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writerpeach · 1 year

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Morning Mating

IVE Yujin x m!reader

⚠ tags: smut, breeding, squirting, reverse daddy kink

7100 words

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The sun would not be the first to rise today.

Even the thinnest bed sheet felt heavy wrapped around your sore muscles. You checked the damage, the usual—dark lipstick prints on your chest, bruises on your neck, and rope marks on your wrists. Rolling onto your back, you let out a deep sigh and stared up at the ceiling, getting lost in a sea of stars that didn’t exist.

Your first mistake was taking a glance to your right. Crumpled black silk sheets barely covered up the woman underneath as she sat up in bed with long, enticing legs poking through the other side.

Yujin—both the name you screamed and the woman you slept with last night. Also, the woman you slept with the night before. The night before that, too. Actually, she hadn’t spent a night without occupying the opposite side of your bed for the entire week. Another peek to your right—maybe her naked body being hidden this early in the morning was a blessing in disguise. Morning wood was already difficult enough to deal with as is.

When Yujin awoke, her pretty lips parted into a smile, waking you up better than the strongest cup of coffee ever could. Every time you woke up with her in your bed, you couldn't believe such an ethereal goddess existed. Her eyes looked up—those dazzling chestnut eyes that sparkled with a gaze so intense you drowned in them, before she offered the softest lips that kissed you and made the perfect start to the day. Yujin tasted the best before the sun came up.

“Good morning to you too,” she whispered, giggling gently when you kissed the crook of her neck beneath silken hair that flowed like a waterfall, hints of coconut wafting through the air. She let out tiny gasps as you trailed kisses along her collarbone before your path ended at her exposed shoulder. You stopped yourself before getting too carried away.

Yujin, on the other hand—always had other plans, tossing the sheets off her flawless body like the reveal of a brand new car, but with something far more valuable underneath. Your second mistake was not looking away as she flaunted her deadly, naked curves with unparalleled beauty that would give a supermodel self-doubt.

Looking up at the time was your third mistake—you sighed heavily. “I have to head to the office this morning.”

It was the most regrettable sentence you had ever spoken. You shouldn’t have said anything and should have just taken the day off. It wasn’t like work wouldn’t function without you. Yujin frowned faintly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The first traces of morning began to shine through the curtains, illuminating her pale skin.

“For what?” she asked, tilting her head while she laid on her side, fingers enticingly dancing over your bare skin.

“Someone has to pay for this luxury apartment you spend most of your time in. These bills aren’t going to pay themselves.”

Her brow furrowed, as though she was dissatisfied with your response. “No, no. That’s not going to happen. Daddy isn’t going to leave this bed until you fill my womb again. You only came inside me twice last night, and that isn’t good enough. But it sounds like daddy would rather work than breed me again…”

“That’s not it,” you said, another heavy sigh leaving your chest, but you didn’t have time to explain yourself.

“No, go ahead. Daddy can waste all day at work, but there won’t be anyone left in this warm bed when you come home.”

“Yujin—”

“Well? Shouldn’t you get going? Or have you come to your senses and you’d rather have my legs wrapped around you while you unload inside me again?”

It was impossible to say no to such a beautiful face, so Yujin took your silence as an answer and grabbed your bicep, pulling you closer and closer until you were curled up on top of her.

“Daddy won’t go anywhere, right? Just stay here. Stay here forever, daddy,” she said as her slender arms wrapped around your neck, her words more of a demand than a plea. There was no reason to argue after the warm embrace she offered, while her alluring eyes lulled you into a trance.

Yujin’s naked body had always given her an unfair advantage. Your eyes were drawn to every inch of milky skin, but stopped at her glistening shaved mound, and those thick, maddeningly beautiful thighs, which seemed to spread open at just the right moment.

“You’re still here. But my pussy is still empty. Don’t you see the problem, daddy?”

Before you could even come up with a useful response, Yujin cupped your face, drawing your attention away from her twice-fucked cunt and back to her intimidating gaze while she bit down on your lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Her taste lingered, and her kisses were barely kisses at this point, just an excuse to trap you between her lips, while ruffling her fingers through your hair.

