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tadpolesonalgae · 6 months

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Dark!Rhysand x reader: Desk Pet[***]

A/N: if you’d like more, try the sequel: play-mate 🧡💛

Warnings: non-con, dark!rhysand, collars + leashes, impact ‘play’, oral (m!recieving), arguably torture, degradation, smut, cum play?

Word Count: 3,993

Even freshly oiled hinges make noise if you know what to listen for.

The air shifts, a lock clicking softly, followed by the muffled scuff of shoes over a hardwood floor.

You curl into a tight ball, knuckles of your spine pressing against the back of the desk, huddling your knees to your naked front.

Dark, polished leather comes into view. Shift as he reaches for something on the surface of your ceiling. Papers rustle, the smell of ink and parchment bursting in the air, and you curl yourself tighter, pressing as far away from him as possible.

He reclines in the padded chair, cushioning thick and luxurious, nothing but perfection for Night Triumphant. Bare skin prickles with fear, dark power thrumming thick in the air, static buzzing beneath your skin, bones heavy with the weight of his magic. Lower lip wobbles, but you keep yourself stiff, spine rigid—hardly even breathing. Above you, a quill scratches away on the desk, tapping out a slow, steady beat. Bored, and lazy. Taunting as he sets you on edge.

Nails dig into the soft flesh of your palms as he pushes his chair back, enough space for you to peek your head out, if you had the foolish courage to try. Instead, you cower back into the darkness, wishing to be reduced to dust; to fade into nothing. Lurk like a spider in a corner, remaining unseen but able.

“I’d been wondering where you scuttled off to,” he muses, pushing further from his desk. Toes curl, arms wrapping tighter around bare shins, ankles crossing in attempts to shield yourself from his prying eyes. “Come out here,” he commands smoothly, “I want to see you.”

Something sharp slices into your gut, twisting sickeningly as you squeeze your body to the point of cramping, shrinking away into the darkness below his desk. Heart pounds in your chest, counting out the menacing tap of his fingers, drumming out your sentence. He hums softly, as if bored by your terror. “You’re going to be like that, then.”

Hand flexes, a shadowed leash materialising in his palm, fingers wrapping tight as he jerks on it, roughly.

You choke, gagging as you’re flung forward, landing on your hands and knees, pushing with all your might to return to the temporary safety beneath his desk. There’s no give on the collar, the leash might as well be made of iron for how far you’re able to pull away from him. Nails dig into the floorboards, gouging into the crevices as you attempt to scramble away from him, skin prickling as his attention licks over you.

The High Lord tuts softly, jerking your leash so you have to raise up onto your knees, hands leveraging yourself on the plush cushion of his chair—space between his long legs. Fear pounds through your head, ears ringing as you meet his gaze: cold, cruel violet narrowed upon your lower form. Eyes widen, edges of your mouth twisting down as your lip wobbles, pressure tightening around your throat. A faint smile crinkles the edges of his mouth, recognising your fear, marking the tremble to your fingers.

“So much resistance from something so small,” he muses, hand cupping your jaw, fingers and thumb squeezing your cheeks. “I take that to mean you’re well rested?”

Lip wobbles, a tear spilling over as the muscles in your shoulders contract with tension, trying to shrink away from him. Violet narrows, jerking on your collar. You gasp, darkness tightening around your throat. “I’m not in the mood,” he snarls roughly, brow deepening into a scowl, lip curling back from sharp, gleaming canines. “Now on your knees, mouth open.”

Terror floods your veins, and you tug on the leash, shaking your head as you use your hands in attempts to shove him away.

A beastly snarl rips from his throat, forcing you into a state of petrifaction, his inherent dominance over you making blood freeze in your arteries. The back of his palm connects with your cheek, smacking your face to the side, skin stinging as pain bursts at the corner of your mouth. A metallic tang coating your tongue.

He jerks on your lead, commanding your attention, tears mixing with blood as they drip down your jaw, splattering on the floor. A low laugh drags from his chest, violence prowling just beneath as he forces you to straighten your spine, lead pulled taut as you kneel between his long legs. “You’re going to hurt so bad,” he snarls, grinning, nothing kind in the display of piercing, white teeth. “Does that excite you, pet?” He practically spits, leaning to be closer to you, your hands having to brace themselves atop his powerful thighs. “Knowing how I’m going to use you?” He growls, arousal dilating his pupils.

“I’m going to make sure you hate this,” he snarls, violet practically glowing as he bares his teeth.

Terror roils in your gut, and you spit at him, saliva splattering just beneath his left eye, digging your nails into the muscle of his thighs.

He’s still for a moment, a storm brewing as magic crackles in the air.

Pupils tighten into slits, fury whitening his features, carving out animalistic lines into his cruelly beautiful face. “You want it rough, today?” He growls, lowly, fingers biting into your jaw. “Want to have this experience scarred into you?” He mutters, shadows flickering at his back, those great, powerful wings materialising, tipped with piercing talons. “Want me to break something?” He hisses, jaw straining beneath his grip.

Thunder storms in his eyes, snapping all at once, releasing the damper on his power, pressure almost crushing you as your heart strains beneath the weight of his darkness. Magic is unleashed, and your lips part in a silent scream as talons rake along the soft, tender adamant of your mental shields, ripping them apart in a single beat of your heart. Mind is torn away; claws touch the most intimate, sacred parts of you, pawing and scraping at your soft centre.

Spine curves, head tipping back as your eyes widen, as if lightening it crackling beneath your skin, pure, undiluted power searing into your body.

“Are you sorry?” He muses, pleased with your suffering. Arousal thickens as tears streak down your throat, dripping between your breasts as you sob at the invasion. Lips tremble, aching from being stretched taut, jaw feeling like it might crack from being forced open.

Talons squeeze tighter, a stomach-ripping scream tearing from your lungs, blood-curdling from the exquisite agony he’s inflicting. “I’m— sorry!” You scream, having trouble forming the words from blazing pain. “Please!” You cry out. “Please! I— I can’t—”

Claws retract, and you slump forward, spine aching from bowing at such a steep angle, as though something else had taken ahold of you. “Better,” he croons, pulling on the leash, dragging you back between his thighs. “Now settle down and get to work,” he snarls, working himself free of the infuriating ties keeping him from the wet heat of your mouth.

Breath shudders from your lungs, chest spasming from the force of his power, stinging aches lacerating across your torso with every inhale. He’d promised he’d make it hurt.

Tears spill fresh down your cheeks as his hand fists in your hair, nails scraping viciously over your scalp, guiding you to his tip. “Open that mouth for me before I unhinge your damned jaw,” he snarls roughly, releasing your leash in favour of gripping his base.

Loathsomely, your lips part, dread coiling in your gut at his barbarity; the brutality he’s inflicting upon you with such glee. He shoves into your mouth; you choke, spluttering and convulsing as he pushes you down, nose pressing tight to his abdomen, dark hairs trailing a path from his muscled stomach to his cock. Instinctively, you try to pull your tongue away, but it only brings his flavour deeper, the invasive taste of him spearing through your mind.

He laughs darkly, “isn’t that better, pet? Don’t have to worry that dumb little mind about trying to fight me. Just focus on doing the one thing you’re good at.” His fingers curl in your hair, slowly dragging you up and down his cock, as though you’re a toy he has no worry for. Hips buck lightly, breaths deepening as his head tips back against his chair, skin dusted with an orange-pink flush.

“Do you like knowing this is what you’ve been reduced to? What I’ve reduced you to?” He muses, quirking a brow as he stares down at you, head dipped as though you’re bowing, mouth sealed tight around the thickness of his length. “A pretty little cock toy,” he mocks, “isn’t that right?”

Your nose burns, throat aching from the intrusion, tears dripping onto his tan skin. Palms splay over the leather clothing his inner thighs, nails stabbing into the muscle as he keeps you pressed into his lap, grinding up into your mouth.

When he pulls you off, you gasp for air, spit drooling from the edges of your lips, spilling down your chin, attached to his tip by thin, silvery strands. Chest heaves as you splutter, gulping down breaths desperately. The High Lord groans, thumb swiping over your swollen lower lip, saliva tinted with precum. “Such a lovely accessory, aren’t you?” He growls, hand fisting in your hair as he guides you to his hips, head pushing into your mouth, his taste prominent and distinct.

Eyes burn as tears drip onto his skin, tongue writhing in your mouth as you press your hands against his thighs in protest. He widens the stance of his legs, pushing you down until all you can see is the hot skin of his abdomen, flecked with small scars. He curses under his breath, rolling his hips as you gag, tightening around him. “Relax,” he mutters, sharply bucking up, thrusts turning rougher and faster, picking up the rhythm.

“I’m going to fuck you raw,” he groans, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping you, setting a punishing pace as he fucks your mouth. All you can do is stab your nails into the muscle of his thighs, but he twitches in response, enjoying the pain: inflicting and receiving it. A strangled whimper spills onto him, and he snarls in pleasure, making you squirm at his barbarity.

“You’re going to swallow it,” he mutters, nails raking over your scalp. “Every last drop, and you’re going to be thankful for it.” Hips buck sharply, twitching on your tongue as he nears his peak. “Grateful you’re the female who gets to be on her knees for me.”

Eyes squeeze shut, arms aching from trying to shove away from him, but he keeps your head tucked between his legs, lips flush to his abdomen as he releases down your throat. Giving you no choice but to swallow as his hips stutter, nose hurting from how heavy his hold is. Low, rough groans drag from his throat, thighs parting as darkness envelops your body, wrapping around your waist, sliding up your front, licking between your thighs. Like dozens of pairs of hands, fingers grazing down your spine, thumbing your nipples.

You shudder, crying out at the invasion; the violation as he feels the soft heat of your skin, darkness building between your legs as you try to wriggle away. Try to push further up onto your knees but shadow wraps over your thighs, binding them to your calves so you’re forced to keep still as they writhe and flick against your heat.

He pulls you to his tip, just as the last spurts shoot from the slit, hot droplets of cum splattering over your lips, smattering like freckles on your cheeks and nose. You splutter, gagging and gulping down air, desperate for a breath at last. Through your spotted daze you can make out how he’s fisted his cock, pumping slowly, easing down from his high. Breathing heavily, skin hot and flushed.

“Lick it up,” he murmurs, panting deeply. Jerks your hair, making you wince. “Lick it up.”

You glance down, spotting the stray drops that have latched onto the dark fabric of his leathers, remnants still at his tip. Involuntarily swallowing, you lean forward, feeling piercing violet weighing as you poke your tongue out, lapping up the mess he’s made. Swiping over his inner thigh, dragging up the seam.

Gritting your teeth, you lick his tip, tongue flicking over his slit, suckling down the stray droplets. He growls, thumbing at your cheeks, scooping up the last few spurts of his cum, peering at it; smearing it across the pad. Lips quirk in a cold smile, violet flicking to weigh down on you. “Up,” he murmurs, as if coaxing a pet into being good. “Up here.” Pats his thigh with his free hand, “up into my lap.”

There’s no way for you to protest, dark magic handling you onto your feet. Flinch as he brushes his cum-slicked thumbs over your nipples, circling and pinching softly, grinning at how they stiffen into peaks as the air hits the cooling liquid. His hand trails down your stomach, gaze following with interest, pondering how next to torture you. How else can he degrade you?

A mix between a whimper and a hiss spits from your chest as those cum-covered fingers swipe over your heat, darkness keeping your arms immobile at your back. His eyes latch onto yours as his digits dance between your legs, a wicked smirk twisting his lips, grin the embodiment of cocky, male arrogance. “You’d taste wonderful right now,” he drawls, middle finger circling your clit, playing with the soft, sensitive bud.

Lip wobbles as your vision blurs, struggling against his dark power, keeping you from so much as squirming.

His grin widens, noting your disgust. One finger pushes inside, and you whimper, face screwing up as it curls gently, rubbing against soft, sensitive spots that would feel nice if they were being stimulated by anyone but him. “Should I spread you out on my desk, hm? Get you all nice and wet” —punctuated by the curl of his finger— “for me? I bet you’d hate that.”

Eyes remain screwed shut, nails digging into the flesh of your palms, teeth prickling at your lip. A second finger prods at your entrance, and you try to squirm away, try to close your legs, or even just squeeze them together but he’s got two digits inside, and tears drip down your cheeks. “Stop,” you whisper, shakily, voice trembling. “Stop it.”

He hums, grin widening as he drags you closer by your cunt, so you’re stood over his left thigh, free hand gripping your hip. “But you’re so fun to play with,” he replies, mirth dancing in the violet of his eyes. Wet splashes down, landing on your chest. “You’re a monster,” you breathe, voice breaking. “A filthy, fucking, monster.”

Teeth flash in a grin. “You love me really,” he says, fingers rubbing over a spot that has your breath catching. Brows narrow together, mustering up a glare, “I hate you.”

“You hate me?” He replies, laughter in his voice. “You don’t know the meaning of the word,” he drawls. “Lovely, soft, lamb. Never faced a day of hardship in her life. Kept safe, by me, while the rest of the land was brought to its knees by that bitch of a Queen.”

“You’re worse than she was,” you snarl, baring your teeth as you feel yourself crumbling further. Fingers still inside of you, thumb prone to press against your clit.

“You think I’m worse than her?” He mutters lowly, something dark and sinister sharpening it’s claws within him, violet plummeting to indigo. Fury glitters in his eyes. “I know you are,” you seethe, tears still dripping steadily.

Hellish mouth slowly quirks into a smile, dragging his fingers from your heat, raising his hand for you to see: the arousal coating his digits, glistening with slick. “You seem to like that.”

Humiliation swarms your body, and you look away, shame slicing into your gut despite knowing it means nothing. You hear him laugh, low and dark; hear the sound of clothes ruffling as he raises his hand, followed by wet, lewd noises. “You taste like you do, too,” he muses. When you don’t reply, he grips your jaw, other hand resting possessively at your hip. “Say you like it,” he commands, palms sliding over your hind, digits prodding at the intimate skin. “Ask me to fuck you.”

“You’re disgusting,” you hiss, glaring at him beneath narrowed brows. “You’re vile, and cruel, and utterly, utterly, disgusting.”

“That’s not how you ask, little lamb,” he remarks, mildly. “Did having my cock in your mouth somehow skew your brain?” He muses, hand sliding over the plumpness of your rear to grip the back of your thigh, handling you so your leg slides over his hip—straddling his lap. “Maybe we should work on your articulation?” You debate spitting at him again. The way he quirks his brow in challenge makes you believe he’s inside you already, cataloguing each of your thoughts. When his lips quirk, you hiss.

“Get out.” The High Lord grips your hips, moving you so you’re flush against his chest, cock hard and stiff, and poking into your abdomen. ‘But it’s so cozy in here.’ Nausea roils in your gut as you attempt to squirm away. “Stop it,” you hiss—comes out like a whimper. He grips your jaw tight, “beg.”

Blood freezes in your veins; you stare at him. “What?” His hellish mouth twists into a feline grin. “Beg.” Heart pounds in your chest, his cold, violet eyes devoid of any hints to whether he’s offering you reprieve this time. He’s proven himself to be sick enough to get off on begging alone.

Lower lip wobbles, arms still trapped at your back by his dark magic. “Please,” you murmur, unable to meet his eye. Heat flushing your skin as sickening shame burns in your gut.

“Please what?” He drawls, taunting you softly, grinding his hips against you, the rough material of his leathers scraping your nipples, making you squirm in his hold. “Please, stop it,” you mutter, trying to blink away those tears—he probably gets turned on by them.

Darkness lessens at your back, giving you enough leeway to shift as he—

“You’re a fucking psycho.”

The High Lord grips your hips tighter, your nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders, front pressed tight to his chest as you’re forced to lean into him to keep from sliding down onto his cock—tip eagerly pressed to your entrance. “You didn’t sound believable.” He answers nonchalantly, smiling cruelly. Hips buck, his head nudging the soft dip between your thighs. “We need to work on your begging,” he growls up onto your mouth.

Terror coils in your gut as he makes to drag you down, sit you on his cock like a prized accessory, nothing but a toy for him to enjoy. Tears brim at your lash line, nails biting into his skin. “Please…” you whimper, breasts pressed flush to his chest, feet hurting from perching on the points of your toes. “I…Please, Rhys.”

Tears drip-drop, splashing lightly onto his cheeks, face below your own. Violet widens marginally, revelling in the hot liquid, feeling it roll down to his jaw. A muscle feathers, and he curses lowly. “You beg like a fucking whore,” he snarls, lips grazing your own. “Where do you get off on acting like that, huh? Acting like it’s not all your dumb mind can think about.” His thumb and fingers squeeze the skin of your cheeks, making you cry harder. “I know you want it,” he breathes, words carving into your lips from the proximity. “Can’t wait for it. You’re practically dripping on me,” he snarls, pupils dilating to something wild and dangerous.

Then he’s slamming you down, and your mouth parts in a silent sob, collapsing against him, bodies pressed flush as your muscles give out, flopping into his shape, moulding against him. He’s filling you up entirely, spine arching as involuntary pleasure spasms across your lower tummy, heating your skin until you feel like you’ll never move again.

Rhys curses, low and viciously, hand gripping the nape of your neck to pull you back. You can hardly function. Disgusting, violating pleasure twists through your abdomen from being seated on his cock, your entire weight pressing him deeper. “Look at you,” he mutters lowly, taking in the heat flushing your skin, the part of your lips, the fluttering of your eyelids. “So fucked out already” he growls, hot lips brushing against your neck; you shudder.

“I told you that you wanted it,” he drawls, large palm spanning the width of your back, encouraging you to curve into him, arms draping over his shoulders, between the great wings. “Even your cunt was begging for me,” he snarls roughly, softly grinding up into you. You shiver from the exposure, feeling more naked now than you ever have before. Knowing he can watch as you loathsomely respond to him: the delicious press of his cock, how ecstasy is burning beneath your skin.

He laughs lowly, teeth scraping the soft skin of your throat. ‘I know you like it like this,’ he gloats in your mind, nipples peaking from the invasion. ‘You can’t lie to me, even if you manage to deceive yourself.’ All you can do is release a strangled sound—a bit too close to a moan for all the locked up hatred you can feel coiling in the pit of your stomach.

The High Lord begins bucking his hips, hands forcing you to grind against him, despite how you’re rendered immobile from shock and pleasure, slumped onto his chest as he uses you. He picks up the rhythm, setting a brutal pace that has disgust bubbling in the pit of your belly. His cock shoves into you, touching those sensitive spots he’d sought out with his fingers, sending you deeper into that mind-numbing state of disassociation.

“Do you still hate me, huh? Still hating this as much as when we started?” He growls, pounding up into you while you can do nothing but accept every sharp thrust, every buck that has you tightening around him. Slick’s probably dripped down onto his leathers by now—he’ll probably force you to lick it up afterwards.

“I know you’re enjoying this,” he murmurs beside your ear. “Such a filthy liar, aren’t you? My lovely, lying, lamb.”

You hiss as pleasure spills over the edges, ecstasy erupting within you as you’re sent over the edge. He snarls in response, rationality breaking beneath the strain of animal instinct. He surges from the chair, shoving you on his desk, papers flying as he grips your hips, slamming you back to meet him as he pounds into you. Sharp, gleaming canines pierce his lower lip as his own high crashes into him, cum shooting from his cock as his thrusts become sloppy, grinding into the wet, messy heat of your cunt as you flutter around him. Eyes are rolled back as you helplessly buck against him, body moving on its own while your back bows from his desk.

Ink is no doubt staining your skin, but you’re too far away to care. Grateful for the reprieve, finally leaving your body, escaping from his brutality, even for only a few moments.

Pleasure numbs your mind of pain, blanking out the violation and basking in the warm tingle he’s put into your bones.

Heavy pants fill the air as he keeps his hips pressed tight to the backs of your thighs, wings taut and shuddering as the last spurts of cum spill into you, making sure to pump everything he has deep inside.

He needs to be certain you’re completely his, filled with him at all times.

And when you’re eventually empty again, he’ll just repeat the events.

Filling you up all over again.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

Rhys Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

#Rhys #Rhys smut #Rhysand #Rhysand x reader #Rhysand smut #dark!rhys #dark!rhysand #dark!rhys x reader #dark!rhys x reader smut #dark!rhysand x reader #dark!Rhysand x reader smut #dark!fic #[***]#Desk Pet

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crtorner · 5 months

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"Flowers at the platform"

- my first attempt at fanfiction, mainly fluff, 600+ words, sorry for any typos and grammar errors :) this was just for fun!

“All abooaard!”

The train conductor announced. People ushered into their respective train carts clearly having places to be.

However, you stayed, sitting on a bench by the platform.

Waiting, and occasionally thinking of what you would cook for him, you listened to the chugging and the whistle of the trains that pass by like afterthoughts, dissappearing into the horizon with the smoke that emitted from the steam powered locomotive, billowing into the sky. None of them were ever his, but you knew you had to wait.

"It won't be the first and certainly won't be the last." You reassured yourself.

Waiting, something that you first learned back in the days where he was still in the process of courting you was a key part in this relationship you shared with the auror, no matter how long it took, with time, you found peace in it.

