another step closer. “You don’t have to leave.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “We can talk. We can figure this out. But if you walk away now…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. The threat lingers in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, Ji-hye’s message flashing like a lifeline in your palm.

“Y/N.” His voice is softer now, pleading. “Stay.”

You look up at him, your chest heaving, your mind spinning.

And in that moment, you don’t know what scares you more; the thought of staying, or the thought of leaving.

[dumbkiri]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 3

χα∂єη яισяѕση χ ƒ! мαιяι! яєα∂єя

ρℓσт: Training. RSC. Bodhi. Xaden. Can anything get worse than the future you see for yourself? The dream of falling out of the dark sky with a shrill roar of heartbreak? No, you think your fate is sealed in stone.

(slight Bodhi bc ngl im feeling this sweet goober)

PART THREE

TW: MENTIONS OF SUICIDE

Training Violet wasn’t so bad after all. 

However she did talk too much, always reciting some story, the Codex or a book to keep herself motivated. You could never get her to close her mouth these past days. She asked too many questions about your signet and this time, you chucked your dagger into the tree she was kicking to get her to shut up. 

“Seriously, Sorrengail,” Your shoulders dropped in defeat, yet tone laced with a threat “If I have to hear another word come out of your mouth instead of a grunt, I will cut your tongue out.”

Violet’s eyes turned away from you and she went back to kicking the tree. Good, she is smart after all. 

“Tairn told me that Sgaeyl watched you kill six people during your Threshing.”

You don’t see what Xaden sees in her. Everyone goes off about how smart Violet is, but here she stands testing your patience. Perhaps the feeling of a new person stirred something inside of him. The excitement of sneaking around and-

“She said that if Xaden never existed, she would have chosen you.” 

“Then it’s a good thing he does,” You grumbled, your face falling into your hands. Damn it, if she doesn’t understand your story or relationship with Xaden she’s just going to keep talking. 

“Come join me over here,” You tear your hands from your face and gesture to the spot in front of the boulder you sat on. 

Violet, slightly limping from the extensive exercise, made her way over to you and sat on the dirt ground across from you. 

“Since you cannot focus on your training, ask me only three questions,” You leaned back on your palms and looked at her expectantly. 

“Why did you kill those people? Were you fighting them to have Lenin claim you?” 

You narrowed your eyes at the ground and shook your head, “No.” Then you looked back at her, “These people were bullies, picture Jack Barlowe cloned six times and have them band up together. That is the type of group that targeted me. Although it was a woman that led the group and her name was Lara, she is the seventh. Lenin killed her and I swear, I can hear her pleas and the way her body crunched in his mouth.”

Violet, appalled by your description leaned in, “Lenin didn’t burn her? Tairn burned-” 

“Nah, Lenin saw my memories and knew about all the pain she put me through. He wanted her to suffer and I’m telling you it was a very scary situation.” You huffed out a laugh without humor. 

“We were surrounded by a dense fog, you could barely see five feet in front of you. I just got done killing the sixth when Lara froze up. I thought maybe she couldn’t believe that I killed all her friends. Hell I barely remember killing them, it was like I was possessed.”

Again, you can feel the rain wash the blood from your enemies tainted on your body. You spun your dagger with your middle finger remembering the feeling so well. Like it happened yesterday. Your heart pounded against your chest, the breath that left your lips vaporized, your muscles forced you to move on to your next target.

You cleared your throat and said, “When I finally moved to her, having the itch to drive my dagger into her heart that is when I felt that tugging Professor Kaori informed us about. Then I heard his voice way before his tail came in, swiping her from under the floor. Can you imagine it? Having Tairn hide in the dark fog, his deep voice rumbling in your head?”

Violet nodded her head, “I think I can, but he says his son is very attached to you. It’s why Lenin showed no mercy to that Lara woman.” 

You smile back at her, “Because I’m his first rider. I’m sure Sgaeyl and Tairn have told Lenin about their previous riders. That the death of a rider isn’t improbable. So Lenin is attached to my hip, and he’s still young. We got a special bond going on. He makes me stronger.” 

“My cloak and dagger,” Lenin hummed with gratification, his feelings drowning you through the bond. You swear he felt a strong desire to protect you. Not wanting to give you a Rider’s death. One of pain and suffering. Lenin does not want to almost die like his father because of a rider. 

“You will not die.” Lenin ordered.

“Are you and Xaden dating?” 

What a weird question to ask. It’s almost fucked up to ask. Xaden hasn’t spared time for you and she wants to ask if you’re dating him? She should know Xaden is wrapped around her finger and yep, you’re starting to hate the both of them for their audacity. Xaden’s jealousy and Violet’s insensitive question got you riled up. This honestly pissed you off and you didn’t hold back questioning Tairn’s decision for this girl. 

“Lenin, can you ask your dad if he really chose her for her intelligence?”

“I wouldn’t answer her question, Dagger,” Lenin said, “Almost seems like a trap.”

You take his words into consideration. How would this be a trap? If you said the truth, which is no, would she go on pursuing Xaden? Not that it matters anymore. You lost Xaden to her. Watching them together made you feel blue. Out with the old and in with the new. 

You shook your head and sighed, “Dating didn’t seem problematic for us. We might as well have been with the amount of times we’ve slept together.” 

Suddenly his scars came to mind the moment you thought about him. The pain he burdened himself to keep all the children alive. Violet’s mother, the one who made him go through that, showed no mercy to him. He paid the price of mercy, you reminded yourself and your heart grew heavy with the reminder. 

How can he look at Violet and think she’s the one for him. Especially after what her mother did to him. 

“You asked three questions,” You pointed at her tree, “Now go back to kicking.” 

Violet looked at you like she wanted to say more, yet she held her tongue for once. Then she started kicking the tree with her right leg. She couldn’t get your words out of her head, and she asked with heavy breaths, “What do you mean by ‘dating didn’t seem problematic’? Why didn’t you guys-” 

When she turned back around to direct the last bit of her question to you, you were gone. 

“[Name]?” She called out into the silent day. 

……

“Well this is probably the worst group I’d want to be in,” You muttered under your breath, sitting across from Dain. He gave you a look that said he’d rather be kidnapped with someone else too. You’d forgotten about the whole kidnapping part in the RSC. 

Then he straightened out his back, trying to size you up it seemed. Dain spoke with slight annoyance, focusing on how close you and Imogen stuck to one another, “We have to work together, and believe me. If I had a choice, I would be stuck with another group.” 

“Since you’re Colonel Aetos’ son couldn’t you, I don’t know,” You waved your hand lazily, “Get your way with a group for RSC?” 

“I like to do things by the rules, Mairi,” Dain huffed. 

You laughed with your shoulders, “Oh yeah, I forgot about you and your rules. God, no wonder Violet moved on to Xaden. Your girl just stole my man because you couldn’t keep a tight leash on her.” 

“Maybe it was you,” Dain bit back, not liking how you pulled Violet into the conversation, “Aren’t you two supposed to be endgame? Xaden had no problem flaunting you like a trophy, but like every trophy…they’re left on the shelf. To be looked at as a memory of the past.” 

You shook your head and said unbothered, “Ouch. Although I’m glad you described me as a trophy, it’s better than a rebound. Or gum stuck under someone’s boot.” 

“You’re starting to piss me off, [Name],” Dain spat as he rose from his seat. 

You stood up to meet him halfway, “Oh no, did I break a rule doing so? Hurt your fragile ego?” You reached for your dagger at your hip and forgot that you’ve been unarmed. Well that ruined your threatening nature because Dain’s frustrated look turned into a smirk as he looked down at you. 

“Listen, we need to share our secrets with one another,” Pam said, growing tired of the back and forth between you and Dain, “ I also feel like there’s some sexual tension you’re sharing with one another.” 

Appalled, you and Dain reeled back in utter disgust.

“Fuck no.” 

“Hell no.” 

Pam laughed and shrugged her shoulders, “Your responses are close enough too. It’s not wrong for the both of you to get together especially after being replaced.” 

“She’s right,” Imogen crossed her arms over her chest and when she saw the hurt on your face, she corrected herself, “we need to focus on the secret part. Mine is I’ve slept with [Name] twice before her relationship with Xaden was even a thing.” 

“Imogen!” You shouted, pink tinting your face, “That is like the ultimate secret! It’s supposed to stick with us. Now they know!” 

She shrugged her shoulders and said, “That's the whole point of this RSC training, woman. I didn’t describe our situation and-“ 

“Can I use the same secret?” You asked, interrupting her so she really wouldn’t say anything else and Dain shook his head. 

“Nice try.” 

Rolling your eyes, you thought hard about a secret. You really didn’t have any. Besides Xaden and the rebellion…revolution. Fuck, do you know if it’ll be fine to say your signet is stronger? 

“[Name], what’s yours?” Pam asked. You must have missed hers and Dain’s when you were thinking of one. 

You looked at Imogen then back to Dain. Yep, you were really doing this. 

“I can cloak more than two people.” 

“What.” Pam and Dain stared at you incredulously. 

“I can cloak more than two people,” You reiterated. 

“[Name], that’s…amazing! You can-“ 

“It’s dangerous,” Dain cut in, his eyes narrowed with a threat. You knew what he was implying. You can cloak three or more Marked people without the chance of getting caught. You have done so many times. Not that he needs this information.

Now he could ruin everything by telling his dad this shit. You put yourself and everyone else in danger with this secret out. 

“Look,” You said with a grim smile, “If anything it allows us to escape this RSC exercise. We can be the first group to achieve this.” 

You tried to make things better for you. Keyword: tried. The way you caught Imogen giving you a hard stare implied that she really wasn’t happy about you spilling this secret. 

“You’re right!” Pam jumped up from her seat and said, “Your cloak will trick the interrogators when they come back in! We can just hang in the back and wait.” 

Without a word, your cloak moved over them and they shuddered in the cold. You wanted to get this thing over with, as fast as you can so Imogen could wipe their memory. 

“I’m sorry, it’s a new feeling, but you’ll get used to it.” 

“I can’t believe you can do this,” Dain whispered, entranced by the darkness that covered him. 

“I only started doing this when Professor Kaori caught Bodhi and I-” You shook your head and said, “Professor Kaori told me I should work on my signet because it’s unique. So I did, not everyone knows I can do this. It’s why it's a secret, a really huge one.” 

“I don’t understand why you’d keep it a secret,” Dain muttered, “With you being a Marked one-” 

“Aetos, shut your mouth,” You whispered and the door to the classroom opened up. 

Show time. 

……

“Bodhi, I messed up.” 

Your eyes skimmed over the bruises on his muscled arms in deep thought over the consequences that may follow you. This is how you should have come out of RSC two days ago. Or at least one of your group members. 

Recovering from bruises and a rough interrogation. Instead your group walked out because of your signet, easy as pie. No bruises, not cuts or fractured bones. You guys walked out of the room under your cloak. Being invisible to the eye really worked wonders. 

The patch on your flight jacket didn’t even bring joy to you. You earned it at what cost…

“How so?” He hummed while resting his head back onto your pillow. He stared at you with his crown of black curls framing his handsome face. God, those eyes melted your worries away until you remember the hardened ones that belonged to Dain. 

You were in deep shit. Shit you couldn’t swim your way out of even if you did have help. No one wants to help someone who literally dug their own grave.

With Bodhi’s knees bent, you leaned over them with your arms crossed on top of them. 

You didn’t dare look back into his eyes, afraid of the initial reaction. You can barely stand the one Imogen gives you now. 

She didn’t outwardly tell you, but you knew she had to tell Xaden. To warn him and the others that your signet is out. You’re going to be monitored by all the professors and more importantly, Dain. 

“I told Dain Aetos that I can cloak multiple people as my secret for the interrogation.” 

“Oh.” 

Great. You pulled away from him, but he was quick to catch your hands in his. And he tugged you down to him, “You didn’t let me finish.” 

“What is there to say? I fucked up and when Xaden catches wind of this…I’m utterly screwed.” You tried one more time to pull away from him, yet his arms circled around your waist with gentle care. 

“Please listen to what I have to say then you can wallow about the future.” 

“If I have one,” You muttered, rolling your eyes. This made him chuckle and lift you a little higher to his face. Your head rested on his chest and he began playing with the strands of your hair. 

