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that1emowitch · 9 months

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Fire #1 (Jason Todd & Child!OC)

Summary:

Jason finds a young child in an explosion and suddenly feels extremely protective of her. The Pit's effects are also coming back. Wrong timing.

Rating: Teen & Up Audiences (there might be some swears and graphic descriptions of violence)

Word Count: 2,104

A/N:

SO this is my first work on Tumblr and i haven't written in YEARS so please bear with me

Chapter 1: Hood To The Rescue

It was another typical night in Gotham City, with the Red Hood perched atop a rooftop, surveying the familiar cityscape. For a brief moment, nostalgia washed over him, and he could almost convince himself that he was still the bright-eyed Robin, that none of the darkness and tragedy had befallen him. Almost. He yearned to cling to that illusion, to pretend that the tragedies and darkness that had befallen him were mere fictions. But the cruel reality wouldn't allow it. The weight of his shattered past bore down upon him, and the illusion quickly shattered. He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze clouded with a sickening green hue—the haunting color of the Lazarus Pit that threatened to pull him back into its depths, to drown him in the madness it held.

Desperately, he fought against the encroaching memories, pushing them back with every ounce of his being. He knew all too well the consuming power they held—the anger, the fear, the overwhelming sense of isolation. He refused to let it consume him once again. But as much as he resisted, the lingering effects of the Lazarus Pit clawed at the edges of his consciousness, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurked within.

In the quiet recesses of his mind, a tumultuous tempest raged. Memories surged like relentless waves, threatening to overwhelm him. The memories of pain, betrayal, and the unquenchable thirst for vengeance clawed at his sanity. It was a harrowing dance with the abyss—a fierce struggle to maintain control over the demons that lurked in the depths of his being.

His heart pounded, the rhythmic cadence echoing the intensity of the battle he waged within himself. He knew that succumbing to the darkness meant losing himself, losing the fragile sense of self he had fought so hard to reclaim. But the power of the Pit was relentless, tugging at his sanity with an unyielding grasp.

Suddenly, gunshots pierced the night air, snapping him out of his internal struggle. Blinking away the green haze, he chided himself for losing control, especially in such a vulnerable position at the edge of the rooftop. "It's been happening more frequently," he muttered, frustration evident in his voice. "I thought I was making progress... getting better."

Shaking off the disquieting thoughts, he focused his attention on the distant source of the gunshots. His eyes widened in surprise as flames flickered in the nearby warehouse, their glow dancing in the darkness. "Must have missed it during my little internal freak show," he mused bitterly. Determination flared within him, propelling him into action. Without hesitation, he made his way to his waiting bike, revving the engine as he sped toward the scene, ready to confront the chaos that awaited him.

As he arrived at the scene, Hood's eyes widened at the sight of oil tanks ablaze, their fiery threat looming over the entire warehouse. Panic filled the air as masked men scurried about, desperately salvaging the contents within. "Henchmen," he surmised, his trained eyes scanning the chaos for their leader. Their attire puzzled him—it bore some resemblance to the League of Assassins, yet it deviated in ways he couldn't quite decipher.

Seeking cover behind a sturdy stone pillar that seemed unlikely to succumb to the inferno, He observed the unfolding situation with a keen eye. Memories of his own time in exploding warehouses threatened to resurface, but his focus sharpened abruptly as a piercing shriek echoed through the chaos—a little girl in distress. Her face was contorted in fear. Sharp flashes of his childhood pierced through his mental barrier, memories of when his mother had abandoned him in a similar warehouse for the J– No! He screamed mentally. Not right now.

His instincts kicked into high gear. Without hesitation, he darted toward the source of the sound, his mind racing to assess the dangers that surrounded the kid. As he rounded a corner, his gaze landed on her—a terrified figure trapped amidst the pandemonium.

The flames danced dangerously close to her, casting an eerie glow on her frightened face. Without a second thought, Hood sprang into action, his determination flaring like the flames that threatened them both.

He charged into the relentless inferno, his Kevlar suit shielding him from the searing heat. He swiftly reached out and gathered the frightened little child into his protective embrace. The heat engulfed them, searing his throat, but he remained grateful for the mask that guarded his face.

Navigating through the treacherous maze of flames, he raced towards a nearby open space, far removed from the raging firestorm. Every step was fueled by urgency as he yearned to escape the scorching intensity. At last, he burst into the cool expanse of fresh air, feeling relief flood his senses.

Pausing for a moment, he peered down at the child nestled in his arms. She appeared to be around three years old, her innocent features twisted with fear. Whimpering, she squeezed her eyes shut, as if wishing away the terrifying sights that had surrounded her. He quickly checked her for any burns, but fortunately, she seemed to be fine. Unfortunately, the goons had also chosen this open space as a spot to escape to.

"Hey!" One of the goons shouted, his gun menacingly pointed towards Red Hood. "Yer the Red Hood, ain't ya?"

A flicker of annoyance flashed across Jason's features as he gently placed the trembling girl on the ground behind him, shielding her from the impending danger. With a deliberate motion, he raised a more formidable weapon of his own. The sight of his retaliation prompted the other goons to follow suit, all four of them now pointing their guns directly at him.

"Give us the kid, and maybe we'll let you walk away in one piece," the goon who had spoken before threatened, his voice dripping with false bravado. In that moment, Jason felt a tug at his leg as the girl sought refuge, seeking protection behind him.

"Please don't..." she whimpered, her small voice quivering with fear.

The hardened anti hero’s lips curled into a snarl as he locked eyes with the goons, his grip tightening around his weapon.

"Wasn't planning on it, sweetheart," he growled, his voice laced with a lethal edge that conveyed the futility of the goons' threats.

His first instinct was to shoot everyone in sight, but he knew it could be traumatizing for the kid. Moreover, she could get caught in a crossfire. He needed to figure out a way to get to his bike and get her to a safer location. He could always come back and kill these bastards later.

With lightning speed and precision, Red Hood sprang into action. In one fluid motion, he unleashed a shot that found its mark, piercing the knee of the first goon. The air filled with the agonizing cry of pain as the wounded thug crumpled to the ground.

Before the others could even process what had transpired, Red Hood surged forward, his body transforming into a weapon of its own. With a forceful collision, he crashed into two of the goons, sending them sprawling and disorienting them long enough for their weapons to slip from their grasp.

The fourth goon, still clutching his firearm, attempted to retaliate. But luckily, his aim was terrible and missed. Bullets whizzed past the vigilante, missing their target entirely.

Seizing the opportunity, Red Hood spurred into action. A swift, punishing blow landed square on the nose of one goon, rendering him unconscious with a resounding thud. Without missing a beat, he deftly maneuvered to incapacitate the remaining adversaries, utilizing a combination of strikes, holds, and expertly executed counterattacks.

The skirmish unfolded with remarkable efficiency, each movement a testament to Red Hood's honed skills and unwavering determination. In mere moments, the threat had been neutralized, leaving the goons sprawled on the ground, incapacitated and incapable of further harm.

As the rush of the adrenaline began to subside, leaving him slightly breathless, Red Hood turned to find the young girl watching him from a cautious distance, her eyes widened with lingering fear. It struck him then, the impact his intimidating presence must have on her in his imposing suit. Realizing this, he swiftly removed his helmet, revealing a face marked by scars, and knelt down in front of her, his own expression softening with genuine concern. He gently reached out, taking hold of her trembling hand.

"Hey, hey, calm down," he spoke in a soothing tone, his voice laced with reassurance. "I'm not going to hurt you, and neither are they." He motioned towards the unconscious goons as if to emphasize his point.

She glanced between the subdued criminals and back at him, a glimmer of trust beginning to form in her eyes. The tension in her small frame seemed to ease ever so slightly.

With a tender smile, Red Hood sought to establish a connection, to let her know that she was safe in his presence. "My name's Jason," he introduced himself, giving her the choice to reciprocate or remain silent.

Her hesitation was evident. Her parents must’ve taught her not to speak to strangers. After several moments of internal deliberation, she finally replied in a barely audible whisper, her voice carrying the weight of vulnerability, "Nile."

A warm smile spread across Jason's face, softening the hard edges of his vigilant persona. In that moment, he was not the Red Hood, but a protector driven by a fierce sense of responsibility. The mixture of protectiveness and determination in his gaze spoke volumes about the depth of his commitment to the little girl's safety. He understood the gravity of the situation; there was no time to waste. Every second counted, and he knew he had to find a safe haven for her before any more goons arrived. The priority was her immediate well-being; the search for her parents could wait until her life was no longer hanging in the balance.

With tender care, he gently scooped her up into his arms, cradling her close to his chest. The girl instinctively clung to him, her tiny hands grasping onto his jacket as if seeking refuge in the fortress of his embrace. She looked up at him, her innocent eyes filled with a mixture of uncertainty and trust. He couldn't help but be moved by the sight—the vulnerability of this young soul, thrust into a world of danger.

A soft yawn escaped her tiny lips, and he knew she was exhausted from the ordeal she had just endured. "I know you're tired, kiddo," he whispered, his voice like a soothing balm, "Get some sleep." His words were laced with compassion, a reassurance that she was now under his protection.

Jason's steps were measured and deliberate as he made his way back to his trusty motorbike, the hum of the engine resonating with an almost comforting familiarity. Each movement was careful, mindful of the precious cargo he held. He settled her into a makeshift seat on the bike, ensuring she was as comfortable as possible. As he felt her nestle against him, seeking comfort in his presence, he knew that he had made the right decision. He would protect her at all costs, no matter what dangers lurked in the shadows of the night.

Leaning in closer, he whispered to her with utmost tenderness, "Goodnight." It was a promise that he would keep her safe throughout the night and beyond. With that, they set off into the darkness, leaving behind the burning warehouse and the bodies of the defeated goons for the Bat to find. He could hardly believe how innocent she looked, just like how innocent he’d once been. But you’re a monster now, a voice whispered in his head.

“No!” He whisper-screamed out loud. I won’t let her turn out like me. I– I’ll find her parents, I’ll find someone to take care of he, to make sure she doesn’t end up like me. Jason's heart weighed heavy with the knowledge of the darkness that pervaded Gotham, but he was determined to be the light that guided this young girl to safety.

As they disappeared into the night, the city's whispers faded, and the echoes of the chaos they had left behind lingered in the stillness. Jason knew that the night was far from over, that more challenges awaited, but for now, he had a mission—to protect this innocent life, to shield her from the harsh realities of a world consumed by darkness. And as the motorbike roared through the city streets, the warmth of his smile persisted, a beacon of hope amidst the shadows.

A/N

I COULDNT FIND ANY FICS WHERE JAY BECOMES A DAD THAT WERE SATISFACTORY SO YA KNOW, WHEN LIFE FORGETS TO GIVE YOU LEMONS, MAKE YOUR OWN! ALSO WHICH SHIPS SHOULD I INCLUDE??? JAYROY? BIRDFLASH? DICKKORI? TIMKON? JOYFIRE? HARLIVY? ANY MORE THAT I MISSED?

Up Next Chapter 2: My Kid?

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professormembranexreader · 1 year

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Membrane x Male! Assistant! Reader (Smut)

AU: ETF but Zim stays schmoopy.

(Y/N)’s POV

I adjusted Membrane’s signature collared lab coat as the sound of people entering rang in from the house to backstage. Situated in front of the two of us was a gigantic television screen connected to a camera monitoring the house.

One wouldn’t expect him to be nervous, but Membrane was. He was terrified. He had been made aware of electrical problems in town, and was worried his son, Dib, might try to bring — what did he call it? His “jalada no científica”? That sounds about right. He was worried basin might try to bring that stuff to the keynote and divert attention to himself. He didn’t want his son to be made a fool of. No one should want that for their child.

But that nervousness was making him look disheveled.

I finished fixing his appearance and watched as he ran a hand down his hair spike, smoothing it. “You’re on in one minute.”

He nodded and stepped onto the platform that would rise to meet the stage. Once I gave him a thumbs up, the platform began to rise, and he spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” His voice boomed through the speakers embedded within the stadium. The crowd roared ruthlessly, awaiting his every word.

He waited for the platform he was in to rise before beginning, “I am so very proud to announce…” When he was flush with the floor, he continued. “The new, Peace Day Edition… MEMBRACELET!”

The crowd was screaming his praise. But they grew quiet when he held a hand out to signal the cheering should momentarily cease.

“But I’m sure you’re wondering, ‘Why do I need a new Membracelet?’ Well, my dear consumer, I’ll tell you.”

“The Membracelet was originally meant for children to stimulate their minds as well as help them keep in touch with the ones they hold dear. It can run sensory engaging apps such as Peanut Simulator, and newly added Bloaty’s Puzzle Hog, that sharpen the reflexes of children across the world.”

“‘But Professor’, you’re saying, ‘What’s so different about this version other than a few new apps?’” He paused.

“Well, it’s simple. As you know, tomorrow is Peace Day, and nobody is as excited for the celebration as I am!”

A random man from the crowd waved his arms, screaming “I AM!”

Membrane shot up towards the man, rocketing up the stairs to shout in his face: “NOT SCIENTIFICALLY POSSIBLE!”

“Miguel, get back to the stage like a good boy.” I whispered into my earpiece. He shrank away from the man, doing as I asked.

Sighing, and regaining his composure, he resumed his speech. “Children. We discovered they generate an energy field of limitless chaotic potential. We call that child energy: CHILDERGY. The new Membracelet harnesses that Childergy and channels it outward as pure PEACE and JOY.”

The crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed as he explained how the device worked.

“Tomorrow, children will hold hands, encircling the planet in Membracelets, to bring about a peace unlike any the wORLD HAS EVER KNOWN!”

The crowd returned to its raucous state. But suddenly, the power went out. Screams rang out from a few frightened individuals, but that’s what you get for holding a keynote event in a town with unreliable energy. The backup generator quickly kicked on and the screams quieted.

I saw sweat bead on his forehead. It wasn’t that noticeable, but I knew where to look. He let out a deep exhale. “Well, now that we’re a bit less powerless...” The screen behind him switched to a picture of the Membracelet in four different colors. “We have Membracelets in multiple colors — for all styles and fashions!"

The crowd rejoiced and Membrane returned to the platform in the stage. “Good job, Professor,” I said over my earpiece. He slowly was lowered to my level under the stage. He turned off his mic and slowly walked over to me. “Professor?” I asked. But I got no response, as he slammed me to the wall.

He glared at me through his goggles. Shit...

“What’s wrong, Professor?” I asked, tilting my head, playing coy.

“If you want to act like you don’t know, I’ll show you,” he growled. I gulped. He was so hot when he was pent up. It was almost as if I’d planned this.

He pulled down his high collar and pressed his lips against mine in a rough kiss. He squeezed my ass as I moaned into the kiss. But he abruptly pulled away.

“But not now, sabroso. Not now...” He let go of me, “I have a few questions to answer for the press.”

As he walked up the stairs leading to the reserved parking (where reporters were inevitably waiting), I slumped against the wall. Every time I tried to toy with him, I got toyed with right back. And I absolutely loved it.

Does that make me a brat?

Shit, maybe...

In a moment of desperation, I went back to my house, painfully pent up. I knew I’d have to take care of this sooner rather than later. I briskly walked into my modest house and marched to the bedroom, slowly stripping on the way there.

By the time I had gotten to my bedroom, all I still had on were my pants and the boxers underneath. And with a bit of struggle, those were off too. I laid down on my messy bed and started pumping my cock. As I stroked, I may have gotten a bit too into it... I started moaning out Membrane’s name. And while this wasn’t unordinary for me to moan that, I typically had him with me. After all, what are friends with benefits if you’re only friends?

It was only when I heard a throat being cleared that I realized I was being watched. Caught, red handed. And by Membrane, nonetheless. How picturesque it must have been.

I only noticed I was holding my breath when he spoke, “Did I tell you that you could stop?”

I shook my head, indicating a no, and returned to pleasuring myself. I watched from a distance as the large figure of Professor Membrane moved to unbutton his lab coat. I stole a glance at his uncovered face. Screw the rest of him, I’d seen his torso and legs a million times over. His face, however? That was new. He pushed up his goggles and stared into my soul with his chocolate brown eyes. It was only when his gaze flicked downwards that I realized he was on track to fuck himself too.

“Chingados, (Y/N). You truly are a sight...” he gasped out between strokes, staring at me like I would disappear if he didn’t. I couldn’t help but moan and lean my head back as I got closer to a climax.

“Professor~” I moaned out. I heard Membrane’s breath hitch as I groaned.

“(Y/N), if you keep making noises like that…”

I looked at him the best I could, smirking as I whispered, “You’ll what?”

He growled and pounced on top of me, pinning my hands above my head. “Stay there,” he commanded as he let go of my wrists. He quickly pulled down his slacks and boxers. He made quick work of pushing my legs forward as to start preparing me for anal.

He slowly inserted a gloved finger into my ass and soon another. He began scissoring my insides. I almost came from that alone. But right when I was about to, he pulled his fingers out.

I whimpered, but he shushed me. He took off his gloves, revealing robotic arms. I’d seen them a few times before, but never in this kind of setting. But that’s beside the point. My focus was quickly shifted to the sensation of his dick entering me. I couldn’t help but groan as he pushed farther and farther. I wrapped my legs around his torso the best I could, and grabbed onto his neck.

Tears pricked my eyes.

He waited patiently for permission to move as I got adjusted to the feeling of him inside me. I slowly moved to hold his face and nodded. He grabbed my hips and began fucking himself with me. I moaned out louder than before as I felt him shift inside me.

His pace was relentless. It started off slower, yes, but it was brutal. Every time I got used to the pace he set, he increased the speed of his thrusts.

However, nothing lasts forever, and that was beginning to be my reality. My fingernails raked down his back as I moaned out obscenities.

“Say my name, guapo,” he groaned softly into my skin.

“Miguel~”

“Louder!”

“Miguel!”

“MÁS ALTO, POR EL AMOR DEL DIOS.”

“MIGUEL!”

White streaked my chest and clouded my vision as I wrenched my eyes closed. A few more thrusts from him and I felt him release inside me, overstimulating me even more.

He stayed inside me for a minute or two, but eventually pulled out. I whined. But it was inevitable. Almost immediately I felt cum leak out of me.

“Now who’s a good boy? Hmm?” Membrane asked, smirking.

I yawned, exhausted from how rough it was. “Still you.”

He chuckled, and he picked my bear limp body up to wash me off. All I could do was hum contently, as I knew I was going to be taken care of.

Translations:

- jalada no científica — unscientific bullshit

-sabroso — tasty

-chingados — fuck (interjection)

-más alto — louder

#membrane #professor membrane #professor membrane x reader #writing

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midnightscxre · 1 year

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@tangleweave

Sharp features softened, neutralizing the mischievous expression, became unreadable, while the man gave himself away after the first remark. Scrubbing the ‘ laundry ‘ of guilt and trying to wash away the bloodstain of culpability almost as if he was comforting himself, sending subliminal messages to his own mind that he had not committed a crime, just returned the scattered puzzles of random unfortunate events to their original place. However, creating the final picture was indeed, his crime and his crime alone. Cotton candy clouds of her lips twitched, corners finally curling and exposing a playful, slightly mocking grin.“ Does it work ? “ melodic voice teasingly questioned. “ The act of innocence, using the sapphire blues on the handsome face to convince the feeble minds to hang on your every word? I fear my way makes more and more sense if it is so. Puppeteers such as yourself are far more dangerous than me. . . believing in their own fabricated stories. A true journalist. “

Sharpened nails lovingly grazed over the worn covers of Dante’s inferno, before the delicate fingers pulled the masterpiece, a prophecy, closer. Jade irises never leaving the sea-blue ones, as the pages starter to turn. Like a blindman spotlessly touch-reading Braille, fingertips knew the pages as if it was a part of their own skin. Palm landing on the blindly selected page, turning the content towards Eddie.“ Ufff. . . 8th circle. “ Ruby haired woman snorted. “ No wonder you are just a few steps away from the devils. “ Eighth circle of Inferno, 'Malebolge', place reserved for liars. . . last circle before the one where beast of all beasts resides. His almost exasperated justification of the personal alien's diet Clare read between the lines. She assumed that Eddie was denying the creature what was necessary, forcing it to obey his moral convictions.

It’s enervated. . . decrepit by the prohibitions from this human.

Rancor’s own observation echoed in the privacy of Clare’s mind. One would think the information would be something to bask in, celebrated since it promised easy victory. . . but it was far from the truth. Agitated by the obvious, angered by the fact a divine creature must subdue its will to this ‘ clown of morality ‘, Clare was more determined to ‘ free ‘ the creature from this human’s prison. “ Of course he is not. Yet. . . from what I hear, you treat him like one. Let me guess, poultry and livestock to quench the thirst ? “ Eyes once again traveled down the road of the broad neck to the brawny chest. “ Why do you allow that? “ Knowing no hearable answer will come, she questioned Him again. It was not the reply she was after, but to plant seeds of questioning, rebelliousness, awareness of one's options into the symbiote lurking beneath Eddie’s skin. It was not like he was sentenced to one host only, as Rancor was. This creature had options. “ Do you have a name, beautiful? “ Definitely a question not meant for the man, no matter that the tempting appearance was worthy of such description, and not even a provocation towards the other but an honest thought. Those beasts, truly magnificent in every aspect.

Enough.

A sudden, unexpected reaction from her own monster thunderously broke through her insides. Pearly whites abused the plump lower lip to prevent a smile. Scarlet haired woman knew very well this was not something as simple as jealousy, some primitive emotion emerging, no -- it was territorial. It was the sickening concern of her other that he, unlike her, can be replaced. The fact Clare would never do so was buried six feet deep in the ground of her guarded secrets.

What is it, Rancor? I thought you were unhappy with your. . . residence.

Silence yourself human. This show of yours is pitiful.

Exactly my point, maybe it’s time we end it, huh? Go out separate ways. I am sure if his other is fed like you are, and still obedient went he isn’t, could achieve greatness.

I WILL SWALLOW THEM BOTH,SCREAMING, BEGGING, ROLLING IN THEIR OWN WEAKNESS.

Bingo. Flames of His rage dancing through her veins, giving a rush unknown to man, something no drug could deliver to its user. Slight joy sparked inside the woman on the creature’s reaction.

You can’t be replaced.

Simple, short -- meaningful. The tentacles of his contempt and the razor sharp teeth of aggression gave way, calmed down, reduced to a low vibrating hum, like a guard dog being stroked on the head by its owner. In that moment of silence laced with tension, two cups of double espresso were placed on the glass table -- by a new pair of hands. Dark, long eyelashes batted toward the younger, blond waitress. Melodic chuckle escaped the throat as the redhead looked over her shoulder, enjoying the sight of humbled, previously egoistic waitress now pale as river’s pearls, her lips softly and hastily uttering words that she decided were prayers, considering the hands hidden under the apron that were rubbing the beads of the rosary. Basic hypocrisy, sinners pushing their misdeeds and behavior until they hit a steel wall of resistance -- and when it's time for punishment, they sing prayrs in terror, shaking, thinking that all will be forgiven if they say a couple of Hail Marys. And those kinds of people, this man decided to protect just because they are born as humans. Sickening.

Soft muscle grazed the upper lip before gifting the male with a smile on his words, hand bringing the first cup of black coffee to the lips. Draining it as if it was a shot of tequila, Clare hummed in satisfaction on the bitter taste, before discreetly scanning the environment. The tables around them were empty, the camera in the corner was not working, and the people behind them were absorbed in their work.

“ Help yourself. “ whisper fell between her and the man, but it addressed someone that stood in the shadows until the present moment. The movement was sudden, fast as the speed of light and nearly inconspicuous to the human eye -- but she knew Eddie saw it and knew exactly who it was. Black tentacle with crimson ‘ veins ‘ on its surface, appeared out of nowhere, consuming the black liquid in a blink of the eye, disappearing as fast as it appeared. Growl -- no, purr of pleasure escaped the monster within, hearable only to its owner. Shameless they were, one would say careless, but in fact -- fearless. No human could do nothing about it.

“ Podcast huh? “ Hand mindlessly traveled along the table, before it found its place under her chin. Leaning on the glass surface, Clare gave him her fake interest. “ What are you talking about? Wet t-shirt contest? Preach about the way people should live their lives, forget and forgive? Vegetarian diets? “ Intentionally brining up the last two, hardened woman flexed her slender shoulders. “ Uh yes, big fan. Keeping your posters along my room, saving every article. “ Sarcasm dripping from every word. “ Guess basic things like ‘ keep your friends close but enemies closer ‘ are not part of your daily radio lectures. Quite important one, don’t you think? At least, today should be a wake up call. “ Leaning dangerously close, devouring the distance between them as her symbiote does to the human flesh, pine-green eyes flashed under the intense light of the ornate cafe chandelier. “ Do you think you can handle this trouble, Eddie? “ Seductive, challenging, almost sexual melody leaving the full lips. “ This is far from a few whips and handcuffs you probably considered the highlight of your evening. “ Not refraining from a little fun in her provocation, Clare’s snow-white fangs exposed in a wide smile when things finally clicked for him, mentioning Nevada and falling in a state of. . . shock? Fear? Denial? Hope she will not attack in the broad daylight?