Considering his position as Head Auror of the British Auror office, Theseus often went overseas, leaving you alone for weeks that sometimes stretched out into months to your silent dismay and soon, acceptance. However, waiting for his train to arrive didn't bother you as much as most people would assume. After all, the sight of him before you was the greatest pay off of all.

With what you hadn't realised was bated breath and anticipation, you saw him step off the train. With the other behind him, his hand, withered with scars, fixed his already well-groomed brunette hair and the knot of his tie. He always made sure to look good for you - especially the times where he was scarce.

He stepped towards you with a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Dear." The older man greeted you fondly.

"Theseus! There you are." You got onto your feet, fighting the urge to run into his arms as you made your way towards him. You weren't a woman who waited for the husband to return from war— no, that was in the past, and thank god for that.

You could've sworn there was a floral scent in the air around you two as you examined his face you missed so dearly.

"I don't suppose you.." Before you could finish his sentence, the hand he had previously had behind his back outstretched to you with a bouquet of an assortment of colorful flowers in hand.

"I wouldn't ever." He clarified with a chuckle of triumph. The gesture was all too endearing not to bring a smile on your face, and that was exactly his goal.

Despite being an important man who, as it comes to no suprise, often was busy with his schedule packed with all sorts of admin and case work, not to mention the countless court trials that gave him a headache, however, nothing a cigarette or a glass of bourbon couldn't ease. He always had flowers for you.

Of course he had flowers with him, he always did whenever the time was right for him to return from his job as the Head Auror. If it wasn't flowers he had behind his back it would be something else. Sometimes it was small and simple. Other times it would be big and extravagant, but never did it fail to be a thoughtful gift he had brought with him to make you happy.

To see your face, smiling no less, at some point in time had become a luxury just as much as it was for you to see him in bed beside you.

"Keep that smile, would you?" Theseus requested as he pushed your hair behind your ear, his eyes tracing over your features that had been crinkled with a smile. Your cheeks growing a rosy colour at the touch of his hands, withered from the excessive use of writing tools.

"Well then, let's get going, I would have to wait any longer to be at home with you." You two walked along the train platform, with each others hands intertwined.

“How is Newt, by the way?" You asked.

"Oh, off somewhere in China on another one of his beastly endeavours, what's new?" The wizard mused to himself.

#callumturner #fantastic beasts #theseusscamander #fanfiction #poor attempt at writing #fluff #reader x theseus #harry potter #Takes place before fb1 #1920's #wholesome scamander #secrets of Dumbledore #crimes of grindelwald #old fashioned #Fantastic beasts imagine #fantastic beasts crimes of Grindelwald #fantastic beasts secrets of Dumbledore

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cheesus-doodles · 5 months

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Chapter 7: Swallow the Sun

Former Gang Leader Darling AU (Red Dragonflies)

Red Dragonflies Masterlist | Masterlist | Ao3 Link for the Sane

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The silence that filled the room was palpable, in every sense of the word. It weighed heavy on your shoulders, the air thick and heavy with every breath becoming harder and harder to take, the tension that clogged your lungs almost as if it was an invisible viscous liquid dripping from the ceiling and slowly filling the room. You never liked the feeling that crept like an eerie fog up your legs despite having gotten well acquainted with it by now; just the life of a negotiator you supposed, more so when the parties involved tend to be hot-headed and overly-excitable delinquent gang leaders faced with difficult decisions.

Time felt like it had come to a crawl as the world held its breath. It was an unusually quiet afternoon for the city of Shinagawa, the usual hum of traffic buzzing down the nearby downtown area noticeably missing from the background hum. Even the wind that rattled the clear windows lining one wall just prior to the Black Dragons’ arrival had faded away into a cloudless sky, leaving just the uncaring sun watching on mercilessly. But you didn’t rush, didn’t try to hurry the other party who seemed to have frozen in place, Taiju simply wordlessly staring you down with those beastly yellow eyes, the lack of emotions on his face a heart-racing sight for a lesser delinquent, while Inupi and Koko flanking him were outright gaping at you with their shock worn on their sleeves.

The calm before the storm. You understood what you were asking - no, demanding - from them. Well aware of the implication and the loaded threat that your words carried, it wasn't an if but a when and how the Black Dragons were going to be merged into your own gang, whether they wanted it to happen or not. Yet, despite the seemingly sudden nature of this meeting with Taiju, you knew that this had been really a long time coming. All these years you had watched silently from the sidelines as Shinichiro’s gang was ran into the ground by unworthy leaders, its name and reputation tainted and soiled; this was simply the final straw, and no longer were you going to let his good name be sullied any more: at least you could hold your head high and say that you upheld your oath. Quashing down the surging memories of the equally horrid direction that Izana had led the gang down during his time at the head of the Black Dragons, you turned your attention back to the painful, painful waiting: not that you didn’t want to think of the underground smuggling ring or the crime-for-hire that your former lover ran, but it wasn’t an issue to solve at this point.

The oppressive stillness seemed to stretch on, each passing second amplifying the sense of anticipation, as if the room itself were counting down to the inevitable release and the coming explosion. And oh how you hated to wait - the unpredictability of what was to come was like daggers in your skin. There was truly nothing worse than being caught off guard; you had learnt that lesson the hard way multiple times before. At least even in these turbulent minutes you mused, you could count on the rhythmic sound of Furusawa’s heavy breathing from behind you to keep you grounded as you waited, a reassurance that your best friend was there to back you up regardless of how this nasty business turned out.

In an instance, the momentary tranquility shattered, and reality came crashing back down. “What the fuck did you just say?!” His words came out almost like a hiss as Taiju leaned forward, open palm slamming down onto the abused coffee table that separated you and him, the vein on his forehead seemingly throbbing more than usual as the blue-haired boy gritted his teeth.

Pulling yourself out from your thoughts, you leveled your gaze at the gang leader who sat from across you, turning your full attention back to the present. This wasn’t the right time to be nostalgic about the past or ponder the future. “Should I repeat myself?” You raised one questioning eyebrow. No, it was time to play.

“You’re taking me as a fool? Huh?!” He sneered, teeth bared. “Merge my gang under yours? This a fucking game to you, little girl?”

The taunt failed to rile you up enough, even if the strong emphasis on the Black Dragons being his did send a flash of irritation through your chest. No, the gang had never been his. It was Shinichiro’s and Takeomi’s, Wakasa’s and Benkei’s. Taiju was simply another steward for their legendary legacy, just like Izzy had been. Not his. A quick glance at Inupi and you saw the same turmoil in those blue eyes, but you swallowed the rising annoyance. You had worse thrown your way before. “Surely you can’t be suggesting something so vile, Taiju-san,” Bending over slightly to lightly pick your full cup off of the coffee table, you continued, your voice as even as the color of a cloudless midday sky. “I have never messed around in meetings, and never will. This is serious business.”

His tiger eyes seemed to glimmer and glint from the sunlight that filtered through the large window panes, as if simply waiting for a chance to tear into you. To eat you alive. “Then what the fuck are you trying to say?”

You sighed, unimpressed with the lack of tact on show. You didn’t fear the newest of the Black Dragon Presidents, not in the slightest, but you could at least empathize with his poor victims; this man left little room for negotiation for those who lived in his shadow. Fortunately, you did not. “I’m sure you understood me perfectly fine, Taiju-san.” Leaning back onto your chair and taking a sip of your tea, you continued to meet his infuriated stare from the brim of your cup with barely a blink. Deciding that this little dance was going nowhere, you forged ahead. “You must have heard of the brewing storm coming your way.”

Taiju didn’t seem the least bit phased. “You mean that 8th Generation Black Dragon leader? Izana?” Scoffing, the blue-haired boy flicked his hand nonchalantly, as if waving off the fly he thought Izana would be. “Won’t be the slightest issue, dealing with that rat.”

You hummed, a low, single-toned haunting note. “I wouldn’t be too sure. Izana’s a lot stronger than he looks.” A fact that you knew firsthand and all too well - even you wouldn’t be able to take him down alone, with or without the handicaps he would give you.

Silence fell over the room once again, those shaking, balled-up fists told you everything you needed to know. Consumed by anger and preferring to speak with his fists, you noted to yourself, and you wondered if you would have gotten further along if you had just let Furu at him from the start. Maybe you should now in fact - this particular meeting of leaders is coming along much rougher than you had hoped, and your precious free time was slowly but surely ticking down the drain. Yes, it was indeed time to instigate, even if you did risk another human-sized hole in your walls. Pulling yourself back up, placing your cup gingerly back down at the coffee table with a clink as porcelain met porcelain. “What I have been trying to say is,” you leaned forward, head cocked slightly to the side as a small taunting smile began to pull at your lips. “The Black Dragons are far too important to me to let you lose.”

And that was all it took.

‎

Inupi had been looking forward to meeting you again for a very long time. He hadn’t been sure if he would ever be given the opportunity to do so, after everything that had gone down two years ago and you had evaporated into thin air after abruptly retiring, but now here you were. You looked so similar from when he had last seen you standing side by side with Izana, sans the physical growth, you had barely changed - but the weariness in your eyes. The sheer exhaustion that tainted your once lively eyes, it seemed to have only increased and intensified as the years went by; there was no doubt even with all he had witnessed in his life, those eyes had already experienced so much more. An old soul trapped in a young body was what you were, though it wasn’t hard for the Black Dragon member to remember the times that you had away from such heavy gang duties or the times you had spent with your now ex-boyfriend; the times when your eyes would light up as if fireworks against the dark winter sky, and your youth would come rushing back into that gaze like an water out of an opened dam.

Even this infamous meeting room brought back memories; its plush carpet always kept in tiptop condition, the eternal dance of the cranes across the walls, and the homely, worn wooden coffee table that was the centerpiece of the room. After all, the former Black Dragon Vice Captain had once spent hours within these four walls, locked at attention while watching over meetings where you and Izana poured over gang matters and strategies. Not too different from what was happening now, Inupi supposed, crystal blue eyes sliding to glance at the head of alternating blue and white hair that now occupied the sofa opposite of you.

But you always had this presence about you; not those heavy types like Taiju’s, one that commanded fear and attention. No, you had a different type of draw; you brought a sense of closure. An unyielding, constant pressure that meetings in your presence, be it in a room or on the battlefield, will one way or another be brought to a close, with the type of ending they get being left up to your unfortunate victims to decide.

The stoic mask the blond-haired delinquent wore threatened to break when your gaze landed on him, and your lips twitched upwards ever so slightly as you greeted him, but through sheer self-control, he had managed to simply acknowledge your attention. Now standing in your presence once more, Inupi could only wish it was you that he had approached for help with reviving the Black Dragons - the gang would have greatly benefited from a calm and experienced hand at the helm if you hadn’t upped and vanished immediately after you resigned from your beloved Reds.

And it only grew clearer and clearer that mistakes had been made as the meeting dragged on. Hearing you all but order Taiju into giving up the Black Dragons to you was the straw that broke the camel’s back, a gut punch that Inupi struggled to keep his face straight through; the reason they were here was because of his failure. There was no doubt that a lifelong delinquent like Izana’s former right-hand man had not heard the rumors swirling around about his old boss, and you being here to rescue his beloved gang from the depths of the pit he had dug them into only served to highlight one fact. Too important to let them - to let him - lose the gang: you were here because of his failure that started all the way back with the end of the Eighth Generation of Black Dragons.

Failure to protest harder against Shion being Izana’s successor, failure to pick a better boss to follow, failure to do better: there was no other way to put it. He had failed Izana, failed Shinichiro, failed the once-pristine legacy of the Black Dragons again and again. Scars and sins that he carried, that he once hoped he could lay bare before you, for the infamous Negotiator to wash it all away; but not like this.

‎

Koko must have noticed the turmoil brewing right under those usually impassive eyes, the financier glancing over in his direction with furrowed eyebrows.

Right as his black-haired friend was about to ask, the entire mood changed, and those almond eyes snapped right back towards the silent, tense standoff that dominated the room. In that moment, the universe felt as if it had collapsed in on Inupi’s gut, the flare of desperate screams to move, to fight, to duck from the back of his head overwhelming each and every one of his senses. But there was no time to react. The sunflower-blond boy wasn't sure what had happened, or who was faster. It was as if both Taiju and Furusawa had moved within the span of a sole heartbeat; a single blink, too fast for him to even catch; and the next thing he knew, his entire view of you was filled by the jarring red of Furusawa’s jacket and the black of his shirt, the draft he generated whipping his jacket backwards. An ominous creak of wood, and Inupi chanced a quick glance upwards - and there, held above your Vice Captain’s head with a sole hand was the other half of your beloved camelback sofa set that Taiju had been sitting on just seconds earlier, its shadow eclipsing the ceiling light around where you sat.

Silence consumed everyone present, as if the room was suddenly emptied of air. Inupi barely dared to breathe should break the temporary peace, blue shaky eyes darting between the brown and pink-haired man and Taiju belied the neutral, unmoved expression Inupi wore. What happened?

Chocolate eyes met yellow ones easily, with neither party willing to back down. The sight of the sofa failing to reach its intended target, however, didn’t seem to be enough of a deterrent to any further rash actions, as Inupi watched the Tenth Generation Black Dragon President reach for the walnut coffee table with the definite intent to hurl that as well, the telltale veins on his forehead throbbing with every heartbeat.

This time though, Furusawa was faster. A loud thud shattered the silence as a steel-toed boot came crashing down, the worn wood beneath letting out a groan at the sudden impact as it was pinned back down firmly to the carpet, a force too strong even for Taiju’s usually imposing strength to overcome. “Wanna take this outside, punk?” The Beast of the Underworld grinned as he leaned forward, that usual friendly, oblivious smile Inupi remembered having turned rather sinister, his sharp canines glinting even under the warm ceiling lights. “I can take you out right now. Makes Boss’ job a lot easier too.”

It was a threat as clear as the sun rising at midnight, and no doubt Furusawa could back it up and come out the other end without missing a breath off; not only was it well know within delinquent circles how monstrous your Vice Captain was, but also how much the man was always itching for a fight. The mere memory of the last fight Inupi had witnessed years ago where this fighting behemoth decided he was bored and decimated an entire gang himself - he would rather avoid that happening to him at all costs. The logo of the white dragonfly neatly embroidered on the breast of Furusawa’s red jacket was as much a threat as it was a reminder for everyone else to thread carefully: this was still the heart of the Red Dragonflies’ territory, and no matter the supposed strength of the latest generation of Black Dragons, you had historically always came out on top. Results speak for themselves.

And for all the ongoings around you, your small figure remained unmoved. Fingers tapping rhythmically on one knee of your neatly crossed legs as your gaze flittered between the four boys with not a single hair out of place; your continued composure in the face of imminent danger was just one of the things that Inupi had always admired about you. That, and the full trust you always had in your right-hand man and Vice Captain Mamoru Furusawa for your safety and security - it wasn’t lost on the seasoned delinquent that you hadn’t flinched the slightest bit at the sofa flying your way, making no moves to avoid the threat, let alone dodge. Even Izana would have reacted back in the day, Inupi mused.

You seemed content in letting this little game play out for a while more, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips. Perhaps to sate Taiju’s bloodlust, but he was well past done letting Taiju embarrass the Black Dragons and Shinichiro’s good name any further. This was getting way too out of hand.

‎

Taking a step forward was all that was needed to draw the room’s attention to him, but the Black Dragon second-in-command had his focus squarely on his leader, meeting that tiger gaze unhesitantly. “Stop it Taiju, don’t disrespect her.”

The blue-haired boy seemed to have been slightly taken aback by Inupi’s sudden boldness, his jaw dropping slightly at the open contempt on display from his own subordinate. In front of a rival gang leader, no less. It was provoking the sleeping dragon, that was for sure, but there was little else Inupi could think to do in the moment. Or maybe he should have sat back and let Taiju be utterly annihilated by Furusawa? A chanced look at you revealed that unlike Taiju, you weren’t caught off guard, somehow having expected that it would have been Inupi who stepped up, though seemingly disappointed at the same time for reasons beyond him. Had you been hoping for a different outcome? Something more out of him?

But unfortunately, the sunflower-blond delinquent didn’t have much time to consider this line of thinking any further as Taiju’s stunned state didn’t last long, and the historically violent and short-tempered Shiba emerged predictably into a state of utter rage. And as said gang leader turned bodily to face his rebellious subject, Inupi found himself dwarfed once more by the other’s large stature, and the memories of when he had first challenged Taiju in his search for a new Black Dragon leader came flooding back, though he didn’t take a single step back.

Taiju’s words came out as a hiss. “What’s the meaning of this, Inui?” Fist tightening to the point that his knuckles turned white, there was little chance that the boss was anything but furious.

Inupi refused to back down. “You’re not going to win this. Don’t embarrass the gang any further.”

“How dare you?”

This was it, Inupi supposed, mulling over what he had said. With you on the other side of the table this time round, he didn’t suppose he could rely on your intervention, and he wouldn’t count on surviving Taiju’s wrath. Yet much to his surprise, instead of the thrashing he expected, another voice that had stayed silent now interjected before the blue-haired gang leader could make a move. “Lay a hand on him and I’m out,” Koko threatened, his tone pointed as the infamous financier took a step forward, putting himself between the two. A valid threat. After all, there was no way Taiju could afford to run a gang like the Black Dragons without Koko’s legendary finance skills bringing in extra income and jobs.

For all the threats and posturing, the oldest of the Shibas still seemed unmoved, a disparaging curling his lips as he looked between the two. “And then what will you do, Inupi? Run the Black Dragons yourself?” He laughed humorlessly, the mockery clear. The empty smile dropped as he leaned forward, his shadow casting over the two defiant delinquents. “I’ll burn this whole worthless gang down with me.”

Time slowed to an immediate crawl as those fateful words were left floating in the still air, and as if a heavy, wet coat had been suddenly draped over the room, every breath became a challenge to take as the atmosphere itself seemed to press down on them. Unrestrained bloodlust that tainted his senses with the hint of iron led the Black Dragons back to one single, possible source. Furusawa wasn’t the slightest bit affected by the change in mood, his signature beastly grin plastered across his face, but Inupi knew that look of yours, partially hidden behind your right-hand man’s towering figure. Utter, unbridled rage pouring through your cracked facade that had even Koko stagger a step back. “Worthless?” Hatred, pure and plain, oozing from every pore, burning and consuming those tired, kind eyes. It was the first time Inupi had witnessed it with his own eyes after hearing about it from Izana all those years ago; the legendary other half that had tamed even the Eighth Generation Black Dragon leader

Your sheer contempt for the living. “Worthless?” You repeated, the word seemingly inconceivable to you. Your abhorrence of their continued existence.

“So that’s what you were hiding,” Taiju muttered to himself, his yellow eyes sparking with interest.

As soon as it appeared, the immense pressure evaporated back into thin air like it had never been there, the world seemed to sigh as the whirl of the air-condition once more returned to the background. Taking a breath, your face was once more schooled into that familiar calm expression as you relaxed back against the sofa, the tension in your shoulders gone. Picking up your teacup once more for what should be by now a stone-cold cup of tea, you allowed a small smile to lift the corners of your lips, your gaze landed back on a shaken Inupi. “Time is getting on. Furu, return their sofa to them, would you?”

A tch, but the brown and pink-haired man complied, walking round the coffee table to lightly place the sofa back in its place with nay a thud - a surprise, given he had looked ready to fling the object straight back in Taiju’s face. You waved your hand, drawing the three Black Dragon gazes back on you, though it seemed that both gang leaders present were well past the pleasantries. “I’m sure you have other places to be, Shiba-san, so let’s put it this way. One week to join willingly.”

Taiju scoffed, his vibrant red jacket flaring out behind him as he turned to leave without another word, storming past Inupi and Koko and leaving the meeting room door open as he disappeared round the corner. You simply sighed, your gaze landing on a stoic Inupi and an ashen Koko. “Sorry about that, boys,” you smiled, waving Furusawa forward, though your Vice Captain simply handed a letter to Inupi before backing off. “You should probably be on your way too. Stay safe, okay?”

‎

The hefty wooden door shut softly behind the two Black Dragons, though the click still reverberated through the room, ringing in your ears as you sat in the sudden silence, reflecting on all that had occurred in the past hour. Yet in the moment, all your mind could process was: you shouldn’t have lost control like that. You knew descending in such a state of anger was terrible for your mental health, and your nii-san would be so extremely disappointed if you did something unforgivable again.

You could really use a smoke right now.

You abruptly stood, forcing those useless, churning thoughts down and away from your consciousness, startling your long-time best friend out from his own daydreaming process. “How did you think that went, Furu?” Your voice nor expression gave no hint of the uncertainty brewing just below the surface, though you knew there was no hiding your clenched fingers from those eagle eyes, no matter how you positioned them at your side.

But your right-hand man seemed more occupied with thinking of the could-bes, having clearly been intrigued by Taiju’s raw strength, and the lack of a fight breaking out was no doubt the root cost of the dejectedness on his face. “Went pretty well, I guess,” he mumbled, kicking his feet. “No holes in the walls, nothing broken."

“You don’t sound too happy about that.”

Furu sighed. “That blue-haired dude looked kinda strong. Could have made a great fight.”

You lightly smacked him in the arm. “Not in my meeting room,” you reminded him, attempting to sound cross but utterly failing to do so. “I’m sure you’ll get your chance though,” you added thoughtfully.

