#until crystal deems it disgusting

[pisces-swirlix]

Your take is absolutely correct except for AUs that include a different first meeting, whether it’s canon divergence or modern AU or something. But if it’s post canon then yes. Nicknames feel unnatural.

However. Terms of endearment do not follow the same rule.

One reason I think nicknames give me the ick for Payneland is that if a nickname was going to arise... it would have already? Charles is already so affectionate with Edwin like, he's not going to randomly shorten his name starting now!!!

[yuriisclumsy]

After I read that Cale x flirty reader!!..I screamed..Like oh my!!.. Can I make a request where is the enemy to lovers?.. Like the reader is a villain who likes to flirt with Cale every time they meet. In addition, this reader is shameless.. Definitely a mess dan chaotic 🤣🤣🤣.. And the reader kisses Cale on the cheek before she leaves saying 'Next time we meet, I'll ask for the size of your ring finger, Bye baby.".. I want to see Cale and the many reactions too..Bye author

Take care of yourself 😘

Villains Have a Heart Too, Y'know

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 1,355

»»►When I got this request I was surprised many people liked Flirty Reader!

»»►I went off a bit from the request, but what can I do? When a good plot just pops up I have to follow it, no matter if it has little to do with the request. Still, I do try to make it as closely to the asker's request.

»»►I feel like, for this scenario, it would take place in the Whooper Kingdom–you’ll know why once you read.

»»►On another note, [Name] has had encounters with Cale ever since he somehow got transmigrated into the world of Birth of a Hero. The man is tired. But let’s be real, when is he not?

»»►Cale just has to deal with another headache-giving-maniac sadly.

Metals were crashing.

The clash between steel signified a battle taking place. Brutal forces wrestle against each other for dominion. 

Fighting for power. It has always been like this.

Walls and towers, buildings–whether high or low–cumbled due to the aggressiveness of battle. Many scurried off to safety, finding a safe place to hide until the warfare concluded with its victors.

In the Whopper Kingdom, where mages were deemed to be spans of evil, stood a woman of great talent. She was a genius in her field, with masses tittling her: “The Grand Magician.”

The Grand Magician had been a force not to be reckoned with ever since her ascension through the Magic Tower. Which is why she is the main target for the Rebellion; Toonka's sworn enemy.

“Come back here witch!” a wounded man yelled.

“Awww, is little Toonka unable to land a hit?” the girl said. She giggled at the man’s inability to harm her.

“Why, you little sh-t! AHHH!” The man–Tookan–charged at her with fists fully ready to punch her. He missed by a large margin.

“You missed me!~” the girl taunted Toonka. She had been flying on a broom this whole time, using spells to her advantage, without fully killing the barbaric man. She had the power to eliminate her opponent, but she found more joy from playing with her food.

She laughed at Toonka’s poor excuse of attacks.

“Get down here you demon-incarnate!”

“My my, that insult is far too sophisticated for you! Did you finally grow a brain?”

“I alway had a brain you b-tch!” Toonka leaped in the air in anger, and missed her once again.

“What foul language,” the mage manifested a staff, “I should teach you some manners!” Twirling her staff summoned a ray of spells; casting lighting in the field—all which Toonka managed to avoid. How lucky.

“Damn you woman!” Toonka screamed as he barely missed a bolt.

“Hehehe…HAHAHAHA!” The girl laughed hysterically with tears in her eyes. She loved to see people from above, scramble like ants.

“Hahaha...ahhh. Dear me, I haven’t had this much fun in a while,” she said, wiping away a tear that had formed.

An orb suddenly appeared next to the mage flashing in alert.

“Hmmm…” in amusement she took it into her hands, one hand gracefully waving above it. An image appeared on the sphere; a red haired male was shown through the ball—he seems to be inside the Magic Tower.

“Dear me, if it isn't my sweet love,” she looks at Toonka after making the crystal ball disappear, “sorry, little Toonka, seems our playtime needs to be paused and rescheduled to a later date. Hope you can keep entertaining me. Ta ta~”

Casting a spell, she disappeared slowly to the disgust of the man she bid farewell to.

She had done it on purpose.

“GET BACK HERE YOU WRETCH!”

…

The twentieth floor, the master of the magic tower’s room.

“I-I thought I was going to die…!!”

A young mouse-dwarf child had almost seen his soul ascending to the heavens above a few seconds prior, when his tiny body was lifted off the ground and flew to the top of the magic tower.

He stepped back trying to ground himself. He bumped into someone, making him turn around apologetically.

“I-I’m sorry,” he turned around only to see a cat.

“Meoow.”

His eyes meet the gaze I casted at him.

“...”

“Ah.”

How awkward.

“There is one more floor in the magic tower,” the kid said, diverting his embarrassing moment. 

“Then is the twenty-first floor the master's room?” I, in all my mercy, went on with my business like nothing happened. This was much appreciated by the boy.

“No, that’s not what we call it.”

“Then what do you call it?” I questioned him.

The real room of the master of the magic tower. A place that even the non-wizard alliance hasn’t found; a room no one knew the existence of.

At Least, that was the only thing that was stated in Birth of a Hero.

“Ground Zero,” a high pitched voice responded.

“We call it Ground Zero.”

It doesn't belong to the child, nor could it have come from him–since he didn’t know the room's actual name–the cats did not speak in this form, they knew better than that.

I can recognize that voice even if I become half deaf…

“[Name]...” I called the name of the intruder, facing her as she appeared from a mist that manifested out of thin air.

“Hello,” She smiled innocently, “it’s been a while…dear Cale.”

I stare at her with a suspicion of a hundred detectives. “What are you doing here?”

The children recoil behind me. The mouse: scared out of his mind; The cats: hissing at the intruder.

She had been causing nothing but wreck since the day I met her.

“Awww… did you not miss me?” She pouted.

“No.” I said bluntly.

In truth, although she is destructive, she’s never killed anyone. She may act like an evil witch, but she’ll alway cast barriers to protect.

The reason she acts like she does is still a mystery, even to me.

“Bo-hoo…” She pouted. She quickly got over it and spoke, “So, Want the treasure of this tower now? You know, if you called for me beforehand, I would have shown you the way.”

“Then take me there.��

“Nope,” She smiled teasingly at me. Honestly…can’t I just have a day without a headache. “If I did, you would just leave right after, leaving me all alone in this empty tower.”

“Then what do you propose?” I inquired.

“Well… I want to join your little fiasco.”

“*HISS*” the cats hissed at her. They really don’t like her.

I narrowed my eyes on her. I can’t deny that she would be really useful if she joined us. But on the contrary, the people of the anti-wizard organization would look at us in a not so good light. Tonka is my main problem. If I let her in, Toonka will follow me until the end of the world for, quote-on-quote, “betraying him.”

I don’t need more problems. But his majesty would kill me if he found out I didn’t recruit her in. Luck isn't on my side this time.

“You can join.”

“Oh, I knew you wouldn't let me—wait, what?” she paused, looking at me incredulously. “What did you say?”

“I said you can join,” I repeated.

“...”

“...”

“...”

“I CAN JOIN?!?!?!?”

We flinched back.

Jeez… Wasn’t it her idea in the first place? Why is she acting like this after I said yes? Honestly… I’ll never understand a woman’s mind.

“..yes,” I said slowly to not ignite another yell.

She jumped up and down while squealing in excitement.

“Oh, I have to go and pack my things!” she summoned her staff, with a swing in the air she started to disappear the same way she appeared. “See you soon love! Next time I’ll ask for your ring size!~”

“Oh, and little Mueller?” she spoke to the boy hiding behind me.

“Yes..!” he shrieked.

“Open up Ground Zero for Cale, will you?” She then fully vanished.

“*sigh…*” I turn to look at Mueller. “Well? Are you going to open ground zero, or not?”

“Ah! Y-yes, right away!” he scurried off to do what he was told.

What have I gotten myself into?

"Human, do you want me to obliviate her?"

"No!"

Fin

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: @lureslutes, @cruzerforce4256, @narcise63, @potterhead-whovian-117, @margieee194, @zenix108, @vimenorie, @lunavixia, @potterhead-whovian-117, @alithurism, @matchalyne, @minteaspoon, @dontknowhowtousethis, @valacz29, @rainalovesouya, @vimenorie, @lunavixia, @lablog5, @htshbtcp, @purposefulwhale, @leylnnn, @ixchelhernandez4, @minteaspoon. Re-blog or Comment if you want to get added into the Tag section for Lout of Count's Family updates. Back to Lout Of Count's Family Master-List

Master-List

[fairsexynasty]

—DIFFICULT THINGS

jamie tartt x lasso!reader

ONE. TOWNIE

summary: lucy moves to richmond with a memory that doesn’t quite forget what her dad did to her. however, ted is as happy as a goldfish.

warnings: cursing, unlikeable female protagonist, father issues, abandonment issues, resentment

a/n: welcome to this very new series i WILL finish. my love for this show has overtaken my time and i am very excited to be writing this. this chapter is set during “two aces.”

——————

Leonard Cohen once said, “There’s a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in.” But my world has been infused with the darkest of shadows. Everywhere I search is covered by a dark spot. It seeps into my life from my dreams, nightmares, and memories. I don’t think I was delivered by the hand of God, nor will I be expecting any blessing in the near future. It’s the hope that kills you.

I had that epiphany when I turned seven. No one had ever seen a child so jaded, so self-aware. When I learned that the father I wished for wasn’t that interested in fully being in my life, I accepted it entirely, for what it was worth. He’s popped in and out, coming in as quickly as he leaves, only sticking around for moments he deemed essential to me.

And the worse part is that he’s a good man—a good man with a daughter who felt evil.

I used to wish something terrible would happen to me. A broken collarbone. A car accident. Cancer. If something like that happened to me, I thought he’d return and stay for good.

But those things never happened. I’ve never broken any bones. I’ve never crashed my car into a tree. I’m perfectly healthy. And after all this time, Dad has moved on.

I have a half-brother. Thirteen or fourteen years my junior, it’s disgusting how I’m not too sure about the gap. I’ve never met him, nor do I want to meet him. I envy a child who cannot understand the weight of the word ‘father’ because he’ll always take it for granted.

When I crawl through my memories, I can see Dad crystal clear. He showed up to every one of my birthdays until age sixteen. That’s probably because my brother was old enough to ask and understand why Dad was leaving him. Dad came to my first dance, a father-daughter dance. It was one of the nights I honestly felt pretty. He and I danced the night away, stuffing our faces with candy and desserts and drinking our weight’s worth of soda pop. Dad taught me how to ride a bike. Although it ended with scraping my knees, he helped me up, cleaned my knees, and kissed each one. Dad drove me to my first day of high school. The morning went by quickly, but I can still remember the smile on his face as I waved goodbye to him and walked through the school doors.

I want to be thankful for what I’ve gotten from my dad. But he could have done so much more. Am I not worth the effort?

And it hurts to hate my mother as much as I do.

She could clean up her act for Dad, but once he was on his way home, she’d finally ease into consciousness. We would fight. She’d accuse me of not appreciating her. She’d belittle me and never congratulated me on my accomplishments. She’s manipulative. Controlling. Narcissistic. Evil. I know I’m no good, either. But women like that love confrontation. And she got the best of me every single time.

But I’m a grown woman now. I’m twenty. I have a life. A freedom I’ve never known. I’m trying to be honest, to prove I am everything Mom never thought I’d be. I’m trying to make Dad proud of me. Because everyone else is sure as hell proud of him, he’s Ted Lasso: a simple man with a simple plan who was pulled to spread his kindness in Richmond, England, by coaching their god-awful team. I watched the news with a frown as soon as they announced his new endeavor. If he got a new beginning, why can’t I?

And that’s why I decided to pack up my things and move to England.

I’ve been here before. My mother and I moved around due to her line of work. Whether it was Shanghai, Princeton, Kuala Lumpur, or Rome, I could never call those places home. I feel like Richmond is going to be different. I’m not hopeful. Just curious.

——

The park seems comforting. There appears to be a rhythm that compliments the people. Kids playing soccer, and shops opening for the day.

I sit and watch the world awaken. People pass me by as I sit on the bench, not one of them stopping their routine for me, except one.

lHis greetings were met with responses of “Wanker,” a word I found oddly endearing. He continued down the park trail, saying ‘good morning’ to me mindlessly.

I replied with a deadpan “Wanker,” which surprised him, given my American accent. He turned back, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

“Oh, my lordy-lord,” he muttered, smiling as he said my name, “Lucy.” He looks at me as if I’m a fucking unicorn. His eyes soften, and the smile that always reaches his eyes is suddenly on his face. “ Lucy !” he breathes out as if he’s too scared to say it louder like I’ll run away and leave.

“Hi, Dad.” He pulls me from my seat on the bench and envelops me into the biggest bear hug I’ve ever gotten from him. And those hugs are grizzly and unrelenting.

He lifts me off my feet and holds my head to his shoulder. “Oh, how I love you, Lucy girl. I can’t believe it!”

I groan, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Dad, please put me down. I'm not as tiny as Henry is," I say with a laugh. He puts me down with a smile, but there’s a flash of a solemn look on his face. I guess my mention of Henry has filled him with some semblance of guilt. I can’t tell if that satisfies me or not. "I think you're wondering why I'm here," I say, the false smile still on my face. "And the only reason is because I wanted to see you, Dad. I missed you," I add, trying to perfect the role of the doting daughter, even though it doesn't come naturally.

“Oh, I missed you too, Pumpkin. I’m glad you’re here.” He spots my luggage standing against the bench. “Looks like you’re gonna be visiting for a while, huh?”

I nod slowly, my gaze briefly shifting away. "Yeah, I am. Needed a change of scenery for a while," I admit, hoping he won't probe further into my true reasons for being here.

Dad nods, but I spot him scanning my face for any information I won’t outwardly tell him. Perhaps it’s a parently instinct, or maybe it’s just a Ted Lasso thing. The smile on my face doesn’t falter.

“So, how’s your mom?”

The question hangs in the air, and I can sense the curiosity in his eyes. I clench my jaw and roll my eyes in annoyance. "I really don't want to talk about her right now," I say firmly, hoping to steer the conversation away from a topic I'd rather avoid.

Dad gives me one of those fatherly smiles, understanding my need for privacy but also indicating he'll inquire about it later. "Alright then. How about we get you settled into my place? Don't care if you've found one already. I got you here with me, and you're not going anywhere, missy. I hope that's alright with you," he adds, his face hopeful as he waits for my response.

I acquiesce to his requests. It’s the least I can do. “Sure, Dad. I’d love to.”

He cheers with a fist pump, then wrangles me into yet another bear hug before I tell him he’s crushing my ribs, and he dramatically lets me go with a pout on his face.

I follow him down the streets to his apartment door. We enter, and it’s pretty lovely, yet it feels so hollow. There’s an opened jar of peanut butter on the island. I can tell he radiates joy as we unpack my things into an extra bedroom. I wonder how lonely he’s been without his son and wife.

Yeah. This is the least I can do.

——

After unpacking and settling in, Dad practically begs me to come to Nelson Road with him, and since I’m already feeling a bit guilty, I come along with him.

Upon entering, some guy with a full beard and eyebrows that make him look perpetually constipated looks at me. Well, it’s more of a glare. He walks up to Dad and me, not once taking his eyes off me. I narrow my eyes in response, shooting him a cold glare of my own. “Who the fuck is this? Don’t tell me Rebecca hired another fucking American.” His voice is deep and rumbling and full of snark.

"Seriously, do all British guys walk around with a stick up their ass?" I quip, but my remark falls on deaf ears. I catch the man clenching his jaw at my question. Ah, it seems he doesn't take kindly to being disrespected. One jab at his masculinity, and he's ready to go to war without a second thought.

"Roy Kent, meet my daughter, Lucille," Dad introduces, but I quickly interject, "Lucy to you." I emphasize my preference, not one to stand on formality. "Who the fuck are you, Roy Kent?" I ask, gauging his reaction as he looks between me and my dad, clearly trying to figure something out. I decide to clear the air, "Yeah, my mom isn't Michelle," I clarify, hoping to put any confusion to rest.

Roy's response is a simple "Oh," followed by a grunt as he exits the scene. My dad remains unfazed and carries on, guiding me towards the locker room with his arm casually draped around my shoulder.

"Coach Beard! We've got a new cast member!" Dad announces to the room as we walk out together, seemingly excited to introduce me to his colleagues.

A man with a book and a golf hat turns his chair around and observes us. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the fussbudget,” he says. “Hello, Lucy. I’m Coach Beard. I’ve heard all about you.”

I can't help but snort at the situation. "That's impossible," I retort with a snarky tone. Coach Beard finds my reaction amusing, letting out a chuckle, while my dad gives a slight frown, but I know a few jabs won't easily rattle him.

Suddenly, a strong voice breaks the chatter, announcing, "Ayo, the gaffer's got another kid!" The rest of the men turn their attention to me, their eyes filled with wonder and intrigue. They excitedly chat, asking if they saw what they think they did.

Exiting the office, we step into the open room where my dad proudly introduces me to the team. "Fellas, I'd like to introduce you to my daughter. This is Lucy, everyone."

The players greet me with waves and hellos, except for one guy sitting on the bench, engrossed in his phone, occasionally laughing. I point him out, asking, "Who's that?"

"Jamie Tartt. Hey, Beard, what's the deal with Jamie?" my dad inquires, and seemingly out of nowhere, Jamie appears beside us without making a sound.

Beard responds, "Says he can't practice today. Says he's hurt."

I observe my dad's face dropping with disappointment as he turns to walk out the door and over to Jamie, concern etched across his features.

The whole situation was intense, and I couldn't recall ever seeing my father this angry before. It seemed like there had never been an opportunity for him to get this worked up until now. Watching him unleash his frustration on Jamie reminded me of my mom, who had her share of heated moments. While my dad appeared to be justified in his outburst, Jamie's disrespectful behavior only reinforced my 'British men suck shit' theory.

Feeling overwhelmed, a tingling sensation crept into my head, and my heart raced with the familiar signs of an impending panic attack. I needed to escape, so I swiftly turned on my heel and walked out of the office, trying to distract myself by fiddling with the rings on my fingers.

Wandering aimlessly down the halls, I searched for a private space to catch my breath and calm down. Passing a laughing man, a short guy carrying a laundry bag, and a stunning blonde woman who seemed out of place here, I stopped in my tracks when I heard my dad's name mentioned in a hushed conversation.

"Rebecca, I don't think Coach Lasso will be too thrilled about you trading Jamie away.”

“Higgins, listen to me. I don't care if Lasso is trying to get through to Jamie or if he begs him to come back. Jamie is not returning, and that's precisely what I need," she asserts before abruptly changing the subject, "Now, let me go hunt down my biscuits. They're late."

Realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Dad is being sabotaged. All this time, I believed he was here to make a positive impact on the team, but it turns out they see him as nothing more than a joke. Stepping away from the door, I attempt to make a quick exit, only to collide with a statuesque woman who towers over me.

She glances down at me, exuding power through her stature and fashion, but I'm not intimidated. "Why, hello there, whoever you are. Are you lost?" she inquires.

Ah, this must be Rebecca. The woman who plans to screw my father over. I can't help but roll my eyes at her. "No. Just looking for the bathroom," I retort.

Rebecca gestures towards the sign, displaying her passive-aggressiveness. "Well, it's just around the corner. Right where the 'bathroom' sign is," she points out.

"Cool," I respond nonchalantly, not letting her faze me. "Oh, and by the way, my name's Lucy. Thanks for hiring my dad to coach!"

I catch a flicker of terror in Rebecca's eyes before I walk away, grinning to myself. Drama seems to follow me wherever I go, even in Richmond. Old habits die hard, I suppose.

——

After my quick trip to the loo, I wander over to the dog track, where Dad and Beard stand, closely observing the team's training session. I can't help but chuckle at Jamie's predicament as he wears a penny and sets up cones.

Dad notices my arrival and playfully calls out, "Oh, there you are, Waldo! What were you doing?"

His attempts at humor fail to catch me off guard. While I understand his references, I refuse to engage in the corniness. "Nothing, just using the bathroom," I reply with a mischievous grin, not willing to spill the beans about Rebecca's scheming ways. "Oh, and I met Rebecca. She seems nice," I lie sarcastically, well aware of her conniving nature.

Before Dad can respond, a rather handsome player approaches us gracefully. "Hello there. Sorry, Coach Lasso, but I couldn't continue practice without introducing myself to our guest," he says with a charming smile. "My name is Sam Obisanya. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lucy. The other players and I were wondering if you'd care to join us on the field for a few minutes. We'd like to have some fun at Jamie's expense. Is that alright?"

I return Sam's smile and reply, "Uh, sure. But I haven't played in years, dude. Not sure I'll be any good among you professionals.”

Sam brushes off my concerns, reassuring me, "Oh, that's alright, Lucy. I'm sure Thierry will let you score a couple of goals. Come on!" With that, he guides me towards the field, announcing to the team, "She said yes, you guys!" Their enthusiastic cheers fill the air.

As we assemble for a quick game, a guy with a buzzed fade named Isaac addresses me, confirming my name, "Alright, Lucy, is it?" I nod, and he explains the teams, "We're gonna split into five and five, and you're gonna play with the lads who ain't got a kit on."