“We know, everyone knows that you told Dain this. Do I think telling the guy who can search through memories that you can cloak multiple people is a good idea…no.” He said flatly, his fingers running through your hair. 

“But do I think your mind is a strong force to penetrate, yes. Why do you think Xaden spent all his time questioning you, he can never read you. Yet he reads the rest of us like open books. Our shields mean jack shit to him. My point is; Xaden isn’t worried about you spilling anything because he trusts that fortress inside your head too much. We all do.” 

“Bodhi, that is the literal point,” You worriedly argued, “I’m going to be questioned and have my memories searched. Just because Xaden can't "read" my mind like he does you- do you really think I’m safe within these walls now that my signet is-”

You started to worry about the truth of your signet. You can move objects now. If Dain finds out about this-

“They don’t know your signet, [Name],” Bodhi reassured, “They don’t realize the real strength you have. You still have a dagger up your sleeve. You just told Dain the easiest part of your signet.” 

He moved his hand down to your shoulder and rubbed up and down your arm. He shared his warmth with you and you can feel sleep gradually whisk you away as time went on in the silence. His relaxed breathing lulled you to sleep as you both got comfortable on your bed. 

Tomorrow you will think more about the consequences. Right now, you will happily enjoy Bodhi’s gentle company. 

……

“Liam, listen to me!” You begged, grabbing onto his hand. 

“No, you listen,” Liam shouted back, his blue eyes glaring into your soul, “I’m sorry, alright? I haven’t spent any time with you and I’m sorry. But you know how important it is to keep Violet alive! I’m doing a favor for everyone and I’m sorry you can’t get past the hatred you have towards her. It’s not my fault Xaden forgot you! It’s not my fault Violet is easier to be around with!” 

Shattered. 

Your brother heaved as he focused on his breathing, to get all the air he let out into yelling at you. Deigh’s throat rumbled in dissatisfaction, looming over Liam and you paid no attention to the dragon that wanted to claim you before Lenin got to you. 

Although Deigh must have said something to your brother, the way his eyes softened at your desperate expression forced himself to calm down. 

“[Name], those last parts- I didn’t mean…” His words drowned out in the back of his throat because the look you gave him broke his heart. 

“I just want you to save yourself,” You whispered, then your hands pushed against his sturdy chest. The anger in you boiled inside and you had to let it out, let it out, “but if you want to die then do it! Kill yourself and leave Sloane to deal with me! You’d leave her alone with the worst older sibling, is that what you want? To have our baby sister hate Violet, your precious best friend! To have Sloane deal with me!” 

“I want them to live!”

“And I want you to live!” You countered back. 

Liam sighed heavily, burdened by the choice of his sisters or everyone’s fate, “We all can’t get what we want. Whatever ends up happening, I will still be your brother. You should know that I love you and Sloane and I will do anything to come back to you guys.” 

“This isn’t just for love,” You stressed the words in your sentence, “This more than that. Losing you, I-I cannot let that happen.”

Liam enveloped you into his hug, he felt like nothing. 

“I’ll be safe, I won’t do anything reckless.”

……

The moon never looked so pretty. You always looked at it with privilege and now you enjoyed the graceful light. It stared at you, enveloped you in a chill that allowed you to accept your fate. 

Because if Liam can sacrifice himself for Violet, why can’t you make the same sacrifice for him?

You fell in what felt like slow motion as you kept your eyes on the moon. Liam was right. Sloane would be better off with him alive and mourning you. She needed him more than you, the bitter sister of the Mairi Family. 

“Hold on, Dagger!”

No, you didn’t want to. You’re too far gone. The edges of your vision darkened, but the moon still kept its beautiful glow on you as it watched you fall. What a beautiful sight to close your eyes to. The last image of your ending. 

Then your ears hurt at the sound of a piercing cry of a weak roar. One that begged you to keep your eyes open. One that said, don’t leave me. 

............................

taglist: @luvly-writer @desprrssooo-espresssooooo @blueeclipsepaperstudent @honethatty12 @poeticbookwormcat @cheappremingerfromdelululand @eep500 @littlepippilongstocking @86laura11 @lxnvmvrzx @what-will-be-your-verse @sheblogs @fangirling-galore @callsigns-haze @side-angel @faeofthemoonandstars @jesschalamet @abysshaven @bisexualbitchsgotass @books-hlmc @r0sluvs SHIII SOME TAGGED PEEPS ARENT TAGGING WHHYYYYY

[omegaseverywhere]

Omega!Ghost who did not put down your file the moment Laswell said you would be joining Taskforce 141. Who took one look at your face, your rank, your skillset and felt his clit throb. Who, when he caught a whiff of your scent, had a panic attack in the bathroom because he couldn't stop slicking. Omega!Ghost who stalks behind you silently, staring. Sometimes, he's in the corner of the room. Sometimes, hes right behind you. Multiple times a day, you will turn around and he will be there, just looking at you. Locked in. Pupils dilated. He can't help it. He likes looking at you. (Gaz had to take you aside and tell you that no, Ghost isn't hunting you. He really isn't. I know...I know it feels like it but I promise-)

Omega!Ghost who says nothing to you for weeks after you meet. Not a damn thing. Not even when you both are with the other members of the taskforce. And because he doesn't say anything for a while, when he does - a little awkward compliment that reminds you of Shang from Mulan - you nearly shit yourself. Omega!Ghost who casually threatens anyone he hears may have a thing for you. Other Omegas. Betas. Alphas. Anyone can catch his hands. "You'll never find the body isn't a great threat. A better one would be "They'll be finding your body parts for months...and you'll be alive for at least one of them." (Price had to stop him because recruits were dropping like flies) Omega!Ghost who had a DNR tattoo and offical medical DNR papers to match but no longer does because of you. He believed no one would ever miss him. You proved him wrong, therefore he will now fight Death itself in your name if it comes to it. Omega!Ghost who has no idea how to court or show someone he's interested. Who also knows he's a giant tank of a man who can probably rip a person in half with his bare hands. Who decides that 'Alpha's like a strong mate right? S what Google says.' Who starts lifting random heavy objects when you are around for no reason.

Omega!Ghost who found out you took lunch in your car on Fridays when not on a mission and decided to join you once and then promptly exited the vehicle when you asked him why he decided to deadlift the fridge that morning. He was not prepared for that and he made a split second decision to leave immediately. (Soap is still laughing about it)

Omega!Ghost who is relieved when you start making moves. Who sinks into you so quickly, falling into his barely used Omega instincts to chirp and purr and submit. Who beams behind his mask when you order him food and drinks, when you leave him a scent-fused hoodie, when you train with him and push him to go harder...you aren't together but you will be and it makes him so happy.

Omega!Ghost who only agrees to go through a heat to purge his body if you are around to guard him. He isn't going to ask you to join him - because he isn't sure if either of you are ready for that - but he wants you to guard him. He trusts you to guard him. Keep him safe.

Omega!Ghost who, when asked if he was going to guard you during your rut, wondered why it was even a question. He was going to do that regardless. No one is getting to you. He'll rip people apart with his teeth if they think they have the balls to approach your rutting room.

Omega!Ghost who gets an incredibly thorough examination done just to see if he has any damage that would prevent him from having pups. He never thought about pups before but now that he's met an Alpha that he wouldn't mind having pups with, he needs to know. He frames the report that tells him that he's perfectly fertile.

Omega!Ghost whose purr is the loudest thing about him. Its very much giving motorcycle revving. He always hated it but it seemed to be the only thing that kept you stable when you were being evacuated, unconscious, and bleeding out from three separate bullet wounds so he doesn't think its so bad anymore.

Omega!Ghost who gets gooey when you scent the inside of his masks when he has to go on his own missions. Its grounding, having your scent nearby. Keeps him focused. Keeps him determined to not fuck anything up. Keeps him coming home.

Omega!Ghost who makes a horrifically embarrassing noise the moment you knot him for the first time and feeling grateful that you are too preoccupied with burying your fangs in his neck to claim him to notice. He does, however, notice the noise you make when he bites you back and teases you for it for the rest of your lives.

[peppermintkissesxoxo]

Dress Up

Poly!Rosekiller x gn!Reader

Cw: boys dress up reader, d/s dynamics bc it’s Evan, objectification kinda? Boys treat reader like a doll essentially

🥀

You feel like a doll.

Standing on the plush emerald rug in the middle of your walk in closet, frilly panties and a matching bra are your only cover while your boyfriends hold up various clothing articles to your body and debate which one you’re wearing for dinner.

This isn’t a new occurrence. Date night means the boys get to play dress up with you. It’s an agreed thing that you practically signed up for when getting into a relationship with them. But no matter how often they do it, it doesn’t stop a certain heat from seeping into your cheeks.

They love to dote on you, spoil you excessively if you will. It was hard to accept at first. The lavish gifts and constant attention, but you’ve learned to love it. To expect it.

That doesn’t mean you don’t like to push the boundaries of their playtime a little bit.

“I think the velvet goes best with those little white socks. The ones with the lace.” Evan murmurs, brows furrowed and deep in thought as he eyes a black velvet babydoll dress. Probably too short to be appropriate but that’s never deterred them. As Barty has said numerous times ‘you can wear whatever you like, treasure. We can fight.’

While they’re distracted you stray from your set position on the rug, thumbing through a few items and attempting to pull out a different dress when you feel a hand batting yours away. And then another pulling you back to the middle of the room and straightening up your posture.

“I told you to stand still, poppet.” Evan says, an unimpressed scowl on his lips. His grip on your arm while not harsh is firm.

A petulant huff escapes your lips, shoulders slouching forward in defiance before Evan quickly pushes them back into to place with heavy palms

“Was just looking…” You murmur, a bit embarrassed at his chastising and manhandling. But you know Evan takes this dress up time very seriously. It’s almost amusing how dedicated he is to dolling you up.

“And you know the rules,” he chides.

“Don’t you get yourself in trouble now, tres.” Barty snickers, currently bent at the waist and rummaging through a box of socks and stockings.

You grumble under you breath but quickly right yourself when you catch the look Evan is giving you. He’s silent but it rings loud.

Strike one.

With a swallow you look down to your fingers, twisting them and avoiding his gaze. “Okay. I’ll stay still,” you concede.

A soft pinch to your hip startles you. “You better. Would hate for you to get to strike three on date night,” he muses.

“Okay, well you don’t have to be mean about it,” you joke, half flustered and barely keeping it together at his thinly veiled threat.

The corner of his lip twitches up. His pinches your chin between his fingers and swoops down to your height. “F’course I do. A little doll like you needs a firm hand, don’t you? Need to be taken care of and spoiled. And sometimes you need someone else to do thinking for you. Cause you’re just a little doll, hmm?” He coos, the sound so condescending yet sweet that it has your head swimming in ditzy confusion.

Before you can even fully process how fuzzy you feel, Evan is back to his outfit searching. Paying no mind to your flustered state.

It’s safe to say you’re quite docile for the rest of their ‘playtime.’

[selfindulgenceisthekey]

If You Thought It Was Real Pt. VI

Pt. I Pt. II Pt. III Pt. IV Pt. V

“What made you join him?”

The chopping of the vegetables made a rhythmic sound, coupled with the soft laughter and shouting sounds from the deck. Sanji hummed at your question, not taking his eyes off his task, though you knew his attention had been directed to you.

“You had told me a bit about the restaurant you worked at before,” You continued, “I guess I don’t see how someone goes from that to… piracy.”

“Well, I was raised by an ex-pirate,” He responded, a light dusting of humor in his voice as he finished with the vegetables, moving to place them in the pot on the stove, “So it wasn’t that much of a stretch.”

He wiped his hands off, eyes drifting to stare out the window, lost in his thoughts. You waited, genuine curiosity bubbling in your chest. After another moment of silence, he turned to you, blue eye shining in the sunlight, a smile on his face as he leaned on his elbows, face inches from yours.

“Have you heard of the All Blue?”

“Dear, you really need to eat.”

You stared at him, eyes narrowed, silence having sewn your lips together. He just sighed, as if this was a silly tantrum to him. The plate of food was left untouched, despite the grumbling in your stomach. You’d gotten weak being around them for so long, normally, it took at least three days of no food for it to start hitting you. Now it’s been barely over a day since you woke up, and you were fighting yourself to avoid the plate of food.