"Warm me up when you fuck me this time, daddy. Don't just shove it in me. I’m not even that wet.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Bullshit. You’re always wet around me.”

That smarmy, confident smirk on her features meant you both knew she’d been caught in a lie, and you didn’t even need to look between her legs to call it out. Tangled fingers in your hair pushed you down to your destination, but you took a little detour to kiss every inch of Yujin’s firm, toned midriff, leaving hot breath on her hot body.

Her legs spread further, and your mouth watered at the magnificent view of her enticing cunt, pink flesh damp with arousal that would soon be yours to feast on.

“Make me feel good, daddy,” she ordered, as if you wouldn't seize any opportunity to do so. If Yujin wanted to be warmed up, then you’d make her extra warmed up. Starting with her thighs, those creamy, absolutely divine thighs, you put on a show of appreciating them, peppering them with kisses—first the left, then the right, before returning to where you began, repeating this until every inch became touched by your lips. It was a blessing Yujin had so much thigh to worship.

“Daddy loves my thighs, don’t you? You like it when I squeeze your head with them and suffocate you?"

“Yes, fuck yes, more than anything. I love your thighs mwah, so fucking much,“ you said, but it didn't matter how desperate you sounded as you licked every exposed inch of flesh you could find, you just needed more of Yujin. When you started making your way down towards her center, you felt those eyes watching your every move, urging you to not waste time.

"Then eat me out, and I'll squeeze your head as much as you want, daddy." With no time to spare, you placed a kiss on her lower lips, then licked up that beautiful pink slit, parting her wet, velvety walls with your tongue, abundant wetness finding your lips as you took a taste. Yujin squirmed impatiently while you took the time to explore her beautiful pussy, savoring her delicious sweet nectar—that unforgettable taste that you drank up, desperate for more, and made certain not to miss a delectable drop.

“Daddy, oh fuck, daddy,” she moaned, tossing her head back with a heavy gasp. Yujin tasted nothing short of heaven, a continuous flow of sweet and tangy juices that spilled onto your tongue like a broken faucet, each drop so addicting you couldn’t get enough. You craved Yujin more than oxygen, which was fitting, given that you would rather her luscious thighs smother you.

You carried on eating Yujin’s pussy as if your life depended on it and took fervent licks through her slippery folds until you reached her clit. She groaned, as your lips sealed shut around the sensitive nub, greedily sucking, and maintained eye contact, coercing more slick, messy juices from her sopping cunt. Yujin squealed in response, bucking her hips into your face and gave you what you earned until her thighs turned into earmuffs, providing the right warmth as each one wrapped around either side of your head.

At this rate, your mouth would never leave her cunt. You’d be content to go down on her for hours, even after your lips and tongue became numb and unusable. Now that breathing became secondary, you needed to devour Yujin’s pussy, desperate to taste as much of her as possible and inhale her appetizing aroma.

“Oh fuck, daddy! Nobody eats my pussy like you do. Nobody can make me feel this good. Don't stop, don’t fucking stop."

Her words of encouragement kept your tongue buried inside her warm hole while you licked every spot you could hit, setting every nerve on fire as you held steady pressure on her clit while she writhed underneath you. As you drank from the fountain of Yujin, she grabbed your head and pressed you deeper into her cunt, slender fingers tangled in strands of your hair that she violently tugged on, taking more and more pleasure from you.

“Daddy better make me cum. Make me cum with how good that fucking tongue feels, oh my god—”

Breathing wasn’t an option at this point. Neither were words, both a distant relic. Her eyes stayed locked to yours, full of pure lust, devoid of any innocence. You continued to drown in her juices as she tugged on your hair harder, threatening to rip strands out while her pretty mouth became a conduit for moans and obscenities.

Yujin crept closer to climax with every flick of your tongue, the steady squeeze of her delicious thighs wrapped around your head, encouraging your relentless oral assault. Her nails began to sharply dig into your skull, but you paid no attention to the pain, and only focused on pleasing Yujin. Every breath drawn grew heavier and heavier, a telltale sign of imminent release.