"Sounds good," I respond with enthusiasm. I turn to the guys without kits, and each extends a hand for a handshake. I go down the line, shaking hands with each one. There's a short man with curly hair, Bumbercatch, followed by a tall fellow with a broad smile, Jan Maas. Then, a highly energetic man named Dani Rojas greets me, not wasting any time to exclaim, "Football is life!" right in front of me. The last guy, a mousey brunette named Colin, completes the line-up.

Quickly getting into formation with my newfound teammates, they place me front and center for the play. I'm facing off with Sam, who gives me a friendly smile. At the sound of the whistle, we both dash for the ball, but I swiftly take control and dribble it down the field. Roy Kent charges towards me, determined to tackle the ball away, but I outmaneuver him with a quick juke, causing him to land on his ass. The guys react with astonishment, and suddenly, the game shifts from Sam's gentle start to full intensity.

Isaac rushes towards me, sporting a determined expression, but I pass the ball to Dani Rojas, who's open and ready. Dani drives it down the field, but as soon as he spots an opportunity, he passes it back to me. With precision, I shoot the ball into the goal, leaving the goalkeeper stunned as it whizzes past him.

The entire team stands in complete silence, including my dad and Coach Beard, who are both staring at me with their mouths agape. The momentary hush is broken by Jamie Tartt, who teasingly remarks, "Ay, wanker's kid just got you real good, lads." He winks at me, provoking a gag from me followed by a flip-off.

Isaac can't contain his excitement, exclaiming, "Shit, bruv! You just broke Roy Kent's ankles!"

Roy growls behind me, clearly not pleased with being outplayed. "You got fucking lucky, kid," he grumbles.

I don't back down, confidently replying, "Luck's got nothing to do with it. Either you're cursed or you just ate shit, Kent."

I have to admit, Richmond has exceeded my expectations thus far, but I won't let it get the best of me just yet.

[chubs291]

Prompt #10 Hold Steady, Hold Stable

This takes place in an au where there are multiple warriors of light, mammoth being one of them. Enjoy.

Today was shaping up to be a fine day for Mammoth Mitch just until about half an hour ago. It had been a beautiful day in Norvrandt, not too hot or too cold with the perfect breeze. Mammoth had been lounging in a cafe chair, enjoying a warm cup of hot chocolate on his day off. After taking down not one but two wardens the rest of the warriors of light had deemed a break needed and Mammoth was happy to agree. The rest of them decided to go and check out some parts of the First that they had yet to explore, some babbling about ancient ruins or whatever, it didn’t really excite Mammoth all too much so he deemed to stay behind and simply enjoy the nice day. 

That was of course, until Mammoth spotted a scout sprinting towards the Crystal tower. “Oi, lad! What seems to be the problem?” The roegadyn said in an inquisitive shout, he lifted himself from his chair and finished his hot chocolate in one quaff. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something . . .” 

“Sir sir! Sin eaters! A whole bloody horde of them marching towards the Crystarium! I have to tell the Exarch right away!” The scout had a look of sheer dread and panic in his eyes that told Mammoth that the boy wasn’t just seeing things or had an overactive imagination. 

Mammoth did not even bother responding, he simply nodded to the boy and sprinted off towards his inn room, where his armor and axe were. Most would have thoughts of panic, or fear, or just genuine concern, not Mammoth Mitch. Mammoth didn’t have time to have any thoughts like that, he was a warrior! He was the wall that stood in the way of any dangers that threatened those he cared for, and if that meant holding off an entire army of sin eaters, then so be it. 

Mammoth burst into the Pendants, not even bothering to acknowledge the secretary. He strided up the stairs and into his room, quickly arming himself with his plate armor and helm. The armor was not in the best condition but he did not have time to fix it, it would simply have to suck it up and hold strong. Mammoth snatched his axe from its spot, leaning against the wall. As he hefted it onto his back a voice came in through his linkpearl, the familiar voice of the Exarch. 

“I contacted the others,” The exarch explained in a simple and serious tone, “They will arrive in around half an hour, you have to hold them off until then.” The exarch’s voice had a hint of despair in it that Mammoth did indeed notice, but once again he had no time to despair. 

“Consider it done, they won’t break me down!” Mammoth explained, cracking his knuckles and neck. “Those sin eaters, don’t stand a chance in the hells!” Mammoth shouted, knowing that by now the Exarch had gone to his own preparations, not listening. This was more so to hype himself up. Were there thoughts in his head screaming for him to take cover, to hide, to run like hell? Oh of course, but Mammoth learned to ignore such thoughts, he had no time for them. 

Mammoth stepped out onto the bridge facing out from the Crystarium, in the distance he could already see them. The disgusting and twisted forms of the sin eaters slowly shambling forwards towards one of the First’s last bastions against the tide of these vile beasts. Mammoth pulled his axe from his back with a smile forming across his face. “COME ON YOU LIGHT DRENCHED BEASTS! I’VE ENOUGH FOR EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YE, YOU JUST NEED TO STEP UP AND I’LL GIVE YOU YOUR FILL!” The Warrior banged his axe against his chest three times before stepping forward, to this point he was about halfway across the bridge and the first of the sin eaters had stepped onto the bridge.

This was it, no time for any slip-ups, Mammoth had to hold out for half an hour until his allies arrived. A few thoughts screamed in his head, about how that was too long, he was just one man, there were so many of them! The warrior let those thoughts fester for but a second before they were removed from his head and replaced by a stalwart resolution. He was a wall, a stable bastion that these damnable creatures would crash against over and over again, unrelenting in their assault, but he would not waver for the warrior had no other option but to stand strong against this horde. As the sea of white crashed against the stalwart warrior, only one thought remained in his head. Hold Steady, Hold Stable.

[nurrgleth]

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗛𝗔𝗚 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗪𝗦 𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗘

Nu'radhi is an infamous Great Unclean One amongst fellow Daemons of Nurgle and an extremely rare black sheep from the Plague Lord's vast family of daemon children. She is known as the Poxmother and currently lives a humbled existence as the Keeper of the Gallows Tree.

In her heyday, Nu'radhi was among the greatest of her king, well regarded by Nurgle and her fellow Great Unclean ones. She was a Poxmaker known for her unconventional use of materials, not all of them strictly biological. Nu'radhi would alter existing phages, and make viable those mixes deemed failures by past generations of Plaguemixers. However, she would discover that there was a reason that the Plague Legions relied upon tried and true diseases and left the creation of poxes chiefly to the Great Lord of Decay himself...

Bearing the same hatred of Tzeentchian Daemons as any of his kin, it was only a matter of time before she looked to them as ingredients for her creation, which was already controversial in Nurglite spaces. Despite the murmurings of disapproval from her kin, Nu'radhi persevered. Her first few creations were successes and each one bolstered her more and more, until she sought to make a truly inspired disease from the remains of a Lord of Change. In the manner of her father, she called it Nu'radhi's Rot and her Nurglings sang the name as they had the poxes to come before.

But misfortune befell the Poxmother. Either by an ill stroke of luck or the machinations of a envious rival, a Beast of Nurgle broke into her laboratory and wreaked havoc upon her workshop. She tried to wrangle the creature, but it's rancid bulk knocked over Nu'radhi's shifting concoction, which had been completed only moments ago. The havoc the Beast wrought was nothing compared to the the brew itself, however. In the manner of the Lord of Change and other Tzeentchian creatures used to make it, the liquid began to mutate and ravage and change all that it touched, seeming to crawl along the ground. It was if the seething intelligence of the daemons within were lashing out at those about them; even Nu'radhi didn't come away unscathed and many were banished before the brew-creature could be stopped. Forever marking the site of her failure, a giant brilliant blue crystal bursts up from the Ground in Nurgle's Realm in a likeness of those that litter Tzeentch's Realm.

Shortly after this event, Nurgle himself got involved. Another god would have banished Nu'radhi forever, or worse, completely unmade her, but the Plague god was patient, if stern and deeply disappointed. The Poxmother was trapped for a time within the Crystal she had blighting Nurgle's Kingdom with and when she finally allowed to leave, both her and her throng were shunned by the wider family. Thusly, they took their leave, choosing to languish in the mortal world instead.

Either due to her imprisonment or coming in contact with the Rot-brew, Nu'radhi discovers with no small amount of disgust that she is changed. Tzeentch's fell magic lingers in her flesh, imparting upon her powers that only the Change-spawn and the Pleasurekin bear: the ability to shapeshift. Nu'radhi despairs at this power and having it causes her to become one of the very, very few children of Nurgle who are not cheerful and vivacious.

Then, she hears the legend of the Great Kurgan and of the bargains the mortal struck with the gods, her own among them. In return for his strength and his vast Kingdom, the Gods demand sacrifices in the form of his children. Four sons he would give to them for their Great Game, one for each of the gods and their fell purposes. The news takes her interest and Nu'radhi suddenly rejoices at her flesh-changing abilities.

Taking the form of a Northern woman, she shambles from her self-imposed isolation to make the acquaintance of this Kurgan Conqueror...

[imaginedreamwrite]

Heaven For You: Part 5

Tension crackled and lingered between the two of you a heady fog that hovered around the entire house as the hours dwindled.

Upon arriving at the beautifully crafted estate that Steve had designed with you and your future family in mind, the tension had been struck deeper. You had refused to acknowledge him beyond what he deemed necessary, as he gave you little room to breathe when he walked you inside.

Despite your anger toward the superhero turned captor and leader, Steve always made sure he had a hand on your back or an arm around your waist. He had kept his body pressed against yours in a manner of protectiveness that transcended everything else. Even if you were angry enough to curse him to hell and back, you were his wife and he would defend you with every fibre of his enhanced body.

His hand was still warm upon your waist, his body still pressed against yours, at least until you had entered the front door and stepped into the foyer. It was warm until you had cast him off and cursed him under your breath, muttering your disgust for the man you called a liar, and your deceiver.

You had left him standing in the middle of the foyer, standing there watching you while you tore up the stairs, your feet pounding against each step as a means to dispel some of your pent-up anger. Steve’s gaze was on you until you had reached the top, and even as you flipped him off so crudely, he watched you.

“You fucked up, Rogers.” He had finally spoken to himself when you moved out of sight, shaking his head before taking a sidetracked path toward the kitchen. “Still don’t know a bloody thing about women.”

He continued his sullen path toward the cabinet nearest the fridge and reached for a glass, fingers wrapping around the crystal surface. He set it down on the sleek granite top then stepped to the left and searched the liquor set in the same archetypical wood, even though he knew it would do nothing to him. He grabbed the nearest bottle and used his teeth to uncap the cork, spitting it to the side.

As the rim of the bottle met the rim of the glass, Steve tipped it to fill the crystal until it was nearly spilling over the side.

The bottle was placed back in the cupboard, and Steve had downed the liquor a half moment later, setting the glass back down with a heavy sigh. He raised his fingers to his temples and began massaging them in slow circles, his eyes screwed closed. He sighed heavily, again, and kept his position there for as long as he could stand before he pushed himself to stand and left the kitchen in haste.

His long strides took him to the staircase with a fire under his as, and he had taken up after you two steps at a time. He had followed the same path you had to your bedroom, never hesitating for a moment to step into the room and lock the door behind him.

Steve stood on the other side of the door and breathed heavily, not because he would ever be out of breath, but rather because he finds himself breathing heavily due to the manner of undressing you’d participated in.

Everything is left in a messy trail, everything is discarded from your dress to the jewelry he had given you for the event, and your bra and panties are all left in a winding path that led to the bathroom. And you, his gorgeous wife, had been standing near the window in a silk robe that was wrapped ever beautifully around your body. You were standing with your back to him, your eyes cast upon the backyard and the garden, your hands balled under your chin.

“My love,” Steve had huffed, he had swallowed heavily, so captivated by your image, “would you allow me to explain?”

“Explain what? What is there to explain, Captain?” You spoke with ire, still keeping your back to him while he was drawn ever closer to you. “You say you care about me, you say you would burn the world down for me and yet you don’t even tell me that you’re leaving?”

“I’m sorry-“

“I don’t give a fuck about your apologies.” You turn and look at him, your eyes piercing him to hold him where he stood. “I have no use for you apologizing. You are the great hero, you do what you want and you take who you please. You decided to inflict this life on me when I didn’t want it, you pretend to give a damn about me-“

“I do care,” Steve crept closer, taking every step slowly, “you are my everything!”

“Do you ever get tired of repeating that same recycled bullshit?” You scoffed and turned back, another glance out the window before you moved, approaching the side table.

“You are such a…you are selfish. You’re selfish and you don’t give a damn about anyone or anything but yourself. You know that?”

“Y/N, my darling-“

“You know why you didn’t tell me about your leaving? You know why you didn’t think to tell me?” You sat upon the bed, shifting until your back had met the headboard.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry.” He approached the bed, standing by the edge as his hand reached out toward your ankle. “I didn’t want you to worry about me while I was gone-“

You kicked at him, you kicked at his hand and knocked him away from you. Your bottom lip had jut out and you had felt it quiver. You looked away from him and bit down on the inside of your cheek, your eyes stinging and your hands bound tightly against the robe you wore.

You felt as if you could cry but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. You didn’t want him to see you cry, to see you showing any emotion other than unkept rage directed toward him, and it was true that you were angry, but more of you felt hurt and heartbroken.

“Y/N, please look at me.” Steve had sank to the bed, he sat upon it with you and reached for you again.

“Go.” You finally spoke, your hands shaking as the first tear rolled down your cheek. “You want to go so bad, then just fucking go.”

“I have to go, honey. I have to go, they need me-“ He reached for you, and you pulled away from him.

You turned your head and angled your body away from his, physically cutting him off from seeing your face. You had sat there in silence, stewing in your hurt and your anger, your mind and body draining themselves of any will to continue this argument. You wanted peace, you needed peace.

There was silence that passed between you, the stalemate was thick and dense. Neither you nor Steve had said anything and there was nothing heard but the sound of your breathing and the occasional creak from the bed as one of you shifts. There was so much weighing on him, so much that could be said and yet he couldn’t possibly manage to get the words out, there was so much he wanted to do before he left but you shut him out.

“You are my world, Y/N. Everything I did, I did for you.” Steve finally mumbled, he finally spoke and broke the silence, and in speaking he had directed your attention back to himself.

“You’re obsessed, obsession isn’t loved.” You looked over your shoulder, eyes glossy as your emotional hellfire had started to seep between the cracks.

“I love you, I chose you-“

“I didn’t want this!” You reacted in anger, grabbing the pillow to throw it at him, the soft fluff doing nothing to hurt him and if this was any other moment, Steve would’ve been amused by your act. “You took me! I didn’t want any of this! You’re not a hero, you’re a monster!”

“We don’t always get what we want-“

“You did. You made sure you did.” You spat your words at him, you spat your disgust at him, cursing him under your breath.

“I deserved it, didn’t I? After everything I sacrificed, didn’t I deserve happiness?” Steve stood and started unbuttoning his shirt, busying his hands with the buttons while he addressed you. “I deserved something-“

“You could’ve found someone else. You could have had anyone who wanted you-“

“I wanted you.”

“I didn’t want you! I didn’t want you and you took me anyway!” You raised your voice, you screamed your anger and hurt at him, and you threw it all back at him while you lay on your bed, your fists balled into the blanket to keep yourself from striking him.

Steve’s fingers paused, and he stared down at you with a stern gaze. He had kept his eyes on you while you stared back at him, your vision blurry and obstructed by tears that were on the cusp of rolling down your cheeks. Your chest rose and fell with every shaky breath, your anger as vehement as your hurt, it was inescapable.

“You are my perfect wife, I chose you because I loved you.” Steve drew his hand through his hair, fingers weaving in his dirty blonde hair and the headache that he felt earlier had come back tenfold.

“You chose me because you need a trophy, you chose me because I said no and you wanted a fight.”

“I chose you because of your spirit, your mind and your heart. I chose you because you are perfect for me.” Steve sighed, he felt emotionally exhausted and distraught by this fight.

Instead of continuing the fight, Steve pressed his hands upon the bed and leaned over. He breathed in your scent and brushed his lips against your cheek, slating his feathery kiss against your flesh. And then he felt immense loss when you turned away and curled in on yourself.

“Go away. Get away from me. Go on your mission.” You turned away, shifted away from him and protectively wrapped your arms around your middle.

Despite that, it didn’t stop Steve from draping the blanket over your frame while making sure none of you was uncovered aside from your shoulders and head. He tucked you in and stepped back, his eyes sweeping across your body, a heady sigh building in his throat and chest.

“Just go away.”

The bag fell to the floor, it dropped from his shoulder with a heavy thud. Everything was packed, his shield was resting upon the duffel bag ready to be transported to the hangar with the rest of his gear. Everything was ready for him to leave and still, he was hopeful for your appearance. He hoped that he would see you coming down the staircase to say goodbye to him before he left, it was that integral streak of hope that left him standing there.

“You don’t know a bloody thing about women.” Peggy’s voice from all those years ago had echoed in his mind, it reverberated heavily in his skull like a drum crashing against every corner.

He waited with slightly bated breath, he waited with a kind of anxiousness beneath his flesh. It was the draw between waiting for something he hoped would happen and knowing that nothing likely would. He could have waited all day for you, he would have stayed there in his darkened roughened tactical suit forever if he could. He wanted to wait for you, he wanted to wait for your goodbye even if he had his doubts that it would come.

“Captain Rogers,” the door opened and they addressed him again, urging him to leave, “we need to go.”

He swallowed thickly, bending to grab the handles of his duffle bag and his shield. He held both in his hands as he stood, staring at the stairs waiting for you.

“Just give me a minute.” His tongue wet his lips, his heart thrashing. “Come on sweetheart, just give me one look at you.”

Seconds, minutes, moments…

“I’m sorry sir, but she’s waiting and the jet-“

Steve turned sharply on his heel, he turned away from the staircase and peeled out the door, stalking toward the waiting vehicle. He ripped open the trunk and shoved his duffle bag into the back, setting his shield on top. He worked endlessly until it came time for him to get into the rear driver’s side.

He sank onto the seat and shut the door beside him, his eyes fixated on the stitching of the leather headrest in front of him.

“You’re an idiot.” Natasha remarked, reaching across to punch his shoulder, cursing him. “You had a good run, Rogers. Hope her next husband has a better reputation.”

“Natasha-“

“Don’t Natasha me, you fucked up. And I’m gonna kick your ass before we deal with the rebels.”

Permanent Tags List: @jennmurawski13-writes @beardburnsupersoldiers @daydreaminginthechaos @rebekahdawkins @supraveng @bookfrog242 @old-enough-to-know-better73 @valsworldofcreativity @rainbowkisses31 @loveitorleaveit20 @alexakeyloveloki @socalgem1124 @mogaruke @dreamlessinparis @frisky975 @dispatchvampire @hereforbuckyandsteve @jesgisborne @fairybnha3 @hallecarey1 @tang082646 @mrslokibarnesrogers @deputy-videogamer @posionivy0061 @loving-life-my-way @kaylamcd2000 @mercyy98 @undecidedsworld @rootcrop @whatinthestyles @slutforsteve @cornmousequeen @rededfoxy @yagurl-snow @glimmering-darling-dolly @patzammit @buckymydarlingangel @missusbarnes-rogers @andy-is-gay @nervousfandom @rileyloves5 @emi11ie @carelessreadersstuff @readingandwritingandreading @cynic-spirit @inkedaztec @gh0stgurl @mansaaay @cats-and-sheep @pono-pura-vida @seitmai @teambarnes72

[inkykeiji]

anonymous said: i would like to suggest, keigo having you on speed dial to call you up and use you whenever he's too pent up because his public girlfriend wont sleep with him. you feel guilty for being the other woman but you were such a big fan of his. you want to end this but keigo isn’t about to let his little bird get away

warnings: 18+, dubcon, rough sex, manipulation, minimal prep, cheating, mentions of caning, noncon photography, dacryphilia, slight degradation peppered with slight praise

words: 3.3k

Gentle vibrations coursing through your mattress and quivering softly against your skin rouse you from your half-conscious state, bleary eyes blinking slowly as you gain your bearings again. It’s late, the wall of full-length crystal windows allowing the moon’s beams to stream into your condo, weakened by the magnificent glow of the city below it, encased in halos of turquoise and jade and violet.

And then, the vibrations start again, and your heart drops.

You know who it is before you even glance at the screen of your phone. Only one person ever calls you this late.

You had been expecting it, to be honest. Crime has hit an all-time high, and it seems like every time you turn on the news, or scroll through your social media feed, there’s a fresh story about a new villain he’s just defeated, headlines in big bold letters, peppered with photos of windswept golden hair and an award-winning smile, or grainy footage of him zipping around, so fast he’s just a blur of gold and crimson, as he neutralizes the enemy, serif words chalk full of praise for the Number Two Hero. As always.  

It makes you sick, makes your stomach churn with a toxic mixture of guilt and revulsion.

Yet, in spite of this, your hand moves on its own, disobeying your brain as it screams at it to let it go to voicemail, just this once, thumb pressing that little green button before bringing the heavy electronic to your ear, quiet and groggy as you answer.

“I’m in the lobby,” his smooth voice, always laced with just a hint of cheekiness, flows through the speaker like melted chocolate, dark and decadent. “Let me in?”

You know he could get in on his own if he really wanted to—he chose this building for a reason, after all. He chose you for a reason, after all.

He could’ve had anyone—could still have anyone—he wanted, with a plethora of beautiful, adoring, devoted young women hanging on his every word, but he picked you. He picked you, because no matter how dedicated and supportive all of those other girls are, none of them have ever loved him the way you did—the way you do.