“Was it not to your liking? I can make something else, feed this to Luffy.” He was joking now, voice light and soft as he continued to direct questions towards you.

It was perfect, you could tell just by looking at it, smelling it. It was your favorite meal, something he’d learned and memorized within the first two days of knowing you. His kindness was bordering on cruelty at this point.

“But if you don’t begin eating on your own accord, then Chopper’s going to have to step in,” This was the first borderline threat he’s made towards you, and the name of their doctor made you sit up straighter, “He isn’t happy I’ve let you go so long without eating, but I told him you just needed time, and you’d eat on your own.”

“And if I don’t?”

There was silence as he stared at you, a soft hum coming from him, before he made his way towards the sick bay door, “I believe Chopper called it— what was it? A percutaneous endoscopic gastrostomy, a feeding tube. He’s never had to do it with any of us before, but he has had to do the procedure.”

A feeding tube? You felt the blood run cold in your veins. Sanji just smiled, “I’ll be back with something else, maybe something softer on your stomach. Chopper will check in on you in a bit.”

Chopper will check in to make sure you are eating, basically.

The door shut behind him, soft as he did so, but it echoed in your mind.

“The All Blue?” You blinked, head tilting curiously, “What’s that?”

How he loved it when people asked him that. It filled him with some level of childlike glee. Luffy often told him he had an “All Blue Smile”, and he couldn’t even argue against it.

“It’s a mystical sea,” He began, and you leaned closer, ever so slightly, “It’s a sea where all the waters connect, fish from everywhere— East Blue, West Blue, North Blue, South Blue— can be found. For a chef, it’s a dream. It’s somewhere in the Grand Line, and I’m going to be the one to find it.”

He didn’t even bother trying to hide the happiness in his voice, and it seemed like it was contagious. You were smiling back, eyes shining as you reflected his excitement.

“What are you going to do when you find it?”

When, not if. 

That small detail had his smile growing. 

“I’m going to open my own restaurant, have a world-class menu. I’ll show that old bastard Zeff how much better my recipes are.”

The giggle that fell from your lips had his heart racing in his chest, and he had to tear his eyes away from your smiling face, lest he burn dinner. 

“Did you talk to her?”

Chopper sounded nervous, turning to stand on one of the dining chairs, peering at him.

“I did,” He handed the uneaten plate to Luffy, who happily scarfed down the room temperature food, “I’m making something specific for her, something lighter. I told her you’d be in to check on her a bit after.”

Chopper huffed, turning back in his seat, plopping down.

“I don’t want to use the feeding tube, but she needs to eat!” He was back on his previous explanation, and Sanji wasn’t sure if he was trying to justify it to himself or to Sanji, “Her body needs the proper nutrients to heal all her injuries!” 

“Sanji,” Luffy was whining, the empty plate quite literally licked clean, “Can I have more?”

“No,” He didn’t even turn to look at his captain, pulling out a small portion of different ingredients to make you a bowl of chicken congee, something Zoro had introduced him to at a smaller island months back.

“Please!” He ignored the begging sent his way, the plate having been aggressively placed in the sink.

Chopper was still muttering to himself at the table, quiet enough that Sanji knew he didn’t need to hear it. Luffy was whining wordlessly, and Sanji tuned it out easily. 

“What about you?”

“What made me join Luffy?” The question dropped from your lips sarcastically, and he laughed, head thrown back some.

“What’s your dream?”

The question, however small it was, seemed to change the mood immediately. You went quiet, the smile on your face freezing, before slowly fading. You blinked a few times, pulling your hands to your lap.

“I… don’t think I have a dream.”

The sadness in your voice struck him deep, and he angled himself to watch you.

“It doesn’t have to be something grand,” He did his best to keep his voice soft, “It can be anything.”

You seemed to take those words in, and he let you sit there for a few moments, the kitchen quiet.

The sick bay was becoming a regular sight for him at this point, as he opened the door. You were still sat on the bed, blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cape. His movement caught your eye, and you glanced up, gaze falling to the small bowl in his hands. It was steaming, fresh, and hot. Chopper offered to crush up some sedative pills, just enough to calm you down, but Sanji refused. You’d come around, he knew you would.

“I made some chicken congee,” He stepped forward, placing the glass of water down on the table next to you, dragging the seat closer to you, “Easy on the stomach, and good for you. Chopper says you need more nutrients to helps you heal.”

He held tight to the bowl, watching for your reaction. In his ideal world, you’d let him spoon-feed you. Second to that, you’d take the bowl and eat it yourself. If you refused this meal, not even Luffy would be able to stop their doctor on a mission.

It was silent, thick, and heavy as you both sat still. Finally, you reached forward, grabbing the bowl from his hands. He could tell from the way you moved, you were doing your best to avoid any and all physical contact. That stung, but he’d ignore it for now. You were still processing everything, after all.

He couldn’t help but smile as you slowly began eating, and even as you kept your movements calm and slow, he could see in your eyes as your hunger hit you full force. He knew that look, and he was just grateful you’d taken to eating by yourself. 

It was late that night, the sky was dark, stars shining through. The dock and town were glittering with lanterns and lights, a few people were bustling about. Most of the crew had retired, and those who remained were the pair of you, Robin and Franky, and Brook. Though the other three gave you both some space.

“I think,” Your voice was quiet, so soft he swore it almost got swept up in the gentle breeze, “That if I were to say I have a dream it would just be to be… happy. To be free.”

You didn’t look his way, eyes far away as you stared out at the water. The tides were low, he could count the coral and the starfish if he so pleased. You didn’t elaborate, didn’t say anything, or look his way. 

He knew that feeling, all too well. Most of them did. 

He wrapped one arm around you, pulling you towards his chest. As you settled into his chest, ear against his heart, he swore to himself he’d do whatever he could to make you happy.

He’d get you that freedom and happiness, no matter what.

Taglist: @hannahbarberra162 @sagyunaro @twismare @nerium21 @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @glaciuswduo @thekatisspooky @kultofkorii @cr4zybeach @ceramic-raven @theweirdgirl606 @jjsmeowthie @dinnersyummy @jetblackw1ngs @mizzhellsingsstuff @naheku @onepieceofass @zoecelestine @1sosleepyy @rururgent @flow33didontsmoke @mizzhellsingsstuff @maria-chwan @honestlywtfisgoingon @qalable

[brookediamonds]

we should stick together | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Request: can you do an axel fan fic where him and reader were a couple  and zara is reader best friend them them three and  are sensei Wolf top pupils and that they were a threat to the competition and that miyagi-do kids were afraid of them after seeing them how easy they defeated them in a event Thank you so so much :)

Request: oh i love zara and reader having such a good friendship! maybe reader being axels gf but when she is with zara they are menaces and a deadly fighting duo

Summary: A free trip to Barcelona with your best friend and boyfriend with that thing you like to do... karate.

Word Count: 1.2k Warnings: None, fluff, mentions of drinking

gif is not mine

You sat on the ground, one leg extended as Axel knelt beside you, his strong hands pressing gently against your back to help you stretch deeper.

His touch was firm yet careful, never pushing too far.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice low. "This tension is just gonna slow you down."

You exhaled, sinking further into the stretch as Axel stayed steady behind you. "Easy for you to say. You didn't spend half the night tossing it back with Zara."

Axel huffed a quiet laugh, his fingers tracing lightly over your shoulder as he helped ease you back up. "I told you not to over do it last night."

"But I love when you take care of me," you pout remembering the way he cradled you in his arms after you climbed in next to him after your night of fun.

You studied him for a beat, taking in the way his usual guarded expression softened just for you.

"You worried about me?" you teased, nudging his knee with your foot.

"Ohhh, should I be jealous, or are we finally accepting that I’m the superior training partner?" Zara approached you two, her expression smug as she cracked her knuckles.

She plopped down next to you, barely sparring a glance to your boyfriend, grinning as she laid her legs over your outstretched ones.

"Come on, babe, ditch the boyfriend. Let’s give these people a real show."

Axel rolled his eyes at her comment, muttering something under his breath, but you just laughed, playfully shoving her off you.

"Girls," Sensei Wolf approached the three of you, a stern look written upon his face. You and Zara pulled apart, sitting up straight in your spot. "Quit fooling around. You two are up next for the platform challenge."

He rolls his eyes before walking back to the rest of the team.

"He needs to get laid," Zara comments making you giggle.

"No, seriously," you agree moving to stretch out your other leg.

"You two are the reason Sensei Wolf is always so damn stern," Axel quipped, shaking his head.

"Right, right," you nod, responding sarcastically.

They soon announce the next event, signaling it was time for the platform competition.

You and Zara make your way to the elevated stage, hopping up one by one.

Axel held your hand as you climbed up, squeezing it just before you can walk away.

"You’ve got this," he states, voice steady but knowing. "Not that you need the luck, but, show them why they should be afraid."

You gave him a sly smile and nodded. "Yes sir."

On the opposite side, two familiar figures stepped onto the elevated mat. Miyagi-Do.

Your lips curled into a smirk as you met their eyes. It was time to put on a show.

The referee gave a short nod. "Begin!"

You and Zara launch first, wasting no time. Your opponents—two Miyagi-Do fighters, moved defensively, their stances rooted in precision and patience.

But they weren’t prepared for the sheer force of your offense. Zara struck first, weaving through a defensive block and slamming her elbow into her opponent’s side, forcing them back.

You followed suit, executing a sharp roundhouse kick that sent the second fighter stumbling dangerously close to the platform's edge.

Miyagi-Do was disciplined, but you and Zara were relentless. The synergy between you was almost effortless, when one of you attacked, the other was already setting up the next strike.

Zara swept low, knocking her opponent off balance, and with a final shove, they toppled off the platform onto the padded mats below.

You had lost count of the remaining fighters but when they announce, "Miguel Diaz will the last Miyagi-Do to take on the Terror Twins!" You knew it wasn't over.

He surged forward, immediately forcing you on the defensive. His movements were sharp, precise, and countering him wasn’t as simple as the others.

He read your moves before you could fully execute them, blocking a high kick and retaliating with a sweeping leg strike. You barely dodged in time, shifting your weight to regain balance.

Zara then steps in, kicking him from behind. He turned his full attention to Zara, his movements faster and more precise.

She fought back fiercely, her strikes powerful and unrelenting, but Miguel saw an opening. With a well-timed feint, he ducked low and delivered a sharp spinning back kick to her ribs.

Zara staggered, her feet sliding dangerously close to the edge. Before she could recover, Miguel struck again, a final, forceful kick that sent her tumbling off the platform.

The crowd gasped, your partner had been taken down by a new underdog of a team that sent the stadium into shock.

You barely had time to react before Axel was already stepping onto the platform, his presence shifting the atmosphere.

His eyes locked onto Miguel, cold and calculating, before flicking to you. A silent understanding passed between you.

Together.

Miguel was good, but you and Axel were better. You moved in sync, your attacks seamless.

Miguel fought hard, blocking and countering where he could, but the moment Axel swept his leg, sending him off balance, you delivered the final strike that sent him over the edge.

"The Iron Dragons have done it again, ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Y/n L/n and Axel Kovačević!"

Miyagi-Do looked on, tense and frustrated, while you threw a peace sign to the crowd and Axel gave his battle cry asserting the dominance he held in this sport.

When you two make your way down the stage, sensei Wolf is quick to greet you.

"Good work you two," he says sharply, his stoic look never faltering. When he turns to leave you let out a sigh of relief.

Turning back to face your boyfriend, you smirked, still slightly breathless from the fight. "You and me, a good team? Who knew?"

"Who would've thought, huh?" Axel chuckled, his usual cool demeanor slightly cracked by the adrenaline still coursing through him.

Before you could react, his hands found your hips, pulling you in effortlessly. The heat of the fight had nothing on the warmth spreading through your chest as he held you close.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, the background chatter, the bright lights, all fading around you.

"Maybe we should celebrate later," he mused, his lips ghosting near your ear.

You grinned, tilting your head up toward him, already leaning in to kiss him when you hear—

"Ugh, can you two get a room?" Zara’s voice cut through the moment like a slap of reality, her faux-disgust loud enough for half the team to hear.

Axel let out a low groan, his grip on your hips tightening in mild frustration before you laughed, pressing a quick but deliberate kiss to his lips.