That was enough to perk the Vice Captain up, chocolate eyes glinting with eagerness and hope, as if you had just promised the life of another human being to him as a Christmas present. “Really? You think so?”

But those questions only dredged back up the doubts you had suppressed since the start of the meeting; about the effectiveness of what you did, about what you should have done, about your past and the future of the Black Dragons. Sighing, you slumped backwards into the sofa, the soft backing cushion denting and giving way as you did so. “Most likely, given how that went,” you exhaled, turning your eyes up towards the ceiling once more as you ran one hand through your hair. “If Izzy doesn’t get to them first, that is. One week is a long time.”

A pause, your words lingering in the cool air for a moment. And then you continued. “I don’t know, Furu, I still think I should have just ran with my idea of proposing marriage. Would have saved us a lot of trouble.” Your mind wandered back to your precious Toman friends. Another problem you had no clue where to start, let alone solve. Every passing day spent trying to put out the fires of your past was another day letting your treasured relationship with your boys, with Mikey in particular, deteriorate. What else could you do other than try and make it up to them later?

Your Vice Captain was on you in a second, plucking you off your sofa and out of your thoughts by the back of your jacket before you realized what had happened, and earning a decidedly undelinquent-like eep from you. “Furu! Put me down!” You tried to insist, a 180 degree change from the refined gang leader facade you had donned just minutes earlier, but the much larger man was nonplussed.

"I'll kill him," Furusawa swore, the obliviousness that usually glazed his eyes having given way to a rare serious expression, and the lack of his usual playful lilt was enough to convey the gravity of your words. “I'll kill and eat that motherfucker if you ever say that again.”

You think that you’ve only seen the man so stern once before. Those chocolate eyes seemed intent on boring a hole straight into your soul, you mused, sighing as you threw both hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. I won’t mention it again.”

“And you won’t go behind our backs either?”

Touche. “I swear I won’t,” you crossed your heart. “Happy?”

Somewhat pacified, the brown and pink-haired man lowered you carefully back onto your two feet, though his grumpiness hadn’t disappeared completely. "Sometimes I don't think you have anything in there, Boss."

You playfully smacked him. You had, after all, told them what happened with Izzy when you met him against their advice four days earlier, and much to no one’s surprise, the meeting hadn’t gone as planned in the slightest without your usual chaperones present. Even hearing that Izana wanted to wed you immediately and went straight to violence after you refused failed to raise an eyebrow, Hase opting to simply let out a despairing groan while Koji threw up his hands in exasperation. What they said was completely true: you were way too personally involved to make sound decisions when it came to anything related to Izzy, and you shouldn’t have. Yet the lingering doubt refused to let go. "But what if-"

"We will handle it. Like we always do," Furusawa interjected. “You’re not alone.”

The grin you shone at your oldest friend was genuine as you leaned into his side. "Thanks Furu." As usual, your wiser friends were right.

“Anytime, Boss.” A grumble of his stomach broke the peace, and you laughed. Time for lunch with the others.

‎

Across town and just as you first waved the Tenth Generation Black Dragon leader through the ornately carved doors of your famed meeting room, a certain blond-haired time leaper was knee-deep living his most miserable past yet.

“Get up.”

Takemichi barely registered the nudge to his side, too busy ensuring that his chest kept heaving along through the throbbing pain as he struggled to catch his breath. Sprawled spread-eagle across the blood-splattered canvas floor of the fighting ring, it was only the rank, foul odor of sweat, blood and god-only knows what else - soaked up from a filthy past of countless fights and fermented in the summer heat - radiating up that kept him still clinging on to consciousness. Only the dead could sleep through a stink like that. Yet no smell could help with rebooting his shaken brain still rattling around his head from all the throwing around he had just endured.

Unfortunately, Hase didn’t seem as inclined to indulge his self-pity party nor give a second chance, and the next ‘nudge’ was instead a firm kick to his side, enough to roll Takemichi over several times and face first straight into the metal cage that separated this ring of hell from the outside world. “I’m not repeating myself,” came his drawl, followed by the familiar click of a lighter and the stinging smell of cigarette smoke that pierced his nose.

A snort off from the side. “Think you might have killed him,” Jun complained, his tone clearly bored as he lightly smacked his baseball bat against his calf. A pause. “That might be a boon though. Changing the future and all.”

Scratch that, his death wasn’t even an inconvenience. He could cry right now. He really could. Even Mikey didn’t waste his time finding nobodies to beat up for the hell of it. How was it that your brutal, heartless captains were so vastly different from kind, caring you? How is it you hadn’t yet been eaten alive by these monsters in human skin? Were you perhaps as much a monster as them? The mere idea of you staring down at Takemichi like Mikey did, with cold, empty eyes, sent a shiver down his spine, and he pushed the thought to the back of his head. No, there was no way you could hide something so sinister, not how genuine that gaze of yours had been or how sincere you were about your care towards your friends.

Then again, Mikey hasn’t had to shake the truth out from him just yet, and you weren’t particularly interested in digging those secrets out yourself either. Takemichi sighed, resigning himself to his fate. It wasn’t as if he could get his answers at the moment, and so albeit the reluctance and the protests of his body, the blond-haired boy pulled himself up from the well worn tarp, biting back the tears as he somehow managed to twist his bruised self into a sitting position, resting against the crisscrossing bars. Risking what Hase would do to him if he didn’t obey was just one more thing that Takemichi did not want to test - he might actually die if he gets tossed across the ring again.

“I’m up, I’m up,” the time traveler hastily reassured through swollen, bleeding lips, though it was more to convince himself than the other two seasoned gangsters as he carefully shuffled black and blue limbs around in an attempt to make things more comfortable. Dressed in just his sports shorts, he already made for quite the pathetic sight, with clear purple-and-black bruises decorated his upper chest, arms and legs, and this was barely helped by just how scrawny Takemichi looked next to the much taller and well-built Hase.

Hase, himself clothed in a simple shirt and shorts and with bandages wrapped around bare hands and feet, only rolled his eyes at the carefulness in which Takemichi picked himself off the floor, those dull gray eyes glaring down at him with disdain as he brought his cigarette up to his lips for another drag. “Nothing’s broken, stand.”

“But everything hurts,” Takemichi mumbled, the sharp flashes of agony that had rippled through his body from being beaten and thrown around having finally died down to a throb that radiated from his chest with every breath. How was it that he constantly finds himself in these sorts of situations? All he ever wanted to do was to save Hina from her unfortunate, undeserving destiny, was that too much to ask? Well, save Hina, Naoto, Mikey, and the rest of his newfound Toman friends, but still.

It had been a mere four days since you first waltzed into his life and class with a letter from the school principal, looking for him, and two since Jun had crashed his class and dragged him off in front of his teacher and all his classmates by the scruff of his neck, having figured through some unknown means that Takemichi was, in fact, a time leaper. And now, four days on from that fateful day, he hadn't even recovered enough from the beating he got from Hase two days prior before being today’s fresh punching bag. A time traveler of twelve years he was, but even now, Takemichi wished he had the ability to reach back just a single day to warn himself of what was to come.

‎

He had almost forgoed school this morning. A bad gut feel, one that was strong enough to cramp up his stomach, making it near impossible for him to roll out of bed; Takemichi couldn’t recall the last time when his body had protested this much against doing something. He knew he should have listened, stayed at home to rest out the pain. It might have been the air being denser than normal, might have been just a bad snack the previous day, or the fact that he was still recovering from the stomp he received courtesy of your Red Dragonflies’ First Division Captain. Whatever it was, Takemichi should have heeded the warning.

But Hina had promised to go out for tea with him after school if he showed up, and the blond-haired boy just wasn’t strong enough to resist. And so against his better judgment, he went anyway.

The ominous rumbling of his stomach a second foreboding time was hard to ignore as Takemichi slipped through the front door of his homeroom class, cutting it close to being late again just as the bell rang through the empty corridors outside. His homeroom teacher shot him a stink eye as he sat down, but with nothing to hold against him, she let him go. At least for those few precious seconds, the time-traveling delinquent recalled, there was peace in his world. Normality had returned, and maybe he could rest for a bit.

A tug at his sleeve. “Hey, Hanagaki-kun.” Followed by the rustle of a piece of paper being slid between tables. “For you.”

Alas, it was the third and final saving grace that fate had attempted to extend his way; the chance to simply ignore the Red Dragonflies’ gang member of a deskmate he had for the remaining five minutes that this period would last before he could make his getaway, but it was too little too late. Blue eyes slipped to meet Suzuki Hisao’s before Takemichi could stop himself, and the boy mentally kicked himself. “Uh- sure. Thanks Suzuki-kun,” he mumbled back, reaching out to quickly grab the offered note, attempting to slip the piece of paper into his pocket without looking. Perhap he could still get himself out of this mess…

“Aren’t you going to read that? It’s from Hase-san, you know.”

Dammit. Why did his usually sleepy classmate have to be so sharp when it came to this? “I was just going to,” came Takemichi’s weak reply, tinted with obvious despair. There was no avoiding or denying what was written in a surprisingly neat print on the inside of the folded scrap paper: an order to meet back at the “same place” at 11am. The same place? As in that dingy underground fight club where he got beat to an inch of his life? Not only had he been there just a single time and had no recollection how to make his own way back to that hellhole, but 11 in the morning was still class time. How was he supposed to up and leave?

The unvocalized frustration painted on his face must have been misinterpreted by Suzuki, because the unusually enthusiastic boy leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper, envy clear in his tone. “So how did you do it?”

Takemichi startled at the sudden interjection to his thoughts, though fortunately, the drone of his homeroom teacher about one topic or another (he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention) was enough to drown out any sound that escaped his lips. “Sorry?”

“First, Boss comes to seek you out personally, now you’re getting training from Hase-san? Two of the greatest honors. How did you do it?”

Greatest honors? Two? The blond-haired delinquent gave a nervous laugh, eyes shifting away to stare at the ground. Shit. “I-I think there’s been some confusion, a-ahaha…” There was no possible way to break it nicely to the starry-eyed Suzuki that all your Reds wanted with him was to wrangle as much information about the future as they could before discarding his lifeless body. “There’s no training-”

“Hase-san doesn’t train anyone outside of the Wings and his own two Vice Captains,” the Reds’ gang member interjected. “And you’re not even a Red. How’s the training? Are you learning quickly?”

Deciding that he no longer wanted to discuss his upcoming death, Takemichi instead racked his brain for a discussion change. “Uh- Suzuki-kun, don’t you report to Koji-san?”

The awe on his deskmate’s face melted away as the implication of the question set in, giving way to pursed lips and solemn eyes. “Yes, but everyone obeys Hase-san.” A moment’s pause, and then Suzuki hastily corrected himself. “Besides Boss and Furusawa-san, of course.”

Takemichi’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Everyone obeys Hase? But isn’t he the First Division Captain?” That would be like expecting Hakkai or Peh to differ to Baji despite them being in different divisions.

“Hase-san’s the First Wing, yes, but he’s also the gang’s de facto commander,” Suzuki explained, keeping his voice down to a quiet mumble that easily blended in with the normal chatter as the homeroom teacher trailed off. “Runs the day-to-day operations for the boss. So if Hase-san gives you an order, you obey. And he personally - personally - asked me to pass you this note and bring you down to the club.”

With that, the excitement came roaring back onto the other’s face, and Takemichi groaned. So much for topic diversion.

As if on cue, the lesson bell rang, its shrill, ear-piercing scream marking the end of both homeroom and this conversation. Suzuki stood, swinging his bag casually over his shoulder. “Right, we’re leaving at 10.15 so make sure your bag is packed then. Hase-san despises tardiness.”

‎

Fuck, he was going to miss his tea with Hina. Lost in his recollections of the recent past, wondering whether Toman or the Red Dragonflies were the worse gang to be a part of, it was the new shadow falling over him that finally tore Takemichi from his memories and musings, though it was too late to avoid the hand that wrapped itself around the scruff of his neck, bodily lifting him from where he had been slumped against the fighting ring’s cage. "No speed, no technique, no strength,” Hase noted blandly, the smoldering cigarette held between chapped lips uncomfortably close to Takemichi’s skin as the older man gave him a once over before dropping him back on his two aching feet. “Can’t last a minute in a fight."

“Ouch,” Takemichi winced, sharply inhaling through his nose, the pain both physical, from landing on his sore and abraded feet, and emotional, from having the quiet part said out loud. Damn, do your guys really need to poke at his weakness like that?

The protest wasn’t lost on Jun, who snorted, lifting his wooden bat to point directly at him from where the Second Wing was lazily sprawled across several spectator seats. “You can barely throw a fucking punch and you’re still fucking complaining during training?”

“I tried! That wasn’t training, that was a curb stom-“

A loud bang cut Takemichi off before he could finish, and the Toman delinquent whirled around right as Hase lowered his leg from where the thick metal bars of the fighting cage were now clearly indented in the shape of his foot. Said man didn’t even bother sparing a second look, moving to yank a well worn chair to the middle of the ring, but the message was clear. If this had been anything but training, the blond-haired boy would have been dead many times over. “Start off from where you stopped,” the blue-haired First Wing ordered, his weary words as steely as the seat he slumped into, the metal beneath letting out a groan of protest at the sudden weight put on its tired joints.

“Fucking showoff,” the baseball player mumbled, though this was promptly ignored by Hase.

No seat for him? Takemichi sighed, opting to lean back against the cage for a bit of support to take the pressure off his feet. Even if neither of the two were clad in the usual red, he still very much felt the exclusion. “Well, we covered the first future-”

Jun interjected. “Where there was only Mikey and Kisaki are at the top of Toman and no Red Dragonflies, yes. And then the second future, all those clingy Toman motherfuckers are dead, and you got all fucking emotional where you had to kill that fucking Sano, get the fuck on with it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jun,” Hase snapped irritably, before waving his free hand at Takemichi as he lifted the other to pull the finished cigarette from his mouth. “Start from there, after your return from Manila.”

The Toman member shivered as those dull gray eyes came to rest once more on him: it was the same thousand-yard gaze from the timeline he was about to recall, the same look Hase leveled straight at you as he pulled the trigger. Somehow, those eyes hadn’t changed despite the events of the future being twelve years away; Takemichi could only wonder what the tired man had already seen. Wondered what you had seen - if anything, your eyes looked too awfully similar to Hase’s, for someone so young. Instead, shaking himself back into reality, the time leaper cleared his throat. “Well, after returning to Tokyo, I found out through Naoto that it was someone called Kurokawa Izana who was the boss of Toman alongside Kisaki. I'd never heard of Izana till then, so Naoto had mentioned that he was going to go back to the station to do more digging, but then we were jumped.”

The tap of wood against concrete ceased, and with a shriek of cheap plastic from his protesting chair, the Red Dragonflies’ Second Wing leaned forward, bat now propped up between his legs, black almond eyes fixed unblinkingly on Takemichi. Even Hase seemed intrigued, his posture stiffening - the word ‘jumped’ having caught both their attention.

“We were jumped from behind by you, Hase-san.”

As soon as those words left Takemichi, the loud ‘ha!, followed by the screeching of a chair being forced back nearly gave the Toman member a heart attack, Jun leaping out of his chair and swinging his bat at the First Wing. “I called it! I fucking called it!” He bellowed triumphantly, his screech as piercing as a murder of crows, ringing out over the hum of the large exhaust fans overhead and echoing across the empty betting hall.

But along with that celebration also came a loud groan followed by a thwack as Hase threw his head backwards, bashing it against the metal chair backing, one hand immediately slipping into his pants pocket to pull out that trusty pack of cigarettes. “Fuck me. It had to be me, huh?” The blue-haired man muttered to himself, pulling and pushing a stick into his mouth with a single fluent move.

“I told you I’ll never work for that fucking rat, not even once,” crowed Jun proudly. “Pay up, fucker.”

The other Red executive sighed, and from the other pocket pulled out a wallet. “At least come up to the cage.” Takemichi didn’t catch how much had changed hands, but there was no mistaking the size and color of those 10-thousand yen notes being passed between bars. They were betting on the future? Scratch that, the two of them had guessed enough of what happened to make a bet?

Hase grumbled something about blood money going to idiots, but did not return to his seat, instead opting to lean against the bars of the fight ring, gray eyes now fixed on the blood and sweat splattered canvas floor even as he spoke to Takemichi. “Continue.”

“Um- yes so both of us were knocked out, but you said that it was Kisaki that told you that I would be found easily near Naoto. Next thing I knew, I woke up as I was being dragged by my foot alongside Naoto through the corridors of some penthouse, and then Hase-san pulled us into a bedroom.”

All of the celebratory mood was instantly lost, evaporating into the hot summer afternoon and leaving behind a heavy, tense atmosphere; Jun’s face turned solemn once more, and Hase only seemed to age further under the harsh white lights that flooded down from the ceiling. The time leaper swallowed hard - no doubt they could already sense where this was going. He hurried on. “And Izana was there, on the bed, with- with-” But for all his attempts to just keep going, to tell your Red Dragonflies what they needed to know, it was the image of you that came flooding back into the front of his mind. His words failed him. Those dead glass eyes of yours were still staring straight at him from beyond time, haunting him from his memory.

“With Boss,” Hase finished off Takemichi’s sentence with a mumble, the words slipping from his lips like a prayer.

Takemichi shakily nodded. It was all he had left in him to do, and the boy collapsed back to the ground, his jelly legs finally having given up the last of their strength. Naoto had been right, he bitterly thought as he tried and failed to bite back the tears brimming at the corners of his eyes - this timeline they were headed down was truly the worst future. But what more could he do? The underground ring felt more like a desecrated church in the moment, the enormous concrete bunker forever hidden from the light of the sun falling eerily calm as the sound of the exhaust fans blended into the background, the whistle of wind being forced through narrow gaps under heavy steel doors as if haunted by the ghosts; though from his past lives or of fights past, the time leaper couldn’t tell.

“Keep going. What happened next?”

The rest of the tale spilled out of the weary time leaper as a whisper, but it was enough for the other two present to hear every horrid word and detail relayed: about your scars and bruises and Izana’s obsession over you, about your dead mind still trapped in a living body, about the white-haired man shooting a future Naoto before trying to get you to turn the gun on Takemichi. About how it was Hase that finally put you to rest, about Furusawa’s death by ambush, and then Jun’s and of countless others at said First Wing’s hands, and finally how he had a chance to escape to the past before his own untimely end.

The two older delinquents simply listened on in calm, eerie silence, content with taking in and absorbing the words for now. A tale that was way too specific to be made up yet still lacking a frustrating amount of detail, though neither seemed too bothered by the future Hase’s actions. A moment of silence as Takemichi’s words trailed off, and the three processed everything that had happened so far. The next time Jun spoke up, his tone was completely flat and volume close to conversational, his usual loudness nowhere to be found. “And you say this… Kisaki. He is the one pulling the strings?”

It took Takemichi by surprise, the fact that the loud and crass baseball player could sound so normal, but he still nodded. “Yes, that is what me and Naoto think. Izana mentioned that I was to be Kisaki’s target. And in every future, Kisaki is present as one of the heads of Toman.”

“But so is Mikey,” Hase pointed out. “How do you know it's Kisaki and not Mikey calling the shots?”

The Toman member’s jaw slackened. “But- but-” Takemichi stammered. “Mikey would never do something like that!” The face of the Toman President, framed by blond strands, cuddled into your side and protesting about something inaudible came to the front of his mind, the same boy that would fight through hell and high water for his friends; that Mikey?

An annoyed tap of wood against concrete. “You don’t know that,” the Red Dragonfly’s battle strategist pointed out, his long blond hair flung backwards over a shoulder in an attempt to get the sweat-covered strands out of his face. “That Sano shithead is another persistent factor, plus he’s already a current pest to Boss.”

“It can’t be.” He knew what they were saying was the truth, but still, it wasn’t something that Takemichi could accept - yes, Mikey from the future had been the one committing cold-blooded murder of people he knew and loved, but that wasn’t the real Mikey. That couldn’t be truly the Mikey he knew. “It can’t be Mikey. It has to be Kisaki that made Mikey do it. Or Izana.”

Jun hmmpfed, but fell silent. It was clear that they didn’t trust Toman much either.

Within the cage of the ring, Hase took a drag, exhaling another column of smoke as he pulled the stick from his mouth. “You’re back here to save someone, aren’t you, Hanagaki?”

“H-huh?”

The blue-haired delinquent turned his eyes up towards the giant overhead exhaust fans, the single constant sound that made up the background hum. “That’s why you keep coming back. Someone you lost that you just didn’t have enough time with.” Tired gray eyes turned on Takemichi, that gaze that seemed to see through him and his entire life. A statement, not a question. It was as if he already knew.

Takemichi couldn’t help himself even as he rubbed ever so gently at his tearing eyes. “Hina.”

“A girlfriend.”

“Oh!” A forgotten detail from twelve years later that had eluded Takemichi quickly returned, and the blond-haired boy looked up. “Hase-san, in the future, you had a boyf-“

The smoldering cigarette butt that came hurling straight at him cut any remaining words off, and would have hit him square in the face if Takemichi hadn’t dodged with an eep.

“That’s enough outta you,” Hase muttered, annoyed, even as Jun looked on suspiciously, though the room quickly returned to the topic at hand. “So the kid we’re looking for is a Kisaki Tetta.”