The feeling lingers, much to your disgust. It lingers when he gives you that gentle, private smile—the one the cameras have never seen, the one that he saves just for you, in the middle of the night after he’s filled you with cum and sucked his name into your neck; lingers when he murmurs sweet nothings into your hair, arms curling around you in the early morning sun; lingers when he fucks you stupid, until you’re a sobbing, drooling mess, until all you can think about is his cock.

The soles of your bare feet echo as they pad against the marble floor, powerless to stop the heavy sigh that slips from between your lips as you fiddle with the little keypad close to the front door, those soft beepbeepbeeps forcing chills to skitter across your skin.

Once, this condo had been everything you had ever wanted. Once, you had considered yourself lucky to be the mistress of such a well-known, distinguished, so-called good man. Once, you had dreamt of him, every single night, of lazy smiles and easygoing drawls, of wicked golden eyes and matching tousled hair.

Once.

Now, it feels like nothing but a cold, empty cage. Fitting, you snort to yourself, shaking your head a little.

Now, all of those extravagant items he had bought for you—the expensive coffee machine, the stupidly massive 4K TV, all of the shimmering dresses and lavish coats, the silk sheets outfitting your gigantic bed, the delicate Agent Provocateur lingerie—have bile rising in the back of your throat, coating your tongue in bitterness, dread sinking thick and heavy in your stomach, turning your blood to concrete in your veins.

Now, that golden gaze makes your skin crawl, those large, impossibly soft hands—protected by those ridiculous gloves, of course—make you want to scrub your body with scalding water until it’s raw, until you’ve ridded yourself of his stare, of his touch, of his scent—sickly sweet and sticky like toffee, blazing and spicy like cinnamon.

And yet, the feeling still lingers, taking root deep at the very core of your body, feeding off your soul like a fucking parasite.

Teeth clack against yours the moment your front door swings open, your body slammed up against the wall a second later as he skillfully kicks the door shut, producing an echo of tremors through the surrounding walls much too loud for three in the morning.

Hands, silky and smooth, are gliding up your bare thighs, playing with the hem of your lacy babydoll slip, lithe fingers tangling in it and pulling as he sucks on your tongue.

“Missed you,” he mumbles between kisses, catching your bottom lip and tugging on it just to hear you whine, a delicious chuckle vibrating against your mouth a moment later, inspiring a shameful, scalding heat to begin spreading in the pit of your belly. “So much,”

“Did you?” and you hate how breathless you already are, hate the way your head tilts and neck arches as his lips travel down the sensitive skin, nipping gently with his front teeth.

“You know I did,” he singsongs, but you can hear the irritation sown into his tone. Hands grip your shoulders, pinning you against the wall, a soft noise of surprise escaping your lips. “Mm,” he hums appreciatively, pulling back a little as lidded eyes scan your form, dark like thick caramel when they meet yours again. “You know this one’s my favourite,”

It is, composed entirely of scarlet lace that dips just below your sternum, the delicate material clinging to your body like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination.

His hands roam, taking the hem of the dainty fabric with him as he pushes it over your hips, up your abdomen and to your breasts, before letting the garment slide down your body again.

The softest, sweetest mewl of his name escapes your lips as the tip of his tongue flicks over a lace covered nipple, circling it once before taking it between his teeth and tugging slightly.

Another laugh, deep and dark, vibrates against your chest, while a hand slips between your thighs, a soft groan rumbling in his chest.

“Such a good, good girl for me, aren’t you?” Two fingers rub achingly slow circles into your clit, Keigo’s tongue darting out of his mouth to lick at a pert nipple again, drenching the lace in saliva. “Following the rules, just like I asked,”

A whimper catches in your throat and you nod, spikes of sharp fear shooting through your stomach as faded memories float languidly through your mind. You can barely remember it, brain so delirious from the pain that you hardly retained any of the experience, but the sound of the cane slicing through the air, mingled with the sound of your own wails echoing throughout the bachelor condo, the intense sting of its impact against your bare skin, the ache in your fingers from gripping the bedsheets that lingered for days later…Those you remember.

He had turned your backside into a brilliant piece of art, you remember him telling you, the morning after when gentle fingers were rubbing cream into your wounds, the obnoxious click! of his phone camera sounding a few moments later seared into your memory. Such a beautiful masterpiece, full of periwinkle and indigo, and it was all for him—because of him.

You couldn’t sit properly for a week and a half after the incident, and that you’ll never forget, either.

All because you had broken one teeny tiny rule, a rule you didn’t even know was a rule, a rule you thought he had been joking about—no panties when sleeping.

Two fingers pushing into your little hole snaps your mind back to the present, a whine falling from your lips as your hips push towards his palm, instantly craving more of him. Curved lips, formed in the shape of a sinful smirk, drag along your jaw as he murmurs to you. You like that, baby? Huh? Did you miss me as much as I missed you?

It’s only been a few days since you saw him last, but you find yourself nodding anyway, breathy little yeses exhaled through parted lips as his fingers pump in and out of you, knuckles curling with each pull out, catching on the spot that has you moaning out his name, that has you pathetically trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, that has you begging for more.

He’s always impatient anyway, barely takes any time to stretch you out—just enough so it isn’t uncomfortable for him, really, scissoring his fingers and grinding the heel of his palm against your clit until it’s throbbing, until he deems you wet enough to take him.

The drywall quivers as Keigo deftly spins you, shoving you against it, a low whine sounding in the back of your throat.

“I’m gonna fuck you in this,” he says decidedly, as if he’s just chosen what his lunch will be for tomorrow, big hands roaming over your ass, kneading and squeezing.

“Keigo, please, not here—”

“Shh,” he hushes you, and his voice is so gentle, so tender, gathering the delicate lace in his fists and pushing it up, up, up, until it bunches around your waist. “Be good for me, yeah?” sharp teeth sink into the back of your neck hard enough to break the skin, an alpha marking his territory, your responding cry muffled by the wall. “I’ve had such a long day,” he mumbles against you, licking over the bite. “Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about you all day, y’know,” his hips grind against your ass, hard cock nearly slipping between your cheeks and accentuating his point, the thin fabric of his grey sweatpants being the only barrier between you. “And that bitch couldn’t satisfy me right even if her life depended on it,”

His tone darkens at the end, and you hate the way it still manages to send a flock of butterflies fluttering through your stomach, hole clenching greedily around nothing.

“So be a good girl—” a slap echoes throughout the empty apartment as his palm collides with your skin. “—and lift your hips for me,”

And then he’s tugging, hands wrapped around your hips as blunt nails dig into your flesh and hoist up, forcing you onto your tiptoes. You obey, of course, because you always obey, aiding him by pushing your ass towards him, chest and cheek pressed up against the wall.

A shiver courses through your body as he leans away for a moment, taking his body heat with him, the shutter of his phone camera click!ing a few times in quick succession.  

“Fuck,” he breathes, heat returning as he taps the head of his cock against your soaking cunt, reveling in the soft, wet little slaps. “You’re so beautiful,”

And he sounds so honest, so sincere, unexpected tears springing into your eyes and blurring your vision. Because his words shouldn’t, they absolutely shouldn’t inspire a deep warmth to bloom in your chest, but they do. It’s selfish, and pathetic, and derisive, sour shame taking root at your core a moment later, black and inky and rushing through your veins, eating up the warmth in an instant.

But Keigo shatters it all a second later with one quick, sharp thrust, burying himself deep within you, cockhead nudging against your cervix.

A yelp hitches in your throat at the sudden action, tears spilling over your lashline as your little hole burns, struggling to accommodate his girth. “Too thick, Kei, too thick,”

He doesn’t care, he tells you with a breathless chuckle, hips setting a punishing pace right from the start, refusing you even a moment to adjust. He knows you love it, he says to you, words growled into your ear with a sadistic smile, punctuated by the harsh slap of skin against skin that accompanies each of his thrusts.

Your nails scrape against the drywall, trying in vain to grip something, anything, to keep you upright as he pounds into you. A harsh gust of wind swirls around you, cool against your heated skin, and then his wings are caging you in, slamming against the drywall with such force that bits of it crack and crumble. Your hands fly out to grip them, little fingers curling around the edges as you try to keep yourself steady for him.

The sweetest moan escapes his lips, hoarse and whiny in the back of his throat as you clamp down on them, fingers slotting through the sharp feathers, hissing through your teeth as they leave superficial cuts along your sensitive skin.

It’s beginning to build, that familiar heat pooling in the pit of your stomach, coiling tighter and tighter and tighter with each snap of his hips, broken whimpers and airy little Kei!’s slipping from your parted lips as your legs begin to tremble.

A deep growl rumbles in his chest as he tells you to keep standing, damn it, the order spit through clenched teeth as his fingers grip your hips, spots of blue and purple blooming under them.

You’re trying, you want to tell him, words leaving your throat in the form of pitiful little sobs as your fingers clutch his wings, joints aching and stiff from being curled in the same position for so long.

The heat is rising, higher and higher and higher until your choking on it, scalding your tongue and blistering your throat.

“M’gonna—” you gasp out, the words garbled with spit as teary eyes roll back in your skull.

“Yeah—Y-Yeah,” he encourages breathlessly, hips gaining more speed with each piston into you, cock repeatedly dragging against that spot, the one that alights your entire body, that shoots tingling sparks up your spine and through your veins. “C’mon, baby, cum for me, cum—” a low grunt cuts him off, hips stuttering. “—Cum on my cock,”

It’s pathetic, really, how quickly your body obeys, knees nearly buckling as uncontrollable mewls of his name escape your lips, catching in your chest with his ruthless thrusts as you gush around him, cute little cunt clenching almost painfully on his thick cock.

“Good—Good girl. Now beg for it,” and he’s nearly whining, voice cracking as his movements begin to falter.

Pleads spill from your lips before you even know what you’re saying, voice absolutely wrecked as you beg for him to please, gimme your cum, please k-keigo, want it, I want it, I want it, fill me up, please, please, please!

Honestly, how can he deny you when you’re asking so nicely, so prettily for him, hips messily pounding into you three more times before he stills, the weight of his body crushing you against the wall as his cock pulses, filling you with ropes upon ropes of thick, hot cum.  

And he’s relentless that night, insatiable that night—fucking you over the arm of the couch, deep and hard and fast, cockhead slamming against your bruised cervix as a hand fists in your hair and yanks you up, snarling out the dirtiest words as his lips graze your ear, then praising you for being such a good little cockslut for him; fucking you in your giant jacuzzi bathtub, nimble fingers digging into your hips as he forces you to ride him, reinstating the fresh bruises from not long before; fucking you into your plush mattress, sharp hipbones signing his name into the soft flesh of your inner thighs in blotches of navy and violet as endless tears leak from your eyes, streaming into your hairline, head beginning to throb from dehydration.

The sun is just beginning to rise, peaking over the horizon and painting the city in a soft golden light. The buzzing of a phone on your nightstand rouses you from your half-asleep state for the second time, lifting your head to blink blearily at Keigo, who rolls his eyes without even glancing at the caller. It’s her—you know it is, calling to ask him where the hell he is, if he’s alright, if he’s coming home soon, if he’s safe—and acrid guilt settles on your tongue.

He lets it go to voicemail without a second thought.

“I hate her,”

“Break up with her, then,”

“And what, date you?” he snorts, and although you know he doesn’t mean for it to, it still stings. Rolling over, he turns to face you, his head propped up by his palm. “You know I wish I could,” he says softly, his free hand reaching out to cup your cheek, fingers grazing your cheekbone. “You know I would if I could, but…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to—you’ve heard it a thousand times before.

Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

But she’s the daughter of a world-renowned, established hero—you’re a quirkless nobody. But she’s good for his image, good for his brand—you’re not.

Sometimes, though, after he’s fucked you into a boneless mess, when he’s laying in your bed with a cigarette perched so artfully between his fingers, he opens up, allows you a tiny peak inside that gorgeous head of his.

Tonight it’s something you’ve heard before, but you don’t mind listening anyway, drawing nonsensical patterns on his bare chest, little fingers following the dips and curves of strong muscle, gliding under smooth skin that almost shines gold in the pale morning light, little blonde hairs catching in the beams as he breathes slowly.

It fucking sucks, he’s telling you, honey eyes trained on your finger’s movements, following its ministrations in a trance. He never wanted this—never asked for this, he admits to you, as he has so many times before, at four in the morning when the city is at its quietest, just before it begins to wake with the dawn of the sun. He hates it, all of the obligations and responsibilities that have been thrust upon him since he was a child.

“Sometimes I feel like my spine’s gonna fucking crack under all of it,” he laughs a little, though it’s wobbly and frail, looking away from you as he stubs out his cigarette.

“It’s just exhausting,” he flops onto his back with a deep sigh, staring up at the ceiling. And you can hear it, his voice heavy with fatigue, with the duties that have been forced upon him, the ideals he’s been forced to uphold, laced with a hint of melancholy.

It makes your heart ache, despite the derision you now feel towards him. You don’t know his struggle—never could, never will—but he looks so…sad, eyes desolate as they gaze up at nothing, lips pressed together in a thin line. And that spark of love, the one you repeatedly keep trying to snuff out, blazes with the need to comfort him.

Reaching over, gentle fingers card through his sweaty golden locks, soft and shining in the dim light. His chest rises and falls with the effort of another sigh, eyes closing briefly at your touch, nuzzling ever so slightly into you.

“But at least I’ve got you, right?” he rolls onto his side, hands finding your hips as he drags you towards him, pulling you into his embrace and crushing your body against his chest. “You’ll never leave me, will you, my little bird,”

And although it isn’t phrased as a question—because he already knows the answer—you respond anyway, swallowing thickly against the acid rising past the lump lodged in your throat. “No, Keigo, never,”

[i-need-air]

Hello I really like your hybrid au especially with kirishima

I was wondering if I can request one with kirishima hybrid where reader gets kidnapped because someone from the old ring wants revenge and kirishima is looking for them

Wow, I took some time with this because it was hard to place Kiri in such a situation. I hope I gave it justice. This is not my usual fluff since it's a darker theme, so yeah. Hope it was worth the wait though! Enjoy and tell me if you liked it!! 💕💕

Word count: 4k [ I... I got carried away... and I still feel it's short 💀 ]

Warnings: kidnapping, blood, mentions of abuse, guns, Kiri's past being f'd up, insults [?], hint towards assault;

[ Masterlist ] [ Main Hybrid!Kirishima HCs ]

× this man is all about safety

× asks you to send him a message whenever you arrive safely at home or wherever you're going

× it's super-sweet and really helpful; your well being is everything to him after all

× yet one evening you didn't arrive on time

× no message, nothing

× he was waiting and paying attention to time since he wanted to suggest going out to watch a movie, but you didn't arrive

× one hour later he finds himself frowning at the clock, tapping his foot in wonder

× he sent you a message; the fact that it send but you didn't receive it unsettled him more, to which he decided to call— "The phone you're trying to reach is disconnected or no longer in service."

× did you run out of battery? was that even possible?

× what seals the deal is a DM he receives from a throwaway account on social media he was so active and known on.

× "We've got your little toy. You know where to find us, Red Riot. Come alone or they die." and attached was a pictute of you, on the floor, possibly unconscious, hands tied behind your back.

× a collar was placed by your side; he knew what it was.

× his blood ran cold, a freezing shiver electrified through his spine as he jumped out of the couch, terrorized and more importantly raging mad

× Red Riot: a name he tried to forget; a name people shouted at him in praise as they put bets on his head; a name he's been given as he fought friends and foes; a name that brought back pain and suffering. A name he didn't want to taint his new life with.

× he did not take any time to leave the house in a hurry, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

× Kirishima didn't know where his friends were, so he found himself on his own, outside your apartment complex, taking a deep breath in; he could find you; he had to find you even if it was the last thing he did, yet he had to do it alone.

× he spotted your car in the parking lot— in a blink he was by it's side, just spotting your belongings inside and the car-keys still in

× uncontrollable rage took over him as he still sniffed your scent in the air.

× you've been here and because of him, now you weren't; you're gone; you've been attacked too, the window smashed and blood running down the door

× he sniffed again, noticing how it wasn't your blood— relief didn't come since he did recognize the other scent; his dealer.

× "You fucking mutt!" he growled above the red-haired man chained to the wall, fist closed readied to make impact.

× Kirishima growled lowly, remembering.

× "You fucking made me lose ten fucking grands because you didn't want to finish that fucking beast!" his screams could be heard throughout the hallways.

× He got inside the car.

× "You and your fucking group, you think you're too good to fucking follow MY ORDERS—" a crack could be heard as the punch collided with the hybrid's jaw, yet it did little to no damage to him. Curses followed, making the man almost chuckle, yet chose not to, knowing the damage it would bring. "YOU PATHETIC PIECE OF— I FUCKING BROKE MY HAND, SHIT!" he yanked him by the hair with his other hand, pulling hard. "I'm gonna make you regret the day you were born." And if it weren't for his improvised family, Kirishima would've been regretting that day anyway without his assistance.

× He sped off, fingers whitening on the steering wheel because of his harsh grip. Tears now ran freely on his cheeks with no conscious attempt made to be stopped.

× Only two places haven't been raided by the Hybrid Protection Services came to mind, deemed as abandoned yet for those that knew the insides, the buildings were definitely used mostly as hideouts and for special occasions

× few escaped from being detained by the police, yet word came to him that the bastard, Mawler as he liked to call himself, was caught; it didn't seem to be the case and as he drove, Kirishima could only think he'd make the fucker regret the day he was born; a bitter laugh left his lips, hating himself for a moment. Although the image of a friend came in his mind, imagining him slapping his back in a poor attempt to motivate him. That's what he would say too.

× the self-hatred washed off; for you he'd do anything.

× he rushed to the first location; it used to be a club with an underground arena, in which he himself fought in countless times

× his neck itched as he gritted his teeth; the memory of the electric collar they had to have on while almost killing each other made him want to vomit

× a deep growl left his frame; gutural, dark, menacing; they wanted the Red Riot? it seems they forgot where he really got that name from;

× he only saw blood on the way there.

× he parked not too far but tried to keep a low profile although his big frame didn't help in a stealth situation. Kirishima knew he's in for trouble, but what else could he do?

× —

× you blinked, blinded by the light that shined harshly in your face

× "Would you look at that, fellas? Guess who's wakin' up?" you had no time to panic, just flashes of the quick encounter just by your house appearing in your mind as a boot collided with your stomach, making you wince in pain

× What was going on? What the hell happened?

× "Aww, don't make that face..." someone mocked. "Save it for when Red Riot comes along, baby." he whispered harshly at you, venom in his voice.

× you muttered "—Riot?" in daze, placing your knees as close to your chest for protection; your head hurt badly, a throbbing pain coming from the back of it.

× laughed echoed around you; "He didn't fucking tell you? How much of a fucking BEAST he was?!"; other voices joined in... two more voices, but you couldn't be sure

× memories came back at you; how you were arriving late but decided to not send any message since you were driving; parking, gathering your stuff, the sound of crystal breaking—

× but nothing else;

× "You don't fucking know what your piece of shit of a mutt even did before acting like a perfect little boyfriend, didn't ya?" the same venom filled voice came closer to you, giving you the chance to finally see his ugly scowl and to imprint his stupidly face in your mind;

× were they talking about Kirishima? Your Kirishima? He never really got into detail about his previous life yet made it clear he was forced to fight for the entertainment of others— did they fucking think he had a choice?

× yet you remained silent; it seems Kiri knew you'd be there and your concussion didn't really help you to think straight and form any plan;

× something could be heard outside, a crash of some sort and everyone stood still for a good second.

× "He—... He's here already?" one of them whispered. A clicking made you freeze. You snapped your head up in terror, only knowing that sound from movies, a sound so scary you really didn't think you'd hear it in real life; guns.

× "I fucking send that message 20 minutes ago..." Ugly Scowl said, taken back in surprise. His eyes, dark and void of goodness snapped on you, an unsure smile painting over him. "I wanted to have some fun with ya."

× your body couldn't control the shiver that ran through it, from head to toes, and he noticed, turning his uncertain smile into a sadistic one; your face was probably a dead giveaway too.

× but Eijirou was there and deep down you knew there was nothing to fear; except for the guns.

× the red-head wasn't dumb, he knew this world a million times better than you, so he must've known; with a flood of nervousness piling up in your stomach, you blinked the stinging feeling in your eyes away and hoped for the best.

× "Go check that fucking sound, retards!" he then screamed, two sets of footsteps rushing at his orders; it seemed he was the "boss" of whatever the hell this small group of pieces of shit was and hated your boyfriend's guts.

× should you talk? should you not? what's the best possible outcome out of this?

× your wrists stung, locked harshly with what felt like a rope; in a poor attempt to move your fingers to feel if you could, in an ideal world, free your hands, the man caught your movements instantly; he yanked you by the neck, lifting you off the ground with no difficulty and that's when you noticed he was strong, muscular, big; his frame wasn't as massive as Eijirou's by any chance but massive enough to make you reconsider any attempt to escape. "Don't even fucking think about it, dear."

× his breath, foul and heavy, hit your face and you almost gagged; he was watching you, observing your face in search of something. Through a nod he hummed at himself.

× "Not bad, Riot." his nose hit your cheek as he breathed you in and a whimper left you, guts screaming danger; he snickered. "It's okay, I like them when they cry." he mocked your tears in a heavy whisper, which you didn't notice until he pointed them out.

× a snap could be heard from inside the building, possibly on the floor above; were you underground?