“Daddy, daddy, oh fuck, daddy! You’re gonna make me cum!” Even if the whimpering moans and whines were absent, you could tell how close she was by how frantically she chased your tongue, riding your face until her entire body shook, crumbling and falling apart at the seams.

Yujin was so desperately close—those incredible thighs held you captive while her back arched off the bed, eyes squeezed shut when she let out a guttural cry and hit her peak. Her orgasms were seldom quiet affairs, and this was no exception, as the loud screams and violent twitches her body provided never yielded while she turned your mouth into a waterfall of ambrosia.

Your tongue and lips on her core never let up until Yujin came down from her high, and she quivered at your touch, cheeks flushed and panted heavily. For the first time in several moments, you could take a breath, not that you would prefer that to the divine taste that filled your lips as her last wave of euphoria passed. Only then did the grip loosen around your head, a regrettable loss when you began cleaning up Yujin’s messy, honey-covered thighs.

“Daddy, you’re not done. I need more. You’ll give me more, won’t you? You always do.”

Yujin was right—she knew your major weakness was how damn whipped you were for her. One look into her glassy eyes and you couldn’t refuse anything she asked.

“Yes, Yujin. Of course I’ll make you cum again. I’ll make you cum as many times as you want,” you said, caressing her thighs and dipped back down to taste her pussy once more.

But before you could dive back in, Yujin pushed you away from the heat between her legs, leaving you with a cold emptiness. “No, don’t use your mouth. Make me cum on your fingers, daddy.”

Disappointing words, given that you were eager to consume more of Yujin's delicious cum, but you’d take any chance you could get to pleasure her in any way possible. She held her gaze, with eyes so round and sparkling that told you not to dawdle, so you didn't, and slipped a single finger inside her tight pussy that clenched, drawing you down into the hilt.

“More. More, daddy, make me cum again.” When Yujin gave an order, you never disobeyed. Your second finger joined in, both pumping in time with her rapid breaths. Her walls became so slick and slippery wet that every thrust swallowed up your fingers and only allowed withdrawal after they had been drenched with copious amounts of arousal.

“Oh god, daddy, that feels so good—faster, daddy, faster!” She didn’t even pretend to keep her eyes open while your fingers curled inside her, hitting that sweet spot over and over again. There was no point in holding back now, so your fingers drilled into her and filled the space within her, moving frantically as you could.

The more you pumped into that hot, wet abyss, the deeper her cries grew, and it became easier to bury two fingers inside her until you managed a third, making the wet squelch of her cunt more prominent. The rhythm stayed harsh, and your fingers remained drenched, but it would be all for nothing if you couldn’t make Yujin cum one more time, which wouldn’t be possible unless you had a sudden hand cramp.

Yujin had long outgrown groans, devolving into ear-piercing screams of ecstasy while her core ached for release, grabbing your wrist while she felt that pressure boiling in her center. The inescapable tension coiled with only one way to uncap it, and she was well on her way to doing so. Her thighs quivered, toes curled and dug into the sheets she couldn’t stop writhing on, until—

“Daddy!” she cried out, legs trembling out of control while her second orgasm forced your fingers out of her cunt with the strength of a broken fire hydrant, clear liquid violently gushing out and baptizing your upper torso. The sheets no longer became a place of rest, but a tarp for Yujin’s explosive climax that was sure to soak through your mattress.

Her legs refused to stop shaking, but the firm grip on your wrist meant you couldn’t stop either, not even while Yujin could hardly control any aspects of her body. You rubbed her clit in rapid-fire circles, determined to earn every last drop of pleasure that caused Yujin to continuously spray like a fire-hose, turning your mattress into a flash flood.

Yujin squirted all over you so many times that you lost count, but you savored being showered in her abundant cum as you furiously rubbed at her center until she tapped out. "No more, daddy. No more, please—"

Just a few more circles on her clit, until her orgasms became a kinked hose, turning into nothing more than dribble. You couldn't keep a grin off your face when you withdrew your hand from between her drenched legs, even if you needed a towel desperately after being caught in the downpour of Yujin’s sweet rain.