Jun spat, finally standing from the creaky plastic chair with a curse and pulling a flipphone from his back pocket. “I’ll get that name to Masashi, pull everything we got.”

Both sets of eyes once more slid onto Takemichi, and the blond-haired boy recoiled slightly as Hase took a few steps towards the boy, only for the man to stop right before him to crush the finished stick into the canvas. “You keep him away from Toman, Hanagaki,” Hase drawled, turning on his heel and making for the cage door right as the clock that hung on a far wall struck twelve noon. “We’ll take care of the rest once we find that fucker.”

A soft chime, combined with the screeching creek of worn hinges being forced open brought a sense of relief flooding through Takemichi; he hadn’t even realized he had been holding his breath all this time. His hell was over, at least for today. No doubt it’ll still be a tough slog ahead to save everyone that he cared for, but at least for now, of all the people in the world, the time traveling delinquent had come to realize that these two were perhaps exactly who needed to hear what happened. Instead of facing down the future alone, the events today were enough to tell him that they were who he needed on his side to counter Kisaki - maybe they really had a fighting chance. Maybe they could change the future.

“Suzuki Hisao will inform you when the next training is.” And then that eternally unamused voice that only ever carried the promise of more pain floated over from the doorway, and Takemichi immediately groaned. Great, now he regretted thinking all those good things about those two demons you called friends.

Jun didn’t miss the opportunity to rub it in as Hase strolled off, his bat letting out a muffled yet equally threatening thud as the baseball player swung it to rest once more over his shoulder. “Can’t have you fucking die on us again.”

Fuck him sideways.

‎

Looking over Shibuya from the rooftop was a vastly different feeling compared to wandering through the city streets below, Kisaki determined, gray eyes peering out from golden-rimmed glasses gazing down upon the unsuspecting passersby below. A skyscraper roof was one of the last places Kisaki thought of coming, and though he appreciated the silence and the privacy away from the hum and drum of traffic, he still couldn’t quite comprehend what Izana meant by light air pressure. Perhaps it was just a thing about the wind that the other enjoyed.

Yet it was the thought of the white-haired Tenjiku leader that led his mind straight back to you, and that mental image of you huddled tight against Izana’s side four days ago was proving impossible to push from the forefront of his mind. Kisaki hadn’t meant to stalk the two of you all the way to your meeting area - and it wasn’t the smartest decision, given how much trouble he had finding his way back out of the industrial area - but he couldn’t help his curiosity. The insistence with which he held you to his side, Izana's obsession with where you were and who you were with at all times, the gentleness with which he bundled you into his arms, completely contrasted with the dark bruises your former lover left you with the moment you stepped out of line.

Of course, he had already heard of the lingering hushed whispers about you and your formidable well before he ever made the acquaintance of Izana, while he was still chasing the invincible Mikey. Who wouldn’t have, even after the briefest dip of their toe into the delinquent world, even if you had already been away for two years? Hell, the constant rumors swirling on when, not if, you were returning were hard to ignore. But Kisaki could never quite find any trace of you despite having paid a handsome sum for an old photo of you, and neither were the Red Dragonflies accepting new members. So with Toman being the new up and coming gang and its undefeated boss Mikey at its helm, they were who the glasses-touting delinquent decided to go with.

But then out of nowhere you returned and were now back in the game. With what he knew, Kisaki was certain that Mikey and control of Toman were no longer the ultimate prize. No, if he were to stand at the top of the delinquent world, it had to be by your side. Not only were you back at the head of a gang that stated and enforced the rules of the delinquent scene in the Greater Kanto region, but you were now living rent-free in both Izana’s and Mikey’s heads: your presence and absence had a direct effect on the ebb and flow of their lives, and he had witnessed it with his own two eyes. After all, why else would the king of Tenjiku play his hand and risk it all just to get you back to his side? Why did Mikey only give him the time of day in exchange for information about you?

“Plot and play all you like, Kisaki Tetta,” those words echoed in his mind from a not-so-distant past, empty violet eyes staring him down when Kisaki first offered his services to Izana. “Touch her, and I’ll kill you myself.”

Yet despite you seemingly equally enthralled by the two rival gang leaders clad in black and red, making it easy to gain access to you if he stuck with Izana, you were also easily the biggest headache that the blond-haired tanned boy had ever tried to deal with. The Four Wings you surround yourself with, that monster of a right-hand man Mamoru Furusawa, and then for the cherry on top, your extensive network of contacts that spanned every level of society; you yourself were one dangerous foe, and crossing you would not be a fun experience.

Kisaki couldn’t ask for a better target. This win would be exhilarating.

Taking in a deep breath of fresh air, the mastermind exhaled, allowing himself to clear his thoughts of you and instead turn to take stock of and evaluate the day’s events. As per usual, with the news and information he had brought on you, Mikey had indeed deemed it worthy to grant him an audience, and Kisaki thought he had done a pretty good job riling the other boy up - that crease of eyebrows and flash of anger behind usually empty eyes, the lack of hesitation at accepting his offering of a vial of sleeping drugs. All in all, the blond-haired boy thought as he finally stepped back from the edge, turning to return to the building interior, a good day’s work that is enough to consider giving himself a pat on the back.

Needless to say, he would be elated to finally have the chance to meet you face to face soon.

‎

The celebratory mood didn’t transcend well back in Yokohama, where the rest of the notorious S-62 generation had gathered atop a similar skyscraper, the brutal heat of the afternoon sun somewhat dissipated by the constant wind and some shade provided by the towering antenna behind.

“Can’t believe we have to listen to that blonde fuckhead,” Shion complained, letting out a grunt as he slumped onto the concrete slab, free hand swatting at the beads of perspiration rolling down the tattooed side of his head. “Thinking he knows better than me.”

Ran, more comfortably positioned leaning up against a wall, raised one eyebrow at the statement. “Didn’t think that was hard to achieve,” the elder of the Haitanis commented lightly. “Rather low bar, in fact.” Rindo nodded, stoic facade firmly in place despite the clear amusement shining through spectacle-framed violet eyes.

Unluckily for the two, the insult simply bounced off of the former Ninth Generation Black Dragon leader, who shot them an annoyed look. “Don’t ya think it's all junk too? How come he gets to be the boss of us?” A snot, before the boy answered himself. “Fucking no, I say.”

Mochi, who had up till now been sitting cross-legged on the floor, suddenly stood, turning to face Shion with furrowed eyebrows. “Are you questioning Izana’s decision, Shion?” Fighting words that were enough to get the other to backtrack a little, and the conversation on Kisaki quickly died after that. After all, if Izana said so, that it was as such, no matter whether they agreed or disagreed.

The loud, jarring sound of a horn echoed up from congested roads below, cutting through the momentary silence and the peace that the open air brought - it was rare for delinquents like them to have downtime like this, given the conquering mood that their king had been in. To no one’s surprise, it was Shion who once more broke the silence. “I wonder what Izana wants with the Red Dragonflies.”

Rindo let out an unimpressed grunt. “His girl’s the boss,” the younger Haitani stated simply, earning himself an profanity filled exclamation of non-belief from said former Black Dragon President. “I don’t care if you believe it or not, it's true.”

“No fucking way, she left, didn’t she? Quit being a delinquent and all.”

“Not anymore, she returned after the latest president got the boot,” Ran weighed in, backing his younger brother up. “Kicked his ass herself too. We were there.”

“You think we’ll ever meet her?”

Kakucho kept silent, content with simply listening to his fellow executives' increasingly heated discussions about you. He knew better, of course, having been there when Shinichiro first brought you to the detention center to meet Izana, and had been keeping his ear to the ground for news on your movements since then. You hadn’t been worth a glance to the white-haired boy all those years ago, but the same couldn’t be said now, and with how important you were to his hero, his king, as a mere servant, there was no excuse for Kakucho not to know where you were at all times. Yet, above all, the black-haired boy with the scarred eye knew he had an obligation to Izana, to keep his best friend safe, be it from the world or from himself. And whatever Izana thought he was doing with Kisaki in a bid to have you back by his side wasn’t safe - Kisaki wasn’t to be trusted in the slightest, Kakucho knew. He could only hope that his friend would forgive him after the dust has settled for going to you with this information.

‎

Yet unknown to the Tenjiku executives making the most of their downtime away from the troubles of the streets, it was one of many Tenjiku grunts who had the misfortune of tripping over an awkwardly held white cane as a man in sunglasses breezed by, the loud thud of the boy landing on his ass causing the other to come to a stop. “Sorry, did I trip you?”

“Stupid fuck!” The apology was far from well-received, though upon several red-clad delinquents crowding around the offender, it was clear that he was simply blind. “Watch your fucking cane!”

“My sincere apologies,” Koji offered, dressed simply in a black shirt and jeans and a baseball cap, tapping his cane around in a show. “I didn’t mean to.”

At least it seemed the boys were unwilling to let loose on the disabled, and with a few more profanities, they were on their way, none the wiser to the miniature microphone that had been slipped into one unsuspecting jacket pocket. Bingo, the Third Wing amusedly thought as he turned, resuming his stroll down the busy streets of Yokohama City, before turning the corner and disappearing into a side alley. Masashi should have a much easier time with his task now.

‎

“I swear guys, cross my heart, I broke up with Izana two years ago,” you found yourself repeating for the umpteenth time reassuringly, as you bundled a sniffling Kazutora further into your arms, your other arm thrown tightly over Baji’s shoulders. “We aren’t together anymore. I don’t lie, never to you boys.”

“Bbu-but what about those red bastards?” A pathetic tug at your sleeve, as Kazutora sobbed into your chest, your shirt clutched firmly between his fists, a far cry from the rampaging, bone-breaking, unforgiving delinquent he had been just an hour earlier. “You’re going to leave us again,” the boy with the duo-color hair accused, before bursting into tears once more, only for you to smile and run your free hand through his hair.

“I won’t. I really won’t.”

Mitsuya didn’t seem impressed in the slightest, neither by the theatrics nor your answers. “But you were with them earlier this morning,” the Toman Second Division Captain blandly noted. “And you’re still going to meet them tonight. Without us.”

“You also still agreed to meet Izana, where he gave you a wedding ring,” Draken added, the tallest of the boys easily stepping over sprawling legs to pick you up by the back of your shirt, dislodging your clingers and setting you gently back on your own two feet much to the protest of Baji and Kazutora, though the raised eyebrow had you nervously looking away. “That doesn’t sound like breaking up to me.”

You sighed, throwing your hands up in the air. “I have an informant meeting tonight, I already told you boys this. And no, I don’t plan on meeting Izana alone again, let alone marry him. Ever.”

Despite it being a negative, the word ‘marry’ instantly triggered another loud bawl from Kazutora, who flung himself at your legs.

Outside, the sky was turning a dusty blue as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon, the hustle and bustle of traffic from the city center fading away along with the dying light.

Yet for all the shenanigans going down, there was one notable exemption from the usual party, a blond-haired figure sitting a distance apart from where you and everyone else had gathered. You had returned exactly on time as you had promised, Mikey dully noted from where he was leaning up against the far wall of your room, empty abyss eyes staring blankly down at the taiyaki clutched in one hand. It had been five days since the Toman President had learned about your scars from Kisaki, and four since he had seen them with his very own eyes, the vileness that tainted your being, that you had hid from them all these years. You, their precious Toman princess, who Mikey had revered as his friend, as someone he would do anything for. You did not belong only to him.

The darkness settling over the land masked the same blackness that now tinted his eyes as Mikey looked up. You had caught his gaze and returned a gentle smile, but did nothing more than that where you would have usually beckoned him into a hug and forehead kisses; no doubt your relationship with Mikey was rocky at the moment, to say the least. And despite your efforts to patch things up, whatever you did was never enough, not with all that was at stake. Kisaki was right - to be able to keep you by his side forever, he - they - needed to get rid of the competition. All the competition.

The cold glass of the vial and the rustle of a needle pack tickled his skin as Mikey’s hand brushed past, though the blond-haired delinquent ignored the sensations only to pull out his phone. Soon. To start with that white-haired bastard, or with those Red scum? It didn’t matter, of course, not to Mikey. Because if you wouldn’t come quietly to him, then he would have to take everything else away.

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ddejavvu · 2 years

Note

there’s a spider in your apartment and you know it’s stupid but it’s the first time you’ve lived alone w out a roommate so you knock on your neighbors door which happens to be hotch asking him to kill it for you and then thank him and ask how you can make it up to him hotch gets shy but changes his mind after a couple days of seeing you in the hall

i changed this juuuust a bit but it's still the same mushy puppy love <3

The door slammed shut behind you, probably splintering the frame from how hard you'd closed it. The massive, terrifying spider you'd left inside was probably destroying the place, when you'd seen him for a split second you were sure he was big enough to be knocking over furniture and tearing up your minimal decor.

For the first time since you'd moved in you were glad that you hadn't fully unpacked, because it meant that there were less place for the spider to hide.

You truly had no intention of going back inside until the thing was dead. You mulled your options over, knowing that the fire department would probably be less-than-amused if you called reporting a beastly spider. The police would probably react similarly, although a spider-free jail cell sounded better than your apartment at the moment.

You didn't have too much time to think about your escape plan, though, because a door opened to your left, a very worried-looking man stepping out.

"Are you okay? I heard a scream, what happened?"

His dark eyes bore into yours with a spark of panic alight in them, and you felt your cheeks flame. How were you supposed to confess that you'd almost been murdered by a bug?

"I, um-" You started, peering worriedly at the bottom of your door to be sure that the spider hadn't crawled his way out, "There was a spider, a really big one, and I just- I panicked."

The man stood there, face dropped from its worried frown, blinking bewilderedly at you. His scrutiny made you even more self conscious, and you were actually debating going back inside your apartment, because somehow this was worse than the man-eating spider in there.

Finally he spoke, his voice cautious, "You saw a spider?"

You nodded vigorously.

"And it made you scream like that?"

Another nod.

"And that's why you almost broke the door off of its hinges?"

A final, singular nod, and his shoulders slumped in what was probably a mixture of relief and exasperation.

"I will kill the spider," He stepped out of his apartment, propping the door open behind him, "You wait in there. If he makes a break for it I don't want you jumping out of the window."

You let him usher you into his apartment, and though you'd often feel unsafe in an unfamiliar space, it didn't feel scary. He was a man you'd never met before, and he was shutting you in his apartment, but it felt safe. He closed the door behind him,

You heard a soft smack from next door, and you waited for the subsequent scream. Surely he had to be writhing in pain on the ground now, right? He couldn't have managed to slay the beast you'd seen before in a single hit, could he?

He could, and he did. He came back to the door with one shoe off, a pulverized spider stuck to the sole. You pulled open the door and let him inside, peering worriedly at the trophy he'd brought you for proof of his services.

"You just moved in, right?" He stepped into his kitchen, grabbing a paper towel and scraping the spider off of the bottom of his shoe. You pointedly looked away from the sight, your eyes fixed on the man's baseboards.

"Yeah," You remembered the egregious amount of boxes in your apartment, "I've got a lot to unpack."

"I saw that," He mused, "You look like you could use some help."

"You've done more than enough," You fiddled with the tips of your fingers, feeling just a little bit like the stereotypical damsel in distress, "Thank you."

He let out a short laugh, an amused smile flitting over his face. He slipped his shoe back onto his foot, throwing the smashed spider into the garbage.

"I thought you'd been stabbed," He admitted, leaning back against his counter, "You should probably figure out a better way to deal with spiders."

"I'll just yell if I see another one," You halfheartedly joked, "Maybe I'll start paying you for pest control."

An idea lit up his face and he reached for something across the counter, a small card that he began scribbling on with a ballpoint pen. You waited semi-awkwardly for him to finish, frowning down at the card confusedly when he held it out to you.

It was a business card, the name Aaron Hotchner stamped across the white cardstock, the acronym 'SSA' crossed out and the phrase 'spider vanquisher' scrawled above it. You had absolutely no clue what SSA meant, but spider vanquisher you understood.

"I'm gonna need some referrals if you're my primary method of pest control," You joked, raising one eyebrow in faux-suspicion, "Aaron." You made a show of reading off of the card, his name already comfortable on your tongue.

"Well my only possible referral is in the trash can right now," Aaron gestured to where he'd chucked the spider, "But if you're not too scared to be in the same room next time, you can watch me."

"I don't think that's gonna work out," You laughed sheepishly, your stomach flopping curiously at the mention of next time, "I'll just have to trust you for now."

804 notes · View notes

reds-skull · 3 months

Text

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

Y'know how I said I'm not gonna post every day... Okay look I'm just enjoying myself and I'm on break so I got time to write. Sue me.

This chapter is called "The Ruin". Enjoy!

Page 5 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 2:

A blind man finds upon his path, a thing of uncertain birth, He whispers words of guilt, gait unsure around the being, A story of war falls from his lips, a tale well known, The beastly soul bows in assent, warmed only by gore, The man asks of the Beast, will you let me pass, The path clears, but a voice requests, Will you, O fallen knight, Will you let a monster trail?

The last time Soap was under a CO, the man spat in his face that he’s never going to amount to anything, not with his “attitude”. The one before it made him clean the latrines for three months, not that he stayed long enough to finish that sentence.

Ghost was… surprisingly different. His orders were clean cut, but Soap found them completely logical. And when he didn’t…

“We can’t go that way, the roundabout is full of equipment. Soldiers are constantly circling it.” Soap muttered next to Ghost. The SAS operator looked back at him. The skull mask adorning his face was cracked from untold battles long past, the sharp edges catching the low neon light from a nearby street sign.

Soap is sure if he saw that jumping at him from the shadows, he would scream like a wee girl. As it stands, the mask only makes him think of shirts edgy teenage boys would find on a sale at TK Maxx.

“How do you know?” the masked man questions.

Soap pulls a small bag from the rucksack he nabbed two days earlier, “managed to swipe some black powder from there when they weren’t lookin’.”

Ghost hums, “know how to use it?”

“Was a demolition expert, before…” Soap trails off, shoving the bag back into the side pocket, “we can go through the southern side, near the church. Think they’ve already combed that area.”

“Copy, lead the way Sergeant.”

Soap takes them through the winding alleys, hearing nothing behind, but knowing Ghost follows. For a man his size, he’s unnervingly dead silent.

“Where was yer exfil point set?” he starts. They would need to double time it, if it was back north…

Ghost is cryptid with his answers, as always, “we’ll have to set a new one.”

Soap frowns. “So our goal is just to put distance between us an’ the hostiles?”

“Affirmative. You got intel on their location?”

They enter an abandoned grocery store (as all stores in this area are), and Soap makes a detour at the cleaning aisle, looking for bleach and other solutions he could use for crafting. “I was ‘ere two days ago, dinnea where they are now…” he grins brightly when he finds a nice big bottle of bleach. With the vinegar he already has, he could create a good amount of chlorine gas. Pour it into a bottle and chuck it at hostiles, and they got a distraction should they need it.

“Stay focused, then.” Ghost murmurs, snapping Soap out of thought. He’s not used to having someone next to him, even before everything went to shit…

The church comes into view when they exit the store. Ghost stops to stare at it, and Soap takes the moment to inspect the Lieutenant further. Black gear over black clothes, no markings of country, unit, even blood type. Soap feels like there’s a lot more about this botched mission that Ghost isn’t telling him.

Not that the spooky bastard tells him much of anything.

“Could use the tower to scope the area. I see a line up there we can zip line down from.” Ghost eventually rumbles.

“Sounds good, LT.” Soap responds, catching his slip belatedly. Internally, he muses, ‘ye can take the man out of the military…’

Ghost’s head snaps around to glare at him, and Soap can see his mouth open under the balaclava, before he turns around to stomp to the church tower, leaving Soap to jog to catch up.

The church looks ransacked, in a way that makes Soap’s gut churn. He’s not religious, not since he enlisted, but the way the soldiers destroyed everything without disregard…

It’s a view that haunts him throughout the city. How they don’t care that anyone lived here before.

Children laughed, babes were born, old men reminisced over long gone memories, girls played together. People lived and died here, this was their world.

And the Hunter’s soldiers crushed it all under their boot, spat on the graves of their ancestors and severed the ties.

Soap feels the anger building within him once more. His fuel for the firepower he throws at the hostiles. At first, he wanted to know why more than anything. But it doesn’t matter anymore.

Nothing can justify this.

He stares at Ghost’s wide back as they climb up the stairs to the tower, wondering what the operator thinks of all this. If he too feels his heart clench at the thoughts of senseless violence. Or if he doesn’t care, if the mission is the one and only important thing on his mind.

Soap wonders if there’s anything under that mask at all.

He asks himself, if there’s anything left behind his.

They reach the top, the city sprawling beneath them. The little lights blend together, shining between the dark buildings. Would’ve been a nice view.

Would have, if they didn’t spot the trucks rolling to a stop in front of the church.

Ghost and Soap share a brief look, and instantly he moves to climb out of the window to jump to the zip line, only to be stopped by the Brit.

“What are ye waitin’ for?! We need to go!” he almost yells.

Ghost yanks him back in, the sheer power knocking Soap into the wall. Fuckin’ hell, he hits like a beast.

“If we zip line now, they’ll shoot us down. We need to get through the ground floor.” he growls, turning away and starting to run down the stairs. Soap rolls his shoulders and runs after him, muttering a few curses under his breath.