× the disgusting man by your side lifted himself up, throwing you on the floor like garbage. He lifted his gun and narrowed his eyes towards the stairs.

× "Be good and maybe I'll keep you for myself after I hunt your mutt down." he said between gritted teeth. You just started praying for the man you loved, still trying to figure out a way to at least hide before this scum used you as a threat more than he did already.

× —

× Kirishima watched them from the shadows; his breath was heavy yet silent, his enhanced vision saw the two low-life mobs he sometimes noticed following Mawler whenever he went; he took in consideration their stance; of course they'd bring weapons—

× his mind drifted to one of his trainers, EraserHead, and on the few moments of aloofness he let himself have around the younger ones put in his charge; "Humans are easily fooled—" he'd grin lazily. "And very easy to scare."

× with determination like he's never had before, he grabbed a rock; if he had to reach you, he'd have to do the only thing he was never good at: being stealthy.

× he rushed to the left of the back entrance, hidden behind a beaten up car as he threw the small rock in the opposite direction and in any other situation he'd find himself amused, EraserHead's words on replay in his mind. One of the guys almost jumped in place at the sound, gun fastly jerked into its general direction with trembling hands.

× with no second to spare, he entered the building, his speed impressive—

× no sound was made, but what helped him greatly was that one of them started talking into the nothingness; "We know you're there, you bastard!"

× the other one was now searching inside the building, yet his head turned towards his companion outside; sadly for the poor idiot, it only took a punch in the jaw to immobilize him and knock him out entirely. He took the guns from the now unconscious body and put them in his belt and pocket, yet had no intention to use any.

× the second one left outside was still talking a whole monologue, making the man sweat drop; was this Mawler's plan? he wasn't known to use his brain much...

× yet he wasn't as easy to take down as Kirishima wanted it to be; he turned around, probably uneased by the lack of response of his partner, suspicious and more on the edge; he could feel it, his nervousness, his fear; another bitter grin appeared on Eijirou's features.

× "Jackal?" his voice hid fear behind it.

× they definitely knew the damage he could do and the hybrid was glad they did, wanting them to be terrified, his predator instincts washing over.

× he jumped on him, kicking the pistol out of his hands in a heartbeat and making him stumble backwards, losing his balance; it happened in a blurr, old feeling of being in the ring, fist to fist, tail low and ready to pounce. He was in his element once again and God, he hated himself when he let go of all the pain and broke his arm, the sweet image of your smiling face as you burried yourself into the same arms he hurt people with always in the back of his mind.

× before he could realize, the other woke up from the knockout; he heard rushed steps towards him and a snapping sound. The blabbering idiot was on the ground now, breathing but beaten to a pulp and everything stood still for a good second.

× he got hit? in the back of his head? With just one glance he saw a broken wooden plank and blinked stupidly; did he seriously think—?

× Kirishima grinned and in an instant he grabbed Jackal's head and smashed it into his knee.

× —

× you could hear his steps; you knew it was him; heavy yet trying to conceal them poorly; your man was walking around the floor above and you sniffled your nose at the thought.

× he was absolutely massive and nothing about him was silent; gentle, yes, but silent? laughable. Even in this horrendous situation you closed your eyes lovingly at the thought. He's here.

× "Those damned fucking useless pieces of shit—" Oh, yeah. Him.

× the barrel was suddently pointed at your head and any thoughts you had abandoned your brain completely

× utter terror overwashed your senses in every way as you stared at it with wide eyes

× "Let's see if he fucking likes this—"

× —

× the only way down for the public was the stairway; not even those useless guards knew the hidden entrance his friends and him used once; they had to come back though, the guilt and knowledge that if they're found to be gone would make Mawler execute everyone else.

× a low window painted black that led to a storage room behind the filthy bathrooms and the place they'd be kept in cages; he ran on the first floor, approaching the stairs before jumping on the dusty metal bar, now completely silent and praying his poor attempt at a bait worked.

× in no time he was outside again and in even less of a second he found himself by said window leading to the underground arena.

× —

× "Maybe if I hurt you a little bit, he'll come to his senses." He grinned, gun's safety lever clicked, now pointed at your stomach.

× you saw your vision blurr and you really, really wanted to say something but didn't know what to; your lips trembled and you bit them in the hopes of showing at least some courage before getting shot but you couldn't help closing your eyes.

× the sound was so loud; an obnoxiously loud bang shook the room or maybe just shook you to the core, then warmth engulfed you wholly.

× it gripped into you so strongly yet no damage came; "I got you, baby." came as a whisper in your ear and just as you snapped your eyes to see his red, sweet, gorgeous red eyes look at you tenderly, he was gone.

× nothing was said; just a rush of screams and silence; your kidnapper tried to shoot again or so you saw but he was jumped on instantly; that's when you noticed Eijirou was growling like a wild animal and was covered with blood.

× he was like a hurricane, like a bulldozer, like an unstoppable force that destroyed with no mercy; covered in red and splatters due to his constant attacks just painted him with more of it;

× you were looking at Red Riot and your stomach dropped; this is what he was made to be and you cried when he did not stop beating the man underneath him.

× "Baby, stop—" you'd whisper, really trying to get up and barely making it to stay in a seating position, kinda desperate; and he indeed stopped at your plea, froze actually.

× the poor devil under him was groaning, gargling whatevers but it didn't matter; he was looking at you, shocked and you could see the fear in his eyes...

× was it bad that it didn't matter to you? as long as he didn't kill them, as long as justice got to them and furthermore kept Kirishima by your side forever, it didn't matter to you; it was instant, that thought.

× but as he stood there frozen, taking in your nerves and sudden relief, your crying face filled with worry; you took him in too... how his back was getting soaked in blood, running through his shirt down, and down, leaking...

× he got shot for you;

× "Please, leave him, help me and—" he turned a little, ashamed yet mute.

× like a scolded child, unsure; he was bleeding but he was scared of you; he had a hole in his back but he was hurting for your reaction.

× you sniffled again, getting on your knees, pain striking in your stomach but ignoring it; "Eijirou, come to me, please."

× and he did, all so gracefully, so fast and without a single wince; as if he knew pain more than he should've.

× your hands were instantly freed

× his silence killed you inside, it really did. This man, this amazing creature that beamed like the brightest star in the sky was now somber, dull...

× your phone was thrown on the floor as they tampered with it and you rushed, with trembling hands and uncertainty at his attitude to call the police; he was still to say anything, just staying on his knees in front of you, head low and teary eyes.

× he just muttered the location when they asked you about it but that's it; the operator asked questions yet you didn't care to answer them, just saying you need an ambulance too before closing the call to crawl towards him, taking his torso into your arms careful not to touch the wound on his back.

× he then cried harder into your neck, almost falling into your embrace, accepting it but his hands didn't move to touch you, laying unmoving on his sides.

× "I'm so—" he hiccuped. "I'm so sorry, [Y/N]." His frame was shaking more and more;

× "I love you, Eijirou." It's all you could say. Really, your brain just screamed for you to tell him that, as if you felt it's what he needed to hear the most.

× guilty; blaming himself; putting himself down;

× he shuddered into you as your hands, tired and sore, reached for his sweat soaked hair to stroke it gently.

× "You came for me. You saved me. Thank yo—"

× "Don't! It's all my fault—" his voice broke for a second, hands turning into fists and the only thing grounding him was your scent invading his nostrils. "You're hurt because of me..."

× you cried with him too, gluing his head more into you, peppering his face with shaky butterfly kisses.

× "It's not your fault, it was never your fault, Eijirou." you shook in place as you reassured him. Word by word, sentence by sentence, you let him know he's just as much of a victim being chased by his past, a past he was forced to have; he came for you, he rushed to save you, he took a bullet for you and yet again, he acted like it was nothing, as if the pain of putting you in danger was greater than any damage he could take.

× his hands encircled you and for the first time since you saw him after waking up to this nightmare, he winced in pain but did not let you go. Instead, he pressed your body into his, fearing you'd dissapear.

× you asked him if you should cover the wound, not really knowing what to do for now; you'd have time to talk, you'd have time to reassure him again and again and again, but now you had to make sure he was fine.

× he shook his head, feeling his nose tickle your neck in the process; "Leave it, I've taken worse." And with that statement you cried harder.

× the police sirens could be heard in the distance, accompanied by the ambulance one...

× —

× so much time passed; so many hours without sleep; police station, explanations, Kirishima almost getting arrested in the spot and being incarcerated, hospital, lawyers, more questioning...

× everything was explained, everything kinda settled for the never-ending day, knowing it wouldn't be the last time you'd have to visit said police station, already sure you'd follow Kirishima there without hesitancy to make sure he's treated correctly, but for now... home.

× the bullet didn't reach any vital organ even if he was hit square in the back and for a normal human it would've meant a hit in one of the lungs, but not for a hybrid—

× still, it didn't hurt less to see him in that state;

× your car was sealed and taken away as evidence, so a taxi home was your only way there.

× hands locked and much, so much to talk about ahead of you but one thing sure

× "I love you." You squeezed his hand, catching his attention, loving how his lips curled in a small smile, not as bright as usual, but still, his smile.

× "I love you more." Was his usual response yet this time it was shy, not looking into your eyes but somewhere behind you, out the window. You frowned and shook his hand to catch the attention fully.

× "No. You don't seem to get it." You led his big, strong, scarred hand to your lips, kissing the back of it softly. "I love you, Kirishima Eijirou. So much."

× the car ride was silent as he took in your words and you couldn't help but enjoy the way his eyes widened, now having his full attention as his cheeks reddened slightly, knowing he's been caught putting himself down.

× he let out a breathless chuckle, so small but with it his shoulders fell in relief. He nodded, watching his hand holding yours and gulped, your words repeating in a loop in his mind.

× Eijirou was so easy to read, so transparent and honest and it warmed heart to ser him accept your words, words you've said countless times before this incident and without a doubt in the future until they engraved permanently in his heart.

× he chuckled again at your expression, catching your gaze and holding it until a smile broke on his face, this time big and warm, just like him. The smile you wanted to see all along.

× he cried again through it, passing his free palm over his eyes for a second; "You're my everything, [Y/N]." he'd pull you into his chest, inhaling your scent. "I love you." he squeezed you close.

[crazyforcococaine]

she’s a lady

chapter 1

levi ackerman x fem!reader

note: this is just a filler. an introduction, if you will so you can skip ahead if you’d like to get straight to the levi action hehe

(edited by @crazyforcococaine)

Chapter 2 Coming Soon

I never put much thought into anything other than when my next meal was going to be. I also always worried about what quiet, cold alleyway I would have to hide in next, to sleep, away from the prying eyes of perverse drunk men, searching for their next prey and desperate women looking for ways to get enough money to travel up to the surface.

Although, I wasn’t very strong, I made up for that with speed. I was small, and light on my feet.

A gift, one would say, but it had its’ disadvantages.

Especially, down here, where everyone took one look at me and deemed me weak. It was satisfying to prove them wrong, but it was so constant, that I would grow tired. Sometimes, letting my guard down, and suffering the consequences.

I was but a child.

A reckless, lonely, misguided little girl. I shouldn’t have had to have been so strong at that age. What I needed was my family.

My father to teach me how to defend myself against those who dared mistreat me, and to protect me when I couldn’t do so myself.

My mother to show me the care and affection every kid my age needed, with her arms wrapped around my petite frame, shushing me to sleep after dinner.

Unfortunately, I’d never met either. As far as I knew, I was alone. I had no one but myself in this disgusting place I called home.

I eventually gained enough courage to start taking jobs to give myself a sense of purpose. I knew I couldn’t just sit, and wait for maggots and rats to eat away at my rotting, limp body.

I also couldn’t find it in myself to confide in anyone else here, so finding solo jobs was always difficult. I was afraid of the greedy bastards from this dark void stealing from me, taking my cut, selling me out, or doing whatever they could do to somehow throw me under the bus.

Over the years, I taught myself how to use knives, and was trained hand to hand combat by some of the women from a brothel I once slept behind. Of course, having been a naive kid, I had no idea what the place was and what type of nightmare that place was for them. Our meeting was sorta awkward, but they’d saved my life, even if I hadn’t known it at the time.

The women who trained me, found me, shivering behind a dumpster, confused just as a group of men had seen me. They managed to convince them I had diseases they surely didn’t want anything to do with.

I hadn’t understood what had been happening that night until I became of the age they thought was appropriate to teach me about sex, and such. And though, they didn’t go into detail about the type of work they did, I eventually put two and two together and no longer wondered how they knew how to fight so well, and the reasoning behind them being so persistent to teach me self defense became crystal clear.

With the horror and abuse they were put through every day, they were forced to learn how to defend themselves. It made me furious, the way they were treated like nothing more than objects, a toy for some mindless imbecile to use before tossing it away when he got bored.

Enraged, I offered to help sneak them out, somehow get them to safety, and as far away from this life as I possibly could, but every time, they’d brush me off, making me suck my teeth in annoyance. They never took me serious. I could help, I could get us all out of here if they’d let me do jobs more consistently.

At times, I would catch Gladiss, a brunette with blue eyes, mumbling to Yuna, the eldest of the group of women with short ginger hair and green eyes, about how much I reminded her of someone. They’d giggle to themselves about how much we would most likely clash heads, constantly in each other’s faces. Something about me being messy and him being some sort of clean freak, I never caught much.

They never specifically mentioned a name but from what I’d gathered, it was just some fool who’d gotten himself caught by the Military Police or something. The son of another woman they’d managed to befriend in this terrible work place, who sadly, I didn’t get the privilege of meeting. May her soul rest in peace.

From the way the group of women spoke of her, she seemed like a lovely lady, making me wish I’d slept behind that dumpster years earlier while she was still with us. Though, I am kind of glad she’s no longer suffering the pain this specific brothel brought her, it is difficult to swallow the fact that her son had to witness everything she’d been put through at the hands of all these bastards.

I felt for the man, and wherever he was, I’d always hoped they both rested in peace, living a quiet and happy life somewhere away from all this filth and corruption. If anyone deserved to get out of this place, and get a life, it was them.

“Petunia? Petu~nia?” A sun kissed hand with long, delicate fingers waved in front of my face as I stood in thought, my stance stiffening as I loudly inhaled. I refocused my eyesight and pushed up my glasses so they sat comfortably once again at the top of my nose, seeing Janeth, a blonde with two different colored eyes; one hazel, and the other a perfect silver, give me a small smile.

“...” I arched an eyebrow at her, and wondered how long she’d been calling out for me. Had I been lost in my own head again? I cursed at myself, hoping they weren’t talking to me about something serious.

She let out a breathy laugh, noticing my questioning, slightly panicked expression and motioned to Selene and Yuna going against one another, training.

Right. We’d been practicing and perfecting new moves that Yuna and Gladiss have been working on for weeks now.

“Sorry...I didn’t-“ I began, sighing after clearing my throat, my voice raspy after having not spoken for awhile, while I was stuck in my own train of thought, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.” I stopped myself before I could give away why I hadn’t slept a healthy amount yesterday, after realizing the hours long lecture they’d give me.

My head was throbbing, and I knew my legs were marked purple and blue from the job I’d so carelessly taken after a few drinks at Ralph’s Pub.

“I can see, ya know? Your eye bags have somehow gotten worse. Yuna also noticed and told us to start checking up on you more when you get home. We’re all worried for you, Nee.” Janeth confessed, frowning when I shook my head, waving my hand as if to say everything was fine, ignoring the fact that she called me by the nickname she knew I hated. Now wasn’t the time for that.

“It’s just the cold. The windows have started to come loosely opened again, by a small bit, but it’s enough to bother me from my sleep.” I tried to reassure her, not technically lying, but also not giving her the entire picture of what’d really been going on almost every night for the last few weeks.

They could never be angry with me, knowing and understanding it’s what had to be done to survive down in this dump but they’d definitely be disappointed in me for not being honest and open about how I’d been struggling to make ends meet lately, having been telling me since I was small, they’d always be there to help me in anyway possible.

Unfortunately, for them, I was stubborn. Very stubborn. So I suffered in silence, as to not disturb anyone. I couldn’t be more of a bother on this little group I’d learned to call my family, even more than I already have been for years.

I was twenty two for fuck’s sake. A grown woman. I needed to take action and responsibility for my own life. I couldn’t risk becoming so dependent on the three women, and never knowing how to do anything for myself if I were to ever be alone again. I wanted to be able to survive and thrive on my own; and that was a swear to myself, and the two who birthed me but failed to raise me. I’ll show them. I’ll show them all.

Chapter 2 Coming Soon

[fenristheorem]

Lance finding out that Gardienne killed herself? After a while of her being in the HQ again, he has fallen in love with her. She just couldn't bear those seven years, having lost that many people and being here just to save this world by suffering.

He wanted to tell her he loved her, he knocked her door, he worried bc no one answered, and he finds her hanged up.

I know this is really specific, it's just kind of my OC ending😅😅 anyway, I'd understand if you weren't comfortable with this.

So I’m going to talk about the boundaries of what I write for a moment, starting by saying that I will write this BUT I won’t write detailed suicide scenes due to the sensitive nature of it.

This ask isn’t asking for a detailed scene, it’s asking for the effects the decision has on Lance, and because it’s asking for the long-term effects and not a scenario I’m just fine with writing this. 

Thank you for asking this, Anon, genuinely. Being this specific was probably what gave me the push to write this in the end because I know you were looking for the reaction and not the actual scene. This is a good example of a post that walks along the lines of what I will and won’t write so anyone requesting future asks with a similar subject gets a better idea of what to ask.

Also, I apologize for how long this took to write. This ask was, unfortunately, the one that spent the most time eaten in my drafts folder so I couldn’t work on it until about a week ago. Fortunately that gave me a lot of time to think over how to best write this, so I think this’ll be appropriately written considering the subject.

*Warning / Note: This post contains heavy depressive themes and suicidal mentions, as evident by the ask and what I wrote above. I’m aware that this is a very sensitive subject and I intend to treat it with appropriate seriousness. This is not a happy post, please only read this if you know this won’t lead you down a dark path. To me, writing is another form of art, meant to express and draw out emotions from the audience, so I won’t subside the intensity of my writing even with this being a sensitive subject. I don’t intend to drive anyone to harm themselves, but I do intend to write with the intensity that I always do because this is my artform; so please prepare for heavy themes or don’t read if you’re not comfortable with this. On a side note: I care about everyone, I really do, so please take care of yourselves. If you’re feeling depressive or suicidal, talk to someone, please. There is always someone who cares about you.

Technically Guardienne's death may have a major adverse effect on Eldarya due to her link with the crystal, but for the sake of this ask I'll ignore any possible effects like that.

~Under the cut~

Lance’s reaction to Guardienne’s suicide:

Lance had seen a lot of terrible things in life and had done many terrible things in his life, but this reached a new type of fucked up for him. Not because it's truly disturbing - although it is deeply disturbing - but because it fucked him up even more in a way that he neither thought could be possible nor that he could bear.

He’s convinced that he’s cursed; everything that’s happened to him has been his fault. He started the war within Eldarya, destroyed so many faeries’ lives, killed his own brother, and now the woman he loved is dead because of him as well. Sure, he wasn’t the one to tie the rope around her neck, but there are signs for these sorts of things. Was he truly that blind that he couldn’t see that she was in pain? Did he ever truly love her if he couldn’t see the pain? Would she have done anything differently if he wasn’t there to constantly remind her of everything that was lost?

Lance believes he deserves this. He’s caused so much pain and agony for everyone, it only makes sense that he should be the one in pain now. Lance won’t try to fight the agony he’s in, he’ll let himself drown in it for nights on end to wake up - or not even sleep to begin with - feeling exhausted, reckless, irritated and - overall - worthless. He’s sure to emerge from his room in the morning without the slightest hint that he’s been sobbing quietly with the feeling of a dagger twisting itself over and over within his chest all night, and he’ll refuse to answer any questions about if he’s alright after the recent events. He was the one to find her after all; it would make sense that he was hit the hardest...

In the daytime he’ll be rough and withholding, keeping the Obsidian guard in a tight hold to reflect how he needs to hold himself tightly to keep from falling apart. It’s one thing for him feel and express emotions, but this feeling is an entirely different thing; this is something that should not be released into Eldarya. He realizes it and knows that this feeling - something that he recognizes all too well from his past - threatens to destroy everything that he worked so hard to gain in the past seven years.

Mathieu will notice Lance’s change in temperament immediately, and being the kind man he is he’ll want to be there for the dragon, but Lance won’t be looking for comfort; he’ll be looking for something that will change the past and take back everything that happened. But that’s impossible - he knows that - and so he’ll be stuck in a state of limbo, deemed to mourn for his unknown, unrealized love until... something happens to change him.

Ice cold fear will wash over him some days as he recognizes the familiar feeling that haunted him in the past, and while he’ll be aching to reach out to lean on someone for support - afraid of this feeling overwhelming him again - he’ll feel that he can’t lean on anyone. He doesn’t deserve that support at this point after all he’s done, and there’s so many others who are busy grieving; the guard needs him to be strong now. However, on occasion - when he has a clear mind - he’ll grieve gently with someone who’s somewhat close to him, sharing kind memories of Guardienne and gently advising them to spend time around friends if his co-worker feels it’s needed. He’ll never completely break in front of anyone though, he can’t bring himself to. 