Regardless of the state the sheets were in, Yujin wasn’t bothered by the juices that had stained them, and remained as insatiable as ever, although she was on the verge of collapsing. Her eyes expressed it all—intense satisfaction, blissful exhaustion and gratitude while the deep red flush of her cheeks contrasted against milky white skin.

“Daddy, I’m warmed up. Fuck me.” she urged, breathless. “I need you inside of me.”

Yujin didn't even give you a chance to take another breath before pulling you back on top of her, stroking your ignored cock to full mast. “I need this inside me right now. You won’t keep me waiting will you, daddy?”

Shivers ran up your spine every time Yujin spoke that magical, double syllable word, her lustful voice dripping with seduction, making you eager to do whatever she wanted. She didn’t wait for an answer, and guided your cock against her enticing wet opening with a grip so harsh it became borderline painful—not that you would complain.

"Daddy's going to stuff this massive fucking cock into my tiny little pussy. Then you’re going to breed me—again, and again, and again."

With each word out of Yujin’s mouth, her tone became more laced with venom. You found it difficult not to comply—but you'd eagerly open your mouth for her to spit her poison down your throat. As always, she managed to pull you into her web, her deep desires becoming your own.

Yujin skipped the pleasantries—the teasing, the anticipation, the gradual penetration into her body that let you take in every morsel of her wet, inviting pussy. It was unfair, to be honest. Yet any complaints vanished in a flash when Yujin grabbed your hips and pulled you inside her. One stroke was all it took before you buried your shaft inside her overwhelmingly tight walls, making you gasp when you felt her hot silky flesh wrapping around your throbbing length that her juices soaked.

Under Yujin’s command, your hips moved as she directed your thrusts into her divine heat, but felt so wet that you might have slipped out without the clenching walls that wouldn’t let you escape.

“Balls deep, daddy,” Yujin demanded, and grabbed your ass to pull you in deeper. Her eyes were more hungry than usual, and nothing less would satisfy her. So you took no hesitation when you bottomed her out, with swift and fierce thrusts, while you held her slim waist and filled the space between her legs.

The ultimate challenge came after your first plunge into Yujin, when every throbbing inch disappeared into that wet, clamping heat that threw your senses off balance. After all, you made her cunt like this, so utterly drenched from the cyclone of pleasure unleashed on your mattress that fucking her like this, at the frantic rate she wanted was effortless.

“Daddy better fuck me harder. You’re not tired already, are you?”

“N-no, of course not. Just getting started,” you said, as you pumped into her slick hole at a much faster rate, pushing the tempo until it became dangerously close to unsustainable.

“Much better, daddy. You're going to blow your load inside me, but not right now. Not until I enjoy being fucked like a whore.” Despite your already exhausting pace, her commanding words added more fuel to your thrusts, and even though you wanted to preserve every ounce of stamina, you couldn't help but pound away into her as if your hips had lost control.

As she dictated your thrusts, you found it impossible not to get lost in her sultry gaze, or the moans and cries of pleasure that escaped her throat. The look on her face demanded your rapid pace never faltered, as did the two assisting hands that kept squeezing your ass, pulling you deeper and deeper into her body.

“Daddy better blast that load inside my tight pussy and pump all that hot cum into my womb. Fuck, I can’t wait to feel daddy’s cum dripping out of me again.”

The level of lewdness her words held nearly caused you to erupt right then and there. Almost. As much as you would have enjoyed such an abrupt early conclusion, you knew the next round would be a test of your resolve.

So you savored what you could while Yujin’s fingers gripped your ass tighter and caused dizzying spikes of pleasure that made your head spin while you took in heavy breaths, sweat accumulating on your naked bodies the harder your muscles worked.

“That’s it, daddy, fuck me hard just like that. God, you’re stretching me so well, you know that? Just keep fucking me like that until you cum, don’t even think about anything else. My pussy is going to drain everything out of daddy’s balls.”