Soap catches up to him, yelling, “there must be a back exit we can use-!”

Ghost stills on one of the last steps, shushing him. They both strain their ears, hearing far-off steps growing closer, and closer, and closer-

Soap shucks his rucksack off, taking out the bleach and vinegar, quickly pouring them into an empty beer bottle, “the fuck are you doing?” Ghost yells above him, crouching to hide behind the banister when the front doors are kicked open.

Soap ignores him, driving a piece of cloth down to stop the gas from leaking, and shoves it into Ghost’s hand as he makes another one, “throw this right before we go, they won’t be able to breathe right for days.”

Soldiers start spreading through the ruined church, Ghost testing the weight in his hand, “on my count.”

Soap nods, finishing up his bottle.

“One, two…”

One of the soldiers spots them, and Soap stops breathing.

“Three!”

They throw the bottles, the liquid within them splashing as they arc across the church. His bottle hits the soldier that saw them square in the face, and he instantly starts coughing and clawing at his eyes.

The gas isn’t visible to the naked eye, but Soap can track its spread by the way all soldiers start coughing. He and Ghost push off to run up the stairs, but as Soap casts a glance back, he sees some of them equipping a gas mask.

Why the fuck were they prepared for chemical weapons in a civilian city?!

“Ghost!” he shouts, slinging his rifle off his shoulder, “they have gas masks!”

He hears the man curse, “keep running!”

Not sooner after, bullets begin to ricochet around the spiral staircase. Soap swings around to shoot a couple of them, and as Ghost does the same, he notices his shots don’t land as they should.

He glances back at the Lieutenant, watching him rub roughly at his left arm. Right… Ghost did say he was broken. Soap didn’t realize how bad it was.

A few seconds later, he realizes Ghost threw the bottle with his left hand, landing it perfectly between the soldiers.

With no time to maul it over, he pushes onwards.

Ghost is still grasping at his arm when they reach the window, and Soap can’t help but ask, “are ye gonna be able to zip dow-”

Ghost’s tone lowers dangerously, nailing him with a death glare, “I am not weak, Sergeant.”

He’s not sure who’s cornering who here. Ghost takes his eyes off him a second later, tugging on the line before asking, “got anything we can use?”

Soap continues shooting down the enemies pushing up the stairs, “check my pack!”

He feels Ghost rummaging through his rucksack, and it almost distracts him from the hails of bullets around them.

It’s… odd. How he doesn’t even know the man’s face, but he can trust him with his back.

Ghost zips the pack back up. From the corner of his eye, Soap can see two metal clothing hangers he picked up in one of his searches for a thicker jacket. In his other hand is his little project he used most of the black powder on.

He lifts it questioningly, and Soap answers while shooting, “a wee gift I made. It’ll trigger when someone steps on it.”

“How big’s the explosion?”

Soap smirks, “big enough.”

He can almost feel Ghost’s eye roll from his silence, and he would’ve chuckled if soldiers didn’t start coming closer.

“Ye ready to jump?” he yells.

Ghost hands him a hanger, dropping the charges on the last stair step. Soap watched him flex his left arm one last time, before swinging the hanger over the line, and jumping off.

Soap’s heart drops for a moment when the operator sways wildly, part afraid for him, but mostly for himself.

The hostiles at his feet don’t care either way, so Soap braces himself and jumps off as well. The way down is bumpy, rattling, and fuckin’ fast. Soap lets go of the hanger right before the end, rolling off on the rooftop, and stopping.

He hears his “gift” go off, and the sound is so beautifully familiar, it sends a pang of nostalgia through him.

Ghost is already making his way down, seeking to hide between concrete buildings. Soap hastily catches up.

“That was a wild one, wasn’t it, LT?” he says, a little out of breath.

That breath gets completely knocked out of him when Ghost slams him to the nearest wall. His eyes are obscured by shadows, leaving only two black holes when he leans down to growl in his ear.

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that. I am not your LT, not your CO, we are strangers. We get outta here, and you can go back to your civvy little life. Understood?”

Soap breathes out harshly, grinding his teeth. “Like I have a fuckin’ life-”

Ghost pulls back just to slam him harder, “do you fucking understand, Sergeant?”

He stares at the black voids, voice clear and flat, “yes sir.”

The Lieutenant finally pushes off, and Soap lingers for a moment. He wants to be angry, he wants to snarl and bite and talk back, like he used to when his past COs were yelling at him.

But Ghost is right. After this little “adventure”, Soap will have to go back to his life. To an empty apartment, which he has probably already been evicted from. To searching a job, only to find nothing truly worthwhile. To an airsoft field, a fuckin’ mockery of what he lost.

To a monotonous, repetitive, grey cycle, where John loses his mind just a little more every day.

Ghost is just telling him the truth.

Soap trails back behind Ghost, the man not reacting to his presence. He looks so much larger than him like this, blocking what little light is around them, casting a long shadow over Soap.

He tried not to think of “what could have been” in the past year. But it’s so hard, when it’s literally within reach.

Could he have been like Ghost? This imposing, unrelenting soldier, stronger than anyone he’s ever fought. So powerful, he escaped a whole military worth of hostile soldiers?

There may be nothing behind Ghost’s mask, but there’s someone behind Soap’s. Someone weak, lost, and repulsive.

And Soap isn’t sure what’s worse.

They’ve walked in silence for the last hour or so, Soap lost in the tar pit of his own mind. Some part of him, hysteric and deranged as it is, doesn’t want this to be over. It disgusts him.

Ghost’s arm has been twitching minutely for a few minutes now. It distracted Soap from spiraling for a bit, wondering what exactly is wrong with him. He doesn’t see any rips in the fabric around the area, so it’s not a stab or gunshot wound. He thought about blunt force trauma, but that wouldn’t act up every once in a while like this. An old injury would, but if it’s bad enough Ghost can’t even shoot straight, no one in their right mind would send him on the field.

Soap exhales, his stomach knotting in warning. They didn’t stop moving since they encountered each other, so they didn’t really eat. Which Soap just remembered, and now can’t ignore.

He considers it for a moment before piping up, “ye hungry?”

Ghost pauses in front of him, slowly turning to stare at him. “You got food?”

Soap nods, pulling a few oranges from his bag. He almost hands one to Ghost before remembering his arm, and sets about to peel them both. Ghost watches him silently, as a sweet aroma fills the small back way.

Soap gives him the first peeled orange, busying himself with the other while Ghost turns around to eat it. When Soap takes the first bite, a sour taste bursts on his palate. Yet as he chews, it turns sweet, and he closes his eyes for a moment, savoring it.

Ghost has turned back to face him when he opens his eyes again, a look Soap can’t place in his eyes. It makes him hurry and gulp down the rest of the fruit, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

He starts walking, but this time Ghost walks beside him, his eyes still not straying from Soap.

Ghost’s eyes are a nice, rich brown, he notices for the first time.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod ghost #cod soap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #BLOOD||HUNGER #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod fic #cod fanfic #the last scene was completely unplanned but i fuckin love it now #also oof angst #you thought revenant au was painful? oooh boy

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punks-never-die205 · 4 months

Text

Honeysuckle: Red

afab!reader x Vampire!Eustass Kid

cw: Vampire AU with blood, violence, gore, some very marginally dubious consent, 18+ only

Summary: Vampires are real, and the World Government has ways of maintaining the balance of power and peace between humans and Vampires. Most of it is simple extortion, but one person's desire for freedom threatens to upend the delicate balance and change the world completely.

Tag List: @keiva1000

Chapter 2: Crimson Gift?

Before you can think enough to say anything strong arms grab you by the shoulder and collar, slinging you through the air and shoving you roughly into the nearby couch. There’s force enough to knock the wind out of you a little, but nothing hurts.

It’s not the iron grip on your collar that holds you into place, it’s the red eyes that find and hold you gaze.

“Little sacrifice walks into my home all on her own?” He muses and laughs. “I never thought I’d see the day!”

“I’m not a -hurk!” You’re yanked up roughly, cutting your words short. Your legs are dangling and you’re scrambling to find purchase on the hand that’s holding you in the air, pulling yourself up to it to lessen the strain against your collar from the grip.

“If you’re not a sacrifice, then a thief?” He prompts, his tone dangerous.

You shake your head. “N-not a thief!” You gasp. “Please let me-eep!” Your word turns to a squeak as you move through the air faster than you can on your own. Being yanked all over the place is disorienting, especially in the dark, and you can feel your stomach knot.

“Not a sacrifice, not a thief.” You feel a finger against your hip as those amused red eyes regards you, tongue slipping along a grin. “A gift then?” Something, a claw probably pierces your dress at the hip. The nail is cold and smooth against your thigh, and it slides down your leg, ripping the skirt of the dress slowly.

If you didn’t know how utterly powerless you were before, you’re acutely aware of it now.

“I’m – I’m,” if you tell him you’re a Honeysuckle then he wouldn’t be allowed to harm you by law. But you’d also be risking him returning you to the facility. The second he scratches you or does anything that draws blood from you, you’ll be found out. That you aren’t already bleeding is a testament to his control.

“Gift,” you say quietly, unable to meet those blood red eyes as you speak.

You grunt as your back is up against a wall, feet just barely touching the ground. You can feel heat rolling off his body, the hot sensation of his breath against your neck as his nail’s tearing new lines into your dress. Desire and anticipation roll off him in waves, and neither emotion was being allowed to rush him.

The slow steady rip of cloth sent chills through you, fear, concern, and a strange sense of anticipation. You had no way to wrest control from him, but the slow and inevitable destruction of your clothes was making your nerves coil in on themselves. It almost felt like you were being simmered in your own tumultuous emotions, and once you were done to his liking, he would no longer be restrained.

Despite the rough handling, you weren’t scratched or bleeding. Your clothes were ripped, but you were still covered in the strictest sense of modesty. The beastly man who had you in iron grasp was getting ready to ask you more questions when there was a heavy pounding at the front doors.

Both of you stop moving. The silence carries on for a second and you realize he’s not expecting guests. Which means that whatever is on the other side of the door is probably for you. Marines out looking for you, and if it was them, then you knew who was likely on the other side of the door.

The only person at the facility with the authority to parley with vampires.

You claw at his hand, scrambling to get away for the first time since you saw him. Fear was gripping you in earnest now, and you didn’t need to hear the voice from the other side of the door to know who was there. All you could think was that you needed to get away.

“Go… lemme go, I have to – have to,” your voice is strained and panicky and as quiet as you can possibly make it, tears filling your eyes. The marines are the most terrifying things in the world to you right now, because unlike anyone else, they can harm you.

“I’m Captain Shu, we’re looking for an escapee, and request your cooperation!”

The red eyes looking at you shift, they’re far more golden in hue, but uncomfortably focused on you. Even with your vision blurred from the tears threatening to overtake you, you can see them clearly. Something in them forces you to calm down. You can feel your heart slow, and your body relax. Your soul is laid bare and there’s understanding between the two of you whether you want it or not.

“Please.” You beg softly, shivering.

He drags you toward the door without a word or gesture, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You understand completely that this man can rip you limb from limb if he so desires. The treatment you had received thus far could almost be called gentle compared to what he was capable of.

He shoves you roughly against one door, and you struggle to keep from making any sounds. You can feel the amused, toothy grin cross his features as he opens the other door, shielding you from the people outside.

Moonlight pours over him, and you get the first good look at him. Fire red hair defies the moonlight, and porcelain skin nearly glows in the soft light. Two long scars are etched along his face, one trailing down his neck and disappearing into a mass of fur from the cloak he’s wearing. He was by no means small, but the coat made him look inhumanly large.

“What does the military want with me tonight?” He asks, voice bored and irritated.

“A young woman escaped our facility, and we were hoping to commission your aid in finding her.” The familiar voice of the marine captain makes your body tense.

“Oh? Our agreement was pretty simple. I leave your little honeysuckles alone, and you. Stay. Off. My. Property.” The hand gripping you against the door tightens as a terrifying smile splits his scarred face. You can feel a force wash over you, urging you to get away in whatever action would be the most efficient.

You’re vaguely aware of the sounds of people collapsing on the other side of the door.

“We are willing to compensate you for the inconvenience.” The captain responds in a voice steady as stone. You can hear unrest from the others that are with him, and you’re impressed with yourself for not crying from the aura rolling off the master of the house.

“You dogs can’t afford my rates,” the beast promises. “Get off my property before I escort you myself.”

There’s a tense moment between the two and the captain steps back. “Very well.”

The grip on you relaxes a little, and so does the irritated grin on his face. “Ah, Captain, I’ll be generous for now, but after tonight any little toy soldiers I find in my woods will be viewed as sacrifices. Just so there’s no pesky misunderstanding.”

“Understood.” There’s a tense, brief pause. “Thank you for allowing our presence for the night.”

“Sure, sure.” He waves the marine away dismissively, closing the door. Red eyes regard you in the deep dark of the foyer again before you see them shift to gold. You can’t really see anything except for his eyes. “You got one,” he hisses the word, “chance. Don’t fucking lie to me.”

You shake your head as you’re pulled away from the door. You’re in the air, there’s no way to know where exactly you are in the renewed darkness. “No lies!” You gasp, eyes closed.

“You’re a Honeysuckle.” He says, and you nod. It didn’t sound like a question, but even if you had some reason to try and deny it, it was painfully easy for him to prove it. “An escaped Honeysuckle.”

You nod again, and your scrambling feet find purchase under them. You’re standing on something kind of soft, and when you open your eyes to try and see what it is, you notice his eyes so close to yours you can almost see yourself reflected in the soft light. Your brain short circuits, all at once you think how beautiful his eyes are, how calming the light is, how terrifying it is to be so close to a vampire, and how he still could turn you over to the marines.

You watch his eyes shift over the features of your face, pupils flicking and focusing on different things before he leans in. The light of his eyes rolls over your cheek, his lips by your ear.

“Why?” He asks softly, the heat of his breath sending chills over your skin.

“I… I’ve always… just wanted to b-b-be,” you can feel the damp, hard press of teeth dragging lightly over your skin. “Fuh-free.” You manage to squeeze the words past your nervous throat.

“Little flower didn’t like her perfectly curated greenhouse,” he muses, his voice is low and his lips graze your skin as he speaks. He holds you by your hair, but you hadn’t registered the shift in his grip until he had begun to speak.

“B-being raised inside my own coffin….” You try to describe your reasoning, but a tug in your hair quiets you.

“I have no use for a living drug,” he growls. “Why the fuck shouldn’t I just toss you back in your pen?”

“I-I’m a Honeysuckle R-Red, I’m not-!” He tugs your hair harshly, pulling you back and holding you off balance, claw pierced through the front of your dress and ripping downward slowly.

“I’m not addicting!” You cry out in panic and the tearing sound stops.

“… All of you are addicting.” He states, his sharp gaze driving into you.

“N-no we’re not.” You’re shivering, but you force yourself to keep speaking. “O-only the m-metallic classifications are addicting. Gold, Silver, and B-Bronze. Chromatics aren’t. Red, Blue and Black.” You swallow hard, talking about the types and grades of honeybloods makes you uncomfortable. It feels like you’re talking about a product, and not a group of people.

There’s a tense silence before you’re lifted into the air again. You’re only in the air for a moment, set down a little roughly on the couch before the room fills with light.

He’s leaning against the mantle, fire warming and lighting the room, regarding you with interest and amusement. He’s even taller in the light than you thought he was in the dark. Pale skin, gold eyes, fiery red hair, massively broad shoulders, arms crossed in front of his chest. He wore a deep red, almost black fur coat over his shoulders, loose pants held up by a set of leather belts. The heavy boots caught your attention unexpectedly, but mostly because you could barely believe that he had moved so soundlessly in such heavy boots.

“Relax a little.” He says, stepping away from the fire and sitting down on the couch across from you. “You’re far too interesting to toss back to the dogs.

“For now.”

#Honeysuckle: Red #Eustass Kid #x reader #reader insert #Vampire AU #one piece fanfiction

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aspiring-writer-hidden-voice · 11 months

Text

BOTW Link X F!Reader ~ Pt. 4

You blinked up at the high cliff looming over above. It had to easily be four times the height of a Hinox, if not higher! The sounds of a horse came from its ledge. Following the trail of rumors portraying an equine fitting Epona’s description, the two of you eventually found yourselves nearing the Dueling Peaks. Link had gone on ahead, leaving you awestruck when he disappeared within a flurry of robin egg ribbons rising up to the sky. That reminds you to ask about that special device attached to his hip.

Over the wind you could hear his whistle, followed by a neigh and the telltale impacts of horseshoes against stone. Blinding sunlight threatened to obscure your vision if not for the traveler’s hood he’d given you. Which meant that you could see two figures become single to share a large shadow. Both of your brows furrowed when it neared the craggy rock’s border. Surely he wouldn’t think—

The answer came in the teeth hurting grind of steel versus stone as their combined figure slid a short distance down the mountain’s side.

“Are you out of your mind?!”

His head rose at your scream, hand smoothing his mount’s neck with long strokes as she nickered. This was the fastest route to get them down. Why were you complaining?

The tilt of his head earned your heart skip; now was not the time to think of how the motion made him appear as youthful as a Korok when paired with those confused eyes! “You’re going to get the both of you killed!”

Seeing your expression of panic somehow made his lips rise in their corners. Especially when your jaw dropped as he spurred Epona a bit farther downwards. She trusted in his guidance, as you have come to do so, and soon found stable footing. Now you were biting into the collar of your hood as if to hold back another scream when he moved again to another spot. You have so much to learn, he mused while watching you begin to pace in circles despite being unable to tear your eyes off of their form the perked as an idea came to his mind, maybe it’s about time for you to get a mount of your own. He spurred again, this time tilting to the left where another ledge would be suitable as a resting spot for the mighty horse.

“No, don’t! Not that way!”

Your warning came almost too late when Epona’s back right leg slipped out from underneath due to a hidden patch of pebbles however Link was quick shift his weight forward and closer to the mountain until it regained the lost footing after falling much farther than he cared for. A glance below revealed that your echoing scream of fear had drawn the attention of a nearby enemy camp. Azure eyes narrowed when spotting a black Bokoblin take interest in you. Even for him those particular monsters proved a challenge. Not near as much as a Guardian or Lynel but he was purposefully avoiding those until you’d gained more confidence in your skills and healed fully from the recent excursions.

If he had his way you’d never have to face such foes.

Epona nickered as if in agreement to his internal confession.

The heel of his boot met her side again when the monster’s curiosity turned into beastly hunger as its eyes met your being. One could not hurry on such a terrain as the mountain’s side, leaving him to watch with a quickening heart as you spotted the enemy then drew your sword. It wouldn’t have as much affect as the Master Sword in his possession, he’d given you a Traveler’s Sword for training purposes, which meant you weren’t going to do any damage at all despite your careful aim to its weak points. Each dodge stole his breath as you zig-zagged until rolling to stand behind the monster. Your form was near perfect with the arch of your back and weapon quickly rising to strike but the monster remained unflinching despite the blow.

If anything it appeared amused.

Every drop of blood within his body froze when it loosed an arrow and a cry slipped up your throat in response to it burying within your thigh. Crimson slowly soaked through your clothing until it dripped down your calf to pool upon the ground when you landed heavily. Despite the crippling wound you fought to dodge each arrow attempting to meet your being until the craggy rock met your back. Agony was written across your features as the Bokoblin licked its lips. It readied the bow crudely made from various teeth and bone, the arrow’s tip taking aim directly at your jugular, causing Link’s vision to completely become bathed in grayscale save for the blood being spilled.

Your head, and the beast’s, rose as the air was pierced by a battle cry. Epona was no longer gingerly making her way down the mountain but full on galloping with no care to the rocky terrain beneath her hooves courtesy of the rider whose gaze shone bright with anger. The oxygen within your lungs stalled when seeing not azure but bright red eyes locked upon the monster who turned to face the spot where horse and rider would eventually meet level ground. Blonde hair had turned silver, a stark contrast to its usual gold, while tanned skin had become pewter gray. Deafening silence filled your ears when seeing his expression to be one of wrath while wielding a darkened Master Sword lacking completely of its usual brilliant color or sheen.

What had happened to them?

In slow motion your gaze followed the swords trajectory, finding the Bokoblin to be it’s target. Fear clench your heart. What would happen to him if he fell the monster in such a state?

No sooner had the level, solid ground met Epona’s four hooves did you snatch the reins, hoisting yourself up into the saddle in front of him and spurred her with a shout. Another battle cry rose from the swordsman who attempted to steal the leather ropes back from you, as if he wanted nothing more than to turn back and fight the enemy. The leather bracers he wore did little to protect him when you delivered a gum deep bite to his hand that earned a shout of pain. Multitasking between guiding the horse and holding off his attempts was no easy task so it was none too surprising that a tree soon caused Epona to halt and the two of you to rocket over her head to land in heaps. Though the reins had left your hands the horse remained where she was, large eyes watching as you quickly took hold of the Champion when he made to stand.

“Release me!” He roared in a voice you didn’t recognize, those blood red eyes glaring with ferocity worthy of actual mythical gods.