"Don’t be jealous, babe," you teased her, stepping back and easily slipping out of Axel’s grasp. "You know you’re my number one."

Zara grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders as you turned to walk off together. "Damn right I am."

You cast one last glance over your shoulder, flashing Axel a wink. "Don’t miss me too much."

The tall brooding boy only rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath in, but the small, amused smirk on his lips gave him away.

You and Zara strutted off like the little menaces you were, basking in the glory of your win, leaving your boyfriend to shake his head in fond exasperation.

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

Masterlist

taglist: @ggrgcribgc

[keithisgay-ao3]

The MFEs went through so much shit

Lance was 17 when the Blue Lion left, so it's safe to assume the MFES were too. Sam's back a year later, making them 18ish, little over a year later Sendak invades, so they're 19/20.

Since James is outside when the invasion starts, it's safe to assume the others are too. So they see their teachers get gunned down. They see Adam (who I hc as a mentor for them) die.

Meanwhile, Sam is telling Sanda that a bunch of 19, maybe 20 year olds are their best defense. So, after the first wave is wiped out, they send out the MFES.

they've spent the two years preparing for war, and now they're fighting. They survive, and within a few hours, go on their 1st ever mission to retrieve supplies with Veronica, meeting her for presumably the first time.

(Also, can we take a second to appreciate the fact that Kinkade is casually balanced atop a moving vehicle? )

Anyways, as they're loading up the train, senteries attack.

And the weapons that were supposed to keep them safe? Do nothing. Then Veronica sacrifices herself to save them, a bunch of kids she barely knows, and they're devastated. This is their first ever mission, and some dies.

Can you imagine being 19/20 and watching someone die? Their first day, first few hours in a centuries long war, and they've just seen people who trained them, who watched them grow up, along with someone they barely know yet sacrificed herself for them, die.

And yeah, Veronica comes back, but until then, they'll feel responsible, even guilty for her death. We have no idea what else happened between then and the paladins return. But it's war, so they almost die a lot, they get injured, they carry each other back to base and fall apart together, mourning all that they've lost.

Later on, they're making their big stand against Sendak

once again, they're the only real weapon the Garrison has to defend themselves against the Galra. They have been for three years. This is their last stand, and while there's always been the threat of death, now it's almost certain.

they're going in with the assumption that they'll die, they have 12 minutes to live, but maybe, just maybe, the Atlas will be able to launch, and the others will be safe. Voltron is captured right now, and they have no weapons left, so this is it. They're 22/23 now, still fighting in a war older than their galaxy, one that has destroyed their home, and are buying time for their only hope.

They went through so much, yet their experience is talked about so little. Witnessing the invasion firsthand, watching Earth become a collection of ruins, not knowing if those they love are even alive, nearly dying themselves.

They should be out drinking, going to clubs, concerts, taking little risks and making fun mistakes, not risking death every time they leave base. Yes, the paladins had their teen years and adulthood ripped way from them, but the MFEs did too. Why don't we ever talk about that?

More MFE thoughts

[coochieannihilator]

Love in a Hopeless Place

Synopsis: "Fake" affection evolves into real chemistry, forcing Hiromi and you to confront hidden feelings.

Content: Hiromi Higuruma x F!Reader, Fake Dating, A bit ooc?

Word Count: 3.8k

The wine bar is the kind of place that people think is moodier than it is: low lights, deep booths, and overpriced charcuterie boards. You’re halfway through your glass of wine, fiddling with the rim of your glass, when your friend leans over the table with a giddy little smirk that instantly puts you on edge.

You sigh, tipping your head back. “This is either going to be a brilliant idea or a slow, painful descent into secondhand embarrassment.”

She grins. “You’ve met Hiromi before. It won’t be that awkward.”

You arch an eyebrow. “We’ve met like… three times. All at your birthday parties. He barely speaks. I’m not even sure he likes me.”

“You terrify him,” she says, not even trying to deny it. “Which is exactly why this’ll work.”

You’re about to respond when the door opens. You don’t need to be told it’s him—you just know.

“There he is,” she whispers.

You follow her gaze toward the door—and stop short.

Hiromi Higuruma walks in like he’s stepping into a courtroom. Smooth. Controlled. He wears that charcoal-gray suit like its armor, that fits like it was tailored for him this morning. His tie slightly loosened, just enough to suggest he’s been fighting deadlines and depositions all day. His hair’s a little messy in a way that almost feels intentional, and his eyes—sharp, thoughtful, with a tired kind of elegance behind them—scan the room like he’s doing a threat assessment.

Your friend sips her wine, looking pleased with herself. “You’re welcome.”

Hiromi spots your table, makes his way over with that quiet, deliberate stride of someone used to commanding rooms with silence alone. When he reaches you, he offers his hand, firm and steady.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is smooth, low, and polite—like velvet over a blade.

You shake his hand. “So formal. Are we closing a business deal or fake-dating?”

A small pause. His expression barely shifts, but you catch it—an almost-smile. “I like clarity in arrangements.”

You grin. “Great. Here’s mine: you pretend to be completely in love with me for one evening, and I’ll stop calling you ‘lawyer boy.’”

His eyes flick down to your hand before you let go, then back up to your face. “And what do I get if I’m too convincing?”

You blink. “What, like convincing people we’re actually together?”

“No.” His gaze is steady, unreadable. “Convincing you.”

Your friend coughs—chokes, really—into her drink, already sliding out of the booth with a hasty “I’m just gonna give you two a minute” before you can say anything, though you barely notice.

Because Hiromi Higuruma is still looking at you like this is a negotiation he intends to win.

You lean back, arms crossing loosely. “Do all your dates start like a cross-examination?”

His lips twitch. Just barely. “Do all your fake boyfriends come with legally binding clauses?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say. “Clause one: must be photogenic. Clause two: must make my ex question his life choices. Clause three: must not fall in love with me. It’s bad for the brand.”

Hiromi hums thoughtfully. “Clause three might be hard.”

There’s that silence again—comfortable and electric at once. You hate how interesting he is already. You hate it more that you want to see what happens if you keep pushing.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re awfully confident for someone who hasn’t even flirted properly yet.”

He leans forward just slightly, voice dropping lower. “You haven’t even seen me try.”

Your pulse flutters and somewhere in the background, jazz hums through the speakers like it knows exactly what’s happening.

You narrow your eyes. “So are you now flirting with me, or are you just incredibly good at playing pretend?”

“I’m incredibly good at reading people,” he replies. “And you’re enjoying this.”

You are. Way more than you should be.

“So,” he says, with a calmness that feels like mischief. “When’s the wedding?”

You swirl the last of your wine, pretending not to notice how Hiromi watches you over the rim of his glass like he’s studying your tells. His drink of choice is whiskey—of course it is. Neat. No garnish, no ice. The man is a walking contradiction: polished but understated, intimidating but—annoyingly—kind of charming when he wants to be.

“It’s next Saturday,” you say finally, setting your glass down. “A lovely garden wedding where I get to sit across from my ex, his perfect new girlfriend, and pretend my heart isn’t shriveled like a week-old grape.”

Hiromi doesn’t flinch. “And you think bringing a stranger with a law degree will help.”

“I think showing up with a man who looks like you will help,” you correct. “If we’re being honest.”

That almost-smile flickers again, fleeting but real. “So I’m set dressing.”

“You’re stagecraft,” you say smoothly. “Very convincing stagecraft.”

He leans back in the booth, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the movement natural and confident in a way that makes you way too aware of how long his legs are. “And what’s my character, then? The doting boyfriend? The emotionally distant but devastatingly loyal one? The reformed bad boy?”

“Please don’t be emotionally distant,” you groan. “I’ve dated enough of those to start a support group.”

His gaze sharpens just a little. “Then what do you want me to be?”

The question lands heavier than it should. You don’t answer right away, eyes drifting to the condensation on your glass. He’s quiet, giving you space, but not looking away. He’s watching the way you think. Another lawyer habit, probably.

“I want someone who looks at me like I’m the best part of the room,” you say after a beat. “Even if it’s just pretend.”

Hiromi’s brow twitches. “That’s a very specific request.”

You smile, slow and sure. “I’m a very specific person.”

“I can work with that.”

And it’s the way he says it—so steady, so certain—that you actually feel a little warmth creep up your neck. You look down, trying to hide it, but he notices. Of course he notices.

“So what about you?” you ask, redirecting. “Why say yes to something this stupid?”

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “Your friend said you needed help, and I don’t mind being useful.”

You blink. ‘That’s… surprisingly earnest.’ “That’s very noble of you.”

“It’s not,” he says, and his voice dips a little—lower, more careful. “I like helping people when I know how. And pretending? That’s just acting, and acting is easy.”

You tilt your head. “Relationships aren’t.”

“No,” he agrees. “But lying is.”

There’s a pause. Something about the way he says it makes you wonder what kind of lies he’s had to live with. What truths he’s buried under all that careful composure, though you don’t ask.

Instead, you lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Alright then, counselor. Let’s get our story straight.”

“Hmm?”

“If we’re going to fool a bunch of emotionally stunted wedding guests, we need a backstory. How’d we meet?”

Hiromi thinks for a moment, then gives you a dry, straight-faced answer: “You sued me.”

You snort into your drink. “Okay, that’s too believable.”

“And yet you still fell for me,” he says, unblinking.

‘Damn, he’s good at this.’

“Oh? Confident, are we?”

“No,” Hiromi says, and this time when he smiles—really smiles—it’s slow and surprising and just the tiniest bit shy. “I just think I’ll have an easier time faking it than I expected.”

And suddenly, the whole fake-dating idea doesn’t feel quite so fake.

The reception was golden in a way that made everything look softer than it really was. Lights strung across the ceiling cast a gentle haze over the room, catching on sequins and champagne flutes, blurring out imperfections. It was the kind of beauty designed to be photographed—curated, polished, perfect.

You belonged to it like it was your element.

Hiromi watched you from a distance, half-hidden near the bar, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other held a drink he hadn’t touched in twenty minutes. His tie was slightly loose, collar unbuttoned, and he looked every bit like someone who didn’t quite belong here, but you did. Damn, you did.

You were standing near the flower arch with your friends, laughing as someone tried to get the perfect group shot. Your dress shimmered with the movement—light catching on delicate fabric in a way that made you glow. You threw your head back laughing at something one of them said, and Hiromi felt it somewhere deep in his ribs, like a tug.

You weren’t even trying to be beautiful. That’s what made it worse, or better, or impossible.

Someone told you to look over your shoulder for the next shot. You did—smiling just slightly, lips parted, eyes narrow—and Hiromi’s grip tightened around his glass. The kind of smile that didn’t belong in photographs. The kind meant to be seen in private, from close up. The kind you remembered even after you’d sworn to forget.

He didn’t even realize you caught him staring until the photo snapped and you turned, holding his gaze for a second too long. Something passed between you two—acknowledgement, maybe, or an invitation.

Minutes later, you wandered over to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Barefoot now, heels dangling from your fingers. You were a little breathless, a little hot on the cheeks, and your hair had started to come undone.

“You look miserable over here,” You said, reaching past him to set your shoes down. “Had to come rescue you from your brooding.” There was something playful in your tone, but it didn’t land fully. Too much unsaid, too many what-ifs lingering just out of reach.

Hiromi raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize I needed rescuing.”

There’s soft music, clusters of clinking glasses, and enough flower arrangements to trigger a seasonal allergy. Long tables lined with white linens stretch across the lawn, while servers weave between guests carrying hors d’oeuvres on delicate ceramic trays, and you don’t notice most of it, not really.

Because Hiromi is doing this thing—this infuriating thing—where he plays the role so well you forget it is a role.

His presence is steady, commanding—like he’s spent his whole life moving through rooms like that. He always kept one hand at your back as you navigated through tables and flower-draped walkways, always just a touch away, always aware of your pace. Every time someone greeted you, he offered a polite nod or a handshake, never overdoing it, but always enough to make them remember him.

His hand always rested gently at your waist as he guided you through the crowd. Not possessive, not showy, just there. Present. Steady. The kind of touch that says ‘I’m here, you’re safe, let’s do this together’, and somehow doesn’t come off as an act at all.

He leaned in when you spoke, his breath grazing your cheek. He laughed in low, knowing tones like every comment you make is a shared secret. Every move he made was smooth and natural, like he’s done this a thousand times before—but never with anyone else.