After one last squeeze, Yujin’s soft hands left your ass, and to further emphasize her point—those perfect, long, luscious legs wrapped around your waist, forcing you deeper inside her slick core while her hands clamped onto the back of your neck, tugging you down toward her sweaty torso.

“Now daddy can’t cum anywhere but inside me.”

Not that you'd do anything else—but now all you had control over was the rhythmic motion of your hips, as Yujin’s legs and arms coiled around you tight, like a snake trapping its prey. When you buried your face into the crook of her neck, continuing your relentless plunges into that orgasmic wet warmth, Yujin clawed at your back, digging her nails into your flesh deep enough to leave rough marks.

"Oh my god, Yujin. Your tight little cunt makes my dick feel so good,“ you moaned, with unabated pumps that pushed you closer to the edge, the muscles in your thighs set ablaze while you chased release with more urgency than you ever had before.

“Don’t you dare hold it in. Hurry up and breed me, daddy. Fill me like you promised.”

One last push—her legs squeezed tighter while the dripping walls of her cunt swallowed you into the warm depths that refused to let go no matter what. The scratches etched into your back from her nails digging in deeper would take days to fade, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

“You’re gonna make me cum, Yujin. God, you’re gonna make me cum so fucking hard.” Past the point of no return, you let out the first in a series of deep guttural grunts when you buried your shaft into Yujin’s wet heat, frantically throbbing, and unloaded everything stored up in your balls.

Your desperate cries of pleasure weren’t solo while you emptied into Yujin’s impatient cunt—she joined you in vocalizing her own pretty moans when your hot seed filled her to the brim, and the way she clung on to you helped further extend your climax, ensuring your balls were more than emptied.

At the mercy of Yujin’s whims, all you could do in that moment was pump more cum into her, aided by the slick gripping walls of her cunt that welcomed every hot thick spurt filling her insides with copious creamy semen. The harsh twitches and throbs didn’t cease while her pussy desperately milked your cock dry, not letting a single drop escape, and even after that, you couldn't stop thrusting into her cunt, pushing your messy hot load further and further.

“Just like that, daddy. Fill my womb with that huge load, fill me up deep. Mmm, it feels so thick and warm inside my pussy.”

Yujin might be the only woman who could almost make you cum again just by words. But little by little, your hips slowed down until the rhythm was barely noticeable, and eased out of her cunt inch by inch, escaping her creamy folds.

Right when you left her sticky warmth, Yujin released the forceful grip her limbs held around your body, and sat up on the mattress at a perfect angle with thighs wide open. With her freshly fucked pussy lips spread wide open, you both watched your cum flow out of her—a slow-moving white waterfall flow that stained her thighs.

“Look how much you came inside me. Do you like watching your cum drip out of me, daddy?” she asked with panting breaths, dipping one finger into her cream-filled cunt and lewdly licking it clean.

Out of breath, you couldn’t collect enough syllables to respond, so a simple nod would have to suffice as you pulled away from her voluptuous body. When you laid down for a momentary rest, it was just that—momentary.

Yujin didn't leave your lap empty for long, straddling you right away and toying with your chest, fingers teasing your nipples. Your labored breaths took their sweet time to settle, but Yujin ruined your respite when she used her warm tongue to take a long drag against the side of your face, and nibbled on your earlobe.

Hot breath filled your ear, and soon after, so did her soft whispers.”You’re not done breeding me, daddy. I’m going to ride your dick until those balls ache, you better give me all the cum you have left.”

Once again, Yujin’s angelic voice left you in a questionable state of arousal as your eyes roamed her glistening, sweaty body, still able to see the remnants of your cum dripping from her pussy. Her towering stature made her appear like a true amazon goddess perched on top, but you had little time to soak in the scenery when her slippery lower lips began grinding on your shaft, kissing your cock and awakening your soreness.