Your head shook while using every bit of your weight to bring him to his knees despite his best attempts to free himself. It was when he made to adjust his hold upon the darkened Master Sword’s hilt that you saw an opening and delivered a swift hit to his wrist before the blade could protect it. The angle prevented you from putting a ton of force behind the blow but you succeeded in making him drop the weapon and twisted that arm behind his back with a roll of your body. His chest impacted the grass covered ground with a heavy impact, which meant you would have to apologize for it later, and quickly maneuvered so that you were practically sitting upon his back with a knee between his shoulders.

And still he writhed in attempts to free himself. Bucking, twisting, even rolling, the Hylian would roar in frustration when you remained. That is, until you brought your head down to whisper into the closest ear. “That’s enough.”

“Nothing more will be stolen from me!” Now you could clearly see the faint traces of brilliant blue within the black aura surrounding him. They radiated with anger which intermixed with this new persona, one you have yet to meet, that felt cold when it brushed against your being. Beneath them both was fear and loss. “I will not allow it!”

“No one wants to take anything from you,” you soothed while ensuring to keep your voice level and calm, “there’s no danger here. Nothing could take me away from your side”

Anger flashed within his gaze when it flickered back to meet yours. “Do not make false promises!”

“Are they false when the speaker truly believes in the words they say?”

Rain clouds gathered overhead, darkening the sky as droplets of moisture splattered across your skins. He finally stilled after several long, seemingly never ending minutes, the tension within each of his muscles rippling with twitches before relaxing. Seconds passed agonizingly slow as you watched the grayscale leave his being; silver returning to gold and red giving way to azure while the rest of him followed suit. Just before that persona could completely vanish you released your hold so as to rest his head upon your uninjured leg. “I would not wish to be anywhere else.” The lingering traces of crimson meeting your gaze before it disappeared completely with a blink.

Link instantly sat upright, eyes wide when they found the arrow protruding from your flesh, an unreadable expression crossing his features. “It happened again?”

Denying would do not one any good and it was be dishonest of you to lie. Truth, and understanding, were what he needed currently. That didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun. Your fingers lightly flicked his forehead. “You rescued me so I’ll let this one slide…”

One of his brows rose at your teasing tone despite removing the arrow with a yank that should have earned a scream of pain; the poor flesh of your bottom lip instead being victim to stifle the sound.

“…so long as you make me that special stuff.”

Doom settled over the Hylian. “Please tell me you don’t mean what I think you do.”

A smirk lifted your lips, the only answer he needed.

Epona and you patiently waited beneath one of the larger trees until he returned with a bottle full of sparkling pink liquid. A relieved smile raised his lips when you took a small sip that made your wound’s slow bleeding cease, another sip created a scab, third eased it closed, and the last few drops upon your tongue lifted the pink from your skin. Fairy Tonic; a miracle potion that could only be made with the blessing of fairies. He’d make it for you in the blink of an eye whenever necessary if it wasn’t so difficult in locating a fairy to begin with. Luck was on his side though, at least that’s how he would chalk it up to meeting a traveling merchant more than happy to trade it for a golden bottle within his possession.

A trade he deemed well worth it as you sighed while resting back against the tree looking more healthy by the second.

Even with that doctor’s medications you’d been left with a pale complexion and weakened strength with stamina near nonexistent. That Fairy Tonic was exactly what you needed. It was amazing for you to feel it seep into the various cells that constructed your body. Fancy mirrors or glass surfaces weren’t needed as your energy rose in levels that you’d forgotten existed. That was when you realized of the natural relaxed air between the two of you which allowed him to speak freely. It wasn’t as if he had been holding back, or you for that matter, just that sometimes silence was sacred. Heat slowly bloomed within your core. Did that make you special to him, special enough that he could openly express himself when in your presence? Your lips lifted into a small smile when feeling his gaze upon your being. “Keep staring and you’ll burn a hole through me.”

“Which one was it this time?”

Your eyes, which had closed, opened to find his back facing you though he turned so as to partially make it easier for conversation; an opening and sign he was wanting a verbal conversation despite the air of hesitancy coming from the warrior. Most times when this happened he would shut down and not want to talk about whatever presence had taken over his body. Really?, your raised eyebrow asked when finding his gaze shadowed, Are you sure you want to talk about that right now?.

His head bobbed in a nod while turning to face you fully. “Yes.”

Oxygen filled your lungs with a deep inhale. “I’m calling the one which reacts to the wolf-pelt Twi because I sometimes sense him around the twilight hour, as if its during that time the animal ferocity gives way to something more woefully human.” From the corner of your eye you could see the faintest appearances of large paw prints appear across Link’s aura but they remained at a distance before disappearing altogether. A new one took its place, this one familiar clouds that you’ve seen when near the ocean. “There’s one which reacts near the shoreline or large bodies of water that I’ve named Sea Song because it always seems to be fascinated with the ocean’s surf as if it were music.” The clouds rolled before also disappearing, this time something much more ancient taking its place and making your brows furrow when armor that you’ve never seen before appeared. “This one is old, much more than you are even with the long slumber beneath your belt, and there’s so much coming off of him that I can’t tell if he’s attempting to keep me away or ask for help. Time has not been kind to this one but it’s the name which I feel suits him best.” Just as quickly as it had appeared it dispersed like smoke to be replaced by the presence which had made you initially see the emerald’s innards. This persona, with its emergence which surrounded the two of you, brought with it the scents of clouds and flowers you couldn’t name. “Though the green which carries over into each persona’s palette stems from this one, I always feel as if the wind is rushing past with the flap of large wings. This one is Sky. It may be the eldest however there is expressive emotion shining within each facet of the gem.”

As you spoke of each in turn, Link felt them rise, as if coaxed with curiosity of what you had to say, leaving him to watch in awe as they seemed to accept your words without objection then withdrawing. Your eyes were darting around as if seeing things that were invisible nearly making him want to follow their path but he couldn’t look away from the near whimsical expression donning your face. It was endearing, awe filled, and kind. No judgement could be seen nor felt coming off of your form and truth rang within each word that left your mouth. From the tree’s canopy came a large drop which landed with a heavy plop sound upon his cheek then trailing downward to where it lingered upon his jawline.

“The one today,” you started slowly, crimson eyes pierced through his aura as if warning you to speak carefully, “it has the want to protect what’s dear to you so I believe it responded to your will. The transformation that came over for you I can’t explain but I felt no evil coming from you when it was present. If anything it was afraid and angry.”

The swordsman’s breath stalled when your expression became thoughtful, a single bean of slanted moonlight coming through the canopy above to bathe you within its pale glow while your gaze fell to the grass. A gentle breeze played with your hair, causing a few strands to fall where they threatened to kiss your cheeks, stealing his breath away at the gentleness filling your features.

“Most think that darkness is the root of evil, something I don’t believe in one bit. It felt pure, if you ask me, so Nox will be its name for now. Like a shadow he moved across the ground paying no heed to the danger under Epona’s hooves, so I should be upset, however,” a small smile lifted your lips, unknowing that its addition to the visage around you made his heart swell, “I suppose its thanks to him that you saved me once again and learn whatever it has to teach you like the others.”

Deep within his being he felt that persona rise as if threatening to take over then it was gone. Lingering where it had occupied was the emotion of loss, as if it had failed during its own lifetime. He couldn’t help feeling that it was a warning for him to be more careful.

One of your hands rose in a dismissive wave. “Take it as you will, you don’t have to believe me—” The sentence was ended with a surprised gasp as the Champion sat with a muted huff against the tree then tucked you protectively against his side after pulling the hood over your head. Your finger lightly tapped his knee that was closest, Enemy?

A single tap of his finger against the back of your hand was enough to make you still. He would never confess openly, that there was none nearby. Why did he keep you close even when dawn’s light approached the distant horizon? The answer was simple: he had to soothe that persona’s worry of your safety. Perhaps even his own.

Epona, on the other hand, had her own agenda, causing the two of you to separate with unified exclamations when she shook to rid herself of all moisture that resulted in drenching both of her riders.

….

An exasperated huff slipped from the Hylian as the shopkeeper refused the rupees upon the counter. The palm of his hand remained flat against the wooden surface, fingers fully splayed. An empty satchel lay limp against his hip.

“I’m sorry, but you simply don’t have enough.”

Azure narrowed incredulously. How is this not enough?

The merchant, a man whose hands wrung and radiated with greed despite the apologetic tone being used, resisted a cower beneath the hero’s gaze. “These are specialty items, sir, so I simply cannot let them go for a price they are not worth!”

It was as you walked past the doorway in search of the Hylian swordsman who had disappeared in the crowd that you spotted him, quickly moving to pull him away from the merchant with quick apology after slipping every rupee back within his wallet.Your hands were steady upon his being when he made to venture back inside and though he was strong enough to break you hold he didn’t. Instead he allowed you to lead him towards an area were a lot less people were clustered beside an ancient shrine which seemed to glow in greeting to his presence. It went unnoticed by him, though, judging from the way he plopped himself upon a rock with a deep frown.

Words would do no good here so you chose to remain silent while observing the bustling town beneath. It was by far the busiest you’ve encountered, largest too, No wonder you’d lost sight of him through the crowd. A sound interrupted your admiration of the village below and turned in time to see him vanish within a flurry of blue tendrils rising towards the sky.

Panic took hold of your heart with an iron fist.

Link had disappeared.

He’d left you behind.

Blood pooled along the split in your lip from the bite it suffered as you began to shake. Now was not the time to lose yourself! Where could he possibly have gone? And without any explanation to boot! Sure you had interrupted the conversation earlier at the shop but you’d felt as though he was fast approaching a line that shouldn’t be crossed if the merchant wanted to walk home tonight without a limp.

Had that earned you Link’s spite?

Stubbornness took panic’s place as your arms crossed. There was nothing for you to apologize for. Doubt made to cloud your conviction with whispers of how he may have grown tired of your company which were swiftly silenced with a huff.

“(Y/n).”

A shriek rose up your throat when realizing the huff you’d made had been accompanied by another’s, calloused hands landing upon your shoulders that earned a jump in the air. Fight instincts flared as your hands took fierce hold of a wrist then used every bit of strength to launch yourself backward to bring them over your shoulder.

He should have honestly seen it coming. The two of you have been traveling together for a while now, meaning he should have you figured out for the most part; being the Princess’ personal knight had forced him to deeply analyze a person the longer one spent in their company so as to better judge if they were threat or not. This situation was no different so Link accepted the toss which caused him to wind up flat on his back looking up at your fuming expression. Somehow, in some way, the other personas seemed to sympathize and support your actions, filling his mind with a few snickers while others rumbled lowly with suppressed chuckles echoed within his ears.

“You scared the ever living Hylia out of me!” You exclaimed, shaking your trembling arms in hopes of steadying yourself, cracks sounding when your shoulders rolled. A muscle within your jaw grew taunt when he simply laid in the position he’d fallen. There was no indication the warrior was going to get up anytime soon. Tears burned the backs of your eyes from the swirling emotions bubbling within your chest; relief anger, self disappointment, and something which warmed your chest that you couldn’t put a name to. Turning on your heel, you began marching down towards the bustling city, paying no mind those who had gathered at your shriek wearing expressions of curiosity. Large salty droplets spilled down your cheeks when coming to a stop within the square, furiously wiping them away with quick finger strokes, until a pair of hands gently stopped them.

Link watched as you walked away along the path downwards with a calm gaze. There was no need for him to pursue you, he’d find you anywhere across Hyrule no matter what stood in his way. Calamity Ganon himself couldn’t stop him. He sat upright with the snickers loud in his ears, tinting them pink, while checking his inventory. So long as the merchant would buy some things from him there would be more than enough rupees for what the swordsman needed.

People’s faces blurred as he sprinted towards a familiar storefront where he slid to a stop in a small cloud of dirt beneath his boots. Seriousness filled his features when opening the door with such force it bounced off the wall. Whatever argument that greedy man could have would be shut down by the talk of something he wanted very much: rupees.

The merchant made to reprimand the poor treatment of his property, raising his nose when noticing who was responsible. “Oh. It’s you again. As I told you before, the price is nonnegotiable. I refuse to go a single rupee under.” He turned towards a figure the blonde Hylian couldn’t quite see but that didn’t stop him from marching to stand before the counter. They were bent over something with intense focus despite the items being so small and the tools being handled a bit clumsily. With a groan he made to ignore Link if it weren’t for the multitude of gem currency which clattered across the stained wooden surface; green, red and blue intermixed until a single silver one sat atop of the mountain. Never had he seen so many in one place! A tongue slipped out to moisten his lips while meeting azure. “Impressive, I must say, however I’m sorry to say that it is not enough. And before you even try, I do not accept trades or offer to purchase goods from others.”

A vein appeared within Link’s temple while a twitch made his eye appear to almost blink then he vanished once collecting all the rupees he had laid out.

Silence hung in the air as the merchant seemed uninterested that his potential customer had disappeared. “Now then, where was I? Oh yes—” The hinge of his jaw gave way to hang openly when, in a flurry of blue, the blonde Hylian swordsman reappeared looking scorched with burns all across his being. “—By the goddess Hylia—”

Another display of rupees occurred, this one with the addition of several purple.

Greed was making the merchant salivate but still he remained diligent. After all, how could he give something that he’d lost several nights of sleep over making? It wouldn’t be fair if he did. The shake of his head was all the traveler needed before disappearing once again. He cast a glance to the side towards his guest, flashing an impressed smile. “Yes, that’s good. Very impressive!” Unmistakable clattering of rupees made him swing back around, this time finding Link soaked to the bone and a Sneaky River Snail slowly crawling up the blonde’s arm, the mountain now nearly dominated by purple rupees glittering with the occasional silver and much to his glee there was the addition of three shimmering golden gems. “Sold!”

Victory shone brightly within his gaze as the jewels were accepted into a box. Finally! His hands carefully accepted the item in question that had cost him so much, gently wrapping it within a spare cloth he had, before taking his leave.

“Well, that was quite the excitement. I wonder if he’s planing on wearing it himself.” The merchant pondered while accepting an offering from his guest. They were a pair of earrings made of a combination containing Luminous Stones and flint. “You sure you don’t want to have them made of something much more refined? Amber or perhaps opal?”

You shook your head, rising with a stretch. “These will be perfect. And thank you so much for teaching me how to make jewelry, they came out great thanks to your teachings.” A small box was offered as a packaging of sorts but you denied saying that they were meant to be worn not kept within the pocket. “How much do I owe you for the lessons?”

“Think nothing of it! You saving me from that ruffian was more than enough! If anything, I’d say I’m in your debt, so please do not hesitate to call upon me for more projects in the future!” A familiar expression of admiration filled his features. “And it is truly a joy to assist someone such as yourself, young lady.”

Somehow that bit of information may earn annoyance from a particular swordsman, you humorlessly mused while waving in departure.

Link was waiting for you beside the shrine, expression one of suspense and accomplishment. The earlier events nearly made you want to give him the cold shoulder however it dispersed when he gently used a hand to cover your eyes. Close them and don’t look until I say, the calm pulse whispered against your skin, I will explain everything if you do this for me. He did not keep you waiting long, with those feather light brushes against your head and weight subtly settling above your temples. “I heard you earlier admiring this at the shop,” he said slowly while encouraging you to lift your chin, traces of his gaze combing over every inch of where the foreign object settled upon your being, “I could not let something so befitting be passed over.” The tap of his finger against your chin was the sign to open your eyes. The Master Sword’s blade was inches from your face in succession to the singing note of metal and your breath caught at the image being reflected back.

A circlet, near a royal’s diadem family of jewelry, hugged your head beneath layers of your hair with highly polished metal hugging a single stone that created dancing rainbows across your skin which dangled square center of your forehead. Was that a legit diamond?! You became flustered when he confirmed your assumption. “Link, I can’t accept this! You spent so much on it! Maybe you should hold onto it to give Princess Zelda—” Your protest died when he pulled you forward, calloused hands teasing the sensitive skin of your jawline with slow deliberate strokes, his head bending until your noses threatened to touch.

Intense sincerity shone brightly within his gaze which refused to stray from yours. For you, they conveyed, only for you.

Who were you to deny such a lovely gift? And from Link, the Hylian Champion, no less? If he gave you such a thing then it was meant for you with a purpose that shouldn’t be questioned.

Gratitude filled you which manifested in the smile raising your lips and brief closing of your eyes, Thank you for such a beautiful gift.

Outwardly the swordsman would never admit the sense of relief which filled him at your acceptance of his gift. It became his turn for the palm of your hand to ease his eyes closed. He did so without question, even bent at the waist when your fingertip tapped his shoulders as if you were straining to reach something too high, and froze when those same scarred fingertips met the sensitive lobes of his pointed ears. At times their touches were gentle, ticklish even, others they were assertive with determination that sent tingles down the warrior’s spine. Breathing was suddenly much more difficult for Link when feeling your front met his due to loss of balance thanks to slippery grass and his hands reflexively took light hold of your waist to help stabilize you

Through your concentration a blush rose within your cheeks when feeling heat seep through your clothing sourcing from where his hands had fallen. The lump which had risen within your throat was forced down with a swallow, focusing fully on the last and final clasp that was to be secured before your hands fell to rest upon his shoulders. They slid down to splay their fingers across the span of his chest when he straightened with eyes still closed. Only when you had fallen still for a few seconds did his eyes twitch, asking for permission to open them, prompting them open when your silence was the only answer provided.

Your wide eyes weren’t locked upon the warrior but at something over his shoulder that filled your gaze with unadulterated terror.

Something he never wanted to ever see again.

Sanity strained within his being when hearing unmistakable snorts and grunts, telling him that the Moblin he’d been attempting to keep at bay, had succeeded in catching up finally. Flashes of that night shone brightly within your gaze as it became glazed over before it became razor sharp. All emotion vanished save for protective drive as you moved fluidly down upon a knee while notching an arrow that you struck across his closest earring, causing it to spark and flare with flames, before it was let loose to bury itself between the lumbering monster’s eyes as it prepared to strike with a giant club. The ground met your back when it howled with pain, wildly attempting to put out the flames which resulted in it teetering off balance that you used as an opening to lose not one but three more which also were sparked to flame courtesy of the earrings you’d made. They too buried themselves within the monster’s flesh, a dying bellow rising up its throat as it crumbled into red ash which dispersed upon the breeze.

Hylia above Link was feeling conflicted. The Moblin’s presence should have been noticed before now, how his guard had been lowered just because the village was near, then there was the blazing blood within his veins when watching you drop to a stance he himself knew and used. Concentration, determination, unwavering will, sharpened focus shone brightly within your gaze as the adrenaline which must have been coursing through your veins ebbed while rising to stand. No longer were you the fearful girl he’d found in the village’s remains after the Blood Moon. Standing before him was a proud, skill honed warrior who was unflinching when action was required. It was such a sight which, like the arrows, sparked brilliantly with a foreign emotion which left him in awe of your display.

Wait.

The arrows sparked on his earrings?

His hands rose, lifting the still bare blade of the Master Sword, to find that the old holes which had once contained a pair of earrings that were testament to his completing knight training were occupied by a new pair. They had been severely cracked over the years, had even fallen apart recently during a battle against another enemy, leaving his ears feeling bare and empty. Where had these come from?

“Those are my gift to you.” Bashfully, you tucked the bow into storage while turning away it hide the burning within your cheeks. “I know they aren’t like your other pair but these are made with flint so that you can create flame arrows or start a fire whenever you want. That way you don’t have to always hang on to all that flint.” The heat spread until it was taken over your entire body courtesy of him spinning you around, finding such a blinding grin lifting his lips that spoke of internal scheming. Embarrassment gave way to suspicion when his azure eyes shone brightly. His grin slanted into a smirk that threatened to make butterflies form in your stomach if not for the devious glint within Link’s gaze. You’ve grown to know that look all too well and bristled. “They do not give you the permission to commit arson!”

A near frightening smirk lifted his lips as a shadow fell over his eyes, making the devious glint shine brighter. “You said it yourself that I should do more of what I want.” Victory pounded his system like adrenaline when you failed to find a counter for your own words turned against you. His hand found yours, giving it a squeeze as if to reassure he wouldn’t go overboard with the power you’ve unknowingly bestowed, leading to stand directly in front of a certain merchant’s storefront. The plan to make him pay for the obscene pricing was put to rest when you hurried to explain it had been the same merchant who’d kindly assisted in creating the earrings he now wore.

To help him cool off, and yourself from the attempted surprise attack, the two of you decided to take a short walk towards the nearby river. The weather was mild with partially sunny skies with a cool breeze coming from the north. Not too horrible as you stretched high upon the balls of your feet. Excitement filled you when spotting something shift within the water. Maybe it was time to catch some fish instead of settling for mushrooms. They weren’t your favorite food in the world. Mixing things up shouldn’t cause any problems.

Only one thing held you back, earning the attention of a certain swordsman who curiously watched as you backed away from the water’s reach. The way you regarded the river was weary, cautious, a wrinkle appearing between your furrowed brows. He’s seen that expression a few times upon others so Link didn’t need you to say a thing as he walked over to stand beside you with a patient gaze. You don’t have to be afraid, his azure eyes conveyed when you finally looked up from the water, I can teach you.