It’s the stillness that makes it work. The way his touch lingers just enough to anchor you. The way his eyes drift to your face more often than to the room around him.

He glanced at you again, not just a glance, though. His eyes lingered—just for a second too long—on your mouth, your collarbone, the way your shoulders tensed when you caught him looking. You didn’t pull away.

“You’re hard to read sometimes,” he murmured.

“Maybe I don’t want to be read.”

“But you still want to be looked at.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You saying you’ve been looking?”

“Would it be a problem if I have?”

You didn’t answer. Just shifted closer, slow and smooth, like it meant nothing—but it did. Your shoulder brushed against his arm. Your hair fell forward a little, loose hair pieces brushing his shoulder when you turned your head. He could smell you—something soft and clean and faintly floral, and he swore the air between them changed, grew heavier somehow.

You tilted your face toward his, eyes searching his like you might find something you left there.

“You ever get the feeling,” you said, low and steady, “that you’re one bad idea away from something really good?”

Hiromi’s mouth twitched. “Every time you look at me like that.”

You didn’t smile and neither did he. You looked at him then, really looked, and the kind of silence that followed was sharp at the edges. He leaned toward you, like it had weight, like if he leaned in just a little more, gravity would take care of the rest.

You were close now. Closer than made sense for two people who weren’t something. Close enough that he could feel your breath ghost against his lips when you spoke. His eyes dropped to your mouth again—just a flicker—and yours did the same.

Neither of you moved. Just… leaned. A millimeter more. Then another.

Your hand was resting on the bar now, his just beside it, fingers almost touching. The music from the dance floor swelled, but it felt far away. Like you guys were suspended in something quieter, something just yours.

“Say it,” You whispered, barely audible. “Whatever it is you’re not saying.” Your breath fanned across his lips, warm and soft and heavy with the sweet tang of champagne. His heart knocked against his ribs, slow and loud and stupid.

Hiromi opened his mouth.

And then—

Someone called your name.

Not loud, not urgent. Just enough to slice through the moment like a letter opener through ribbon.

You turned your head, reluctantly, heart still suspended somewhere behind your ribs. A cousin, maybe. Or one of your friends, already tipsy and flushed from dancing, waving you over for a photo, for a toast, for something.

Hiromi’s breath eased out slow as you stepped back, like a camera lens refocusing. He looked down at his hand still on the bar, like he wasn’t sure when it had tightened into a fist.

You hesitated, eyes flicking back to him with something close to apology. “I should—”

He nodded. “Go ahead.”

But there was something in his tone that had shifted. Not cold, just… neutral. Controlled. Like a courtroom door swinging closed.

You didn’t want to leave. Not really. But you also didn’t know how to stay—not after what almost happened. Not with your pulse still stuttering and your skin still lit up in the shape of him.

So you went.

Hiromi watched you fade back into the golden blur of the reception. Watched you laugh and pose and dance barefoot with your friends beneath the fairy lights.

And for the first time that night, he wished he wasn’t pretending.

⩇⩇:⩇⩇

The wedding had wound down. Laughter faded into the hush of music playing for no one, and sparklers had long burned down to silver sticks, discarded on the edge of the patio.

You didn’t remember grabbing his hand. Or maybe he offered it first—you couldn’t tell anymore, but you were walking now. Past the dance floor, past the tents and tables, through a narrow path lit only by string lights overhead and the soft glow of garden lanterns tucked among the hedges. The gravel crunched beneath your bare feet. You didn’t care. Your shoes were somewhere behind you, and so was the noise.

Hiromi walked beside you in silence, his jacket draped over your shoulders. He didn’t offer it with words, just settled it there when you shivered once, the fabric still warm from his body. His sleeves were rolled up now, forearms bare and hands in his pockets like he didn’t know what else to do with them.

“I didn’t expect to enjoy tonight,” you said eventually, your voice low and quiet in the hush of midnight. “But you’re… kind of annoyingly good at this.”

“At pretending?” he asked, without looking at you.

“At making it feel real,” you corrected.

He stopped walking. You did too, almost out of reflex.

The garden opened up a little ahead—just a small clearing with a bench, some flowers you couldn’t name, and the distant sound of water from a hidden fountain. You turned to look at him, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself.

“It’s easier with you,” he said after a beat. His eyes met yours in the dark—soft, unreadable, and so full of quiet longing it almost hurt to look at.

“Why?” you asked.

Hiromi’s gaze dropped to your mouth, flicked back up. His voice was soft. “Because I like the way you look at me… even when you’re trying not to.”

That did something to you. A warm crack down your spine, a flutter in your ribs.

“I’m not pretending anymore,” you said, and the moment the words left your mouth, you realized how true they were.

Hiromi took a step closer, and your breath hitched—just slightly. He raised a hand, slow and careful, like he was testing gravity again, brushing your hair back from your face. His fingers were warm, gentle, grazing your jaw before dropping away.

“You can still walk away,” he said, low and honest. “Tell me it was just for show. We go back to being strangers tomorrow.”

You looked at him, and he looked back, and whatever tension had lived between you all night thickened, slow and certain, like molasses in warm air.

His words hung between you like smoke—heavy, suffocating. You didn’t step back. Couldn’t. Your chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid, everything felt too deeply for something that was supposed to be pretend.

You stared at him, heart hammering like it wanted to crawl out of your throat. “Is that what you want?” you asked, your voice raw.

Hiromi’s jaw flexed, a muscle twitching near his temple. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“The hell it doesn’t,” you snapped, and suddenly you were close, closer than either of you realized. Your hand had found his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. His breath hitched, yours did too.

His eyes flicked to your lips, then back up, dark and unreadable. “Say it,” he said. “Say it wasn’t real.”

“I can’t.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but shaking with emotion. It came out like a confession, like a wound.

He moved then—not forward, not away. Just leaned in, so close your noses brushed, so close the heat from his mouth ghosted over yours with every breath.

“I wanted to stay scared of you,” he murmured, and you swore your heart stopped. “But you kept looking at me like I meant something… and now I can’t stop needing that.”

Your hand slid up his chest, fingers clutching at his collar. “Then don’t.”

He exhaled shakily, like he’d been holding it in for too long. His forehead touched yours, eyes closing just for a second. But he didn’t kiss you. Not yet.

“This feels like a bad idea,” he whispered.

“It is,” you breathed. “But I still want it.”

There was a beat of silence. One beat. Two.

Then his hand slid around your waist, firm and deliberate, pulling you against him—not tender, not hesitant, but like he was tired of pretending he didn’t want to. Like if he didn’t touch you now, he’d lose his mind.

Your mouths hovered inches apart, breaths mingling, hands gripping fabric like anchors, like you’d both fall if you let go.

Still no kiss. Just the unbearable closeness of it.

His breath was warm against your mouth, uneven. Like he was fighting it, like kissing you would mean losing something he couldn’t get back, but you were done pretending too.

So you tilted your chin up—just enough to close that impossible gap—and your lips brushed.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft.

It was desperate.

Hiromi’s mouth crashed into yours like it was the only language he had left. His hand slid up your spine, rough palm splaying between your shoulder blades, holding you like he didn’t trust you to stay otherwise.

You gasped into him, and he swallowed the sound with a low noise from deep in his throat. Not quite a growl—no, something more human than that. Like pain and hunger and relief all tangled together.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt, knuckles white, dragging him closer even though there was no space left. He tasted like heat, like fury held back too long, like he was finally letting himself feel and it was too much.

He broke the kiss with a curse, resting his forehead against yours again, chest heaving. “Shit,” he said, voice ruined. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You kissed him again.

Faster this time. Needier.

His hands found your hips, fingers digging in just enough to ground himself. One of them slid up, tracing your jaw, brushing your cheek, like he didn’t know whether to hold you or memorize you.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, eyes glassy. “Do we still go back to being strangers tomorrow?”

Hiromi’s eyes searched yours—wild, flickering. And then he shook his head. Just once.

“No,” he said, hoarse. “Not after this.”

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

His hand was still at your jaw, rough and trembling, and your breath was uneven against his. Every inch between you charged, heated, collapsing.

You leaned into him, and he met you halfway—mouths clashing again, nothing sweet or soft about it. It was a kiss that bruised. A kiss that breathed. His mouth was hot, demanding, like he was trying to consume the moment, like he didn’t want to remember what it felt like to be without you.

Fingers curled in his shirt. His grip tightened at your waist. Each touch dragged you closer, a slow burn spilling through your chest and twisting in your stomach.

You kissed him like you wanted to stay lost in him. He kissed you like he never planned to stop.

There was no space left between your bodies. His thumb brushed your cheek like he couldn’t help it, like he wasn’t ready to let the moment end, and your hands slid into his hair, holding, grounding, needing.

The world around you was silent, but everything between you—every breath, every brush of skin, every beat of your heart—was impossibly loud.

And still, you didn’t let go. Not yet.

His hand found yours, warm and certain, and for a moment, the night felt like it belonged to only the two of you.

[redrobin-detective]

How to Train Your Dragon Fic Reccs

Hey all, I've been on a massive HTTYD fic kick, like I've read dozens of excellent. The first 2 before the readmore are my absolute fav fics that I've read dozens of times over the years and most highly recommend. The ones after are new fics I've found in my dive that I also adore.

familiar (but this time i've had some practice) by aloneintherain

Every decade, three teenagers are dragged from the future and placed in their younger bodies to give predictions that will set the tone for the next ten years on Berk. But how are three dragon riders supposed to give prophecy to a village full of dragon-hating vikings? (Time travel AU)

Prodigal Son by commandocucumber

Eight years after Berk's heir vanished, the Viking town is slowly crumbling. Dragon attacks are more devastating than ever. To save her village, Astrid must piece together exactly what happened before the dragons wipe them all out for good. Meanwhile, half a world away and eight years wiser, Hiccup decides it might just be time to go home.

north wind by owlberry

It's been six years since Hiccup died. It's been five years since the dragon attacks stopped. It's been three years since Astrid was named as Berk's new heir. It's been approximately thirty-six hours since Astrid helped trap a Deadly Nadder. Now, retribution has come. - It's been six years since Hiccup ran away on the eve of his final exam. It's been five years since Hiccup defeated the Red Death. It's been three years since he killed Drago Bludvist. It's been roughly eight hours since Hiccup set off for Berk. The Dragon Master collects his dues.

Persephone by sunflowerb

She was meant to be the price for peace; her life in exchange for the mysterious Dragon Master's mercy. Her captor wasn't supposed to be a ghost from her past, and she wasn't supposed to become his ally...or his lover. And when news spreads of a blonde-haired girl at the Dragon Master's side, there will be repercussions for dragons and Vikings alike.

Kings of the Wilderwest by Czyfun

Hiccup the Useless was not a fighter. He wasn't much of anything at all. He was a fine blacksmith, but even then people preferred to talk to Gobber when dropping off or picking up their gear. Hiccup could barely lift an axe or hammer, let alone wield one, which was why he had never been in dragon training and certainly wasn't expected to fight dragons. He was nowhere to be found during raids and even the increasing number of rogue dragons flying solo had never involved him. It makes sense, in hindsight, how no one had realized he was barely ever in the village anymore, even if it was strange how he'd gone from being a constant nuisance to a nonpresence overnight. What didn't make sense was why was he found unconscious in the middle of the night wearing strange armor and down a leg. While most didn't care about his accident and Stoick's only reaction was to restrict Hiccup's movements for his protection, Astrid was determined to figure out what Hiccup was hiding out in the forest.

Hitchups by AvannaK

Hiccup didn't see the point in stopping Astrid as she ran off towards his village—towards his father—with his most desperately protected secret. He was leaving anyway. A coming-of-age tale. Deviates from movie. Borderline bromantic-comedy.

The Night Rider by Celestialdemon9909

A threat has been issued and Berk is in peril. The life of everyone on their island is in the hands of a man who wears dragon scales and refuses to show his face. Riding atop the offspring of lightning and death itself. Can the one known as Rider put a stop to the terror of Drago Bludvist.

How to Spot a Dragon Trainer by That1Notetaker

Hiccup never got to fight the Monstrous Nightmare, managing to set it free the night before the big fight. Instead, things carried on as they had been until then, with Hiccup disappearing more often than ever. The gang grows too curious for their own good, however, and decide they want to learn what he's been up to.