However, Lance falls apart immediately when he’s alone, sometimes even lingering in the conference room for a few minutes after a meeting to allow himself the private time alone to recollect himself. Grief will randomly hit him throughout the day, constricting his throat, burning his chest, and glassing over his eyes - and every time he’ll excuse himself from his company to isolate himself until he regains control again. This, of course, is taken into notice by a few others around the guard, and slowly there’ll be people who realize that Lance is not fine.

This becomes a further issue over time as his grief slowly turns into anger and disgust, and this is when that familiar, ominous feeling from his past really rears it’s ugly face. He should have seen something. Was he really that terrible to her that she felt she couldn’t trust him? Was everyone really that blind to not see her hurting?

Lance finds that he begins to choose to isolate himself, mentally and physically. He’ll leave the guards members alone that have stated they need time off, but he won’t be very forgiving with those who have chosen to continue their work but seem to be slacking. His mentality is that if you can’t handle continuing on, then don’t offer your service as it’ll become a hindrance, and this quickly becomes a major issue.

Huang Hua - knowing how important Guardienne was to Eldarya, and the guard especially - has let it be known that if anyone needs a break from their responsibilities, then it’ll be allowed, but she will stress that those who feel they can continue to function please try to do so, and be lenient and take on a few responsibilities that aren’t usually asked of them if they feel they can. She can read other’s auras and sense intentions and emotions of sorts, so she can generally get a good read on how someone is doing, but she can’t consistently do that with everyone, so while she’ll use this ability when necessary to enforce that someone take a break so they don’t fall apart, not every unstable case is known to her. This is the main reason why she slightly overlooks Lance for a while. When he first found Guardienne, he panicked immediately, rushing her to Ewelein and not even truly believing her death until many days after the event. Huang Hua - having sensed his shock and panic blocking out any other emotions - let it go for a few days; everyone goes through their own grieving process, some immediately and some not until many years afterwards. There was nothing that anyone could do for him until Guardienne’s death hit him fully. However, she also knew from her abilities that Lance was in love with her, or at very least had a deep liking for Guardienne, so the instant a few members of the guard come to her expressing serious concerns regarding Lance’s recent aggression and distance, Huang Hua knows immediately that it needs to be dealt with. This grief was an unknown factor in Lance’s new life - but his past with this type of grief shows clearly that this can really fuck him up - so it needed to be discussed, otherwise he risks spiraling back into the same place he was seven years ago.

She’ll approach him when he’s alone, or if they’re in a relatively public space she’ll take him somewhere private, sensing all the while the breathtakingly painful feeling of agony, anger and distress that’s clouding his mentality. It was just the same as when he was Ashkore, how did he not yet break? He’ll refuse to follow her if he knows she wants to talk about his emotions - ironic since he’s always been open to sharing his perspective and thoughts - so she’ll just tell him that she needs to talk to him in private regarding a few anonymous tips from some guards members if he happens to ask why.

Being alone with an unstable, emotionally distraught dragon with a history of violence while under heavy states of grief does unsettle her a bit, but she knows the outcome of this will be much worse if he truly feels isolated. He’s not going to reach out for help by himself - he doesn’t know how to, nor does he probably want to - so she needs to be the one to reach out to him and help him stabilize himself before another situation like Valkyon’s death occurrs.

She’ll consider first talking alone with him in his room - where he’d likely feel most comfortable - but considering he’d likely be defensive, that could then translate into aggression in his own territory, and that may lead her to being forced out of his room for her own safety. Lance has certainly changed in temperament, but heavy grieving emotions can blind someone, so there’s really no promising that nothing... destructive may happen, no matter how much he’s changed in patience.

She then considers talking with him in the conference room, but there isn’t a whole lot of privacy there. The conference room is more for business, rather than personal, private, emotional conversations. The last thing Lance needed in this moment was for his emotions to be treated even slightly like a business confrontation and not as an important part of his being. Frankly, even on a day where he’s feeling just fine he would never accept anyone’s emotions to be treated like a business issue, so the last thing she wanted was to imply that by bringing him into a room that could do just that.

Huang Hua then thinks over the idea of talking to him in her room; it would likely be safer, after all. He probably won’t become territorial or aggressive as it’s not his territory, and it’ll be a gentle reminder that she’s happy to welcome him into her personal life to help comfort him (therefore defeating the concern that it could seem like a business confrontation), but since it’s her territory he might emotionally shut himself down. It can be uncomfortable to fall apart in someone else’s room, especially knowing they’re higher ranking and could be interrupted at any moment to deal with something else...

Then she wonders if she should bring him outside of the guard to speak with him - somewhere that’s private and on neutral ground. That way they’d both be in strange territory and may not be interrupted, and if they are they’d receive prior warning by noticing that someone was walking their way.

Of course, Huang Hua then realizes that - no matter how much she’d like to think that she understands what would make Lance most comfortable - she truly doesn’t know what would help him best, but she can be there to provide support at very least, regardless of where they are. At the end of the day, Lance would probably know where he’d feel most comfortable, so when she approaches him to talk, saying that it’s an important but private conversation, she’ll ask him where he would rather talk. He’ll be slightly hostile, especially when he picks up on the fact that she’s going out of her way to word things carefully and prioritize his comfort, but he’ll decide to talk somewhere private outside the guard, where no one is around.

And that’s how Huang Hua finds herself in the middle of the open plains, far away from the guard to talk to a dragon who might as well be stabbing himself with his own dagger with how he’s been allowing himself to feel as of late. She’ll start off gently, telling him the recent concerns of a few anonymous guard’s members and Lance will stand a few feet away and listen coldly with a blank expression until she suggests that he take a few days off. He’ll debate things with her then, and it’ll escalate slowly until Lance is clearly distressed but still unmoving in his decision to remain active, and Huang Hua will know then that she can’t be gentle anymore...

“Lance, take a few days off, for your sake.”

“No.” His tone is harsh and cold as he snaps at her. “The guard needs me, there’s so much I need to do - so much I need to repay-” He didn’t mean to let that last statement slip - after all, his actions certainly couldn’t be made up for, right? - but emotions can be a powerful thing, can’t they?

“You won’t be able to do any of that if you’re destroying everything you’ve helped rebuild in the process.” Lance is pacing, keeping his eyes trained to the ground. Huang Hua - despite her anxiousness at the dragon being so stubborn on decisions made under heavy negative emotions - tries to keep a comforting, open atmosphere to avoid furthering any issues. “You know the pain you’ve cast upon on others, you’ve felt that same sort of pain now and you need to take time to be able to recover from that.”

“I can’t take time, it’s not something I can just accept! Everyone I’ve hurt before never had time to accept the situation before I made it worse, but they still pushed forward! There’s no reason for me to have it any easier!”

“And where would we be if we treated you the same way you used to treat the world? Would we be any better than how you used to be?”

Lance stops pacing but his eyes remain on the ground, his throat constricting as his thoughts run rampant. Would they be the same as how he used to be if they allowed him to keep running himself this way? He’s done terrible things, but he’s spent many years trying to keep that from happening again. Certainly he’s an asset to the guard now, so would it be cruel of them to ignore his distress? Or would it be justified payback for everything he’s done?

“Lance, you’ve done wonderful things the past seven years, and we want you to continue that and I know you want to continue that as well. Take some time off so you can do that without destroying yourself or your environment. Don’t ignore your pain like it’s nothing - it’s not nothing, and you have the resources to deal with it in a better way now. Use those resources, Lance, it’ll help you work your way through this.” Huang Hua’s tone is gentle and soft as she pleads with him, hoping that her blunt words will reach his common sense.

He tries to argue this, stuttering the beginning of sentences to try and disprove her point, grasping for any reason as to why his pain is invalid. However, Lance finds that there’s no sound argument against Huang Hua’s words, and constricting panic, horror, and then heavy tides of grief will hit him as he realizes that he is, in fact, dragging himself into his own downfall. He is his own worst enemy, once again.

In any manner, this is all his fault - his past actions, Guardienne’s distress of what’s changed that lead to her death, his emotional isolation, and disruption of the guard is all because he doesn’t know how to deal with himself and his abyss of emotions. How did this happen to him? He was never the type of person to deny and hide away his emotions, so how is it he ended up caging himself like this when under personal grief? Is it because the situation is so personal to him that he has a hard time allowing himself to seek comfort in others who likely couldn’t understand?

Lance will fall apart at this, closing his eyes and turning towards the ground to keep himself together, but falling apart all the same as grief overwhelms him one final time in a push that throws him over the edge. He’ll clench his fist and bow his head, bringing it over his mouth as he desperately tries to steady his breathing, to no avail as tears find their way from his eyes and his chest heaves in quieted sobs. 

Huang Hua will lurch forward to comfort him, but stops as Lance whirls around to step back and snap at her - he didn’t want comfort, he wanted her back!

“Where were you for her!? Why didn’t anyone else see her pain!?” His eyes are tragedy and desperation underneath the weakened cold anger of ice blue, a faint few tears streaking down his face as his voice - thunderous and howling - cracks and breaks alongside his crumbling rage. If he couldn’t have fixed this, then someone else could have - why didn’t anyone fix this!?

“You know it’s not morally correct to monitor everyone’s private emotions all the time. What kind of leader would I be if I didn’t allow my people their privacy?” Huang Hua stills and clasps her hands together at her waist, understanding Lance’s outward anger. However, she realized his statement signaled something else as well; Lance could no longer fight why he should allow himself to grieve, so he was desperately clinging onto some semblance of needing to be distant by turning it to be someone’s fault - someone that he could hate.  “You are right in a way; of the many people who knew her, someone might have been able to catch how torn up she felt, but people who wish to hide their pain, or spend so long hiding their pain that it becomes a part of who they are, learn how to hide their pain in ways too complex for others to realize. And, Lance, if she didn’t want anyone to know about her grief, there wouldn’t have been much that I could have done anyways.”

“You could have helped her!” The dragon’s voice was weakening as he spoke, distant anger being replaced by a cold, hollow emptiness as he realized the truth in Huang Hua’s words.

“Only if she was ready for that help. You can’t force someone to accept help, you can only wait for them to allow themselves to be helped.”

“She wouldn’t want me to find relief during this time...” He looked away toward the ground and hung his head, blinking rapidly as he began to heave for breath. There must be a reason why he shouldn’t be allowed to feel this way .

“Do you think she would have wanted everything good you did - whether she knows what you did or not - to be destroyed because of your grief for her?” Lance’s eyes squinted closed and he tilted his head a bit further away from the phoenix. It seemed as though every reminder of everything good he’s done continues to leave him with a hollow chest. “I think if she witnessed firsthand everything you’ve done the past seven years she would have thought very differently about you now than what she did when first having woken up from the crystal.”

Lance turns to face his back towards her, resting a palm on his forehead before brushing his fingers back through his hair as a tremble rolls through him. He could feel pressure rising from his throat as he bared his teeth in an agonized snarl before parting his mouth to silently gasp for air. His head tilted back to look at the sky, only for a few tears to fall from his eyes when he releases a shaky breath.

“Lance, your situation with her was very unique - no one else could begin to understand exactly what you’re feeling from your history with her. Take some time so you can understand it - and fix, or do, or feel whatever you need to - so you can carry forward knowing yourself better.”

He wanted to fight her statement, but his moral compass argued with his resistance on this as well. If anything, of whatever terrible things came as a result of her death, there should be some good sought from it as well. What’s the point of accepting a tragedy if not to learn something from it as well, even if it’s something quiet that no one else knows you learned?

For the first time in a long while - if not ever - Lance allows himself to break and be comforted. He lets himself embrace the burning, stinging pain that rises in his chest as he turns his head back to the ground and collapses on his knees. Huang Hua immediately reacts and is by his side in moments, on her knees and laying a gentle hand on his shoulder as she leans against him slightly. Sobs escape his throat as his body tenses and curls forward slightly, bracing a hand on the ground to steady himself as tremulous waves of emotions - any and all emotions that could possibly be named - wash over him and leave him gasping for air.

“I miss her, too.” Huang Hua’s voice shakes now as she leans further against the dragon, bringing her arms as far around him as she can while her head rests against his shoulder, away from the spines on his pauldrons. Lance brings his other hand up and tightly grasps the forearm reaching across his chest.

Huang Hua had spent so much time trying to help others through this that she had completely forgotten to make sure she was alright as well, and seeing Lance - the man she least expected to be torn apart by this situation - completely break and fall apart before her eyes reminded her of the true depth of their loss. They didn’t just lose Eldarya’s savior, they had lost a friend, a great warrior, one of the last angels, someone who was pure at heart and wasn’t afraid to face the darkness of life without so much as a blink of hesitation. They had lost someone who gave everything for the world, and suffered because of it.

Minutes merged until they were unsure of how long they spent in the fields, but in time both of them calmed down. Lance - now able to think clearer on the subject - began to reflect on the situation.

“This wasn’t her fault... the blame is on all of us, for not having seen anything... but she must have known that someone would have been there for her if they knew how much she was hurting...” He murmured this quietly, waves of shame washing over him again as he realized he was perhaps pinning some of the blame on Guardienne. Was there really anyone to blame here? She must have known that someone would have been there for her if she sought help, but it’s not right for others to pry into the personal life of another if the intrusion is unwelcomed, and who was to say she wanted help in the first place? Had she given up? Would anyone have been able to stop her to begin with? Who was to blame, if there was anyone?

“There’s nothing we can do now except honor her and move forward.” Huang Hua whispered back with a shaky voice and Lance faintly nodded his head. There were many things that worked together to lead to this happening, and in between there also were moments where something could have helped deter it, both by her doing and by others. At the root core, everyone and anyone could have helped stop this in some way, even if it was by giving her a small passing smile that could have helped remind her that there is good and hope in the world, but there’s also no guarantee that anyone could have stopped it. Regardless, this is how things happened. They can’t change the past, but they can move forward with her in mind and learn from this.

Lance - despite his heavy grief and complex emotions on everything - begins to soften himself to the situation. He’s not the only one grieving. His situation may have been the most complicated, but he’s still in the same boat as everyone else. He doesn’t feel the need to sob alongside the others anymore, but he does find that whenever the group he’s in begins to fall apart into wailing, he’ll bow his head and won’t hide the obvious pain that he’s in at the reminder of his lost love. His feelings for Guardienne will be kept quiet, and he won’t openly say how he felt about her - it could still be seen as wrong in the opinion of some people for him to have fallen in love with the same woman he hurt so much, especially knowing her pain is what led to her death - but he won’t deny the truth of his feelings to those who caught on somehow. Lance will find that he’ll slowly begin to mend after this death, many months after of course, but it’ll happen, and in some ways this will help him move past his brother’s death as well. After all, in the end both Guardienne and Valkyon came to accept their final moments in life before allowing Lance’s past actions to bring about their end, and although one chose to die to help mend him and the other chose to die to help relieve herself, the root issue of the situation that led to their death was still very similar. He’ll have a hard time allowing himself to move past the fact that his actions played a major part in both deaths, but he realizes in time that that’s what happens when someone has a violent past. It’ll haunt for many years, and the effects of it can never be reversed, but in the end this only inspires him to work harder to provide a better world. Maybe he can’t erase what he did, but he can make sure it doesn’t happen again and work to provide Eldarya with as much good as he can provide now.

Without a doubt Guardienne’s death hits him hard, but he’ll be sure to come back twice as strong from this.

I hope you like this, Anon! I feel Guardienne’s suicide would definitely hit Lance hard and remind him subtly of Valkyon’s death, but I don’t see Lance being held down by this for too long. He’d heavily grieve for her for a good while before he eventually finds himself standing on two feet again and powering his way through life, if not for his own sake then for the sake of others, both alive and dead. 

Have a request? Ask them here!

But first, please read the rules list for asks!

[gins-potter]

everything will be alright (with you by my side)

@halzekrhodestead​ sent me these requests literally a million years ago and i’m just now getting around to filling them.  sorry about the wait and i hope you enjoy it! yes i know will didn’t do emergency medicine in nyc i just decided to retcon that

Will’s skin practically crawls at the sound of the elegant string music floating out of the ballroom at the top of the stairs.  The music is nice enough he supposes, but Will’s never been able to hear violins and not be reminded of the vibrant, boisterous music his mother had filled their home with when he was a child.  But maybe it’s not the music at all that sets his teeth on edge, but rather the people lining up to enter the gala, who shed their coats to reveal expensive tuxedos and glamorous dresses.  Maybe it’s the glasses of champagne they accept as they step inside, the liquid surely the rarest of vintages and served in undoubtedly crystal flutes.

Beside them, in the tux he’s had since med school, and the tie Connor gave him before they even started dating, Will feels more than a little lackluster.

But, he rationalises to himself, he never did understand the point of hosting a charity event if you were going to blow tens of thousands of dollars just throwing the damn thing.  But he knows the cause is important to his boyfriend, so in a surprisingly un-Will-like fashion, he resists the urge to make a comment about it, and instead pastes a pleasant smile on his face.  Because after all, he’s not here to make waves; he’s here to be a buffer with a pretty face and make the night as painless as possible.

At least that’s the way Will remembers Connor phrasing it.

Speaking of, beside him Connor takes a deep, shuddering breath as they reach the top of the stairs and the wide double door entrance looms ahead.  Pausing at the threshold, Connor slips his hand into Will’s and squeezes gently.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tracing the back of Will’s hand with his thumb.  “Thanks for being here?”

Will feels his lips twitch up into a genuine smile despite his surroundings, and says, “Yeah well, you promised you’d do that thing with your tongue that I like if I came, so…”

The words surprise a laugh out of Connor, and he shoots Will a grateful look, before squaring his shoulders, as if emboldened by the exchange and leading his boyfriend inside.  Will sighs a little and accepts a glass of champagne, figuring he’s going to need it.

Into the lion’s den they go.

.

The night starts off well enough, all things considered.

Having been away from the whole scene for so long, Connor is almost immediately swarmed by artificially eager socialites who want all the details on what he’s been up to in recent years.  Will watches his boyfriend’s face and knows him well enough to know when he needs to step in and gently shift the subject matter, or when Connor genuinely likes the other person and he can sip his exorbitantly priced champagne and let the conversation wash over him.

His southside accent sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the other guest's polished speech but Will plays it to his favour, working the ‘blue-collar boy who put himself through med school’ angle that they lap up like some of their expensive wine.  His father would spit if could see him, and Will hates himself a little bit for doing it, their condescending smiles stoking the embers of that anger.  But all it takes is to see the gratefulness in Connor’s eyes to know it’s worth it, and he stamps out those embers enough that they don’t become a raging inferno.  Besides, by the pressure of a hand on his lower back, Will can tell that Connor knows exactly what he’s doing and will make it well worth his time when they’re back in their apartment.

They even survive the, thankfully brief, exchange with Connor’s father, it being the first time they’ve met in the year that Will and Connor have been together.  It’s polite, and it’s pleasant, and they smile for the benefit of the other guests milling around, but Will doesn’t miss the disapproving glint that enters Cornelius Rhodes’s eyes when Connor introduces him as his boyfriend.  And it doesn’t go unnoticed by him either that Connor introduces him as ‘Will’, but Cornelius manages to call him ‘William’ - something even his own father never calls him - a grand total of six times in the space of their three minute conversation.  

It makes Will wonder which is a bigger affront to Cornelius: that his son is dating a man, or that he’s dating someone who doesn’t come with a trust fund.

But despite it all they manage to survive the few minutes that the encounter lasts for until Cornelius gets pulled away by another guest and they can escape to the other side of the ballroom.  It would have been ideal to avoid him completely, but as a main benefactor of the gala, Cornelius was well and truly in the spotlight, and people would surely talk if the two Rhodes men ignored each other all evening.  That was certainly the reason, Connor mutters to Will as they hightail it out of there, that Cornelius had sought them out; it simply would not do for the Rhodes’ to be talked about for anything other than their roaring financial success.

But all in all the evening is going well.  Connor works the crowd with Will at his side, charming smile firmly in place as he convinces many of the other guests to sign over large swathes of money to the National Alliance on Mental Illness.  Connor chats to friends of his late mother, runs into old classmates from high school, and even gets dragged onto the dance floor by his sister.  And despite his father’s looming presence, Will can tell his boyfriend is actually starting to enjoy himself.

Which is why he feels comfortable enough to leave Connor in the hands of his sister and escape into a hallway off the ballroom when he overhears a young socialite complain to her friend about the darling little yacht her father refuses to buy her.

What’s a mere three million dollars after all?

He just needs to take a breath away from the music and the lights and the people.  But he’s not there for more than a few minutes, when a figure appears at the other end of the hallway, striding towards him.

“Mr Rhodes,” Will says, once he recognises him in the dim lighting.  He straightens, and pushes off the wall, a bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

“William Halstead,” Cornelius says slowly, a dangerous smile on his face.  Something about the way he says Will’s name has the hair on the back of his neck standing up, and his suspicions are confirmed when Cornelius doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.  “William Halstead.  Born to Pat and Shannon Halstead, a construction worker and kindergarten teacher from Canaryville.  One brother named Jay who was first an Army Ranger and is now a detective with the Chicago Police Department.  You went to college out of state, was involved in aid work in Sudan, before studying emergency medicine in New York.  You came back to Chicago on a whim to visit your brother, were briefly accused of murder before later being cleared, and decided to move back permanently when you were offered a position at the Gaffney Chicago Medical Center.”

The champagne flute in Will’s hand groans under his tightening grip, but he manages a guarded smile as he says, “I see you’ve looked me up.”

“Oh, I’ve done more than look you up,” Cornelius says ominously.  “Which is why I know that despite your best efforts you were unable to secure a scholarship, and the two jobs you worked through medical school barely dented your student loans.  So, let’s cut to the chase, William, how much will it take?”