“ Not one to experiment? Having it out in public, you certainly do seem like the type. “ Still riding the horse of amusement, Clare laughed before the shadows of something unholy appeared on the beautiful face. “ The way you fear being exposed is truly sad. The only reason C&C are where they are is because one like them weakened them enough. You. And the one you possess. What would a mere human do against the ones like us? Huh? “ Lips inches from his, sensing the warm breath on the ivory cheeks. “ I am not a crazy person, I am a vengeful one. “ quoting the man she believed in, just like the Clare exposed the whole plan in one simple sentence. “ Why do you blindly protect humanity Eddie? Let’s start there. “ Pressing the back back on the velvety seat, creating some distance by doing so, she stared the man down. “ Who are you to pass the judgment on what is right and wrong? Why do you protect people that deliberately torture the weak ones, defenseless ones? In law we trust? This world was worse hell before us. Before the day this creatures came. Now, the ones that were oppressed can return the blow, can taste justice. And you? You are trying to prevent that, letting go the real scum on this planet, and for what, because they have a human cocoon? So does your alien, you are his suit. And yet, you know what he really is. A predator that wants to devour, that will devour eventually no matter what you do. “ Anger, resentment and pain evident on her face, in the tensed chains of muscle. “ You are the worst of them all, and you know why? Because you got this gift, this. . . power, to make things right, to clear this pool of sickness from that bacteria that are infecting the innocent with its evil. Being human is not an excuse, it is not something that should be the reason to spare them. Killers, abusers, criminals... what do you do? Play Halloween dress up with that monster of yours, scare the shit out of them, thinking it will straighten them up? You must be an ignorant idiot if that is true. “

Let me devour them.

Ignoring the request of her symbiote that fed on her hatred, she continued.

“ Dante’s inferno was not fiction, not a silly story, it was the vision of the future, something inevitable. And me? What I am after? I am going to make it happen. Place every piece of shit in their circle, . . and don’t forget. . . I already told you in which one you belong. “

#tangleweave: eddie #ft. clare #verse: venom

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andypantsx3 · 3 years

Text

subtle | shouto todoroki/reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

status: complete

length: 2,171 words

summary: Someone leaves chocolates on your desk. You're determined to track down the sender, certain it's a mistake, and Shouto Todoroki makes himself as unhelpful as possible.

tags: romance, reader-insert, fluff, valentine’s day

warnings: aged up characters (no smut though!!)

There was a box on your desk.

There was a box on your desk, and the sight of it was enough to instantly set you on edge.

The box looked normal enough, if a little fancy, maybe. Its lacquered top glinted brightly under the fluorescent office lighting, its smooth, polished sides waterfalling into the soft matte of your desktop underneath. You weren’t close enough to read the inscription, but you could just make out some elegant, curling script inlaid into the top of the box, possibly the name of whichever company had produced it.

The box looked very normal, in fact. Only, you knew it wasn’t. Boxes didn’t just show up in the middle of the Todoroki Hero Agency, a campus swimming with pros and armed with layers of security so deep it took even you--Shouto Todoroki’s manager--fifteen full minutes to get through screening every morning. It was something very much like being a prison guard at Tartarus.

So either this box meant the agency was dealing with a security breach the likes of which had scarcely been seen before, or someone had mistaken your desk for somebody else’s.

Which, considering it was Valentine’s Day, made a lot more sense.

Buoyed by the realization it wasn't a security risk, you crept closer, peering at the box, and the script resolved itself into the name of the extremely fancy chocolatier in Hiroo district that you made a point of drooling over every time you had to make a house call on Shouto. Their prices were literally insane, so you had never let yourself wander inside, unwilling to shell out an entire week’s pay for a tiny set of chocolates. Even if they did look absolutely fucking unbelievable from the window.

Your mouth watered.

That confirmed it--this was a Valentine's gift, and it was definitely a mistake. For the briefest of seconds, you’d wondered if maybe you had gotten obligatory office friendship chocolates, but this was too much. Some poor, love-sodden flop had gone out, spent their week’s pay on someone they were clearly very serious about, and then proceeded to fuck the entire thing up by plonking their gift straight onto your desk instead of their intended’s.

You frowned, quickly checking the box over for some kind of clue as to who had left it. There was no note included, nothing even mildly helpful that would give you the slightest hint of the person who'd left it here. Which left you with the question of how to return the box to the sender without knowing who they were, or how to pass it on to whoever they’d really meant it for.

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth, staring hard at the surface of the box like you could crack its code if only you glared hard enough. The box stared back at you, unhelpfully silent.

You were still skewering the box with your gaze some minutes later, determined to unravel its secrets, when a deep voice murmured from your doorway.

“You look puzzled."

You startled, whipping around to find Shouto propping up the wall, looking as unfairly handsome as usual. He was watching you intently, those heterochromatic eyes fastened to your face in that careful way he had, the one that always made you feel too warm and slightly unfocused. As usual, it was all you could do to remind yourself that you were a professional and he was something solidly between a friend and a coworker, and no matter how cute and attentive he was, you shouldn't get any ideas.

This morning, he was dressed in his hero uniform, tall and broad-shouldered, his distinctive hair only a little ruffled from his early patrol. It wasn’t often someone tried something in the districts he watched over anymore, probably too nervous to find themselves on the wrong end of the number four hero’s temper. You knew from the reports you received to your phone that the only trouble he’d encountered this morning was a pack of amorous school girls purposely misusing their quirks to draw his attention.

Thirty minutes ago, in fact, you’d almost spit out your coffee laughing at a photo of him looking wildly uncomfortable as he attempted to ice down some girl’s lava quirk with his right hand while fighting off her unfathomably enormous bouquet with his left. It was only right that he should suffer once a year, when every other day he got to stalk about as handsome as you please, oblivious to the effects his appearance had on every breathing person within a five mile radius.

You gave him an absent nod, gaze drawn back to the box on your desk.

“Somebody accidentally left something in here,” you told him, gesturing to it. “I’m trying to figure out how to track down who it was, or who it was meant for.”

Shouto made a small noise in the back of his throat, almost like a cough, and it was enough to startle you into looking up at him again.

“What?” you asked, peering at him. Was he coming down with something? It wasn't often he got sick, but when he did, he usually attempted to hide it and needed to be steamrolled into taking time off. You looked him over, trying to assess whether or not you needed to start badgering him now.

Shouto gazed back at you evenly, his expression deceptively bland. “...You think it’s not for you.”

You felt yourself blink at him, surprised by the comment and struggling to discern his meaning. What did he mean, you think it’s not for you? “Of course it’s not for me, Shouto, it’s from Grégoire Chardin.”

You knew he’d know the place, considering he lived in the same fancy rich people neighborhood as the chocolatier, but Shouto looked unimpressed.

“Why should that mean it’s not for you?” he asked, his tone dry.

The remark caught you off guard, as his comments sometimes did, and you bit down something like a smile. Bless his sweet, oblivious, rich boy heart. Either he overestimated your appeal to his agency staff, or he really did not understand the concepts of cost and return on investment.

“It’s expensive, it’s not something you would give someone as obligatory chocolates,” you explained, watching as a white eyebrow went up. His expression sharpened into something you couldn’t read well.

“It could be a secret admirer,” he said.

You stared blankly back at him, absolutely floored by the idea.

He thought you had a secret admirer? The idea sent an excited thrill all the way down to your toes, but you quickly squashed the feeling. So far, you'd never been on the receiving end of any furtive but romantic gestures, and you really didn't get any interested vibes from anyone in the office, no lingering glances or excuses to spend more time with you. The person who paid you the most amount of attention was Shouto, which was to be expected, considering how closely you worked together. And obviously he wasn't interested, he was just happy to stand in your doorway spouting wild conspiracies about his agency staffers like they were completely reasonable things to say.

“I don’t have a secret admirer,” you told him.

Shouto’s mouth pressed into a thin line and he took an intent step forward into your office. “Is the point of a secret admirer not to be exactly that--secret? How can you be sure?”

You couldn’t help it--you gaped at him, your face going weirdly warm. Okay, was he--was he serious? You obviously weren’t the most unfortunate creature on earth, and you even had your good days, but nobody in their right mind was going to attempt anything with you when there were girls like Nejire Hado and Ibara Shiozaki roaming the hallways of his agency. Even several of the analysts and most of the support crew had you beat out in terms of appeal--literally bless this man for his obvious indifference to your appearance.

“I, uh--thanks for your confidence in me,” you said, fighting down a laugh. “But I assure you, it definitely wasn’t meant for me. I just have to figure out who left it and who they meant it for.”

Shouto shifted impatiently, like he was waiting for something.

“You’re so certain,” he said, sounding frustrated.

“Of course I am,” you waved at him vaguely. It was actually super cute that he thought you could net yourself a dude who was willing to shell out Grégoire Chardin dollars, but you were just wasting time now, lingering over the least important part of this entire affair. “Listen, Shouto. I know sometimes men talk in the locker rooms. If you--if you hear anything, will you let me know? I just want to return it, it looks way too good sitting here.”

It was actually taking all your willpower not to open it and avail yourself of Japan’s finest chocolate, considering you would never have another opportunity like this again. Maybe you should just pretend it was for you....Really, no one could fault you for opening something left in your own office. But...no. No, you knew better.

Shouto appeared indifferent to your internal struggle. He watched you for a long moment, his features impassive. “Under one condition,” he finally allowed.

You cocked an ear to show you were listening, rifling around with the paperwork on your desk to distract yourself from the chocolate. You were strong, a good person. You had willpower like steel. You did not need to eat it, no no no.

“If no one comes looking for it by the end of the day, you will open it,” he said, moving closer.

You glanced up at him, shocked. “Shouto, this is someone else’s gift,” you hissed. “I can’t just open it.”

He placed a large palm down on your desk, leaning over you slightly. “That is my bargain.”

“You want me to steal somebody’s shit in your own agency,” you accused him. You tried not to pay attention to how close he had gotten, how straight his nose was up close, the way his eyes seemed brighter and his mouth pulled into a pout almost too pretty for a man.

The rest of his expression slipped into something like annoyance, matching his pout. “If no one comes for it, then it must be evident that it was meant for you.”

You suppressed a derisive laugh. Now was not the time to get shirty with your own boss, especially when his delusions were kind of sweet. It was honestly just short of a miracle that a man who looked like Shouto did could possibly think anyone on earth would have a thing for you, regardless of his own tastes.

“What if they’re just too shy to ask for it back?” you asked, watching those heterochromatic eyes flick over you curiously.

“If it’s as expensive as you say, someone will come looking,” he said. Which was actually kind of annoyingly reasonable.

A smirk flitted across his maddeningly perfect face when you failed to come up with another argument. He had a point, and he knew it.

You let out a gusty sigh. “Fine, but only because I’m certain someone will come looking for it. Please be subtle when you’re gathering info, okay? I'm sure this is embarrassing for whoever made this mistake.”

Shouto looked almost offended. “I am perfectly capable of being subtle,” he intoned in his deep voice.

This time, you did laugh. He was quiet, maybe, very perceptive, and unobtrusive when he wanted to be, but no one had ever accused the man of possessing tact. “Yeah, okay. Just, try to channel more subtlety than you think you need, okay? No one else but the sender needs to know about the mix up.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Shouto was leaning over you more fully, eyes glittering strangely as his clean, fresh scent met your nose. You froze in your chair, brain going horrifyingly vacant as he leaned impossibly nearer. What the fuck was he doing?

“It will be like I’m not even asking,” Shouto promised, his voice light. “Not asking anyone at all.”

You tried to scrape your thoughts back into something resembling order, but the effort was all but futile. You needed to get him out of your space stat before you embarrassed yourself.

”Okay, then it’s a deal,” you said quickly. “Now go...flambé a villain or something.”

Shouto lingered for a long moment, his mouth curling a little at the corner, like he was being let in on a secret you couldn’t hear. His eyes brushed over you, almost like a physical touch. And then he was gone, pulling open the door to your office, looking annoyingly pleased with himself.

“You will see,” he said by way of farewell. “You will find out how subtle I can be.”

You stared at him in confusion, but he didn’t explain himself. He just smirked, and closed the door behind himself.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto #bnha #bnha fanfic #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #shouto todoroki x reader

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matbaerzal · 3 years

Text

Swedish Summer | J. Markstrom

A/N: This is for the fic exchange that the lovely @antoineroussel put together! I got @bqstqnbruin , I hope you like this ❤️ Summary: You spend your summer in Sweden with Jacob and it brings up a few memories. Warnings: None that I can think of... A few Swedish words?? Words: 1,6K (it's a short one I'm sorry 🥺)

Italics = flashbacks

"I don’t think I ever want to leave this place" you murmur as you lean your head against Jacob's shoulder. Your eyes are set on the view of the sea from the sunroom of the cabin you'd rented for the week. You'd only just arrived and just placed your bags in your room before sitting down. It had been a long drive to get here, so the last thing you wanted to do was unpack.

It was your first time in Sweden, your first time meeting his family - there were a lot of firsts. After two weeks around his family, you both decided that you needed some alone time together. His family had been great, like better than you could've imagined, but you felt a little overwhelmed and he could spot that from a mile away.

"The cabin or Sweden?" he laughs.

"Sweden" you smile, looking up at him.

"Yeah?"

You see the excitement in his eyes, he'd been nervous to ask you to come visit. He knew it was a big step, but he was more than ready to take it, and he thought you might be too - but the "what if's" always played with his mind.

You'd been hit by the harsh reality that the season was ending soon - which meant that Jacob was eventually going to go home to Sweden. He could see how quiet you got, which gave him a little hope that maybe you'd say yes to his pending question. "Time will fly by," he tries to promise, and you huff out before he continues. "but I was thinking maybe you could come with- or I've been meaning to ask you"

You're taken aback by his question at first not sure if you heard him right or not, the look you give him is nothing but puzzled.

"It's only if you want to, of course- I don't expect you to just up and leave everything to come with me to Sweden-"

It's like his rambling woke you up, and you don't have to think it over before you say "I'd love to, of course I'll come to Sweden with you Jacob."

The excitement he'd had then, once you said yes resembled the one he had right now. And his heart swelled at how comfortable you felt in his home country, with his family - you fit right in.

You lean up and kiss his cheek before laying your head back on his shoulder, basking in the sunlight, listening to the waves of the ocean.

"Wanna go for a swim?" he asks, nudging you softly.

"Do you think it's gonna be cold?"

"We can check once we're down there"

"Alright, I'll go get changed"

---

The water was perfect, just warm enough to go right in, but still, a refreshing break from the sun, cooling your skin. He'd jumped right in from the pier and you'd taken the ladder, needing to dip your toe in the water first.

After swimming around each other for a bit you'd ended up back by the ladder with you seated on one of the steps and him between your legs holding on to the ladder with one hand, the other tracing patterns on your skin.

The softness in his eyes was a familiar one - one you saw every day when he looked at you.

He's sure of himself when he leans in and captures your lips in a sweet kiss.

There'd been a time when he wasn't sure when you'd first met and started seeing each other. He knew he liked you, he knew he wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to be yours. He didn't know if you felt the same, however.

"Can i kiss you?" he whispers.

He was so close you could feel his breath on his face as he spoke, and you'd been ready for him to kiss you when he'd moved closer. His question took you by surprise, knocked the air out of you - here's this confident, handsome, kind man and he's asking if he can kiss you as if he's not sure.

Instinct takes over and before you know it you're nodding - "kiss me, Jacob"

His lips felt as if they were made for kissing yours from the first time you kissed, even though he'd been cautious - testing the waters. But now that you'd both gotten to know every in and out of each other, it was shocking you ever did anything but kiss. His hand wrapping around your waist - just the way you like it. Your nails softly scratching his scalp - just the way he likes it. Your tongues teasing each other as you deepen the kiss.

---

You dry off in the sun together and Jacob gets up before you to make some dinner before you finally unpack all of your stuff. You follow him shortly after to help out, moving around together in the unfamiliar kitchen to find all the things you need.

After dinner, you're both too full to even think about unpacking and you end up on the couch, forgetting all about it until you head to bed. A groan leaves him when he sees the bags you left on the bed - "shit, should we just leave it till tomorrow?" he tries

"Then we'll never get it done" you sigh, walking over to unzip your bag.

"Yeah, alright" he follows your lead, bumping his hip into you playfully before opening his own bag. You help each other hang and fold your clothes, and you would've been done in a few minutes if he didn't keep distracting you by grabbing your hips, kissing your lips, and ticking your sides.

It reminded you of how he acted whenever you spent a weekend at his place when you first started seeing each other. He was always so happy to have you in his space, acting as if slowing you down would make the time slow down too. He'd especially distract you when you were packing your stuff back up - as if the weekend wouldn't end if you never packed.

"Don't go" he almost whined as you zipped up your bag.

"You know I have to, all my stuff for work is at home"

"Just bring it here next time then, I'll even drive you to work"

"It'd be too much to bring back and forth all the time"

"So don't"

"What- you just said-"

"No, I mean don't bring it back and forth, leave it here"

"What do you mean leave it here?"

"Move in with me," he says as if it is the most obvious solution to your problem.

And it made complete sense to you too, you spent every moment you could at his place. There was no need to weigh the pros and cons, you knew you wanted it straight away.

"What are you thinking about, Älskling?"

"Us" you smile and he hums, asking for you to continue to which you tease him about how he always used to distract you - "old habits die hard, I guess" you giggle.

---

You could swear it's the middle of the night when he wakes you, your eyes struggling to open as he whispers in your ear "baby, wake up, I gotta show you something"

There's a dim light coming from the window, and you're barely awake as he wraps the duvet around you and helps you out of the bed. The air is cool as you step outside, the birds chirping as you make your way to the pier.

By the time you get there, the sky starts to slowly change colors. You'd been too tired to notice what was going on until now, your eyes blinking to take in the sight of the sunrise. You lean into his side as he wraps an arm around you. Even though you could easily fall back asleep in the comfort of his embrace you can't take your eyes off of the way the sun colors the sky as it starts a new day.

"Love?" he murmurs as if to check if you're awake. All you can manage to reply is a hum. "C'mere" he tilts your chin to look up at him and kisses you softly.

"Jag älskar dig" he smiles

"I love you too"

There's a sudden serious look that crosses his face, not in a bad way, but in a way that tells you he's about to say something important and it sharpens your attention as he looks into your eyes.

"When I first met you I was afraid that my life, my busy schedule would make us drift apart. I wanted to hold on to you for as long as I could, and could only hope that you would do the same. But now, now I know that it's you and me - it's us."

He pauses, and you take a deep breath after having unconsciously held it while he spoke, hanging dearly on to every word.

"I've been waiting for the perfect moment to ask you, but I've realized that every moment I spend with you is perfect"

"Jacob-" his glossy eyes match your own as your voice trembles. You know what he's about to say and you know your answer, holding it in until he finally speaks them.

"Will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

Your mouth is agape, but the words you want to say don't seem to come out as you look at him.

"The ring's inside- I forgot to bring it, I didn't know I was gonna-"

"Yes, of course" you interrupt his rambling, "of course, I'll marry you"

He'd been waiting for the perfect moment and your think to yourself as you melt into each other that he couldn't have picked a better one. There'll be a day when you share your love for your family and loved ones to see, but this moment right here is just for the two of you.

#jacob markstrom #jacob markstrom imagine #jacob markstrom fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #op:w #hockey rpf

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

Text

The Oncoming Storm 01 - The Flood

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021

Liu Kang x Reader or Kung Lao x Reader

Summary: Reader is a woman in her late 20s who had a peculiar childhood. She worked in her family dojo that was attached to a shop! You wake up in an unfamiliar place, wounded, with a somewhat familiar man. These moments will change your life forever.

A/N: I’ve been a huge Mortal Kombat fan for years and I saw the movie the other day. This reader x fic will follow the path/story/idea of the movies!! I have never done one of these before. If anyone is interested in it, I will continue on. It will either be Kung Lao x Reader or Liu Kang x Reader (or both, depending, bwahaha) but I haven’t decided yet. This is just the beginning. There will be plenty of fluff/establishment/smut if I get that far! Enjoy! Remember this is only for fun. Thanks for reading! Edit- You might notice the writing got better suddenly. I'm going through old chapters to casually edit.

Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

Your head was spinning. When you opened your eyes, you briefly caught the outline of a small room before it spun around you. Vertigo. It took ages for your head to stop spinning even in the darkness of your mind’s eye. Something cold and wet was pressed gently to your forehead, applying the slightest bit of pressure. Small droplets of water trickled over your brow, down your nose and irritated your sinuses. Others traced down the sides of your face and nestled into the mat of your dyed black hair. It was naturally stark white but you’d kept up with the black to better blend in.

Shifting, the bed beneath you felt plush and foreign. This was not your bed. Your bed was a modest bedroll that often left your back aching. What had you been doing that you would wake up somewhere strange? Flashes of a fight rushed into your mind. That was right! You’d been closing up shop for the night when men had rushed in, donned masks, and dressed in black. They’d been armed with blades.

You sat upright, fists at the ready and prepared for a fight. Your arms were aching and constricted, bound in tight cloth. Pain radiated down to your elbows and up to your shoulders. Coughing, your mouth tasted like smoke- acrid and sickening. Worse than that, you felt your heart beating too hard and too fast. There was a deep, familiar pain inside of you, a pain you hadn’t felt since your youth. You could picture in your mind’s eye your shop in flames and the dojo attached to it catching fire.

“Move slowly.” A confident but quiet voice consoled you. He was Chinese, like you, and his voice was soft but commanding. “You have a fever.” Careful but strong hands urged you to rest back down. In a snap, you knocked his hands away. He removed them with such grace and control that you knew he was either a dancer or a fighter. You guessed the latter. The room spun again but you forced your vision to focus. “I knew you were a martial artist but I did not know the extent of your skills.”

You caught a glimpse of the stranger. His short black hair was messy and pulled back from his forehead in a top knot. He had handsome features, dark eyes, and he was nostranger. You’d seen him before but today he was not wearing the wide-brimmed hat that you associated him with.

“You’re handy with a blade. I’m impressed.” He complimented. It was likely that he thought you were still threatened by him. Smart. You were. He’d been coming to the shop attached to your dojo every few months for the last couple of years. Each time his purchase was drastically different. Sometimes it was a weapon, sometimes precious stones, or herbs. Most times he came in just to have you sharpen a blade that you never saw him with again. You had allowed him entry to the dojo to watch classes and observe goings on. Sometimes he showed up every day for weeks a time. Sometimes you didn’t see him for months.

He’d been harmless. The only words that he’d ever spoken to you had been kind and reserved.

“Where am I?” You decided that was the right question. You knew who he was and what had happened for the most part. It was the ‘where’ that puzzled you.

“Do you remember what happened?”

You threw him a glance with dark eyes and he offered a smile that clearly said you wouldn’t get any answers from him until you gave yours. He was worried that your memory had suffered. The dizziness made sense now. You must have struck your head.

“It was late. I was cleaning up the shop before close when a group of men entered. They were trouble, treating wares carelessly. I asked them to leave since I was closing up. They donned masks and things escalated.” Things had more than escalated but it seemed to you that this stranger already knew many of the details of what had occurred without you saying. The men had threatened you with drawn blades and made demands involving you and your dojo that you had refused to bow to. “I had no choice but to defend myself.”

“You killed them.” It wasn’t an accusation. He just understood how your story ended.

“They left me with no choice. I didn’t ask for violence.” You turned your gaze. The room had finally stopped spinning but in a word, you felt like crap. Coughing, you recalled the fire and snapped your attention back to the friendly stranger. “My shop… the dojo!”

“I’m sorry.” He bowed his head respectfully. “The fire spread too quickly. There was nothing to be done.”

“I have to go. I…”

“You can’t go back.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t go back. Hanging your head, you resigned to the truth. He was right. You knew it. “I suppose not. I killed those men. I’m a murderer.”

“Those men were cruel and deserved the punishment you dealt them. As far as I’m concerned your action were justified.”

Your brow furrowed. He so easily absolved you of taking the lives of others. You didn’t think the guilt would fade so easily but now was not the time to dwell on it.

“How long have you had the dragon mark?” That was what he really wanted to discuss. His eyes sparkled even in the darkness of the small room- a still completely foreign and strange place. He’d offered you no answers even after you’d given him his.