The Dragon Queen of Berk by Raberba_Girl

"Every nest has its queen." Later chapters from dragon perspective. New chapter: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III can apparently befriend and train ANY dragon - even Drago Bludvist's Bewilderbeast.

A Mother Found by YPM_33_KI

It’s the discovery of a lifetime: Hiccup’s mother, alive after twenty years, living with dragons just a day’s flight from Berk. Hiccup isn’t sure how he feels. But he knows he isn’t happy. (Or: what if Hiccup hadn't been quite so quick to forgive Valka's 20-year absence? Some other events will also be different.)

trust and chosen families by Drhair76

Hiccup froze.  He's never been in a situation like this before.  Hanging from a tree, blood running down his arms, one eye opened with half a dragon opening a single eye across from him.  or, four times Hiccup earns a dragon's trust and one time they earn his

Henbane by kakawot

Hiccup misses his thumbs. It's what happens when he angers a witch and she swaps his mind with Toothless' every week. Learning how to fly is hard as a human, let alone as a dragon. And to top it all off he's only got 44 days before the curse melds their minds into one.

Stratospheric by MaybeInAutumn

“Stop. Don’t raise your hand, Stoick.” The boy that descended from nowhere turned around and looked Stoick dead in the eye. Stoick was spellbound. He could not summon any strength to move or speak. All he could see was the pair of forest green eyes that captured his whole field of vision. When the boy turned back around abruptly to face Furlan, Stoick stumbled as his world bled into clarity again. Those eyes…

Coming Down is the Hardest Thing by Icka M Chif

Hiccup’s known as the Dragon Master. Astrid’s just been offered up as a Sacrifice. Hiccup's scaled brother is sarcastic. This is not the story you’re expecting.

The Shapeless Soul by The Waffle Bat

He’d split a rock on his head as a child. He’d ripped a nadder’s head from its shoulders as a baby. He’d been made chief when his father died to dragons, and as chief he’d watched his Valka miscarry for years only to be snatched away by dragons from their only surviving child; and, nearing what should have been the end of his time as chief, his heir and son had gone missing, probably because of dragons too. And he’d survived that. The people of Berk were tough, worn and weathered and rooted down into the earth like the mountain against whose base they had settled. But Stoick wasn’t so certain anymore that they could survive much longer. Hiccup was gone, but the village still skirted disaster; Astrid was his heir, but the Berk she was inheriting was char and charcoal. After Hiccup went missing Stoick's certainty in victory against dragons disappeared too. A mysterious Dragon Master offers hope, but hope is a man with a Night Fury for a shadow and a power that brought the tyrant who last bore that title to his knees.

Dreki by Itar94

"We can't stay here." Hiccup shoots down a dragon, but realizes that a dragon-killing Viking is not the kind of Viking he wants to be. Staying in the human village is not an option: they must leave. Together, dragon and boy will discover the world, and Hiccup has to leave the past behind ... even if the past has the annoying habit of trying to catch up. (The story of a dragon and his boy, and a world that changes around them.)

Making History by Arcawolf

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock had finally managed to shoot down a dragon, only to find he doesn't have the stomach to kill it. So he sets it free and the dragon . . . flies away. That should be the end of it, but dragons have long memories, and fate has a funny way of catching up to you. An AU in which Toothless never lost his tailfin.

[taylorman2274]

We Care About You (Part VI)

The Traveler finally gets to say what they wanted to say to [Y/N].

Content Warning(s): N/A

Notes: SAGAU; GN!Reader;

Word Count: 900+

Previous || Next

Taglist: @silverstarred; @victoria1676; @angelofdarkness2; @areaderspov; @andromeda-gay; @ash1; @mercy-not-merci; @toodledoodl3; @jellyedkazoo; @namine123; @innuwu; @agaygothicmushroom; @tired-of-life-86; @fantasyhopperhea; @sweetsourbxtch; @zenith-of-all-zeniths; @velleunv; @creativecupcake; @obsoletedeviant;

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

"You're still looking stressed, [Y/N]. Are you sure you're okay?"

You looked up to see the Traveler's concerned face. "Oh, I'm fine, I guess. Sorry. I just really wasn't expecting something like this to happen."

"Paimon understands. Paimon would be scared too if she found herself summoned to another world."

You slowly nodded. You found yourself to be a lot more calm than you were roughly three minutes ago, but that didn't mean you weren't nervous. After all, you were talking with two people who are only known to exist inside of a game. Purely pixels on a screen. And yet, here you were having a genuine conversation with them.

"Speaking of which, you said you wanted to talk to me about your future journey?"

"Not mine, ours," the Traveler shook their head. "It's our future journey."

"No, it is yours," you rebutted, confidence rising within you. "I'm not the one traveling around Teyvat, you are."

"But you are with me, are you not?" the Traveler calmly refuted, crossing their arms. "You're the one who's been guiding me and all the others, right?"

Aaaaaaaaaaand your confidence is gone.

You nervously rubbed your hands together and avoided looking at the Traveler. "Is that how you see it? I'm... guiding you?"

Paimon tilted their head. "Yeah...? What, you don't see it that way?"

You hesitated for a second before you finally shook your head.

"Then what do you see it as?"

You were now very afraid. You wanted to tell them your honest thoughts, but you worried how they would react to it. Would they be angry? Would they threaten you to stop? Would they start fighting you?

... ... ...

...Would they kill you? Was this all just an act to lower your guard?

You gulped, tugging at the neckline of your shirt. "I kind of see it as..." you sighed, looking back down at the stone table.

"...Possession."

You waited for a response but received none. The worst kind of response you can get.

"I felt like I was manipulating your actions without your consent," you continued, your voice barely audible over the sounds of the night. "That's why I tried to make things better. But even then, you still fought back. I thought that you hated me. I thought that you brought me here to get rid of me..."

"...But if you see my actions as 'guiding' you..." you looked up. "...Then what does that make me in your eyes?"

Both the Traveler and Paimon had concentrated expressions on their faces. You waited for either of their expressions to change, but you were also afraid of what the new one would become. Would they be satisfied with your answer? Would they be furious? You didn't want to know. So instead, you put your arms on the table and rested your forehead on top of them.

If you didn't want to use your eyes, you'd have to use your ears, instead. You thought of all the audible reactions you would expect to hear. A slam of fists or hands, yelling and shouting, the sound of a sword being drawn.

Or worse of all, silence. You can rarely tell what a person is thinking whenever they are silent.

...That's what scares you the most.

You waited with bated breath for a response and thankfully it wasn't long before you got one. First, you heard the sound of fabric scraping against stone. Next, you heard the shifting of sand. Lastly, you heard footsteps growing louder by the step.

The Traveler was walking over to you.

At this point, you wanted to do something instead of being vulnerable to a potential threat. But deep down, you knew that it was useless. You couldn't flee because it would take the Traveler mere seconds to catch up with you. You couldn't fight because you knew that you had no shot of going against someone who has gone toe-to-toe with gods.

You are vulnerable. You are weak. You are useless. You are worthless.

...You are going to die.

Tears began to well up in your eyes, but you fought the urge to cry. You probably looked pathetic to them already.

You heard a couple of more steps before they stopped. They were standing right behind you.

Silence.

...

... ...

... … …

*SHING*

...

... ...

... … …

*WHOOSH*

...

... ...

... … …

*CLANG*

...?

...You didn't expect that noise. It came from your left.

You turned towards the noise and spotted the Traveler's dull sword.

"...Huh?"

Suddenly, you felt their arms wrap loosely around your neck.

You immediately stiffened your spine and brought your hands on top of theirs. However, before you could throw them off your body, you felt their head rest on your shoulder. Then they stopped.

... ... …

...Now you were confused. What were they doing?

... ... …

...Wait...

... ... …

...Is this... a hug...?

Sure enough, the more you thought about it, the more you believed that the Traveler was hugging you.

...But why?

"To me... in my eyes..."

... ... …

"You're my friend..."

The Traveler slightly tightened their hug.

"And I wouldn't know what to do without you..."

... ... …

You've finally relaxed.

And now that you are, there's one thing that you'd like to do.

Slowly, to not startle the Traveler, you got up from your seat and turned towards them. You could tell that they were wondering why you got up.

They stopped wondering when you went up and hugged them back. It took a while, but they wrapped your arms around your back in a friendly embrace.

"I wouldn't know what to do without you either."

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

THE END

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

Author's Notes: And that's the end of that! Hope everybody enjoyed the ending!

New Author’s Notes: I added an epilogue to this series. You can either treat this as the ending or the latter. Whichever best fits your interests.

Thanks again for all who liked, reblogged, and/or commented on this little series. I appreciate each and every one of you!

[natalievoncatte]

11. Emerald

That was when she saw it, faint flashes of emerald in the dark. Kara sucked in a sharp breath as she tensed. Green was the danger color. It was the pain color, the burning color, the hue of agonizing death. Even a brief flash of an unelected green glow set her nerves ablaze.

The flash was brief, there and gone.

“Kara, wait for the team.”

She tapped the comm bead in her ear. “I don’t need a team for this.”

She scanned the area with her Kryptonian sight, first x-ray then infrared, and found only the outlines of crates and old junk. No heat. No heartbeat. No threat.

Why did villains always set up in abandoned warehouses? Why not a nice downtown coffee shop? Or a movie theater?

She should count her blessings. She could be the Batman, creeping through an abandoned amusement park looking for a psychotic clown. Clark had remarked to her that Gotham had a lot of abandoned theme parks for some reason, and abandoned comedy clubs. It was almost too convenient.

Something creaked to her left and she stopped.

“This thing is dangerous, Kara. There’s been three bodies found already.”

Kara knew all that. Three victims, all drained dry and desiccated, so bereft of moisture that they cracked and crumbled when moved. The life sucked right out of them.

She knew something else: All three had been killed in front of witnesses who said the night came alive and took them… while the dead men were in the process of robbing and assaulting the witnesses.

“I’m not going to have a murderous vigilante in my town.”

“I’m not a vigilante”, a soft voice purred. “But a girl’s got to eat.”

Kara spun, scanning the warehouse. There was no one with her.

A soft scuff on the concrete behind her. She turned, throwing back her cape and raising her fists.

“Where are you?”

“Here,” the voice murmured in her ear.

Kara yelped spun, but there was no one there.

“Kara, pull back. Pull out!” Alex snapped.

“Mmmm, Kara. Ka-ra. A pretty name.”

“Show yourself!”

Kara wheeled and found the creature right in front other, inches away, grinning broadly and baring sharp fangs. Kara recoiled, dancing back a few paces, fists raised.

It was a woman, sleek and slim and dressed in a slick black suit with a black lace blouse and a choker of black diamonds around her throat. Her skin was ghostly pale and dark hair fell down her back in wages past her waist, fanned out over her shoulders. Cold emerald eyes fixed Kara to the spot, the woman’s gaze carrying an almost physical force.

“Uh,” Kara said. “Alex?”

“No, I’m Lena.”

Kara squared up. “Are you the one killing those people?”

“I’m the one taking out the trash. Is that a problem for you?”

“Yeah,” Kara snarled, “it is.”

She hesitated. This woman, this creature, had no body heat. No heartbeat. When Kara used her x-ray vision, looking for weapons or gimmicks, she saw the woman just standing there in the pale transparent world of Kara’s super sight, as if the x-rays bent around her.

“What’s the matter, stud? Come teach me a lesson.”

“You asked for it.”

Kara lunged, and her hands closed on empty air. The woman was suddenly behind her, hands on her shoulders and lips pressed to her ear.

“Too slow. Catch me if you can.”

Kara whirled, grabbing at her, but she moved so fast she blurred. It was as if she knew where Kara would move before she did.

“Hold still!” Kara snapped, fighting the rising panic twisting in her belly.”

“Kara,” Alex said, “get out of there! You’re outmatched, we need a plan.”

“She’s right.”

Another whisper in her ear. This time as Kara turned and throw a roundhouse punch the woman stood there grinning, and Kara almost pulled her blow, but when her fist was just about to connect her target simply melted, swirling into a pillar of mist that held together for a brief moment before exploding in every direction and surrounding her.