Will blinks, and then laughs uncomfortably, unable, or perhaps unwilling to understand what Cornelius is trying to imply.  “I’m sorry, how much will what take?”

Cornelius exhales sharply, as if perturbed by having to explain himself.  “How much money will it take to get you to walk away from my son and never look back?”

The words cut like a blade through Will’s chest and his next breath comes out strangled and ragged.  “I don’t-”

Cornelius spreads his hands, cutting Will off with ease.  “Look, I’m a reasonable man.  And I can be very generous when I want to be.  Those loans of yours could be taken care of with a single phone call.”

Will seethes at the arrogance of the man before him, and at both the idea of someone being able to clear eight years worth of accumulated debts with half a thought, and at the implication that there was a sum of money large enough to get Will to walk away from Connor.

When he doesn’t answer, Cornelius continues.  “I know about you, William, I know your background, and I know that you and my son come from two very different worlds.  And I know that when I pass on and my son inherits the empire two generations of Rhodes’ men have built, he’ll do so with someone of the correct social standing by his side.  Someone,” he adds, eyeing Will with open disgust.  “Who is able to provide a natural continuation of the Rhodes’ line.”

“So,” Will says, realising that he being a man and a poor kid from Canaryville are equal sins in Cornelius’ eyes.  “It doesn’t matter to you that your son might be miserable as long as he marries someone you deem socially acceptable?”

Cornelius shrugs carelessly.  “I’m sure Connor will be upset for a while, he always was a…. sensitive child.”  His lips pull back, more a bearing of his teeth than a true smile.  “But I’m also sure that he’ll get over it eventually, and come to realise that I’m right.  Hell, he might even thank me for it one day.”

Will wants to tell him that there’s a better chance of hell freezing over than of that happening, but Cornelius has already continued talking.

“So, all that’s left to be settled is the price.  Name it and it’s yours.”

Here, Will has to laugh.  And not just an awkward or polite chuckle, but a real laugh, the first he’s uttered all night.  He laughs, and laughs harder, when Cornelius’s expression becomes pinched.

“Oh, you really thought that because I was still standing here and listening, you were actually going to be able to pay me off?”

Cornelius tries to smile again, but it’s lacking it’s earlier swagger.  “‘Pay off’ is such an ugly term, isn’t it?  I prefer to think of this as a business deal.  One that you would be very stupid to turn down.  So be reasonable, William.”

But Will shrugs, grinning effortlessly.  “No one has ever accused me of being all that smart.  And reasonable?  Me being reasonable is walking away from you right now instead of introducing you to the Canaryville version of a no.”

Will idly cracks the knuckles of his right hand, and feels a dark satisfaction when Cornelius’s gaze drops to the hand still hanging by his side.  But he doesn’t curl that hand into a fist, doesn’t let himself draw back his elbow and let the punch fly, no matter how good it might feel in the moment.  No, instead he just shoves both hands into his suit pockets, shoots Cornelius one more careless grin, and starts to stroll back down the hallway.

“You’re going to regret this, William.”

He almost turns back, but decides it’s not worth it.  Besides, he really doesn’t think he is.

.

Connor is blessedly alone when Will steps back into the ballroom.  He hands his glass, still half full, to a passing server with a nod of thanks and beelines for his boyfriend, slipping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his temple when he gets there.

“Hey,” Connor says, leaning into him.  “Where did you go?”

“Just out for a breather.”  He pauses, then says, “Ran into your father, had an interesting conversation.”

Connor’s eyes darken and he starts to pull away.  “What did he say?”

Will huffs a breath of a laugh and tightens his grip, preventing him from leaving.  “Nothing.  Well, nothing important anyway,” he allows when Connor clearly doesn’t buy it.

He’ll tell him eventually, it’s not the kind of thing he can keep from Connor.  But later, when they’re in the privacy of their home, and there’s no chance of Connor ruining a charity gala named in his mother’s honour by punching his father in front of a couple hundred people.

“Will-”

He drops his head and nuzzles the side of Connor’s face for the briefest of moments.  “Later,” he murmurs, before pressing another feather light kiss to his skin and drawing away again.

Connor doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t try to pull away again, which is answer enough.  

Will grins, his teeth flashing.  “Dance with me?”

Connor seems surprised but nods and takes his hand, leading him out amongst the other swaying couples.  Will is sure Cornelius is out there somewhere, watching them and seething at the sight but in that moment he doesn’t care.  All that matters is Connor’s arm around his waist and his head on his shoulder, and the love they both feel for each other burning bright in their chests.

[salvejoon]

Life is Beautifully Ugly (At Times) - pjm | 01

⇒ Warnings for this chapter: Death of minor characters, mentions of a car accident, losing a loved one, a child being orphaned, cursing, Jimin being an ass, reader being a bitch.

⇒ A/N: Hey lovelies! I’m back-ish! I’ve been working on this project for months now and I’ve finally found my muse again and so I got to writing more and more chapters for this. Please enjoy the first chapter of hopefully my first series (but not my last). xoxo

“Imo!” Your head shot up at the happy squeal and you bent down to one knee, opening your arms, almost toppling over at the force your niece ran into you.

“Oof!” Your arms closed around her and she buried her nose in your hair as her arms went around your neck, “Hello my pretty little flower.” You drew back and nuzzled her nose with yours to which she frowned. 

“I’ve grown 1 inch so I’m not little anymore.” 

“You’ll always be my pretty little flower, Hyejin. No matter how tall you get.” You picked her up as you stood, groaning briefly as you adjusted her on your hip, “But you are getting a little bit heavy.”

Hyejin giggled, “Appa also says I’m getting heavy. Says his back hurts.” 

“That’s because your Appa is getting old.” 

A hum came from the doorway and you saw Han, your brother-in-law, standing there, looking dapper in a black and white tux, his natural black hair swept back from his face, “You’re the one to talk, Y/N. You’re closer to 30 than I am.” 

You rolled your eyes, “No need to remind me, Han.” You said just as your younger sister, Charlotte gently pushed Han out of the doorframe, looking a little bit frantic, “Missing something?” You asked her as she walked over to the vanity, opening several drawers.

“My watch.”

“The one laying right in front of you?” 

Charlotte sighed heavily as her eyes landed upon her watch, “Thanks.” 

“What would you do without me?” You smirked as she walked over to you and took Hyejin from your arms and her daughter protested with a small whine.

“Can’t I go with you, Eomma?” She asked and glanced longingly at you and her father, “I also want to go to the ball and look pretty.” 

Charlotte chuckled and kissed her forehead, “Another time, baby. This is for grown-ups only.” 

“Why is it always only for adults? I want to go too!” She protested loudly, crossing her arms and pouted.

You ruffled her hair, “How about you and I play dress-up tomorrow, hm? How does that sound? I’ve bought new shoes you can try.” You winked at her and Hyejin’s pout slowly vanished. 

“Can I put make-up on you, Imo?” 

“Sure.” 

Charlotte put her down and bent down just as the doorbell rang, gently wiping her daughter’s hair back from her face, “You be good to Mrs. Shin, okay? We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yes, Eomma.” 

You absentmindedly stared out the window as the limousine drove through one of the high-end districts of Seoul. Closed off ground containing High-Rise buildings towered the streets and in between, they were grand mansions. 

You felt out of place here, in this part of town.

You preferred Han and Charlotte’s apartment in the more affordable part of Seoul. 

“Y/N.”

You hummed at the sound of your sister’s voice.

“Promise me you’ll be nice.” 

You shifted your gaze to her and raised a brow, “When am I not nice?” You asked and shook your head when Charlotte sent you a knowing look, “Oh please. Just because he’s going to be there doesn’t mean I won’t be nice.”

Han snorted, “The last time you saw each other, it ended up in the tabloids.” 

You glared at him and tch’ed, “Your brother called me - me - a prude, and I simply wanted him to teach him some manners.”

“You don’t teach someone manners by threatening them, Y/N.” Came the rational voice of Charlotte. 

This time you snorted and rolled your eyes, “Wow, you two really take his side.” 

“We are not but you two should bury that hatchet, whatever it is. He is actually nice once you get to know him.” 

“He’s a conceited asshole that needs to be beaten down a peg or ten. There is nothing nice about him.”

“Y/N…”

“Yeah, yeah.”

There was once a time where you would have taken in the beautiful surroundings of the ballroom with all it’s marble and gold, tall doors, and crystal chandeliers and would have felt like a princess. 

But this wasn’t your first rodeo at a gathering such as this nor would it be your last. 

You hated them now. Well, not hated but found them so superficial because all it was was rich people prancing around with their noses in the air while they had a pissing contest of who had the most money, the fastest car, the grandest of mansions, or the youngest wife.

“Smile.” Charlotte noted as she sat down next to you, followed by Han who had finally managed to break free of one of the old ladies' claws, no doubt talking about finances.

You plastered on a fake smile but said smile quickly vanished when you spotted a familiar face approaching the table. 

You tried to hide your scowl as the man came up to the table, dressed in a burgundy-colored suit that cost more than what you earned in a year, his ears adorned with silver dangling earrings with matching diamond rings on his fingers. The last time you had seen him, he’d donned blonde hair but now it was gray and it was swept back neatly, showing off his face. 

And he had a new chick on his arm.

No surprise there.

Park Jimin was one of the biggest fuckboys you knew, if not the biggest. 

He dragged his eyes from his date to you and a knowing smirk spread on his lips when he saw your scowl. No doubt he was already planning various ways to piss you off. 

“Jimin. Nice of you to show up…” Charlotte glanced at her wristwatch, “20 minutes later than we agreed upon but it’s better than an hour like last time.” 

Jimin removed his eyes from you and looked at your sister with an innocent smile, “I apologize, Charlotte. Things dragged out at the board meeting.” The woman on his arm tugged at it, “And may I introduce Jisoo. My date.” 

Han bowed his head and your sister smiled sweetly at her and you… Well, you ignored them. 

That was until Charlotte jabbed you in the ribs, “Ow! Hi, whatever.” You grumbled, glaring at her before meeting Jisoo’s smiling face and forced your lips upwards. 

“As formal as ever, Y/N.” Jimin drawled before sitting down across from you, his smirk back on his lips, “Where is your date?” 

“I came alone.” You answered stiffly. 

He scoffed and leaned back in his chair, “As usual.” 

Arrogant asshole. 

“At least I’m not fucking my way through the female population of Seoul.” 

Jisoo opened her mouth to object but a tap on the mic shut all of you up and you just aimed a glare at him. He met you with one of his own. The tension rose at the table and you heard your brother-in-law sigh softly. 

“It’s going to be a long evening.” You heard him murmur. 

The hours dragged on and so far you’d listened to four long speeches, three performances by some musicians you had never heard of, and had Charlotte remind you of your promise ten times.

You found yourself sitting alone at the table, date-less while your sister was out dancing with Han and Jimin had vanished. 

Probably aiming the money-shot between his date’s breasts.

The image of that left a bad taste in your mouth, so you focused on the dancing people on the floor.

You could easily find a willing dance partner. There were loads of young bachelors at such an event like this but they were so boring to you. You didn’t care about numbers, board meetings, or future merges. Charlotte had given up trying to set you up long ago since you scared most of them away. 

You deemed your independence a part of your charm. Charlotte didn’t agree. 

The ironic part was that the only man here, that could keep up with you, was an arrogant dickwad with a stick so far up his ass, he could pick his teeth with it. 

And he was probably fucking his date at the toilet. There you go again with those thoughts. 

“Ugh.” You shuddered and willed the images away as you picked up your wine glass and took a sip. The best thing about these events was the free booze. 

Too bad you weren’t allowed to get hammered because the last time you got shitfaced, you had dragged Jimin by his collar, trying to get him outside so you could ‘rearrange that stick’. The tabloids had a field day with that instance. It hadn’t been the first time you had threatened to kick his ass and you doubted it would be the last. 

Jimin just knew how to push the right buttons. 

“No one has asked you for a dance yet?” 

Your left eye twitched in annoyance, “No. Not yet. Are you offering?” You asked as you looked at Jimin with a raised brow. 

“No. I prefer my dance partners to be more… graceful. I don’t like getting stepped on.” 

“But I can be graceful, Jimin.” 

“Oh? When?” He asked as he sat down in the chair and crossed his legs. 

“When I step on your throat, choking the life out of you.” 

“Kinky, Y/N. I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

You scoffed and leaned back in your chair, “Where’s your date? Recovering from having your filthy hands on her body?”

“And if she is?” 

“Then tell her I know a therapist.” 

Jimin threw you a glare, one you returned with an unimpressed, bored look, “She’s in the restroom.” 

“Trying to wash away her sins, no doubt.”

“Are you jealous, Y/N? You seem oddly fixated on my sexual interactions.” 

You picked up your wine glass and shrugged, “For me to be jealous, Jimin, it would require I had some sort of feelings for you, which I do not other than absolute disgust.” You downed the rest of the wine that was in the glass, deciding you were done entertaining him, “And I’d undoubtedly get more satisfaction by watching old men dance with their young wives than having sex with you.” With that you rose from the table. You flicked a strand of hair over your shoulder as you put your bag on the table, “Now be a good boy and look after my belongings.” 

“Where are you going?” He asked stiffly. 

“To dance, of course. Might step on a toe or two but what the hell.” 

Your escape from the table hadn’t gone as smoothly as you had hoped because Charlotte and Han were nowhere to be found, the men that had approached you were either 60 and above and the bartender hadn’t seemed particularly keen on entertaining you with small talk. So you opted to venture outside instead. 

The air was chilly and you shivered a little, rubbing your arms to regain some heat as you looked up. The sky was clear and the stars twinkled while the moon showered the ground in it’s white glow. It was a pretty evening, really. You had the sudden urge to just lay down on the grass and stargaze. 

You felt something heavy being draped over your shoulders and you turned around to see a pair of dimples and a bright smile. 

You knew those dimples.

And that smile.

Those kind, warm, honeyed eyes. 

Your heart sped up. 

Before you could open your mouth to greet him, Namjoon booped your nose, “Thought I saw you dash outside. Are you avoiding me?” 

You shoved his shoulder, albeit gently with a smile on your lips, “Duh. Of course, I am avoiding you.” 

He frowned, “The sex can’t have been that bad.” He pouted.

You rolled your eyes, “It was terrible. Absolutely terrible.” 

“You really know how to hurt a man's pride, Y/N.” He chuckled and enveloped you in a tight hug, “I’ve missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you too, Joonie. I haven’t seen you in, what, 3 months?” You drew back, “I didn’t know you were attending the fundraiser.”

Namjoon kept his arms around your waist as he sheepishly smiled down at you, “I wasn’t planning on attending since I am so busy lately but when Han told me you’d be here, I had to come.” 

“Aw, my little Joonie bug.” 

He let go of you and you stepped back, “So how is the partnership coming along?” You asked, standing next to him, “Charlotte told me you’ve been super duper uber busy.” 

He sighed, “I have been so fucking busy and work has just been taking up all of my time and I am so tired of it.”

“Oh, Joonie.”

“But I can now call myself partner and a board member of Kim & Co Lawyers.” 

You squealed, your arms finding purchase around his neck as you jumped up and down of excitement, “OH MY GOD! CONGRATULATIONS!” 

Big hand engulfed your face and squished, “Thank you but calm down, sprout. No reason to entertain the whole neighborhood.”

“Buf u gos te parfership.”

“Yes.”

“lso yo ar ruinf te makuf.”

“I am fully aware of that, sprout.” 

“Le gof.”

He chuckled and let go of your face, placing his hands on your shoulders instead, “Thank you. But how are you? Charlotte told me you’d be expanding the brand soon.”

You grinned and nodded, “Yes! I am so excited but at the same time also a little sad. That shop has been my bread and butter for 4 years now but it was about time I listened to my sister and expanded… With the help of some investors, of course.” 

“Well, I am looking forward to seeing you take over the world, Y/N.” 

You snorted and grabbed his hand, “Pfft, I think I’ll just deal with getting my designs on the interwebz first and see how that goes. Now let’s go get some wine and talk shit about other people.” 

“There you are!” You and Namjoon halted your conversation as Charlotte appeared between you, “We’ve been looking for you.”

You smiled sheepishly, “Sorry, sis.”

She glared but there was a teasing glint in her eyes, “Joonie has a habit of stealing your time.” 

“I’m like the most important man in her life, what did you expect?” Namjoon rolled his eyes as Charlotte bumped his shoulder, “Not in the way you want, woman.” 

Your sister huffed and shook her head, “What do I have to pay you to marry Y/N? Seriously, you’re like the only guy that can keep up with her shit and not want to run away.”

“Who says I don’t want to run away?” 

You slapped his arm that was draped over the bar counter, “Fuck you. You love me.” 

“I do but not enough to get my dick wet.” 

“That monster you call a dick wouldn’t fit anyway.” 

“Thank you, I guess, for calling it a monster, Y/N, but I would have made it fit. Preparation is key.” 

“That’s what I keep saying. Foreplay is an important part of-”

“Alright, I clearly interrupted something here so I would just like to give you the heads up and Han and I are going home.” Charlotte interrupted you and leaned in to kiss you on the cheek, “He’s drunk and I was getting tired anyway.” 

“Sure. I’ll see you back home.” You said, wiping at your cheek before turning it towards Namjoon, “Do I have a stain?”

He shook his head before accepting a peck on his cheek from Charlotte, “Nope. Looking smooth as always.” 

“You make sure she gets home safely, Joonie.”

“You have nothing to worry about.”

“And not too late, okay?”

“Bye Charlotte! Love you!” You called as she wandered off, dragging a swaying Han with her towards the entrance.

Jimin sat at the table, Jisoo at his side. He had tuned most of her blabbering out, finding the topic ‘what shoes to wear to her friend’s wedding’ quite boring. Instead, his eyes were trained on the dance floor where not many people were dancing. 

More specifically you and Namjoon that was talking more than dancing and he saw you smile, laughing at how your dance partner seemed to trip over his own feet. 

He scoffed. 

“Are you listening to what I’m saying, baby?”

“Of course, Jisoo. The red pair of shoes sounds good.” 

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he fished it out, eyes narrowing at the number, he swiped his thumb across the screen.

“Yes?” He said. 

“Jimin, hey, it’s Seokjin.” 

“I could see on the caller-id.”

There was a brief pause and Jimin held up a hand to silence Jisoo when she yanked at his arm. Then there was a beeping sound and the sound of doors being banged open, “Jin, what’s going on?”

“Sorry about that… I don’t know how to say this but you need to come to the hospital.”

“Why?” 

“It’s your brother. Jimin, you need to come and quick.” 

His throat felt as dry as sandpaper as he stood up and hung up, eyes darting to your dancing and laughing form on the dancefloor. 

“Jimin, baby, where are you going?” Jisoo asked him as he took a step, her hands clinging onto his wrist. 

“S-Sorry, I have somewhere I need to be.” He answered, his voice shaky, “I’ll arrange for someone to take you home.” 

“Wait!” She called out as he ran towards you.

You were laughing so hard at how Namjoon had just tripped over his own two feet again when Jimin appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, grabbing your wrist, “What the fuck?” 

“Fun time is over.” Jimin said and tugged you with him as he headed towards the exit.

You yanked your wrist free, Namjoon appearing at your side, “Um no, it isn’t. What’s with you?” You asked him. 

Jimin looked at you and Namjoon, “Y/N.” You raised a brow at the tone of his voice… He sounded scared, “We have to go now.” 

“Did something happen?” You immediately grew worried because Jimin never sounded scared. 

“Seokjin just called me and… Something happened with Han and Charlotte.” 

You had never felt such fear. 

The ride to the hospital was tense and quiet. Jimin drove like a maniac through the streets of Seoul while Namjoon had tagged along as support. The two men sat in the front of the car, exchanging no words whatsoever, leaving you to your thoughts running rampant. 

Then you arrived at the hospital and everything happened so quickly.

A drunk driver collided with their limousine.

Their driver was killed on impact. 

Charlotte and Han were in critical condition.

You had no idea how much time had passed from when you had arrived to when you were sitting on the chair outside the ward, Jimin prancing back and forth like a caged animal.

Then the doctor appeared from the ward and Namjoon was quick to leave your side, going to talk to him.

You stood up, watching as they talked and you felt Jimin’s presence next to you.

Time seemed to slow down when your eyes locked with Namjoon’s, the sadness in his eyes conveying the message you had yet to receive but you knew. 

They were gone. 

You could feel someone wrap their arms around you as you tumbled to the floor, your own piercing wail deaf to your ears as you felt your chest implode on itself with heartbreak. 

Jimin struggled to keep you upright as you collapsed, your cries so very loud in his ears but it didn’t matter. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t need to hear why you had broken down. It was clear as day by the way Namjoon looked. 

His brother was gone. Your sister was gone. Both of them were gone. 

You cried out her name and Jimin tightened his hold on you when you tried to crawl away from him. 

He might not like you and you may not like him but he knew that you should not go through this pain alone. So when you clutched his shirt so tightly in your balled fists, your cries finally lowering to whimpering and you buried your head in his chest, Jimin held you tight.

The feeling of time was lost on you when you entered Han and Charlotte’s apartment. Your mind was empty and you were pretty sure your heart had stopped beating. 

Mrs. Shin appeared as you took off your shoes and placed your purse on a small table. She looked puzzled upon seeing you, and only you, return. 

