#cinder fall x reader

[razzle-dazzle-writes]

Going Down on Them feat. Weiss, Winter, Cinder & Pyrrha

Weiss Schnee

Oral is one of the parts of sex that Weiss enjoys the most. There's a deep intimacy to be found in it for her which only adds to the pleasure it brings her on its own.

She doesn't force you to go down on her, but doesn't make it a secret how much she enjoys it. Both in the moment and afterwards you are made well aware of how much she enjoys cunnilingus.

She keeps herself completely bare. She finds that shaving is the simplest and cleanest option that the both of you can be happy with for going down on her.

A small bit of teasing doesn't go amiss in the moment. Kisses on her thighs, taking your time to reach her cunt. Building the anticipation only makes things more sweet for her when she finally is given what she wants.

As soon as your tongue begins work she has her hand at her lips, trying to contain the loud expressions of pleasure that emanate from deep within her. She can't help it, she just loves being eaten out.

She'll lay on her back at the edge of the mattress and let you do as you please. She usually gives up trying to dampen her moans pretty quickly, the sounds dripping from her lips to encourage you further.

Her body trembles every time your tongue passes over her clit, the small bump sending waves through her. Her slick walls quiver at your touch, the juices brought forward from arousal leaking from her entrance.

Weiss doesn't have a whole lot of stamina, it doesn't take more for a couple of minutes of oral service for her to come onto your tongue and lips. Deep breaths bringing her chest up and down as she comes down from the intensity of her orgasm.

She likes to kiss you afterwards to show her affection and appreciation, even if her come is still covering your lips, she doesn't mind enough to stop her.

Winter Schnee

Winter has a stressful job that puts a lot of weight on her shoulders day in and day out. A lot of nights when she finally has the chance to retreat to your quarters she's stressed or tired. Sometimes, being able to take a moment to stop and maybe get eaten out is just what she needs.

She'll never say anything, but it isn't difficult to tell when she wants you to go down on her. She'll greet you before collapsing onto the bed, too exhausted to do anything else for the moment. Read into what she wants in the moment how you will, but going down on her is usually a pretty good answer.

She doesn't stop you when your fingers hook around the waistband of her underwear and pull them down her legs so that you can spread her thighs to get closer to her cunt.

Her let down hair spreads out beneath her as her tired body lets itself relax for the first time in what seems like an eternity. She groans unashamedly in relief, the tension in her body slowly releasing while your tongue spreads her open.

She keeps her pubic hair neatly trimmed and controlled, she isn't completely bare but you'll almost forget that there's any while you're tongue fucking her cunt.

Winter has a deep-seeded sense of pride even during intimate moments between the two of you, her vocal expressions are restrained and controlled. She doesn't speak while you eat her out, keeping herself to quiet sighs and breaths of pleasure.

Her typical exhaustion will in most cases have her leaving the work to you, she knows that you understand what she wants and she doesn't need to intervene to control you to reach a satisfying orgasm.

Winter's stamina is slightly above that of the average person but is by no means remarkable. One orgasm after a few minutes of attention from your tongue and fingers is enough to leave her content and far less stressed than she was beforehand whether she feels the desire for further physical intimacy or not.

Any thanks she gives you afterwards is short and simple, Winter isn't one to waste words. Still, the understanding between the two of you that she greatly appreciates the small effort to help her out after a long day remains ever present.

Pyrrha Nikos

Pyrrha, even some time into your relationship, feels awkward asking you to do something solely for her pleasure and therefore a lot of the times you go down on her will be reading in the moment what she wants.

She never stops you however, any time you sink to your knees to eat her out she happily accepts your affections with an a appreciative smile on her lips.

Whether she's sweaty and showering after a training session, already naked and anticipating in the throes of passion or just taking the rare chance to stay in bed for the morning with no responsibilities for the day, she'll always eagerly accept the chance to receive cunnilingus.

Pyrrha is quite laid back in shaving her pubic hair. She keeps it in control for the most part, but she is certainly not shaved bare either. Something about the sight of your lips pressed to her hairy cunt lights a fire inside of her. Whether the carpet matches the drapes is something I'll leave to your imagination.

No matter the position, she will have a hand on your head, fingers tangled through your hair as you eat her out. She doesn't want to control you, but the waves of heat coursing through her wave any inhibitions she may have about restraint.

She mewls and whines loudly through the entirety of your servicing. It brings a bright blush to her cheeks thinking about how shameless she must sound, but she wants to show you how much she enjoys your work and doesn't see the need to hide how she feels between the two of you.

Pyrrha's body is no less subtle in showing how she feels than her voice. Her hips buck whenever your tongue flicks over her clit, her liquid affection drips onto your tongue as it delves into her core and her body shakes as she draws ever closer to her orgasm.

Pyrrha often comes quite quickly. Despite her honed endurance as a fighter she doesn't have that much stamina for sex, the orgasm is enough to satisfy her if it stands alone, though she still has the energy to reach another during penetrative sex if it follows.

She will always thank you afterwards despite your insistence that she doesn't need to, she just feels bad if she doesn't. Please go down on her whenever you have the chance, she really quite enjoys and deserves it :).

Cinder Fall

In all parts of her life Cinder takes what she wants and that has always extended into your sex life. If she wants you to go down on her you will be going down on her, there is no question about it. You're her boyfriend/girlfriend after all, its your job to eat her out whenever she desires it.

Whether the two of you are already in the middle of a moment of intimacy or whether its completely unprompted apart from her deciding she wants it, her way of telling you what you are required to do for her is to push you onto your back.

Cinder more often that not sits on your face, the control it gives her over you gives her a power rush which only feeds her desires farther than they've already grown. In her more vulnerable hours, such as when she was debilitated after Beacon, there's more of an ability to let you be in control of the flow of things however.

Cinder does not shave her pubic hair. Maybe she'll give it some attention every now and then when it gets too out of hand but never is she bare. She does not take suggestions on this topic either, in her own words "get used to it".

She is very vocal while you eat her out. Not so much in sounds but in the river of expletives that come out of her lips. She talks the entire time she's atop you, muttering her praises of your efforts amidst all the "fuck"s coming forth.

Cinder doesn't tell you want she wants, she knows at this point that you understand her desires, additionally her sitting on your face gives her more agency in controlling the pleasure being given to her. She grinds her cunt over your mouth as she pleases, pulling herself up to let you take a moment is a rare luxury.

There is no impulse of self control inside of Cinder and she will work in conjunction with your tongue with her hip movements to orgasm as soon as she is able to. Her stamina is also quite impressive, often she will immediately keep the cunnilingus in motion for a second time if not switching the two of you into something else.

When she does come it is very noticeable, both in the trembling that runs through her body, the further streaming expletives flowing from her mouth and the aggressive, sudden rush of liquid that she releases atop your lips.

Cinder isn't really one to say thank you, firstly because her stamina usually means that your physical intimacy isn't over for the time being and because her ego holds her back from expressing genuine appreciation. Still, she tells you how beautiful you look beneath her with your tongue buried in her cunt and in her more vulnerable moments that she loves you.

#rwby x reader #rwby #fanfiction #cinder x reader #cinder fall x reader #weiss schnee x reader #weiss x reader #winter schnee x reader #winter x reader #pyrrha x reader #pyrrha nikos x reader #smut #headcannons #x reader #x male reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #male reader

[the-ultimate-puppteer]

What about cinder emerald neo and weiss with reader that ALWAYS kisses there forehead and says "i love you" before doing anything that involves them being separate like going on missions or to buy groceries just more cuddly stuff cause we need more of it

Cinder, Emerald, Neo and Weiss with S/O who always kisses them on the forehead saying "I love you" before going anywhere

Emerald Sustrai

•She loves simple as that she absolutely adores you doing this

•You being blatantly showing your love for her even though it's a temporary parting warms her heart

•The kiss on the forehead was already enough for her the I love you

•Just thinking back on those words brings a smile to her face

•She loves you so much and can't wait for you to get back

Weiss Schnee

•Let me tell you when you first did thus she was shocked

•Mostly at such a blatant show of affection

•Though it's not like she was complaining

•At first she would get flustered whenever you did this especially in front of her team

•But now she loves and craves it

•Such an open way of saying how you'll miss her even though it's just a brief parting

•It's just so romantic and hopes to receive such affection for the rest of her life with you

Cinder Fall

•Oh this girl adores it your love

•You'll miss her so much that you that you need to tell and show you love to her?

•She couldn't ask for a better boyfriend

•Whenever you give her a kiss on her forehead this girl just smiles at you and returns favor with her own kiss

•She is very unafraid to show her love towards you

•Afterall she's a maiden so she can't take care of anyone stupid enough to try to take advantage of her love towards you

Neopolitan aka Trivia Vanille

•This girl always smiles smugly when you show your love towards her when leaving

•I mean, why shouldn't she? She has a lover who's incredibly devoted to her unafraid to show it

•She fells so lucky to have someone who wants to always be by her side

•She's gonna make sure nothing ever happens to you

•She couldn't bare to lose you like she did roman and God help anyone who even tries to take you away

#rwby #rwby x reader #weiss x reader #weiss schnee x reader #weiss schnee #Emerald x reader #Emerald sustrai x reader #emerald sustrai #Neopolitan x reader #neopolitan #trivia vanille x reader #trivia vanille #cinder fall x reader #cinder x reader #cinder fall

[thatanimewriter]

TINY WINS.

➳ request: Yang,Ruby and cinder with a Male Reader who is always affectionate and always compliment them when they do the tiniest thing <3

➳ character/s: yang xiao long, ruby rose, cinder fall

➳ warnings: swearing, pre-marital hand holding, spoilers for volume 3 (yang), spoilers for volume 7 onwards (ruby, cinder), reader is taller (yang), suggestiveness?? (cinder)

➳ notes: god i wish i was the one getting praise, but no, here i am alone in bed typing out self indulgence for myself and the internet.

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

──  𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆.

oh lord, you’re creating a monster

she’s already quite the physically affectionate person with partners

constantly got a hand on you somewhere, probably holding your hand

initially, she thought you might’ve been overdoing it because all she did was fry an egg-

but after the whole battle of beacon thing and she lost her arm, she had a newfound appreciation for it

very encouraging, even if it meant just getting out of bed for the day

and when she starts picking up motivation again, you’re there

complimenting her painting skills for her arm and her bike

hugging her from behind and resting your head on her shoulder, murmuring some words of affirmation to keep her going

for sure she never doubts that you love her, but she might also feel like she can’t live up to how you love her

insecurities be gone, cause in you come with more compliments about how she’s doing great

truly the healthiest relationship she’ll ever be in-

──  𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄.

honestly, same

it’s a perfect match, you just have compliment wars and cuddle

nothing wrong with that

she is the type of person who needs the compliments and the support

she just wants to know she’s doing a good job

and it’s especially important after meeting ironwood in atlas and you’re trying to prevent a war

it might not be compliments about her decisions because you definitely won’t agree with all of them

but things like getting out of bed and managing to hold out for so long in the ever after

realising that she’s enough as a human being after having consultation with the tree-

and after all those experiences, she definitely puts more effort into giving you compliments and affection

because she acknowledges how much it means to her to have your support

n she wants you to feel like you have the same amount of support in her

──  𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋.

anything to boost the ego-

it’s probably the trauma though tbh

didn’t grow up with much support and she still doesn’t really have much support except you

as an orphan, she already feels unloved, then the whole thing with her mentor happened

so even the small things matter to her 

not that she’d show it but it does mean a lot

at first, she thinks you’re lying out of your ass though because she’s never had praise in her life

not any that wasn’t backhanded or kinda condescending 

n she probably did take it for granted at the start, but now that she’s had a talking to by watts and is realising she’s being used, she appreciates it more

give her time to be affectionate back and to compliment you back, she doesn’t know how to do this

it’ll start with more sexual sorta stuff like calling you hot and maybe slapping your ass in passing

but she learns to be a little more loving eventually

#rwby #yang xiao long #ruby rose #cinder fall #rwby x reader #yang xiao long x reader #ruby rose x reader #cinder fall x reader #rwby imagines #yang xiao long imagines #ruby rose imagines #cinder fall imagines

[rwby-imagines-and-headcanons]

Time for some nsfw fluffy headcanons! Request: Yang,Cinder and Weiss sitting on their male reader's lap while he gives them cute praises like "Good girl" or "you're doing so good for me" while fingering them (Sounds so adorable 🤭)

The amount of fluffy NSFW prompts I'm getting is so beautiful man, we need more wholesome lewds in the world

---------

Weiss/Yang/Cinder NSFW Fluff - Fingered by Male S/O

Weiss Schnee

When you suggested the idea, Weiss was hesitant. It seemed super embarrassing to her, to just sit on your lap like that, legs open

After convincing her to give it a try, she sighs and gently plops on your lap, back towards you

The moment you grazed her she instantly shuddered and blushed

You started out very slowly and gently, only using one finger at first to get her used to it. Once she was ready you added another finger

She tries her hardest to hold in her moans of pleasure. It's unladylike to just howl like a cat in heat! But everytime your fingers pumped into her it got harder and harder to hold back. It got to the point she had to clasp a hand over her mouth to quiet herself

That didn't last long though

As you continued, you started to softly whisper praise into her ear. Telling her she is doing a great job and looks so pretty with her face all flushed

Everytime you called her a "Good Girl" you could feel her constrict around your fingers, hearing whines come from her throat

Weiss couldn't put her finger on why she liked that so much. Maybe it's due to a life of little praise and appreciation. Maybe it because it's nice to have her self doubt be challenged. Maybe it was daddy issues

No matter the reason, everytime your hot breath hit her ear she got closer and closer to climax, her pussy getting wetter by the minute

You found her so cute like this! Seeing her so vulnerable like this was endearing and made you love her even more. Feeling the end coming soon, you decided to hit her with one last sentence

"That's it, cum for me~"

Lift off, baby. Weiss's head whipped back as her body convulsed, not even bothering to hold in her cries of pleasure, feeling it run through her whole body

After all that, you are REQUIRED to help her stand and clean up. You did this to her, take responsibility!

She'd never admit it at first, but this was one of the hardest times she had ever cum, and secretly wants to do this over and over again. Whenever she just silently puts a gentle hand on your thigh, it's clear what she wants

Yang Xiao Long

Boi, the instant you suggested the position, Yang dragged you to the bedroom and locked the door

This was a great idea! How could she turn down the offer?

Leading up Yang was super confident and playful, doing a little strip tease with a wink and grin

The moment she actually sat down though, her heart started racing like crazy. The reality of what was gonna happen kinda hit her and instantly made her mind fuzzy

More kinky and sexual things she was way more confident in. Just having a good railing session is her speciality! But more sensual and personal moments get her nervous

She expected you to just instantly go for it, so when you lightly rubbed her pussy lips instead it caught her off guard

As you rubbed and teased Yang got antsy, begging you to just get on with it already

"As you wish~"

With every pump Yang let out a grunt, not afraid to vocalize. She was never the type to hold back when it came to sex and it was the same here. The only difference was these noises were different

You being so gentle was something she wasn't used to, so it hit different for her

This time it was YOUR turn to tease! You loved to whisper praise into her ear and see her embarrassed face. She would try to tell you to knock it off but would be quickly cut off by a hitch in her voice. Seeing Yang so submissive was odd but satisfying

Please call her a Good Girl, it just does something for her. Being caring in general does it for her, even maternal in a sense (Team RWBY? More like Team Parental Issues)

She is so used to being the tomboy, the action girl, the strong fighter. Being treated like a delicate flower just drove her crazy

As you increase your speed Yang gets more and more vocal, until it all crescendos into a climax like no other

Like a lightswitch, the moment she gets a clear head, she is back joking and teasing with you, acting like she didn't just completely melt at your touch

Expect to do this more in the future to mix things up a bit

Cinder Fall

Cinder is a proud woman, she is strong and independent. In your relationship she is the dom 100%, she takes control and loves doing so

So when you suggested this idea she actually scoffed at the idea. Why would she just give herself to you? You have to earn it!

You both made a compromise. She will go along with being submissive for one time as long as you treat her amazingly throughout the day. I'm talking foot rubs and feeding her grapes

Once you earn it, Cinder rolls her eyes but happily strips and sits on your lap

At the start she guides you, telling you exactly how she wants it, and you oblige. But as you go along, you manage to convince her to relax and just let you do your thing

Your fingers were soft and slow, something she was NOT used to. She was used to power and aggression, so this was a culture shock to her. There was a lot of denial about how much she enjoyed it

Throughout she will act aloof about it all, chiming in that you could be doing better. On the inside though she is actually surprised at how skilled you are when you're in charge. It was hot

What really shocked her was when you started calling her a "Good Girl" and telling her she's doing great. I mean, of course she's doing great! She doesn't need you to tell her that!

But somewhere deep inside her got warm and fuzzy listening to your words, mixing with her inner denial and stubborness

She never thought she would ever crave praise or approval from anyone, but hearing it from you somehow made her feel... happy?

The longer it goes the weaker she becomes, and you can start to hear her make noises of pleasure ever so softly, legs quivering and twitching

As she cums, Cinder shamefully lets loose and just lets out a deep moan, gripping your arm tightly and bucking her hips. A few tears fall down her face as pleasure fills her, something in her heart feeling complete

Afterwards she will NOT speak of this. No one can know she let someone reduce her to a literal crying mess, it would ruin her reputation completely. And if you bring it up she'll deny liking it as much as she did

One night though, Cinder approached you in lingerie and pushed you into a chair. You were about to question when she turned around and settled on your lap and opened her legs. She didn't say a word, but you instantly knew what she wanted. And you were happy to oblige~

----------

Thanks for the prompt! I had fun with this one, and it's always great to write for Cinder!

{Like my work? Consider tipping me on Ko-fi! Every little bit counts~}

#RWBY #RWBY Imagines #RWBY Headcanons #RWBY x Reader #Weiss Schnee #Yang Xiao Long #Cinder Fall

[frickingnerd]

yandere cinder falls

pairing: cinder falls x gn!reader

tags: manipulation, isolation

cinder really longs to be loved unconditionally by someone! 

she wants you to love her for who she is and see her as the person she sees herself as, not the villain that others see in her

and yet, cinder also desperately needs to be in control, since she was mistreated her entire childhood and longs to finally have some control in her adult life

despite how kind cinder tries to be, in the end she always resorts to manipulation and isolation! 

she wants you all for herself and if that means she has to lie to you, then so be it! 

cinder wants you to be obsessed with her, just like she's obsessed with you!

no, actually, she wants you to love her even more! 

she wants to be your everything and anything else won't be enough! 

she needs to be your favorite person, otherwise loving you will only drive her into insanity

and if she can't have you, she'll make sure nobody can have you…

#cinder falls x reader #cinder falls #cinder #falls #cinder x reader #rwby #rwby x reader #rwby cinder #x reader #x you #x y/n #x gn reader #headcanons #hcs #yandere cinder falls #yandere #yandere x reader

[variousincorrectxreader]

Can you get more rwby and chaotic reader quotes cause I like chaos?

As an avid rwby lover, I must comply.

Instead of quotes I'm using convos I've had with my friends because we are absolutely chaotic.

Y/n, walking into RWBYS dorm: Ruby have you seen my hairti-

*sees her braiding Yangs hair while she's asleep.

Ruby:

Y/n: okay then.

-

Blake: why can't the gods grant me the sweet release of death.

Y/n: babe, all they said was there was no more fish left.

Blake: I came here because yang said the fish was amazing, but there's no fucking fish, y/n. Life has lost meaning

-

Blake:

yang:

Y/n: so, I've called you here today because of the intense sexual tension I feel whenever the two of you are together and it's getting annoying-

Both: what the fu-

-

Yang told Weiss y/n said winter was hot

Weiss kicks in the door: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU Y/N-

Y/n: *falls off their bed* BITCH WHAT-

-

Y/n: coco, I love you so much. I would die for you.

Coco: K, so can you help me with my algebra homework ple-

Y/n, getting in their car: BYE BITCH, LOVE YOU

-

Cinder: I'm going to choke you out the next time you make a sex joke.

Y/n: ayo that's kinda kinky bro.

Cinder: you have 5 seconds to run away.

Y/n: the only thing I love is carnage and destruction.

Fox: you liar, you literally cried when Velvet told you that you could hold her hand.

Y/n: I will throw hands, you whore-

-

Y/n: the best way to distract people is to walk up on stage, scream incoherently and then start drawing on your face with lipstick.

Emerald: wh-

Y/n: I've tested it many times. It works very well.

Emerald: I regret saying yes to this date.

-

RWBY + Y/n playing quickfire dnd

Ruby, the Dm: okay, so you guys are all drowning.

Y/n: my Character, Madam FuckOff farts and inhales that as oxygen

Ruby: what the- okay roll survival?

Yang: incoherent cackling

Y/n HMMMMM shit I got a 4.

Ruby: Madam ForkOff inhales her fart and dies, its a very, very sad event.

Weiss: that wouldn't have worked anyways, wh-

Blake, trying not to laugh: shhh, Weiss we're mourning Madam FuckOff

#x reader #gn reader #incorrect quotes #y/n #x male reader #RWBY #RWBY x reader #ruby rose x reader #weiss schnee #Weiss x reader #Yang x reader #Cinder fall #Emerald x reader #Fox #Velvet x reader #Coco x reader #x fem reader

[h-doodles]

truly not sorry but once again thinking abt miranda/mc/mia in RL. i need them SO bad. like, 2 of the most morally unsound persons (Mia & Miranda) + their little meow meow. Knowing both are so possessive and destructive (TO OTHERS) when they love and instead of running, fully embracing the chaos of it. Loving them despite their delusions of grandeur, the crimes, the secrets, and the deaths (+ undeaths) caused (or ordered!) by their hands. Acknowledging this is fucked up but you can't help it. Lovingly bitching abt their fights but fully done and gone to do anything else but to soothe and continue loving them, because after all those years of waiting and doing and redoing everything to be perfect was worth it for this.

also did i mention being their little meow meow. sorry Miranda, MC was the original gremlin in the relationship and Mia being the fucked up feral racoon she is now is not solely by her doing, MC was and IS the enabler in both relationships that it bled over sm and OUGHJJJJJHHHHhhhh im being so emo abt three (3) women being utter menaces frfr

#sorry but i truly love it when corruption didnt spread #it was in there all along #ALSO GOD. sorry but RL Miranda/Mia happened once to me in my brain. Dreamt abt one loop that they get so fucked up drunk they slept together #and like. they didnt process it until MC comes back fr and sees the unresolved vibe #miranda's screaming shaking crying throwing up when mia alludes to it in front of mc and mc is like. huh. good for u actually. #mia: so u dont mind? that we fucked once???? #mc: babe did u forget the stint of us fucking drunk before i met miranda. i expected u guys to do it more actually. #miranda: you WHAT. WHAT. WHAT. #mc: dont worry my love i truly do love and adore u!!!! and i wouldnt mind if u wanted to bring mia in really #mc (inside her mind): my god. these bitches gay. #mc (still inside her mind): miranda doesnt know mia's a menace when she's starting to fall and mia doesn't know mira's circling her either. #mc: god i love u both but u need to opem ur eyes really. my god. #then i woke up #and thought. hey. if this was plausible eva gets to have three (3) mommies fr and IM upset its not real ekdbdofjd #anyways dreams were sponsored by cinder's re8 harem fic #thank u cinder <3 #resident lover #mother miranda #mother miranda x reader #mia winters #mia winters x reader #mother miranda x mia winters #mother miranda x mia winters x reader #personal.txt #clown.txt #simp.txt

[glazesunflower]

RWBY Masterlist

Ruby Rose

“You’re lucky you’re cute”

#rwby #rwby imagines #rwby x reader #rwby x you #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #ruby x reader #weiss x reader #blake x reader #yang x reader #qrow branwen #oscar the grouch #nora valkyrie #lie ren #jaune arc #cinder fall #pyrrha nik

[thegnomelord]

CH:2 You Were Made For This At Least You're Good For Something

CW: NSFW, blood, gore, scars, cannon typical violence, dissociating, Mage reader, Monster cod AU, poly141, eventual poly141 X reader, reader isn't a good person, survivor's guilt, military inaccuracies. Heavy description of reader having scars, reader gets called 'sir' once but overall GN.