A hard swallow sounded, sourcing from your throat. Every nerve of worry ebbed into one of fascination when he donned a set of armor made of scales and finned limbs. It allowed him to swiftly swim through the river’s currents as if they were nothing, even jumping up out of the water to perform an occasional flip before extending a hand towards you. “Oh, no, I’m fine,” you hurried to assure while moving backwards and farther away from the water, “I was just thinking about catching some fish is all—”

“If you don’t learn now, then how can you say that you’ve lived today?”

Flesh belonging to your bottom lip became caught between teeth.

He knew you wouldn’t be able to fight against that sort of reasoning, hence why he’d said it, fighting back a smirk when you hesitantly removed the outer layers of your clothing until all that was left were your modest undergarments. For a moment he tread water as you dipped one foot into the river. Perhaps it was that he’s never seen you in such attire that the sudden reveal of your body left him speechless. Your legs, calves, the curve of your waist and hips, shoulders, even the concealed mounds beneath several wrapping layers were all so befitting that it was as if the goddess herself took extra care to ensure your perfection. Link surged forward when your bare foot slipped on the river’s pebbled bottom, easily catching your form before it could slip beneath the water, soothing you with a hum when your flailing limbs latched onto his being.

The water was much warmer than you expected, helping to relax your muscles as the lesson began with simple kicking. You had to fight off giggles when a few fish though your toes were food. Though the river current was strong in some places the blonde haired Hylian ensured that you remained out of its reach so as not to be swept away. He assured that even if you were to be there wasn’t a force in Hyrule which could stop him from rescuing you. Brief panic overtook you when too much water for your liking entered your nose, making you gag and retch. Zora-Armored-Link hurried you to shore where he rubbed your back in soothing circles until you’d caught your breath, suggesting a break when noticing the subtle tremors of exhaustion within your limbs, only to find himself being tugged back into the water by your insistent hand.

Courage showcases itself in many different forms. Link himself was very familiar with its strengths and weaknesses. He learned a different meaning to the word when you allowed him to loosen your hold then to let you drift until at arms length. You had near death grips on his hands but nonetheless you were determined to learn while following his every instruction. Initially you’d been avoiding the river but now, with each passing second that you remained under his teachings, confidence was growing brighter within your gaze until finally you were able to tread water on your own.

“Oh, wow! Link!” You crowed, smiling widely, “Look! I’m doing it!”

You’d said the same words when successful brandishing a sword without its tip brushing the ground. It had taken you much longer than this simple swimming lesson, nearly a whole moon cycle if truth was told, but the elation upon your face currently reminded him of that night. How your being had been drenched with sweat that caused the simple tunic and pants you’d donned to stick almost like a second skin, unknowingly revealing the figure you’ve been hiding beneath his borrowed clothing.

When you had removed the obscuring attire while standing on the riverbank, he was not disappointed in the slightest by the revealing of your visage. That night, like today, he committed the mental note of ensuring you had your own wardrobe to better accentuate your charisma. He would see to it personally that every article within the collection would be worthy of such an individual.

Then a little voice in the back of his head, one that was his own and not belonging to an ancient persona, whispered, “no one should behold your beauty except for me”.

Shock filled him when a sense of possessiveness filled him. What was that just now? Had he really thought such a thing?

“I can’t believe I’m swimming!” Your smile and voice pierced through the fog beginning to close in on his mind, dissipating it to reveal you swimming towards him. Though he had drifted a bit farther down stream than he had internally marked as the boundary line, you were still working hard against the water’s pull to reach him.

Pride filled him as you slowly maneuvered in tight circles around his form. It was a small start but at least you now held survival skills in case you fell into deep waters. “I knew you could do it, (Y/n),” he praised while collecting you once again when exhaustion nearly made you go under, accepting all of your weight as he shifted to lazily float upon his back with your head upon his chest, “you did great today for your first lesson.”

Too tired to react, you simply groaned exasperatedly. If the sword or bow training had been hard you could only imagine how swimming lessons would be from here on out. Can’t wait, said your weary smile that earned his hand finding the back of your head where it bestowed a pet.

“Link!” Both of your heads snapped in the direction from a call, finding its owner to be a red Zora who flashed a bright white smile as you curiously removed a Sneaky River Snail that from the Champion’s arm. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So I found this several years ago and just had to fit it in somewhere! I hope you all enjoyed the bit of fun! ~SuntoryAngel

Pt 1: Blood Moon Encounter

Pt 2: Distant Howls

Pt 3: Identities Unknown

Next Chapter!

Pt 5: Between a Rock and a Wet Place

#botw #loz #the legend of Zelda #link x y/n #link x reader #f!reader #link x you #botw!link #legend of Zelda #legend of Zelda x reader #legend of zelda x you #legend of zelda x y/n #botw!link x reader #link x f!reader

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willowser · 1 year

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oh, to be a little witch of the woods 🦋✨️ with a garden of nightshade and moonflower and henbane 🌿🌺 a cluttered hut with tomes and oddly-shapen vials of glittering potions and ghastly elixirs ⚗️🕯 nestled secretly in the midst of the forest, between an ancient god-tree and a snaking river 🌙🔮

until !! a little wild boy tries to steal from your fish trap !! and has the nerve to threaten you !!

"i'm not a boy!" he warbles, all impish and stubborn. in his hands is a cherry-stained bow, small and fit for him, carved with runes that read foreign. "i'm a dragon!"

"oh, yes, of course," you muse, suppressing a wicked grin at the untamed of sight of his blonde hair as he huffs it out of his baby-face. "how could i overlook your long and scaly tail or your forked tongue?" when you hiss, his nose scrunches up, surrendering a giggle. "tell me, little drake, what exactly are you going to be killing me for?"

the confidence in his big, brown eyes falters and they dart away, down to the overgrown herb garden near your feet. silence trickles by as his shoulders rise, shy suddenly.

"is this your home? or your fish?" you're answered by the drop of his hands, bowstring going lax as he frowns at the grass; a scolded little beast. "ah ha, i didn't think so." dirt clings to his round, pink cheeks, and you lean close enough to swipe it away, turning his chin up. "though it would seem i have no choice but to offer something else in exchange for the safety of my trout."

you're bestowed a toothy smile.

without fear, the little drake stomps into your home, beastly with his manners as he begins to peer into jars and poke at your literature. dust makes him sneeze when he wanders too close to your bookshelf, and he wipes his nose on the front of his tunic.

"come, come, hatchling," you wave a still-warm loaf of bread around like a jewel, beckoning him away from the prick of your thorned roses. "i hope you'll find sweet apple jam a suitable replacement."

his blonde eyebrows shoot up, sitting on his knees at your small round table. precariously, he leans over flickering candles and fares too close to a bubbling cauldron, attention stuck to the green jar you pull from the cupboard; a clumsy little boy, in all manner of the term.

near drooling as you slather down two thick slices of oat bread, digging into them without so much as a thanks as you give him — and his forthcoming mess — all the space he should need. out of reach, you make quick work of stowing away spells that eyes as young as his should never see.

"does your mother know where you are, little drake?"

he gives a small shrug and wipes the back of one hand across his messy face, jelly sticking between his little fingers. "she's gone."

your attention is his instantly, watching from across the hut as a chill runs down your spine; so nonchalant, for such a revelation. "and where has she gone?"

"i don't know," big brown eyes drift to the crows that chatter in your window, watching them as his grip tightens on his delight. "father says she and my sister were taken by bad men."

despite his initial approach, you realize then just how kind he looks: chubby cheeks and a round face, slow-blinking lids and a wild mess of silky, ashen hair. small, for how intelligent he seems, and too trusting.

this would not be the first time you've known such heart-wrenching news, but still — yours breaks for him.

the war still rages to the north, though it hasn't touched this realm in years; regardless, greed among men poisons all, an illness that festers and spreads as spores on a summer wind. there's a very good chance a boy as young as he never even knew his missing family, and, quietly, you thank your gods for such a mercy.

you clear your throat of its itch. "and where is your father, then?"

the little drake pauses, biting at his lip as he thinks — before taking another massive chomp. "at home."

one parent, at least, that hopefully has been strong enough for the both of them, though you doubt the little boy's presence in your home is doing well on a poor father's nerves. a treasure is what you've found in the heart of these woods, one you must return.

"come then," you sink a hand into his tousled hair, which earns you a frightful little glare. "you've been away long enough."

whatever directionless path brought him to your neck of the woods is as clear as day, little feet obvious in their trample of weeds and broken branches. the little drake leads, unafraid and talking loud of all the goblins he's killed in your forest, how good he is with his bow and the tiny knife he keeps strapped to his quiver.

you don't mention the barrier you've set up, to keep the evil in its place, and instead listen to the wild flames of his imagination. it's amusing, at least, and reveals him in slow, secret ways; it's clear the measure of strength he's set is in the shape of his father, and that he thinks being able to defend oneself is the highest skill one can have. they're important things, good things, and you tell him so — but you can smell the fear bleeding through.

it paints a small picture of the man rearing him, one that must be desperate not to lose what little he has left. you think of your own grief and your stomach churns, eager to return him to safety.

"shall we take a shortcut?" at the edge of the river, you pause, calling on thick roots to curl up from under their trees and span across the the rushing water. they creak as they grow, unending, bringing about new sprouts of life as they bend to your will.

"woah!" the wild boy shouts, jumping up and down in place before darting forward. you hardly catch him by the back of his tunic, holding him in place as the bridge evens out. "how did you do that?"

"should you live to see your sixteenth year, i will show you!" you snap, frowning down at his impatience. his cheeks pink, offering small apologies as he vows to stick by your side.

still leading, though he's true to his word and dares not to run ahead any further. the only time his impatience sparks anew is when a cottage breaks your line of sight, surrounded, too, by a swath of thick trees. glee marks his face and you return it in full force, allowing him to take you by the arm as he starts to shout out for his father.

—but at the feel of eyes on the back of your neck, you freeze, hands going up in surrender as a sharp tang of fear sours in your mouth; it's been a long time since anyone has gotten the jump on you. "daddy drake, i presume?"

"huh?" the little boy turns to make a silly face at you, mouth wide open like you've just spoken a foreign language — but the looming beast steals all his attention. something digs too deep into the skin of your neck, and the boy erupts. "father!" he cries, eyes going impossiblely wider. "stop!"

at your throat, the blade hesitates but never recedes. the low voice tickles the shell of your ear, and you repress a shiver. "you've got until he closes his eyes to get the fuck outta here, or i'll skin you myself."

you hum, hiding a burst of adrenaline at the threat, and it earns you a impatient tch. "well, that's not very kind, is it, for the woman that's found your hatchling?"

before you have a chance to even consider a countermeasure, you're shoved roughly against the base of a tree, a hand fisted in the front of your robes. the man before you is — big, and you have to look up to see the expanse of his furious, unshaven face. in him somewhere, you see his son; hair bleached and untamed, a shared sharp nose, even their brows turn down to the same degree.

it would make you laugh, if a singular red eye was not tearing through your very being. if you did not know at once who stands before you.

"dragon, indeed."

"i'll fucking kill—"

"father!" the boy tries again, hurrying to beat his little fists into his father's thigh. "stop! stop!"

it takes the man back a step, though he still keeps you in close range. with an all-encompassing hand, he grabs both of the boys' and tugs him until he's hidden behind the wall of his back.

"stop! she's my friend!"

"she's a witch, boy!" the beast snarls, temper flared like wings. "and you've brought her straight here!"

"she helped me!" he shouts, digging little heels into the ground to steady himself as he tries to yank free. "and fed me! and—"

"fed you?" all at once, his hand drops and in a single swift movement, he's on his knees in front of the boy, gripping his cheeks as if to stop him from swallowing something long gone. "what did she feed you? the hell did you take from her?"

you scoff, offended, though the father continues searching his son's throat. "i do not delight in poisoning children, your grace."

both of their eyes snap to you, wide and full, and the little one murmurs "father?" quietly as the man rises to his feet. when he tries again, he's silenced with a low, guttural grunt. the curved blade in his hand gleams crimson in the light of the setting evening, reflecting nearly the same shade as the thick, crude jewels in his earlobes and peeking out from the collar of his tunic. with nearly the same intensity as his eye.

rumors have taken flight, of an exiled king that lost a war his arrogance began: bonded dragon slain in battle, an eye taken, long braid cut. family torn. the scar eating up the right sight of his body and face speak to his loss; an unending reminder of what pride made of him.

"go inside, hasaru."

bakugou katsuki: fire housed in human form.

the little boy — bakugou hasaru — is quick to take advantage of his father's surprise, darting to stand in front of you, like a small, wooden shield. you can't help but to smile at his bravery, his flickering defiance. "only if you promise not to hurt her."

"boy—"

"no, promise!"

"little drake," you let out a chime of laughter and crouch to his height, cupping his cheeks when he turns to you. "all the valor you have shown today gives me great courage, and i think—" you glance up at his father, smiling wistfully at his flared nostrils. "—i might be able to handle myself. it's not my wish to trouble you any further." the little frown you receive has your own lips turning down, and you pinch at his chin once, serious. "but should you ever encounter danger in these woods, do not hesitate to find me, hasaru."

"enough." the once-king grits, lips pulling back over his teeth. "get. inside."

you watch the little boy scurry off, shoulders slumped as he eyes his father distrustfully. as he reaches the top step, he looks back once over his shoulder, cheeks round and full with the pout he wears, and fat tears well in his eyes as he waves a final goodbye.

as soon as the door closes, you're digging your nails into the tree bark, passing back and fully through it to avoid katsuki's deadly swing. it catches in the wood, but he makes no move to free it, stepping out so that his singular gaze can burn into your cheeks.

"if y'know what's good for you, you won't come back here."

"i only mean to warn you, daddy drake," you sing, far out of reach and smiling at how bright his glare becomes. "that the next person to find your hatchling in the woods might not be so kind."

his left hand raises and you feel the sorcery before you see it, though it airs differently; heavy and yet smooth, like the calm lap of waves against a shore. innate is his fire, not something he's had to study, like you.

embers pop at his fingertips, smoke swirling. "that a threat?"

"not at all," you try to mimic him, thinking hard on the handful of kinetic spells stored in the tome of your mind. "just—he's a chatty little thing, you know? might want to watch out for that."

"i don't need advice from you, witch," he spits, "now leave us."

your attempts at softening his steel are fruitless and so you drop the smile, stepping as close to him as he'll allow before rearing his defenses. "i should hope they never find you or your boy, your grace—"

"don't ever—

"—but if they do," you continue, "know that i am not far."

he weighs your words, their honesty, searching your face as he considers; whatever kindness he finds is deemed untrustworthy, though you can't say you blame him. "why the hell would i believe you? because you want to help?" he snorts, turning his face so that the scar of his pride is on full display. "i'd have burned these fucking woods to the ground, had i the chance."

"oh, i don't doubt that," you murmur, retreating a step when he huffs. "but i lost the ones i love, too, once, and i would have ripped the world to pieces just the same, if it meant they would be returned to me."

the steel warms, giving away the true shape of his grief for only a moment before hardening again; the once-king says nothing, only grunts before turning with his own retreat.

"not far," you repeat, light, when he pauses on the steps of his house. "over the river and near the god-tree. the little drake will know the way."

his arrogant eye meets you over his shoulder, now weary, clouded, and he nods. wordless is an understanding such as this.

as soon as he reaches for the door, it swings open and hasaru is sticking out his little head before his father can finish gritting out his name. a toothy smile reaches you, and then katsuki as he turns to him, relieved that you are not kindling for their hearth. at the sight, the once-king warms again, offering a small tug of his lips before pressing a firm hand on his son's head and steering him back inside.

katsuki looks out one last time, as you let the wind take the petals of you away.

generally i find it so difficult to imagine katsuki with a beard, but quirkred's art is just. woof.

#i've been replaying god of war to gear up for the second one #and that’s where this came from #bakugou drabble #cw children #✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: bakugou

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starskiff · 30 days

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musings abt sundays wing piercing

thinking abt sunday. specifically biblically accurate angel sunday errr—sort of. hes human, and the most 'beastly' thing about him were the extra pair of eyes on his right wing. it didnt bother him that his sister was gifted with such voice of ethereal beauty, and he only had extra eyes. was not absolutely resentful of the times he didnt know where certain visions come from, what eyes were currently watching, seeing things hes not supposed to be privy to. most especially how people interact with him with straight spines, eager to turn at the last word as their eyes flit back and forth from his front and right eyes, never knowing when to look, afraid, bewildered, intrigued? disgusted.

sunday prefers it now. how people adore his new vanity, the two golden studs on his wings as an conversation stirrer, an attention grabber, a distraction. it had been the most excruciating pain to cover such gift, had it really been such. now people respect him more as hes deemed appropriate, finally angelic, beautiful even—without those extra eyes destroying his control over how people should perceive him.

but of course hed compensate. deploying blue birds like hawks monitoring every nook of the land, even creating a cohesive replica of the place just to know where to place them appropriately, far better than his hidden eyes could ever give him.

#but thats just a theory #a sunday theory!#i need more of this man im running low #sunday #hsr #honkai star rail

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bahbzxxx · 2 years

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The misbehaving brat inside me wants to take control today, so imagine:

Venti's hat has gone missing! He can't find it anywhere...so was it stolen? Who could have stolen it? Was it...you, perhaps? His darling little vixen?

No wonder you had been gone for so long! You little minx...you knew exactly what you were doing. You didn't even bother to braid his hair that morning either. How dare you. Now that called for a bit of...punishment.

It doesn't take him very long to find you...well, at least a trace of you. This has you written all over it.

Now, you had originally planned to bedazzle Venti's hat yourself. However, you...yeah. you sucked. Fortunately, your dear friend Kaeya is a very skilled professional in the art of bedazzling things! So you hired him to do the dirty work, and then happily skipped off, knowing that your time was limited to enjoy your life before the inclement storm hits you and you specifically, in the form of a drunk bard.

When he sees the state his poor hat is in, he flips his lid internally. he is smiling, but inside, there is a storm brewing. It's huge, ugly, and quite terrifying. But it's all for you.

Meanwhile, while you are relaxing and reading a light novel on starsnatch cliff, an extremely abhorrent eye of the storm forms right in front of your very eyes. My Lord, it's one of the nastiest ones you've ever encountered in your life! It quite literally tosses you around like a ragdoll with it's terrifyingly strong wind currents. You were able to shoot a bow and swing a sword, but this...this was too much. By the grace of a god who clearly wasn't lord Barbatos, you manage to outrun the beastly thing, and your disheveled self eventually stumbles through the Mondstadt gates. The first person to greet you is, of course, Venti, with a smile plastered to his face. In one hand, he holds his poor hat. He's actually squeezing it harshly. in the other, he holds your hand. Well. Let's be real. He's squeezing it so hard that you're scared it will fall off. But...maybe it's in your best interests to keep your mouth shut?

"Ive been looking for you all day, my muse! Let's find a nice place to have a, a little chat, yeah!"

May an archon other than the anemo archon protect you.

#yandere venti x reader #yandere genshin impact #venti headcanons #venti #beloved of the anemo archon #angry venti #lord barbatos #barbatos genshin impact #kaeya can bedazzle things #reader is a brat #who can blame them

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knightyoomyoui · 8 months

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The Tale Of The Bloodline | TWICE MiSaMo (Mina, Sana & Momo) x Male Reader- CHAPTER 10 (SPECIAL): “Rise Of The Empire Chief”

In this chapter, there will be no any of the MISAMO trio to feature in here. This special chapter is only to tell the origins of Yuta Nakamoto becoming The Empire Chief and how did his historic title run begun, which led to the foundation of The Bloodline. Oh, and by the way, Your appearance in this story will be ENHYPEN's Park Sunghoon. I chose him because since your role in this story is YN Myoui, who is the twin brother of your older sister Myoui Mina, I based your appearance on being mostly similar to Mina too, and I've seen some contents telling how Mina and Sunghoon look almost like "siblings" because of how similar their features are, so that's why. But I'm not telling you to follow me though; if you're still more comfortable imagining yourself in your role, then I have no problem with it. This is just optional.

PREVIOUSLY ON TTOTB CHAPTER 9: [The Reason Why]...

"Here's what we gonna do. If you still don't work yourself being SHY SHY SHY around Sana again, I'm gonna do something you ain't gonna like." Yuta warned YN who is still couldn't calm himself down from his cackles because of Sana's newly made catchphrase.

"Here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna take that "Honorary" away, and I'm gonna make her our official Bloodline's muse." Yuta said as he points out at Sana's scarf around her neck, with YN now back at being seriousness even though the glimpse of how he surrendered herself from Sana's irresistable effect is still visible.

YN gave Yuta an incomprehensible look, muttering "You can't be serious, cous?!" but Yuta just nodded back at him and points his head. "Use the time well, think wisely."

"Well ladies and gentlemen, I think The Empire Chief has called an end to this segment. Please catch your Empire Chief LIVE and in person from all around the world next time on Friday Night Knockdown." Jinyoung said as he gave his closing remark in regards to The Bloodline, doing a mic drop before the arena played Yuta's theme again.

The show ended with The Bloodline as Yuta walked out on the ring first followed by Jinyoung, Mina, and Momo until YN and Sana were the last ones. Sana gave a cheeky smile on him in which he blushed before quickly rolling his eyes back and ignoring her to hid it away.