“Where is…” She trailed off as you grabbed her hand. 

“They’re gone.” Was all you said and her shoulders sagged as she moved her free hand to cover her mouth, “Is she sleeping?”

“She is.” 

You nodded and walked past her, down the hall, towards Hyejin’s room. The door was slightly ajar and you slowly opened it, finding her room dark except for a small lamp in the corner. 

She hated the dark.

Like Charlotte. 

You felt tears stream down your cheeks at the thought of your sister but willed them away. You had to be strong now for Hyejin. 

Nothing else mattered.

Hyejin woke up when her mattress shifted and she turned her head, rubbing one eye, “Eomma?” 

“No, honey. It’s me.” 

She sat up, looking puzzled, “Where’s Eomma? She always comes to kiss me goodnight.” 

You opened your arms and closed them around her tiny frame, “I know.” You placed your head upon hers and took a deep breath, “Listen, sweetie…”

[shiningstages]

@etherux - 👁‍🗨 // for all the granblue muses that i've interacted with ?? :3ccc ( ALSO DUMBLR MADE ME UNFOLLOW U ........... cries and buries face in hands )

send in 👁‍🗨 for my muse’s first impression of yours

( I’M ADDING CELESTE SINCE WE TALKED ABOUT IT A LITTLE BIT ALREADY SO - )

Celeste: 

A dark primal just like herself yet her beauty was glowing like the sun, with words so bold yet so mysterious that she wondered if they allowed another ambiguously trustworthy person onto the crew again. Yet she also feels that understanding of wanting to be with the person you love most, akin to Crystal wanting to be reunited with her sister, and curiosity couldn’t help but mix with disgust at the prospect of a respectful astral like Crystal claimed. She was only brought out when it was deemed necessary for introductions, yet she had already heard enough from inside Lyria’s gem: The beauty intrigued her too much to spark the desire to interact with her. And yet part of her also wanted to ignore her entirely, from her mysterious nature and a tinge of envy of being able to stay with her sister until their fall. 

Djeeta: 

As always, an interesting addition to the crew! Kindred spirits that started their quests to search for family, though their circumstances are vastly different. A primal of disguises is a useful friend to have tag along, yet she also knows nothing about her outside of the base facts, so maybe she herself is also a disguise? They’ll cross that bridge if they ever get to it, and Djeeta deems her trustworthy and her mission genuine, so for now she’s a crew member through-and-through!

Amethyst: 

A very beautiful and alluring woman (mommy? sorry; mommy? sorry) has joined the crew! She really wants to say hi and introduce herself, yet Crystal also totally looks like she’d lure you into anything and in the morning you’d wake up without all your clothes and money. Oh, wait, she’s a primal of disguises? Even worse; that means she might be good at that (also Roseta has met her match omg). Oh, wait, Prunella is say they’re friends now??? ...Well, there has to be something nice about this lady then. She talks very sweetly and apparently also likes chocolate and rain huh...Well, introductions need to be done anyways, but she supposes she can trust this woman well enough for now. 

Prunella: 

True introductions weren’t had until that fateful day when Prunella was laying outside in the rain, and the primal looked over her in soft concern and curiosity. Prunella could feel her kindness from the ground, her voice a sweet lullaby against the pitter-patter of water on her skin, and pink visage reminding her of a flowing field of pink peonies. Or perhaps roses suited her best; alluring yet strong, growing thorns if need be. Yet they were both plucked up from their old lives and old families, looking for answers and a new way of life, though the latter was understood by the other to be stressing indeed. Growing little flower at talks of warm blankets and tea time, Prunella felt from the moment she took her hand that she could at least trust her a little.

[starsset-dawnrose]

To add to my XIV verse headcanons here’s some for Iggy as I continue to set up his blog-

Ignis ends in Etheirys after what goes down at Altisia and follows Ardyn to the Crystal and uses the Power Of Kings against the man. Crystal takes him in after he’s finished fighting Ardyn and Noctis and Co arrive just as he’s whisked away.

He ends up in Sharlayan. The healers there are able to get him healed up enough for him to see but the scars remain. Due to having the ring he keeps the ‘power of kings’ but doesn’t really use it outside of summoning his things from the Armiger. He can only summon his items, or what’s deemed as his- and he can put said items back.

Ignis stays in Sharlayan, learning quickly and taking on odd jobs to earn his stay until he gets recruited to learning Astrology (he still prefers his knives, thanks.) but the Stars had always intrigued him and the hobby reminds him of home.

Ignis saves up enough to leave Sharlayan and join the Culinary and Botany guilds. He prefers to buy from the fishing guild - fishing itself was never his forte and it reminds him too much of Noctis.

A few years go by as Ignis becomes an Adventurer and he returns back to Sharlayan at 24/25 to start his own restaurant there because lord help him he loves the place but the food is disgusting.

The Last Stand is totally not his place nope-

Sometime during his travels and opening the Last Stand his restaurant he becomes an archon.

Oh, and he totally flirts by giving people free food.

[maine-writes]

Vonvon's Space Adventure, Part 3

Another resplendent scene of Beach City. The azure waves crashed upon the golden sand, darkening it to an earthy hue. Steven and Connie eagery awaited the crystalline vessel descending from the atmosphere. Its ivory body glimmered in the sun, its strking eyes looking ever onward toward the horizon. To them at least, their darling child's weekend went without a hitch. But little did they know of the horrors that transpired on a distant world.

It began on a Saturday.

"So, where are we going again?" Vonvon asked.

Shortly after waking up from a rather restless night, Vonvon was brought aboard White Diamond's ship; a massive, crystalline upper torso. All they were told was that the Diamonds had prepared a "game" of sorts. After all, children enjoy games, at least that was what Spinel told the Diamonds.

White Diamond sat in her command chair, supervising her bridge crew. The central viewscreen above was focused on a strange alien world. White clouds swirled around the northern hemisphere, a vast ocean covered a majority of the planet, which had only three major landmasses.

"Vonvon." said the Diamond, directing their attention to the planet. "This was Exoplanet D-23, one of Blue's. Despite initial findings, she deemed the planet unfit for full colonization."

"So what happened to it?"

"She decided to use it as an educational facility. Gems under her supervision were sent here for training." She continued. "This was once a place where Sapphires would go to learn proper etiquette and learn how to decipher their visions. If I remember correctly, the Sapphire you are familiar with spent some time here herself."

When the ship landed, Vonvon looked out an idyllic, tropical landscape. To their surprise, the seas were relatively shallow, no deeper than several meters. There were extremely deep pools, however, which were noticably darker as their depths descended deep into the limestone below. Strewn all across the landscape were sandbars and the occasional solid landmasses, with crystalline trees sprouting out from them. The combination of the warm sun and salty breeze refreshed Vonvon's little body.

They then looked to the distance, spotting great spires on the horizon. These were once the courts of Blue Diamond, where countless Gems would congregate and speak on matters and events from across the great dominions of Homeworld. These were places of culture and refinement.

"What do the Gems there do now?" Vonvon inquired.

"Whatever they desire, dear." Said the Diamond. "Blue still occasionally holds court here, mostly to hear about what they've experienced."

The child wondered if they were going to meet with these Gems. But it seemed as if the Diamonds had another idea.

White led Vonvon to a massive, dome-shaped construct that stood on crystalline pillars in the water. Inside, they were greeted by a crew of Gems and the other two Diamonds.

"Welcome to a Gem warfare command center." Yellow Diamond said, visibly excited for the day's activity.

"Command center?" Vonvon wondered.

"According to our studies on what sort of games human child enjoy," Yellow explained, "We've decided on allowing you an opportunity to command a small army for war games. Blue, White, and I will be commanding our own forces, while you try to take our command centers."

The Diamonds led the child to their small, human-sized command chair in the center of the room. It was elevated over a crew of diligently working Gems, who were making their final preparations and communications checks.

"Are the Gems okay with this?" Vonvon sheepishly asked.

"As you know, with the beginning of Era 3, Gems are free to pursue whatever lifestyles they desired." Blue Diamond assured them. "Some, however, didn't know what to do with themselves and so we organized a number of activities for them."

"Does Papa know about these sort of games?"

"W-Well, no." White Diamond said. "Your mother suggested that we not tell him of her idea."

Vonvon wasn't at all surprised that their mother suggested that militaristic Gems take part in these war games. But they did wonder if she took part in any herself. The more they thought about it, they began to wonder about the large rolls of paper that Connie kept hidden in the broom closet that somewhat resembled battle plans.

Vonvon was given an hour to prepare their forces as the Diamonds left for their command centers. The game seemed easy enough, command units to capture bases, and only after capturing all their bases can forces move on the command center. Units included artillery, cavalry, armored, infantry, logistical support, and air support.

As the Diamonds left, Vonvon excitedly waved them good-bye, joined by Spinel. But as soon as the doors closed, the child's demeanor instantly changed.

"Alright, Spinel show me what we have to work with."

Outside of the command center, Vonvon's grand army awaited. As soon as they saw the child, the thunderous echo of hundreds of Gems standing at attention and giving the child the old Homeworld salute filled the air.

"Good morning, General!" Said hundreds of voices.

Vonvon donned a pair of violently outlandish and dramatically pink visors, as pointy as they were outrageous, as they took a deep breath.

"Smell that, Spinel?" They said as they popped a lollipop in their mouth. "Smells like a good day for war."

Little did the Diamonds know, Connie had trained her child for this day. Fire Emblem, Advance Wars, Chess, Risk, Monopoly, years of playing strategy games and dealing with Connie's competitiveness were about to pay off.

"I wonder what Vonvon did all weekend." Steven said as he and his wife watched White Diamond's ship descend from the upper atmosphere.

As the door at the front of giant crystal torso opened up, the pair were greeted by Vonvon and White Diamond, the former decorated in military medals, flashy regalia, and a flowing, dramatic cape.

"Mama! Papa!" Vonvon laughed as they ran to their parents.

Steven was relieved everything seemed to have gone well, but wondered about Vonvon's strange outfit.

"Had a fun weekend?" He asked, looking up to White Diamond.

"Oh, absolutely!" She assured him as Yellow and Blue Diamond emerged from the ship. "They're a regular chip off the old Gem!"

"They remind me of myself when I was newly emerged." Yellow Diamond added, wiping an emotional tear from her eye.

"Huh?" Steven asked. "What did you guys do all weekend?"

"Pretty sure they just played games, hun." Connie quickly interjected.

"Like Battleship?"

"Sure."

While Steven was distracted with an excited little Vonvon, who was babbling what sounded like nonsense, Blue Diamond caught Connie's attention.

"They caused a little damage in their first battle." She whispered to Connie. "So our usual game will have to be postponed until the repairs are finished."

"What game?" Steven inquired, curious as to what the two were talking about.

"Chess." Connie said.

"Chess? I didn't know Blue played chess."

"You child is surprisingly sharp." Blue said, consciously failing to mention the sea of carnage they left on the distant world. "How was the colony?"

"W-Well..." Steven began as a distant, orange dot appeared in the distance.

Slowly, the dot came closer, changing into a large, humanoid shape.

"Steven!" Jasper yelled as she approached. "I formally request that you expla-!"

Vonvon noticed both Steven and Connie sigh while the Diamonds looked on in both confusion. They then had an idea.

"Jasper Facet-9 Cut-1T4!" They barked.

The big, buff Quartz stiffened up, straightened her back, and crossed her arms in salute.

"What is the meaning of this insubordination?!" They continued.

"I-It is not insubordination!" Jasper explained. "As Steven's bodyguard, I only wanted to do my duty and prove that I am as capable as Connie!"

"Elaborate."

"I simply request an explanation for what Connie can do for Steven that I cannot."

"Oh, that's a good question." Vonvon innocently noted. "You are a big, strong Gem. Mama can swordfight, but I don't think she can crush rocks with a headbutt."

Everyone, including the Diamonds, looked to Steven and Connie, waiting for an explanation. They could feel everyone's gaze piercing their souls, unblinking, unwavering.

"I'll handle this." Garnet announced, appearing without explanation. As she whispered something to Jasper, the big, orange Gem glanced over at Steven and Connie, then down to Vonvon.

"That's disgusting!" She screamed.

"It's what humans do." Garnet shrugged. "Rose did it."

Jasper struggled to process the information she was given. She then approached Connie.

"You survived what Pink Diamond could not." She said, deflated. "You truly are more capable than me."

Fortunately, Vonvon and the Diamonds weren't curious enough to ask Garnet about what she told Jasper. But more importantly, Jasper wasn't going to bother Steven or Connie again.

@artsycooky13

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

never let you go (1)

Summary: After losing the woman they love, Bucky and Steve make a desperate decision with unimaginable consequences. 

Characters: Stucky x Reader Warnings: Heavy angst. Brief character death (with a return). Violence, blood, demons, and gore. SMUT (m/f/m, brief m/m, masturbation). An appearance by everyone’s favorite Hunters (SPN crossover).

Prompt: “Heartache is one thing, but this…this is worse.”

A/N: This is my submission for the fantastic @sherrybaby14​ for Sherry’s Fall Into You challenge, thanks babe for hosting. This is a dark story fam, different than my usual writing. Bucky and Steve really do make some bad decisions, so please heed the warnings. This is a short series, only 2-3 parts.

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Looking back, it happened so fast.

Night was stealing over the horizon when the mission was officially called. Bad guys in handcuffs, team members safe, the world still turning. On the roof of a nearby office building, you stood between Bucky and Steve, smiling in relief.

Smiling, smiling, smiling.

You were smiling right before the bomb went off.

Later, Bucky remembers the shock on your face, the shape of Steve’s mouth screaming. He remembers that swoop in his belly, the weightless feel of wild loops on a rollercoaster. He remembers your piercing cry as the floor gave way beneath three pairs of boots, bodies knocking together in a choking sea of crumbling concrete and screeching steel.

And when the smoke cleared, when your broken fingers found his and Bucky saw your lips stained with sticky red, he knew instantly. He knew and he knew you knew. You’d seen enough injuries to recognize death when it beckons. Steve was shouting, clambering over a broken wall, fighting through piles of debris to where you lay pinned beneath the unforgiving stone. He collapsed beside you, trembling soot-smudged fingers cupping your face.

No more than a minute passed. Sixty short seconds of breaking and bleeding and screaming, now stretching into an unending lifetime of regret. One minute more, before your small sips of breath slow into nothing. They stay with you until the end, each with their hands on you, comforting and pleading to stay, please stay, we love you, please don’t leave.

But Death cares little for love.

When they emerged from the ruins, Steve carried your broken body, Bucky staggering numbly behind. The world shifts.

Three days later, comes the funeral. Black suits, black dresses, black casket. A rainbow of flowers for a life overflowing with love and laughter. The formalities of grief are observed, those unfailingly dependable motions polite society demands.

Steve, ever the stalwart public figure, does most of the work. Shaking hands and speaking quietly and nodding gravely at words of condolence. On the fringes of the crowd, away from the crush of sympathy Bucky stands pale and hidden. Despite concern and questions, not a single word has passed his lips since that day.

Finally it ends, the last well-wisher is whisked into the night, and they’re left alone. Two men shattered by tragedy, hearts burning with a soul consuming love for a woman they couldn’t save.

Before a crackling fire, Steve sits slumped in your favorite chair. Cocooned in silent misery, red-rimmed eyes wide and unseeing, he holds a heavy crystal tumbler loose in his hand.

When he sucks in a sharp, strangled breath, Bucky looks over.

The tumbler slips from Steve’s hand, bouncing soundlessly on the plush grey rug and he stands quickly, stumbling toward the fireplace. The flames are strangely welcoming, translucent beams of fractured light breaking through the room.

“Get it off,” he suddenly chokes out. Panic bleeds off him in waves, and he yanks at his tie. The knot tightens and Steve begins to sweat, voice rising higher. “Get it off, now, get it off, get it all off! Please! Please Bucky, please!”

Startled, Bucky leaps up. He pulls the jacket down Steve’s flailing arms and watches in confusion as Steve strips off the rest.

Tie, shirt, belt.

Trousers, boxers, socks.

Ripping the jacket dangling from Bucky’s fingers, Steve rolls everything into a ball and shoves it into the fireplace. Flames lick along his hands, instantly scalding his fingertips with angry red blisters, but he pays no attention. The fire is quick to take, wrapping everything in ringlets of blue and orange, greedily devouring the gift.

As he stands naked in the living room, Steve begins to shiver.

“I don’t know if I can - can do this. Heartache is one thing, but this…this is worse.” he gasps. He crouches on the floor, puts his head between his knees. “This is worse, this is - this is fu-fucking worse.”

Shadows dance through the room while the fire consumes the remnants of the funeral suit. Good riddance of course. There’s no way on earth he’d wear those clothes again.

The wet, broken rasp of Steve’s sobs are the only sound in the room. Bucky wants to help, but there’s nothing left inside him. No reassurances, no words of relief. The solace of love that filled their home has evaporated, leaving nothing more than a wisp of memory.

*****

Their world ends, but as always - the days go by.

*****

One morning Bucky wakes up, head still full of foggy dreams. Lost happiness. He comes awake slowly, bleary eyed and so painfully hard he’s ashamed of that fact.

He sets the shower to a burning rain and stands under the deluge. Closes his eyes and lets the heat sear his skin to a sheet of bright red, trying desperately to wash away those heartbreaking dreams of you, safe and perfect in his arms. He palms himself roughly at the thought, trying to ease the ache. There’s a feeling of disgust that accompanies the touch, humiliated frustration at such a base instinct.

He tells himself he can finish it quick, make it go away. Take the edge off.

With one wet hand on slippery tile, he wraps the other around himself and jerks. He hates himself for picturing you. Beautiful lips, beautiful skin, beautiful eyes. The sound of your voice hitching, sweet sighs of pleasure when he touches your body.

He tells himself the water sluicing down his face is the shower. He tells himself he’s fine. This is stress relief. Something to relax. But when he comes all over his hand, his knees buckle and Bucky collapses, crumpling to a ball on the floor of the cavernous shower. Staring up at the ceiling, the water pelts his face until the burning heat turns icy cold.

The dampness on his face, is the shower. They are not tears. He is fine.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

*****

One evening, Steve takes a drive.

Out of Manhattan, past the safe lights of suburbia, further north until he hits the solitude of wilderness. He drives until he finds the path he knows, bumping over gnarled roots, wheels grinding pathetically in the silent night. When it ends, he gets out and continues on foot. Pushing through a dense copse of trees, swiping away the sharp branches reaching for him. He walks and walks, until he reaches what he needs.

Moonlight bathes the small clearing in a white glow, and he walks forward until he’s in the middle of the tranquil space. Cold dew soaks into his jeans when he kneels in the stubby grass, but he doesn’t notice. Tipping his head back, he looks up at the stars.

He screams. On and on and on, the sounds echoing back at him, reverberating off the wall of trees, sending sleeping birds into screeching flight. He screams and he screams, rage and grief and the raw devastation of heartbreak so potent he nearly faints. He screams when he remembers the tears in your eyes silently begging for help, and he screams at the impotence of knowing he could do nothing but watch your life bleed away. He screams for himself, for Bucky, for you. Steve screams until his voice is gone, until the soft tissue inside his throat is swollen and shredded and he spits up blood.

And then he staggers to his feet, pushing back through the trees, until he reaches his car. He climbs inside and turns for home.

He comes back the next night. And the one after that.

Again, and again, and again. Step and repeat.

*****

…and the lonely days melt into weeks…

*****

Neither man is deemed fit for combat, both stripped of duties and relegated to wait. Recover, the therapists say. Rest and recover. Work will always be there. Wait it out, until you feel normal.

Bucky punches a hole through their front door at the condescending support. As if he could wait it out. As if that’s a real thing. As if this grief will ever do anything but grind his heart to mush.

Instead of avenging, they pass the time with mundane things. Searching for purpose, finding none.

In the middle of a stormy night, with the world asleep in their beds, they find themselves in an empty gym. Sweat slick fists and knees jabbing, punching, kicking, sparing with vicious intensity. The pace is blindingly fast, sharply efficient. Back and forth they move, a deadly dance that temporarily takes their minds away from the present, from that gaping loss that will never heal.

On and on they move, until Bucky sweeps his leg and Steve misses the jump. He tumbles to the ground, and Bucky pins him neatly against the mat. Breathing hard, Steve stares up, anguish turning him inside out. He opens his mouth and Bucky already knows what’s coming.

“Steve,” he warns.

“I miss her,” Steve whispers. Misery coats the words, sticky with despair.

“Stop,” Bucky snaps. He scrambles to his feet, turns toward the door. “Don’t you fucking do this, I told you we ain’t talking about it.”

Steve climbs sluggishly to his feet. He rubs his eyes, feels the burn of pooling tears. It’s so natural these days, that prickling heat. Looking up, he sees the tense muscles in Bucky’s hunched shoulders, and he can’t stop from asking.

“Do you - do you remember when it was just the two of us? When we were enough?” he asks hoarsely, and Bucky whips around. Rushing Steve, he catches him around the waist and slams him against the padded blue wall. There’s a faint whir of shifting plates and a metal fist pounds the mat, an inch from Steve’s tear-streaked cheek. He doesn’t even flinch, staring bleakly at the rage in Bucky’s face.

Without missing a beat, Bucky grabs a handful of sweaty shirt and hauls him forward, a furious snarl preceding a bruising kiss. Steve goes easily, their lips moving in a violent rhythm against each other.