AO3: 13.7k words. Big thanks for @rodolfoparras and @princeguri66 for betaing for me, love you guys!

Magic is often described as a loaded gun, a double edged sword, a grenade with a missing pin, an unmarked minefield — and a thousand more little comparisons parents have come up with to frighten their children, to drill the dangers of magic into their heads. And, should their spawn unfortunately present with said aptitude, to teach them how to spend the rest of their lives vigilantly holding the leash on their emotions tight, lest the magic consume them the next time they throw a tantrum.

Your own parents spoke about magic like it was a beast sent by a vengeful God; a venomous insect hiding in your boots, a beautiful creature luring you to touch it's deadly skin, glowing eyes peering at you from the darkness, a handsome wolf stalking your red hood from the tree line. Something so desperate for a single chance to devour you. Famished. Ravenous.

What a load of shit.

—Ethereal mana rushes through your veins like water through a busted dam, your fingers forcing it to form into skin chafing ash. Large dark clouds swirl around you like a shield, stray cinders brush your feverish skin in a distorted attempt to mimic a lover's touch, smog curls around your head like blinders to focus your eyes forward so you don't need to notice if it's a combatant or a civilian your ash consumes—

If magic was half as unpredictable as people made it out to be, you would have never reached the heights you did.

—The thick disgusting scent of gas and burning human flesh tenderly presses down on your chest, sharp claws persuading you to breathe out by gently caressing the spaces between your ribs. Your breath fogs over the darkened lenses, steam rising from your chest as the generator inside churns out more mana—

What does that make you?

—Sparks nip at your heel when your body thinks of faltering, sharp needles pricking half dead nerves and commanding your limbs to move in order to evade obstacles and falling debris and whatever else is thrown at you, magic strengthening your muscles so you can rush through the streets like a forest fire—

A weapon? A fellow beast?

—Silent black flames devour the corpses your magic creates, leaving nothing behind. Stifling heat straddles your brainstem and burns away the weeds of empathy before they can spread the seeds of hesitation in your mind, isolating your heart so it remains too hot to harbor any mercy, regardless of how many lives you cut short—

Yeah, sounds about right.

—The roar of fire deafens the screams and sirens, the soft crackle of flames is indistinguishable to the crack! of breaking buildings and snapping bones. It makes it so easy to retain the single minded focus you were praised and cursed for. To remind yourself of what you are; a mage, a soldier, an Ifrit, a Red Right Hand—

What else are you good for?

You—

Breathe.

You need to breathe.

You need to think.

While you still can.

Your brain is a jumbled mess of puzzle pieces a frustrated child threw into the fireplace. Burnt edges and missing corners prevent your mind from its natural configuration and forces your thoughts into obtuse positions. It takes time and effort to open your eyes, needles of stagnated mana stabbing your irises and making what should be a pitch black room feel like you're staring into the sun. Your body feels light like you're falling, your vision swims with spots of blurriness and sharpness, the back of your throat tight in an attempt to get you to puke up your empty stomach. You only manage to cough, but the vestigial impulse gets some other thoughts to trickle from your mind.

You focus your eyes to one point and stare until the blurriness retreats to the edges of your vision and the tripling shapes solidify into one. It takes more time for your brain to understand what your eyes are seeing through the steam, but you manage to make out. . . your glowing hands. . . your knees. . . dark ash, muddied water, bathroom tiles.

Your vision improves the longer you keep your eyes open, the room steadily darkening and becoming more bearable as the stagnated mana is forced to recede.

You concentrate on what you feel; water pelts your naked body, only to sizzle and turn into steam after rolling an inch down your skin. Cool ceramic tiles brush against your spine every time you shift, rapidly warming up to your body temperature. A drizzle of discomfort nibbles on your nerves when the hot air you breathe out burns the corners of your dry lips. Your fingers feel like rusted pistons as you intertwine them and numbly watch your 'skin' bubble, and those bubbles 'pop', giving you a grim glimpse of your blackened muscle and sinew and bone before the surrounding lava covers them up.

You don't even notice the ringing in your ears until your slowly sharpening mind forces it to go away, replacing it with the sound of running water, of the ventilation fan uselessly trying to suck up the steam, of your own heart beating like a hummingbird against your ribs, woodpeckers drilling into your skull from all angles as the world becomes so fucking—

—Loud. The world is Loud. Nothing like the calm and quiet brought to you by the battlefield, nothing like the sense of safety that comes from familiarity. No. Now the world feels like a swarm of angry wasps are burrowing into your ears to build a nest in your skull, sharp pincers gnawing on your bones and flesh and nerves and—

No.

You got this far.

You're not allowed to fall back into panic.

You force your chest to expand and take in a deep, unfiltered, unrestricted, breath. Ash with the disgusting undertone of rotten eggs curls inside your nose and doesn't let anything else pass. But a small hint of you manages to register in your brain, light and calming; your body’s lackluster attempt at incense to cover up the stench of rot.

And you taste. . . a lot. Too much; morning breath, ash, smoke, blood, the peppery battery acid quality of your blood — all blended together into a disgusting cocktail tailor made for you by what's left of the butchered angel sitting on your shoulder.

You don't think when you reach out to grab the glass of whatever shit liquor past you had bought. 'Glass' is far too kind a word for the tin can you're using, but metal doesn't shatter in your burning hands like ceramic or glass.

Your head thunks against the wall as you throw it back to gulp down the alcohol before it can boil, swallowing in big gulps like it's water. Your stomach cramps, the devil's finest piss would taste better going down your throat than the booze, but it's as effective as it is disgusting and bleaches your mouth until it's the only thing you can taste — sweet relief wrapped in thorns.

You don't revel in it.

The tin can bends like playdoh as you squeeze your burning hand, quickly reddening metal molding to your palm before you crumple it into a small ball. You flick it into the corner where it becomes another piece of the small pile that's been steadily growing there over the months.

Breathing in deep makes your ribs creak and groan like rusted hinges, your lungs burn and complain as you keep the air trapped in them until they're forced to function properly and a shuddered breath escapes your parted lips. The water feels nice and a part of you wants to stay under the stream forever, a part of you would be content growing moss and listening to the soft apologies your mana murmurs as it nibbles on your blood vessels.

You would hit that part of yourself if you could.

The thinning steam urges you to move. Shifting to your knees is difficult with Atlas's burden weighing on your shoulders, forcing your fingers to find purchase in the scorched grooves previously melted in the wall. Pulling yourself to your feet causes them to grow a few inches deeper, your burning hands leaving singed handprints on the ceramic walls.

The weakness in your knees forces you to spend a few seconds just standing, watching your magic slowly start to slumber. The once runny lava consistency of your 'skin' shifts to that of cooling magma, the vast excess of loose mana still in your blood slowly coagulating atop your 'skin' in the form of large chunks of volcanic rock, little cracks remaining between them to simulate blood vessels.

Washing yourself isn't a relaxing affair in general, but it's made worse by the heavy duty soap and rough sponge you have to use in order to scrub away the grime and ash stubbornly clinging to your skin. You try not to look at your body more than you have to, your eyes transfixed on the way the dirty water carries the signs of your violence down the drain. You never get any blood on you, your fires burn too hot for that, and you don’t know if seeing the water turn red instead of black would make you feel better or worse.

The most painful place to wash is the sharp transition between mage marks and living tissue at your shoulders; magic cares little for appearances, volcanic rock abruptly transitioning to soft skin that boasts spiderweb cracks — a tell tale sign of your mana intending to spread further. The nerves there are partially eaten away too, turning your skin into a minefield of zero sensation and absolute hell when one of those nerves is prodded.

You get out when the water runs clear, the residual droplets turning to steam the second you turn off the shower. You stumble as take a few steps, bracing against the small sink next to the shower, staring at the tap to keep your gaze from doubling again.

Something gnaws on your heart as you recognize that you're standing naked in your small safehouse. You should have recovered by now, gotten your shit together and went off to carry out whatever other massacre your employer wanted to commit. Your mind, ever the problematic thing, chimes in: How improper.

Your eyes skirt to the dog tags sitting on the sink, those little plates of steel chastising you "Fuck's sake firebug, this isn't a nudist beach!" like their owners did before. . . before.

Just thinking about it gives you the phantom taste of blood and something acidic, makes you feel a ghostly ache in your bones as if your chest had been ripped open one rib at a time. Invisible glass digs into your throat as you swallow, fish hooks tug on your skin. The mirror hanging above the sink calls for you, mocks you, dares you, orders you to look at the horrid thing that replaced a sweet young child.

Burning flames greet your gaze, swallowing up every last bit of natural color in your eyes just as the hungering beast devours those stupid enough to enter its woods. And you were that fool. The raised bumps of veins and arteries snaking across your chest and throat like creeping ivy attest to that, each inch of your blood vessels meticulously, painfully, pulled from the safe depths of skin and bone to heal on the surface of your skin (or bleed and rot. You could never tell when torture turned into intended murder.)

Your body tells a tale of your survival (for whatever that's good for), most of your scars old and healed, created at a time when you didn't know how to heal yourself. Dimly glowing lines of hardened mana occasionally stretch across your skin, spiderwebs of deep cyan peek beneath your hair on one side of your head and pulse across your throat, glittering amber swirls across your side — small and pretty testaments of wounds so horrendous only magic could keep you in one piece.

An eternal flame burns in your chest, its steady unfaltering glow outlining your sternum and each rib in such clarity it's like you're a cadaver in a morgue, a textbook example of a person slowly spiraling towards lichdom. The light emanating from within you makes the jagged dark ink curving along the space of your ribs stand out like a sore thumb, D.O.D. 2016.01.01. Your fingers ache to trace the little shaky messages of not Today, Guess again, yuo wish, NO, just one more day that circle it, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

You can't sully the last few things you have left of them, you can't, you can't you can't—

Crack!

You realize you've broken the mirror when you pull your hand back and see large shards stick out between your knuckles. Little reflections of yourself continue to mock you as you pull the pieces out. It doesn't hurt, it hasn't hurt since the mage marks first cracked the pads of your fingers, though you're still unsure if it's a gift or a curse —"leave it for the scholars to bicker about" as your Commander loved to say.

A shadow flickers in the corner of your eye, almost like a silhouette of someone you think you knew. Glowing lines of a magic circle burst into the air before you can physically react, mana simmering beneath your skin as magic comes to you easier than breathing.

The hallway lights up to reveal nothing. The thing you saw was just the shadow of a tree branch moving in the wind. You unsummon your magic before it can burn anything, the dwindling sparks nipping your fingers before they’re snuffed out as a way to show your mana is not pleased by the false alarm.

There is nothing there.

You are alone.

Again.

Your phone rings, the factory setting music grating on your ears. The phone is a piece of shit Nokia brick that belongs in a museum, but it works fine as far as burner phones go. Archaic technology like this plays better with magic than the flashy electronics people use nowadays, and the fact it doesn't connect to wifi helps make you harder to track.

You use the back of your knuckle to answer the phone, luckily not needing to pick it up as your mana enhanced hearing is a lot better than human. You manage to force a rough "Yes?" out of your throat.

"Nicely done my friend." Khaled sounds pleased with the death you brought, "You put on a very nice show." The eloquent Arabic he speaks makes the praise sound even nicer to your ears, like a balm of milk and honey to soothe your mind after what you went through. You can see how he's amassed as many men as he has, you could see yourself joining him full time if you were younger and dumber.

Your thoughts sit on your tongue like hot coals, but you swallow them down. "Thank you sir." You say instead, politely. Respect for your superiors was beaten into you years ago, yet exhaustion makes your words sound far rougher than his. Thankfully you're able to keep the accent of your mother tongue from deforming the fragile vowels.

"Ever the modest one." Khaled's chuckle is deep and just at the edge of mean, the subtle change in tone making the fine hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. "I need to pick up some more toys." And by 'I' he means you.

Toys — guns, bombs, other weapons intended for mass destruction; you're not surprised he's using slang instead of saying it outright. Your employer may be an overgrown murderous warlord, but he's not dumb, there's no doubt heavy surveillance has been put on both of you and Al-Qatala as a whole after your stunt.

It makes sense why he'd want to send you for the weapon's deal instead of going himself, there's no telling when some military group or pmc will try to bushwhack them in hopes of body bagging Khaled. Hell, you'd be disappointed if the CIA wasn't already in the final stages of planning a counter terrorism measure. Nosy fucks.

"Understood sir. Send me the shopping list." You feel your brow twitch with irritation when Khaled abruptly cuts the call. A sigh escapes you; your stomach feels like a witch is using it for a cauldron, all sorts of nastiness bubbling into a disgusting brew — your body's trying to warn you of something you can't see.

Not like you listen.

Dropping the last of the mirror shards into the sink you reach over to grab the dog tags and slip the cold chain around your neck. The metal warms up quickly, becoming indistinguishable from your skin. You rest your hand over them. If you try hard enough, you can just about sense the last remaining dregs of their magic— cool water, nibbling ice, soft soil — but the rest blend together into senseless mana, nothing but whispers of the past.

16 other tags rest against your skin, your own nestled somewhere between the dead.

You should have died instead.

You tear your hand away with a scoff, shaking those thoughts off and go get dressed. You slip on your helmet last, the tension in your shoulders evaporating when your face is hidden. Your lungs stutter for a second before adapting to breathe normally. You throw a glance at the shattered mirror and this time it's the helmet that greets you; just another soldier, just a mage.

Yeah. . . that's you alright.

Your phone vibrates, telling you you've received a message.

Right. You have a job to do. Here's to hoping this one isn't your last.

You're not holding your beath.

. . .

The briefing room is silent as Laswell goes over the census: 200 confirmed dead, hundreds in serious condition, thousands more who will be affected in the coming weeks and months when the seasonal storms wash the toxins into water sources and pollute the earth. And that's not talking about the long term effects, who knows how many will be lost in the coming years trying to neutralize the poisonous magic and rebuild.

Toxic gas itself is problematic when they don't know what specific kind it is, but when it binds with loose particle magic like ash or sand it can linger for decades, eroding concrete and skin alike. A whole generation will be born in hazmat suits.

Kate finishes speaking. A minute of silence follows.

Soap takes the time to try and visualize the dead as people rather than just a statistic, but his mind falls short. His tail twitches with irritation, fists clenching by his sides; he just can't understand how one person could do all of that without rockets or explosives.

His brain births a grim thought — fire hot enough to burn through concrete wouldn't leave behind any bodies, so he can tack on several more hundred deaths to the census, ones that have no way of being confirmed, leaving families without a body to grieve over.

"As far as we know." Kate begins again, her face grim, deep dark shadows stretching beneath her eyes. Only caffeine and determination have helped chase away her exhaustion. "This was a terrorist attack organized by Khaled Al-Asad," She pulls up two pictures on the interactive board, one of Khaled, the other — the same featureless helmet they'd seen on the news. "And carried out by a mage mercenary called Ifrit. True identity unknown."

Soap's ear twitches and he tilts his head at Ghost. "Bet yeh he's an ugly focker."

Ghost's dark eyes flicker to him. "Didn't think that 'bout me did you?" He mutters, eyes returning to the screen, staring at your picture as if it'll reveal some deeper meaning; an insight into a murderer's mind. Soap holds off on doing the same, he doesn't want any of the sludge on him.

“Could also be a ‘her’.”

Their gazes turn to the two women sitting at the front, the captain and lieutenant of another pmc the US has contracted to help them deal with this problem.

The one who spoke is a woman in her late 30's, brown hair pulled in a tight bun, green eyes occasionally flickering with whisps of unnatural blue; Captain Roberts – if Johnny remembered her name correctly from orientation – continues. “Women are better at using magic, and control it with the finesse required for more complex spells.” She explains with a dismissive look, absentmindedly waving her gloved hand like they’re just insects buzzing around her head.

Yeah, Johnny doesn't like her. And it's not because she smells like sweet lotus mixed with the stench of rancid fish rotting under the sun. It's because she's as hoity-toity as every other mage he's met (thankfully he's only met a few).

The shorter woman sitting next to Captain Roberts shrugs, black hair pulled into a similarly tight bun. "A little biased there captain." Lieutenant Martinez says, her black eyes flickering to look at the monsters. "Though, I can't say it's unwarranted." He hears her mutter.

Johnny notices striped patches velcroed to their arms, 2 icy blue ones on Martinez, 3 deep blue on Roberts. Distantly he remembers them to signal the power level of a mage on the international power scale, though he's blurry on the finer details.

Johnny’s ears twitch as he hears Ghost mutter a “Fuckin’ ‘ell.” under his breath before the wraith gruffly speaks up loud enough for all to hear. “Nail Ifrit and you’ll get the chance to check for bollocks.”

Roberts turns her head to look at Ghost. Her eyes look him over and the initial scowl (which Johnny's sure she was born with) turns into something that makes Johnny's fur stand on end and gums itch with the need to bare his teeth. She opens her mouth to speak—

A low rumble wafts through the air as Price blows out a puff of cigar smoke, the soft cloud escaping through the open window but the strong scent remains. "Hush." Price's pupils are thin like needles, shutting up Roberts with one look before he looks at Kate. "What do we know about 'em?"

Kate frowns, "Not enough." She pulls up a map of the world, a red dot placed somewhere in Libya. “Ifrit first appeared on our radars 2 years ago under the employment of a Libyan warlord called Ahmed Saleh.” Next she pulls up a video, playing it. The camera work is shaky, but Soap's able to make out said warlord speaking in a language he doesn't know, Ifrit standing by his side like some freaky statue. The camera shifts to focus on the row of men behind them, all bound on their knees with bags over their heads.

Johnny knows immediately what this is.

He still flinches when glowing circles spring beneath the mens knees, violent flames shooting high up into the sky as if Ifrit just used their personal key to open Satan's backyard. The camera flickers like an old TV, catching the last few seconds of glitched dying screams and magic burning away skin and muscle before the the video ends.

"Jesus." Kyle mutters next to Soap, his clawed fingers carding through the black feathers on his other forearm in a self soothing motion. "Just. . . Jesus."

"Ah dinnae think he’ll help." Soap mutters back, nose wrinkling as if he can already smell the burning bodies.

"A few weeks after this video was taken, Ifrit went into hiding before resurfacing again under a different employer." If Kate's bothered by the public execution, she doesn't show it. "Cross referencing the attack in Uzrikstan we’ve found over 50 arson attacks with the same M.O.” More red dots spread across the world map haphazardly, seemingly with no rhyme or reason. “As well as indication of Ifrit's involvement in numerous organized crime groups. Khaled is just their latest employer.”

Ghost lets out a low whistle. "Our arsonist's been busy."

"So what?" Soap's fur bristles even more, "The torcher just pop oot like a weed aw o'a sudden an' immediately jump intae terrorism?"

"Maybe?" Kyle scratches the back of his neck. "If they're a late bloomer and unbound then it makes sense why some crime rings would want them," He turns his head to look at Captain Roberts, "Right?"

She doesn't spare him a look, chewing on her words like Kyle had put something foul in her mouth. "I suppose developing strong magic after adolescence is possible." She begrudgingly says, "And unbound magic is stronger than bound, making Ifrit look like an appealing attack dog." She crosses her arms over her chest, stroking her chin in thought.

"But unbound magic also damages to the body." Lieutenant Martinez pipes up. "And that type of mage marks would take more than just 2 years to develop even if they used magic 24/7."

"You're correct." Captain Roberts finally glances at Kyle, giving him a look as if he had asked the difference between a pug and a werewolf. "It's more likely they had magic for a while. Not to mention received training for it."

Another low rumble escapes Price's chest, the sound reminiscent of construction machinery. "How come we didn't know about the firebug earlier?" His voice is calm, making the sharp edge underneath it cut deeper.

Kate sighs, "I hate to say it, but Ifrit is good." She says solemnly. "Their magic destroys electronics, they never show their face or leave witnesses, and they manage to cover their tracks up so well that we can't find even a partial mana-cule signature on the arson attacks, the most recent one included."

Her words make little sense to him, entering Johnny's ear and exiting through the other. He remembers taking a few classes on the types of magic that can mimic explosive materials when he was doing his demolition course, but all the jargons had made his head hurt and wasn't needed in the end. His tail tucks closer to his leg. "A what?"

Captain Roberts scoffs, but her Lieutenant speaks up. "A mana-cule detector picks up the way magic that's left in a victim's body refracts light. It's specific to every mage, so, like a magical fingerprint." She holds up her gloved hand to give visual to her comparison.

Soap feels Gaz's feathers brush against him as the man folds his wings closer to his body, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks at the screen. Kyle's eyes wander back to the starting image of the video where you're standing behind the warlord, mentally comparing it with the brief glimpse of you he got on the news. Something about you screams 'professional' to him, like you've done this so many times you got used to it the same way he got used to pulling the trigger of his gun.

"Ifrit doesn't look like some gang banger Khaled or some warlord picked off the street." Kyle finally says, and though he knows Laswell probably had the same thought, he still asks. "Could they be ex military or part of some pmc?"

"We're operating under this assumption, but we can't confirm anything." Kate frowns. "We're still trying to find any personal information about them."

"Getting to the important information." Captain Roberts says, giving them a pointed look. "What even is Ifrit’s level? With destruction like that I can’t imagine anything beneath L3. L4 if they’re 3 seconds away from becoming a lich or just high on Magnus dust."

"Fuck what dust?" Soap asks, but Captain Roberts just waves him off like his question is too stupid for her to answer.

"Magical crack." Ghost shrugs. "Makes the magic stronger, but also turns the mage into a firecracker."

Kate rubs her brows, a headache starting to pound behind her eyes. "By our calculations Ifrit falls into the L5 category." Her words make the rest of them go silent, but Soap just looks around confused.

"Preposterous." Captain Roberts huffs, "I can count on my fingers how many L5's there have been since Christ was born. Ifrit being one is just impossible." A deep scowl etches across her face. "At best, Ifrit is just an L3 high on Magnus dust with no regard for their body. They'll be a lich in a couple months."

"Regardless of what Ifrit is," Price speaks up, stubbing the cigar butt on the window sill and throwing it out the window. "What do we do about them?" A small bit of smoke escapes the corner of his lip, dragon fire burning hot in his chest in response to his well masked anger.