AUGUST 20, 2020 | 3 YEARS AGO

The Japan Combat Federation's World Champion Dong Young-bae or better known by his alias Taeyang is making his entrance to the ramp. The titantron, the raging theme, and his aura as he emerges in the arena perfectly congruent altogether to describe the cursing adrenaline and fueled motivation of him to finally finish his last quest.

That, is in the form of his contender, being his 3rd straight match with him, but this time... the opponent is in another persona as a part of his character, which is Taeyang's biggest challenge because this one's is the final form of Shin Dong-hee: a diabolical, merciless, and beastly character.

Shindong is waiting for Taeyang to join him in the ring as he creepily stalked at the corner. Their eyes had contact, and Taeyang never wore such a terrifying expression before that will match to what he's having today.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you guys have a weak stomatch, please turn away... because this is not going to be pretty." Knight warned to the viewers. "Dong Taeyang and "The Sinister" Shin Donghee finally clash here tonight at Superslam."

Taeyang enters the ring, leaps at the ropes and stares down a hole at Shindong before doing his taunt and proudly showed the golden telt in his grasp.

"Taeyang promised to show the world the evil son of a bitch they have ever seen before." Kwangsoo reminded. "And now he stands before us as a World Champion tonight."

"This is a Falls Count Anywhere match. That means you pick up the victory in this building, to be out of the street as a matter of fact. Taeyang, Shindong, for the World Championship title." Knight explained the rules to anybody who might have forget how does the stipulation works.

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

5 minutes after the bell rang to officially start the match, the two collided with all their last stored might at one another, sending them all around in the arena.

Taeyang rudely kicks Shindong's face while he is crawling away in the ramp from him. "I've never seen this side of Taeyang before." Knight commented as they continue to watch him assaulting Shindong.

Taeyang picks up Shindong and threw him to the LED screen of the entrance way. "C'mon, Shinister!", he mocked as he weakly kicked his face then bounced his head on the screen.

Both went to the curtain, Taeyang punches Shindong leading him inside to the backstage area where the producers monitoring the match left and gave space for the two behemoths to proceed hurting each other while sparing theirselves from harm.

Taeyang fires a blow on Shindong's stomatch before attempting to lift him up for a powerslam but the latter refuses and fights back, pummeling Taeyang with multiple arm hits on the spine.

The two exchanged hits until Shindong took the advantage and threw Taeyang into the wall, shoulder and arm first on the bump. Shindong grabbed him again and he drove him on the other side of the wall after.

Shindong positioned Taeyang to prepare executing his finishing manoever, the Kiss Of Death where he kisses his opponent's forehead first before he rotates along with the head, slamming the face backwards straight at the ground.

He perfectly performed it, putting Taeyang unconscious for good. "That's gotta be it. No one's getting up from that." Kwangsoo reacted.

"And the cover now by The Shinister to win the Japan World Championship"

"1...2..."

Taeyang swayed his arm away, lifting his shoulder up to break the count and kick out at two. Shindong sat beside his beatened foe, and maniacally laughs at how Taeyang is determined to hold on and willing to take more pain just so he could submit once and for all under his hellish brute power.

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

Another 5 minutes have passed, Shindong and Taeyang's fight returned to the ring. Taeyang who is now leading the match under his control, is carrying Shindong's body over his shoulder to attempt for a second repeat of his own finisher, a running powerslam.

He ran, turned, jumped and drilled Shindong's body down on the mat. He hooked his leg and the referee began to count. "1...2..." but Shindong kicked out again.

"And if you're Taeyang you're gonna start wondering what the hell do I need to do to keep The Shinister down?" Knight stated as the camera flashes at Taeyang with bloody head muttering something out of rage in which it urged him to hammer fist Shindong's face repeatedly before screaming in anger on his front.

Taeyang rolled out of the ring and slowly walked around the ringside before he noticed something on the floor. A laid out opened toolbox with its contents scattered. He squatted and picked up a sharp object as he stared at it with fascination.

With a cruel idea, he reentered the ring and guards Shindong who is still down. He kneeled on the vacant space and looked at the sharp object around his hand as he lets out a frightening laugh.

"The hell is Taeyang gonna do with a damn box cutter?" Knight confusedly asked before the answer was thrown at him when Taeyang started to slice through the mat of the ring.

"Taeyang is exposing the wood inside the ring." Kwangsoo replied as Taeyang spreads and tears off the thin foam and the canvas away to make the wood surface visible.

After he finished doing a little work to assist his plans, he turned around only to see a fully recovered Shindong standing and staring intimidatingly at him.

Taeyang immediately charges at Shindong but he catches him, hooking his arm around and squashes him down with a urinagi straight into the exposed ring area.

He wasn't done yet, as the tables suddenly flipped, Shindong snatches the opportunity where he grabs the critically damaged Taeyang and sets him up again for a Kiss Of Death on the woodened surface in which he did succeed.

"Wait what? The Shinister isn't done yet?" Knight was baffled and even Kwangsoo as they thought Shindong is going to pin Taeyang already but it looks like the monster isn't finished yet with his agenda.

Shindong positioned Taeyang again on his hold, head locked around thd arm for another Kiss Of Death on the wood.

He finally covers Taeyang's completely knock- outed body and the referee counts. "1...2...3."

The bell rang on the signal and the timekeeper handed the world title belt on the referee as the entrance theme of Shindong played across the interior of the arena.

"Here is your winner and the NEW Japan Combat Federation World Champion, "The Shinister" Shin Donghee!!!" ring announcer Song Jihyo yelled into the microphone to declare the win for the brand new victorious champion.

"The Shinister is a champion again." Knight acknowledged Shindong's second world title run after winning it last year in 2019.

"Once more, darkness reigns over the Federation." Kwangsoo said. Shindong snatches the championship belt away from the hands of the referee who is presenting it in front of him.

He slowly rose from his feet and exhaustedly stood to raise his arms up with the belt in his hand to celebrate his another achievement before he sensed something danger coming against him.

He glanced at the side and the entire world went stunned when a familiar person appeared on the scene, tackling Shindong down with an emphatic spear before aggressively punching him in the head.

"What the- who the hell?!"

"You know who the hell is he!"

"OH MY GOD IT'S YUTA NAKAMOTO!!! THE GUARDIAN OF NCTIZEN IS BACK, AND HE'S BEATING THE HELL OUT OF THE NEW WORLD CHAMPION!!!" Knight exclaimed as they keep on witnessing the returning Yuta Nakamoto in action after being on a hiatus for months due to suffering from a virus infection since 2020 was when the pandemic started and spreads out around the globe, affecting all the people in every different countries.

All the fans watching that were visible on the screens provided as a temporary replacement for the arena's set-up during the pandemic were all making the different shapes of reaction to Yuta's return: shock, disapproval, and hype.

"And now he's got his eyes set on The Punisher!" Knight said as Yuta glanced at the weakened Taeyang on the ringside. He rolled out at the other side and starts to run towards at Taeyang to unleash a massive spear into his midsection.

"DID YOU TWO SERIOUSLY FORGOTTEN ABOUT ME?!" Yuta asked, talking to both Shindong and Taeyang who were taken out by him. He looked down at Taeyang laid on his feet. "I MADE YOU! DON'T ACT LIKE YOU'RE THE BIGGEST THREAT AS LONG AS I'M HERE!"

Yuta went to the timekeeper's area and grabbed a steel chair with him which he used to brutally smash it on Taeyang's back and his left arm.

"Yuta Nakamoto is mangling the chair out of the fallen body of Dong Taeyang!" Kwangsoo said.

Yuta threw away the chair bended in half and went back in the ring to set his sight on target at Shindong crawling in fours. He stood at the corner and prepares himself to create another attack on the champion.

"The Shinister, the World Champion has no idea what's going on. He has no idea where he's at. He was blindsided by Nakamoto moments ago." Knight said as they all wait for Shindong to realize the pain he's about to take.

Yuta charged and speared Shindong again for the second time. He stood up and fixed his shirt as he breathes out the effects of the impact he showed tonight.

"Yuta Nakamoto is back with an empathic statement."

Yuta observed something beside the unconscious Shindong. The golden belt in the ground, he grabbed it and admiringly looked at it as he switches his gaze to the current holder of it.

"What is this? You think you can handle the responsibility?" Yuta asks Shindong as he threatens him while holding the belt. "So this is what's all for, huh? No. You're just a freak, out of your mind. I'm the man. I'm the guy, I'm the one."

The show ended with Yuta Nakamoto officially makes his return back in Japan Combat Federation as Shindong's new challenger for the World Championship in which everyone didn't see that coming.

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

AUGUST 28, 2020 | 1 WEEK LATER

The general manager of both main rosters, Monday Night War and Friday Night Knockdown Bang Sihyuk knocks on the door thrice to drew the attention of the occupant inside.

"Yuta, it's me Bang Sihyuk!" he exclaimed. Not having any responses by receiving a "get in!" signal or the door opening for him, Sihyuk had no other choice but to do it by himself, muttering "Alright, then" under his breath.

He entered the locker room, meeting Yuta inside who is organizing his things. "Oh thank God you're here, I was looking for you everywhere."

He opened the folder, showing the paper content inside of it to Yuta. "Here's the official contract for your Triple Threat match at Retribution."

"Let's see this thing."

"I'll show it to you."

Sihyuk handed the ballpen to Yuta but he didn't grabbed it from him. "I'm gonna check this out first with someone. Is that alright?"

"Yeah. Go. Sure, take your time." Sihyuk nodded before he left the locker room. Yuta picks up his phone and made a phone call, informing somebody that he finally received it and got updated in return that "he" is on his way now in the arena.

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

Two matches has passed for tonight's show, Sihyuk decided to check over Yuta regarding the contract signing.

He entered his locker room again, and in his surprise, he recognized a very familar individual sitting beside Yuta on the couch.

"A-are you done, now?" Sihyuk asks Yuta who is reading the contract.

He massaged his chin, pursed his lips and popped it before he speaks. "Let me tell you this, I want you to fix the changes that I need. I assure you right now, I will be on Retribution this Sunday. That is a promise." Yuta said to Sihyuk who is switching looks to him and the other person with them in the room.

"I will be in the Triple Threat match, destroy everyone and vanish. That's a guarantee, and I will win back the World Championship that I never lost in the FIRST PLACE." Yuta added, referring to his previous reign that was unfortunately cut short with regards to his health condition where he was forced to vacate the title as a consequence for taking a time off away from the company.

"And that's not just a prediction..." He turns his head to the side, now his and Sihyuk's attention are both glued at this mysterious person making the general manager distracted. Grinning from ear to ear, he looked back at Sihyuk to end his statement.

"... that's a spoiler."

The camera's frame widens, revealing the identity of the man, who is none other than one of the most legendary managers in pro-wrestling and combat entertainment history who held many iconic fighters that ever stepped foot in the industry, Park Jinyoung.

He leans forward to make his words clearer to hear for Sihyuk. "Believe. That."

Him and Yuta looked at each other with an interesting smirk as they nod their heads, teasing everyone who is watching at their homes about their newly formed affiliation.

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

AUGUST 30, 2020 | 2 DAYS LATER

Japan Combat Federation held their Retribution pay-per-view in Hokkaido. The show's main-event features the Triple Threat match which includes the rivals Dong Taeyang, "The Shinister" Shin Donghee, and Yuta Nakamoto who is making his first match since his months-length of absence.

Strangely enough, the match started with only Taeyang and Shindong present in the ring when the referee signalled for the bell to rang immediately as Taeyang plowed Shindong to the back of his neck while he was performing his entrance in the ring.

They forgot about Yuta supposedly to be included also in the match, and it proceeded instead with only Taeyang and Shindong fighting each other off for the World Championship.

"Taeyang going after at The Shinister, still upset after what happened last week."

Taeyang ran through Shindong and collided his body on him at the corner before lifting him all over and slam him down on the mat.

He made a quick cover, looking to end the champion earlier than expected. "1...2..." but Shindong kicks out.

Taeyang just laughs at the toughness of Shindong until the latter just stood back up like a possessed madman, only to be caught when Taeyang drives him to the turnbuckle and deliver some right hand shots and headbutts before he tries to splash him again on the corner.

However, Shindong finally manages to prevent the Punisher by blocking him with a crossbody, two heavyweights involved in a collision.

Shindong stalks Taeyang who is groaning in pain. He sets him up for a Kiss of Death and he nailed it. A cover was made "1...2..." but Taeyang kicks out.

Taeyang crawls out of the ring. Shindong pursues the challenger but Taeyang caught him with a choke, then a knee to the stomach and elbow shots at the back. He was about to smash his head on the edge of the ring but Shindong counters, taking his turn to attack with his own hits and returns the attempt back at Taeyang, bouncing his head off at the ring.

The two titans continues to apply pain at ond another. Shindong wraps Taeyang and performs a urinagi slam to him right through the announce table as it exploded on the impact.

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

Their grueling and intense fight created a slightly similar feel to their match back at Superslam when both of them were now brawling at each other around the ring.

Shindong punches Taeyang on the stomach and sets him up again for another Kiss Of Death but on the steel ramp this time but Taeyang was able to block him with a headbutt to the forehead, escaping from his possession.

He punches Shindong on the face. Noticing that he is now standing at the end of the stage, Taeyang did an unbelievable spot by pouncing at Shindong and send theirselves crashing through the tables stacked below.

"We anticipated chaos and destruction, but these two have no bounds." Kwangsoo said.

Taeyang slowly gets off from Shindong's side and continues to hammer his fists around his face. He stands up and leaned at one of the equipment machines for the stages to heavily breath off his exhaustion caused by the ongoing battle.

Afte resting a little, he pulls Shindong's hair upwards and carried him all the way back in the ring.

Taeyang climbs at the top rope, looking to fly and land through Shindong to apply more damage but the immortal-like ability of Shindong assists him to recover eventually and fires an uppercut at Taeyang's face.

Shindong joins Taeyang on the turnbuckles and proceeded to attack him.

"These two entities, these two monsters climbing at the top of the ring."

"There's a great deal of humanity in the ring ropes even though neither of these were close to being a human"

Shindong clutches Taeyang's head around his arm and sets him up on the corner before performing a superplex to the top rope, and in everybody's bewilderment and amusement, the ring collapses at the massive impact it took.

"Oh my goodness, The Shinister has Taeyang in position for a superplex! O-OH MY GOD!"

"WHAT THE HELL! THE RING IMPLODED!" Knight and Kwangsoo reacted in utter awe as they watched the ring bounce and deconstruct. The posts bended, the ropes untangled, the referee was yeeted out of the ring, both fighters down in the destroyed battleground.

The arena then played Yuta's entrance theme, alarming everyone who might've forgotten already that Yuta is still included in the match. "And at this moment, with both men down. Here comes the Guardian of NCTizen, with Park Jinyoung in tow."

Yuta with a steel chair in hand emerged along with Jinyoung holding the contract for him. He took out the ballpen and gave it to Yuta for him to sign the contract.

Yuta starts to march in the ramp with steel chair in his hand as a weapon, completely legal based on the No Holds Barred rules.

He entered the collapsed ring, rolled Shindong around to pin him but he noticed that no referee was present anymore. He commanded one from backstage to get out and substitute.

One listened and runs through the ring to count. "1...2..." It's too late as Shindong kicks out at two, much in Yuta's disbelief.

He shook his head, then proceeded to hook Shindong's leg again for another cover. "1...2..." and a kick out still.

Yuta panics. He decided to switch to Taeyang and cover. "1....2..." but yet also, the Punisher is still holding on to his strength.

He figures out what to do next. He grabs again the steel chair that he left on the ringside and starts smashing it on Taeyang's back repeatedly.

Yuta pins Taeyang again, thinking it might finally work "1...2.." but still, it wasn't enough as Taeyang refuses to stay down.

Yuta confusedly looked at Taeyang and wondering why is he still fighting with everything he can when he knew he's losing the advantage of the match.

He tried to attack Shindong next with a steel chair but it prevented Yuta when he chokes him out with a mandible claw manouvre stuffing his fingers down into Yuta's throat only to receive a low blow on his crotch.

Him enduring the pain sends him rolling out of the ring. Yuta covers his mouth to ease the pain that he felt on that part before ficusing back on the action, setting himself on the corner as he eyed Taeyang slowly getting up back to his knees.

As Taeyang rotates, Yuta engaged a spear to him, putting him down. He covered Taeyang for the third and final time.

"1...2...3."

The referee signalled for the bell and Yuta's entrance theme played. "Here is your winner and the NEW Japan Combat Federation World Champion, Yuta Nakamoto!!!"

Jinyoung laughs and applauds for Yuta on the stage as he watches him being presented by the golden belt. Yuta grabs it and accepts the declaration by the referee to raise his arm in victory.

"Nakamoto regaining the title he never lost." Knight said at the aftermath of the main event.

"Listen, Yuta did exactly what he filed to do but I don't think Yuta even expected it to do this way. It doesn't matter anyway, because we got a brand new World Champion!"

"But wait, Kwangsoo. What about the way Yuta did this? He waited for the opportunity. He walked down here, signed the contract on the way to the ring..."

"...exactly what Yuta said he's going to do. Destroy everyone and vanish."

The show ended with Yuta approaching Jinyoung praising him for his title win, marking the beginning of his historic championship reign in the main roster of Japan Combat Federation.

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

SEPTEMBER 4, 2020 | 5 DAYS LATER

For this week's episode of Friday Night Knockdown, the brand new World Champion Yuta Nakamoto and Park Jinyoung are both scheduled to appear tonight for a segment, to address everyone and explain about their relationship.

Yuta with his golden belt around his shoulder, standing beside Jinyoung with a usual microphone in his hand fitting for his expertise.

"Just when you thought I was out, HE... pulled me back in." Jinyoung starts his speech, pointing his finger at Yuta staring seriously at one of the cameras recording them live.

"Oh please, don't make fools out of yourselves and embarass yourselves pointing your accusatory fingers at me for corrupting him, because I assure you... HE is corrupting ME."

"Let me ask you a question, what happened to the thank yous, the appreciation to all the selfish executive decisions through life-threatening illneses this man has delivered?"

"Let me tell you this one time, so you can get this into your thick unappreciative skulls. Ladies and gentlemen, my name... is Park Jinyoung, and I serve as the special adviser for YOUR Empire Chief, YOUR reigning, defending, undisputed World Heavyweight Champion... Yuta Nakamoto.", Jinyoung said, announcing to everyone his role in Yuta's life while introducing a new side into the man's entire personality.

He handed the microphone to Yuta, while he remained behind and watch him patiently.

"I'm a man of my word." Yuta speaks out his message. "I did exactly what I was about to do in Retribution. I signed the contract, I destroyed Shindong, I destroyed Taeyang and I left as your World Heavyweight Champion."

"At Battle Of The Champions, I don't care who I am gonna face. Monster or man, watch them get enslaughtered by me because THIS IS MY TERRITORY."

"And when you have this kind of power, all you have to do... is show up and win."

After they ended the segment, they walked through the backstage to make their leave on the arena. In the middle of their way, Yuta plastered a grin on his face as he get to crossed paths with one of his cousins, YN Myoui who is clapping his hands loud enthusiastically.

"OH YES SIRRR! LOOK WHO IT IS!" YN shakes hand with Yuta. "WELCOME BACK, THE NEW WORLD CHAMPION!"

He waved at Jinyoung who nodded and smiled at him. "Oh man, you really made our family proud! Yo, I've been texting you for a whole week, man. What were you up to?"

"I'm sorry, man. I was busy, alright?"

He commanded Jinyoung to go first and prepare the car for him.

"Can I ask you something, man?"

"What is it?"

"What's with you and JYP?" He asked intriguingly with a mix of doubt in his tone. "After all he'd put you in, bro? You trust him?"

"Wait, don't worry. I know, okay. I got it under control", Yuta calms down YN, understanding his point knowing that Jinyiung has been once a manager of some of his previous best rivals throughout his career.

"Everything is all in line, just let me handle this okay?"

"If you need somebody to watch your back, you know I got you. Always."

"I know. I love you, man but I have to go." Yuta bid his farewell to his cousin who still has a match upcoming for tonight.

"Okay. See ya!" He watches Yuta walk away, but he just remembered something when Yuta was already quite far away from him already."

"Wait, yo! Wanna grab some steak with me after the show ends?"

As expected, Yuta couldn't hear his invitation anymore.

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

Jinyoung received a notification from his phone while he is in the middle of driving.

He tapped the screen to check, the information displayed on it.

As he quickly reads it to maintain his focus more on the road, he blinked his eyes rapidly when he understood what the update is sharing.

"Uhm, sir..." he called at Yuta who is busy playing a game on his phone.

"What?"

"Did you know that YN had a match earlier tonight?"

"No." Yuta answered. "He did?"

"Yes sir."

"What's the match and the result?"

Jinyoung cleared his throat before speaking as he wasn't sure what his Empire Chief would feel about this.

"Mr. Sihyuk organized a Fatal 4-Way match earlier with the winner to be the number one contender and your first challenger for your World Championship at Battle Of The Champions-

"Yeah, I knew that he will." Yuta replied, interrupting his sentence. He then furrowed his eyebrows and paused the game. "Wait, so YN is in the match?"

"Y-Yes, sir...

... and he won the match too."

Yuta slowly raised his head and stared at the reflection of the nervous Jinyoung in the rearview mirror as his reaction to the unexpected information that was given to him.

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