When Bucky breaks away, he spins Steve around, shoves him face first against the wall. Without a word, he yanks down Steve’s shorts and kicks his feet apart. This is the first time they’ve touched each other since that day, and the intimacy that blooms is brutal.

Rough thrusts. Quiet grunts. Sex is a race to the finish, both betting on themselves and doing everything in their power to win. Bucky fucks into him, hips snapping recklessly, and Steve wraps a hand around himself, jerking quickly. No more than a minute later and it’s over, tempers cooling like the shimmering film of sweat on their skin.

Panting harshly against Steve’s neck, Bucky answers the question, his voice hollow.

“Yeah I remember. Doesn’t matter. We won’t be again.”

*****

…on and on it goes, until weeks blur into months.

*****

Time passes, but there is no movement for them. Every step forward comes with five steps back, regressing into a despair with no end in sight. How can you hope to move on, when the best part of yourself is lost, gone, rotting away in a white marble mausoleum in a Brooklyn cemetery?

How the fuck can you survive, when the light you’ve been living for goes out?

Lying in bed one cold October night, these are the thoughts traipsing through Steve’s head. Beside him, Bucky is wrapped in an old blanket, unwashed hair fanning in dark tangles across his pillow, and for a long time, Steve watches him. He knows when the nightmares arrive. Bucky begins to shake, soft sounds slipping through clenched teeth, whimpers of a cornered dog with no way out. Steve reaches for him.

At the pressure on his arm, Bucky wakes with a strangled moan. Kicking away the blanket, he sits up, twisting to look at Steve. Sweat pours down his face, until Steve looks closer and understands.

Tears.

Chest heaving, Bucky glares at him.

“No, god dammit, fucking - fuck you,” he spits out, choked by tears. “I told you not to wake me up, never wake me up. She was there, I almost had her, she was - she was there, I could’ve - “

Shaking furiously, he scrambles out of bed, dragging the blanket behind him. Moments later, Steve flinches when the bathroom door slams so hard, the walls of their apartment shake.

The thought comes again. When every shred of hope is abandoned, when the devils of despair are hungering for your sanity, what can you possibly do? How can you go on?

There in that room, rising from the depths of hell, an idea comes.

Shadowy images fill his head, blurry mission reports and hazy pictures. A thick binder with a peculiar collection of information, full of monsters and demons and evil that goes bump in the night. Scary stories he and Bucky read as kids, huddled together under his bedspread.

Steve thinks of SHIELD letterhead and a list of names with an unfamiliar title.

Hunters, he thinks. The word ‘Hunters’ was typed at the top of that list.

He gets an idea. Steve gets a terrible, horrible, beautiful idea.

*****

North of Chicago, in a greasy diner rank with the sour scent of body odor, four men are squeezed into a red booth. The cracked vinyl is peeling away in places, sharp edges revealing yellowed stuffing and frayed threads, and when Bucky lays his arm across the back, it pinches his skin. Beside him, Steve sits stiffly, hands folded next to a chipped ceramic mug of lukewarm coffee.

Hunched across from them, shoveling syrup-soaked pancakes in his mouth, Dean Winchester thumbs over his shoulder at the chalkboard sign above the counter.

“Pig ’N a Poke. Always good.”

No one responds. An awkward silence blankets the uncomfortably full booth, until Bucky clears his throat.

“So you two -“ he motions between the two men, “you’re, what? Together?”

Swearing under his breath, Dean rolls his eyes and keeps eating. “Why the hell does everyone ask that? No. We’re brothers. God damn.”

Crammed beside Dean, Sam Winchester observes the two super soldiers. Toying with the edge of his coffee cup, he fixes them with a thoughtful stare.

“Sorry we dodged your calls, we uh, we try to stay away from SHIELD,” he says wryly. “Not much good ever comes from it.”

“Yeah, last time we got involved, you dicks got my car impounded,” Dean pipes up, spraying bits of pancake across the table. Fixing him with a dark glare, Bucky slowly wipes it off his cheek. Dean grins.

Ignoring the exchange, Steve leans forward, gripping the coffee cup to steady his nervous hands. He takes a deep breath.

“We won’t say anything. SHIELD can’t know we’re here. I read a report about - about something that happened. About something you did. It said - “ He pauses, debating his next words. They tumble out in a rush of breath. “It said you know how to make deals. With certain kinds of - people. The kind of deals that need to stay off the radar.”

Everyone in the cramped booth freezes. The pancake laden fork briefly hovers in midair, before clattering to the table.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Steve gathers himself and tips his chin up.

“Not even a little.”

Dean leans back. Eyes flitting between the two men, perhaps gauging their sanity. It takes a full minute before he speaks.

“Man, you fucking superheroes are something else, you know that? I don’t know what you read in that report you found Captain, but you think there’s something you need that’s worth an eternity literally burning in hell? Is that what I’m hearing?”

Neither answers immediately. Bucky looks aside, out the dust smeared window, to the black Impala parked in front. He wonders briefly where the Winchesters found it. He always wanted one.

“We lost someone.”

At Steve’s quiet admission, Bucky turns back with a ferociously defiant expression and Sam’s eyes soften.

“Yeah. We heard about that. I’m sorry.”

Steve acknowledges the condolence with a stiff nod, while Bucky schools his face into a blank mask. Looking between the two men, Dean takes a deep breath.

“Listen, I’m sorry about what happened, I really am. But I’m not gonna sugar coat this for you. My suggestion? Get some god damn therapy and figure out how to move on. Me and Sammy, we’ve both been down there and this isn’t some bullshit scare tactic, or some ghost story you heard in Sunday school. This is fucking real. And it doesn’t end. Ever. This is forever. Hell is forever. Do you get that?”

“I know a thing or two about hell,” Bucky says drily, taking a sip of coffee. He feels a funny lurch in his belly when Dean levels him with a pitying stare.

“No. You don’t.”

Arms crossed on the flaking linoleum table, Bucky sits forward. “Listen kid, I’m under no illusions about my future. All the shit I’ve done, every crime, every murder, you think I don’t know where I’m ending up? No amount of heavenly forgiveness is gonna take that away. This ends bloody for me no matter what path I choose. So, enlighten me here. Why the hell shouldn’t I make it count?”

Silence hangs over the table. Beside him, Bucky feels Steve’s hand on his thigh, a comforting squeeze. He understands. For all Steve’s comments about the past not being Bucky’s fault, of course he considered this outcome.

Across the table, Sam quietly clears his throat, murmuring low.

“Dean -”

“No, this is horseshit and you know it. You can’t - “ he stops when he seems the firm resolve on both faces. And honestly? Dean Winchester has been a lost cause often enough to recognize a case when he sees one. “Fine. If you boys do this, that’s it. There’s no going back. You understand that? You are on your own. We can’t save you.”

“Yes,” Steve grits out. “We understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do. You make a deal like this and that’s it. There’s no get out of jail. Hell comes calling and that bitch’ll rip you limb from limb, before she drags you to rot down below.”

The words have no effect. Steve peers sideways at Bucky and finds him perfectly relaxed.

“We appreciate the concern. But we’re good.”

Mumbling all manner of obscenities under his breath, Dean digs inside his jacket until he finds a small yellow notepad and a dull pencil. Slapping it on the table, he writes. List, instructions, locations. He rips the paper out and flings it at Steve.

“This is on your heads.”

Nodding his thanks, Steve folds the paper and tucks it carefully in his pocket. The broken leather of the booth creaks and squeaks as he exits, Bucky sliding out behind him.

Side by side, they look down at the Winchester brothers. All four men have been perpetually hounded by some form of death their entire lives; it seems inevitable they would meet before the end.

Offering a faint smile, Bucky shrugs.

“Haven’t you ever loved someone so much, you’d move heaven and earth to bring them back?”

*****

Under the full moon, Steve cracks the small tin box for one final look.

A polaroid of him and Bucky. A clear glass vial of graveyard dirt from a small plot in Brooklyn. The leg bone from a black cat, a stray they saw skulking in an alley; Steve had caught it and did the dirty work there. Bucky always was a bleeding heart when it came to animals.

Crouched in the dead center of the crossroad, Bucky carves out a small hole with smooth metal fingers. When Steve hands him the box, he places it carefully, angling it just right.

Piling the dirt back over, Bucky pats it down and stands, legs suddenly shaky, heart hammering in fear. Dusting off his hands, he edges closer to Steve.

“Now what?”

Steve says nothing. He stares at the stalks of yellow flowers lining the road, waving gently in the night air, and the innocuous sight sends a shiver rippling down his spine.

“Well, well, well. Two super soldiers? This is one hell of a surprise.”

The voice is soft, gentle. Musical in a way, like windchimes on a sunny day or the faint hum of birds warbling in the morning.

It turns their blood to ice.

Both men whirl simultaneously, discovering a woman standing behind them. Dressed in a wispy white dress, dark hair falls in thick waves down her back, bottle green eyes framed by long lashes. When she smiles, a dimple appears.

Beautiful. Ethereal. The kind of woman who could lure a man into anything.

She blinks. Shining in the moonlight, the green disappears and another color slides in place. Sickeningly bright, hot as fire.

Red.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve hisses, stumbling back a step back and she laughs.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

Beside him, Bucky feels Steve trembling, and he reaches for his hand, tangling their fingers together. The gesture fills them both with a renewed courage, and Steve clears his throat.

“We want to - we need - we need to make a deal. There’s someone. We need to bring someone back. To life.”

She whistles, long and low. “Hmm. That’s a tall order boys. I’ll need something good to make this worth my while.”

“The deal is 10 years, right?” Steve motions between him and Bucky. “We each get 10 years, and then - then -“ he trips over the words, unable to finish the grisly statement. Amused, she lets him flounder. “Then we’re - then we’ll go.”

“Normally yes. Those are the standard terms, but for you two? I don’t know. Feels like I could get myself in trouble for taking from such - virile specimens.”

“But we want to deal,” Steve argues.

The white dress flows like water as she strolls forward. Stopping before them, she trails a finger down Bucky’s silver arm, and he shudders.

“Maybe we could come to a different arrangement. If you’re interested.”

“Like what?”

“Well boys, I think you might be worth far more above ground than below. So how about this.” Green eyes gleaming, Bucky has the gruesome sense of a spider moving silently along her web, stalking two struggling flies. “I know who you want, and I’ll bring her back, safe and sound. Deliver her right to your door, and both of you stay up here. Souls intact. For one tiny price.”

Too good to be true. Far too good. Bucky waits for the pin to drop.

“What tiny price?” he breathes.

She smiles. 

And then she answers.

Still clasping hands, Bucky feels cold sweat slicking Steve’s palm. Is this right? Can they really do this? The offer is tantalizing, another level of evil they have yet to fully comprehend. But Bucky knows his mind, what he’s willing to give, and he knows Steve feels the same.

There is no question.

“Deal.”

“Takes a kiss to seal it,” she whispers. Moving close, she curls a hand behind Steve’s neck and pulls his face down. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth drawn in a tight line, he waits it out, a full body shiver rattling his tall frame. Her fingers run through his sweaty blond hair, and he feels sick to his stomach at the way her fingernails scratch so invitingly along his scalp. When she’s had enough, she breaks away in a huff of feigned disappointment.

“Less than inspiring Captain.” Turning to Bucky, she offers a sly smile. “How about you, Soldier? Got anything better?”

Bucky steels himself, as she rises on her toes and presses her mouth to his. He keeps his eyes open, staring forward, and lets her have the kiss, feels her run her tongue along the seam of his lips, a brazen request for more. Parting his lips, he tastes the cloyingly sweet scent of her breath, feels her rub against him, the cool damp of her tongue licking along his teeth.

Forcing himself to disconnect from the moment, he wonders how a kiss can feel so utterly wrong. He wants to turn heel and run, but he’s suddenly and overwhelmingly terrified she might rescind the deal. That she might snatch this burgeoning hope from their begging hands and return to her corner of hell.

So, he lets her have the kiss. Right now, the hideous truth is that he’d give her anything she asked, if it meant he gets you back.

Finally she pulls away, running her fingers down his chest.

“Much better. Now - kiss each other.” Confused, they look at each other and back to her. The seriousness of the request fades and she laughs. “Kidding. Two pretty boys like you, how can I help myself?”

Stepping back, her eerily musical laughter still dancing on the wind, she vanishes.

The night is silent.

Bucky staggers to the yellow flowers and vomits all over them.

*****

Driving along the lonely stretch of highway, they sit in silence. Each wrestling with newfound demons, now more than metaphorical.

“Do you think it worked?” Steve asks, voice hushed and rough.

Bucky stares straight ahead, watching the night zip by, illuminated asphalt between twin beams of light. He says nothing.

*****

Their front door still has a patch on the outside, where Bucky slammed his fist through the wood. It swings quietly when Steve pushes it open, clicking on the hall light. They drop their bags in the entry, walking through the dark apartment.

“But when would we know, that’s what I don’t -“

Steve stops so abruptly, Bucky trips into him from behind.

“Dammit Steve, what - “

In the armchair by the window, sits a familiar silhouette. Barefoot, wearing a long-sleeved blue t-shirt and jeans, someone turns to face them.

Shocked silence billows out, thick and bottomless. There’s a strangled gasp and Steve flings out an arm, blocking Bucky from running at you.

“Wait,” he hisses, “Buck, just - just wait.”

Bewildered, you watch their cautious movements, small shuffles inching closer. When they’re two feet away, Steve stops them again.

“Hold out your hand,” he whispers raggedly, and you stare in confusion. He shakes his head, still holding Bucky back with one arm and motions for your hand. Extending it slowly, you offer it palm up. Steve fishes out a small bottle from his pocket, trembling fingers flipping the lid, and with a deep breath, he splashes holy water all over your hand.

He cringes, waiting.

Nothing.

Staring curiously at the innocent water droplets, you look up.

“Steve, what is this? What’s happening?”

At the sound of your exhausted voice, a broken howl rips from Bucky’s throat and he barrels past Steve. Falling at your feet, he wraps his arms tight around your waist and buries his face against your belly, his shoulders shaking with the hurricane force of his wrenching sobs. Gentle fingers comb through his tangled hair, while you calm him with meaningless words, the soothing syllables priceless simply because they’re yours.

Over the sound of Bucky’s tears, Steve comes closer. He traces the curves of your face, over your forehead, down your nose, brushing your lips. It worked, he thinks, and fierce relief sweeps through him. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he presses his mouth to your temple, inhaling the clean scent of your skin.

“Welcome home, sweetheart.”

*****

For the next three days, you do nothing but sleep. Small breaks between sleep and awake to eat the chicken noodle soup Bucky brings, the pastrami sandwich Steve cuts into small squares, a chocolate chip cookie fresh from the oven.

At first, they worry. Did they fuck up the deal? Was something else wrong? Were you sick? Eventually, they understand coming back to life is not as simple as waking up and picking up where you left off.

So, they let you sleep, drawing the bedroom curtains into darkness, fluffing up the pillows whenever you stumble to the bathroom, keeping the glass on the nightstand filled with cool water. They linger outside the bedroom door, propped against the wall and watching each other, impatiently patient.

In the middle of the night on the fourth day, Bucky jolts awake. Sleepy and befuddled, his heart sinks. Was it another dream? His mind playing tricks? Listening, he waits and waits and waits, and suddenly, he hears it again.

No, this is not a dream. This is real.

He hears you calling.

“Bucky? Steve?”

Scrambling to his feet, he kicks Steve awake and drags him up. Together, they crack open the bedroom door, a dim sliver of hall light illuminating the sight. There you are, curled in a ball along the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” you whisper hoarsely, pulling the blanket tighter. They creep closer, kneeling together beside the bed to look in your eyes.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky says softly. “Did you need something?”

The question comes with such tenderness, your heart swells. What you needed, was to ask them what happened. What did they do? How did it happen? What did it cost? You know the grim reality of whatever magic they used to bring you back will have consequences. Selfish magic always does.

These are the things you should ask, the things you need to know. But in this moment, with these two extraordinary men watching you with such breathless reverence, the intensity of a different emotion strikes like lightning. It surges through your veins, a liquid fire craving to feel them, inside and out.

Nothing else matters. The truth can wait.

“Can you do something for me?” you whisper instead.

“Anything,” he breathes instantly, Steve nodding helpfully.

“Can you kiss me?” you whisper and Bucky blinks, surprised. Glancing at Steve, he hesitates briefly, before leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss on your lips. He tastes soft, a faint hint of minty toothpaste on his breath.

When he breaks away, you slip a hand behind his neck. He swallows hard at feel of your fingers digging into his skin and leans helplessly into the touch.

“Honey - “ he starts, but you cut him off.

“Kiss me again. Mean it this time.”

At your demand, dark lust fills his face. Eyes flicking back and forth, he appears to gauge the request, making absolutely sure you’re sure, and then -

He devours you.

Shoving you back into the mess of pillows, he climbs onto the bed, mouth slanting hungrily over yours. Teeth bumping, tongue sliding along yours, he holds your face between his palms, damp skin and cool metal. He kisses so long and deep, so thorough and full of passion, it leaves you gasping for air.

“Better?” he murmurs, and for the first time since the day you died, since that moment your soul flew beyond his reach, the faint flicker of a smile tugs his lips.

The kiss does nothing to calm the tide. It makes your skin sizzle, lust sweeping through your body.

“I need you. Both of you. Please,” you breathe, tugging frantically at your shirt, a feverish desperation for the blazing heat of their skin against yours.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks hoarsely, blunt tipped fingers gripping your hip so tight you feel a bruise already forming. There is no pain though, only the comforting pressure of intimate familiarity. “We don’t have to do anything, not yet, not - not ever.”

“Please,” you plead again. “Please. It’s been so long, I missed you, don’t - don’t let me leave you, please Steve, please don’t let me go again.”

At your tearful words, Steve genuinely believes he feels his heart break. All he knows, all he will ever know again, is a burning need to fix this. To keep you and Bucky safe from everything, no matter the cost.

“Never. Never again,” he vows, and beside him, Bucky echoes the promise.

“Never, sweetheart. We’ll never let you go.”

The simplicity of a remembered intimacy comes naturally. Steve settles against the headboard and pulls you between his legs, tossing away your shirt and peppering kisses across your back, over your shoulders, up your neck. Wide hands stroke up along your ribcage, cupping your breasts. It makes you twitch when he gently pinches your nipples, teeth nipping at your ear.

Bucky slides your panties off and settles between your legs, easing them open. Warm breath brushes over your clit and then he licks a firm strip between your folds. At your low moan, he slowly pushes two fingers inside you, twisting and rubbing until sparks crackle along your skin.

“Keep going, oh god, keep going.”

Bracketed between Steve’s thighs, one hand tangled in Bucky’s dark hair, your hips push up to meet every stroke of his tongue, writhing as he holds you down. Steve’s hands are ceaseless, rubbing your breasts, circling your nipples, tugging lightly as he leaves small bites along your neck.

“There you go baby, that’s it,” he whispers. “Keep watching him, don’t look away.”

Eyes on the ceiling, you force yourself to look down, at the man nestled snug between your legs. His dark hair falls over his forehead, blue eyes burning you to ash.

“Bucky,” you rasp, powerless against the onslaught of pleasure, “Steve. Please.”

The sound of his name falling from your lips, something he never expected to hear again, sends Bucky into a frenzy. Tongue flicking faster, he pumps his fingers harder, the vibration from his moan pulsing against your clit and everything shatters.

Arching up, the orgasm crests and breaks, white noise blanking your mind. Incoherent cries fill your ears, over and over, until you recognize the sound of your own voice, a repetitious prayer crafted from the only three words that will ever matter.

Bucky.

Steve.

Please.

They answer, of course. In perfect fashion, with perfect rhythm.

Steve pulls your boneless, shuddering body higher, and Bucky opens your legs wider, letting Steve ease into your pussy from behind. He groans at the feel, the silky wet heat gripping him, and clutches your back tight to his chest. Rocking his hips up, he moves your body easily, thrusting deep. The delicious sound of his soft grunts fill your ear and it reignites the throbbing ache between your legs.

Bucky crawls up until he straddles you both, his tongue curling around your nipple, licking, sucking, tugging delicately with his teeth. He frees your hand, the one digging into Steve’s thigh, and wordlessly coaxes it between his legs. Wrapping sweaty fingers tight around his cock, you stroke him, following the rhythm Steve sets.

It feels so easy, the three of you moving in tandem, both men thrusting faster, harder, rougher, until you come once more, and just like always, they follow to a stuttering end right behind.

Bucky.

Steve.

Please.

Yes, these three words are the only ones you think you’ll ever need.

****

Sated, the three of you lay together. Bucky in his favorite place, forehead tucked against your breasts, his arm curved around your waist. Steve warm and solid, molded head to toe along your back, his arm slung around you both, fingers lazily twirling Bucky’s hair.

Beyond the curtains, darkness remains. Now, with your body exhausted and comforted by their presence, if becomes easier to whisper the question.

“How did you do it?”

“Hmm?” Steve murmurs, drifting toward the balm of sleep. Bucky says nothing, simply snuggles closer, his steady breaths puffing warm on your skin.

“I remember what happened.” Softly the confession falls. “Please don’t lie to me. Tell me how you did it. How you brought me back.”

Both men stiffen. Bucky stops breathing. Steve stops stroking his hair. Dread fills you, cold as ice. You know then, whatever price they’ve paid? It will tear the world apart.

Breath tickling the back of your neck, Steve murmurs so quietly, you strain to hear.

“We made a deal.”

*****

Part 2

*****