"An insider in Al-Qatala claims a weapon deal will be going down in a day." Kate swipes away the previous pictures, putting on a bird’s eye-view map of a shipping dock. 5 large warehouses circle an empty concrete space bordering the ocean, clearly long abandoned. "From what we know, Khaled has Ifrit secure most of his weapons because they’re careful. If a buyer’s even a minute late they call it all off."

"So punctual and paranoid?" Gaz sumarrises.

Ghost hums to himself. "Quite the work ethic." He side-eyes Johnny. "You could lean som'thin' from 'em."

Soap just huffs, his tail bumping against Ghost's leg in retaliation, his snagglefang showing as his lip quirks up into a small smirk when Ghost's dark eyes flicker to him.

"You’ll need to be tight, there's no telling when this opportunity will present itself again." Kate continues, ignoring them. "Team Alfa," A dot pops up on one side of the docks, Price's and Lieutenant Martinez's faces beneath it. "you'll be going in from the north. Bravo—" Another dot appears on the opposite side with Ghost's and Captain Robert's faces. "—the south."

The dots move to indicate how they're supposed to approach the position, ending up with them completely surrounding the docks. "We don't know Ifrit's full battle capabilities, so you'll need to be careful. Isolate and tire them out before attempting capture, but kill if you must." Laswell looks at them all. "We can only assume ifrit's magic is short ranged so under no circumstances do you get close to them, understood?"

"Crystal ma'am." Captain Roberts shrugs, throwing a look at the monsters at Taskforce 141. "Just let us take care of the mage and keep out of the way so you don't become collateral. I would hate to waste my time healing you." Her eyes linger on Ghost, bits of bright blue mana flickering in her eyes. "Well, most of you." Soap feels Ghost subtly stiffen next to him.

That woman's charming as a train wreck; Soap can feel himself prickle with irritation, more and more strands of fur rising to stand straight on his tail the longer he has to stay near Roberts.

Luckily they're let go early to go rest up and prepare while the two mages stay with Price and Kate to iron out the finer details of which mages which team is taking and what spells to use. Apparently everyone but Price and Kate are too stupid to understand the 'complexity' of their spells.

Soap would be insulted, but he takes the opportunity offered to him. He glues himself to Ghost's side as much as he can 'professionally', his tail curling around his leg as Johnny throws a smug look over his shoulder at Captain Roberts.

Johnny catches her looking back at him like he’s a flea ridden mutt and that just makes his tail wag. He forgets about her the moment the door of the briefing room closes, busying himself by subtly rubbing his arm against Ghost's, spreading a bit of his scent on the wraith's jacket. It's one of the few times he's glad wraith's don't have a scent — makes it easy to smell himself on Ghost.

"Someone's territorial." Gaz chirps as he joins them on Ghost's other side, feathers brushing against their backs to throw his own scent into the mix.

Ghost just looks at Soap bemused, his thick paw of a hand coming up to cradle the back of Johnny's head, gloved fingers gripping his skin like he's a puppy. "You bettah not piss on me."

Gaz breaks out into laughter and Johnny feels his cheeks grow warm. "Dirty bastard." He huffs, but stores the idea for later. "Are all mages like that?" He tilts his head back at the door.

"Uptight?" Gaz asks. "Snotty?"

"Wankers with their heads shoved up their arse?" Ghost helpfully adds.

"That's putting it brawly," Soap lets out a breath, amusement tugging at his lips as his tail wags.

"Yeah, I think it's like a requirement to be a military mage." Kyle chuckles, holding up his hand like he's judging someone's height. "You've got to be this much of a twat to join." He grins, passing them as he goes to get ready.

Soap wants to say more but Ghost's hand on his neck demands his attention, tilting his head up. His breath catches in his throat as Ghost bends down until their foreheads bonk together softly, the cool metal of the mask tickling Soap's skin. "Don't go doing anything dumb pup, olright?"

Dark eyes meet his own, a shiver runs down Soap's spine, his mouth dry as a desert when he tries to swallow the rock in his throat; Soap can't even begin to define the strange thing that was born between them on that one night in Las Almas, he can still remember the way Ghost's deep voice had kept him sane and his wolf's demands to blindly rush the enemy and get back to his pack quiet.

Johnny certainly can't define the late nights spent sharing that dog piss Simon likes drinking, nor the rough touches and hickeys they leave on the other, though they never have time to get further than that.

This feels nice too.

His hands sneak to Ghost's hips, thumbs hooking under his belt loops to pull their bodies closer, pressing his chest against Ghost's. "When have I ever done that?" He smirks, lips ghosting over Simon's masked ones.

He feels Ghost's chest rumble as the man chuckles, his other hand roughly gripping Johnny's arse. "You want a list?"

Johnny's tail wags more, "Well, I reckon I'd be up fer-"

"Oi, I’d hate to break the snogfest but we’ve got things to do!" Kyle’s chuckle breaks them up before they can do anything else. Soap turns to flip the bird to the bird, but Kyle's tail feathers have already disappeared into the changing room.

. . .

 The night is calm.

Mellow waves break against the well worn concrete walls of the docks, tree leaves softly flutter in the mild breeze, crickets and frogs sing their songs into the night air. The world itself doesn't care about you or the soldiers guarding the docks. Absentmindedly you track the movements of the men Khaled gave you, the barely noticeable crumbs of magic you stuck on them flickering at the back of your mind like dwindling coals.

All are accounted for. The night is calm. There is nothing out of the ordinary.

And yet your nerves are on a razor's edge. The relative silence scratches down your spine with long crooked claws, the calmness crackles beneath your skin like electricity. Your fingers itch with the need to tap them against your thigh, to do something; waiting has always been your least refined quality regardless of how often you needed to use it. Your body, your magic, Hell — the very essence of what you are — craves the heat of battle, the sweet lull of adrenaline's song to put your nerves at ease.

You resist moving too much. Years of training make hiding the signs of unease and nervousness easy as breathing, your body so still you could be mistaken for a statue if your chest didn't steadily rise and fall.

Taim doesn't possess your abilities. You can feel his nervousness on your tongue, like licking an old battery. His hands shift to re-adjust the hold on his gun for the 6th time in the past 10 minutes. You doubt he knows you're watching him from the corner of your eye, so the tenseness of his shoulders must be from you just being near him.

It doesn't surprise you — many countries that have had Russian or Soviet influence consider mages more monstrous than actual monsters. Mages like you are perversions of God's template, thieves who possess power not intended for you. Urzikstan is no different.

You don't point out how Taim flinches when you raise your hand to look at the time, the watch face strapped to the inside of your wrist; some habits are hard to break.

The deal is supposed to happen at 3AM, and it's 02:57 already. "The seller's taking their sweet time." You say under your breath, lowering your hand. You have half the mind to call it off and tell Khaled to teach his suppliers punctuality. Hell, you've done it before when you had less surveillance on yourself and your employer. This just feels like tempting luck.

Taim looks at his own watch and glances your way. "I understand your frustration sir, but- but we just need to wait a bit more." He absentmindedly holds up three fingers to indicate the minutes left, starting the count from his thumb.

It wouldn't be so odd if middle eastern countries such as Urzikstan didn't start counting with the pinky finger. Americans count with the index. That just leaves the entirety of Europe. You hum a low sound at the back of your throat.

"They-" Taim quickly puts his hand down and grips his gun in both hands, apparently thinking you hadn't noticed his blunder. "They should be here any min- minuta." Another slipup; the hint of a different accent softens and shortens the last vowel of the Arabic word. It narrows down a couple countries, but nothing specific.

Taurus would have made you run around the base for days if you had ever made the same mistakes, provided you survived the consequences of getting caught.

What a fucking amateur.

But Khaled isn't paying you to get rid of vermin, so you let it slide. You catalogue this moment in case you'll need it later, concentrating on the present.

The radio inside your helmet sputters to life, a rough voice speaking quickly in Arabic. "Ship incoming."

Your gaze falls on the dark ocean, mana flowing to your eyes without even having to cast a spell. It's not the same as using a mana sensing spell, those leave your head feeling like you'd volunteered it to be used as a church bell in exchange for perfect clarity of the world around you. But your sight becomes significantly brighter and sharper, enough to see the ship sailing towards the docks. It's a medium sized fishing vessel, the lights inside turned off so as not to attract too much attention, but it meets the specifications Khaled had given you.

You reach up to activate the voice receiver of your radio, pressing the button hidden on the inside of your helmet just behind the gas mask portion. "Our seller's incoming. Get the truck, secure the perimeter and keep tight." You order into the radio, cutting it off again.

You motion for Taim to follow as you walk out from your cover. You had hidden yourselves between two warehouses, their roofs extending to the sides enough to hide you from the sight of drones.

You stop a few feet from the edge of the docks, listening to the truck back up behind you as the boat slowly sails up to the edge of the dock and drops it's anchor.

You don't recognize most of the men on the boat, except for one. "Ah, Ifrit, long time no see," Victor Zakhaev greets you in Russian as he steps off the boat first. You notice a new scar across his face, but otherwise he looks good considering last you've heard of him he'd gotten himself shot and left for dead by some monster taskforce. "I am not late, yes?" He asks in English, offering you his hand.

"Right on time." You say and take his hand in a firm handshake. You try to ignore the way the touch of another human, regardless of the fact you can't really feel his touch, makes your skin crawl.

"Good, good, from you, that is a compliment." He smirks and steps to your side, giving room for his men to unload the heavy weapon crates from the bowels of the ship onto the dock. "I assure you, you'll find the garden hoses and other peashooters are all accounted for." Zakhaev makes a motion with his hand, making his workers put a heavy box onto the ground beside you. "But I know you well, you want to check the goods, yes?"

Needles prick your skin and your mind kicks itself for becoming so predictable. But Zakhaev has known you since your stint with that warlord in Libya, it's only natural he would learn a few of your habits after so long. "You would be correct." You say, your voice betraying nothing.

Zakhaev just chuckles, his workers undoing the crate's top board with his company logo printed on top of it. Inside, nestled between a sea of white packing peanuts, lies one of many M134 miniguns Khaled has been keen on getting — people of your ilk call it the garden hose for the ridiculous amount of ammunition it can spit out in a minute.

Say what you want about the yankees, but their weapons are top notch. Having once been on the receiving end of that weapon, you know first had how useful it can be; both for tearing enemy combatants to shreds and for decimating their morale.

You look over the weapon, unable to find anything wrong with it. Zakhaev takes pride in the guns he sells, you've never had any problem with them. "Looks good." You nod your head at Khaled's men and stand up. "Load them up."

You reach into your pocket and pull out a flash drive. Khaled had paid half of the price up front, leaving you to deliver the second half. Inside the flash drive are wallets with thousands of dollars worth of crypto currency. This is a smart play on your employer's part; you don't need to lug around suspicious briefcases full of cash, and there's no wire transfer some nosy agent can trace back to Khaled.

"Rest of your payment." You say simply, handing the inconspicuous flash drive to Zakhaev.

"Thank you kindly." Zakhaev slips the drive into his pocket. You watch the men carry the heavy weapon crates and put them in the truck.

Zakhaev shuffles through his pockets and pulls out a packet of cigarettes, some Russian brand. He taps the bottom of the carton on the back of his hand, offering you the stick that partially sticks out of the box. "Care to join me?" He asks, taking it in stride when you don't react. With a shrug, he puts the cigarette between his teeth. "Help an old friend, yes?"

You don't particularly like being the personal lighter for anyone, but you acquiesce — powerful and resourceful men with fragile prides are better as friends than foes; The task is so simple you don't even need to form a magic circle, a single thought making the end of the cigarette smolder before vestigial flames spark up from nothing, catching on the tightly packed dried leaves and setting them alight.

"Impressive trick." Zakhaev compliments and breathes in the nicotine, unbothered when he receives your silence again. You expect the rest of the weapons exchange to pass quietly, you and him watching from the sidelines as the men load heavy crates into the back of a truck. Your presence here is only as a guard dog.

Zakhaev surprises you by speaking up again. "Ah, there was another thing I wanted to speak to you about."

Another crate is set by your feet. You tilt your head to look at Zakhaev before your gaze flickers to the worker who pries the top board open. Inside isn't a minigun or an automatic rifle Khaled had ordered, but a sniper rifle.

"What is this?" You ask, just about keeping yourself from tensing; This is unexpected, a surprise, and surprises can get you killed faster than playing patty cake with a landmine.

Zakhaev, as if sensing your unease, waves you off. "A gift, my friend." He says in Russian, the words easy to understand. "And a. . . taste, shall we say, of what I can offer you in the event you decide to seek other employment opportunities."

Ah. So that's what this is about — he's trying to bribe you.

Now that you think about it, it isn't too surprising. He knows what you're capable of, and mages of your abilities don't grow on trees. "Is that so?" You ask in Russian, playing along as you kneel down and pick up the gun.

Your fingers move with life of their own, gliding smoothly and confidently over the metal as if you'd been born with it. The barrel is straight as an arrow, the butt fits comfortably against your shoulder, the magazine locks into place with a soft 'click', the bolt moves back with buttery smoothness and gives you sight of the live round before it's loaded into place with a second satisfying sound. It tickles your brain, that violent thing in your chest stirs with interest.

"You like it, yes?" Zakhaev chuckles, the sharpness in his eyes momentarily lost as he observes you as one does a child opening gifts on Christmas morning. "It’s a .50BMG, semi-auto, 5 rounds every 1.6 seconds, 1,800mile range, 1,319 m/s velocity, and has a 5-round detachable box mag with a muzzle brake." He details, and you mentally whistle to yourself; guns like these cost a fortune. "It's a nice gun, no?"

It is a very nice gun.

Something at the back of your mind tingles; a smoldering coal is quenched, a string snaps and sends a single needle through your amygdala. Foreign mana, as subtle as a tank, traipses at the edge of your consciousness — a fly unknowingly vibrates the threads of a spider's nest.

It is a very nice gun.

And you just found a target to practice on.

. . .

"What is Zakhaev doing here? I thought we buried him in Verdansk?" Sergeant Garrick’s voice chatters quietly over the coms as Captain Roberts makes her way through the swamp, muddy water up to her knees and insects buzzing around her head. A few of her best mages trail behind her, the rest of her team mingled between the monsters on the other side of the docks.

"Turns out our matchstick's just a magnet for wankers." Sergeant MacTavish’s voice crackles. She doesn’t stop the scoff that comes to her lips. He just has a voice that’s easy to dislike, then again she never did like mutts.

"Our mission remains the same, get Zakhaev if you can but Ifrit’s a more dangerous target." Captain Roberts wants to argue with Price. Hell, she did for nearly an hour after the briefing was done just on the subject why everyone but him and the wraith had to wear gas masks. Captain Price is too paranoid in her opinion; after the terrorist attack there's no way their target's mana reserves aren't depleted to shit, Ifrit probably couldn't put up a fight tougher than wet tissue paper but nooo, Laswell just had to pick that lizard over her own kind.

"Took care of a straggler." The deep rumble of Lieutenant Ghost’s voice sends a nice shiver down her spine. He had broken off to go ahead, briefly giving her a nice look at his ass. At least there’s one sideshow in that freakshow of a taskforce that’s easy on the eyes. She bets he would look even better without that ugly mask, all those big muscles on display and quivering beneath her…

"Alfa team in position." Price speaks into the radio.

Roberts shakes her head, refocusing on the task as she kneels in the dark water. She's partially hidden behind a rotten tree stump, but the night is dark and there's enough critters and insects in the swamp to make sensing them with mana difficult. "Team Bravo in position." She says.

"Good, stand by, we only get one chance at this." That's probably the only thing she and Price agree on. Opportunities like this don't fall into their laps often, maybe she can even nab herself a promotion if she captures both Ifrit and Zakhaev.

Curiosity tugs on her mind as she watches the weapons deal go down. She doesn’t know what she expected but this isn’t it; The last time she had seen someone capable of similar destruction, it had been a teenager in the late stages of lichdom— mind eroded, body nothing but skin and bones, magic rotting the poor girl from the inside out until all that was left was an animal in human skin.

She expected something similar, maybe worse, not for Ifrit to look no different than every other criminal piece of shit she's seen.

Unable to hold back her curiosity she hunches her shoulders and takes off her gloves. Her mage marks are extensive and ugly; reach to the first knuckle of each finger, the dried coral like texture scratching her skin as she places one hand on her face to peer between her fingers, another resting over her chest.

Captain Roberts can at least feel proud for being so magically gifted she can shorten a 40 something word incantation to just 13 measly words: "Sister of steams, daughter of oceans, give me sight to see the hidden." She can feel her mana leisurely crawl through her veins as she murmurs the spell, like squeezing honey through a cheesecloth.

The world lights up in an array of colors like a broken kaleidoscope, shapes and outlines flickering in and out as the mana inside every living creature mixes and twirls with the dark backdrop of dead mana without rhyme or reason. The sight is something humans were never meant to see, and it stabs at her eyes for even daring to look, but she can stomach it long enough to catch sight of Ifrit's mana.

Captain Roberts is disappointed to see the mana surrounding you is nothing to write home about; orange mana cleanly outlines your entire frame, barely a couple of inches thick, not too bright and not even the barest flicker in the even surface to indicate mana suppression.

The disappointment morphs into relief as she deactivates her spell — at the very least she won't need to waste her time with this monster and terrorist nonsense longer than she has to. Shame, she had been looking for a challenge—

A violent shiver runs down her spine, her heart lurches and bashes against her ribs with the feral panic of a prey animal trying to escape, cold sweat breaks out across her skin and pain blooming in her arteries as mana rushes to her fingers—

A bullet strikes the rotten stump she's hiding behind.

Magic explodes on contact.

Violent flames race to devour those still living.

. . .

You count 5 seconds between the bullet hitting it's target, the magic you imbued it with exploding, and it all going to shit.

You throw a hand over Zakhaev's shoulder and force him to the ground as the first hail of bullets comes your way. You drop to your knee just in time to avoid receiving a lead injection, the concrete behind you exploding in small puffs of dust as the high caliber bullets hit the ground or bounce off Zakhaev's boat to tear through the meat shields that are Khaled's men. You try to take a few potshots, but your position is bad and you can't tell where the shots are coming from.

You catch large elongated sticks fall from the sky and clatter to the ground. You immediately screw your eyes shut, bending at the waist to put your face parallel with the ground and pressing your hands to your ears. You avoid the flash as the stun grenades go off, but the following bang! rattles inside your ears and makes you stumble as you straighten out.

But you know this is just a distraction: beneath the whizzing bullets and echoing shots you can feel the world groan, the air shivering with disgust as magic slowly gathers at the fingertips of enemy mages. They take every precious second given to them to build and strengthen their spells, the average cast time around a minute.

You need no such preparation.

The moment you feel their spells release, like a rubber band snapping against your skin, you summon your own magic. You have neither the time nor space to produce a proper counter spell when you haven't seen your enemies casting circles, so your offence becomes your best defense — glowing circles spark across the air to shoot out violent flames, burning heat and freezing cold colliding in the crisp night air. Your magic is far superior, turning the balls of ice and water into steam.

The boundless steam floods the area and rushes at you like a stampede of frantic beasts. You pull Zakhaev close to you, shielding his fragile body from the blistering mist as it washes over you, nothing but a mild inconvenience. Your stomach feels tight, as if mocking you for not listening to your body.

At least you can be certain this isn't just some group of Khaled's enemies or gangsters that stumbled on you. The fact they're using water and ice spells means this was preplanned, they have a specific target — you.

The thought makes something inside you stir. You feel your heart begin to beat a little faster, a little harder, a little louder, banging against your ribs in the slow start of a war march to rouse the slumbering beast in your veins. Enticing it with what it you craves.

You hear Zakhaev say something but his words fail to reach your ears, not that you'd be able to respond with how your tongue feels like it's made of lead. Your body always does this; jaw tensing to keep you quiet, muscles relaxing in preparation, the lingering vestiges of nervousness evaporating to clear your mind so you can focus. Something in that fucked up brain of yours makes you switch to the first language you ever learned — violence.

Your grip is ironclad as you throw Zakhaev over your shoulder like he's a sack of potatoes, summoning more spells for cover instead of listening to his cursing. Even more steam blankets the ground, joining alongside gunfire and magic to create a disorientating shroud you're very familiar with. You easily duck and weave through Khaled's men, catching glimpses of enemy bodies moving beyond the steam as you head to the truck, hoping to use it for momentary cover.

Throwing Zakhaev into the back of the truck with the weapon boxes you skirt to the front of the vehicle, the sharp bang! of your fist knocking against the metal door scaring the shit out of the driver. You meet the man's eyes through the darkened lenses of your helmet, giving a hand gesture for him to drive.

Hummingbirds peck at the back of your skull, giving you ample warning to jump out of the way even before a circle spreads beneath your feet. A shard of ice erupts from the ground where you'd just stood, thankfully avoiding the car and giving the driver further incentive to get the fuck out. Ants crawl down your spine in another warning, and you saw enough of the previous circle to disrupt the one that appears behind you, a few orange lines springing up in the neat blue circle to make it fizzle out and send the half built spell right back at the caster.

With the primary targets secured you can turn your full attention on the attackers, your gloves smoldering as hot mana rushes to your fingertips. You hear pebbles crunch under a boot while you summon your own magic circles, the return of that tight feeling in your stomach making you break concentration just enough to catch sight of one of Khaled's men in your periphery.

You notice the gun aimed at you a second too late.

Bang!

Pain flares through your shoulder, your body moving on its own as you throw yourself to the side to avoid another round. You don't need to think for your flames to burst beneath the feet of your attacker, using the distraction to retreat into the space between two warehouses, giving yourself better cover. Mana rushes to the hole in your shoulder, drops of molten metal leaking from your wound when you lean forward, your clothing greedily drinking up your mana saturated blood and sticking to your skin.

Your magic repairs your body as quickly as you're injured, pain rapidly fading away until only the dull sting of betrayal remains. Like a sacrificial lamb, it catches the deadly attention of the thing slumbering in your heart.

It wakes up angry and feral and oh so hungry.

Fangs of freezing heat tenderly grip your heart, ravenous nothingness once birthed by your desperation now begs and demands for your will to give it shape. How can you refuse?

Flames spark at your palms, burning away the thick material of your gloves to free your hands. A freezing chill gnaws on your burning fingers and harkens the arrival of something that slinks out of your heart like crude oil, bulging and molding itself to your veins as it crawls to your palms. Darkness consumes the orange glow of your magic, leaving behind little pitch black candlelight flames burning at your fingertips. 'Flames' is a bad word to describe them when they suck the light around them; it's like looking at black silhouettes in the approximation of fire, painted straight onto reality by a child's hand.

A magic circle spirals beneath you, glowing bright blue and stinking of enemy magic. You can just about hear the chanting of spells near you, more circles appearing on either side of you, trapping you.

"Beelzebub," You mutter under your breath, not out of need — you've long since mastered the art of wordless magic — but out of respect. "Devour."

2 measly words is all it takes for the black fires to shoot straight up like the fangs of a beast, leaping off your fingers in wide arcs and creating a quickly expanding perimeter around you, circling like sharks as they rush outwards. The meticulously crafted circles shatter like glass, hundreds of little shards of visible mana fluttering around you for a second before they're swallowed up by the black fires.