She suddenly felt surrounded, a pressure coming from every direction, and a wild surge of claustrophobic panic burst like a firebox in her chest and she cried out in shock and terror, falling wildly.

A body pressed against her from behind and hands seized her wrists. The strength that resisted her twisting attempt to escape shocked her, and then came the pain. Quick and sharp, she felt pressure on her throat before the pain as twin points lanced into her flesh.

Kara screamed, then her voice softened and collapsed into shocked moan as an ecstatic heat spread from her throat through her entire body, tingling under her skin. Her eyes grew lidded and she writhed it spread through her.

Her head lolled and she passed out.

With a jolt, Kara snapped awake. She immediately tried to rise from where she lay, but found herself weighed down by heavy chains at her wrists and ankles.

A cold but soft hand curled around her chin and this Lena filled her vision, arching down over her from where she sat straddling Kara’s hips. Her grip was gentle but shockingly strong.

“My, aren’t you a pretty little thing.”

Kara yanked hard at the chains, but they clanked and pulled at her wrists and impossibly held.

“Now now, none of that.”

Looking around, Kara frantically sought the source of her weakness- Kryptonite, a red light source, something she could attack.

“Those chains are nth metal, and there’s a sorcerous circle binding you beneath the bed.”

She was in a bedroom, lying on a four poster bed, chained down with her captor sitting in her lap, pressing her thighs against Kara’s hips.

She ran her hands up Kara’s flanks, feeling the muscles beneath the tight fabric.

“My my my, you are delicious, pet. Let me go.”

“I think not.”

“Are you going to drain me, too?”

Lena flipped down on top of her, resting her head on Kara’s shoulder. She smelled cold, somehow, like the faint scent of embers and falling leaves on an autumn night. She smiled with her soft pink lips and her emerald eyes blazed.

“I could,” she murmured. “It’s hard not to. You are the sweetest prey I’ve ever sampled, and your blood sings in me. A taste of honey is worse than none at all.”

Kara ignored the feeling of this person lying on top of her, one long leg still thrown across her belly, calf hooked around her hip. She was stroking lazy circles over the crest on Kara’s uniform, sharp nails teasing her through the fabric. She could have shredded it if she wanted, and liked the flesh too.

“You’ll never admit it, but I can feel how much you like being overwhelmed. Don’t you?”

Kara ground her teeth. “No.”

Lena smiled again. “Isn’t it hard, being Supergirl? Being so tough all the time, always swaggering around with your hands on your hips? Doesn’t part of you want to relax? Let someone else take charge?”

“What the hell do you want?”

Lena sighed dramatically and rolled off her, and her absence was near painful. She had to be using some trick, trying to control her. Kara had to stop herself from whimpering when Lena laid on the bed beside her, head propped on her hand.

“Can’t I just want to admire you and those beautiful muscles of yours?”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“Maybe. Hear me out.”

“No.”

“I need your help.”

“You could have just asked.”

“You wouldn’t listen. Besides, where’s the fun in that?”

“Fine,” Kara huffed, staring up at the tin ceiling. “What do you want?”

“There is a master vampire, far more powerful and deadly than I am, and far older. He plans to poison the sun and free all vampires from the tyranny of daylight. He’ll declare himself an emperor and rule your world.”

“The hell he will. I’ll stop him, with Superman.”

The vampire laughed, a soft, sad chuckle.

“Oh, darling. Your cousin won’t be of any help to us.”

“Us?”

“You and me.”

“There is no us.”

“Dumping me on the first date, love?”

Kara rolled her eyes.

“Clark isn’t going to help us, Kara,” said the vampire.

Kara’s head shot up. “What? What did you say?”

She smiled.

“The master vampire has already made your cousin his thrall, love.”

“Who… who is this guy?”

“We both have so many names, but you know him as Lex. Lex Luthor.”

“What?!”

Lena moved closer, her stunning green eyes full of genuine fear.

“He sent me here to enthrall you. You’re the only chance I have. Please, I’m begging you. He’s a monster. A world under his rule will be an absolute nightmare. Unless you want to end up chained to his throne as a trophy you have to help me.”

There was either genuine fear in her voice, or she was excellent at faking it. Kara couldn’t rely on her super-senses.

Her jaw clenched.

“Let me go. No more tricks, no more games. Let me up and we’ll talk.”

Lena snapped her fingers and the bonds fell from Kara’s wrists.

“Done.”

Kara lunged across the bed and twisted, pinning her down.

“My turn,” Kara said, her eyes blazing with red sun fury. “Don’t test me.”

“Oh darling,” Lena purred. “You are delightful. I could get used to this.”

“Stop that,” Kara snarled.

Lena licked her lips, pale pink tongue flashing.

“Alright. Okay. I’ll be serious. We have to kill him. We have to kill him before he ends everything.”

“I don’t kill. I swore an oath.”

“Well, that’s inconvenient.”

Kara huffed.

“Fine. We can still defeat him. I think you and I could take over the world.”

“There is no you and I. I’ll help you and then you’ll answer for what you did.”

“I told you, a girl’s gotta eat.”

“Lena!”

“Oh, I like that. Say my name.”

“Le- No!”

Lena sighed, and ground herself up against Kara.

“I mean it. Stop that.”

Lena swallowed, pale throat bobbing. She fixed Kara with her piercing green eyes.

“I didn’t ask to be a monster. I wasn’t given a choice. I was forced.”

Kara felt a twist in her stomach, cold and brittle. She drew back her hands and freed Lena, stepping back off the bed.

“I’ll help you, but I have conditions. They’re non-negotiable.”

“And they are?”

“No more killing.”

Lena rolled her eyes.

“We agree on everything we do first. Don’t lay a hand on me without my permission again.”

A soft smile curled her lips. “Affirmative.”

Kara crossed her arms. Lena was openly admiring her, eyes roaming up and down her frame.

“Stop looking at me like I’m your next meal.”

“But darling, it’s not my fault that you look good enough to eat. Shall we get to it, then?”

Kara sighed. “Yes.”

“A Super and a Vampire, taking on the world. We just might survive.”

[moonlight-alexia]

pair of pests: fight ˏˋ°•*⁀ kyra x catley!reader, short fic/blurb

kyra cooney-cross x reader | 0.6k | based off of this ask

‘That was so stupid and not like you at all,’ Steph hit your arm, it wasn’t hard but it was enough to get your full attention and you knew she wasn’t happy with your incident on the pitch.

You’d gotten into a fight during the match. The whole match had been frustrating, today the team just wasn’t gelling together and you were playing like this was the first time you’d all played together. Barely any of your passes were connecting and you couldn’t understand why. Mixed with the roughness of the match and fouls and free kicks never going your team's way, they were always against your team no matter what. 

It felt unfair and the frustrations of the game had just gotten to you, to the point where you finally burst after, what you’d consider to be, another unfair call. Specifically an unfair call against you. Normally you would’ve let it go, but the other player muttered under her breath and you heard it wasn’t particularly nice words towards you. 

Without thinking you’d pushed the other player, making her stumble before you banged your shoulder against her while just walking past back to your position. But it didn’t stop there and before you knew it you were having to be pulled back by Leah, ‘Just let it go, it’s not worth it,’ You rolled your eyes knowing that she’d be the first person to voice her frustrations or unfairness within the match. 

Though it was too late by the time Leah had managed to make her way over to you and you’d already done enough to warrant a yellow card being shown your way. You’d barely received yellow cards, always wanting to try to be as clean as possible during matches. It was your first one while being at Arsenal and it most likely wasn’t going to be your last, especially with Katie having taken you under her wing, you and Kyra slowly turning into her mini menaces.

‘It’s called passion Steph, maybe try it some time,’ Steph raised her eyebrow at you, while you just smirked at her, knowing you could get under her skin and get away with it. Your response though was definitely a direct reflection from all the time you’d spent around Katie lately.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see Kyra stifling her laughs while watching the interaction between you and Steph. Part of the reason you kept talking back to your older sister. 

‘That’s it, you’re not hanging out with Katie for like two weeks,’ Steph couldn’t really ban you but you still feigned annoyance at her words, grumbling and mocking exactly how Steph had said it, ‘I’ll have to start putting you with Leah, maybe you’ll stay in line then,’ Empty threats, your sisters specialty when it came to you.

‘Please, Leah seems like a good influence but secretly she’s really not,’ You exaggerated the last few words, saying them a little louder as well knowing that Leah was close by and wanting her to hear you. 

‘Um, who was the one to pull you away from that mess? Pretty good influence like of me, I’d say,’ Leah slung her arm around your shoulders, her other hand ruffling your hair a little. 

‘Yeah not after having some choice words with the refs,’ You laughed, pushing her away and rolling your eyes. 

‘We gotta keep you on your toes. No peace with us around,’ You laughed with Kyra once she finally caught up with you, walking by your side. 

Though you didn’t last long next to each other before Katie squeezed between the two of you, arms over both your shoulders, ‘Proud of ya, don’t listen to Steph,’ The three of you will forever continue to cause mayhem both on and off the pitch as long as you all stay at Arsenal.

[yanyandam]

I feel like a starved man asking for this (specially because you just posted it 😭) but if you want it and have the time please do a part 2 of the Unserious - Rindou fic, were reader maybe goes to visit and bail him out or talk... Hell maybe even just Rindou sulking and being a sad boy would be cool!!

LMAO never thought I'd get asked for a part 2. I did My best here, hope you like that

UNSERIOUS- PART 2 -Rindou Haitani

Juvie smelled like sweat, piss, and disinfectant. A cycle of filth barely scrubbed away before another layer replaced it.

Rindou sat on the edge of his thin-ass futon, elbows on his knees, staring at the wall like it owed him money. The room was small, cramped. Gray walls, gray floors, iron bars on the tiny window.  Everything here felt like it was designed to piss him off.

He ran a tongue over his teeth, jaw clenched. The air was thick with heat, humid and suffocating. Someone down the hall was shouting, cursing out a guard, or maybe just losing their mind. Same difference in a place like this.

He’d been in here for what: two weeks? Three? Time blurred. The days melted together, broken only by bland meals and rigid routines. Wake up. Eat. Stare at the walls. Exercise in the yard if they let him. Get beaten up with some titan with a Brazilian accent. Stare at more walls. Sleep. Repeat.

It was worse at night. That’s when the silence crept in, when the noise in his head got louder. Regret? Nah. Rindou didn’t do regret. He’d made his choices, knew what he was signing up for. He knew what it meant to be in a gang, knew the weight of violence. If he had to do it all over again, he probably would. But the boredom? The boredom? That was killing him more than any fight ever could. He tilted his head back against the wall, exhaling sharply through his nose. Lately, his thoughts kept drifting back to her. You.

He hated that. He thought that heartbreak only existed in music and movies. Words failed him to describe how he felt.

Hated the way your voice still echoed in his head, the way your face flashed behind his eyelids when he blinked too long. He could still hear the way you got mad at him, still remember the look in your eyes when he left. All this because of that dumb punk, Takashi Mitsuya. It wasn’t about you. He meant that. He hadn’t done it out of jealousy, or love, or some stupid petty reason like that. It had just been business. Toman and Tenjiku were at war. He was given a name. He followed orders. Simple as that.

But that didn’t mean it hadn’t changed things. He was the one who left. The one who decided you didn’t belong in his world. Not when it was falling apart. Not when he was one step away from destruction. It was easier to push you away than to watch you get caught in the wreckage. He thought it would be simple. Thought it wouldn’t matter.

Maybe that was the worst part. Not the sentence, not the fights in the yard, not the bland food. Just the fact that he had nothing to distract him anymore. No gang business, no late-night rides, no Dj’s, no clubs, no gym. Just silence. And you in the back of his mind like a fucking parasite he couldn’t kill.

His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms.

“Hey.”

The voice cut through the stale air, dragging him back. Rindou lifted his head, gaze settling on the figure standing in the doorway. Ran. Despite their one year age difference, despite the strict rules, Ran had somehow convinced the guards to let them stay in the same cell. Whether it was bribery, threats, or just the sheer Haitani bullshit factor, Rindou didn’t know. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care. Ran leaned against the frame, arms crossed, that lazy smirk pulling at his lips. But his eyes were locked on him, watching. “You look like shit,” Ran mused, stepping inside. “Even worse than usual.”