“Dragon mark?” You didn’t have one as far as you knew. You’d seen others with a dragon marking but had never asked what it meant or why it had been there. You’d once asked your sister about it but she had never noticed the mark on anyone before. Then you’d never spoken of it again. You’d seen things that others could not in your youth and were nervous about bringing things like that up.

“On your back.”

You turned with a snap but it had been foolish. There was no way for you to see it at that angle. Pain shot through you as you searched for it with your left hand. Your forearms had been wrapped tightly but blood was seeping through the gauze, staining it crimson.

“Careful. You were wounded when you offered those men mercy.”

Much to your surprise, he took your hand in his own, the size of his strong hands dwarfing your petite ones. Then he guided your hand carefully to the mark on your lower back. There it was, plain as day. Raised skin in a circle with a dragon head in the middle. It was like a scar, as though you had been branded with it some time ago. Yet, you knew that it hadn’t been there that morning when you’d bathed.

“That’s… new to me.” You didn’t know how else to phrase it and laughed beneath your breath at how silly it sounded not to know it had been there.

“Do you know about the Order of Light?” He was feeling you out, gauging what you knew.

You were hesitant to answer, nervous that what you knew would get you into trouble. When most people entered your shop, they spoke amongst themselves. You learned many secrets that way. You were usually paid little mind unless you were teaching classes or fighting. You’d heard of the Order of Light before. Your curiosity had given you much more than you’d bargained for. You’d learned of other realms, Gods, magic powers. They were the sorts of things you’d read about in fiction. You’d never thought there was much truth to them but part of you had always hoped there was.

“Why do you know so much about what happened to me?” You answered his question with one of your own. It was about time that you got answers instead of just giving them.

“I heard the commotion at your shop. I came to help.” It was his turn to hesitate. “I confess that I’m fond of your dojo. It’s a peaceful reprieve for me. You bring light to a place that has very little.” He bowed his head apologetically, handsome face stern. “It was too late for me to do much but I saw the end of your fight. It was a graceful dance. You offered them mercy and were punished for your kindness. Then the building caught fire. You won the battle but it collapsed with you still inside. I pulled you free before it was too late.”

Funny.

You hadn’t noticed any burns. You remembered fire. You could feel the smoke still in your lungs but the only wounds you remembered suffering were those on your arms and the back of your head. They had to have been terrible. The cold you’d noticed upon waking up had only worsened and now your vision was spotty and hazy around the edges.

“When the authorities came to deal with the fire, I brought you somewhere safe. I didn’t wish for you to be caught.” He lifted his gaze and placed his fist against his palm with a polite bow. “I’m Kung Lao. Forgive my rudeness for not introducing myself earlier.”

You laughed.

There was no way!

You hadn’t heard that name in years. He was confused by your laughter and cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. I haven’t heard that name in ages. It’s not a common one either. You can’t be Kung Lao.”

“…but I am.”

“The only Kung Lao I’ve ever known died years ago.”

“That’s what was told to people when I left.” Kung Lao’s eyes were shining with amusement. The flicker of the candle resting on the small table next to the bed you rested in danced in his dark eyes. “Do we know each other?”

“If you are, in fact, the same Kung Lao who grew up here then yes, we did. I’m Y/N but I used to go by Y/N.” You hadn’t used your full name in years. It had rarely been used other than to tease you so you’d shortened it. Back then you’d been ill and the other kids had been afraid of you. “Kung Lao was my friend. A stubborn but sweet boy. We played together. He was one of the only people in town not afraid of me. Teased me which… made me angrier than it should have but he was apologetic afterward. The last time I saw him he gave me a purple flower. They don’t grow here anymore. I honestly have no idea where he got it. I could never find them again.”

Kung Lao was completely taken aback.

You supposed you could see the similarities. He could have been your Kung Lao all grown up, about twenty years later. He had similarly shaped eyes. Perhaps the familiarity of him had been why you’d trusted him to sit in on lessons. The idea that he was the same Kung Lao from your childhood made your stomach tighten up in knots. That was too much to deal with right now.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft and thoughtful as if he struggled to find truth in your words.

You bowed your head politely in greeting but it ached so terribly that you held it in your hands. Every movement felt like ice flowing through your veins. When you opened your eyes again your vision went from spotty to completely black. You’d gone blind! Panic raced through your thoughts and you blinked your eyes closed tight. Praying, you opened them again and were grateful that you could see even if your vision was still spotty. The room seemed hazier than before.

“Careful. Lay back and rest.” Kung Lao placed his hand on your shoulder to guide you but you pushed it away again.

“No, no. I should get something to eat. And some water. That will help.” You were sure that your vision was fading from blood loss or exhaustion. Either way food would help. You carefully draped your legs over the side of the bed. Your clothing was singed and bloodied. Gravity disagreed with your arms and your aching head, so you wound up hunching over. Kung Lao helped you sit upright again.

“Your fever is too high. What you need is a doctor.”

“You asked me about the Order of Light.” You ignored his concern in favor of more answers.

“Yes.”

“Then you know about the other realms, too? Is it true?”

Kung Lao was again taken by surprise and stuttered on his words comically.

“I must sound crazy. A man in a coolie hat, well the fanciest one that I’ve ever seen before, came in a few times over the years. I always thought he seemed a little funny. He referred to China as Earthrealm and mentioned the Order of Light in passing. I was curious as to what any of that meant and well, the internet is a fount of information, even for things like that. Most of what I read was on forums and conspiracy sites so I put next to no stake in it. Is any of it true?”

“I’m not the one who should be telling you this.”

“Kung Lao.” You scolded which incited a confident grin from him.

“Have you heard of Mortal Kombat then as well?”

You considered those words. You’d never heard them before so you shook your head no. At least you hadn’t heard them the way that he’d phrased them, as though it were something associated with the Order of Light.

“The mark on your back means that you’ve been chosen to fight.” Kung Lao began on what you were sure would be a lengthy explanation of what would come next but you had tuned him out. Your vision was blurring again. It faded around the edges and the world spun. You felt like you were floating.

“Kung Lao?” You interrupted, grasping blindly for him but your hands had gone numb. There was urgency in your voice.

“It’s okay. I’ll take you to Raiden’s Temple and there you’ll be guided through…”

“Not that. I can’t… I can’t see!” Panic was thick in your voice. Your breath was suddenly short in your chest and you collapsed against him, falling into unconsciousness.

Next Chapter >>

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fanmoose12 · 3 years

Text

I love it when you call me señorita I wish I could pretend I didn't need ya

Levi hated this song with burning passion. Just a few notes were enough to put him in a foul mood. The song was ridiculously catchy, and, worse than that, whenever he listened to it, it constantly got stuck in his head. And he listened to it – unwillingly, of course – a lot.

On the radio, inside the malls and coffee shops, this song seemed to follow him everywhere he went.

And, of course, because apparently the universe liked that song that much and hated Levi even more, that same damn song was playing when he met her for the first time.

Before I even knew her name, la la la It felt like ooh la la la

Levi was having a good time. The weather was nice, the sea was beautiful and the beer he was drinking was cold and bitter.

His dog was running around the beach, having a little too much fun chasing after seagulls. Levi lazily watched him, relaxed and content for the first time in weeks.

And then— that damn song started playing.

There was a minivan standing a fair distance away from him, and a group of friends seemed to have a beach party next to it. They were playing volleyball just moments ago, and Levi didn’t pay much attention to them. But now the time for volleyball was seemingly over, as a couple friends started dancing.

And really, Levi wouldn’t have minded, wouldn’t have even glanced in their direction, if it wasn’t for the awful song.

But as fate would have it, he did glance, his face sharpening into a scowl the second he heard the first notes, recognizing the song immediately.

The angry expression lost some of its intensity, however, as he took in the scene in front of him.

A group of friends dancing together - a drink in their hands, a smile on their lips. And, amidst all of them, Levi saw her.

Her hands were up in the air, as she rocked her hips to languid beat of the music. Her hair flew around, her eyes closed and her lips curved into a bright, happy smile.

Levi stared at her, carving every inch of her into his memory – the denim shorts, the too bright bikini, the big glasses that slowly slip down her curved nose.

He looked at her and thought – she must be beauty incarnate.

His staring hadn’t gone unnoticed, of course. One of her friends saw his intent look, whispered about it to the other, and soon the whole bunch of them were whistling and hollering.

He could have left in that moment, could have called out for his dog and disappear, before his face caught on fire from all that embarrassment. But something kept him in place – you’ll only look like a bigger weirdo, if you run away, an insidious voice in his head whispered.

So he stayed, and she— she approached him.

“Hi,” she waved her hand, smiling shyly.

She had dimples, Levi realized. His heart picked up its speed at that discovery.

“Hi,” he echoed.

“Do you wish to join me and my friends? We have more beer and Mike is making burgers.”

“I came here with my dog,” he gestured to the pet, who was now buried nose deep in the sand, searching for god knows what.

“I like dogs!” she exclaimed happily. “I’m sure my friends won’t mind him too. Nanaba adores pets like crazy…”

He was out of excuses. Perhaps he didn’t wish to find another one.

“Fine,” he stood up, dusting sand from his shorts. “I’ll join your stupid party, four-eyes. On one condition.”

Her eyes lighted up, as she stared at him hopefully. “What condition?”

“You’ll turn off that goddamn song.”

Her body fit right in my hands, la la la It felt like ooh la la la, yeah

The bar was stuffed with people. It was hot and stuffy in there, and Levi felt sweat dripping down his forehead and down his back, his forearms, his everything.

He wanted nothing more than to get out of here, to get a bit of fresh air into his lungs and get inside a nice, cold shower. Preferably before he melted into the leather couch he was sitting on.

He wanted nothing more than to leave, but when Hange, sweaty, but laughing Hange took him by the hand and led him on a dance floor, the words of complaint died on his tongue.

She wrapped her hands around him, pressing him closer and closer, until they almost became one. Her fingers were carding through his hair, and Levi forgot about the heat and sweat and his discomfort.

The only thing that mattered was Hange’s body in his hands and her scent in his nostrils.

She put her lips on his, and Levi’s world came to a halt. It was their first kiss, but they fitted together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces. Beauty incarnate, Levi remembered. as he lost himself in that kiss.

His hand wondered to her waist, and Hange pressed a palm against his cheek.

That single moment— was one of the best moments in his life.

Until that damn song started playing.

Hange pulled away and threw her head back, laughing happily. “It’s our song, Levi!” she screamed into his ear, a wide smile on her lips.

And with Hange so close to him, looking so bright and dazzling, Levi could almost ignore the irritation this song always caused him.

All along I've been coming for ya And I hope it meant something to ya

Hange looked just like she did when they first met, all those years ago.

Her skin glistering with sweat, her hair a mess with some of it plastered to her skin, her eyes shining brightly and her smile the prettiest thing Levi had ever seen. And, of course, she was dancing.

Beauty incarnate, he thought for the thousandth times, as his eyes saw only her and ignored everything else.

“I love it when you call me señorita,” she sang into his ear, her soft voice mixing with delighted laughter. “C’mon, Levi, sing with me. It’s our song!”

“It’s not our song,” he grunted. “I hate it.”

“Sing with me, Levi!” she insisted, a pout finding its way onto her face. “If you won’t, I’ll file for a divorce.”

“Really?” he arched an eyebrow. “You won’t even wait until we consummate our marriage, four-eyes?”

“Fuck, I can’t exactly say no to that…” she mumbled, frowning slightly. “Fine, I will consummate our marriage. But I’ll be very grumpy throughout the whole process.”

“Not if I do my job right,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, gifting Hange with one of his rare, but sexy smirk.

“Asshole,” she huffed, smacking his shoulder. “Levi, please,” she whined. “It’s our wedding night, just please, sing for me.”

“So bossy,” Levi muttered, rolling his eyes.

He looked around the room, it was their fifth or sixth dance, he wasn’t exactly keeping count, it was hard to concentrate on anything else with Hange in his arms, but everyone was still staring at them.

Mike was clapping along to the song, and when their eyes met, he gave Levi thumb-ups, Nanaba was smiling widely, slightly swaying to the beat, and Erwin wore the biggest, goofiest grin Levi had ever seen on his face. His eyes were shining, and Levi quickly looked away, when he realized that there were tears in his eyes.

The whole room was staring at him. And sp everyone would become witnesses to his mortification.

Goddamn you, four-eyes, he thought and turned back to her.

“I love it when you call me señorita,” he began, the flush of embarrassment spreading on his neck and moving onto his face. He kept his gaze focused only on Hange, and the love inside her eyes made his knees feel weak. “I wish it wasn't so damn hard to leave ya.”

“Our song,” Hange murmured, placing her chin onto his head.

Levi hated that song with burning passion. But if Hange continued smiling at him like that, he was ready to listen to this song for the rest of his life.

#this was inspired by two things #a) seniorita of course that was playing as i was groccery shopping #and b) my sudden desire to go on a beach #levihan

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bokutoslittlebird · 3 years

Text

Dark Nights

King!Oikawa x assassin!prisoner!reader

Author’s Note : This is the request for a prisoner reader and king Oikawa Au which is literally spiraled into a series. I am not sorry ; Everything will come to a close once the 5th installment is completed ; the request had “torture” and I didn’t realize until halfway through that torture probably wasn’t what you meant, but you’re gonna have to be more specific of what you want because I saw it and went “oh, noncon and maybe some actual hitting.” So, sorry if that’s not what you wanted.

Warnings: death of a minor character [no name OC], blood, dagger, noncon, degradation, kicking, Oikawa gets violent, Iwaizumi turns a blind eye, chains and dungeons, fingering, creampie, no aftercare, choking

Over the river and past the glen stands Fukurōdani, Kingdom in the Mountains that is under the rule of King Bokuto. The ruthless king that stands amongst his army as the bravest and strongest warrior, with his queen Kaori at his side. Deep in the castle, past the kitchen and deep in the dungeons, there sits three people. Amongst those three is a woman clad in all black, a dagger in her hand and a rag in the other, swiping away dark droplets that drip to the concrete floor. Before them, a man without a tongue.

“So, King Oikawa is looking for his bride-to-be, which is why he dared to trespass into the Dark Forest?” A rough voice speaks, his large hand tapping at his chin. His eyes pop open as a thought appears in his head, golden eyes turning to bore into yours. His smile is cunning and terrifying, but you just stare at him. “Maybe someone should see if he got what he was looking for,”

“If you’re suggesting I sneak into his castle, then say it. I don’t like puzzles and riddles, my lord,” your voice is dead, but loud enough to hear over the sharpening of your blade. “It’ll take a long time to get there and get back. Unlike your own kingdom, he has a barrier that is under watch by his loyal dogs.”

“You’re an assassin. Sneaking in is what you do,” he coos, standing from his chair. His presence is behind you, large hands settling onto your shoulders. “I ask of you to sneak into the Kingdom of Aoba Johsai and kill King Oikawa,”

“Excuse me? That’s a bit much,” your voice warbles. Killing a king is harder, much harder, than sneaking under the radar. You would know. “Killing a king isn’t easy, you know,”

“Oh, I know. I know very well, my dear,” his voice is barely audible, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “But, I can offer something if you succeed,”

“Which is?”

“Freedom. You’ll be able to fly again, my little songbird,” his lips press to your cheek, whirling you around to face him. You have to move your head to look up at him, but he’s grinning with lidded eyes. “You’re more than welcome to decline. Personally, I’d prefer it, however, I know you’re the best assassin I have,”

“Best disposable assassin. Why not send Keiji?”

“Akaashi is supposed to protect me. He can’t do that if he’s in another kingdom,”

“Fine, but only if you keep your promise. I’ll hold you to it,” you finally say, huffing as you sheath the dagger. Never one to not rise to the challenge, you turn on your heel to leave the dungeons.

The trip from Fukurōdani to Aoba Johsai would be a day on foot, but you were able to get to the base of the mountains and enter the Kingdom of Nekoma, which allowed tourists from neighboring kingdoms. There, you were able to get your hands on some rations and new clothes, disguising yourself as a beggar woman who’s traveling the continent.

Pathways lead from each kingdom to their neighbor, but you choose to duck into the forest, under the shadows of the leaves and proud standing trees. Go in too deep and you’ll arrive at the center of the Dark Forest, where the ruin of the Karasuno Kingdom lies. It’s an unspoken forbidden place, only those wishing to never leave dare to go there. Crunching dead leaves and twigs under your feet, you manage to find a clearing to stay for the night. Aoba Johsai is farther than you expected, but the reward of freedom encourages you to keep your head up and move forward. It’s not safe to travel at night, the forest is home to all sorts of beasts.

It’s dark, the birds have stopped their chirping as you rest in the tree. Above the ground, away from monsters lurking in shadows, you close your eyes to get some shuteye. A ear-piercing scream rips sleep from your grasp, head whipping to look for the sound. Below you, about 2 yards from your sleeping position, is a family of travelers that seem to be struggling to scare away a bear. Although it is simply a bear, the family doesn’t seem to be prepared for such a disturbance. Against your logic, your morals win as you take out an arrow and put it into your crossbow. It’s small, but your aim is good enough to get the bear’s attention, roaring as it backs up. Lodged in the shoulder, the bear retreats as it quiets down the roars. The traveling family seems to be relieved at the turn of events, but they then become rigid as you drop from the tree.

“We cannot thank you enough, dear comrade,” the man, most likely the father, says. He goes to get on his knees, but he looks to you. “What— how shall we pay you back?”

This could work, you think. “Where does your family travel to?”

“Seijoh, the Kingdom on the Water. Tales have spread that opportunities are booming and the King is kind and just,” he speaks, but then his words stumble. “I do not-! Kuroo-sama is very gracious! I would give my life for his-!”

“You can stop. I don’t hail from Nekoma, if that’s what you think. I’m from neither kingdom, instead just traveling the continent in search of a new life. Perhaps Seijoh would be the way to go? I originally was going to Nekoma, actually,” you spin the tale you’ve made for yourself, which relieves the man. He straightens his back, his height no more than your own. “Would you let me travel with you? I’ll make sure your travel is safe,”

“Of course! We’d be honored to have the person who saved our lives join us,” he bows once more, then turns to the carriage with his family. “Let’s move on!”

“Yes, let’s,” you agree, joining the man on the bench. He cracks the reins and the horse begins moving once more, as you watch for anything else. Travels alone are scary, but with an entire family looking about and a kind stranger by your side, you won’t have to worry. Getting some sleep is your main focus, now, closing your eyes and letting the man know you’re going to rest.

The carriage stops moving, jolting you from your sleep. Before you lies other carriages and caravans, stretched into a line that leads to a large waterfall. The forest is bright and the birds are chirping as a man barks orders at the families and people attempting to enter. You make small conversation with the family, given a cloak to cover yourself from the chill of the morning dew. When it is time to be inspected, you have to give kudos to King Oikawa and his kingdom, noticing how bright and welcoming his entrance is.

“What is your business in Aoba Johsai?” The man almost growls out. A loyal dog of Oikawa’s, from your earlier words, stands before you. His hair is yellow in color, dark lines running from ear to ear. He catches your gaze, eyes narrowing even more, then looks back to the man.

“A traveling family with hopes to start a new life. I’ve heard great and kind things about Oikawa-sama, so I wish to visit the Kingdom on the Water got opportunity,” It’s a believable reason, and then men searching the items the family has give the okay. The guardian of the waterfall steps back, a shallow nod before he barks orders to move. The waterfall is large and can easily drown someone with how hard and fast the water crashes to the earth. A diamond shelf is embedded in the water, two more soldiers standing on opposite ends as they part the water. Barely enough room for the carriage and family, but once inside, the water crashes back behind you.

Aoba Johsai is breathtaking.

The morning sun glimmers across the water, waves gently rising only to be quelled back down. Birds sing along with the fish jumping out of the water, only to then crash back into calming waters. Pathways built of crystal minerals, harvested from the mines of Dateko, and hold countless travelers who have come on news of the opportunities. Soldiers are posted at every archway, checking to make sure nobody has snuck past the soldiers at the waterfall. Security is top notch at this kingdom, you note, as neither Nekoma nor Fukurōdani have such strong protections before entering the main kingdom. The pathway continues into the main kingdom, the town on the water, where fishermen and merchants attempt to sell a fortune for items only available at their stalls. Your awe must have shown, as the man beside you laughs joyfully.

“Never seen such a sight before, have you?” You shake your head. “It’s beautiful. I wish we could’ve been born here instead. Lots of blues, whites, and greens.”

“I noticed the vast greenery. The open area allows for lots of plants to grow, I suppose. Rivers allow for fish to come and reproduce, as well as allow for aquatic plants. A beautiful cycle of life, with a magical kingdom in the center,” you comment.

“Well, no magic. Magic hasn’t been used in over 100 years, you know. Not since Karasuno’s king fell. Um, I think—“

“King Ukai. I remember the story told to me before bed when I was a wee child. The story of the fallen king and his kingdom.”

“Yes! King Ukai, I hardly remember him,” before he continues, he stops. “Ah, we’ll need to get a room at the Rose Inn, and let the horses stay here at the stables. Would you mind settling our horses in? That way you can explore, if you want, before reaching the inn,”

“That sounds lovely! Thank you, kind sir,” you bow to him and grasp the reins of the horses. The inn is right next to the stables, the grunts working to put the luggage into a room for the night. You smile, turning the horses into the stables. A large man stands posted outside the stables, talking with an older man.

“No problems this week? Seems like you’ve had a stroke of luck, good sir,” the soldier says, laughing as the old man laughs with him.

“I hope it stays that way. Oh, ma’am? Need us to keep your horses?” The man notices you and your eye drifts to the soldier, straightening his back as a lazy smirk appears on his face. Not very threatening with the smile, but his large stature makes you wary.

“Yes, my family is staying at the Rose Inn next door. How long can you keep the horses for?”

“We charge by the night. How much gold do you have?” You hand him the bag of coins the man gave you. He counts them, tallying up the total. “They can stay for five nights.”

“Perfect! Thank you! I’ll tell my father, now!” You now graciously, skipping off and past the guard. His eyes trail after you, but you keep your pace to the inn. You’ll have to explore later. That guard sets you on edge.

The inn is graciously spacious. There’s enough room for each traveler and the cost of the rooms is cheaper than most inns you’ve come across in Nekoma and Fukurōdani. There’s sapphire and quartz lights, flames flickering behind them as the light illuminates and projects farther than most candles. It’s innovative technology, and allows for the rooms to be more lit than dirty and dim taverns. Dinner is also better than expected, the menu being more than a sheet of paper. You order at the bar, ordering a plate of their special dinner, then sit at the bar. The men beside you are drunk, but you hope they don’t cause a scene. Something tells you that the security would deal with a bar fight quite brutally.

By the time dusk has fallen, lights flickering on as lower soldiers and owners of shops alight their street lamps, you’ve explored the town. It’s full of trusting people, so you’ve learned quite a bit. King Oikawa has a personal guard and the captain of the guard almost always by his side, whether he makes an announcement or visits down below. One man, Hanamaki Takahiro, seems to willing to joke and hang out with the townspeople, but the captain is much more stern. Iwaizumi Hajime is the name you were told. He’s dangerous, you gathered, and he’s almost always by Oikawa’s side, protecting his king from harm. As night falls, the soldiers rotate so the ones on the streets are now in the castle, as nobody else enters the kingdom after dusk. Disposable soldiers to patrol, skilled protectors inside and around the king where the nightfall can hide trespassers entering the king’s chambers.

Shedding the clothes you were given so graciously, you’re stripping off the clothes of the soldier posted at the inn. The blood flowing from his chest has turned to a large puddle, so you have to trade your shoes for the soldier’s. Larger than your own feet, but you must bear with it. Leaving the alley, you keep your head low and you pretend to patrol. A glance left. A glance right.

You’re stuck.

Soldiers manage to be spread far enough apart, but not enough. They can see where you stand. You breathe heavily and straighten your back. Time to impersonate a soldier through the night and wait for switching times. A brief memory of the dead soldier in the alley flashes, but you push it back. The body is hidden in shadows, even the sunlight in the morn wouldn’t dare shine on the corpse.

Chickens chirp and a rooster crows, soon the other life awake and the sun rises. Shedding light on your position, you look to the gate that leads into the castle. The captain of the guard stands there, opening the gate as soldiers stand tall behind him. You blend in with the other guards, standing straight as you all prepare to trade positions. However, a woman with hair black as night stands before the group. She has an air about her, but she looks familiar. Iwaizumi lets her go, having one of his shoulders go with her. He’s tall and familiar, the soldier from the stables. They pass by, but the woman catches your eye. Her eyes hold a bit of mischief and mystery, but then she’s gone and her soldier follows with her.

“Alright, switch up! You know your positions!” Captain Iwaizumi shouts. Everyone shouts their agreement and dutifully switch places. Eyes face forward, unwilling to look at the captain that seems to have his gaze focused on you. Every soldier goes their separate ways and you don’t seem to bring attention to where you go, entering a room that you and another guard seem to be assigned to.