Beelzebub is a ravenous spell, lashing out at everything around you with the sole intent to consume, to devour every little bit of mana in an endlessly fruitless attempt to sate its hunger. Regardless, if said mana has already been made into a spell, of it's still inside a person.

You don't see it, but you know the exact moment Beelzebub finds the enemy mages, screams of horror and pain filling the air as black flames descend on them like bloodhounds. You can feel Beelzebub's freezing claws tear into them, leaving the flesh unharmed but tearing their mana out bit by bit, devouring it, syphoning the power back to you.

Once, long ago, the acrid rush of foreign mana through your system would have knocked you on your ass, now it just forces you to sway and lean against the warehouse wall. Long ago, the way stolen mana gnaws on your veins and claws at your chest for escape would have left you writhing on the floor, but now you can barely feel it. Your stomach cramps, the urge to vomit still as strong as it was back then, your senses registering all the rot; people don't think about how many forms rot can take — decaying kelp, festering flesh, acid rain, gangrene, moldy wall paper — hundreds of little deaths making up the very essence mages depend on.

Your body begs to use magic before you explode, muscles tensing, chest fluttering, ribs squeezing down on your lungs in an attempt to keep the stolen mana imprisoned. Sweet relief floods your mind as the searing heat of your own magic pushes the stolen mana through your veins, herding it into your palms where you can easily reshape it into something familiar to you: Ash.

Pushing off the wall you rush into the open, using Beelzebub's flames to burn the lines of the attack circle into the ground. The thinning steam lets you catch sight of enemies rounding the warehouses in front of you, likely human or monster since Beelzebub would have taken mages closest to you out of commission. You don't ponder this further, the second the final line is drawn you use Beelzebub as a transition point and push all the stolen mana out.

The docks erupt in a puff of disorientating ash. You don't waste time waiting for someone to fire the shot needed to ignite your magic, falling to your knee as you punch the ground. All it takes is for the chips of volcanic rock along your knuckles to scrape against the concrete for a spark to form.

The resulting explosion is never pleasant.

The sudden surge of light and the loud bang! leaves you disorientated for a few seconds, your skin dry yet clammy as if you has just got sprayed by a flash flood of boiling water. Tiny chisels pick at your bones as you stumble to your feet, trying to sculpt you into something holier than what you are.

But you can't complain when the same explosion tears through soldiers like they're paper, not even leaving behind blood to stain you when the harsh heat cremates the bodies closest to you. Your lungs struggle to get in a good breath, the stench of smog and burning meat passing through the filter and clinging to your tongue. You can hear your enemies coughing, you can feel them moving through the smog in search for you, but your ash is so thick it completely hides you, giving you a few seconds to think.

Thousands of thoughts roll around your skull, but one stands out — Khaled finally betrayed you.

Fire shoots out from beyond the ash at you. Your body moves instinctively as you throw your hand up to guard your head and turn away. The hot flames lick harmlessly over your skin, too similar to the heat inside you to harm you, so all it can do is burn your outer clothes until your shirt and bulletproof vest peek out beneath the large smoldering holes.

You get a second to catch sight of sharp curving horns and predatory blue eyes staring at you from the ash, the smog shifting around a rapidly approaching figure. Next thing you know something hard hits you right in the stomach, fast and unyielding like a truck.

Your skin and muscles ripple under the fist, you feel and hear your ribs crack! under the immense strength right before the punch flings you back like a ragdoll.

You crash into a warehouse wall, the metal denting in the shape of your back as more bones crack. Pain flares through your body, your tongue, caught between your teeth, bleeds peppery acrid blood into your mouth. You gasp for breath as much as you're able to, chest weakly fluttering like a butterfly's wing as you find yourself unable to take in a deep breath.

Then a sickening crack! rings right behind your eardrums as your magic pulls out the rib piercing your lung, pushing on it until it fully expands and you can breathe again. Heat slithers through your body to glue together broken bones and torn muscles, repairing you as if nothing ever happened. You're on your feet in seconds, the ripple in the ash giving you enough warning to lunge out of the way before another stream of flames can wash over you. You send your own in return, a magic circle forming in front of you before spewing out a beam of concentrated flame. The force behind it causes the lingering ash to disperse, giving you better sight of your opponent—

Dragon.

Of course your luck has to be so dogshit you'd get a fucking dragon sicked on you. What's next, a damn stone-skinned goliath? Maybe a leviathan to really fuck you over?

You bend your knees as you summon a magic circle beneath your feet. The ash erupts with such force it sends you careening through the air, launching you into the ash free air above you. You're close enough to a warehouse to grasp the jutting out metal sheet of the steel roof, your muscles tensing as you haul yourself up.

Quickly wiping away the ash stuck to your helmet lenses your eyes instinctively look up to search the sky, the bright spotlights of the docks making the night so much darker. If a dragon's after you then there's a high likelihood there are more monsters, and those rarely come without at least one flyer in their team.

The subtle, unnatural, flutter of distant stars across the dark sky gives you enough incentive to throw up a fiery shield, retreating further back onto the roof. Feathers sharp as knives burn to cinders in your flames, some stragglers imbedding themselves near your feet, easily slicing through the steel roof; Harpy.

You can't tell what kind it is, probably a common variety, but it doesn't really matter so long as you can clip the bird's wings.

Mana floods into your eyes as you use a mana sensing spell. The sky lights up like an aurora borealis, the ground below explodes in all sorts of nauseating colors that makes a headache pound against your skull. But it's worth it when the body of the harpy lights up like a lightbulb, contrasting sharply against the sky, it's wings making for the perfect target.

You know harpies are fast fliers. It forces you to give up some firepower in exchange for a homing ability. Changing a spell is an easy thing to do, mentally erasing and adding a couple of lines in your circle before you summon it. You disable your mana sight so you don't blind yourself and let your magic loose, firing off 4 tightly packed balls of fire in rapid order.

You don't stick around to see it try to dodge your magic, turning to your heel to race across the roof after you flood the earth bellow with even more ash. You need to escape; you could try to kill the monsters, you doubt they have anything worse than that dragon, but you have bigger problems — you can't let an enemy like Khaled live.

Something catches your leg like you're a rabbit in a snare, an unforgettable cold creeping up your skin to gnaw on your brain. Ethereal shadows curl like ropes around your ankle and pull you down before you can burn them away. You tumble to the steel roof and blindly summon flames around you, rolling to your side the moment you get yourself free and just barely managing to avoid your own shadow trying to skewer you.

You burn away the shadowy spikes sticking out from the ground, flames flaring up around you to momentarily distract your opponent as you get to your feet. Your eyes settle on the one that tripped you; big fucker, tall and wide, half wreathed in shadows, a skull mask peering at your from the darkness. Your spine feels like it wants to crawl out of your back, the silence of the grave ringing in your ears when you go to sense his magic and pick up nothing.

The same nothing that makes up Beelzebub. Furious. Hungry. Dead.

Wraith. You are facing a Wraith.

Not a goliath, not a leviathan. Worse. Much, much worse.

You have no shot at outrunning that thing when your own shadow can betray you, not to mention the wraith's range is far larger than yours in the dead of night. You have no choice but to charge at him, a circle forming beneath your heel and ash bursting out to launch you forward, your magic burning hot and bright to produce as much light as you can in an attempt to limit the shadows he can use.

Flames wreathe your fist as you throw a punch to his side, your sudden advance taking him off guard just enough for you to hit him, fire eating away at tactical gear to gnaw on the dead flesh. It forces a grunt out of him before shadows spew out from where you hit him to engulf your arm, leaving you open for a sharp knee to the gut. Your hands flare up, volcanic stone melting into active lava to burn away the shadows holding you. A pillar of flame erupts between you two to force him back, but whips of shadow shoot through the fire in quick retaliation. You duck and roll, adrenaline rushing through your veins like a feral hound as you charge at him again.

Shadows and flames are both volatile and taxing, making you two employ similar tactics: rush and overwhelm your opponent. You have to admit, the wraith is fucking good; he's not an oaf despite his size, using it to his advantage and giving you no reprieve from the constant jabs, trying to bully you into a position where you'd be open for his shadows to pierce your flesh.

But you're faster, ducking and weaving between his blows, mana pulsing through your blood and strengthening your muscles when they think of failing you down. You can almost hear Jackal shouting at you for being too slow.

Your flames are an extension of you, you trust them to clash with his shadows so you can focus purely on the Wraith. You can tell he's getting annoyed when you duck under another swing and jab your elbow into his ribs, the un-melted rocks covering your joint much more painful than actual bone. And that's before magic shoots out from your elbow, flames burning away both of your clothes and creating a sizable blistering wound on his side.

"Fucker," His shadows flare out to put out your flames, "Stay still." You catch a hind of a British accent in his rough voice, unable to get any more as liquid shadows roll of his shoulders and shoot out at you. You're forced to stumble back in an attempt to avoid the shadows trying to claw your face off, your heel ending right on the edge of the roof.

There's a small space between the edge you're standing on and the start of the roof of the warehouse adjacent to this one, the space big enough for you to fall through if you're not careful. The fall itself wouldn't be pleasant either. Your jaw clenches harder and you swing your arm down in an arch, summoning dozens of palm sized circles and shooting out bolts of concentrated flame through the shroud of darkness. Some of them hit him and force black smoke to fizzle out from the wounds you inflict on him, his shadows repairing the walking corpse the same way your magic does to you.

That's not good. While you could go hours, you'll run out of the mana you'll need to take out Khaled if you continue this attempt to put the wraith down. Beelzebub's cold flame simmers in your heart, begging to be set free. You'd rather not use it again when the closest mana source is a wraith — a dead thing full of unfiltered rot — god forbid it triggers the only spell you've sworn not to use, but you don't think you have many other options.

Just as Beelzebub readies to crawl from your heart something else grabs your foot, sharp claws digging into your skin and jerking you down. You buck forward and nearly fall face first, throwing your head to look at the thing that's caught you. A man has half hoisted himself up on the roof, clothes torn and barely hanging on to his frame, a gas mask obscuring his face, one clawed hand gripping the steel to keep himself up as the other has your leg in an iron grip that leaves your bones groaning.

You notice the man's elongated ears and gleaming blue eyes as those of a werewolf. Those blue eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when you summon a magic circle point black with his head, the reflective orange glow of your magic swallowing up all the color his eyes.

Shadows shoot out into the space between his head and your circle, devouring the ball of flames you shoot out so the worst the wolf gets is a face full of smoke and singed hair. You turn your body back to face the wrath, throwing up both hands to summon different circles to take both out, but you're too slow. Whips of shadow shoot out and hit you dead center in the chest. The force sends you crashing back, the dumb wolf holding onto your leg pulled down with you.

You crash through the window of the other warehouse and straight down to the ground. The fall forces a loud wheeze from your lungs as large glass shards embed themselves into your back and shoulders where the bulletproof vest doesn't reach. Your ribs crackle like popcorn as magic heals them, but the pain from constantly getting them broken and repaired is starting to linger.

Dark brown fur flickers in the periphery of your vision, the sensation of a heavy body bearing down on your own snapping you back to action. You throw your arm up, the sharp fangs meant for your throat biting down on your forearm. You don't feel pain there, but a sick sense of satisfaction bubbles in your stomach as you get the first row view of your assailant registering the blistering head of your mage marks against the tender flesh of his mouth.

He yelps like a kicked dog as he releases your forearm. With a grunt you grip his shoulders, the patches of fur there smoldering the few brief seconds it takes you to gather enough strength to throw the heavy mutt off you. You stumble to your knees quickly, forced to dampen your healing abilities. The glass shards dig deeper into your muscles as you move, but the threat of them exploding from the heat of your magic prevents you from doing healing your wounds; the best you can do is dull the pain.

The warehouse is dark, but the mana in your eyes gives you a rudimentary night vision, letting you see the werewolf scramble to his own feet, spitting saliva and curses at you, "Aw ye fockin' bawbag! I-"

The rest of his words fail to reach your brain as you register the ignited remains of your ash blanketing the ground, making it impossible to see your feet bellow your knees. The scent of melting steel and smoke invades your nose, your mind taking this as the most opportune time to replace the metal ceiling high above you with hundreds of feet of rubble. Your chest tightens, the wide walls of the warehouse closing in until you feel like there's no space to move.

You're trapped. Again.

Your eyes flicker around in search for an escape, flames sparking from your fingers to burn all the way up to your shoulders, your mage marks burning hot and bright in the darkness. There! — at the very back of the warehouse you spy a motorcycle, your way out. Only a werewolf stands between it and you. It's true what Taurus used to tell you: freedom is a rope and God wants you to hang from it.

Steeling yourself, your hands reach out to grasp the knives you keep strapped to your shins, a subtle shift of the handles in your palms letting your magic flow freely into the steel.

Let him try to stop you.

. . .

Soap 's hackles raise, his fur feeling like it wants to leap off his tail. Such a deep and strong stench of rot permeates his senses his mind thinks he's the one decaying for a second. His eyes focuse on you as flames coat the knives in your hands and artificially extend the blades to give you better reach. Laswell's voice replays in his mind, telling him not to get close. Hell, he swears he can he can hear his ma's voice call him a bloody idjit for thinking of rushing at the fucking demon.

But his body still shifts further, bones snapping and reforming, muscles growing and the tattered remains of his shirt snapping off his torso as his body doubles in size. He can see his glowing eyes reflect in the tinted lenses of your mask before he rushes at you, body low to the ground before he leaps, claws bared.

You sidestep at the last second and raise your arm, the artificial blade of flames licking a blistering cut across his side. Pain shoots up his spine, his blood literally boiling as the fire both cuts him and cautarizes the wound.

"Focker-" He yelps and drops to all fours to dodge a second slash, leaping up and swinging his arm in an uppercut. His claws cut into the Kevlar as they scrape against the bulletproof vest instead of your skin, snagging on something around your neck and pulling it with him as you lean down and duck back to create distance.

Johnny doesn't get to check what it is when you immediately retaliate by throwing your knife at him. He quickly pockets what he got off you and tries to avoid the weapon but it still hits him in the shoulder, hot flames burning at his skin to let the metal slide in deeper. "Bastard-" He snarls but before he can do anything you're next to him, ripping the knife from his shoulder as you duck past him to slash at the back of his knee.

Soap yelps from the pain as he tumbles forward, turning his body as he falls to roughly swipe at you with his superior reach. The force behind his swing makes you stumble, giving his body the few seconds it needs to regenerate. He rolls to all fours, muscles tensing to lunge again— a sense of wrongness shoots down his spine, forcing him to pause.

A pillar of flames erupts from the ground where he would have been had he lunged at you, the bright light blinding him. When he can see again, he catches your form on top of one of the shipping containers, magical circles appearing as you run across the container to pelt him with balls of concentrated ash. The balls explode in large puffballs of ash as they hit the ground, his mind urging him to move to avoid getting a face full of ash. "Aw no yer fockin' not." He mutters under his breath, taking a few quick and wide steps before he leaps onto the shipping container to escape the suffocating smog, racing after you on all fours.

This proves to be a mistake as you suddenly turn around, thrusting your hand out to cast a giant circle right in front of his eyes. Claws digging into the metal Soap throws himself to his side just as a beam of flames shoots out, singeing his furry tail and forcing a strangled gasp out of his lips as a bit of his thigh gets caught in the blast of fire.

He crashes to the concrete ground, the scent rot curling in his nose as the ash swirls over him, but can't reach his lungs thanks to the gas mask. Johnny's leg muscles twitch, his though skin blistered and red like a tomato, the tattered remains of his pants partially burned into his skin. He struggles to get to his knees, pain stabbing his skin as his body tries to heal, watching through blurry eyes as you reach your target — the motorcycle.

The engine revs to life and you get on it without wasting a second. A violent sensation rushes down his spine as you summon another circle, this one so big it stretches across the entire back wall of the warehouse. In a second the metal heats up to the point it's glowing, solid steel turning into molten slag and dropping to the ground like melting snow. Soap's mind stutters when you flip him off before racing away, shouting and gunfire audible but quickly growing quiet as you get away.

Fucking Bastard.

"So- Soap! H-ghr!- ow co-kghr-ppy?" Price's voice crackles through the radio, barely understandable thanks to how much magic is floating around him.

He groans, sucking in a sharp breath. "Still alive." He grinds out. Rapidly approaching footsteps make him stumble to stand, a threatening growl erupting from his throat.

"Just me." Ghost's voice makes him instantly calm down. His body presses against Johnny's and Soap lets himself put his weight on Ghost. "You broken?" Ghost asks, slipping Johnny's arm over his shoulder and gripping his waist, easily holding him up despite Johnny being nearly twice his size currently.

Johnny tries to breathe in deep with the gas mask restricting his lungs, "Just me pride." He glances down to his leg, the wound glistening with clear fluid and still blistered, his healing factor not even making a dent in it. "Fucker got me good." His ears twitch,

"We'll track 'em down." Ghost grunts as he helps Soap limp out of the ash filled warehouse, safe from the magic as he doesn't need to breathe. "I stuck a tracker, they're not getting far."

"Fockin' hope so, ah got a score to settle an' the bawbag flipped me off for fuck—" A thought comes to him. The tattered remains of his pants have pockets high up so he doesn't tear them when he transforms. He reaches into the pocket and pulls the thing he'd accidentally nicked off you. Johnny lifts it up so both of them can see the chain hanging off his fingers, a little more than a dozen dog tags dangling from it.

Even with the gas mask obscuring part of his face, Ghost knows Johnny's smirking. "Bet you Laswell will love this."

Tag list: @resident-cryptid @diejager @lovingtyrantkitten @lieutnt @lilpothoscuttings @krystiannng @crankyweasel @ashy-kit @fyolaizs @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @aldis-nuts @whoislucas @birdiiiiiiiiiii

Masterlist; Chapter 1 <- Chapter 2(you are here) -> Chapter 3

#centerpieces of the hoard #captain john price #captain john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod modern warfare #poly 141 #monster cod au #fanfiction #cod x male reader #cod mwii #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #captain john price x male reader #john soap mactavish x male reader #soapghost #cod fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x male reader #cod x y/n #cod x gn!reader #cod x you #cod x male!reader

[xhoneygirlxx]

Fool For You

Dad!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

summary: Life as a single dad but life is about to get way harder when Steve falls for his son's teacher.

warnings: fluff. slight angst: mentions of steve's childhood. steve is sad over his son's first day of school. No pronouns are used for reader but they're described to wearing fem clothing. Steve compares reader to Miss Honey from Matilda. Readers skin tone/ethnicity is not mentioned. fic is set in 91 (let's pretend Matilda had already come out by then). meet cute. mentions of being a single parent. Steve's son is named Danny. ending is rushed lmao lets pretend it's not. bad writing/grammar errors. Not proofread!! 18+ plus only, MDNI

*If I missed anything lmk!

a/n: Awe my beautiful lovies!!! we are halfway done with my wonderful birthday week :( I just want to thank each and every one of you for supporting me and showing me nonstop love. I love each and everyone of you so dearly!!!! I also wanna apologize for the late upload! I hope you guys can forgive me!

Maybe I’m crazy, but it’s hard to ignore you

And I can’t wrap my head around it, but it feels

Oh, like I loved you before.

Being back in the hallways of Hawkins Elementary felt odd. Everything has stayed the same since the last time Steve went there, the paint of the walls, the decorations, even the smell was all the same. It smelled like a chilly autumn morning and books, innocence and childhood - a smell he didn't even realize he missed so much until he entered the building.

The cinder block lined walls hold memories, locking them in place until the end of time. Now his son's will be there along with them, a new generation of the Harrington family ready to leave their mark.

Walking hand and hand with Danny, Steve feels every single emotion any parent would on their child's first day. It's bittersweet, stinging him right through the heart with sadness and patching itself up with a sense of excitement. Danny on the other hand is a ball of energy, bouncing with every step he takes, like he always does.

The small boy is nothing but big smiles, eyes darting everywhere as he takes in the new environment. His Ninja Turtle backpack is comically bigger than him, flopping off of the backs of his knees with every step he takes.

As he looks down at his son, who looks just like him at that age, a big rush of adoration falls onto the older man. Over the short five years that Steve became a dad, he's learned that you can fall in love with your baby all over again just like the first time you held them. Steve is always amazed by Danny and the amount of love that runs through his veins for the small boy, but sometimes you need a little refresher like right now.

"You excited to meet your new teacher, Danny?" Steve swings the small boys arm causing him to giggle.

Nodding his chestnut hair, he looks up at his father with wide eyes. "M'cited dad."

"You gonna make lots of friends?" Steve isn't sure if this question is appropriate but a part of him worries about his son's ability to make new friends, since Steve is the only one out of his friends that has a child.

"I fink so but they hav' to like tourtles." Danny isn't really bothered by the question too much, not when he's too focused on the bright decorations that stick all over the walls.

"Turtles, Dan." It comes out in a chuckle. Even though Steve always corrects his son on the word, he's still a sucker for the way he says it.

Making it to the end of the hall, they stop at the wooden door with the numbers 206 written over them. The memory of Steve's kindergarten years creep into his mind as they stand there, flashbacks of him holding his mom's hand as wet tears streamed down his face. He wonders if his mother remembers that or if she buried that in the back of her mind like everything else in his life.

Pulling himself out of his head, Steve knocks on the closed door and scoots back just a little to leave room for it to open. Crouching down to his son's level, he runs a nervous hand through his hair, fixing whatever pieces didn't stay down.

"Daddy, you're gonna mess it up." Danny pouts, lightly stomping his converse clad foot on the vinyl flooring.

Pulling his hand back, Steve realizes he's using his son for his anxious habits. "You're right, m'sorry. You gonna be okay?"

Danny rolls his eyes in a sassy way, the way that always makes Steve laugh. "Yesss dad."

Wow, his son is really his carbon copy.

The sound of the heavy door opening pulls both of their attention, Steve immediately springing up from his position wiping his clammy hands down his shirt.

Steve steels himself for who he's about to meet, releasing a shaky breath he didn't realize he was holding. Now, Steve expected to see a middle aged woman, maybe even older. He pictured someone with a grandma type energy, sweet and welcoming. What he didn't expect was you.

Standing there in the doorway with the bright light of your classroom falling around you in a halo. A pretty floral dress hangs from your body, cinching your body just right without being too inappropriate. Your cheeks are puffed up as you smile brightly, eyes crinkled at the sides as you do.

You seem about the same age as Steve, no older than twenty five. Glasses sit on the top of your head, pushing back the front of your hair. In a way you remind him of Miss Honey, not looks wise but your aura. You're so fucking pretty and he doesn't think he'll be able to formulate a sentence.

"Let me guess," You stand with a hand on your hip, pretending to think hard, "You must be Mr. Daniel Harrington."

The little boy in question beams up at you, bouncing on his toes as he clutches his excited hands around the straps of his backpack.

"My dad calls me Danny." The lisp that he has is very noticeable when he says it. Steve can tell you want to coo so badly over the small boy, the flexing of your fingers not going unnoticed.

Crouching down to his level, you reach out a hand to Danny for a handshake. "What a pleasure to meet you Danny."

Placing his hand into yours, he shakes it in a jerky manner. His missing bottom tooth shows off with the way he smiles at you. Pulling your hand away, you stand up straight still looking at the small child.

"Danny whenever you're ready you can head right inside and find the cubby with your name on it!" Your voice is like the sun, bright and chipper.