Rindou snorted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. This place ain’t exactly a spa retreat.”

Ran sighed, dropping down onto his futon. “You always were the dumb one.”

“Fuck off.”

Ran chuckled. “Nah, but seriously. You’re thinking about her, huh?” Rindou stiffened. His brother always saw through him too easily.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ran hummed, stretching out like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

Rindou scowled, looking away. He hated this. Hated that he was the one who left, yet still felt this gnawing emptiness. Hated that even with Ran sitting right there, he still felt alone. He needed to get out of here. He didn’t care how long it took. They’d find a way to get him out, or at least set something up so he didn’t rot away in this shithole. The thought was enough to keep him sane. For now. But that didn’t stop his mind from wandering back to you. It pissed him off, how much space you took up in his head. How he still wanted to hear your voice, even if it was just to curse him out. How a part of him wondered if you ever thought about him too. His lip curled. Fuck that. You made your choice, Rindou. You walked away.

Still, as he lay back against the futon, staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t help but wonder. If you ever saw him again, would you look at him with that same fire in your eyes? Or just walk past him like he was another ghost from your past? He wasn’t sure which would piss him off more.

–

Rindou sat on the hard plastic chair, the prison phone cold against his palm. The room reeked of sweat and impatience, a dozen other prisoners shifting in line behind him, grumbling under their breath. He didn’t give a fuck. Let them complain. Let them get pissed. He’d been sitting here for almost an hour.

The phone rang. And rang. And fucking rang. No answer. He gritted his teeth, staring at the scratched-up metal panel in front of him. His free hand drummed against the table, fingers twitching. His ego was already eating at him for even making this call, for even thinking he should hear your voice again. But he had. He did.

Nothing. Not even voicemail. Just a dead line ringing into the void. A guard stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the table. "Haitani. Either make the damn call or get the hell up." Rindou didn’t move. His grip on the receiver tightened. Another prisoner behind him scoffed. “Hey, you just gonna sit there, asshole? We don’t got all day.” More muttering. More agitation.

Rindou exhaled sharply through his nose. He should just hang up. Should stand and walk away like none of this mattered. But it did. It mattered enough that his hands curled into fists, his jaw locking as he slammed the receiver back onto the cradle with a sharp clack. The room went quiet for a split second, tension thick in the air.

“Finally,” someone muttered behind him.

Rindou shot up from the chair, shoulders squared, eyes burning with frustration. The guard eyed him warily, hand hovering near his baton. “Back to your cell, Haitani.” His nostrils flared, but he forced himself to exhale slowly, turning on his heel without another word. The rage bubbled under his skin, hot and suffocating. You hadn’t answered. You hadn’t even tried. And that pissed him off more than anything else.

–

You hadn’t felt quite right since Rindou. Days passed, weeks even, and yet there was this emptiness clinging to you, an ache that settled into your bones like a sickness you couldn’t shake. You kept yourself busy: hanging out with friends, studying, even picking up extra shifts. But no matter how much you distracted yourself, something always brought you back to him.

Late at night, when the world went quiet, that’s when it hit you worst. The memory of his voice, his smirk, the way he used to cut you off mid-sentence like your words weren’t worth waiting for, but he’d still listen anyway.

It was one of those nights when you found it. You had been scrolling absentmindedly through your phone, deleting old messages, when you saw it, an unknown number. A voicemail, left days ago. Your stomach twisted as you stared at the notification. You knew. You didn’t need to listen to it to know who it was. Your heart pounded as you pressed play, bringing the phone to your ear.

At first, there was silence. Just the faint crackle of the line. Then, a sigh.

“Shit… You’re not gonna pick up, huh?”

His voice. Rougher than you remembered, like he’d been chewing on frustration and spitting out exhaustion. Another pause. A faint rustling, like he was running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know why I’m doing this.” Your grip on the phone tightened. A humorless chuckle. “Fuck, this is stupid.” A deep inhale, like he was forcing himself to just say whatever was clawing at the back of his throat. “I don’t even know what I was expecting. You’re done with me, right?” Another pause. “You should be.” You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. 

“I just… uh. Whatever. Just wanted to—fuck, I don’t know. Call. Say something. Not that it matters.” Something clattered in the background. A distant voice yelling. Rindou exhaled sharply. “Forget it. Forget I called.”

A click, then silence. You sat there, phone still pressed against your ear, as if more words would come. As if he’d suddenly say something that would make it all make sense. But there was nothing. Just the emptiness he left behind, stretching wide enough to swallow you whole.

Your fingers trembled as you lowered the phone, heart hammering in your chest. He called. He called. No matter how much he tried to push you away, no matter how many times he told himself it didn’t matter, he still reached out. And that was enough. Enough to cut through the fog, enough to shatter the anger, enough to make you realize something you had been denying this whole time. You needed to see him.

Not just to hear his voice through a recording. Not just to pick at old wounds. You needed to see him, in person.

–

Rindou leaned against the cold wall of the common area, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded with boredom. The routine in juvie was mind-numbing, the same cycle of meals, forced interactions, and restless nights on a shitty cot. Then, a guard called his name. "Haitani. You got a visitor."

For a second, he thought he misheard. A few guys around him snickered. Nobody came to see people like them. "You sure you got the right guy?" Rindou scoffed, pushing himself off the wall.

The guard shot him a flat look. "Get moving."

Murmurs rippled through the other inmates as he walked past them. "Yo, who the hell’s here for Haitani?" Mochi laughed, although he was kind of jealous deep down, he wished someone would care too.

"Didn’t think he had anyone left." Mused Shion, voice burning in envy.

Rindou ignored them, shoving his hands into his pockets as he followed the guard down the dimly lit hallway. His mind ran through the possibilities. 

And then he saw you, it cut his thoughts off. Sitting on the other side of the glass, hands resting in your lap, gaze locked onto the table. You looked different. Not in a way anyone else would notice, but Rindou did. There was something in your posture, the way your lips pressed together, hesitation, maybe even regret. The guard nodded toward the chair. "Five minutes."

Rindou sat down slowly, eyes fixed on you. For a moment, it felt like two strangers staring at each other, a hollow space between you both, thick with unsaid words. You were the first to break the silence. "Didn’t think I’d see you again like this."

Rindou scoffed, leaning back. "Yeah? Well, you did come all this way."

You let out a soft laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Guess I did."

His fingers tapped idly against the table, a restless habit. He should say something. Maybe even apologize for what happened with Mitsuya, though deep down, he didn’t actually give a shit. Still, he knew you did. "Listen… about Mitsuya—"

"Don’t." Your voice was firm, and for a second, something flickered across your face—anger, disappointment? He couldn't tell. "I don’t need you to bullshit your way through an apology you don’t mean." His jaw clenched. That was fair.

The silence stretched again, and then, out of nowhere, you smirked. "Bet you miss clubs and alcohol more than me." It caught him off guard. A huff of laughter escaped before he could stop it. His first real laugh in weeks.

"Fuckin’ right I do," he admitted, shaking his head. "You know how boring this place is? I’d kill for a drink right now."

Your grin widened. "Damn. I expected at least a little hesitation."

"Nah," he said, his tone lighter now, "I’d trade half these dumbasses in here for one good night out." For the first time since he’d been locked up, the weight in his chest felt a little lighter. And maybe, just maybe, seeing you here meant something neither of you were ready to admit just yet.

Rindou’s fingers drummed against the scratched surface of the table, his gaze locked onto yours. There was a beat of silence, the air between you thick with unspoken words. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. “You really came,” he muttered, voice low.

You let out a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. “You really think that little of me?”

Rindou shook his head. “Nah. I just figured you were smarter than that.”

There was no malice in his voice, no bite. Just exhaustion, laced with something else, something he wouldn’t name. You leaned forward slightly, fingers brushing the cool surface between you. “You’re an asshole, Rindou.”

His lips twitched, a ghost of a smirk. “Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I don’t know why I came either.”

His smirk faded, something in his expression shifting. “Then why are you here?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you studied him, the dark circles under his eyes, the way he kept flexing his fingers like he was ready to punch something, the tension coiled in his shoulders. “I guess…” you hesitated. “I just wanted to see if you were still you.”

His brows furrowed. “The fuck does that mean?”

“It means,” you said carefully, “that I wanted to know if you were still Rindou. Or if this place turned you into someone else.”

He scoffed. “And? What’s the verdict?”

You stared at him for a long moment before giving a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “You’re still you. Just… different.” It's true that the more time passed, the colder he became. But that was the way his life was, and it wasn't going to get any better.

He clicked his tongue, looking away. “Not sure if that’s a good thing.”

You swallowed. “Me neither.” Another silence stretched between you, but this one wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t suffocating like before. It just was. Rindou ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “Guess this is the part where we say goodbye, huh?”

Your throat tightened. You nodded. “Yeah.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Shouldn’t feel this weird, should it?”

You shook your head. “No. But it does.”

Rindou let out a quiet laugh, but there was no real humor in it. “Figures.” He sighed. “I know we'll never relive what we have in our memories, I'm sorry.” From all the things Rindou said in his life, it never felt this genuine.

The guard cleared his throat in the background. Time was up. You stood first. He followed. For a moment, you just stared at each other.

“Take care, Rindou,” you said softly.

His jaw clenched. He hesitated, then let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. “Yeah. You too.”

You turned to leave, feeling the weight of his gaze still on you. Your hands clenched at your sides, your chest tightening in a way you weren’t sure how to name. Just before you stepped out, you glanced back one last time. And to your surprise, Rindou was still watching you, a complicated look in his eyes, one you hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t regret, or anger. Just… something unfinished. And for the first time in a long while, saying goodbye didn’t feel so cold.

—

A year later, Rindou was free.

The neon lights of Tokyo bled into the night sky, pulsing like a heartbeat. Music pounded through the air, deep bass reverberating in your chest. It had been too long since he’d been here, since he’d let himself be here. A year locked away, a year spent watching time move without him. He wasn’t going to waste another second. You hadn’t seen him yet, he hadn’t seen you yet, though.

Bodies swayed around you, a sea of strangers lost in the rhythm. The alcohol burned in his throat, but he welcomed it. He had missed this, the noise, the chaos, the feeling of losing himself in something bigger, something careless. And then, through the dim, hazy glow of the club, he saw you.

It hit him like a punch to the gut. One second, he was just another guy drowning in Tokyo’s nightlife, and the next, you were there, standing across the room, looking different yet the same.

Rindou moved without thinking. The crowd barely registered as he pushed through, his pulse quickening with each step. When he was close enough, he leaned in from behind, lips dangerously close to your ear.

“Guess all paths don’t lead to Rome,” he murmured, voice rough with alcohol and something else. “But to you.” Seriously, what kind of pick up line was that? We all hope it was just the alcohol, Rindou.

You turned sharply, eyes widening in surprise. “Rindou?”

He grinned, lazy and lopsided. “Miss me?”

You blinked, as if you weren’t sure if you were dreaming or not. “You’re out?”

He nodded, stepping back slightly to get a good look at you. “Yeah. A whole year. Thought I’d treat myself to some fun.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Rindou clicked his tongue, smirking. “Funny. ‘Cause this kinda feels like the first time we met. You, me, a shitload of noise… Think I should take you back?”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering with something unreadable. “Rindou…”

His smirk faltered just a little. He could see it, the way you hesitated, the way your fingers curled slightly like you were holding yourself back. “It won’t be possible,” you said, voice softer now, but firm.

He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah. Figured you’d say that.”

You expected him to get angry, expected him to push. But instead, he just leaned in closer again, eyes gleaming under the flashing lights.

“Then at least,” he murmured, “let’s enjoy tonight.” His voice was lower now, softer, edged with something dangerously close to longing. It sent a shiver down your spine, one you weren’t sure you wanted to acknowledge.

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. The past year had been a blur of trying to move on, trying to forget, and now here he was, Rindou, standing before you like a ghost from a life you had almost buried. But wasn’t that the problem? You never really buried it.

You swallowed, feeling the heat of his gaze, the way his presence still wrapped around you like cigarette smoke, impossible to ignore, impossible to forget. You knew better than to let him back in. But just for tonight… just for a little while…

“Alright,” you finally whispered. “Just tonight.”

And for the first time in a long time, Rindou smirked, because he knew, just as well as you did, that nothing was ever just one night.