“Don’t fuck this up, Wakashu,” the soldier beside you grunts. You glance at him, wondering if he’s talking to you, but he thankfully looks to be hyping himself up. Pushing the doors open, you understand why.

It’s the throne room.

King Oikawa sits on his throne as he chats with two people beside him — Hanamaki Takahiro and one of the guardians from the waterfall. Your hair stands on edge, noticing the familiar yellow hair and dark lines, but you attempt to quell your nervousness. The king notices you both, nodding as you both go to positions on either side of the doors. Gatekeepers, essentially.

“It’s sad to see Kiyo-chan leave so soon. I’d hope she would’ve stayed another night to think about her decision,” the king huffs and sighs, brown locks swishing side to side as he shakes his head. “Guess it can’t be helped,”

“She probably thought you were too much of a brat,” Hanamaki snickers. Oikawa huffs again, turning to his guard. “I speak the truth! You expect her to like someone like you? With a shitty personality?”

“Excuse me! My personality is perfect and women should be lining up to be my queen! I thought only Iwa-chan would be mean to me,” he pouts, cheeks puffed out. It’s almost a cute scene. Almost.

Which is promptly ruined.

The doors fling open, you and the other soldier startled by the sudden opening. Iwaizumi and another soldier are huffing as they stop before the throne. Oikawa’s eyes go from friendly to seriousness, his posture changing as he looks down on the captain and an underling. “Speak.”

“A soldier was found dead in the alley,” you and the other soldier immediately go on edge, but for different reasons. “This one found the body,”

Oikawa turns his attention to the soldier, who immediately goes rigid and explains the scene. He also mentions the boots found at the crime scene, which he has in his hand. Coated with dried blood, they’re obviously yours. The guard from the waterfall recognizes them and you panic.

“I’ve seen them before! Someone came into the kingdom with those shoes yesterday morning,” he growls out, then he looks to you, who doesn’t move a muscle. Moving would make a scene, so you of course stay still, but he stares. “You. What’s with the cut on your shirt?”

Shit.

In the dark of night, you didn’t notice the slash in the shirt. The darkened coloring prevented the blood from showing, but the slash showed that something happened. It’s not a cut like dodging a weapon, but more of a stab. Fight or flight response kicks in, so you choose the latter. You got your information, you didn’t kill Oikawa, but it’s better than getting caught. You swing the door open and shut it, bolting down the corridors as you shed the armor. Lighten the load, faster you run. It’s not long until the soldier from before stops you, tall and imposing. You’d remember those stupid eyebrows from anywhere.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” He grins, but his grip is strong. You have a feeling he knew you’d be running soon. Footsteps approach behind you, then you’re pulled from the soldier’s grip and forced onto your knees. Chains are placed on your wrists and Iwaizumi grunts.

“Wonder who you’re working for,” he says. Oikawa is behind him, looking at you with the same look he gave to his soldier and Iwaizumi.

“Take her to the dungeons. I’ll see who she works for later.”

The tug of the restraints gets you off your knees, following Iwaizumi and his guard dog, the yellow haired one. Both of them prevent you from running and getting free of the restraints.

In the dungeons, you notice the materials. Similar to the pathway into the town, the dungeon bars are made of a shimmering mineral and you’re suddenly behind the bars. The restraints from before are removed, but your wrists are then placed into more chains along the ground. “Try and get out and see how well that works,” the yellow one grunts. Iwaizumi snaps his fingers and the soldier follows, leaving the dungeon.

“She’ll see soon enough, Kyotani,” the captain says, locking you in. “I’m sure the fight hasn’t completely left her,”

Then they leave. You’re all alone and you’ve failed your mission, but they’re right. You still have some fight left.

Hours pass by as you finally feel the fight leave you. There’s only one guard in the dungeons, but he’s nowhere near you. A thin man with ash brown hair stands posted at the base of the stairs, farthest from your cell. At first, you thought they lacked brains with security in the dungeons, seeing as you’re the only criminal behind bars, but the chains proved otherwise. Each movement you made, every breath you took, every grunt you voiced, the chains knew. They pulled tighter as if they had minds of their own, but they would loosen to their proper place if you were still for a certain amount of time.

Footsteps on marble stairs has you and the guard on alert. Looking towards the stairs, you see the king himself coming towards you. He smirks once he’s outside your cell. Iwaizumi stands next to him, not Hanamaki, and unlocks the door. “Are you comfortable?”

“No.”

“Well, could we help change that?”

“No.”

“Not much of a talker, are you?” Oikawa grins, crooked with a hint of anger. “I’ll get to the point. Who are you, who sent you, and what was your goal? I’m sure killing one of my disposable guards wasn’t the goal?” You don’t speak, so that angers him even more. It’s quick, the stinging in your jaw and the blood in your mouth the only indications his foot collided with your face. “Once more. Who are you?”

“My name is none of your business and neither is my home. My goal was to send that stupid head off your shoulders. Happy?” Your eyes stay narrowed, but he seems delighted at your answer.

“Treason, trespassing, and murder. I should kill you for this, but I wonder where you’re from,” he then has an unhinged desire in his eyes, grin splitting into something sinister. “I’ll keep you alive until you spill,”

“I’d rather eat your shoe again. What king wears white thigh-high boots, anyways? Your guards don’t respect you, they tolerate you. A worthless king with no pride, that’s all you are. I won’t bow to someone or kneel under their pressure when they have a weak resolve and no power. Admit it, you don’t run the kingdom, your soldiers do.”

A swift kick is administered, Oikawa’s breath heaving as he pants. His face is red with anger, frown evident on his face, but you’re grinning. Blood may be dripping from your mouth, but you know you’re right. He inhales sharply, then turns to Iwaizumi. “Understood,” he nods in response, leaving the keys on the wall as he goes to leave. Iwaizumi also takes the guard posted with him. You don’t understand why, but you don’t have much time to think about that.

“I may seem like a worthless king with little to no pride, but that’s all I have. My worthless pride. My guards and soldiers respect me because I am the power here,” he growls out, hand tugging on your hair that sends you collapsing against the ground. The chains pull in your arms, keeping you down as he straddles you. “You may not bow to me, but I’ll find out who you do bow to. I’ll rip every bit of fight out of you, beginning today,”

“Get off, you pervert!” Your screams echo against marble, reaching nobody’s ears. Oikawa goes to strip away the stolen clothes, eyes narrowing as he feels the dried blood against your chest. Ripping off the shirt, he exposes your breasts.

“Maybe I should take you as my royal lover, seeing as your body is supple and warm, perfect for someone to come to after a long day of work,” he grins, wicked and perverse as he looks at you. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

“Fuck off!” You scream, legs kicking and body squirming. He sighs and shrugs.

“No use, apparently. Then, let’s see how the rest of you feels,” he licks his lips as he shuffled down your pants. He’ll have to get you some other clothes, ones with easier access than the ones of his soldiers. The pants are off and he mocking coos at you, fingers sliding around the waistband of your panties to have them snap against your skin. “Pretty. All white and innocent, aren’t you? That’s what the panties say, but I bet you’d look better in black, since you’re probably not innocent.” He doesn’t get a response, so he continues talking. “I’ll give you some blue ones later, they’ll suit your skin tone and match the bars of your holding cell. Aren’t I generous?”

He’s pulling the fabric down, your legs spread as he does. He expects your goods to be dry, absolutely unprepared, but to his surprise, glimmering strings connect your pussy to your removed panties, falling and breaking as he continues to bare yourself to him. A laugh escapes him, fingers pressing into your folds. “You’re getting off on being manhandled? Seems like you’re the pervert, sweetie,” he coos, licking a hot stripe of saliva against your cheek. It’s disgusting and revolting, but you can’t say anything against it. You’ve been in a similar position before, your body seems to not be able to tell the difference between men.

Oikawa’s fingers delve into your cunt, scissoring as he feels around. Rubbing against your walls, he’s pleased when your back arches and a moan escapes your lips, only for a hand to come and cover your mouth. It’s soon removed, the chains pulling your arm back down. Oikawa continues his violation of your most sensitive area, thumb rubbing against your clit as his fingers move and rub inside you. The building knot in your stomach tightens and tightens, muscles tensing as you feel your orgasm coming on. You can feel it, it’s almost there, a moan escaping— then it’s gone. Oikawa’s hand has been removed, tongue flicking over the wet digits as he moans himself.

“Definitely not a virgin by the way you’re acting. A proper whore, you are,” he doesn’t expect an answer, standing on his knees as he goes to unbuckle his belt. Eyes widen as you realize he’s actually going all the way, but he just smirks down at you. Removing his cock from his pants, you stare at it. It’s almost beautiful, you think, staring at the slender cock and how it seems to just compliment his personality and how he holds himself. A hand wraps around the shaft of it, pumping as his darkened gaze lingers on your spread legs. Well, what’s between them. “Hope you’re ready,”

Although you most certainly are not, he doesn’t care. Pushing his tip into your cunt, he finds it hard to push too far. You’re not relaxed in his hold, tensed at his entrance into your velvety walls. His hand comes to your throat, pushing his thumb on your windpipe. “Any words?”

“Fuck off,” you mutter, eyes rolling as he plunges inside you. Pushing past your barriers and spreading you open wide, he’s not the biggest or longest you’ve ever had, but he’s by no means small. It takes effort to adjust to his length, but he doesn’t allow it. Once he’s in, he’s pulling out only to snap his hips back to yours. Your throat is free of his hold, his hand moving to hook your leg over his arm as his other hand is placed beside you. It’s a horrible thing, finding yourself enjoying his thrusts and how each roll of his hips seem to add to your pleasure. His own moans, much louder than yours, seem to prove he’s finding his own pleasure inside you.

Oikawa’s soon picking up his pace, his lips next to your ear as you mewl from pleasure. “Acting like a proper whore. You’d make a fine lover, chained to my side permanently,” he murmurs, lips pressing to your hot skin. He doesn’t get an answer, but he has a feeling your answer is no. Yet, he finds himself getting lost in his own pleasure that he’s soon slamming his hips into you even faster. When he feels his orgasm coming, he leans back and applies pressure to your clit. Your squeal of pleasure has your walls creaming around him and sucking him in. He’s not far behind, rutting his hips against you as he spills his cum inside, your walls milking him of every drop.

When the high passes, he’s removing his limp cock from your hole as his cum oozes out. It drips and plops onto the floor beneath you, but he finds it mesmerizing. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll have to come back.

The shutting and locking of the doors tells you he’s gone, leaving the dungeons and you all alone. With his seed still gushing from your cunt, you have a feeling he’ll be visiting you tomorrow, too.

He wants to break you. You refuse to bend. Each night, you’ll find yourself looking forward to his company.

#haikyuu smut #Mr. Tōru #BB.Kinky #BB.Requests #tw.noncon #tw.dubcon #oikawa x reader #tw.choking #tw.death #tw.blood #tw.degradation #tw.abuse #tw.no aftercare

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happylittledrabbles · 3 years

Text

choke me!

Rating: 18+

DO NOT READ IF UNDER 18, NO MINORS!!!

Fandom: Attack on Titan

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Eren Yeager

—

"It's been four years, Reiner."

Reiner never thought he'd see Eren again. And yet there he was, sitting in front of him. The two exchange some heated words until Eren has had enough and lunges at Reiner, pinning him against the wall by the throat.

Except, instead of a cry or a shout, Reiner's reaction is a lot more...unexpected.

"Did you just...moan?"

Choking kink fic, basically.

AO3

—

“It’s been four years, Reiner.”

The last person Reiner Braun expected to see tonight was Eren fucking Yeager. He knew he’d see Eren again eventually, he just figured it’d be when Eren was killing him or he was killing the damned menace.

He didn’t think the reunion would be so soon.

They had warned that if Eren were to attack Marley at any time, it’d be tonight. But he had had so much fun at the fair with the kids that he hadn’t fully registered that Eren Yeager still existed. All he could think about was how happy he was to finally be out of that hell that was called Paradis and away from seeing the devils he had grown to love die at the hands of his own people. And he thought he had finally escaped it, except now, the biggest threat among both of their worlds was sitting right in front of him.

“H-how…” No thoughts in his head. There was nothing. Eren’s expression was so calm, it was mocking in comparison to the panic running amok in the blond’s chest.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking in these four years, Reiner Braun.” His name sounded like pure acid on Eren’s tongue. Even if Eren kept his tone measured, Reiner’s name still came out like two spears that pierced him directly in the heart.

“A lot of thinking about how you betrayed us. About how you killed Marco. About how you were my role model. A big brother, really.”

Nausea swirled in his stomach like a hot pit of lava, and he couldn’t help but step back and bump into Falco, who was also petrified; the two of them stilled like perfect marble statues. Reiner had tried hard to forget he ever interacted with Eren, nevermind considered him a friend. There were many times when they were alone together that he almost professed that he was the Armored Titan because he felt so close to him. He felt pride whenever he watched Eren succeed, even though he should have been actively distancing himself from him in preparation for the big operation. When he was supposed to not feel anything at all after breaking through Wall Maria and effectively killing everybody Eren knew, he locked himself in a room and cried and screamed for hours until Bertholdt came in and had to pry his hands from the table and hug him until his other personality took over, and he felt nothing again.

Oh, how he wished his other personality took over now. Then he wouldn’t be able to feel the crippling fear resonating throughout his entire body. Then he wouldn’t be able to feel the pure dread cross his face as Eren grew his missing leg back and stood up, instinctively hugging his arms behind him to make sure Falco was protected.

“I won’t hurt him,” Eren said, his visible eye dropping to the young boy staring at him with stormy blue eyes, wide with terror. He snickered. “Maybe he’ll get caught in the fallout. But, I won’t hurt him now, if that’s what you’re wondering. In fact...” He gestured with his hand for Falco to leave, giving him a chilling smile that he meant to be reassuring. “Go ahead and leave, kiddo. This shouldn’t take long. I just need to talk to my old pal Reiner here.”

“Don’t talk to him,” Reiner whispered shakily, but eventually let Falco go and pushed him forward. “Go. Run as far away as you can. I’ll handle this.” If anything happened, he wanted Falco as far away from the site of disaster as possible.

He turned back to Eren and noticed he was several inches taller than when he last saw him. It made sense; he was a grown adult man now, but it was still a shock. He was so used to peering down at Eren and resting his arm on top of his head, ruffling his hair, tipping his chin back to make eye contact with him. But now, if he slouched even a bit, he’d be shorter.

“How cute. You used to be protective over me like that,” Eren said with a bitter laugh, beginning to step forward when Reiner stepped back and nearly tripped over a chair in response. “What, are you scared of me? Ha. I remember when—”

“Stop!” Reiner cried, slapping his hands over his ears and shaking his head emphatically. “I don’t want to hear it! I don’t—”

“Don’t want to hear what, Reiner? How we used to be friends? How I looked up to you? How we shared so many good times together?” He picked up the chair he was sitting in and smashed it to the ground, the wood strewn across the ground like puzzle pieces. Reiner flinched at the echo of the crackling wood, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Eren blew the splinters off his palms and clapped them together to get rid of the rest of the debris as he walked leisurely around the room with his freshly grown leg, circling Reiner like a hawk to its prey.

“Did you feel anything when you killed Marco? Did you feel anything when I told you my mom was eaten? Knowing it was all your goddamn fault?!” Eren roared, his eye a ball of flaming green fire.

“I—”

“No, you didn’t feel anything. Because if you felt anything, you wouldn’t have tried so hard to get close to me.” Eren unraveled the bandages around his face to reveal his other eye, somehow making the fury blazing in his stare even more potent. He let the bandages drop to the ground, the fabric twisting and turning gently as they fell into a pile. Reiner blinked slowly, so slowly it would have seemed he fell asleep for a moment. He stepped forward, about to reach out to Eren when his breath hitched in his throat, his lungs refusing to expand as he was yet again face-to-face with the boy—man—he had ruined the life of and had grown close to, all at the same time.

He took a deep breath once his lungs began to function again, closing his eyes to block out Eren’s intense glare.

“I was always your friend, Eren,” he clarified, taking the chance to raise his arm up and reach out to the other man in hopes of understanding, of doing something to prevent whatever he was about to do. He flinched at the sound of applause outside, a horrifying reminder of the sheer number of people outside that Eren could so easily massacre in the span of a minute if he transformed. If only he could teleport and tell Willy to get everybody the hell out of there. But alas, he was confined to this basement with nobody other than the embodiment of the Attack Titan.

“Please believe me,” he pleaded, a hopeful yet terrified smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he watched Eren’s expression soften. “I’ve always liked you.”

But Eren’s expression wasn’t softening. It was merely morphing into one of mockery, disdain sharpening in his glare and piercing his chest like a lion’s claws ripping into its prey. He never felt weaker than at that moment.

“Don’t,” he huffed, taking a deep breath before shrieking, “ patronize me! ”

He descended upon Reiner with superhuman speed, gripping his outstretched wrist and pinning it against the wall along with the rest of his body, raising his forearm up and pressing it against Reiner’s neck. He expected Reiner to scream, grunt, curse, or exhale sharply, but the last thing he expected to hear was—

“ Ah-nn!”

It was almost comical how stiff the two men went at the sound, their eyes widening at the same time as they simply stared at each other. In awe, fright, surprise, or a mixture of all three. Reiner couldn’t gather what Eren was thinking from his unreadable expression, but all he knew was that his face was bright red, his heart was racing, and his body was being far too receptive to the heavy weight on his windpipe.

And all Eren knew was that he quickly found out that he liked this just as much as Reiner so obviously did as well.

“Did you just...moan?” Eren whispered, his eyebrow quirking in intrigue. He moved his forearm forward, pressing more of his body weight into Reiner, eliciting yet another sound of pleasure from the other’s thin lips.

“N-no— mmn!” The feeling of his windpipe and the sides of his neck being pressed in together was a feeling that left Reiner’s knees weak, his eyelids growing heavy as endorphins danced around his brain, leaving him in a state of swoon.

As Reiner struggled to stay standing, all Eren could do was stare in pure shock at the scene before him. Never had he seen Reiner come undone so quickly and so easily before, not even when he came across Bertholdt fucking him brilliantly in the outhouse during training. He looked, frankly, bored, as if he was putting on a scene for the other. Perhaps it really was a good thing the beanpole died. Now, Eren could play around with that expression of pure ecstasy without worrying that a seven-foot-tall bag of bones would try and slap him with those gangly limbs.

“Interesting…” Eren trailed off, his tongue wetting his lips as he dropped his forearm, allowing Reiner to gasp for breath and cough. The blond’s hand snaked up to his own throat, making sure it was okay, although its trail was hesitant, bewildered. Was this discovery also new to Reiner himself?

“So...this is new to you, too?” he dared to ask, his hand twitching to replace Reiner’s and uncover that never-before-seen expression on the other’s face once again.

Reiner scoffed and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing at the resistance his throat gave. “Shut up.”

“I mean, no wonder you always looked so bored when Bertholdt was fucking you,” Eren continued with a shrug as he looked around the room. He smirked, his eyes drifting to Reiner’s, mischief glinting conspicuously in both of them. “You needed something else to get you off.”

Reiner’s confusion was palpable, his agape mouth transforming into a sneer once he realized what Eren was talking about. His face had already been red, but now it was a deep scarlet as his mind ran back and quickly figured out that the shadow outside the window of the outhouse had, indeed, been Eren Yeager. How long had the little bastard been there? He was...busy during that time, so he lost track of the shadow outside once they changed positions. Had Eren...been watching them? Not merely passing by and getting surprised by the sight?

“I said shut the fuck up,” Reiner growled, pushing himself off the wall to leave. However, Eren’s hand clamped down on his throat, pushing him back in the wall and causing his head to thump off the concrete. “Shit!” He tried to gasp, but the force pressing against the sides of his throat was even stronger than before, with more purpose, causing his gasp to morph into a squeal.

“Did I say you could leave?” Eren murmured, leaning forward so that his lips tickled the shell of the other’s ear. He licked a trail on the outside of Reiner’s ear, causing the other to release another strained gasp and squirm under the weight of his hand. Perhaps this awakened something in him, too, because his body was reacting just like Reiner’s was. He couldn’t stop his hand no matter how much he tried; the expression and small whimpers the blond was making underneath him were like pure opium.

“Eren! Ere— oh,” Reiner cried, his clawing at Eren’s hand halting once the brunet’s lips fell to the junction of his jaw and neck, sucking feverishly at the soft skin that wasn’t taken up by his tense fingers. Once he came to after the sensation roiled him up, he exclaimed, “W-what are you doing? Eren, stop—”

“Stop?” Eren chuckled, his other hand dropping to Reiner’s crotch, which was painfully swollen and twitched as his knuckles brushed against it, drawing out a delicious moan from the throat underneath his hold. “And let you leave like this? How rude would that be of me, especially since I was the cause of this?” He paused, a pensive look replacing his devious one. “I mean, if you really want me to, I’ll stop.”

He stepped back, releasing Reiner’s throat and holding his hands up in the air. He tried to suppress the devilish grin that threatened to come out, keeping his face neutral. “I stopped.”

But it was nearly impossible to suppress the grin any longer as he watched Reiner’s expression morph from pure pleasure to confusion to, finally, loss. His trembling hands came up to reconvey the place where Eren’s hand was, an angry red bruise beginning to bloom at the sides of his neck as if trying to see if the hand was truly gone. His eyes dropped to his own crotch, wincing at the sight of it as well as, probably, the pain his constrictive pants were giving him.

“I…” Reiner was both at a loss for words. His eyes searched the room until they fell upon Eren again, a sort of pleading in them. He wanted Eren to read his mind so that he didn’t have to embarrass himself by begging do it again, please come here and choke me and fuck me— but all Eren did was stand there, which was somehow more infuriating than listening to him whisper humiliating things into his ear.

“...come here,” he mumbled, rubbing his forearm nervously. He didn’t dare make eye contact, staring down at the floor as if it’d kill him to look up and meet Eren’s undoubtedly jeering eyes.

“What? I couldn’t hear you?” Eren cupped his hand behind his ear and leaned forward, causing Reiner to suck on his teeth and ball his hands into fists at his sides.

“You’ve always been a little shit, haven’t you?” Reiner grumbled, his arm shooting out and gripping Eren’s wrist, bringing it up and guiding the other’s hand around his throat. “I said—”

“Ah-ah,” Eren interrupted, shaking his head. His hand stayed limp around Reiner’s throat, his other hand sitting comfortably in the pocket of his trousers. “You have to prove to me how much you want it.” He tipped his chin up, gazing at Reiner underneath heavy eyelids, shifting his weight onto one foot.

“Beg.”

“Wha-wha—” Reiner spluttered, his eyes wide and his grip on Eren’s wrist getting tighter and tighter. “What?” As much as he was surprised, his body very much was not. It took in the simple word like an aphrodisiac, his shoulders and cheeks getting even redder and his crotch getting even more painful.

“You heard what I said,” Eren taunted, licking his lips as he closed the gap between them, halting right before his lips. “Beg. Or else I’ll leave you like a bitch in heat.”

When had Eren grown so domineering? He had always had a certain gusto about him, some confidence that propelled him forward, even if it made him look like a loser. He didn’t give up during the ODM training even when it was clearly rigged against him. He made the broken thing work. It was pure rage that was fueling him, but...when had lust taken over? When had the fury in his eyes melted into hot ardor? Had he...always felt that way about Reiner?

“Eren…” he trailed off, trying to muster up the courage to actually beg. God, this was humiliating. How the hell did they even get here? What were they doing? But he couldn’t let Eren leave and kill all those people. And he certainly couldn’t fight in this condition. As much as it was dehumanizing, Eren was right. It felt as if he was in heat, his entire body boiling and in need of an electric touch.

“Choke me, please.”

“Yawn. Do better.”

“C-choke me, hard.” Reiner’s eyes rolled partly up as he felt the pressure of Eren’s hand growing around his neck, unable to restrain his outburst: “Harder! Please, choke me—touch me...ugh…”

The pressure had returned, and the physical incapability of speaking due to his constricted windpipe replaced his emotional incapability due to his dignity. But what dignity did he have now? All he could do now was completely let go.

“Fuck, yes! E-Eren, I—” He gasped when the pressure finally returned to its previous state, giving his body its much-needed dose of aggression. “I want you to f...f-fuck me.”

Eren chuckled, deep and dark, and before the other knew it, they were smashing lips, a violent exchange of saliva and pleasure.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he murmured against Reiner’s lips, both of them panting after the impromptu makeout session. He smirked as he slipped his other hand out of his pocket and trailed it down Reiner’s chest, stopping at his pecs and giving them a generous squeeze, earning him a grunt from the blond. “To be honest, I thought you’d come just from me choking you. Kind of pathetic, don’t you think?”