Craning his next up to his dad, he waits for his dad's permission even though his body trembles with anticipation. Steve on the other hand doesn't want to let him go, not ready to detach himself from his baby he spent five years with.

Kneeling down, Steve wraps his son in one last hug. The sting of unshed tears hits his nose first, the lump that sits in the back of his throat waits patiently for the dam to break.

"Okay dad, I have to go!" The small boy giggles, not understanding the gravity of the situation. To him he thinks his dad is just being silly, not realizing that his dad's heart is breaking.

Reluctantly Steve pulls away, trying to remember the look on his son's face. His own flesh and blood, the boy he's worked so hard to raise by himself, and God is his heart full.

"Alright little man, go head inside." Tapping a heavy hand to the boy's head, he watches him duck into the classroom.

Popping back to his standing position, Steve tries his hardest to blink the tears away. You still stand there, observing the classroom behind your shoulder.

"Oh, Mr. Harrington," You call out before he can leave and he's quick to interrupt you.

"Please, call me Steve. I feel like I'm too young to be Mr. Harrington." He half chuckles, ignoring the skip of his heart when he makes eye contact with you.

"Steve," You correct, a bashful smile on your face, "I wanted to ask if you would be the only person to pick him up or if your wife would also be included in pick ups and drop offs."

"Oh, no I'm not- his mom isn't." Lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, he thinks of the best way to say it.

"Danny's mom isn't around, so it'll be just me on pick up and drop off duties. Possibly his aunt Robin but I'd let you know beforehand." A tight smile forms on his face.

"Oh I am so sorry, I shouldn't have assumed." You rush to apologize but you're quickly interrupted with the shake of his head.

"It's okay, you didn't know." He reassures and you visibly relax.

You're just as nervous as he is and he wonders if it's because you feel the same spark he does. Or maybe he's thinking too much into it. Either way, he'd like to think it's the latter.

"Well I'm very excited to teach Danny this year, he seems like a great kid." Although liking kids is part of your job, it sounds sincere coming out of your mouth and not rehearsed.

A coy smile breaks out on the older man's face, rose tint pours onto the rounded apples of his cheeks. "Y-yeah, he's a good kid. He can be shy sometimes but he loves to be around people."

Nodding your head, you sneak another peak behind you to check on the boy. "That's okay, I'm shy too."

When you turn to face Steve again, your lip is tucking behind your teeth. You're so fucking cute it makes him forget just how sad he was to drop off his own son and he doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing.

A long pause settles between the two of you, eyes becoming too bashful to meet. Steve kicks his foot at the hard floor, hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans.

"Well Steve, it was so nice to meet you but I have to get back in there." You sigh hiking a thumb over your shoulder.

Steve feels like someone just popped him like a balloon, the small amount of joy he's felt just by talking to you has now been taken away. Meeting you with a tight lipped smile, he nods understandingly.

After bidding your farewells, Steve thinks about you. He wishes he wasn't so awkward, that he had acted way cooler than he did, and how breathtaking your smile was when you spoke to him and his son.

On his drive home all he could think about was you and his son, ping ponging back and forth between the two. Steve wishes that he met you before today, maybe in the coffee shop on Main or in line at the grocery store. He wishes that he would be able to ask for your number and take you out without any consequences brought on by the school.

He doesn't know how he's going to last a full year with Danny in school and he's really not sure how he can manage to keep a professional conversation with you every morning without falling in love.

The low hum of Rod Stewart's "Rhythm of My Heart" plays through the car, the soundtrack to Steve's drive home.

Ah, the rhythm of my heart

Is beatin' like a drum

With the word's I love you

Rollin' off my tongue

"Fuuuuuuck," His voice drags out in the safety of his car, "I'm screwed."

Yeah, he was definitely screwed.

The ending feels rushed and it's not good but I hope you still enjoy! love you all :)

#steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x fem reader #honey's birthday bash #honey's holiday celebrations

[wolfvmin]

House of Cards: The Last Dance

pairing: chishiya shuntarou x fem!reader genre: angst, unrequited love (but is it really), pining, fluff (can u believe it) wc: 15.7k (uhm) warnings: badly written action scenes, implied abuse, more flashbacks, unedited </3 summary: in which after leaving chishiya, you were forced back into the games of borderland. a/n: this is all i can do i'm sorry song used: when i fall in love - nat king cole PART 1 > FINAL

Death doesn’t discriminate between sinners or saints.

As you lay there on the ground with the smell of cinder filling your nose and the heat of the scorching fire warming your skin, your mind brings you back to the means you had to go through to live another day in Borderland. You’ve lied, beaten, betrayed, and killed to survive. You hadn’t expected the ten of hearts game to appear just as you leave Chishiya. You also hadn’t expected the massacre of the Beach through a witch hunt. Everything about this is unexpected, just like everything that has happened so far in this world you didn’t ask to be in.

Niragi missed anything vital or permanently life-altering, you know that much given your medical background. He missed the femoral artery, you were pretty sure about it. Well, not that he was aiming for it when he started his reckless free-shooting. You were one of the bodies thrown off to the ground and was shot in the leg. 

Arisu and Usagi scream for you as you hit the ground with a thud, your arms stopping your head from the impact. With a groan, you lie your head on the ground in defeat. 

Usagi starts moving instead of checking on you, maneuvering and avoiding the distraught running bodies and bullets. 

You didn’t feel it at first, and then it started to hurt like a bitch that you wanted to die right there and then. How do you survive this? You immediately start thinking. The bleeding has to be stopped, for sure. How deep is the wound? That’s the first thing you have to check. But why can’t you move? You’re so tired. 

You turn your head to your left, Usagi has jumped on Niragi’s back, distracting him from his shooting rampage. Arisu comes to her aid, trying to take the gun from Niragi. In return, he gets repeatedly hit in the back by the gunned man in the process. 

Arisu couldn’t do it. He had too much injury and was weakened by the constant beating. 

Niragi was able to overpower him and kick him to the floor. He spins with his strength, sending Usagi’s body away from his back and flying to the floor with a loud impact. 

“Usagi!” you scream, despair not hidden in your voice. 

You attempt to sit up, adrenaline rush filling your senses to be able to save your friends. This was game over for you. You have no one to go back to in the real world. Chishiya is safe, you’re sure of it. Kuina is still here so he might be here too. He had to get the last card of the deck, of course. But he’ll be fine. 

With a shot leg, you won’t be able to get far anyway. 

Arisu quickly crawls in front of Usagi in a useless attempt to protect her from Niragi as he aims his gun at the both of them. They’re both weak and tired, there was no escaping from Niragi as they were his sole target. 

“You…” Niragi mutters. “I’ll kill all of you!” 

Your body was moving before you even knew it. As if you hadn’t had your thigh injured, you sprint over as a head start and jump to where the perverted asshole is. Your heart raced faster than your feet did as you shouted with all your might, raising your uninjured leg as you flew in the air. You succeed in getting Niragi’s attention as he looks up at you with wide eyes. Unlike Usagi, you don't jump to his back, instead your foot slams into his head, sending him flying across the floor. 

This attack had you rolling on the ground and then on your stomach when you land. Coughs sputter out of your mouth as the burning building’s smoke begins to affect your lungs. 

Arisu and Usagi could only look at you with stunned wide opened eyes and raised brows as you landed a few feet away from them.

“Run!” You scream at them with tight fists as you attempt to get back up again. It seems the adrenaline rush was no longer there to help you as you struggle to support yourself again. 

Niragi was getting up again. This makes you furrow your brows and groan, tears forming in your eyes in frustration as you slam your fists on the ground. There was no time. If the two try to run away in their bad state, they’ll be shot dead by Niragi. 

You’re fucked. 

Why can’t this motherfucker just die? you grimaced.

You drag your body with whatever strength you have, barely sitting up as you stare down at the man who had just gotten up to his feet with difficulty and a hand on his bleeding head. 

Just as Niragi raises his weapon, like a raging bull, Aguni rushes in and attacks him, pushing himself and Niragi into the spreading fire deeper inside the building. You could no longer see their bodies but shots were heard. 

“Three minutes remaining,” the game reminded the players.

As your body collapses on the floor in relief, all the people of the Beach rush to carry Momoka’s body to the Fire of Judgement. 

Arisu and Usagi try to help you stand but you wave them off when they successfully make you sit. “No. No. Clear the game first.” You laughed in between coughs. “I need to catch a breath.” 

Usagi tries to argue with you but you glare at her. “I’ll be out as soon as the phone dings,” you assure them.

“Can you walk?” Arisu asks as he looks at your leg.

You nod and roll your eyes. “I was a med student, Arisu. I can handle it.” 

The pair looked at each other as if communicating with their eyes and then they nod, lifting each and limping out of the building to head over to the Fire of Judgement. You watch their retreating figures, relieved that the two are safe. 

You look back down at your wounded thigh and laugh. You were probably overreacting a bit. It seems that your presumptions were correct. It didn’t hit anything bad and the bullet did enter you but exited you as well. But you do have to stop the bleeding as soon as possible. 

Great, now you’re going to have ugly scars on your thigh. So it’s bye-bye bikinis? 

You scoff and take off the white cover-up you had over yourself, leaving you in the two-piece black bikini you’ve been wearing since you arrived at the beach. You began to wrap it around your thigh skillfully just as you were taught. Blood began to seep through the cloth and you knew that soon enough, you have to replace it with a real bandage and sew the open wound.

The phone for the game dinged and you sigh in relief. They were able to burn Momoka’s body, after all. 

Definitely not with ease, you were able to push yourself back up. If it wasn’t for your determination to keep your promise to Usagi and Arisu, you would’ve just laid there for a little longer.

So much for Utopia, you thought.

As you were about to exit the building, your feet stopped on their own accord when something crossed your mind, making the corner of your lips turn up into a smirk. 

You sat on the small round marble table with your legs dangling and fingers playing with the ten of hearts card. Flames are eating up the building around you but you know you don’t have to be around here any longer. As if on cue, you see the familiar white jacket from your peripheral, bringing a sad smile to your face. 

“I saved it for you, Chishiya.”

There was no greeting needed. You turn your head to your right and give him a happier, faker smile. His eyes stray down to your injured thigh for a second but back to your face in no time. He approaches you with no caution and no clue of emotion on his face.

You don’t doubt he saw the whole ordeal back there. He probably saw you and your friends struggle as he sat back and watched the scene unfold like a movie. He watched you almost die. It was so like him, quiet and scheming as he does whatever is best for him. 

Now, he was here to steal the last remaining card too. 

“It’s no longer Shuntarou, huh?” 

He doesn’t receive any answer from you but he knows the answer why. You were still mad at him. How could you not? He practically sent your comrades to their deathbeds if it wasn’t for the unexpected game venue. 

“To be honest, I don’t think it’s even important if we collect all the cards,” you confessed as you stare at the single card in your hand, flipping to its front and back. You finally turn your whole body to face him, stretching your arm to offer the card to him. “But here, just so you have it all.” 

He raises a brow, staring at you with a smirk. Goddamn, is he attractive. It’s so unfair. 

His mouth opens, about to say something but another person walks in. He realizes this when your eyes stray from his and shift to the tall woman in a blue swimsuit. You smile at her, uncaring of the interruption. 

“You two are quite persistent, aren’t you?” Kuina asks with a smirk. Chishiya turns to look at her for a second before facing you again. 

She nods over to your still wrapped-up thigh. “That was cool–what you did to Niragi. Where did you learn that?”

“It was just luck,” you tell her, earning a scoff from the man in front of you. 

He takes the card from your hand. “Don’t believe her. She’s a spades player and was an athlete.” 

Among other things, sports were one of the few things you had to give up on when you were forced to pursue medicine. But you never told Chishiya that you would still make time to compete in underground fights. It was the only way you could keep doing it with your parents not knowing. So yes, you were a retired mixed martial arts athlete that eventually became skilled in street fights. 

Chishiya knew, of course. You would disappear and not bother him for weeks, healing any injuries that you incurred during the fights. Most of the time, you’ll be gone for a week. Until, there was one time in particular when you had not bothered him for almost two weeks and even canceled the date you were so excited to be on. Curiosity got the best of him, leading him to your apartment where he found you tending to your wounds alone. It was when you finally told him what you have been doing. 

“So this is what you have been up to.” 

Chishiya was leaning against the doorway with an unamused face, holding a flier of the underground fight in his hand.

You had been applying ointment on your wounds. The fight was worse than usual and your opponent decided to destroy your face. Of course, you won because you were so pissed off that you were going to have to cancel a date with Chishiya so he wouldn’t notice the black eye and your wounded nose. 

You drop the cotton bud with wide eyes and a gasp, scrambling to hide your face in your hands. 

It was kind of funny—you in your underwear, exposing all the healing bruises all over your body and face. Chishiya doesn’t react seeing you almost naked. It was like the nonchalant man doesn’t see you as a woman. 

You lower your hands from your eyes so you could see him but still enough to cover your face from the eyes down. “Are you going to tell dad?” you ask like a kid being caught shattering a vase. 

He sighs, walking over to your bed and sitting down with his hands inside his jacket’s pocket. “What would I gain from that?” It was rhetorical. You know he’ll gain nothing from saying anything. Instead, you know he’d rather keep his mouth shut and use it against you. 

In front of the mirror, you watch his reflection fixate on your body’s bruises. Suddenly feeling a bit insecure, you purse your bruised lips and head over to your closet to grab a silk robe to wrap around your half-naked self. 

“Why are you here, Shuntarou?” you ask with folded arms.

He shrugs and looks away from you. “‘Was curious.”

Silence filled your room, only the ticking of your wall clock being heard. You sigh. “I won’t stop doing it,” you tell him firmly. 

“I know,” he responds as if he expected you to say that. “But tell me, how long do you plan to keep on doing this?” He raises the flier in his hand again as if mocking you with it. 

You understand. You used to fight in arenas with media, judges, journalists, and opponents who are trained the same way as you. Underground fighting—it was different. It’s illegal, messier, and deadlier. Often, there are no rules. It’s quite literally beat your opponent to death or be beaten to death. Sometimes, weapons are even snuck in and nobody cares if it’s against the rules. 

It was dangerous for you but more dangerous for your family name. 

But you couldn’t help it, the rush it gives you—it made you feel alive more than championships ever did. 

To hide the bruises from your father, you would over-accessorize and constantly shop for new clothes. During the day, you were the rich and elegant daughter he wanted. But at night, you were a fighter under a different name and a mask.

When you don’t answer, Chishiya dismisses the question and looks over the medicine you got for yourself on your vanity table. “There’s better ointment than that.” 

You roll your eyes. Of course, he has to be smarter about that. “It’s the only brand the nearest drugstore had.” 

Then you grin, a thought coming into your mind. “Maybe you can help me apply it?” 

“No,” he stands up from your bed. “I’m leaving.” 

But he didn’t and he spent the night treating your wounds like a doctor should.

“Well, I have to go back to my friends,” you brought yourself to your feet, a hand hovering over your injured thigh. Kuina reached over to help you but you rejected her attempt with a smile. There’s a struggle but you were able to walk away from them even with the pain. 

You would kill for crutches right now. 

“Wait!” Kuina stops you. You turn around, confused as she approaches you. She removes the sword sheath from her shoulder and hands it over to you. You quickly recognize this as The Last Boss’, the militant always around Niragi, sword. “You can use this to steady yourself.”

You smile and take it from her. “Thank you,” you accept it with genuine gratitude, looking over to Chishiya who was watching the exchange quietly on the side.

“I’ll see you around, Kuina.” 

Arisu, Usagi, and you found a place to stay along with the others from the Beach. There, you tended to your wounds and recovered. There were no games. Those whose visas were about to expire tried to go to previous game venues but nothing happened.

It’s as if Borderlands completely stopped.

Some assume that the games are over since all the numbered cards were completed but you know that’s hardly the case. This is the silence before the storm—a grace period if you will. 

“Where’s Usagi?” you ask Arisu when you wake up and the pretty climber was nowhere to be found. He was looking better and his injuries were mostly healed.

“She went and looked for supplies with the others,” he answered with a yawn. 

Even if the three of you only spent a few days at the Beach, everyone began to miss the luxury of hotel beds, warm breakfast, hot showers, and electricity. Following the ten of hearts game, the survivors camped together. Eventually, it began to be suffocating as the same people reminded them of the Witch Hunt massacre. Most militants were eaten by their guilt and left, while those who had their comrades killed by militants still felt disgusted by them and chose to separate from the group. Wounds heal but they can’t be rushed. 

The three of you stayed with Ann and Tatta, hopping from one place to another for a few nights. 

Last night, you stayed at a small house with two bedrooms which were occupied by the girls and boys each. It didn’t have much supply hence why Usagi must’ve gone with Tatta and Ann. 

You were pretty much useless because of your injury and one of your three companions always had to stay with you even if you try to assure them you’ll be fine. It was mostly Arisu who was being overprotective. You had a hunch that it was mostly because it was a leg injury. It must’ve hit close to home, you think. 

Nevertheless, you were thankful for their care. Plus, it was a good thing that the games have somehow stopped for a while because you surely wouldn’t have survived with a leg you could barely walk on. The bullet missed your muscle or any artery, what it hit was mostly fat. 

You raised your leg on the coffee table while you sat on the couch. You could walk better now and maybe even run. You haven’t pushed it though, opting to do exercises that would help you recover faster. You were a spades player, after all. It wouldn’t do you any good when the games finally start.

“It’s a good thing you were in med school,” Arisu points to your leg. You gave him a wide grin, taking in the compliment.

“What a shame it was so boring,” you say. 

Arisu smiles, handing you the cup of instant ramen. You thanked him quietly and began to eat. He sits down beside you and eats his cup too. For a minute, the only thing that could be heard in the living room was the sound of your slurps and chewing. 

“So,” Arisu started, “I’m sorry about Chishiya.” 

You shrug, trying not to show how the C-word affects you. “I’m sorry too. Y’know, because he basically tried to kill you and Usagi. I know that you mostly trusted him because of my feelings for him.” 

“That’s what I’m sorry for,” he explains, “I didn’t think he’d betray you too. I thought he really cared for you. Especially when he said those things about you.” 

His words make you pause from your meal, looking at the shaggy-haired boy in curiosity and confusion. “What things?” you ask and begin to chew again, this time slowly, waiting for your friend’s answer. 

“He told me we shouldn’t include you in our plans because…” He set down his cup on his lap and chewed away the fullness of his mouth before continuing. “Because he doesn’t want you in any danger. He said ‘I’m sure you understand. If you were in my place, you wouldn’t want the only person you like in this life to be in any danger.’” 

Your breath catches in your throat. You know it wasn’t real. But to hear that Chishiya Shuntarou said those words about you even if they were lies? You wish you would’ve heard it yourself. In fact, you would give an arm and a leg for him to say that to you.

Arisu sighed, slumping his back on the couch. “He said it was still my choice if I’ll ask you and it was just his simple request. I was an idiot. I didn’t know he was doing it because he knows you’ll figure out his real plans if you knew our plan.” 

You stayed silent for a few seconds and then replied in a low voice. “You’re not an idiot.” A frown paints on your face. “He’s a manipulative motherfucker, that’s what he is.” 

“What made you like him so much, then?” Arisu lets his curiosity free with the question.

His question was valid. It’s no doubt that the asshole was attractive and cool. These are traits he had in common with millions of men in the world so why Chishiya of all people? Is it because you had no option? But you do. In fact, you hated the idea of your parents saying you’ll marry one of their friends’ sons. 

But heck, do your parents know you. They’re clever, you’ll admit. They really got you where they wanted you. 

“I’m sorry, I’m late!” 

The door opens with a loud thud, revealing you with your hands on your knees, in your messily worn high school uniform, and catching your breath from the running. You came from morning training for the Karate team but lost track of time. All your classmates had their eyes on you, some snickering and laughing at you. 

“Miss L/N, that’s the third time this month,” your teacher deadpans while still writing on the board. 

“I know, sir! I’ll try my very very very best not to do it again this month, sir!” You shout, grinning from ear to ear as you stand up straight with your left arm on your sides and your other hand in a salute. Your teacher sighs, muttering “this month” and shaking his head, making the class laugh. 

“Just get back to your seat, L/N,” he replies in defeat. 

“Yes, sir!” you agree and set down your salute back into a military stance. Your class laughs once again and you laugh along with them. You head to your seat at the back of the class, a few of your classmates giving you a high-five greeting as you pass by them. 

Your steps halt when you notice you finally have a seatmate. He had mid-length blonde hair, half of it tied up with a few strands on the sides of his face. He wasn’t even looking at you, focusing on the writing on the blackboard instead. The stranger intrigued you so you raise a brow and look at your side where your nearest classmate sat. 

“The new student,” he whispers. “His name is Chishiya Shuntarou.” 

You smirk, thanking your classmate and heading over to your designated seat. You set down your backpack on the floor and sat down, facing the new student who was still not acknowledging you with his stare. 

“Hi. I’m Y/N L/N,” you introduce yourself and hold out your hand. “Let’s be friends, yeah?”

The stranger stops writing his notes and finally looks at you straight in the face and then back to your hand. 

He just ignores you and continues writing his notes again. 

You stare at him dumbfounded with your held-out hand, frozen and in disbelief. ‘What an asshole,’ you think. You shrug anyway and retract your hand, sitting properly to face the board. 

“Chishiya, right?” you start a conversation even if you sense that he won’t bother answering. “Why would you transfer in the middle of the semester?” You were bringing out your notebook when a thought passed by you.

Then it clicks. “Chishiya, that sounds familiar.” You say to yourself particularly when you flip open the pages of your notebook to a blank page. 

“Idiot.” It was him mumbling but you hear it all too well.

Your mouth drops at his voice and it finally hits you. It was him. Chishiya Shuntarou, son of most of your hospitals’ directors. You see him during events your parents drag you to ever since you were children. He was always reserved and quiet but you always admired him, even harboring a little crush on him. You’ve been so deep into your sports for years that you actually forgot what your life was like before you found something that really excited you. 

A smile unconsciously spreads on your face in recalling the memory. 

“Shuntarou,” you pause. “He grounds me down.”

Do you think Chishiya was a good person? Definitely not. You weren’t perfect, either. People are neither good nor bad. There’s no such simple person as that. Chishiya is a troubled person. He’s struggling with how to connect with himself and others. This is something you find in common with him. 

When you are in trouble, Chishiya always finds a way to be there for you in his own way. You used to think that he cares about you and you liked to think that way still. But for now, you two have different priorities. You are at war. 

And no one comes out the same person they were before the battle started.

“You sure about this, Y/N?” 

Usagi was asking you for the nth time. You nod. “I’m all healed,” you reply. That was partly true. You’re sure you can run now but there’s still a limit to what you can do specifically in terms of fighting. But you were stubborn enough not to leave Arisu and Usagi to investigate the Minami-Aoyama station alone.

The three of you traced the steps of Asahi and Momoka from the video that Arisu found on the phone she left behind. You walked in the dark train tracks just like they did until you found a door. 

It was opened so Arisu cautiously heads in while the two of you trail behind him, ready for any attack to come but there was nothing. You continued to walk the empty hallway, searching for the place in the video.

Arisu halts his step and you realize you were here. The three of you entered the dark room, Arisu pointing his flashlights around it. 

The lively room filled with monitors and people cheering in the video was now a dark lifeless room with multiple dead people slumped over monitors and evidence of being shot by a laser. They seemed to be players in Borderland too but unlike you, they were well-groomed and well-fed. 

“Holy shit,” you mumbled.

“You actually found this place.”

A voice startles the three of you and Arisu immediately points the flashlight in the direction of the voice. From another entrance of the room, Chishiya and Kuina strut in. You put on your guard. Why was he here? Are they one of the dealers? It’s unlikely the case but why?

“As expected from someone I have high hopes for,” the blonde continued.

“We meet again,” Kuina speaks. 

Usagi doesn’t hide the disgust in her tone and countenance. “It’s you,” she says with furrowed brows, no doubt still mad over the pair’s betrayal. Kuina looks away in slight guilt, looking over at Chishiya.

You follow her gaze and notice he no longer wears the jacket you gave him. Instead, he wore a blue and white gradient cardigan over his shirt. You feel a tad of disappointment in your heart at the thought that he has thrown it away or lost it. 

“Thanks to you, I have all the numbered playing cards with me.” He held up the deck of cards as he says it, a condescending smirk painted on his face. He truly is a despicable human being. 

Arisu glares at him and flatly asks, “How did you find this place?”

Chishiya brings out a small folded piece of paper and unfolds it to show you its contents. “It took me a while to realize that this is actually the route map of a subway station.” From afar, the drawing really did look like random scribbles. It’s a good thing that the man is observant. You don’t know where he got it but Arisu may have had a clue as you see the expression on his face. They have both participated in a game, after all.

“What happens when we collect all the cards?” He saunters closer to you with his hands in his pockets. “I thought I’d find the answer if I come here.” His eyes explore the room. “But there’s only one thing I discovered.”

“They’re not game masters,” Arisu cuts him off, finishing his sentence. 

“Right,” Chishiya agrees. “Judging from the fact that they were all killed after our victory. They’re humans like us and on top of that, there’s someone above them.” 

You scoff. “What? Like a God?” 

“Just who could they be?” Usagi asks no one in particular as she looks at Chishiya.

“Who knows? They might be aliens,” he pauses and shifts his eyes to you with a smug and mocking face, “or as your friend said, even God himself.” It was the first time he acknowledged you in the room. You raise a brow, slightly offended. His bitter tone doesn’t pass by you and the fact that he called you ‘your friend’ instead of your name, vexed you.

Not that you planned to give him a reaction but if you did, you wouldn’t be given the chance because the lights of the room turned on, followed by the wall of multiple television and computer screens circling the room accompanied by heightened ceremonial music. 

The screens reveal a familiar face—the executive specializing in the hearts game, Mira, sitting on a chair in a black gown. A vicious smile is plastered on her face. It sets an eerie feeling in your heart. What kind of fucked up shit is happening here?

“Congratulations to all players,” her voice sent chills down your spine. “With the exception of the face card games, all of you have cleared all thus far and emerged as victors by sacrificing numerous lives.” 

Her head tilts to the side, feigning innocence and wonder. “I wonder how many of your comrades have died?” 

She stands up, raising an arm. “Try to remember those that were shot dead with a gun.” She walks around as the screen shows recorded videos of the games. “That girl that you burned alive, those struck with the lasers, those that drowned, those whose heads were blown off, those comrades of yours.” You feel Arisu flinch beside you at the mention of the last sentence. 

“The despair you’ve felt so far and those dying moments that you can never forget.” 

One particular screen catches your eye but not because of a man’s head being blown off. It was because standing near that man was a familiar shaggy-haired boy. Your gaze flits to the man’s face beside you and you see the flash of horror in his eyes as the screams of people from the games fill your ears. 

“I’m extremely touched!” Mira exclaims. “All of you players, we would like to give you a present.” Her movements were odd as if she was really excited about this. One thing’s for sure, whatever’s Mira’s role is in this world, she isn’t being forced to do it. 

“Are you returning us to the original world?” Kuina thinks out loud. You purse your lips, doubting that that’s the case. 

Mira gasps, eyes widening as her body shakes in excitement. “There will be new games!” She exclaims happily like the words don’t mean death and destruction on a whole new level. “Let’s play games together. You’ll fight for face cards.” 

“Wow,” you react with a flat tone. “She’s fucked in the head.”

There’s disbelief in Kuina’s voice when she asks, “New games?” 

“I don’t dislike the idea,” Chishiya says, the smirk not being wiped off his face. Your fists clench at his words. You don’t understand him. How could he like these games? Death, betrayal, being played around like lab rats—were those entertaining to him? You always thought Chishiya was a little bit different than most and he was just doing his most to survive but is this a side to him that you’ve blinded yourself to? 

“We’ve still got many more wonderful games prepared for all of you, so look forward to it!” Mira ends her ridiculous speech. 

“This woman…” Usagi finally speaks.”Is she the game master?” 

“I’d rather see an alien appear on the screen.” Kuina thinks out loud. 

“The next stage will commence tomorrow at noon,” the camera zooms in on Mira’s face. “Let’s have some fun together!” 

“So we have to fight again,” Usagi says, feeling defeated.

“Yes,” Arisu replies. “But something is different... we’re finally seeing our target.” He says with his eyes focused on Mira, glaring and determined. 

“You’re mad again,” Chishiya states the obvious in the dark of the room you’ve entered.

You slam yourself on the nearest display bed, looking around the furniture store you’ve sheltered in from the King of Spades. By not answering Chishiya, you clearly agree with his suspicion. Of course, you were pissed off. If he ran with urgency as a normal person does, maybe you would’ve been able to jump inside that car with your friends. 

“It’s not like we would’ve fit. I’m sure you’ll find them again,” he assures you, unconvincingly with a bitter tone in his voice.

He looks at the sky through the glass window of the store. “The blimp is gone,” he observes out loud. “We can rest here if you want and then we can go.” 

“If his whole Arena is Tokyo, then that means we have no choice but to join the other games,” you think out loud. There are 12 face cards, meaning there’d be 11 games out there and one game where a single overpowered man aims to shoot down every player out here. Even if you were a spades player, your combat skills, no matter how great, are no match with his unending ammo. You can’t exactly kick or punch those bullets away. 

“That’s the point,” he replies flatly. 

You glare at him, scoffing and lying down on the bed fully with your head resting on your arm. “You should get me food,” you tell him and ignore his sarcastic remark. You don’t really expect him to comply, you were just doing it to get on his nerves like usual. 

“Do it yourself,” he says with a sigh. 

“As you can see, I’m injured…” You point to your thigh wound that was still wrapped and can be seen clearly from the ends of your gym shorts. Obviously, that was a lie and you can move freely now. “And hungry.” 

He scoffs, sitting on the mattress next to you. Deafening silence began to fill the room and you almost forget that Chishiya is in the same room as you. His presence begins to make you uncomfortable, not because you hated him but because you don’t like him seeing you vulnerable. So, you turn to your side with your back facing him. 

The king of spades, he just destroyed everyone out there. These next games, they’re much crueler than the numbered ones. You barely made it out alive and now you have to participate in harder games? And when they’re all over, who’s to say that you could actually go back?

Do you even want to go back?

If you were to die here, it wouldn’t be much loss to the real world, anyway. Things haven’t changed despite the circumstances—your priority was still to get Chishiya out of here if he can. You’re sure you will see Usagi and Arisu again. They’ll be fine. They even got Kuina, Ann, and Tatta by their side. Maybe you were separated from them so you can protect Chishiya somehow. 

You don’t doubt that he’d want to join the diamond games. In fact, maybe he’s even excited about it. If it came down to you joining him in one, you’ll try your best to help him win. But if you two somehow find yourself in a game where he will need your strength, you’d be glad to be there with him. 

The thing is, you know you would sacrifice yourself for him but the question is, would he willingly sacrifice you to win?

As you drown in your thoughts, your body shuts down to sleep, suddenly exhausted from all the running. 

The dress you wore flowed freely, the ends dragging on the floor. Even if you find yourself more at home with gym clothes, dressing up did excite you too. It just wasn’t as convenient as gym clothes where you can move freely. 

Tonight, you were ecstatic as the lavender gown you had a famous designer made sculpted your upper body perfectly as you fit it the night before the dance. Giggling, you think back to the blonde’s acceptance of your invitation to the school event. 

“So, Shuntarou, have you asked someone to the dance yet? or maybe been asked by someone?” you ask as you sat beside him in the classroom during break time.

“If you wouldn’t glare at any girl that would approach me, maybe someone would’ve.” He replies in a monotone voice as he eats his cookies. It was his favorite brand. 

“I do not glare,” you reply, glaring. “And if you want to go with someone, just tell me who and I’ll help you.” 

He raises a brow, finally looking at you but with full judgment. He knows you’re bluffing. “At least try.” 

You lose your facade. “Ok, then. Will you go with me to the dance?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” he replies, dull as always.

You skip around your room, heart fluttering at the thought of slow dancing with the nonchalant blonde boy. You imagine the jealous stares of the girls who have a crush on him. You couldn’t help it. You were in high school and in love. 

Afraid to accidentally damage the dress in any way, you remove it and keep it in a safe place. Tomorrow, you’ll have a team to help you get ready. Then, Chishiya will fetch you and you will go to the dance together. 

In your excitement, you forgot to drink water or even eat dinner. You were only reminded when you feel your throat get parched. With that realization, you head to the kitchen to get something to eat. 

As you were munching on some leftover pasta you found, you hear your father’s voice in the living room. Since when was he home? You become more cautious of your actions, careful not to make any noise as you eat. It’s better to not encounter him at all.

“Ah, he’s taking her to some school dance? That’s good.” School dance? What is he talking about? 

Due to curiosity, you leave your food and tiptoe closer to eavesdrop on the conversation. It seems that he’s on the phone. 

“She’s still a kid, wasting her time on stupid matters. It’s good that Shuntarou is already thinking about a future in medicine.” Shuntarou? You now realize that he’s talking to Shuntarou’s dad and with the tone of his voice at the mention of ‘her,’ it’s safe to assume that he’s talking about you. Your father hated the numerous extracurriculars you were doing, especially those of sports. He always believed they were a waste of time and that if you wanted to do extracurriculars, you should’ve just joined the student council. 

“They’ve been getting along well, I’ve heard. As soon as Shuntarou finishes his residency and gains a little experience, we can have them married,” your father speaks to his phone. 

You froze at hearing the word ‘married.’ What did he mean by that? Could it be… Chishiya and you were being arranged to be married? And then it hit you. It’s all planned. The reason why Chishiya was transferred to your school in the middle of the semester after some unknown reason is because of your father. He was transferred there for you. 

Your father says more to his friend on the phone. It was all about you and Chishiya and some for the hospital. From what you’ve gathered, it was so Chishiya can inherit the position of chairman. 

You can practically hear your heart shatter as it sinks to the ground. At such a young age, your father doesn’t believe in you. It’s always been like this. He just believed from the get-go that you didn’t have it in you to win. You weren’t gifted like him. 

Chishiya is the child he wants, not you. 

“Tell Chishiya to keep up the good work. I’ll give him a reward for taking my daughter to the dance.”

And it seems that Chishiya knows all about it too. 

Your eyes fluttered open, lids feeling a bit heavy because of the unexpected sleep. As you sat up, your throat immediately felt parched from thirst. You really needed water. 

Looking around, you find no sign of your companion. You felt a funny feeling in your stomach, wondering where he had gone. Has he already gone and joined a game? It seemed like something he would do here in Borderland, leave you in the middle of nowhere alone and unguarded. 

You were about to stand up to actually look for the blonde man when you noticed something new on the display side table of the bed you slept on. It was unopened canned food and a bottle of water. There was no note or anything but it could only be from the blonde-haired guy himself. Has he really gone out alone and looted food for you?

You decide to quench your thirst first before dealing with him, grabbing the plastic bottle in a swift motion and opening the cap hastily before drinking in chugs. 

“Slow down.” 

As if on cue, Chishiya enters the furniture shop, now in the white jacket you gave him. Where did he hide that? Did he go back to where he left it when you were asleep?

You brought the bottle from your lips, staring at him like a puzzle. “Where did you go?” 

“Outside,” he answers flatly. You glare at him. “Just say thank you for the food and water.”

You don’t answer right away, watching silently as the man sits down again on the bed next to you, laying down some things he probably found around. It’s weird how it oddly felt domestic. If you were to disregard the numerous pieces of furniture around you, you could imagine yourself in a place in the real world where you two have your own home, happily married, and are in possession of what you two always wanted. 

You shake off the thought. Not only is that impossible in Borderland, but it’s also impossible in the real world. 

You open the canned food. It was mixed fruits. After you thanked him softly, you began to eat quietly, chewing slowly as he said to.

“Have you eaten?” you ask as he stares at you. He gives you a nod before taking his eyes off you and back to his tinkering. 

“Are you joining a game soon?” you attempt a conversation again. 

“I think we have to,” he answers.

He was right. “Yeah.” You bit your lip, afraid to ask what’s been lingering in your mind. “Do… do you want to join a game together?” 

He stills, “no.” 

“Why not? I’m strong. I can protect you,” you point at the sword you laid on the ground. 

“That’s not enough,” Chishiya answers in a heartbeat. 

“Would you rather I die alone?” It was a tough question. Not for him but for you. If you were going to be asked, you’d rather have your last moments with him. 

He audibly tsks, standing up from the bed and putting his hands in his pockets. He walks away from you and the conversation. Disappointment creeps into your skin. You knew he wouldn’t care about your sentiments. 

His hand stays on the door, not opening it yet. “Tomorrow,” he speaks, not even turning around to look at you. “We’ll join a game together.”

It sent a chill down your spine. You didn’t know what his motives are. Did he decide to go on a game with you because of what you asked… or did it give him an idea to finally end you?

It’s a good thing that the next stage shows you what game you will be entering through the blimps. The game you enter varies on one’s strengths and risks. You know that you wouldn’t willingly enter a Hearts game with the people you care about and you would try to enter a game you specialize in. 

“No heart games,” Chishiya tells you. 

You’ve found yourself inside a small home to spend the night in. It was safer than the furniture store with glass windows. You thought it’d be nice to decide on what game to choose.

You felt the mattress dip beside you, indicating Chishiya sat down. 

The house was small and cozy. It was a one-bedroom and looked like it belonged to a couple simply because it had everything by pair. What made you stay though, is that Chishiya has found their secret stash of food that was hidden inside the bedroom and under the floors of the closet.

The supply could last you maybe about a week.

You turn your head to Chishiya. It was already night time and you only had a candlelight lamp lighting up the room. He has taken off his jacket, leaving him in his shirt and pants. 

It was not the first time you’d shared a bed. When your families would go on trips together, they’d make you share a room. If you didn’t know about your father’s plans, you would find it odd how they were too willing for you two to get along that they were putting their young adult child inside a bedroom with a guy her age. 

During those trips, you would fall asleep on his bed while telling him stories. At first, Chishiya would leave you be and sleep on your bed. Until one night, when it became too frequent, he just slept beside you. And then the rest was history. 

As he lies down beside you, you hear his gentle breathing, see the rise and fall of his chest, and the way he inhales and exhales. It seemed that he was in deep thought. Could it be that he was worried about the games too?

“How about a Diamonds game?” you suggest. You think that you were pretty smart and you could handle it more with him by your side.

Chishiya doesn’t answer, looking like he’s in deep thought. 

“Kuina and the others probably joined a Clubs game.” you continue. “Maybe we should join one too.”

The thought brings you back to your comrades. It’s possible that they joined a game together—a Clubs game is the safest bet if they all want to live. Maybe it’s what you and Chishiya can do too. 

“We’ll join the Queen of Clubs. It’s the nearest clubs game.” The man beside you finally speaks, his voice a little tired. 

You agree, nodding lightly. You spun to your side with your back facing him as he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Goodnight, Chishiya,” you mumble, still not being able to call him by his first name. He doesn’t answer but you hear him subtly hum in response. 

The sun was setting when you and Chishiya reach the arena. 

After a bit of walking, your mouth drops as you realize that the Queen of Clubs blimp is hovering over a high school building. Specifically, the prestigious high school you and Chishiya attended. 

“How fitting,” Chishiya reacts with a bored tone.

Sometimes, you feel like the games are catered to the players. Like they know all your life stories. This high school being the game arena, is it to your advantage or disadvantage? Whatever it is, you have no choice but to find out. This is your first game in the second stage, and it’s a Clubs game. If the two of you work with other players well, the chance of survival is high. 

That should be the mindset for the numbered games but right now, you weren’t sure because these are face card games. If the numbered games were difficult as it is, you should be terrified and ready for the face cards. 

“I can go in alone,” you suddenly say, afraid to go in there together with him. 

“You’re kidding,” he scoffs and walks closer to the entrance. “After all that talk about dying alone?” 

The anxiety that was creeping into your skin would put you at a disadvantage. You know that Chishiya could handle himself but you couldn’t help but be worried for him. Sighing, you shake off the worry and decide to push through with joining the game with him.

You enter the arena first and look back. Chishiya stares at you for a few seconds, as if contemplating or memorizing your face. And then he follows you inside. What was that?

The other players were gathered in front of the building, right on the grass field. There were about six people there already. Chishiya followed you inside but didn’t walk beside you or near you. It was probably to not make people assume you know each other. On top of a table were metal cuffs that had a screen, looking like a smartwatch. From the looks of it, it seems that it was the same material as the collars they make you wear in the other games only this time, they were bracelets.

1 PER PERSON

There were two left when Chishiya and you took yours. You clasp it around your non-dominant hand’s wrist and watch as the game confirms your registration. Looking around, you found the other players looking at you. It made you feel a bit insecure but you’ve been in enough games to know that you shouldn’t let them get to you. It should be the other way around. 

Another hand reaches for a phone on the table and you look up at her. She looks a bit like a high schooler, wearing a skirt from a uniform and a white tank top. She had a bow and arrow on her back. 

Her stare turns into a glare and you frown. It was she who broke eye contact first and stepped away from the table. As she turns around, it was hard not to notice that she was missing a foot, replaced with some kind of metal. She looks interesting to you. 

REGISTRATION HAS CLOSED. THE GAME WILL NOW COMMENCE. 

The familiar AI voice of a woman is heard through the campus speakers.

Chishiya crosses his arms, waiting for something to happen next. You look up at the screen that was stationed there. As if on cue, the screen lights up, flashing some kind of silhouette of a woman’s head with a crown. 

DIFFICULTY

Queen of Clubs

GAME

Prom Queen

Rules:

Each classroom has votes for players to collect or challenges for players to complete. 

The players must collect enough points to enter the gym, where the Queen of Clubs will give them one last challenge. 

The votes are transferable to another player but physical assault and force transfer of votes to another player is not allowed. 

If the player does not complete the challenge in the room, the room takes their votes. 

No weapons allowed inside the building.

CLEAR CONDITION

The players must have more votes than the Queen of Clubs and complete her last challenge.

GAME OVER

Players do not gather enough votes to dethrone the Queen of Clubs.

Players do not complete the last challenge. 

TIME LIMIT

02:00:00 HRS

You scoff and remove the Katana from your shoulder, putting it on the table. The other players began to gather around it, putting their weapons with yours. 

GAME START

You look around at the other players. You give them a nod. 

“Alright. Let’s meet by the gym doors after we collect all points,” a man who has glasses said. He wore stripe shirts and was fairly tall. He seemed smart and gave the impression of a leader. It doesn’t look like he’s physically fit, though. 

The other players do not waste time, scurrying into the building with determination and a little bit of fear. You stayed behind for a few seconds, looking at Chishiya. He stares back at you with no expression on his face and heads into the building.

There was the girl who had a bow and arrow, still looking at you. You give her a nod. It didn’t look like she could be trusted but this is a Clubs game, after all. You have to work together to survive. She doesn’t give you the same attitude as earlier. Instead, she approaches you, giving you a nod back. 

“Akane Heiya,” she introduces herself to you.

“Y/N L/N,” you reply with your name. 

The two of you enter the building together, cautious of the darkness that plagues it. You pick up the small flashlight from your belt bag. You can hear the scrambling of the foot of the other players, no doubt racing to get to the classrooms faster.  “The rules didn’t say how much we need, so maybe we can go and check the gym and see if there’s a clue?” you ask her. 

“I’ll go check,” she tells you.

“You sure?” you ask her, wanting to know if she doesn’t need a companion. 

She nods. “One of us should help collect votes.” 

As soon as you nod, she was already on her way to look for the gym. You decide to head to the nearest classroom without a player in it already. 

You stand before a classroom door that has a red light on it. You assume that if the votes in this classroom haven’t been collected, its red light is still on. 

It wasn’t dark inside the classroom, the sun has almost set all the way but there was still a bit of light seeping through the windows of the room. As you step in, the door shuts behind you. You panic for a bit, checking the door knob if it still works. You groan when you realize that you’re shut in. 

The lights of the classroom turned on and a tv screen that was in the middle of the chalkboard flashes a question. 

In printing, it’s the color black. In chemistry, it’s potassium. In baseball, it’s a strikeout. Which letter is it?

It was an easy question but there were about maybe forty classrooms in this school. There are nine players. If your hunch was right, there should be a difficulty level or random variation of the difficulty of the challenges on each floor, there are eight classrooms. You were on the first floor. 

“K,” you answer confidently. 

The room speakers gave out a ‘ding’ sound and some kind of button on the teacher’s desk lights up a green color and you walk towards it. You hesitantly press it and your wrists light up with a green color. 

+ 50 votes

You hear the lock of the door click open and you step out. You look up at the light on the door and see that the previous red light has been shut off. 

Walking down the hallway, some girl who looked like she was in her thirties, wearing office attire approaches you. “How many votes did you get?” she asks, pointing at her wrist. 

“50,” you reply. 

Another man completes his room and hears what you were talking about, approaching you two.  “It was hidden in one of the lockers at the back. I got 50 too.” 

You nod at them. “It seems that this floor is just full of 50 votes per room.”

Not wasting any more time, you and the others who have completed your rooms head to the second floor. Chishiya was already on the second floor, stepping outside one of the rooms. You approach him. “How many votes in this one?” you ask. 

He shows his wrist, flashing the number on his band. 75. Just as you thought.

“So the floors are kind of the levels, huh?” The man in the striped shirt asks you. You nod. 

“There isn’t a goal of votes by the gym.” 

All of you turn your heads to the source of the voice. Heiya stood there, her chest heaving from the running. You don’t doubt that she was tired—the gym was a bit of a walk from the classrooms. You probably should’ve told her that.

“That must mean we should clear all the rooms.” A woman with a crossbody bag spoke up, joining all of you. 

“Then let’s do that,” the man in the striped shirt speaks again. 

You and the other players moved as quick as you can. You learned that when you don’t succeed with their mini games inside the classrooms, you’re lasered down and another player has to go to that classroom to finish the task.

In the end, it was six of you who lasted. 

The first floor has eight rooms opened with 50 votes each. The second has eight rooms and 75 votes each. The third floor has three rooms with 100 votes each. The fourth floor has two rooms with 150 votes each. Lastly, the fifth floor had one room with 400 votes. 