Reiner’s eyes were tightly squeezed shut, biting his bottom lip to prevent any more embarrassing sounds from slipping out.

“S-shut up.” But that couldn’t have been less convincing. The affinity for choking was new, but the chest fondling was old news. The training camp had been torture for him since there were way too many instances of people accidentally brushing against his pecs or nipples, almost causing him to rupture a blood vessel from trying to suppress a squeak.

But Eren was taking full advantage of having it right in front of him, diving his face into them and massaging them with his free hand with a voracious speed as if they’d disappear.

“These have grown a lot, haven’t they?” Eren jeered, pulling back his choking hand to strip Reiner of the top half of his clothing to be even closer to those soft pecs. The second the fabric had been removed, his choking hand returned and he dove right back in, leaving a trail of hickeys on the cleavage made by his pecs.

“Eren! E—a-ah—”

“I’d say they’re almost D cups, I think,” he continued, his voice muffled from the masses of muscle. He pulled back slightly, eyeing them for a moment before opening his mouth and clamping his teeth around the perfectly pink and perky nipple, leaving deep marks in the velvety areola.

“AH! What the—ow!” Reiner’s eyelids shot open, looking to see what the hell Eren was doing down there. All he saw was him grinning proudly, his hand coming up to stroke the bitemarks and not-so-accidentally passing over the nipple, giving it a gentle squeeze and flick. “Eren, the fuck?”

“Get down on your knees,” Eren commanded, and Reiner found himself on autopilot at the conviction in the other’s voice, his knees wobbling before dropping to the floor in compliance. He kept his eyes on Eren’s knees, his previous bashfulness returning; how could he make eye contact like this? He knew what was going to happen next: the horrendous blush on his face and chest made it quite clear.

Meanwhile, Eren was taking his time enjoying the view under him. He bit his bottom lip, letting out another chuckle as he shook his head. “You know, Reiner, I always looked up to you. I never thought I’d see you like this. So...submissive.” He tipped Reiner’s chin up gently with his finger to get the other to meet his eyes. “You never let me get the upper hand in training. You were the one making me drop to my knees.” He frowned. “But now you’re looking up to me. Funny how that works, huh? It only took the murder of an entire village of people and my mom to get you like this.”

Eren teasing him about his choking kink was humiliating. Being on his knees to somebody he saw as a little brother, about to commit even more sinful acts, was humiliating. But being constantly reminded of all the atrocities he committed against his friends was pure torture. It was putting quite a damper on his mood, but he couldn’t exactly tell Eren to stop talking about it because he’d only jeer him more. The only way he could think to get Eren to shut up was…

He dove forward, opening his mouth and wrapping his lips around the bulge in Eren’s trousers, his hand coming up to further massage it. His trousers smelled of grass and disinfectant, but the distraction was clearly working, seeing as Eren’s agape mouth stopped forming words and only allowed a shuddering breath to pass through.

“You’re eager, eh? Alright, I’ll give you what you want.” With one swift motion, he unbuckled his belt and was about to let it drop to the floor, but his eyes flashed with intrigue as they switched between Reiner’s neck and the leather. “On second thought…”

He wrapped it around Reiner’s neck, and before the blond could say anything, he zipped the belt until it was pressed tightly against the pallid skin underneath, already causing it to pinken from irritation. He poked a new hole into the leather, sliding it through and returning his hands to unbutton his trousers.

“You look like a dog,” Eren scoffed. Once his trousers were unbuttoned, he pushed them down only slightly; he didn’t expect this to take too long, seeing as how undone Reiner already was. He gripped the other’s jaw tightly in his hand, maneuvering the chiseled face to look up at him. “Bark for me.”

Reiner, who was still processing the belt around his neck, spluttered about and furiously shook his head, trying to get it out of Eren’s grip. “Hell no! I’m not a damn dog.”

“Hm. Shame.” Eren’s grip on him lessened, only for it to return full force when he transferred it from his muscled jaw to his short hair, the locks sticking straight up in between his fingers. “Then put your mouth to good use.”

Reiner was going to object, but the warmth radiating from in front of him made him drop his eyes to be faced with what looked like an iron rod underneath the linen fabric of Eren’s drawers. He gulped at the sight; if this didn’t fit in his mouth, how the hell was this going to go inside of him? He would have cursed himself for thinking that far ahead, but the act was inevitable—Eren was going to fuck his brains out.

He took a deep breath and leaned forward, pressing a hesitant kiss to the tip wetting the fabric with precum practically sticking up out of the top. He had caught flashes of Eren naked whenever they came across a hot spring or all the boys bathed together, and what was in front of him hardly compared to what he had seen back then. Eren truly had grown in more ways than one.

He shakily lifted a hand and moved the fabric out of the way, allowing Eren’s cock to spring up proudly, almost as if he was mocking Reiner and his need for it. He licked his lips and leaned forward, licking from the base to the tip with a flat tongue, practically drooling over it with the amount of need swirling in his chest.

“F...uck,” Eren groaned, tipping his chin up as his grip on Reiner’s hair tightened. “Got a lot of practice with Bertholdt, I see.”

Just at the mention of Bertholdt, Reiner sped up his stroking and licking, yet again hoping this method would get Eren to shut up and to produce more of those sounds of pleasure. Sure, he seemed to be dominant in this dynamic, but Reiner was the one who held the most power as of now. He could leave Eren blue-balled and walk away, or Eren could do the same to him. They were caught in a lustful dance of power, and neither wanted to walk away, as sinful as it was.

“Wait, you’re going too— shit!” The grip on his hair was growing painful, and it only grew tighter when he opened his mouth wide and engulfed Eren’s cock up to the middle, using his tongue all the while to lap up his drool and his hand to stroke the places his mouth couldn’t reach. He very much successfully got Eren to shut the fuck up, and he smiled to himself as he graciously lent his throat as a substitute for yelling at him to be quiet.

“What a fucking slut,” Eren chuckled, brushing the few long locks of hair that flopped into Reiner’s eyes, tipping his chin up slightly to meet his eyes. “Look at me while you do it.”

Pervert, Reiner thought, but he wasn’t all that different himself, for he looked up at lightning speed and locked eyes with the commandeering man above him, feeling precum and saliva running down his beard. That’ll be a bitch to clean.

“Good.” Just that word was enough to send chills down his spine, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure as he reached his hand that wasn’t busy stroking down between his legs, trying to soothe the throbbing pain spreading in his groin. But he was interrupted by Eren groaning and his grip on his hair turning into stone.

“Since you wanna go so fast,” he murmured, cocking his head curiously before pulling Reiner all the way down his cock, the other’s nose nestling in the happy trail leading down his stomach.

GURK!

“It’s satisfying to see you choking on me,” he laughed, tossing his head back to let out a moan as he could feel Reiner’s throat tightening and moving around him, the softness of the back of his mouth leaving him breathless. “I’ll fuck you in a second, but in the meantime…”

He gave an experimental thrust, slow and shallow, leading to more gurgling and choking noises from the man below him, drool beginning to build up in the corners of his mouth and dribble down his chin. Reiner’s hands flung out to grip Eren’s thighs, trying to process the fact that he was being facefucked.

“Mmgh—nngf!” He tried desperately to slurp up as much drool as he could, but it was beginning to pour now, down his chin and onto the floor, gathering into a pool near his knees. His eyes were watering, the tears accumulating in the corners of his eyes.

“F-fuck yeah,” Eren growled. Now equipped with more confidence, he pulled out of Reiner’s mouth partly—giving the other a short sense of relief—before snapping his hips forward, lodging himself deep down in his throat. A horrid gagging sound released itself from his throat, squeezing between his cheeks and Eren’s cock. His stomach dry-heaved, but he had hardly any time to recuperate before Eren launched back into thrusting himself over and over into his mouth.

“Hah— fuck, this is good,” he groaned, a smirk ever-present on his lips. He could feel Reiner’s throat straining against the belt as it expanded, which only provided even more tightness. However, his smirk disappeared once he felt a familiar warmth building up in his stomach, signaling he was almost at his end. He lowered his head from the thrown-back position it had been in before, and he almost finished on the spot when he saw the lewdness on Reiner’s face. The blond was beet red, his cheeks looking as if he had been slapped over and over—which he had somewhat been, with Eren’s stomach—his mouth berry red and stretched to accommodate the cock he was sucking so deliciously, gobs of spit running down his chin, and tears trailing down those highlighter-red cheeks. God, he looked gorgeous.

“Well,” he mumbled, pulling out of Reiner’s mouth and allowing him a moment to breathe and cough out all the phlegm and irritation gathered up in his throat. He only added more spit to the pool in front of him, falling onto hands and knees as he spat out the last of the spit and precum that accumulated in his throat.

Eren let out an exasperated breath, rolling his eyes as he buried his hand in Reiner’s hair again and roughly tugged him up to his feet, the other whining and complaining the entire way. He faced the blond for only a second before turning him around to face the wall and shoved him against it, his chest pressed against the cold stone. While his hand was busy holding Reiner’s wrists together behind his back, the other trailed down to grip his ass, giving it a firm squeeze before slipping it underneath the waistband of his trousers.

“Your mouth pussy was fantastic, but I want to use the real one,” he explained, his lips leaving the tip of Reiner’s ears bright red as he stroked the soft skin underneath his hand and cupped the mounds of well-built muscle. “What a bubble butt. Heh, you really worked hard on this. If your muscles are this tight, I can’t imagine your asshole.”

“Mm!” Reiner whimpered, his shoulders hiking up to his ears to protect them from the assault of Eren’s hot breath and humiliating words. He tried to break free from Eren’s grip on his wrists, to no avail. Both his wrists and his neck were restricted, and although it was uncomfortable, it only made the throbbing ache in his pants even more painful. How he developed this kink, he had no idea—all he knew was that he wanted relief, now. “Eren...Eren, please. Fuck me. Ple—guh— ”

“Shut up for a second,” Eren commanded as he forced two fingers into Reiner’s already heavily lubricated mouth, sopping up the spit dripping from the roof of his mouth and tongue. He shuddered at the feeling of Reiner’s soft tongue wrapping around his fingers, amazed that such a thing was on his cock only a few moments ago and even more amazed that he didn’t come on the spot. He used his thumb to push Reiner’s pants down to his ankles, marveling at the view of his back muscles rippling under his pale skin, fighting against the restraining grip on his wrists, followed by the elegant slope into the two golden apples for an ass.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, lowering his head and opening his mouth to deliver a deep bite to the virgin skin at the nape of Reiner’s neck, sinking his canines into the flesh in an almost animalistic motion, causing Reiner to jolt from underneath him.

“Eren, stop with the biting!” Reiner pleaded, but he couldn’t help the whispery moan that passed through his lips at the thought of being marked.

“Sorry not sorry,” Eren replied with a snicker, resorting to leaving hickeys to further mark his presence on Reiner’s body, proudly screaming I was here and fucked him beautifully. “You clean back here?”

The mere insinuation that he wasn’t made Reiner want to turn around and snap Eren’s neck right then and there, especially considering he very much doubted Eren was. He grunted, the awkwardness of that question causing nausea to boil in his stomach.

“I...bathed for the festival earlier today,” he explained haltingly, his blush radioactive at this point. But when Eren didn’t move right away, he sighed and opened his legs slightly, wrestling one wrist free and trailing it down to his asscheek, spreading it open as a very clear invitation. “Hurry up.”

Eren’s eyes widened, and a heated smile filled out his face at the sight of Reiner coming completely undone and practically begging to get fucked. Before the spit on his fingers could dry, he spread Reiner’s cheeks with his other fingers and plunged his index and middle fingers inside, earning a squeal from the blond.

“S-slow! Slower!”

A confused look crossed Eren’s face, but he shrugged and continued to scissor Reiner open, curling his fingers against the soft walls to try and find that one spot that drove men crazy. He found out about that quickly while at the hospital, a male nurse being particularly caring and spreading his legs open to cure a patient.

“I thought you’d be looser than this,” he replied, genuinely baffled at how tightly Reiner’s grip around his fingers was. How the hell was he supposed to fit inside? They said the bottom being tight is more pleasurable, but he imagined it’d downright hurt his dick.

“You jackass, I haven’t done it in a-a wh... while,” Reiner stuttered, a grunt sneaking in between his words as he tried to accustom himself to the feeling. He was arching his back as much as possible, but he quickly discovered it could arch much more when a sudden wave of pleasure crashed over him and a lustful cry made his mouth drop.

“Found it,” Eren sang, a proud grin spreading across his lips.

“Hng-! ” was all that came out of Reiner, followed by heavy breathing and small whimpers as he tried to regulate his breathing, but it was difficult when Eren ruthlessly continued abusing that spot now that he knew its location. “Eren...it feels...a-ah…”

“My fingers are magic, I know,” he replied with a shit-eating grin, and although Reiner’s back was to him, he could feel the bratty expression he was making.

“Oh, shut up, you idiot,” Reiner groaned, about to insult the other once more before another wave of pure pleasure corrupted him and returned him to his panting, sweating state.

After a few more moments of scissoring and dirty talk, Eren pulled out his fingers, much to Reiner’s dismay, and gripped himself as he stepped closer and lined himself up with Reiner’s entrance.

“Alright, get ready,” he joked, bracing the wall with one hand and snaking the other around Reiner’s neck once more, pulling his head back so that he could see the look of shock in his eyes as he slowly pushed the tip inside.

“Ngh!” Tears were gathering at the corners of Reiner’s eyes again as he attempted, again and again, to relax and breathe the pain away, but it didn’t help that Eren was so well-endowed. “Just...slow—go slowly.”

Eren pulled out at a snail’s pace, looking down to see where they connected before pushing back in, earning a low groan from both the men. “I don’t even have to try. You’re so tight, I can’t fucking move. Feels like my dick is going to be pulled off.”

Reiner rolled his eyes, about to say something until a sigh interrupted him as Eren continued to pull out and push inside, staying at the same pace. “I can’t control that. I hope your dick gets pulled off. Maybe then you wouldn’t be a murderous basta— hngh!”

A slap echoed in the small room from Eren giving one solid thrust, the roughness of it seen from the reddening of Reiner’s ass. He chuckled at the other’s reaction and tightened his grip on his neck, the belt making it a lot easier to yank him back and force him to meet his eyes. “Watch your words, Braun. Or else,” he gave another rapid thrust, causing the fat on Reiner’s ass to ripple from the force, “that will happen.”

“O-okay, okay, I’m d-done!” Reiner cried, his arm reaching back to grip Eren’s shirt for leverage while the other clung to the wall for dear life. “I promise, I’ll s...nngh...stop.”

“That’s what I thought,” Eren taunted, licking a trail up Reiner’s cheek, picking up the salty tears spilling from his eyes along the way. “You think I can move now without losing my dick?”

Reiner didn’t answer. All he did was lower his head as much as he could with Eren’s grip on it, preparing himself to lose the small ounce of dignity he still had left. He arched his back and pushed back onto Eren’s cock, gasping at the feeling of it spreading him apart and leaving him so perfectly full. He swirled his hips, trying to find that spot Eren so easily discovered, all the while pulling out and swirling his hips as he pushed back. It was quite the ab workout, causing sweat to build up on his hairline and building a thin sheen on his skin.

This was heaven on Earth. The view was spectacular, but what was more spectacular was watching Reiner act like a complete slut, as if Eren’s cock was the only thing that could bring him relief and pleasure. He was really willing to give up all his dignity just to use it to pleasure himself, and Eren couldn’t have been more willing of a participant.

“I guess that’s the answer to my question,” he breathed, a moan causing him to throw his head back. He dropped both his hands to Reiner’s hips, riding alongside their gyrating motions. “Yeah...that’s nice. Keep moving like that.”

“Eren,” Reiner warned, looking over his shoulder now that his neck was freed. “Eren, move, goddamn it.”

Eren cocked his head. “Is that how you ask for it?”

“Oh, for fuck’s—Eren, please, fuck me. Ruin me, do what you want, just please fuck m— ”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” It only took half a second for Eren to comply with Reiner's wishes, snapping his hips forward and sending Reiner careening toward the wall, his face pressed up against the stone just like his chest was. He’d definitely have scrapes on his face as it bounced up and down with each merciless thrust that practically sent him up the wall.

“ Ahn—ugh! Fuck, fuck, yes! Feels good, f-feels so—hnngh! ” The dry slapping noises eventually turned into wet, squelching sounds that would have made Reiner cringe, but he could barely hear them in the fugue state he was in. Eren was right: he felt like a dog in heat, his mind on nothing else but getting pounded until he was filled.

“Faster! God, faster! Ngh, harder!”

Reiner’s moans leaked, and as much as he wanted to stop, he didn’t have the energy since all of it was going into not finishing right then and there. It was just what he needed, except…

He tilted his head back, which was difficult with how roughly Eren was slamming into him, but he eventually caught Eren’s eye and smiled. “Choke me, Eren. Choke me until I can’t breathe.”

Eren smiled back, his grin malicious. “You got it, sweetheart.”

He took that command to heart because instead of one hand this time around, he used both hands, wrapping them around Reiner’s neck and using that for leverage instead of his hips. It was honestly a nicer angle to better fuck Reiner into oblivion, and he used it to his full advantage.

Smack, smack, smack, smack…

“ Guh— ugh, fu-uck,” Reiner groaned, practically gargling his own words with how he could barely breathe. Meanwhile, Eren was struggling with holding back his own moans with how velvety soft Reiner’s walls were, hugging him like the most comfortable sweater in the world. How did he go this long without taking advantage of the hole that had been around him all this time?

“I never thought you’d be this easy of a lay,” Eren remarked, graduating one hand’s place from Reiner’s neck to his hair, pulling it and pushing his face into the concrete. “Who knew you’d open up to me this easily? If I knew, I would’ve fought Bertholdt for access to your ass.”

The fog of lust clouding Reiner’s brain long enough for him to understand and process Eren’s comments, and, even though it was nearly impossible to speak anything other than moans and whines and emote anything other than pleasure, he still attempted to reach backward and scratch Eren’s hip, leaving three bright marks on the tanned skin.

“After this is over, I’m going to kill you,” Reiner managed to say when Eren stopped shortly to readjust his angle. He was very grateful for that split second of clarity because once Eren started up, instead of brushing against that spot, he was directly nailing it over and over with perfect precision.

“ OH— oh, my God, I-I’m—too much, too much, I’m so— ah, hah... c-close—!” Reiner was incoherent at this point, finally reaching the “brains fucked out” stage of this brutal hookup. He could no longer think. All he could do was moan, pant, and cry out each time his spot was abused.

“ Hah—I’m gonna come soon, t-too,” Eren breathed, having his own difficulties with speech. He tried to act as cool and collected for as long as possible, but now, it was nearly impossible, with each thrust drawing out the warm feeling in his stomach more and more. It also didn’t help that Reiner kept tightening around him with each thrust, giving him all the components to finish. He just needed one thing.

“Where do you want it?” Eren whispered, dropping his head to take advantage of the last few moments to leave more hickeys all along Reiner’s neck and collarbones.

Reiner was beyond redemption at this point, evidenced by the fact that he all but screamed out, “Inside! Please, inside, come inside, I n-need it, I need you, please, I—”

His orgasm was sudden and unexpected, but Eren hit his spot at the perfect angle and speed, causing it to rip through his body. He was left speechless, going rigid as his vision spotted before going completely white, finally receiving the release he had been chasing over the past half hour. He heard somebody wailing, and when his consciousness returned to him, he realized he was the one making that awful noise, his vocal cords frying themselves with the unadulterated ecstasy running through his system.

Eren didn’t take much longer to follow, giving a few more slams—rougher than all the ones preceding them—before coming undone deep inside Reiner, groaning at the feeling of warmth coating Reiner’s walls and making his insides even hotter than they already were. But he wasn’t done. In his state of bliss, he managed to pull out of Reiner—earning a pitiful whimper from the other—and turn him around to push down on his shoulders so that he was on his knees again.

“Fuck, fuck—fuck! ” Eren couldn’t help the countless exclamations of pleasure that racked his body as he stroked himself furiously in front of Reiner’s face. The last of his come splashed on Reiner’s face, coating his cheeks and the bridge of his nose in the milky white substance. Yet again, he wasn’t done. He smeared the tip across Reiner’s lips, painting them with the same glossy color. And with that, he was done, stepping back to admire his handiwork. He grinned, satisfied with the result.

He had completely ruined Reiner Braun. His hair was tangled and sticking out in all different places. His eyes were red from crying. His face was completely coated in sticky, hot semen. He could barely open his lips without it stringing between them. Tears stained his splotched cheeks, and dried saliva ran down the entirety of his chin and throat. His chest was red as well, full of bite marks and hickeys. His neck was a completely different story—it was probably rubbed raw and full of scratches and finger indentations, all of which were hidden under the belt. And then…

“Turn around for me and bend over,” Eren said, his last demand of the night.

He had evidently turned Reiner into an obedient subordinate because without a single complaint or hesitation, the blond nodded submissively and turned around, revealing his back that was full of scratches and the deep bite mark at the nape of his neck. To think, he’d probably be targeting that nape in a couple of minutes once again, except it’d be for the kill. He wondered if, when he’d rip Reiner from the nape of his Titan’s neck and admire his dead body, the bite mark on his neck would still be there.

Reiner bent over, lifting his ass in the air and dropping his chest and face to the floor, a look of pure embarrassment on his soiled face.

“Beautiful,” Eren whispered to himself as he watched his come pour out of Reiner’s hole, running down his leg and dripping onto the ground. “Satisfied?”

Reiner, from his docile place on the floor, nodded his head, his hair flowing back and forth on the ground. “Y-yes...thank you…”

He then collapsed to the floor, his hips no longer able to sustain his own weight. His legs were trembling, never having experienced such a savage fucking before. It had always been loving, sweet, slow. But he quickly found that he had been severely deprived of something he so desperately needed. He’d probably get brain damage from all the choking he was going to do in the future, but that didn’t matter. He already planned on dying soon, anyway.

“I’m going...to kill you...after this,” Reiner continued, severely out of breath.

Eren walked over silently, squatting down and brushing the hair out of Reiner’s sweaty and dirtied face. “I’d like to see you try. You can barely walk.”

He laughed and pat Reiner on the rear, standing back up and walking over to the exit as he fixed his trousers and buttoned them.

“But thanks for the good fuck. I needed that. Honestly, if I hadn’t made everybody from Paradis come rescue me today, I’d save this battle for another day. I’m feeling very…” He lifted up his hands, looking at his nails and running his fingers through his hair. “...relaxed right now.”

Reiner was half-asleep, but he was conscious enough to have heard Eren’s words loud and clear. He snapped his head up and turned to stare at Eren to see if what he heard was the truth, but all he was met with was Eren adjusting his shirt and tightening his hair into a bun.

“P-Paradis?”

“Yeah. Heh.” Eren looked over his shoulder and winked. “I’ll catch you out there, then. If you manage to survive, come to Paradis. I’ll give you a very special welcome.”

And with that, Eren Yeager exited the room heavy with the smell of sex and quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Reiner Braun was left alone—used and besmirched with a fucked-out mind—to mull over what just happened and what will happen in only a handful of minutes.

Eren fucking Yeager.

#attack on titan #aot fanfiction #eren jaeger #eren yeager #reiner braun #eren x reiner #smut #aot smut #fanfiction

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ririanleyley · 3 years

Text

ꜱᴀᴜᴅᴀᴅᴇ

(Yandere) ᴋʏᴏᴋᴏ ᴋɪʀɪɢɪʀɪ x ɢɴ. ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴍᴀᴋᴏᴛᴏ ɴᴀᴇɢɪ x ʙʏᴀᴋᴜʏᴀ ᴛᴏɢᴀᴍɪ

ᴛᴡ. ᴀʙꜱᴏʟᴜᴛᴇ ᴄʀɪɴɢᴇ. ʜᴀʟꜰ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴊᴏᴋᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀʟꜰ ᴡᴀꜱɴ’ᴛ, ʙᴇᴀʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴜꜱ. ᴋʏᴏᴋᴏ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀɢɢʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ, ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, v1 spoilers!!

The morning had been quiet.

Everyone was reticent. A ‘Thank you’ here and there, and possibly a ‘goodbye’, but that was about it. Everyone sat at their designated areas, but no one spoke a word. Not even to their closest friends or companions.

Kiyotaka hadn’t been seen for days. Every morning felt bland and futile without him, almost like there was a missing piece to this very complicated puzzle. Kiyotaka kept everyone grounded and steady, even at the worst times when everyone felt unsteady and depressed, he never failed to cheer them up. Especially you.

You had formed quite the friendship with him. He was genuine, lively, and had the attitude of a true and bona fide leader. It made sense for his ultimate. You expected nothing less from your fellow friend, one who always believed in everyone, even his friend who.. didn’t deserve to be trusted. Even when others called Mondo out, Kiyotaka refused to cooperate and instead rebelled and refused until he broke, and Mondo was ultimately executed.