Together, you accumulated 2000 votes. However, it was separated from your wrists. When you reached the gym, whenever you tried, it would show ‘error’ on the electronic lock. 

It had to be 2000 on one wrist.

“That means… only one of us gets to go inside?” A girl with a headband says, her eyes looking scared. 

You furrow your brows, thinking. “The game said we only need to dethrone her with more votes. Only one needs to do her challenge and then the game should clear.”

“Right,” a man in a plain white shirt replies. “This is a Clubs game. That should be the case.” 

“Okay, so who will go?” The woman in office attire asks, her voice trembling a bit.

Each one of you stares at each other, feeling each other out like teenagers afraid of a graded recitation in class. You don’t blame them, you don’t know what exactly the challenge would ask of you. 

“I’ll go,” Heiya rolls her eyes impatiently, holding out her wrist as she waits for the other players to move. 

“No. Most of the rooms’ challenges are about intellect. It should be me,” stripe shirt complained. Now you know what irks you about this man, he was controlling and stupidly wants to be seen as somewhat of a main character. 

Heiya glares at him. “So what? You think you’re the smartest in the room?” She bites, raising her brows. You try your best not to laugh at her accusation and lightly strike your elbows to her side, telling her to tone it down.

“That’s not what I meant,” the man replies, offended and furrowing his brows.

“The challenge wouldn’t be about intelligence,” For the first time in the game, Chishiya finally speaks, making all the other players’ heads turn to him. 

He shows everyone a piece of paper in his hands. 

The Ivy Award 2020 — Yamada Asaki

No way, could it be?

“After the rooms were cleared per floor, the lights turned on but kept flickering. It made up a morse code. The first floor is I, the second floor is V, and the third floor is Y.” He makes his way near the circle, showing everyone the paper that turned out to be a certificate. “And then I found this on the fourth floor, confirming the morse code.”

“What is this supposed to be?” The man in stripe asks, a bit irritated. 

Chishiya stares at him, giving him all his focus with dark eyes. “In the classrooms of the fifth floor, there were shelves containing the awards of this awardee. The Ivy Award was a special award this high school gave to those who excelled in all athletics in the school while maintaining top grades.” 

Chishiya pauses, now shifting his eyes to yours. You look away and avoid his gaze. “There are only two people who received that award in this school.” 

“Yamada Asaki,” he looks down at the paper in his hand. “And Y/N L/N.” His gaze goes back to you, communicating a million words in one simple stare.

You froze at the mention of your name. Heiya, in her tall stature, looks down at you. “You?” she asks in disbelief and a smirk. 

You glare at Chishiya, not understanding why he dropped your name and history out of nowhere. Then you look at Heiya who was waiting for your response.

“That’s true,” you admit, looking down at your feet. 

“In fact, she was the first awardee—the reason why the award was made in the first place.” Chishiya gives you a smirk. 

You still remember when you were awarded that day. The school made the award for you for the sole reason that universities around the world were contacting them to take you in as their athlete on full scholarship. They were scrambling for your hand in college.

Your father rejected all of them. He used all his power to stop you from going.

Up till now, the award was a topic you don’t like talking about. It was hard for you to remember how much you were controlled and manipulated into staying in Japan. 

“The person you’ll be facing,” He puts his eyes back on the man in the striped shirt. “Is a master of all sports and martial arts. Do you think you could handle that?” 

The man in the striped shirt couldn’t answer. 

Just like that, the other players began giving you their votes. You stand there quietly as they hover their cuffs on yours. This would mean… everyone’s life here is depending on you. 

Chishiya took the last turn in giving you his votes. He grabs your limp wrist with his right hand and hovers his cuff on yours. Your eyes are shaking in anxiety as you’re still staring at the floor. You've fought wildly when only your life is in your hands. That’s because you know that you have nothing to lose. You’ll gladly die if it’s your time to die. But right now, you have to live for these people.

“What?” he whispers. 

You finally look up into his eyes, meeting his deep stare. 

The other players watch as Chishiya leans in, whispering something in your ear. This causes you to freeze, looking up at him with awe. 

He spins you around, making you face the door. His hands are still on your shoulder when he leans in. 

He whispers in your ear again, sending shivers down your spine. For some reason, it sounded genuine. He wasn’t trying to manipulate you into going. He was motivating you, maybe even pleading. 

You turn your head to look at him, his face inches away from yours. From here, his eyes burned with something you don’t understand. There was a slight crease on his forehead that relaxed when you gave him a smile.

“Wait for me, will you, Shuntarou?” 

It was the first time you saw Chishiya smile in Borderland—and actually smile and not smirk in a condescending manner.

“You can do it,” Akane nods at you, her arms crossed. You look at her, smirking. You’ve only known the girl for an hour but you already like her. 

The other players began motivating you and you gave them all a glance before hovering your cuff on the lock of the door.

The lock dings and the door unlocks by itself. You twist the knob open, revealing the darkness of the room. 

You give one last glance to Chishiya whose eyes never left yours. You walk inside, your eyes never leaving his. He has long abandoned the smile on his face, replacing it with his famous poker face. His eyes, however, stayed expressive as if telling you’ll be fine in his own way.

The night should’ve been everything you dreamed about. 

Chishiya fetched you, wearing his suit and tie that matched your dress. The hotel venue that the school rented turned out to be designed beautifully. Everything was perfect.

If it weren’t for what you learned last night.

You acted like everything is fine, dancing with your friends as Chishiya sat on the side. To get him to come, he made a deal that he wouldn’t dance until the last. You agreed, only wanting to dance the last slow dance with him. 

Chishiya must’ve already realized something is wrong because you haven’t looked at him for more than five seconds all night. It was weird. You really wanted to be here with him yet you can’t even ask him what he thought about the food. You know that it wasn’t his fault. You were the one who approached him first and began pursuing him. He wasn’t exactly actively trying to manipulate you as your father wanted. 

But he knew. He knew what your parents wanted. 

And you, you were left in the dark again. 

The doors of the gym shut with a loud thud, leaving you in blinding darkness. 

“I hoped you would come,” it was a girl’s voice from the end of the room. 

The lights turn on and you squint your eyes as the sudden change blinds you for a second. When your eyes adjust to the brightness, you see a girl not older than a high school kid. She was wearing a black bodysuit and a crown, sitting on what looks to be like a throne on the stage. 

“You’re Yamada Asaki?” you ask, raising a brow. 

“and you’re Y/N L/N,” she replies, a smirk plastered on her face.

She stands from her throne, crossing her arms as she walks down the stage. “You know, when I heard that you’re here, I had this game designed just for you.” 

“Designed?” your eyes never leave her as you frown. These games are designed by people? 

You were curious but she ignores your question. “I wanted to see what’s so great about you.” The bitter tone of her voice doesn’t pass by you. It was clear that this girl doesn’t like you.

“Do you…” Her voice was deadly like it could cut like a sharp knife. Her eyes were focused on you like a target. “Do you know how miserable you made me feel?”

“Obviously not,” you replied with sarcasm, not giving into her sentiments. It would be better not to waste time, you only had 10 minutes left to clear the game. 

The girl audibly scoffs so you continue. “I don’t know the reason nor do I care. Tell me the challenge and we can get this over with.” 

Asaki’s gaze burn through yours as she removes the crown on her head and throws it on the ground. “The crown is worth 50 votes,” she says, eyes not leaving yours and showing you the cuff on her wrist, 2020 votes, the year she won her award. “You get it if you beat me in a fight.” She puts herself into a stance, getting ready to fight. 

“Fine,” you answer, throwing your belt bag across the floor and cracking a few bones of your knuckles. “Are there any rules?” 

It’s all bullshit. You know there are no rules in a fight for your life. This is a fight. But still, you ask. It wouldn’t hurt to know if there are. 

You read her stance. She’s good, guarded and ready. From her built, it’s clear that she’s experienced. She must be an athlete from her younger years like you. It’s a no brainer, if she’s a receiver of the Ivy Award, then she has been trained like you. 

“Rules? There are no rules. No stopping until one of us dies.” Her arrogance was something you take note of. It seems that her confidence is one of her biggest traits. For now, you need to see what she can do. 

She attacks first, swinging a fist at your face. You block it and attack with a fist, to which she follows up with a guarding technique of her arms. You move away but she follows that technique with a kick. You dodge her foot by crouching, all while staring at her with burning eyes.

Kickboxing. 

It’s the closest to modern-day MMA. From what you saw, this girl is a striker. 

You launch forward, heading for her middle. It was fast but she was able to raise her knee which you avoid. Good. She’s good. But what about her footwork? 

Pivoting your front foot, you shot your rear leg out and aim at her middle again. She quickly steps away, leaving your foot hitting nothing but the air. Great. Her footwork is good too. You jump back to your feet, raising your fists and moving away from her in a quick motion. 

“Taekwondo?” She smirks, her eyes giving you a condescending look as if she’s about to laugh. “It was your favorite, wasn’t it?”

How did she know that? This girl… just who was she and what have you done for her to know you like this?

“So you’ve studied me?” you ask with a smirk, feigning your curiosity.

“Day and night,” she replies. “I watched all your tournaments,” she jabs, you avoid. “Your championships,” she kicks, you block. “Your training,” she swings, you move away. “All because they wanted me to be like you!” She lunges forward and you let her, she grasps the back of your head and gives you a knee strike, hitting you right in the stomach.

You free yourself from her hold, stumbling and landing a few steps from her when she lets go. She laughs like a maniac. 

“You’ve become rusty,” she spats. 

“Come on,” you raise your fists into a stance once again. “I haven’t even started,” you say and give her a grin. 

Her forehead creases as she furrowed her brows, eyes blazing. So her favorite’s kickboxing. You know what to do. Her footwork’s great, her kicks and punches are strong too, it would be dangerous if she attacks you like she did last time. Front kicks are one of their best attacks. 

You attack diagonally, catching her off guard. You throw a punch and it lands straight to her face. A kickboxers’ weakness is defending an attack coming diagonally. You have to get close to her. 

You attempt to throw punches hastily, making her dodge away again and again until you corner her to a wall. She takes this as a chance to hold the back of your neck again with both hands, catching you in a Thai Clinch. Just like before, you know she’d throw you a knee strike. 

Before she could raise her knee, you put both her arms in your hold tightly, preventing her to move. Using your elbow, you give her a strike to her jaw with the single intent to create the worst damage possible. Your jab connected with a crack and you know you broke her jaw. Once the move made her lose focus, you repeatedly take a jab at her, one punch after another. 

Blood sputters out of her mouth and she spits as you move away again. You were pretty sure you saw a tooth fall out. 

“Forfeit,” you order and her bloodshot eyes gave nothing to you but hatred. You match her threatening gaze. “Before I kill you.” 

“Are you kidding?” There’s blood in the corners of her mouth from your punches yet she stands strong. 

“Seven years,” she looks up to the ceiling, tears lining up her eyes. “For seven fucking years, I was told that I should be like you.” You’ve known since she greeted you that there’s something that lies here deeper. But who cares? So she’s been forced to work hard for the award, how is that your fault?

“And you failed,” you bluntly state, eyes devoid of emotion. 

Her eyes widened in disbelief of your words. She scoffs, tears threatening to spill as she glares at you with resentment. “Failed? I won your award. I did it all!”  

An ill feeling fills your stomach as she bares herself. She had become too emotional. One thing you learned about fighting is that your opponent doesn’t care. A real opponent goes straight for the kill. This… is nothing but a sparring session. 

“So? After that, what did you do?” you ask, titling your head. 

You rush forward, spinning around and straightening your legs to kick her head mid-air. Asaki was pulled of her feet violently and thrown across the floor. She slides along the gym floor, halting just a few inches away from the wall. 

“Stand up and tell me,” you instruct her as you land. You wait for her to recover, her forehead bleeding from the impact of your kick. 

Rage colored Asaki’s vision red as she uses her arms to push herself back up. “I…” It was a weak attempt, she couldn’t even sputter out the words. Her chest heaves up and down as she stands to her feet, for a moment, you thought she was gonna puke but she recovers. “I died.”

She snarled and rushes towards you and you await her attack, ready to counter it. Mid-air she raises her fist and you raise your hand, catching her burning fists in yours. However, she uses this misdirect to knee the wound of your thigh. You grunt, taking in the pain and trying not to let it falter you. 

“You haven’t…” you grit through your teeth and use your free hand in attempt to smash it to her face. Asaki manages to block this, locking your arm and jabbing your stomach repeatedly. Using her strong hold from locking you, you jump and use both of your free legs to kick a blow to her stomach, sending you both flying away from each other and hitting the floor. 

You don’t waste any time, jumping to your feet and launching yourself to her body on the ground. You put her in a chokehold, jabbing at her face repeatedly as you sit on her stomach.  “Dying? That’s your reason?” You say to her ear. She spins, making you land on her back. You lock her with your legs, grabbing her hair to raise her head. “Give me something better.” 

You free her from your hold, jumping away from her range. 

When she fully stands up, you throw a kick as the same time as her. Her left leg hits your outer right thigh and you hit her inner right thigh. She staggers because of this and you use the opportunity to jab three heavy hits to her head. Right. Left. Right. Her head has been hit enough for it to be fatal and she falls to her back. 

Cleverly, she uses her legs and feet to block your attacks. You push through, using your body weight to receive the attacks from her legs. She locks you in with her legs on either side of your torso. You let her. If you try to escape, she’ll just lock your head. 

In the underground, you’ve fought men and women of different weights. It was often that you were underestimated because of your height and weight. So, you let them think you were weak. But what they don’t know is you got them right where you wanted them—close enough for you to kill.

You use both your hands to block hers, smashing her wrists on the floor. Then, you smash your head against hers. That doesn’t stop you. You use your elbows once again, landing one blow after another. You don’t stop even after you see her face covered in blood. 

When her hands lay limp with no force, you take a hand off and use this to grip her neck. 

She struggles to breathe from your hold but you don’t let her. If you were inside a stage, a referee would’ve stopped you by now. But that’s not the case for you. Not for a long time. 

“Where did you go last night?” 

Chishiya asks as soon as you sit down beside him in the room. You ignore him, pretending you don’t hear him because of your earphones. He’s talking about the last dance. When he wasn’t looking, you slipped away from the venue and escaped. You left your bag with him and he only noticed when he couldn’t find you in the crowd anymore. You couldn’t help it, you were overwhelmed by your father and Chishiya. Not only is he controlling your career but he’s controlling your relationships too? 

You took a cab ride away from the hotel, still wearing your gown. You told the driver to just drive around and he did. In the ride, you spot a neon signage. It was a club you always see. It had an interesting name; Sarutahiko.

You’ve seen cars come and go there. What you’ve noticed is they all seemed to be very wealthy. You asked for the car to stop by near and without thinking, you made your way into the club, clutching a wealthy man’s arm and pretending to be his date. 

That night, instead of being in Chishiya’s arms for the last dance, you won your first fight in the underground. The beloved dress you had made for thousands of dollars, they were ripped and worn when you came home, dirt and scratches running along your skin. 

It was the first time you felt it—the euphoria.

When you fought with no rules and no holding back, nothing mattered. You weren’t the beloved athlete that has a bright future ahead of her as an heir of the L/N family. You were just Y/N, or as the underground calls you, 極真 王女 (Kyokushin Ojo; trans: Ultimate Truth Princess; “Kyokushin” is a type of Karate)

Like a princess, you entered the arena in your sparkling gown and destroyed your opponent in five minutes. It was then and there that you decided, you will no longer fight your father’s opposition to your sports. This will be your life and your death. 

A life with Chishiya, it’ll be a privilege. You like him… and with his and your father’s deal, you’ll be able to live your other life in peace. Fine, you’ll play the part of the pretty spoiled princess. 

Chishiya doesn’t press further but from your lack of luster in your eyes, he understood that something died inside you that day. From then on, you dropped all your sports and didn’t fight your father’s refusal to all the universities that wanted to scout you even if they offered medical studies in exchange for your athletic participation.

If there was one thing you regret, it was you and Chishiya never had your last dance. 

You feel it again. The euphoria running through your veins. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Even if you hear the taps, don’t stop. 

Asaki gasps for air, her face reddening as her wide eyes scream for help. You don’t notice this, darkened eyes not even showing mercy or any emotion. You’ve been completely shut off and in auto pilot as you throw one punch and another.

Why should you? Your father never stopped. 

“N-no!” 

Asaki pushes you off with all her strength, sending off her body. You’re quickly on your feet again, ready to attack as your opponent catches her breath. Asaki sprang of her hands, throwing herself in to a spin that showed off a gymnast’ skill. Like a whirling tornado, she was too fast for you to block or counter-attack. 

She doesn’t kick your head and instead kicks your side. You were thrown across the floor, skiddling and tumbling. A groan escapes your lips at the pain that shot through your ribs, adding to the pain of your thigh.. Yeah, your ribs are definitely cracked. 

“You said you’ll protect me,” Chishiya whispers in a low voice, you were sure only you could hear it. You did say it back there in the furniture shop.

He spins you around, making you face the door. His hands are still on your shoulder when he leans in. 

“Protect me,” he whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. For some reason, it sounded genuine. He wasn’t trying to manipulate you into going. He was motivating you, maybe even pleading. 

I’m sorry, Asaki. 

You sprang to your feet, ignoring the screaming pain of your ribs. You face your opponent once again, the same distance from when you started. But this time, something was different. In your opponent’s hands, was a butterfly knife. 

She was smirking at you like she finally got you. She’s an idiot. 

“Fine,” you huff, giving her an equally sinister grin. “You studied all my moves in high school.” You put yourself in a fighting stance again. “I’ll give it to you. You’re a great fighter. You know all the moves, techniques, and all that shit.” 

“You did all that research about me… yet you didn’t ask why I stopped?” You don’t even glance once at her weapon again. “Pathetic.” 

She lunges with a scream, swinging the knife at you. 

You stepped in, closing the gap between you and Asaki, dodging her weapon and striking her upper and lower arm. As your strike clashes with hers, the force makes her arm holding the weapon go limp. You grab her arm, twisting it until her hand is pointed towards the ceiling. 

With Asaki’s chest unprotected, you pivot and strike her with your elbow and then your foot to her leg. She loses balance and you use this to take the weapon from her hand. 

In a swift motion, you swing the weapon, slashing her across the face. Crimson red drips from her already blooded cheek, adding to the wound on her forehead. She puts a hand to her face, finally executing fright for the first time in the fight.

And then you understand.

The career she wanted instead of the Ivy Award—it was beauty. 

Instead of the Ivy Award, she wanted to be prom queen. Life wasn’t for her but she was thrusted into it too. It was so simple and yet you were blinded by the game to notice. You understood. A slash to the face was hard to cover especially if it scars. You were very careful about your face when you fought in the underground. 

You feel bad but who were you to be a saint? 

You strike a blow to her stomach with your foot, sending her staggering a few steps back. Her focus is still on the wound on her face. She has completely dropped her guard and looked like a simple high school girl who was attacked out of nowhere. 

“You were right,” you say as you throw the knife away. “Taekwondo was my favorite. I still use ITF from time to time.” 

She was not even guarded yet you continue. One straight powerful jab to the center of her chest. She accepts the attack but doesn’t fall down, eyes widened and coughing at the force of the attack. 

“The reason why I stopped competing… was because I found something better.”

Asaki backs away, feeling an unexplained fright. She knows something has shifted as you stride towards her with blazing eyes. Even your walk seemed powerful, exerting an aura of strength and power. 

Kyokushin Karate… is the strongest martial art in the world.

Its sole goal is defeating its opponent. Different from Taekwondo at its very core, it’s focused on real fights. There’s no protective gear, just pure hand-to-hand combat. 

Those who practice Kyokushin as a martial art, they’re unfamiliar with attacks aimed at the head. But not you. The only reason attacks aimed at the head are banned in Kyokushin Karate is because…

There were too many casualties. 

You send a straight punch to Asaki’s face, her head receiving the full force impact of your fist. 

You swing your right arm, hitting her across the jaw. Asaki tries to kick your side as a counter attack but you dodge. 

If your right arm’s not enough, use your left.

You swing your left arm this time, hitting her cheek and you actually feel her teeth through your fist. Even as you hit her, Asaki uses her hand to slap you across the cheek. You’re thrown off, so you spin and kicked off your legs.

If your left arm isn't enough, use your legs. 

The heel of your feet strikes the junction of her neck and shoulder, sending her kneeling on the floor with a loud thud. 

You tackle her down like you did before, with your legs on either side of her torso, she could only watch as you repeat your move from before.

And if your legs don’t cut it, use your head. 

You smash your head with hers with a loud thud and she goes into shock, eyes wide open as she could no longer move. Her body stills underneath you as she stares up at nothingness. 

The spirit of Kyokushin Karate… is a person’s strong will that is never broken.

2 MINUTES LEFT

“That’s…” Her eyes remained unmoving. “Karate.”

Tired, you stand up as she still lays still on the ground, broken bones and wounded face. 

“You’ve done well,” you mumble but you’re sure she can hear. You wipe the blood on her face but it does nothing but spread it. You see her face clearly even with the blood. She was pretty with an innocent face now that she’s put down her guard and hatred.  “You can rest now, beautiful.” 

And finally, the tears spill out of her eyes and she cries. She cries and cries until they turn into sobs. She cried like the kid that she is, hungry for love—hungry for someone to listen to her. It was all too familiar. You know the feeling all too well. 

Walking away from her cries, you pick up the plastic piece of crown. It was silver and had pink stones all around it. 

Limping to the stage, you make your way to the prop throne. You sit down on it and groan at the feeling of resting your beat up body.

1 MINUTE

You place the crown on your head and place your bloodied fists on either sides of the arm rests. The cuff on your wrists flash with a sound and a green light.

+ 50 votes

It was followed by a ding and the girl’s automated voice.

CONGRATULATIONS

GAME CLEAR

And then you see it, the laser coming down from the sky and onto Asaki’s skull. 

Stepping out of the gym, you find the other players waiting for you silently. They seemed to be looking up at something so you follow their gaze. 

There was a camera. All that happened back there, they saw it.

You stood there in silence, waiting for something to happen next. Their gaze falls on you with your burnt knuckles and the plastic crown on your head. These people, they looked at you with fright in their eyes. It was a familiar look—the audience’s disbelief when you don’t hold yourself back. 

“Great job,” Heiya was the first one to approach you with a smirk, putting a hand on your shoulder. It was her and Chishiya who didn’t look scared of you.

You smile, giving her a nod. 

Just like that, the other players began giving you their thanks. Out of nine people, six of you survived. They all thanked you, the girl in the headband even hugging you. 

All six of you walk out of the game, looking up as the Queen of Clubs’ blimp self-destructs with explosion. Beside you, Chishiya is also looking up, smirking. He was properly beautiful. 

Arisu asked you what made you like this man so much and you told him it was because Chishiya grounds you. You never really knew how to explain it until now. 

When you were fighting in the underground, it was brutal. It was your way of feeling pain–to feel alive. If you didn’t have Chishiya in your life, you would’ve stayed in the underground forever. But Shuntaro, he gives you a reason to come back to your life. 

So you can annoy him. 

You were back in the apartment with Chishiya after you searched for some medical supplies for your injury. As always, he was silent. 

“You can shower if you want,” Chishiya breaks the silence, pulling you off your thoughts while you sat on the couch. You nod and leave him alone in the living room. 

After you shower, you wore a plain white shirt  and some lounge shorts you found in one of the drawers. When you step out of the room, Chishiya still wore the clothes he had outside but he stood over portable stove, stirring what smelled to be like instant noodles. 

He sees you and carries the pot over to the table. The table is already set. 

You never thought you’d see the day, Domestic Chishiya. A malewife. You place a hand over your mouth, preventing the smile on your face from forming. Instead, your face contorts into a funny face, earning a glare from Chishiya. 

“Are you just going to stand there or eat?” He deadpans. 

You bite your lips, shutting yourself up and made your way to the table. “Thank you for the food,” you said, sincerely. He scoffs, sitting across from you.

The two of you ate quietly, you slurp the ramen noodles like its your last meal. It wouldn’t be so bad. Instant Ramen by Chishiya. You giggle in your head, a smile spreading on your face. 

When you finish your food, you opted to wash the dishes while Chishiya showers. Looking around, the apartment, you found something really cool—a record player. You inspect it and it looks like it’s the kind that doesn’t need electricity. Your heart swells with excitement, searching for vinyls around the place. You found a box inside the room filled with it and you clap to yourself happily.

“No way,” you react when you turn a knob and found it actually works. 

“What’s that?” Chishiya walks in the living room, his jacket long abandoned and wearing a shirt and lounge shorts. Did he match what you were wearing? 

“It’s the only thing he has,” he defends himself even when you haven’t said anything.

You pause, thinking if you should say anything but you ignore it, remembering your brilliant discovery. “Look! It’s a record player!” 

He sighs. “You’ll only attract others with the sound.” 

Your face fell. “Then I’ll beat them up.” You ignore his protests, going over to him and grabbing his hand to pull him over to the record player. He follows you limply, bored and annoyed as always. 

You’re not very familiar with the vinyls so you just grab one with a familiar name, Nat King Cole. You placed it on the record player, figuring out how it plays. It began playing but it was too fast. You look up at Chishiya with wide eyes, wondering what you did wrong. He sighs, reaching over to some tiny lever on the turntable and pushing it to number 33. 

“It’s the wrong speed,” he tells you.

The song began playing at a normal speed and you grin widely. 

It was a slow love song and an idea pops into your mind. 

“You know, something popped into my mind back there,” you face your friend, placing a hand on his shoulder. He stills but doesn’t remove your hand. 

When I fall in love, it will be forever Or I’ll never fall in love

“We never got to finish our last dance back in high school,” you say with a smirk. “And you promised.” 

Surprisingly, Chishiya doesn’t argue. So, you place your other hand around his neck, connecting it with your other hand. You pull him closer, his face inches away from yours. From here, you can see his face clearly. His eyelashes that flutter as he blinks, the creases of his forehead when he scrunches his brows slightly, his lips that were ever so slightly parted. He stays quiet, eyes on your face as if memorizing it like what you were doing to his. 

You brought down your hands to place his on your waist and again, he surprisingly doesn’t remove them. You place your hands back to where they belong, pulling him in again. You started to sway with the music, willing Chishiya to do the same. 

“I’m sorry.” The words come out of his mouth like air. If you weren’t close enough, you wouldn’t have heard it. Heat rushes to your face as your eyes widen. Did you really just hear Chishiya apologize to you?

Your shock melts into a tightlipped smile. “You’re just going to have to make it up to me by loving me forever.” It was a reference to the song that was playing. 

He scoffs at your cheesy words. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

Love. It’s a privilege. You know that you two aren’t children made by love. It’s the reason why you two find it so hard to believe that love exists. Chishiya no doubt finds it harder to believe. He doesn’t understand the sentiment–the romance. 

“Fine. Tell me,” he mumbled. You stare back at him, unsure of what he means. His eyes were steady, focused on you and begging in his own way. It takes years of experience to notice the subtle changes of emotion his face makes and your heart swells at the slight tremble of his lips. “Tell me what to do instead.” 

Your brows slightly furrow, cheeks reddening and eyes glossy. When he’s not showcasing his intelligence and mischief, Chishiya is a man of few words. As your eyes are locked on each other, you bare yourself open into nothingness. Nothing mattered, not the games, not even the meaning of life. It was neither warm nor cold. Looking into Chishiya’s eyes was like looking into a mirror you cannot escape and yet you’d like to drown in them. 

“Worship me,” you proposed in a commanding manner, finding confidence in yourself and what you feel for him.

“Worship?” he asks with a confused and amused tone in his voice. 

“Love is overrated. Worship me instead.” 

And he smirks, pulling your waist closer. His lips touch yours and your world exploded. There weren’t fireworks, no sparks… it’s just felt like summer day. A bright sky, lighting up the road as the breeze hits your skin. His hand is heavy on your waist, your body fully aware of all of him. Your mouth melted into his, everything else is forgotten. The tip of your tongue brushes his and he parts his lips, welcoming you in. You cling unto him, longing more of him. 

And the moment I can feel that You feel that way too Is when I fall in love with you

© wolfvmin. please do not copy, translate, claim any of my works. my works are cross-posted only in ao3 under the name vantantae. thank you.

#chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya shuntarou #chishiya imagine #chishiya fluff #chishiya angst #chishiya x you #chishiya fanfic #chishiya smut #nijiro murakami

[the-ultimate-puppteer]

Glynda pyrrha cinder and raven with a male S/o that just has a pet Beowulf in there dorm/apartment cause theyre semblance let's them control Grimm like salem so he named it chad

Glynda, Cinder and Raven with a S/O who can control the Grimm like salem

Couldn't really do one for pyrrha and even then my character limit is 3 at max

Glynda Goodwitch

•Needless to say Glynda was shocked

•Sure she knows semblance can grant all kinds of abilities but she was shocked that yours allowed you control grimm of all things

•It was truly an interesting semblance as not only could you do that but you could also sense when they were around and they're exact location

•It made you an incredibly valuable huntsman

•Still though she's having very serious words with you about keeping a beowolf of all things in your apartment

•Not to mention naming it chad of all things, surely there were better names that you chosen

Raven Branwen

•Oh she finds your semblance incredibly useful

•You can control grimm as well as sense where they are?

•Oh yeah she's definitely keeping you around and not just because she already loves you

•You also make raiding a lot easier since you can prevent grimm from destroying settlements that they can steal from again

•And you can also keep grimm away from the camp

•She just wishes you'd come up with better names for the grimm you decided to keep around you

•Seriously Chad was such a weird name to give to a Beowolf of all things

Cinder Fall

•Oh You best believe that you were instantly recruited into Cinders group once she discovered your semblance

•Such an ability has a variety of uses, especially for her master salem

•She'd be sure to help you perfect your ability and see if you could do more than just control and sense them

•She wants to see if you can create new grimm out of merging then or even make appendages like salem

•Her darling has such an amazing semblance, you just need to work on your naming sense

•Calling a beowolf chad was a little awkward after all

#Rwby #rwby x reader #glynda goodwitch x reader #raven branwen x reader #cinder fall x reader #Glynda x reader #raven x reader #cinder x reader #glynda goodwitch #raven branwen #cinder fall

[thatanimewriter]

Yang,Ruby and cinder with a Male Reader who is always affectionate and always compliment them when they do the tiniest thing <3

YES YOU CAN HAVE THAT >:((

i actually love cinder even though she's kinda pebble brained, but it's also my love for jessica nigri that carries it tbh-

#thatanimeanswers #rwby #yang xiao long #ruby rose #cinder fall #rwby x reader #yang xiao long x reader #ruby rose x reader #cinder fall x reader #rwby imagines #yang xiao long imagines #ruby rose imagines #cinder fall imagines

[frickingnerd]

cinder falls finding her boyfriend crossdressing

pairing: cinder falls x male!reader

tags: missunderstandings, cinder thinks you're a spy / cheating on her, reader held at knife point, happy ending

cinder didn't even recognize you, when she entered your room and saw you stand there, with a wig and a dress on

honestly, she assumed this was some woman you were cheating on with her or an intruder, so she immediately drew a weapon!

but when said “woman” spoke up, cinder quickly realized that it was her boyfriend, dressed as a woman!

cinder put away the weapon, only to start yelling at you right away! you scared her, by making her think you were cheating on her

she takes a moment to calm down again, before she can even comment on what is actually going on: you dressing up as a girl!

after the initial shock, she's interested in learning why and how you did this, as well as wanting to recruit you for undercover missions

and cinder also demands that the next time you decide to crossdress, you tell her in advance, so she doesn't mistake you for an intruder or woman you're cheating with

plus, she is intrigued to see just how exactly you're pulling off this look. you looked so convincing and cinder might want to give it a try as well…

#cinder falls x reader #x male reader #cinder falls #cinder x reader #x reader #x you #x y/n #headcanons #fluff #angst #happy ending #rwby x reader #rwby #rwby cinder

[cryptidcorners]

hi!!! i love how you write so much and i,,,

so... since vanessa mentions being a trained EMT in the movie, what if reader ends up getting hurt by one of the animatronics (be it accidental or not) and vannessa takes the time to patch them up! maybe after, she ends up teasing the reader about their racing pulse, considering they are flustered with the personal attention from nessa.

just a silly little gay thought 🤭

Electric - Vanessa Shelly x F!Reader

Description: While being accompanied by Vanessa during one of your shifts, a quick checkup towards one of the animatronics results in you being shocked and knocked out. Luckily, Vanessa rushes to your aid and comforts you while patching you up.

# requested by anon

Media: FNaF!Movie

Character: Vanessa Shelly

Tags: Romantic Implications, Fluff, Sweet Talk, Mutual Care, Encouragement, Opening Up, Connecting, Playful Vanessa, Flustered Reader, Co-Workers to ? ? ? + F!Reader.

Warnings: Injury (Electric Shock), Descriptions of Burns, Blood, Unconscious, Brief Descriptions from Vanessa's Childhood (Abuse), Some Tension + Anxiety from Vanessa, Possible FNaF Spoilers

Read my TOS, Thanks!

"So, how long have you been working here for?" You asked, hands delicately twisting the rusted gears within the metallic mascot's darkened skeletal figure. You were struggling to get inside this trap, even why animatronics this ancient, their parts wouldn't be hard to twist. Nor smell as bad.

"Years after it closed," Vanessa answered. She had been feeling antsy staying put and watching you work, so tidying had been her priority for the last couple hours of the night. "believe it or not, it's only been recently that this place has required night guards. As soon as I became an officer, applications started opening for more security."

"Really?" You hummed, face fixed on Bonnie's complex systems. You scratched the side of your head, sweat oozing from your face. You had been told the machine had been acting unorthodox as soon as the power went on, as well as that error in his guitar. "Must have been some wild kids then if it needed more than some iron fence." Curiously, you began walking towards the still animatronics instrument. Fingers treading lightly before tinkering with it. Vanessa's eyes flickered wildly, and she screamed, "Wait, no! His guitar-"

It was too late. Soon, your vision was engulfed in white stems of electricity and wild baby blues. You yelped before falling off the stage, falling unconscious almost immediately as dark seeped into your gaze.

Your mind was plagued with a yellow haze, as well as your sight. You blinked rapidly, head twisting with pain. When your eyes began to clear, you could see a tall figure looming over your body. As the seconds drifted by, your senses began to grow back to normal. You could feel your wrists stinging as she wrapped a thick bandage around your cindered skin.

You winced, "Shit."

"Oh, thank God." Vanessa breathed, "You're awake."

You heaved, cringing coldly as pain skyrocketed through your veins. "What happened?" Your lip quivered, jaw twitching as you tried to read your current situation. You could feel blood oozing through your arms and legs which were hugged by white layers. "Oh, fuck." You coughed. Agony gripped your body, making you shutter.

"Take it easy," Vanessa grabbed your shoulder tenderly. Your eyes turned to Vanessa nervously. Maybe it was the shock, or it was something else you couldn't put your finger on. Vanessa frowned, rubbing her thumb to ease your anxiety. "Bonnie's guitar was unstable, and even at the simplest of touches, it can explode. It's not too severe most of the time, but still, it can hurt like hell."

You blinked, "When Steve said it was broken, he never said anything about it exploding." You tried to catch your breath. Vanessa hushed, "Calm down, alright? You're fine." She assured you, voice low as a whisper. "Just take a breath."

You inhaled sharply before releasing. After you did, Vanessa wrapped another section of your arms, which made your stomach twist. You never realized until now how much detail her face held so close, it was memorizing. And nerve-wracking for some odd reason. You were growing more flustered by the second, and she began to notice. Vanessa rested her hand near your chest, and you swore you could see stars.

"Your pulse is crazy fast," she said with a chuckle. You blushed, chuckling weakly. Vanessa pulled her hand away, "You look dazed. What are you so nervous about?"

"Nothing." You answered softly. Vanessa tilted her head, obviously intrigued. "Really?"

She rested her touch against your pulse again, making you shutter. Vanessa giggled, "Are you flustered? Because of me?" She gasped, "You are." Vanessa sounded almost giddy at that, childishly so. You defended yourself, "No, no. I'm just, trying to get my head together. I'm just out of it."

She teased, "Are you sure? I don't care if you get a little red around me. We all get crushes." Vanessa read your starstruck face and smiled once more before applying a light bandage to your cheek. "You feeling better?"

"Just a bit." You laid down, catching your breath. "I'm sorry I put you through this." Your eyes awkwardly shifted to your wrapped hands.

"It's alright, it was a mistake. As long as you're fine, I'm fine." Vanessa began packing away the bright red kit, eyelashes batting as she spoke. Internally, she was furious. Her father lied to you, probably to get you weak. He probably wanted her to leave you burned on the ground and leave the children to clean up everything. That's how it always had been. She was always cleaning up his messes, even as a little girl. It was horrible. Her nails dug against the table with a strangled huff, "You are okay, right?"

"Thanks to you." You told her. You sat up again and nudged your gaze ahead. "A little help?"

"Shit, right." Vanessa walked toward and you felt her warm hands around your sides. She could tell you were screaming inside, and that stole a smirk from her almost immediately. "Hey, if you fall, I'll catch you. My arms are always open,"

"Thanks for the offer." You played along.

You struggled to get on your feet for a couple short seconds, with Vanessa holding you delicately. You were able to walk again, just before the crack of dull dawn. You started gathering your tools with Vanessa next to you. She was toying with her hair when you met her gaze. You shyly extended your hand, "Thank you for helping me . . . You really didn't have to."

"I wanted to." She grabbed your hand and shook it, "I'd love to help you. Well, whenever you need it."

You both remained silent for a minute. And her eyes wandered down to your lips before you cleared your throat, "I hope we can keep in touch?"

"Yes, of course. But, not here, y'know?" She says seriously. "It was a pleasure being with you."

Your heart grew heavy and you couldn't squeeze out anything. You simply waved with a warm expression and walked out into the parking lot. For the first time in your life, you had truly felt something electric. Not just the shock from Bonnie, but from Vanessa.

#🐇 vanessa shelly #vanessa shelly x reader #vanessa shelly #vanessa afton #fnaf movie #fnaf #fnaf spoilers #💌 request! #fnaf movie spoilers #writing #writers on tumblr

[thewulf]

A Week Too Long || Remus Lupin

Summary: Request - As always I have another request. Can do you a small thingy of Remus x sleepy reader? Like just always tired and would rather nap together than go out. Maybe she falls asleep at breakfast and then the rest of the marauders go looking for them two and find them napping in bed together? Just something cute and simple about cuddles and being sleepy together 💕💕

A/N: I love sweet and soft Remus. Thank you for the request @loving-and-dreaming !!

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Y/N

Word Count: 1.6k+

It had been another night of rather tragic sleep. It happened every year when you got back to Hogwarts. It’s like your brain failed to comprehend what the hell sleep was. You didn’t know if it was the excitement of being back and being around everybody again, the nerves for a new school year, your worry for your werewolf boyfriend or what had you up all night, but sleep evaded you for the better part of it.

“Hey.” Marlene giggled waving a hand in front of your face, “Are you even listening to me?”

Your glazed over eyes snapped back into focus, “Sorry Marls.” You sighed, “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

She frowned, “Again?” Looping her arm with yours she guided you along the corridor towards the Great Hall.

“Every year.” You shrugged bringing your hands up to your eyes. You tried to rub the sleepiness away, but it didn’t seem to help much. Your eyelids felt like cinder blocks that kept wanting to be dragged down and down.

“What’s that about anyway?” She asked spotting your friends from the doorway.

You let a yawn out before answering her, “I dunno. Think I just got to get used to it again. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

She all but dragged you over to the table. You felt like you were going to fall asleep with your eyes open at this rate, “Remus, your girlfriend.” Marlene unhooked herself from you before bouncing off to sit somewhere else. Did she just drop you off with your boyfriend?

“Darling,” His smile dropped when he saw your state, “Sit down, what’s wrong?”  Shooting up from his seat he made you sit down with a gentle touch. You were so tired you hadn’t heard the snickers from his, and now your, friends from behind you.

“Rem, I’m fine. Just tired.” You let out another yawn. Your brain desperate for some oxygen to wake you the hell up.

“Yeah Remy, she’s fine.” James teased turning his voice up an octave earning a glare from Remus as he sat back down next to you.

“Bugger off James.” Remus turned back to you making sure to flip his friend off in the process.

“Didn’t know Remus had it in him.” Sirius just had to add in. He leaned forward on the table, an amused expression gracing his lips as his eyes bounced between the two of you. The two of you were nothing new, having been going strong for over two years now. Naturally, you’d grown quite close with his shithead friends that you really did love. They were everything and more for Remus and that meant to the world to you. An incredible human loved by more incredible humans.

You peaked over giving him a broad smile, “James, Sirius, Peter… lovely to see you all again. How was your holiday?” You asked to nobody in particular letting out another yarn trying your darndest to keep your eyes open.

Without hesitation, Remus guided your head to his shoulder. He should’ve known. He saw you like this last year and you’d always mentioned how the start of the year left you sleepless.

“It was fine.” James grinned seeing the soft side of his long-time werewolf friend come out.  James would never admit it, but he dreamed of a relationship like the two of yours. The two of you were each other’s safe spaces. You told each other everything. You also gave the other person enough space to grow and flourish on their own. Only pulling them back when they needed it.

Sirius nodded turning back to you. His smile grew into a sneaky little grin seeing your eyes close on Remus’ shoulder, “Let’s just say I’m glad to be back. And she looks like she is too.” You felt Remus’ hands run through your hair. You just knew he was throwing a glare at his best friend. Probably telling him to shut the hell up. Remus always made sure to put you first, even in front of his friends. It never ceased to make your heart swell with the utmost love.

You smiled letting the group know you heard them. Truth was you were glad to be back. You were more than thrilled to be back with your best friends and boyfriend. How cool was it that you got to spend the next ten months with them? Coming from a muggle home the concept of Hogwarts never ceased to amaze you. You were more than thankful for everything your life had thrown at you, no matter how stressful being twelve was. Imagine, you thought you knew the world and then you were thrown into an entirely new one.

“When the bell rings what do you say we skip potions and go take a nap instead?” He asked whispering into your ear

You opened an eye looking right at in not knowing if you heard him right, “Did my studious boyfriend just suggest skipping class?” You soft smile turned into one much wider knowing you’d corrupted him down to the core in the most innocent way possible. Sleep and snuggles were now his weakness. You, sleep and snuggles was all he needed to survive in this world.

He nodded quickly peaking his eyes back at his oblivious friends, “Slughorn probably won’t even notice love. Let’s get you nice and rested up for charms after lunch. How does that sound?” He gave your nose a quick kiss earning a gag from Peter and a snicker from James. Menaces, all of them.

You nodded almost breathless from the sheer intimacy of the moment, not even his friends could ruin it, “That sounds amazing Remy.” You nodded with the lightest touch of a blush on your cheeks. Even after all this time he still made you feel those butterflies like it was the first time all over again.

As if time was reading your mind the bell chimed letting students know it was time to get a start to their day. Remus waved off his friends letting them get a head start. He knew they wouldn’t get nervous until class started and the two of you didn’t show up. He knew their alone time was limited so the second they disappeared from the Great Hall he tapped your shoulder whispering, “Let’s go love, let’s get some sleep.” He pulled you up beside him softly before walking you back to the Gryffindor common room.

It was all a blissful blue of happiness up until you heard James’ obnoxious laugh echoing from the bubble Remus placed around you. Perks of having a genius boyfriend, he knew all the useful charms. You grinned seeing your boyfriend try and shush his loud roommates trying not to wake you up.

He looked back, his shoulders visibly deflated seeing your eyes open. You heard a faint, “You guys woke her up!” Before he cast the charm away with a simple flick.

“It’s our room too!” Sirius whined sitting down on the foot of his bed.

Peter nodded agreeing with his friend, “Yeah!”

You yawned stretching your arms out towards your boyfriend. A lopsided grin crossed his face seeing you reach out for him so needily. He obliged, walking towards you quickly. You nuzzled your head into his chest once he pulled you back into him, “It’s okay boys. I needed to get up anyhow.” The steady beat of Remus’ heart had other plans for you though. Your eyes shut again once he began running his hands through your hair letting you sink fully into him.

You didn’t notice that Remus cast the spell once more silencing you into a bubble once more. He shooed them out successfully letting you fall asleep for another little bit. Remus continued to stroke your hair smiling down at his sleepy girlfriend. He couldn’t believe how truly lucky he was to have you in his life. He planned to have you in it for a long, long time more now knowing he could do it. He could be a part time monster and you still loved him.

“Hi Remy.” You soft voice tore him away from his thoughts.

He looked down at you with a sweet smile, “Hi love, sleep okay?”

Nodding quickly, you answered him, “Better than I have in a while.”

Leaning down he kissed your temple, “Good.” He kissed you once more before continuing, “I missed you.”

You giggled, “it’s only been a week since I’ve seen you Rem.”

He shrugged, “A week too long.” He pulled you in closer to him. He smelled your hair always loving the scent of your shampoo. It always brought him comfort when he needed it most. The two of you had made it a point to see each other a few times throughout the summer when the other wasn’t traveling. Yes, he’d seen you a week ago, but it was too quick of a trip to your parents’ house. He wasn’t able to do this, no not at all. This was what he wanted and craved. You in his arms snoozing away. This was his version of heaven. You were the something he’d always dreamed of.

You nodded, “A week too long, indeed.”

He leaned down to capture your lips on his. His sweet kisses always seemed to catch you off guard. When he pulled away your cheeks were ablaze, pupils blown out in love, terribly breathless. Remus grinned seeing the state he left you in, “I love you, Y/N.”

“Love you so much Remy.” You grinned laying your head down on his chest once more letting him hold you. You knew he’d get you going for charms if he really wanted to. This too was your version of heaven and you too weren’t terribly keen on giving it up.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom

#remus lupin x oc #remus being remus #remus lupin #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin fanfiction #marauders #marauders era #peter pettigrew #the marauders #harry potter universe #harry potter #harry potter marauders #moony x y/n #moony x reader #moony fanfiction #moony fnaf #moony x you #marauders fandom #marauders x reader #marauders x you #marauders x y/n #marauders x oc #hp fandom #james potter x platonic!reader #sirius black x platonic!reader #remus lupin one shot