And that concerned you. It was terrible to watch, very grotesque. Seeing him spiral out of control until he became butter rose a bile up your throat, resulting in you almost vomiting. One look at Makoto and you knew the feeling was mutual.

Of course, in result, it left you all extremely gloomy and, well, filled with despair-

“Why so discouraged? You’re usually smiling like the idiot you are.”

You turn to see a familiar figure towering over you. One you never expected to see joining the rest of you in the cafeteria. Part of you wanted to jump up and hug him, but another thought it was kind of strange to see him here. After all, the stoic male never came here, not once.

You sigh and turn back around, “What are you doing here, Kayak? I thought we were too poor to be in your presence, your majesty.”

In irony, you slipped out of the chair and bowed down to him. When you looked up to see his scrunched-up and repulsed expression, you mentally fist-bumped yourself. Teasing him was all part of the plan, as he would easily open up if he were vulnerable.

Without replying, he sat down in the chair next to the one you had claimed. His eyes were glued shut, and face turned away. It all came together when you noticed the slight blush on his cheeks, which you chuckled playfully at, before your mind clicked and another bitter yet comical joke flooded from your wide mouth.

Before you were able to say anything, two split braids came into view. You instantly recognized the uniform and soft tone, the way she fidgeted with her fingers, and her signature stutter.

“M-master.. could I-I get you any-anything..?”

She was particularly apprehensive today. You assumed she was in a frenzy after her favorite person finally came to the cafeteria willingly, and not by a terrifying, tall woman dragged him by his collar and threw him onto the chair next to you, saying something along the lines of, “take it. I don’t want it anymore.”

Speaking of Kyoko, she was right there; leaning near the door and.. staring at you?

“Yes. Caviar, to be precise.”

“C-Caviar?”

“Aye, Kayak,” you waved to him, a sly smirk. “We don’t eat rich people food over here. The closest to gourmet here is a donut, one with frosting, if you’re lucky.”

Byakuya retaliated in response. His lip twitches every now and then, until he replies, grunting. “I suppose.. some turtle soup will do.”

He snapped his fingers in effect. Little did he know, we didn’t eat such exquisite dishes here, and that he’d be leaving on an empty stomach if he were so picky. But Toko, being the lovestruck girl she was, didn’t want to disappoint the love of her life.

“O-okay,” she shuttered with pleasure, “if that’s what you want, master, I’ll get it for you..” She paced quickly to the kitchen in hopes of pleasing her master.

“Pst, Boat-Boy,” you leaned into his ear, hands cupping around it to minimize drawing any unneeded attention from those around you. “We don’t have any soup. Unless you want warm water? But that’s kind of weird. But you’re weird. Now I see why. Okay, bye!”

You saw Byakuya’s stoic expression mold into one of betrayal and fury. Just as he was about to act upon his emotions, someone yelled from the kitchen, no other than Genocide Jack herself. Then a swarm of funky individuals approached him, very unpleasant for someone so distant and antisocial. You saw his face form into utter despair, as his watery eyes practically begged for your help.

You didn’t heed his call, and instead left him to his misery. Oh well.

As you skipped gleefully out of the now boisterous room, you sang in victory. Seeing someone so composed and intelligent crumble before your very hands felt unnaturally rewarding. Especially if it were Kayak.

Suddenly, much to your dismay, you collided with a certain lavender cilium detective. Before you were able to speak, a hand clasped swiftly around your wrist, encasing it so tightly that you couldn’t budge. You had no other option than to be dragged along harshly, behind the once bashful detective you’ve once known. Pulling you down the hall rather aggressively, the detached female halted abruptly at her room, apathetically tossing you onto the bed, where she roofed you, holding your wrists above your head. It would’ve been romantic if her grip weren’t so tight and her eyes weren’t as dull as now. You thought she was serious before, but look at her now.. she was oddly attractive.

Her eyes sharpened once you twitched. They landed on your wrists, the part she needed to restrain, and she did. With her gloved, lanky hands, she caused a piercing wince from you.

“Kyoko...not that I’m upset with this arrangement, but why exactly are you pinning me to your bed so suddenly, especially without my consent?”

Her iron-grip on your wrists loosened for a quick moment, but before you could take advantage of the situation, she struck you in the rib-cage. “Hng- Shit-!”

Her hand clasped over your mouth, shutting it efficiently and tight enough to draw blood. Tears welled in your eyes at her actions, and she slightly blanched. Your reaction wasn’t pleasant to her, but what did she expect? What does someone do when you hurt them? Especially if you had trusted them so dearly?

Kyoko put a finger to her lips, shushing you. It was a sign, you knew, and you nodded as quickly as you could. Though it may have raised suspicion in her, she slowly removed her hand from over your mouth, leaving you to lick your lips in dehydration. A bit of metallic mixed in.

“Don’t speak, not a word,” she demanded. You knew the walls were soundproof, so why was she taking such precautions? It muddled you densely, but you shifted on the bed without a word, as she had said. “You must be confused. Allow me to explain.”

She pulled the glove up her hand, seeming professional. It was only fit for a detective such as herself. But what wasn’t adding up was this very uncanny situation right now, that for some reason, included you.

She let out a hefty sigh, turning her head away from you in order to avoid your gaze. You rubbed your wrists. They felt sore, and you noticed faint bruises. Did she really do this?

“You’re good at acting, I’ll give you that.”

Was it meant to be a compliment? Didn’t sound like one, but you didn’t want to die yet, so you just nodded. You were still scared of what else she was capable of.

“Maybe it’s because you fake a smile constantly, that’d explain it.” She tutted, then finally turned her darkened gaze on you. You never thought she’d smile, but most of all, not one of mockery. It felt.. degrading. Like you were powerless, defenseless, fallen into a state of despair, while she held the key to hope.

It was revolting.

“After all,” she snapped her fingers, walking over to a table covered with a cloth. Without hesitation, she snatched the cloth off, revealing multiple records with your name adorning them. A bile rose in your throat. “Only maniacs like you could assist me.”

“H-huh?”

“Don’t you see, my love? This is the only way-“ she tilted your head up by your chin, her hold gentle unlike the previous ones, “-we could ever conquer the world. You and I.. do or die?”

It wasn’t meant to be this way. Kyoko loved you? But why.. would she ever do this?

Her grip compacted, and that’s when you knew you had to think of an answer quick. After all, it was only do or die.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere danganronpa #danganronpa v1 #kyoko kirigiri #kyoko x reader #kirigiri x reader #kyoko kirigiri x reader #byakuya x reader #makoto x reader #makoto naegi x reader #byakuya togami x reader #yandere kyoko x reader #yandere series #series #ririanleyley #tw:yandere #bnha yandere #yandere bnha

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frenchy-and-the-sea · 3 years

Text

Gift Fic - Of a Hand’s Span

It’s officially over two months past due, so idk if I can call this a birthday gift, but I bludgeoned my way through a serious case of writer’s block for the very lovely @thereluctantinquisitor anyway! I realized too late that this might read as a bit of a rehash of the birthday fic you wrote me Kay, and I don’t consider myself an expert enough on your delightful OCs to think it’s at all in character, but I hope you enjoy the effort all the same! Thank you for always being a voice of encouragement and an incredible friend!! <3

~ 2500 words, of the Stonebreaker variety

------

When your year included a day spent swinging from the gallows, it seemed poor luck not to celebrate surviving it.

The realization found Sylda quietly, one scorching afternoon in the height of summer as she idled around the dingy inn room that she and Delver had spent too much of their dwindling coin on. They hadn’t had much choice in the matter; the little inn was about the only place a reasonable person could wait out the arrival of the caravans that ferried travelers through the heart of the wilds beyond the bustling little trade stop. So they had spent the last two days waiting, until the waiting turned to bickering, and the bickering to silence, and the silence to sudden, glaring memory.

Staring up at the pock-marked ceiling, Sylda checked the date against the calendar in her head, checked it a second time for good measure, then sighed and heaved herself up off of the groaning springs of the bed beneath her. Its complaints drew Delver’s attention from his third reread of the book that he was definitely not falling asleep to.

“Where are you going?” he asked hazily, on reflex. There was resistance in his voice already. Sylda shrugged.

“Out,” she said, just to annoy him. “Maybe down to the market. Maybe to a tavern with some better wine. Hey, if I’m bored enough, maybe I’ll find my way over to the Gilded Keys. That could be fun.”

“We need to be here when the caravan arrives,” Delver reminded her, blinking the mirage of the book’s pages from his eyes as she crossed to the door.

“Mhm.”

“And I’m not going to climb around the whole city looking for you.”

“Of course not. I’ll be back.”

“Sure.” Delver sighed, scrubbing half-heartedly at what Sylda assumed was the beginning of his latest headache. Then he straightened.

“Isn’t the Gilded Keys a brothel?”

Her answer was the door falling shut behind her.

------

It was a productive afternoon, all things considered.

She spent nearly all of it loitering around the fringes of the market square, indulging in the long-neglected impulses of a thief gone nearly legitimate. A bakery lost some small, pocket-sized rolls fresh from the oven. A grocer misplaced a lump of cheap butter and a wide-mouthed jar of jam. A vintner got a very fine payout for a bottle of strawberry wine from the purse of a nervous gentleman up the road who had used braided cord for his purse strings instead of tarred rope. All in all, child's work, but clean work nonetheless. As the sun began to fall behind the edge of the horizon, Sylda wound her way as far from the center of town as she dared, and scaled the first roof that looked stable enough to hold her. It was nothing more than a low, flat plane of straw mats several blocks from the market, packed down and then gone over several times with pitch and bits of clay until it was as solid and sharp as unhewn granite. The family of three that lived beneath it wouldn't hear her footfalls on something that thick, even without all of the arguing they were doing.

She settled herself down on the corner that jutted out over a deserted alleyway, dangling her feet over the edge as she spread her spoils out beside her. The bread was still warm from its stay in the satchel she had tucked against her chest, just enough to melt the harder edge of the butter that she slathered on top. Cheap though it was, it was still deliciously salty, accenting the sweetness of the jam and the tart pop of wine. She indulged in three of the rolls, and half of the bottle of wine, before she let the tension roll slowly out of her shoulders.

Another year, then.

By every metric, that was something worthy of a toast. It meant that she hadn’t been too slow or too stupid, or at least that she had been good at cutting an escape when she was. It meant that she had cultivated enough luck and favor to be more of an asset than a menace. It meant that she had kept herself fed and safe and alive, and that she had done so, consistently, season after season, for the better part of two decades.

Almost, whispered the traitorous voice in her mind, quiet as a shadow. Almost, and almost not. A shame, to have nearly lost so much to the rope, and to have it mean so little…

She silenced the thought with another angry gulp of wine. She had survived. That was plenty. She didn't owe the world anything past that; she didn't owe anything to anyone.

And to yourself?

Sylda lowered her bottle as the flash of anger fizzled. Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? She had survived, and in surviving had been dragged away from everything that she had ever known. Every blessing and curse of street life, every familiar face that she had loved and never thought that she would miss; all of it had been swept away from her like so much road dust under her heels, carried off in one whirlwind of an afternoon. Now, instead, she had a messy inn room to look forward to one night, a frigid road camp the next. She had the company of a man who irritated her nine days out of ten, whose need for her mostly involved being a particularly interesting puzzle. Oh, Delver was fine as far as traveling companions went, but he had been clear about the purpose she served him, and vice versa. An even trade. That hardly made him something to be relied on.

When she thought about it, truly thought about it, her blessings fit almost entirely in the span of her hands - these clothes, this butter, a handful of rolls, a bottle of wine -

“There you are!”

And she nearly lost the bottle of wine over the edge of the roof. Heart in her throat, Sylda spun in her seat as Delver's head suddenly appeared over the edge of the wall beside her, his face twisted into a grimace of effort as he struggled up over the side. Habit alone roused her to her feet quickly enough to reach him at the edge of the roof, and haul him up by the crook of his elbow.

"What in the world are you doing here?" she asked, bewildered, as he staggered to his feet. Delver just snorted and knocked the topmost layer of grime from his cloak.

"I’m doing what I explicitly said I wasn't going to do,” he said dryly. “I'm climbing all over this dusty speck of a supply town looking for you. It's been hours, Sylda."

Defiance edged up through the cracks in her surprise. "I told you I was going out.”

"Sure. And then you went and stayed out until nearly sundown, when we were supposed to be back at the inn, waiting on the caravan -"

"Oh, the caravan isn't here yet." When Delver arched an eyebrow, Sylda shrugged. "What? I’m right, aren't I? If it had shown up already, I’d have seen it, or at least heard the ruckus from the market. You can spot them coming a full league away, and I’ve spent years running rooftops. I know what to keep an eye for.”

“Do you?” Irritation touched the edges of Delver’s tone. “Well, that’s a relief. Because you didn’t seem to ‘keep an eye’ on the shopkeepers that you spent all afternoon stealing from. If you had, maybe they wouldn’t have known exactly who I was talking about when I asked after you.”

He made a flourishing gesture to his purse, which jingled pitifully against his waist. Newly emptied, Sylda realized with a wince. She could just about picture the shape of the conversation that Delver had been subject to when the shopkeepers that she had swindled recognized her description. Maybe she hadn’t shaken nearly as much rust off as she had thought. She chanced a sheepish grin.

“In my defense, I wasn’t exactly intending to go back to them.”

Delver huffed. “No, I bet you weren’t.”

The brush of an insult there was almost enough to raise Sylda to an argument, but Delver’s attention had already shifted down to her meager pile of plunder, still lain out on the roof’s edge. He eyed the simple fare over for a moment, frowning, then turned to steal a glance up at her through the dirty fringe of his hair.

“Why?”

She could have lied. Could have pretended that she didn’t know what he was asking, could have pretended she was just sharpening her skills again, could have chalked it up to boredom, plain and simple. But a ghost possessed her instead, and she said, “It’s my birthday.”

It was almost worth the admittance to see Delver straighten so quickly. “What?”

“My birthday,” she said again, a little stronger. The words were out; no use fighting them now. “Rolls around about every year or so, you know? I figured it was worth doing...something, after making it through another one.” She made a pointed gesture near her neck and then shrugged like it didn’t wake the rotten seed of that particular memory. Delver just nodded, suddenly as stiff-necked as a new actor. He looked down at the spread of her spoils at their feet again, then out over the dusty rise of buildings spiraling out around them, frowning.

"Kind of a shit place for a celebration, isn't it?" he asked after a moment. Sylda shrugged.

"I’ve had them in worse places," she said, with a twist of a smile. "And to be fair, it's still better than sitting in a tiny inn room listening to you snore your way through a book you hate."

Delver scowled. "I don't snore."

"No," said Sylda, full grinning now, "you thunder like a bear in heat, and that’s on your better nights. Really, I’m not surprised you don’t travel in the wilds much, since you’d be in very real danger of one of them trying to petition you for the night -”

She broke off just in time to duck out of the way of one of the bread rolls as it sailed past her head.

"I’m starting to regret coming to find you,” Delver snapped as she heaved herself upright, snickering.

“You didn’t have to,” she pointed out helpfully. "Actually, I’m surprised you found me at all. We're not exactly near the market, and your bad luck is legendary -”

Delver raised another roll.

“- which makes the fact that you did find me that much more impressive." She held up a hand in a half-hearted gesture for peace, and begrudgingly, Delver lowered his weapon.

“It wasn’t exactly hard,” he admitted after a moment, dropping the little hunk of bread back onto her spread cloth. “You said that you used to work on rooftops, back in Yelen. After the mess in the market, I figured the only place that you'd go is up.”

He looked away, back out over the rise and fall of the town’s silhouette around them, and a strange tightness suddenly coiled itself inside Sylda’s chest. Delver was right; it wasn’t a difficult assumption to make, that she would go scurrying back to the rooftops for her safety. But it still took knowing her. It took remembering. A Cipher’s long, long memory was a testament to the things they found important enough to keep. The notion that anything about her even approached that bar, even temporarily…

She suddenly found herself settling back onto the edge of the roof, gesturing Delver down beside her and holding the bottle of wine out towards him.

“You still had to find me,” she pointed out. “It’s not a big town, sure, but finding one rooftop in a thousand, well…”

She shrugged, leaning back on one hand. Some starved, wretched part of her knew exactly what she was doing. It was the child in her, reaching out with both hands, little fists grasping for another word, another reassurance, another little brush of that companionship. Anything to have more than just this bottle of wine. The shame of it burned like a wildfire in her chest, but if Delver noticed, he mercifully didn’t say so.

“I tried just taking the roofs myself,” he said instead, accepting the seat and her offered wine with a grunt. “Managed to get on top of one without falling flat on my ass in front of everyone. Almost celebrated. Then I had a knife at my back.” He sighed, and took a long pull of wine as Sylda stifled a startled laugh. “I don’t know why I expected most thieves to stay on the street after knowing you. The gentleman holding my spine hostage seemed to think I was part of another gang and had come to muscle in on his territory. Then he tried to rob me. Then I guess he realized I wasn’t even worth dulling his blade to cut my purse, so he told me to get back on the ground where I belonged. I've spent the last hour peeking up onto roofs at random and hoping no one tries to cut my fingers off.”

"We usually check for rings on them first," Sylda assured him with a grin, even as her child-soul latched its stubby fingers around the thought and reeled it close. For me, it crooned delightedly. For me, for me; all of it, done just for me! A fresh tongue of shame licked up her ribs, spitting like a new log on a fire, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to push it away. She was so warm, suddenly, shame and all. Maybe it was just curiosity, or frustration, or the ill-used dregs of duty, but Delver had still come looking for her. She hadn't needed him to; they both knew how easily she could work a town, even a small one, when she was being careful. But he had come anyway.

Even a very useful tool didn't warrant that sort of attention.

Swallowing the knot building in her throat, Sylda forced a shrug that she hoped looked nonchalant.

"Well, all the same, I’m glad you didn’t get your fingers cut off. Or fall off a roof. Or get robbed a second time." Delver leveled a glare at her over the bottle of wine, which she returned with a thin smile. “What? I’m serious! It’s a dangerous task, running rooftops like this. I just mean that I’m glad you made it up in one piece, that's all. It would be a pretty terrible birthday present for you to go and die on me."

Delver snorted. "Yeah, happy birthday," he muttered. "Now you’re sitting on a rooftop in the middle of nowhere while I drink away all of the wine that you stole. I’m sure you’re thrilled.”

Sylda just laughed. She couldn’t quite bring herself to correct him.

#my writing #other people's ocs #stonebreaker #thereluctantinquisitor #original fiction #i'm convinced I ran away with the characterization on this #so you have my deep apologies for that #i still hope it brings you a little bit of joy though!!#you deserve all of that and more :D

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thelittleredheadedmusician · 3 years

Text

you were shunned and burned your cradle

Newsies Gen PG 4,365 words AO3 Living in New York isn't easy for a boy on his own. It's worse for Crutchie between his leg and the air itself trying to poison him. But things really can only go up. For @i-got-personality as part of @newsies-secret-santa! You said you like Crutchie, canon era, and any kind of magic and well I hope that you like this!

Being a changeling in New York City hurts. It makes his skin itch and his lungs burn and his eyes water. From the iron that surrounds him, fills the very air along with the smoke. If he’s not careful when he reaches out or brushes against something his skin comes away with a sharp, searing scar.

Being a changeling hurts in a different way too. Knowing that, for whatever reason, his mother gave him up. That a human baby was far preferable to him and so he was left in some other child’s crib. To make matters worse, he was given up twice. That hurt even more.

On his crueler days, the ones filled with self-loathing, he blames himself. That it was some personal failing, his bum leg perhaps, that made his mother exchange him. That the same failing is why the woman who believed herself his mother threw him out onto the street. Logically, he knows this isn’t the case. For one, he remembers what happened to his leg and it involved an iron poker that proved to his mother he wasn’t really hers as fear burned in her eyes.

Being a changeling in New York hurts and it’s hard too. Trying to grow, to thrive, in a city that was made in opposition to your very nature. It’s even harder when you’re just a kid. When you’re living on the streets. His first few nights are the worst. He’s cold and hungry and tired and he hurts. Oh does he hurt.

Being a changeling is no walk in the park, though ironically walks in the park help some. Help a lot. Until he tires. But being a changeling in a city as big as New York means you’re not alone. Well, you’re never alone but there’s others too. If you know how to spot them.

He’s been sleeping in doorways and sneaking food from market stalls – but not begging, whether an innate part of being a one of the Folk or an innate part of himself he did not want or need anyone’s pity – for a few weeks when he sees her. She’s tall, very tall and with the tatters her skirts are in he’s able to see the pale pink of her calves from knee to muddy leather boots. It’s not a normal pink, not like the glimpses of his own cold cheeks in shop windows, but the dusty pink of a rose. Her fingers are the same color as she waves and calls, catching passersby’s eye and gesturing to the basket of flowers on her arm. The violets match her thick, plated hair and the bluebells her bright, solid-colored eyes.

He stops, shocked on the other side of the street, when he sees her. A cart and then trolley pass between them and still he can’t tear his gaze away. She’s smiling at him once the street is clear, wide and kind. The light almost sparks off her pointed teeth. She winks and crooks a long, thin finger to him. He crosses without another thought, barely managing to remember how to even walk before he’s in front of her.

“Hello little one,” she coos, tilting his chin up so he can meet her gaze. Her pink fingers then trail through his hair, straightening it, before running down to brush over his shoulders and tug lightly at his vest. This close he sees that she has small white flowers woven into the braid of her purple hair. They look like stars in a twilight sky and he’s fairly certain they sparkle too.

“Hello, miss,” he manages to reply.

Her grin sharpens. “You’re a polite young man. And that smile! Sweeter than stolen cream.”

At those words he can’t help but preen. “Thank you, miss. I quite like your hair myself. I’ve-” he stumbles, tightening his grip on the crutch under his arm, “I’ve never seen hair that color.”

Eyes widening, she straightens. “My, you’ve not met one of your own before, have you?”

“No, miss,” he shakes his head, hair flopping into his eyes. He reaches up to brush it back but she’s faster. Brushing it away with her rosy fingers again.

“But you know our ways?” She says it like a question but the flash of her eyes makes it a challenge.

He straightens, feeling so proud it borders on smug. “Never give your true name, always be polite, and nothing is a gift.”

Her head tilts and he honestly can’t tell if she’s thrilled or disappointed. Though they both know it’s not all the ways of the Folk, just the important ones. The ones the humans know in order not to err on their bad side. But for a changeling like him, it’s a good start and all true. That’s another thing he knows, the Folk cannot lie.

“Very good little one. You may know, but I doubt you have much practice. Let us strike a bargain, shall we?” Again, her head tilts and more than her long limbs or resemblance to a garden or sunset, this looks the oddest to him. Sets her apart from the humans still buffeting them on the busy street.

“Only be it fair and true,” he replies on instinct. Because, there’s nowhere else it could have possibly sprung from.

Pride and amusement has her spine straightening as she nods. “My proposition is thus; you give me the two buttons from your vest and I shall weave you a crown that will never wilt. That will remind you of who you are.”

He has to think about it, faerie bargains are notoriously tricks meant to cheat the person hapless enough to make one. There are normally catches and clauses. There are twists and double meanings and you always, always lose more than you gain. Yet, this seems simple. Straightforward. And it would be rude to say no.

“A trinket for a trinket,” he says, stalling.

She inclines her head. “A mortal trinket for a faerie trinket. A piece of a life that was and will be again.”

His heart and mind catch on that last bit but to puzzle it out could take all day and he’s getting hungry. He was trying to find food when he saw her in the first place. It’s a risk, but a benign one. “My two buttons for a flower crown woven by you that will never wilt.”

Again, her smile is sharp. But her knife his sharper as she leans forward and cuts the buttons from his vest, hand moving quickly to cup them before they can do more than fall from the fabric. She slips them into the folds of her skirt, her knife disappearing too. Just as quickly she begins to pluck flowers from her basket with her too long, stick thin fingers and begins to weave them into a crown and in a blink it’s on his head.

“May you wear it in good health,” she says and it’s a blessing he didn’t bargain for. His stomach twists and he nods; remembering not to thank her at the last moment. She flashes one last grin as she turns away, her skirts flaring out, and walks down the sidewalk.

He manages to not lose his flower crown as he falls in with a group of satyrs living in Battery Park, though he leaves after a few weeks when he learns the fish they always have for dinner comes straight from the aquarium in the castle. He goes back to sleeping in doorways and on fire escapes after that. He’s hungry all the time but he can never be sure if it’s his nature or his circumstances that cause it.

Eventually, his clothes become too thin and short, showing off his wrists and legs and strips of his stomach. Sleeping on fire escapes has a new bite as the fabric begins to cover less and less and more and more of his skin is exposed to the iron. The worst is how tight his boots have become, pinching and squeezing at his toes. He refuses to go barefoot though, not because of the cold but because it reminds him too much of the others. The women who walk on the breeze and become one with the trees. The men who blink at him before disappearing into shadows and around corners. The beings and creatures who pinch and poke and trick and steal and cackle and dance, dance, dance in between the oblivious crowds.

He finally manages to trade with an immigrant family from the Lower East Side, not feeling sad to hand over the last items his mother gave him in exchange for shoes that are just a hair too big and clothes that keep his skin from the sparking itch of his fire escape beds.

It’s this sleeping arrangement that gets him in trouble. Faeries are meant to be swifter, stronger than humans. But with his crutch he’s not able to outrun the police. A shopkeeper reports him for vagrancy and even his charms aren’t able to keep the police from dragging him to the Refuge.

Another boy, a newsboy, sees this from a little ways down the street. He freezes and his face darkens. His face with its too sharp angles and too bright eyes. The boy is moving before he has the time to process this, making a messy grab for a trinket from a nearby vendor’s cart, dropping his papers in the process. The police notice – everyone on the block notices – and grab him. The boy struggles but it’s a show, he can tell it’s just for show, and soon they’re both being lifted into the wagon.

The trial is short, the other boy cocky, and the warden at the Refuge cruel. At least here he has a bed, a real bed, for the first time in years. The other boy smooth talks his way into getting the one next to him.

“You can call me Jack, Jack Kelly. Though some of the boys call me Cowboy too,” he says with a quicksilver smile.

He raises a skeptical brow, his thoughts catching on the phrasing and the sharp points the boy’s ears come to. Sharp points that match his own.

“You’re like me,” he says instead of giving his name. He knows better than to give anyone his name. He knows Jack certainly isn’t this boy’s.

“Depends on what you mean by that,” Jack says slyly, stretching out on the thin bunk.

“How do you do it?” He asks with genuine curiosity, leaning forward so he can lower his voice and study Jack’s pleasantly bored expression.

Confusion pulls at Jack’s brow. “Do what?”

“Work as a newsboy.” It wasn’t obvious? “They lie all the time to make money.”

The quicksilver is back. “I never lie. I just embellish the truth. Tell a story. The facts are there, just maybe not all the facts. If it weren’t true, I couldn’t say it.” Jack shrugs and it’s an odd motion since he’s laying on his back with his hands propped behind his head. Made odder by the fact that it seems almost graceful. “It’s not so bad. Get to go all over the city and the lodging house means you’ve got a bed if you can afford it.”

He frowns at the non-sequitur. It deepens when he realizes it’s an abrupt topic change. “We’re stuck here and you’re offering me a job?” he can’t keep all the disbelief out of his voice. Even if he hadn’t checked, he could feel that the windows and doors were barred with thick iron rods.

“I’ll be out of here by dawn, question is if you’re coming with me?”

For a solid minute he weighs his options. The Refuge with its coldness and crying children. Jack with his silver tongue and faerie arrogance.

When they manage to sneak out into the courtyard a few hours later they’re met by the boys who helped break the lock and distract the guards. The first causes him to stop, he’s so obviously a sprite that the scowl is the only thing keeping him from laughing. The other is mortal and chomping on an unlit cigar, the scent of which still makes him wrinkle his nose. The four slink out and into an alley before twisting around the block and through another back alley until they’re farther and farther away.

“We’re even now, Kelly,” the sprite finally growls once the sky begins to lighten.

“A deal’s a deal, Spot.” Jack offers his hand, spitting into it first. If he hadn’t already figured the boy was one of the Folk that would have confirmed it. The spit shake marks him as a newsie. Spot turns to him and the mortal, nodding at them both before turning off a side street and disappearing.

“Bell’s gonna ring soon,” the boy says, almost nervous as he bounces on his toes and glances down the street. His eyes dart to where Spot disappeared to, then to him, and finally back to Jack.

“And we’ll be there, right new kid?” Jack raises a brow at him. It’s a taunt.

“Course,” he replies. No bargain was struck, no deal made, but he is in Jack’s debt and they both know it.

Jack nods, smiles, and turns back to the mortal. “Go get in line, Race. Make sure Weasel don’t give us no grief for being late.”

Race, apparently, grins around the cigar and takes off running. Maybe that’s where the nickname comes from.

“You can trust Racetrack,” Jack tells him vaguely as they follow, “he’s good people.”

Or maybe that’s not where the nickname comes from.

In the next few weeks, he learns the ins and outs of selling from Jack. And of “charming folks” though truthfully, it’s just magic. Jack starts calling him “Kid” and the other newsies “Crutchie” and he doesn’t really care because neither are his name and that’s what matters. The night in the Refuge isn’t the first or last Jack spends there, but it is the only one that’s intentional. He works harder to repay Jack who seems less and less inclined to care.

Finally, he feels they’re even when he manages to discover the nook in the corner of the roof of the lodging house. The air is still filled with smoke and iron but not the smell and sounds of mortal boys. He takes careful trips up with bedding and supplies until he feels it’s suitable. Sleeping under the stars just feels right and he can tell Jack agrees by the expression on his face when he sees it.

They grow close. The other newsies learn he can predict the weather with startling accuracy and say it must be thanks to his leg, he never corrects them. They talk as the city chokes them, about going to someplace that’s nothing but stars. The money comes in fits and starts as he grows into his own sharp features. The other Folk avoid him but mortals feel almost compelled to buy his papers. Stories come in across the river of a young newsie rising through the ranks of Brooklyn and ruling with an iron fist. They don’t tell any of the others that the rumors sound an awful lot like the stories of Court drama they hear.

He keeps his own crown in the bag at his hip, as unchanging as the day he received it. Though now, years later and clothes traded and swapped and bought he misses the buttons she took. Misses having something that reminds him of the place he used to believe was home. For even his crutch is different, having long outgrown the original.

They’re teenagers too soon, a blink in their long lifetimes. With it comes something they don’t expect, an odd almost awed respect from the others. Except Race but he never counted. He’s tied up in Brooklyn as a rule and so is exempt. They never sought the power they seemingly have, power different than that which they were born with, and they discover it in the most dramatic way.

It starts with a raise in prices. A raise which isn’t fair, and they of all people would know. Jack is outraged, he is angry too but in a colder way.

The new boy, the one who either didn’t heed the stories of the old world or else his family hadn’t passed them on – and that did happen as people sought to keep the good and leave the monsters behind when they came to America and never would they imagine to find so many pretty ones in the center of the city – and offers his name as though it was on a platter. Even his little brother gives a nickname. But Jack had been kind and called him Davey and the others had too, much to Davey’s unknowing chagrin.

The new boy, Davey, matches Jack in his heat, at least momentarily, offering the spark to Jack’s powder and unknowingly unleashing that power.

When Jack says they should strike, they strike.

He finally understands the appeal of the Courts for the first time.

“Do you think she’s really going to show up tomorrow?” he asks that night on the rooftop, head still spinning from the rush of their decision. The thrill had dampened slightly after Jack told him of Spot’s reluctance to join them. Understandable, why would he want to risk losing the grip he kept on the tight leash he had over Brooklyn? And he didn’t owe Jack anymore. But this was as much for them as for the mortals. Righting a wrong against oneself was practically faerie law. Though the girl reporter was an intriguing thought and a twist even he hadn’t seen coming.

“I think so,” he can hear Jack’s smirk in the dark. “She told me her name was Katherine Plumber.”

“Really?” He’s surprised, the way she’d eyed him he thought she’d know better.

“Least it’s the name she publishes under,” Jack is almost proud.

“Clever,” he says happily.

“Too bad your charm doesn’t work in print,” Jack teases.

“I don’t need glamour to be charming. The smile’s just icing.”

Jack laughs, the sound floating up over the rooftops. “Good thing she’s bringing a camera.”

He grins up at the stars.

Like any war there are casualties. Unfortunately, he is one of them. Being back in the Refuge again is hard. The time stretches and shrinks in ways he never imagined possible and somehow he knows decades, centuries later he will look back on this and still wonder. The scent of iron is so heavy it’s dizzying and the press of bodies so close it makes everything seem small. These mortals with iron in their blood and salt on their skin surrounding him on all sides. He has the crown, somehow he has the crown. His crown. It marks him as other and for a time, some measure of time, he feels even more alone. So different from these humans serving penance without crime with him.

He takes it out one night, straining to see the pale petals in the paler light of the moon when that changes. The crown proves he is not alone. The faerie woman, the flower seller, took what was never his to begin with and gave him his true home. His first taste of community. Of finding others like himself. Of finding Jack with his silver tongue and smile. Of the newsies of Lower Manhattan with their bright spirits and easy laughs in the face of the City. Of righteous Davey and mischievous Les and clever Kath. Even of Spot and his politics and power games. He found his birthright in the world he was forsaken to and that realization rekindles something within, twisting the crown in his hands.

He feels less alone, turning his charm back on as the sun rises. Knowing that he is just one of hundreds here in the Refuge feeling like this. Uses his charm to learn that there are some who can get messages in and out. Others who can get him supplies. And in the night, despite complaints from his fellows for the candlelight, he writes to Jack urging him to not let his own fire go out.

He knows they’ll win, has never been in doubt of it. Jack said they would and Jack can’t lie. But he knows Jack, and knows that not being able to tell a lie does not mean you can’t lie to yourself. So, he writes and hopes that it gets to Jack in time.

The time slips and spins and he sleeps and waits and imagines and remembers and nearly misses a name being called. A name that was never really his but he took before he could talk and he hasn’t heard in so long he’d honestly almost forgotten it. The others part for him as he carefully makes his way to the stairs that will lead him to the ground floor and the door out of this place. He is thankful for his faerie grace as he moves with so many eyes on him, his crutch catching on the uneven floorboards but he walks with his head high. Walks right out the door. He’s not the only one to do so, but he is the first.

Relishing in the ability to breath in the wind again, he rides in the governor’s open topped carriage taking in lungfuls of it. Even when it carries the stale scent of trash and the river. His smile is so wide it almost hurts and he nearly forgets to smooth the points his teeth have grown into with the giddiness humming like magic under his skin. The people on the street stare to see such a grubby looking boy riding alone in such finery and he lets them, waving a bit and laughing to think that all this was done just for him. There’s a strange metaphor all tied up in it somewhere. A riddle he’ll spend the time puzzling out later. Right now he just breathes.

Seeing the crowd turn at the sound of hooves and whistles and the governor’s gesturing sends his heart speeding. He accepts the excitement buzzing throughout it and between his ears as some of the boys rush the carriage, holding out hands in silent offers to help him down. For once, he accepts. Jack’s grinning up on the small stage above the door to The World – another twisted metaphor for another time – but he quirks a brow too. Knowing he only allows this because so much focus has passed on to question about the police wagon that has followed behind him the whole way.

He makes a face at Jack in silent response before letting his own pride takeover. He spins and gestures to the wagon where police officers are herding out a man. Herding out the man who runs the Refuge. Who ran the Refuge. He can almost feel his excitement pricking at his fingers in the same way iron does as the governor agrees to let him do the honors. The feeling overpowers the actual feel of the iron manacles as he clamps them on the man’s wrist, letting his glamor slip and his smile turn cruel for just a blink in the process.

The celebrating ends sooner than expected, though that isn’t entirely true. Despite the newsies lining up and taking their papers, they all still chatter and cheer. Bubbling up and over at their win. Jack is talking with Spot, Davey, and Kath when he comes over after getting his own stack for the morning. Spot gives him a significant nod before spit shaking hands all around and heading off with his lieutenants. Racetrack trailing behind. It’s an odd mirror of their first meeting and he brushes the thought away as another problem for another time.

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” Kath says as she hugs him. He’s come to realize that she’s special in more ways than one. Her possession of the Sight just part of a larger enigma. Her willingness to pull him into her and easy offers of friendship another. He doesn’t argue though, squeezing her right back.

Davey offers a hand to shake once she frees him and a cautious smile. The caution has nothing to do with him though and everything to do with Davey’s own contradiction filled nature. “You were missed,” he says earnestly. Swatting at his little brother who begins babbling exactly how missed he was.

“So, how was the ride?” Jack slings an arm over his shoulders, wide smile as he pulls him in tight to his side.

“You struck a bargain,” he almost hisses through his own smile clenched teeth.

“We came to an agreement.” He feels more than sees Jack’s shrug.

“It was two deals,” Davey corrects with a stern turn to his mouth and a flash in his eyes. “Jack made two deals with Pulitzer.”

He pulls away, brushing off Jack’s hold. He stares hard at the other boy. Dares him to say something and damn himself. Say nothing and damn himself even further.

“The first was a deal only we could make,” Jack says smoothly. He doesn’t blink and his sharp features become sharper with the seriousness that overtakes him. He understands immediately. It was hard. It was cruel. And it doesn’t matter what exactly it was and who gave what because in the end Jack walked away with what mattered most.

“And the second?” he prompts.

Jack shrugs again, shares a glance with the others, and smirks. “We won.”

Truthfully, he should have expected that. He rolls his eyes. Later, under the stars and the smoke, breathing in as little iron as they can he’ll ask again. He’ll find out what he did to convince Spot. What the terms of the bargain were. Of both bargains. And whether Jack was going to tell Davey their true nature, since there was no point in telling Kath. They have all the time in the world to leave the city and see the stars. These people they’ve turned into a home have only a lifetime and he’s already decided that he’s going to make the most of it.

End notes can be found on ao3. Please leave a comment and lmk what you think there as well! :)

#newsies #newsies secret santa 2020 #crutchie morris #jack kelly #fae #writing #own writing #my fic #canon compliant #it technically is!!!#david jacobs #davey jacobs #katherine plumber #katherine pulitzer #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #it's the 20th here officially and i got excited about this so i'm posting

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realityhelixcreates · 3 years

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 80: The Littlest Seidkona

Chapters: 80/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),Thor(Marvel)

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time

Summary: It's the final ceremony of Buridag-the Seidkona initiation-and all eyes are on you.

You woke up in Loki's arms, right where you had collapsed, Ulfrun, the junior healer looking over you.

“There.” she said. “It is as I told you, she was simply overwhelmed. There was a great deal of power moving during the ceremony, and she is still but mortal...”

“Yeah, that's me.” you grumbled. “Reaching above my station again.”

Ulfrun jerked back like she'd been burned. Loki chuckled.

“Yes, I think she will be all right. The Princess in Courtesy is in the habit of getting back up after she falls, never fear.”

Princess in Courtesy. That was what you were now. A princess without a kingdom, or people of your own, but you had the title...and for your purposes, that was all you needed.

“Will you have her come by for a checkup this evening? I'm certain Bjarkhilde will want to look her over.”

“I think I can do that.” You said, and she jerked back again. “I know, it's pretty weird, isn't it? But this'll make things easier in the long run, won't it? Except for the people who like talking trash at me, it's gonna suck for them, but I don't really feel bad for them.”

“I think we will be fine Ulfrun, thank you for your help.” Loki said.

“So. The ritual has brought you an inheritance.” Loki said, after the junior healer had hurried away. He kissed your cheeks and forehead, mumbling in affection. “So you will understand me now when I say that when I am drowning, you are my air, that I wish to wash my hair in your perfume, that when you look at me, an arrow pierces my heart, fixes it within my breast, pins it to my soul. Like a hapless bird, your gaze knocks me from the sky, to fall into your gentle, blossoming hands.”

Warmth flowed all the way to the tips of your ears.

“Stop, you're gonna make me faint again.” you murmured.

“Later then,” he said, amused. “When you are already laying down, perhaps.”

Thor poked his head around the back of the dais.

“The smoke is clearing.” he announced. “Is she all right?”

“Yeah, I'm good.” you said, Loki helping you to your feet. You had completed the ritual, now it was time to be presented to the people.

Out of the thinning smoke, and into the courtyard the three of you appeared, Heimdall keeping his vigil from atop the high dais. No one would dare make a move against you while he watched.

“The ceremony is complete!” Thor announced in his booming voice. “The paths of fate have been cleared for the Princess in Courtesy. May she pass down them in peace, for as long as her life has been interwoven with ours!”

The cheering was loud and enthusiastic, and seemed genuine. Your finger didn't hurt at all anymore, likely due to lying in Loki's arms for those few minutes while Ulfrun looked over you.

You stood and let them cheer as much as they wanted, then followed the princes back out of sight behind the dais when the crowds enthusiasm began to wane. You unwound the bandage from your finger to show a very pleased Loki that the tiny cut had nearly disappeared. It was nice to see how happy that made him, to remember how willing-even eager-he had been from the start to share that healing bond with you. You had never found out if that had cost him in pain or energy, just that it was very clear that he was more than ready to give.

“So you have gained something.” Thor mentioned on their way to drop you off with the other Seidkonas. “That will come in very handy. Save you decades of study.”

“So you didn't know it was going to happen either?” you asked. He shook his golden head.

“I've never actually seen one of these ceremonies performed. The last one I know of was for my mother, and that, of course, was before I was even born.”

“They must have had one for me,” Loki mused. “In secret. Hidden away in shame from prying eyes.”

Thor's warm smile withdrew into contemplation, as all three of you tried to envision it: A tiny, possibly blue infant, held over the bowl and crying, like a human baby getting their first check in with a doctor, a blade held against one minuscule hand or squirming foot...

It was an uncomfortable image, but it made sense to get it done as early as possible, if they were to pass Loki off as their son.

“So this is probably normal. Just another way to pass on the magic of Allspeak. We'll just see how well it works out for me.”

******

The second part of your day was to be taken up by another, much longer and more complex ritual, that had to be done partially in secret. Thor and Loki escorted you, followed by many people, to one of the popup apartment complexes that now housed to majority of Asgard, until more permanent housing could be built. This one housed the thirteen remaining Seidkonas of Asgard, and had been transformed by them into a ritual house. With some small pomp, the princes transferred you into their care, but beyond their doors, it became a strict 'no boys allowed' club.

This was because, as soon as the door closed, you were led into the next room and stripped down, a bundle of incense being wafted around your body. Once naked, you were plunked down into a metal tub filled with a redolent herbal tea, which the others scooped up in bathing bowls and poured over your head, as if making a kind of Seidkona soup.

The entire dwelling was dimly lit with only candles, and the other Seidkonas were mostly silent in their work, speaking only to give you quiet instructions, or chant ceremonial blessings from the Norns.

Newly cleansed, you entered a different room, this time converted into a kind of sauna. In the pitch dark you sat and sweated, swaddled in thick clouds of suffocating steam from more herbal tea, ladled constantly over the hot stones.

Whether from the heat, the herbs, or the incense, you didn't know, but you began to feel odd. The magic within you felt as though it was swelling, throbbing with a heartbeat different than your own. The passage of time became meaningless, but eventually you began to see a light. Soft, blue, and ephemeral, you couldn't focus on it's source, as it dimmed down into nothing every time you tried to concentrate on it. But it pulsed like the heartbeat of your magic.

The Seidkonas who had joined you in the sauna began singing one word, one tone over and over. Your heart and your magic began to attune to it, thumping along in time, like your little Seidkona drum. The word felt natural, it slotted into your mind, filling a tiny, empty hole. The last syllable of the chant you had been practicing for weeks now. The very last piece of the magical puzzle, that you were not yet meant to utter.

You heard the beating of drums outside, muffled by the door, which cracked open and let in a blast of air. You knew it was warm, but it felt cool on your heated skin, disintegrated the clouds of herbal vapor, and sharpened your heat-fuzzed mind to a razor point. You exited the sauna like an infant; brand new and surrounded by sensation. The air was cool, the candles were bright, and the tub of pure water they dumped over you was like shards of ice.

While some of the women dried and helped you dress yourself, others continued the drum beat that had started while you were in the sauna. Seidkona drums were made of wood now, but their drumstick was shaped like a bone, and the little drums were rounded like skulls, and they may have been these things, long, long ago.

You sat among them, and were given a chunk of bread to eat, and a light, sweet fruit juice to drink. The flavor and texture was more clear than ever before, the sensation of relieving hunger and thirst practically palpable. The drumming continued while your hair dried and and you devoured the snack.

It wasn't just the steam or the heat-whatever herbal concoction you had bathed in and breathed in was effecting you. Your senses felt wider, like you were experiencing sensations on a deeper level. Maybe you always felt things this much, but simply hadn't noticed before.

Somehow you knew when to stand up. You and all the other Seidkonas got to your feet at the same time, some kind of unknown but compelling signal alerting you. As one, you all filed to the door.

Your instructor, the eldest of the Seidkonas stepped up beside you, as the others gathered their cloaks and drums.

“You are different than us.” she said. “The magic runs through you just the same, so you should know in advance: at the initiation, something new is always revealed. Some power, some knowledge previously unknown or lost. I know you've read about it with Saga, and you must understand that there is the probability that it will also happen to you. But you must also know that it's possible that it will not happen. Because you are different than us, and though the magic flows through you just the same, the rest of you might not be able to handle such a revelation. Never have the Norns allowed one of us to be harmed by this initiatory experience. They care about those who act in their stead, and will not force you through something you cannot handle. However, if they decide that you can handle it, human or not, they will push you to your very limit. Be ready for either outcome, for once it is started, there is no going back.”

The ancient Seidkona provided you your little rounded drum, and the parade began; a double line of esteemed sorceresses, wrapped in dark blue cloaks. You followed behind, cloakless, beating your drum in time with the others, a call to the masses that the initiate was coming, the ritual was beginning.

You followed your escort into the same courtyard from earlier in the day. In the time you had been squirreled away for cleansing, the whole area had been transformed. The tall dais was gone, another set of seating had taken its place. There were special seats for the most important guests, and new fencing had been erected, leading to clearly defined separation of Asgardian and human spectators. The entire courtyard had been swept clean of all snow and slush, all debris had been removed and sapphire blue decorations depicting your mark in silver had been put up. New torches had been planted and lit, and large braziers had been placed within the circle-one for each Seidkona, and an extra one in the center for you. They were each filled with a bundle to burn, a little tuft of incense herbs poking out of the top.

The drum beat continued as people filled the seats, as Thor and Loki took their special places, mere spectators in your grand show. The Seidkonas fanned out from their lines and each stood in front of a brazier. The drums only stopped once you had reached the brazier in the center. Each sorceress lit their own fire in their own way. Some were able to use magic, others used burning rods, lit from the torches. You had decided some weeks ago not to use a rod, but to use your magic to teleport burning material into your brazier.

And it worked! You were able to teleport fire! Your bundle burned...for all of a few moments, before the flames shrunk and went out.

Damn. You tried it again. Once more, the fire popped into being within your brazier. And once again, dwindled and disappeared. And again, with the same results. Why wasn't it working?

You heard muttering in the crowd, and you could pick out a few conspicuous questions being asked.

“Is that supposed to happen?”

“Is this a bad omen?”

“Does this mean she's not supposed to be doing this?”

“Did she fail?”

Frustrated, you stalked over to a torch, uprooted it, and used it to light your brazier. This time, the damn thing stayed lit. You scoured the gathered people with a glare, as if daring them to say anything more.

To your eternal annoyance, you spotted Todd among the human seating, his eyes narrowed in the expression he always got when you'd done something he hadn't expected or given you permission to do. Thankfully, you were much too far away to hear the veiled insults and negging that always followed that expression, but your memory helpfully provided several old examples, and they echoed around in your head until you forced them to cease. You swore, if he ever brought this up to you, you were going to teleport him into the middle of the river. If he was properly apologetic, you might even pull him out of the mud before he sank in forever.

Maybe.

“Practical.” Loki said in a stage whisper that carried out over the crowd. “Even mages must know how to solve problems without resorting to magic.” The crowd fell silent once again. Positioned right in front of you, the old Seidkona's wrinkled lips twisted into a wry smirk. She then lifted her drumstick into the air, and the dance began. The dance was supposedly simple: three steps and a quarter turn, four times, ending in a full spin, and then starting again, all in a circle around the burning brazier. Simultaneously, the drum beat, and the chant song kept time. You thumped your little drum, chanting along as you'd practiced. It would only get more challenging, you knew, and as soon as the chant had reached its end, it started over, this time faster. Your performance, how long and fast you could go before declaring the secret last word and bringing it all to an end, was supposed to determine how powerful a Seidkona you would be. In reality, your status was already confirmed, and everyone knew that expectations had to be different for a human, but you were still determined to give the best showing that you were physically capable of. And so you sped up. And sped up. And sped up, continuing until the world became a blur, and dizziness threatened to overtake you. Blue light sparkled at the edges of your vision, having escaped your dreams, now following you into trance states, when you were between awake and asleep. And faster. And faster. Though you were breathless, the chant song filled your ears, the drum beat mimicking your racing heart, until finally, lest you fall over into the fire, you stopped, threw your drumstick hand into the air, and shouted the last word at the top of your voice. Something appeared in your hands, forcing you to drop the drum and stick. You flung it high into the air. Both Loki and Thor cried out in surprise.

You felt the mark on your hand spark into life, runes searing up your arm, neck, and face. The power buzzed through you, like a swarm of bees in your blood, and for the first time, you could make out words in the thrum of magic. You finally knew what it wanted from you.

You were meant to break the lock. Learn us Learn us Learn us.

“Show me.” you commanded. And then the universe opened up before you.

#lasabrjotr #loki x reader #loki (marvel)

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k7l4d4 · 3 years

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Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 3 Part 3

And once again, I arrive with another piece of Midnight Striga!! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!!

With a sigh, Amity plopped herself down in her seat, her Abomination prepped and ready for deployment next to her. Panning her gaze across the classroom, her eyes zeroed in on an empty desk; Willow’s desk. ‘She probably choked and designed to take a zero.’ Amity mused, carefully ignoring the sinking feeling that always tugged at her chest whenever she was around, or thought of, Willow. A Blight had no use for thinking of ‘what if’s, when they could instead focus on their present and their future.

Any further musings were cut off as Willow hurriedly rushed into the room, her Abomination pot trudging along behind her. Amity almost snorted. Was she really going to present that shoddy thing? It was her funeral. Still, Amity was a bit perplexed at the sight of Willow’s beaming grin.

“Alright, are you all prepared for today’s inspection?” Their instructor announced imperiously, not even bothering to walk as his Abomination served as his vehicle; Amity had little respect for the man, but she gave him the diligence his position was due, both for how it impacted her future, and her observations of his skills at the art of Abominations himself. As their teacher scanned the displayed works, he called out criticisms at every turn, “Too many eyes, too many toes, toes in the WRONG places, bah! The only real Abominations in this classroom are you all!” His disdainful shout caused many of the students to wilt in their seats, all but Amity of course and, to her surprise, Willow, who leaned forward eagerly.

The teacher huffed, before giving a familiar ultimatum. “If the next Abomination I see disappoints me, it will mean extra homework for everyone, for a MONTH!”

Amity internally rolled her eyes, tuning out the myriad groans of her classmates. Still, there was no reason for them to suffer because of how strict their teacher was. With a wave, Amity rose to her feet. “Allow me to present next, professor!” With a graceful twirl, her Abomination, utterly without flaw or defect, rose gracefully from its confines.

He chuckled. “Oh no, Miss Blight, you know I always save the best for last!” While the stroke to her ego wasn’t unwelcome, it meant she would most likely have to endure him singling out someone as an example, just to make a point. How petty. “How about… Miss Park.” Of course. Amity leaned forward, morbidly invested in what she was certain was going to be a trainwreck.

Willow carefully hid at the despairing calls and groans of her classmates. They’d all get to finally see what she could really do, and she couldn’t wait for their reactions! “It would be my pleasure sir!” She said with a sunny grin, throwing all but the teacher, who cocked an eyebrow, and Amity, who was certain it was a bluff, for a loop. How could she be so calm?

“Okay, if you’re gonna do this, you’ve gotta keep that image of a plant in mind.”

“I don’t know, will this really work?”

In, and out. Willow slowly drew a circle, intently focusing on the image held within her heart. The class murmured around her as long, ropy vines of Abomination goop coiled out of her pot.

“I mean, you know how plants grow, right?”

“Of course I do! I just don’t get how that’ll help.”

“Well, you know about climbing plants, I assume.”

“Plants that scale a surface as they grow long vines across it? Yeah, but what does that have- Oh!”

“Now you’re getting it.”

Willow bit her lip, watching as the ropes slowly built upon themselves, clinging to one another, a torso slowly being sculpted from the mass of ooze before her. As the vines clung to each other and multiplied, the image of arms and legs took shape, the overall image having a solid, sculpted quality that even some of the finest Abominations lacked. As the tendrils wove tighter, the definition grew, to the point where it almost looked as if a skinless hulk of well-honed muscle stood before them. If they hadn’t seen it being built, everyone present could’ve sworn it had been carved from stone, it was so detailed. The teacher stood atop his Abomination, mouth agape, almost pitching forward as his eyes hungrily rove across the magnificent specimen before him. To think, Willow had the skill to create something so glorious!

As the classroom burst into roaring cheers at her display, Willow allowed a pleased grin to stretch across her face. Everyone celebrated; everyone, that is, except Amity. She couldn’t believe it. Moreover, she WOULDN’T believe it. There was no possible way Willow could’ve salvaged that… mess from before in time, much less make something like this in comparison to her previous efforts. Amity’s nail bit into the wood of her desk, her teeth grinding. She would DEFINITELY get to the bottom of this.

Pulling himself together, the teacher allowed a wide grin to crawl across his face. “Oh well done, Miss Park, well done! Who knew you had been hiding such talent?”

Willow sheepishly chuckled, feeling embarrassed. “I just got some good advice on how to move forward, and, well, I took it. It really helped me in how I approached this.” She gestured to her Abomination.

Amity silently growled to herself. ‘Advice. Yeah, right.’

“I must say, Miss Park, this Abomination you divized is simply marvelous!” The teacher exclaimed, attempting to clamber onto its arm. He was slightly surprised, however, when his legs sunk into the apparent Masterpiece’s arm. “Uh, Miss Park?”

Willow flushed, feeling sheepish. “Yeah, I haven’t perfected it yet, so it’s a little unstable right now. My apologies.”

The teacher waved it off. “Oh nonsense, while I admit that is a tad disappointing, you still have shown an incredible degree of improvement! In fact…” he gained a slightly mischievous grin. “In light of this development, I believe that I shall grant you the position of Top Student!”

“”What!?”” The twin shouts, both of surprise, one more of astonishment, the other of incredulity, rang through the classroom.

The teacher nodded. “Indeed.” With a twirl of his finger, the badge that embodied the title shifted from Amity’s uniform onto Willow’s, much to the former’s fury, and the latter’s embarrassment. “Ah, but don’t worry. This is temporary, just until the end of the day.” That statement mollified the two students, if only slightly. “Now then, I believe that it is time to release you all.”

And with that, the bell screamed, signalling all students to leave their classrooms. Willow was relieved, eager to meet back up with Luz and share the great news; her advice had worked even better than they had hoped! For another student, dread and anger burned in their heart. Amity had no idea how Willow had gotten access to that Abomination, but the fact that she was granted such a prestigious honor over it, one that Amity herself had worked to the bone to obtain? Amity was going to get answers, one way or another.

Boscha whistled to herself, casually strolling through the halls. The students she passed gave her a wide berth, even wider than usual. It seems rumors of her changed behavior had spread. Not that it bothered her. Not much bothered her at the moment really. If anything, she felt what could almost be considered relief, she mused to herself, oblivious to the vicious blow she sent to a passing Demon, sending them flying into the lockers, a thin line of blood dripping from their lips. A blank smile played across Boscha’s face, dull and lifeless. Just like she felt. What use was pride and social standing when you were weak? And she was. Weak.

She had made it abundantly clear. That power, that energy, the sheer visceral passion she had felt that night. She wanted to feel it again. Boscha’s free hand slipped into her pocket, mindlessly gripping the jewel she had found after that brawl between that Puppeteer freak and her.

Kill...Rip...Slaughter...Burn...Them...All…

Boscha snorted to herself as she gazed over the milling crowd. Acting as if they meant anything, as if anything in this trap meant anything. Her senses had sharpened after that night, to the point where she could feel the power flowing through each and every Witch and Demon she encountered. Her eyes narrowed at the thought of Demons; she had never really cared much about them before. But after that night, when she saw a taste of what they were capable of? The sheer weakness they carried around as they acted as if they were no different from Witches disgusted her on a visceral level.

Forcing her mind off of the dark train of thought, Boscha recalled what she felt when her heightened senses encountered Half-A-Witch; power. A wellspring of power was coiled in that body, but the feeling it gave, of roots burrowing and breaking through even the hardest of rock, of plants reaching from the lowest point to the heavens, of a world bursting with life, didn’t line up with what her senses gave her when it came to Abominations. In other words, she was mismatched. A pity. Still, that feeling from before, when her sense suddenly SCREAMED at her to turn and look… if only she could recall just what she had felt. In the back of her mind, she almost could say what she knew deep down was true; she was here.

“So, Miss Noceda, I believe you mentioned that you were interested in touring our grounds?” Hieronymus Bump, Principal of Hexside, and survivor of Eda Clawthorne’s reign of terror over the school during her younger years, mused as he overlooked the intriguing puzzle before him. A human, here on the Isles, something unheard of for generations! And, more than that, one who could use Magic, magic of a kind unlike any he had seen before.

“Indeed sir,” Luz respectfully replied. She was being genuine too. This guy just gave off those vibes to her, the feeling of someone who genuinely wanted to help, and was willing to put in the effort needed because of it. After she had demonstrated her magic earlier when she had ran into the man, and his subsequent attempt to apprehend her for trespassing, they had managed to reach an understanding. “It’s been a while since I finished my own official education, so seeing how Witches go about theirs is a treat.”

Bump blinked, wondering if he had heard that right. “I’m sorry, but did you say you had finished your Magical Education?” Was she some manner of prodigy?

Luz grinned, pleased at his reaction. “Yup. I am a fully accredited mage!” She flashed out the certificate her teacher had insisted she go in to get, oh so glad she had managed to hang onto it after all this time. As Bump marveled over her document, she continued. “While mages are trained differently than Witches seem to be,” she stated, looking over the numerous classrooms and varied subjects, “We are still trained to a standard where we can use our skills to maintain a financially stable lifestyle. And I, personally-”

“Are a qualified teacher, I believe you were going to say?” Bump interjected, bemused at the information the girl’s document had revealed. He internally chuckled at the girl’s visible deflation. Accredited teacher or not, she was still a youth of comparable age to some of his students. “Still, I must say, with your display earlier, and this here, I find myself a tad perplexed at your interest with our facilities.”

As the girl’s eyes sharpened, Bump’s internal alarm started ringing. “While coming here, I encountered one of your school’s students. Frankly, her talents were being wasted to an almost horrifying extent in her current classes.”

Bump raised an eyebrow, interested. “Oh?”

Luz nodded, solemn. “Yup. Her potential for Plant Magic was something I’ve never seen the like of before, and her power was on another level compared to the other kids her age I saw around town. The fact that she was doing Abominations, and utterly failing, was baffling to me.” She turned her gaze up to him. “Just how difficult is it to transfer to another Track here, sir?” She asked.

As Bump mulled over the information she had given him, he answered. “Not exceedingly. While it is irregular, students who show dissatisfaction with their current Track, and some measure of skill or talent in the Track they wish to transfer to, are allowed to switch. But, as I said, it is irregular.” He shrugged, feeling sad at his own statement. “I must ask, but is this student truly struggling so fiercely?”

“Her Abomination was literally just a head,” Luz bluntly stated. “And she was my age. She should’ve been much more skilled if she had even a slight level of talent for the Track.” Luz crossed her arms, sighing. “When I got an idea of what her core difficulties were, I gave her a mental trick to help her out. It should’ve given her enough of an edge to eek out a solid grade. But the trick has limits; it lets her get around some of her issues with making Abominations, but it won’t be able to take her very far, at most it gets her on level with the practical basics.”

“Hmm. That is worrying.” Bump pondered. “Tell you what, we shall meet with this student, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Luz smiled, glad it had gone well. “Why thank you, Principal Bump, sir.” The two shook hands.

#the owl house #fairy tail #owl house au #fairy tail au #owl house crossover #fairy tail crossover #luz noceda #willow park #amity blight #hieronymus bump #boscha the owl house #magic

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saladejin · 4 years

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Call An Uber? | 08

BTS x Reader | idolverse au, uber driver!Reader, translator!Reader | Fluff, flirting, super slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, mature themes and eventual smut

Summary: Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right?

What happens when all of this occurs, but you’re still doing something you love AND getting a large sum for it? Now there’s something to think about, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.

Warnings: Talk of insecurities, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2.7k

< masterpost >

»»————- <<prev | next >> ————-««

“You guys…”

I shook my head in disbelief, knowing exactly how the smile wouldn’t leave my face for the rest of the night. It was still slightly warm, but the boys were freshly showered and clothed in jumpers and coats to prevent sickness. I breathed in awe at the sight of them.

“You’re all absolutely amazing.”

Taehyung, who was one of the first to reach me, couldn’t stop beaming at the shaky delivery of the words.

“Thank you! (Y/n)-ah, you’re the best!” he yelled in an excitable manner, and without warning he thrust himself aggressively into my arms. I could physically sense how much his body was trembling with unbridled happiness. That at least seemed to explain this unexpected attack.

I let out a surprised huff, but it became muffled by his thick woolly coat as he smothered me deep into the suffocating warmth. “Tae!”

I was stunned, but there was no way I wasn’t going to return the hug wholeheartedly. The other boys immediately moved to stop their bubbling bandmate and I knew Namjoon would likely be the most disgruntled. What they weren’t prepared for was me to ducking Taehyung’s head and roughening up his hair with one frisky hand.

“You’re too cute.” I pinched one of his cheeks and laughed when he puffed them out in an even cuter display of glee. His friendly and outgoing nature would surely be the death of me, but where exactly did his sexiness on stage even come from? I guessed that I’d never really seen the more earnest or mature side of the boy just yet.

“Alright, alright! Don’t kill the girl,” Yoongi piped in loudly from the back of the group, but his smile was still there, even if it was only small and hidden under a partial look of disgust. I glanced around to see the other members sharing a similar brightened mood full of accomplishment, and I couldn’t even blame them after how exhilarating the night had been as a whole.

They were certainly used to this experience, which was a similarity I couldn't share even as an ARMY. The fact that they could still be this happy about performing for their fans, even after several comebacks and widespread concerts, was just an incredible feat in itself.

“I’ve never watched you all live, only through a screen.” I stepped back from Taehyung to address them all, knowing my eyes were undoubtedly starting to water.

“It…it was just so much more than I could ever imagine. Every single one of you has such an incredible stage presence, and I could only catch glimpses the whole time! Everything I could hear, the fans chanting along, the live vocals, rapping. It was all so surreal, I was-”

I trailed off, moving my hands rapidly to try and formulate the thoughts whirring around in my head into words. Korean words at that. I knew I was launching into a full-blown rant but couldn’t bring myself to care. They needed to know these things. I mean they surely did know already, right?

Namjoon stepped forward and nodded at me with a gentle smile resting on his features. I scrutinised the look in his eyes and saw genuine, glowing happiness from within their depths. He was truly grateful for the support, and with the way he reached forward to softly give my shoulder a squeeze along with the nod, I knew he felt more than heard the point I was trying to get across.

“Aw, she’s lost for words!” Hoseok chuckled and dashed over to stand next to where Taehyung was still smiling. “Thank you (Y/n)! Guys, look at our little staff-ARMY.”

He stood behind me and took care not to let his large duffle bag knock me over. I just knew he was making little cutesy hand gestures behind my head. Seokjin grinned and made a big deal of pulling a finger heart unexpectedly from one of his pockets, dampened black hair falling into his mischievously glinting eyes. In my head, I was only relieved that he didn't blow a kiss.

Don’t fucking lie, you'd eat that shit up like a starved animal.

“Do you want me to take back what I said?” I eventually threatened and tried to whack Hoseok’s hands away, but he just continued to tease me while darting to the side. I was about to lose my composure from the sight of his facial expressions alone.

“Boys!”

At the deep and commanding voice, all of us turned to see one of the managers beckoning the group towards a line of black transport vans. I was suddenly brought back to reality, remembering that they would be travelling back separately and celebrating their own success in the dorms they called home.

I really needed to stop wanting more than I could have.

“Oh, sorry manager-nim!” Namjoon called before quickly bowing in my direction and taking his leave. Most of the others followed without question, but Jungkook turned his whole body to wave back towards my lonesome figure.

“Thanks for all your help noona!”

I smiled brightly and waved both hands, noting that some of the other members followed their maknae’s example and yelled back their own variety of appreciative phrases. My heart was full.

“Thanks Kook-ah, and all of you better get some rest!”

They began to pile into the van slowly, almost as if hesitating in their rush to leave. I was a little confused, because wouldn’t they want a well-earned session of R&R right about now? I mean, after the concert and all…

At least Yoongi was quick to ditch his bag and scramble into the vehicle to find a comfy seat. I truly did sometimes wonder if that man was my humanoid spirit animal. Another smattering of seconds passed before I noticed one member in particular lagging behind the rest, though.

Jimin had become sluggish, and it only occurred to me then how silent he’d been after the initial holler of my name. We couldn’t have that now, could we?

“Hey Jiminie, not so fast.” I jogged a few strides to catch the pale-haired boy, grasping onto the sleeve of his hoodie to stop him in his tracks. Knowing his manager wouldn’t be happy with the delay, I sought for help desperately with hawk-like eyes, and eventually caught the troubled gazes of both Taehyung and Yoongi.

I need a diversion!

Suddenly seeing their bandmate in such a state had already caused the members grave concern, but that only meant they could understand my intentions with more clarity. In a brilliant spark of a plan whispered by an ardent Seokjin, Namjoon patted at his pockets wildly and groaned before leaning forwards.

“Hyung, I think I left my phone in the dressing room.”

The manager, who had finally settled into the driver’s seat, turned off the van with a sigh and pointedly glowered at the leader. I silently blessed Namjoon and all of his clumsiness as he hurriedly rushed past back inside the venue hall, leaving me with a reassuring smile as he went. Jimin followed the rapper with curious, concerned eyes.

“What is-”

“Jimin, are you alright?” I gripped his sleeve harder, willing for his attention to be brought back my way. The younger boy looked down at the sudden pressure and then followed it upwards. I kept my voice gentle and probing, not wanting him to think I was excessively pitying him and his uncertainties.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” He smiled, but I saw past the softened exterior.

An obvious strong front, how should I go about this?

“Are you sure? You were a bit quiet. Why didn’t you leap into my arms like Tae?” I joked, and thankfully he produced a smaller but more genuine half-smirk.

“Ah, Taehyungie can be a bit much sometimes, but if you wanted a hug from me all you had to do was ask.”

I could tell there was still a few doubts sowed within his mind: maybe about his performance? It was commonplace to hear people say how the sweetly natured singer was notorious for these kinds of things. He needed attention when it came to this brand of negativity, and he could have all of mine without even asking for it. No doubt Hoseok, Tae and Kookie had been onto him already.

“In your dreams.” I laughed. “I was gonna tell you how I especially enjoyed your performance, but I don’t know anymore.”

“Really? I was off-key for like, most of the concert.” He turned his gaze downwards and I could feel the hurt curling deeply within my chest. It wasn’t even my own, but it still made a painful lump rise up into my throat. The next decision was made before I could even grasp at what my mind was conjuring.

“Hmm, can I have that hug?” I raised an eyebrow and watched as his saddened eyes began to gleam with surprise and a tinge of warmth.

“What, now?”

“Of course you numpty, I always thought you’d be the best hugger so I want to prove myself right.” I held out my straightened arms, waiting for his response but also prepared for refusal. I knew it was quite strange, and I knew that he was nervous because the people in the van were eyeing us off like helpless prey.

“What happened to ‘in your dreams’?” he snorted, but I saw his uncovered hands twitch needily.

I turned to look behind me, meeting Yoongi’s gaze within the van once again with my own and letting it sharpen in yet another signal. He instantly tapped into my brain’s wavelength and reached out to pull the members into a small huddle, effectively creating a diversion. Damn, these boys were on fire tonight with their skills in clairvoyance.

“Fine.”

I only heard the sharp breathy sigh from Jimin before suddenly, I was warm again. He was obviously smaller than Taehyung, but that only made it all the cosier. I felt as though I fit into his frame like a long-lost puzzle piece.

I barely had any time to turn back around, but it was easy to see he would’ve been too shy in any other circumstance. I brought my hands up to encircle him immediately, not wanting him to start getting cold feet.

“Jiminie, I want you to know just how much I love your vocals.” I squeezed him back, relaxing my tense body and allowing my chin to nuzzle into his shoulder. “I want you to know that to us, it doesn’t even matter that you’re not perfect, because nobody is.”

“Your singing and dancing are continuously what we want as our own version of perfection, no matter how different one performance is from the next. We know you work hard every time. Without fail. And you may hear these kinds of things already, but I just really need you to hear it right now.”

He relaxed even more into my hold, and I noticed how I’d unconsciously started rubbing one hand around in lazy circles across his back as a comforting gesture. His hands tugged into tiny fists behind my waist before he was suddenly pulling back. I thought about how cute and unnecessarily considerate it was that he didn’t even dare to touch me with his own palms. When you really thought about it, we hadn’t known each other long enough to consider ourselves as ‘close’.

“You’re sweet. Thanks for telling me that.” His voice was clipped with emotion, but his smile was the realest one I had caught a glimpse of in a while. My breath was taken away by how effortlessly an airy giggle followed in the wake of his words.

“Jimin I’m serious, stop hurting me with your self-doubt,” I wailed and playfully bumped his arm with my own. His serious expression crumbled even further as another bout of laughter gripped his body. His eyes disappearing into dark, crescent shaped moons.

“I’m sorry! Why did you hug me if I was hurting you?”

First of all, it was you who hugged me…

“Sometimes I can’t express things completely in words, and you know what they say about body language,” I murmured and saw him nod in understanding. He was flushed, and I knew the shy boy had once again finally returned.

“Ah, you’re right. Well I needed that anyway, you’re amazing (Y/n). Everyone’s always having to boost me up, I’m sorry.”

I forced myself to keep my eyes trained on his, even though intense emotions of profound gratitude and respect were swimming within them. I wouldn’t be able to call myself strong-willed if my heart couldn’t even take Park Jimin being sincere.

“Stop, before I hug you again.”

He looked like he wanted to stand and test the theory, but was interrupted by the loud commanding tone of his manager yet again. Maybe Jimin wanted to celebrate together just like I did? The idea was improbable at best, but the embers of hope were ignited and fuelled the longer I spent standing in the car-park.

Wait, how long had Namjoon even been back from finding his ‘phone’?

“Oh.” Jimin tilted his head in disappointment and sighed, “I forgot about that, are you alright to get back?”

He was suddenly concerned again, and I almost clicked my tongue at the unsurprising turn of events.

“Yes Jimin, I’ll be fine. But if you don’t rest up properly, I will hunt you down.”

“Oho, and what?” he challenged, adjusting the strap of his own duffel bag onto his shoulder. I only noticed it now for some reason. The large black obstacle must have been abandoned on the ground for most of the encounter.

“I’ll…torture you into eating a healthy meal and going to bed,” I finished with crossed arms and flashed him a defiant expression. His irises of deep mahogany sparkled with amusement, but I didn’t want to keep him occupied for too long.

“Actually, I don’t have access to the dorm. I’ll tell Seokjin-oppa to do it for me.”

He chuckled and shook his head, shuffling from foot to foot as he procrastinated on bidding his farewells. “I’m sure ‘Seokjin-oppa’ would love to have you over for dinner one night anyway.”

“Really?” I balked, honestly not expecting the somehow sarcasm-soaked response. Would I actually be able to visit their home one day? The very thought instigated feelings of excitement and scepticism so strong that I had to fan myself to get rid of the heat alighting my face.

“I would. We all would,” Jimin continued, scuffing at the ground with the toe of his shoe before smiling up at me once more. I couldn’t help but think this whole scene probably looked like an awkward confession to anyone passing by.

“Jimin-ah, we need to get going! Jin-hyung’s stomach is making noises again,” Hoseok exclaimed suddenly from the open van door, and I jolted at the sudden reminder that they were all still waiting for their blonde-haired bandmate.

“Fuck, Jimin please go before I’m the meat they decide to grill.” I grimaced and squeezed his forearm in a final act of reassurance before backing away. He nodded at me with blown out eyes, dramatics increasing tenfold, and I had to stop myself from laughing even more.

“Bye, you crazy ball of talent!”

I waved and turned to step right out of the situation, praying to dear God the manager didn’t roast the living hell out of the poor boy. It was my fault more than anyone’s, even if I did have a few helping hands.

I didn’t stick around to hear a reply and scanned the area for my own ride home. It seemed there were still a few people packing up, and I felt guilty for being lazy with most of it.

Hey, I did help in another way, I guess.

I realised with disdain that my ride with the three female crew-members was already long gone from the scene, and I had been so quickly thrust into the vehicle that I didn’t even have time to think about driving out here in my own Red. How inconvenient could you possibly get?

“I guess I’m calling an Uber.”

tagged: @l4life, @joyful-jimin, @gee-nee, @m0chilattae, @rossemayme, @doilooklikeinoe

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