“Y-Yujin, please, I’m still—”

“Sensitive?” Yujin asked, finishing your sentence with a bitter smirk between her lips that she put to good use, silencing any further protests when she kissed you—the first gentle kiss of the night.

“It doesn’t matter, daddy. You’ll keep making me cum on that cock, I know you will.”

After taking in a deep breath, you let it out slowly to brace yourself for what was to come. Yujin's devious stare wandered, but never left your sight, leaving you on the edge of your seat with anticipation.

You couldn't take your gaze away from her eyes the entire time she stroked your cock, every pump a jumble of pain and pleasure while she lined herself up and found the correct angle to lower her creampied pussy onto you. You both gasped and groaned, but it was impossible to tell who was the loudest.

“Oh my god, daddy—”

Those impossibly slick lips were difficult to deal with on a regular day, but in a post-orgasm haze, even the smallest movement delivered torturous pleasure and smeared the collective cocktail of arousal all over your sensitive shaft.

Quicker than your next heartbeat, Yujin sank down to the hilt without warning, letting her wet heat engulf your throbbing length. Her expression told it all—even with eyes tightly closed, you could see the obvious signs of how much she enjoyed the sensation of being filled.

“Daddy, you’re so big. I don’t know how I can fit all of you inside my little pussy,” she said, eyes widening whenever she hit the base of your cock. Maybe it was the fact that she was so goddamn wet, or how many times you filled her on a daily basis that you could have lived inside her tight warmth.

It started like it always did—quiet. Yujin kept those soft, frigid, perfectly manicured hands stationed on your chest, but they were never idle, even after impaling herself balls deep. They always held a purpose, either playing with your nipples, caressing your biceps, or tracing her name into your abdomen.

You knew the instant Yujin lifted her hips you’d be thrown into the deep end, and right on schedule, she did just that. But she stalled—like time froze, allowing you to see the sticky juices on your shaft when only the tip remained. That emptiness was short-lived as she slammed her plump ass on your crotch, using those impeccably toned legs to bounce on your dick, and gyrated her hips whenever she bottomed out.

“Daddy’s cock feels so good. I might ride you all night, your cock just feels too damn good to not be inside my pussy.” And the scary thing was you knew Yujin was serious, that she’d make you go the entire night without a break if she wanted to.

She took the most direct route, with forceful slams down on your cock that were anything but gentle. Already, you were feeling overwhelmed, as the tremendous sensitivity in your loins revealed itself at the worst possible time. But Yujin didn’t care—this was what she loved, what she thrived on, what she got off on. It put the proudest smile on her face to have you underneath her while she set the pace, even more so when she pinned your hands behind your head, giving that extra control that allowed her to do anything she wanted to you.

It was difficult to decide whether you liked such a relentless pace, but you had little say in it when the harsh bounces on your cock were harder to handle than usual. But it still felt good—it always felt good, even after pushing through the agony. Yujin used those wide heavenly hips like she needed to prove her dominance, as if you wouldn’t fold like a deck of cards at the simplest command.

“Please, Yujin, p-please, slow down,” you pleaded, knowing your efforts would be in vain, knowing she would get off on your desperation.

"My pussy too tight, daddy?" she mocked, tilting her head, with no intention of slowing down her brutal pace. Her innocuous question needed no response, but you were too much of a coward to give one, anyway. So she took your entire length with ease, too preoccupied with fucking herself on your glistening length to worry about anything else as every inch slid in and out of her hot, slick center.

Thankfully, the ache in your balls began to fade as Yujin rode your cock, and your state of ecstasy reverted to nothing but waves of pleasure for you to bathe in. “Oh god, Yujin. This feels so good. Your pussy feels so fucking good. You’re so fucking wet and tight, it’s driving me crazy.”

“I know,” Yujin replied with a smug smile, and you weren’t telling her anything she didn’t know, but it still caused her to bounce that round, plentiful ass on your cock at a significantly higher rate while her thighs jiggled to the beat of every stroke.

“You like that, daddy? Do you like me riding your dick this hard?” she asked, those ceaseless bounces she made encouraging your thighs to slap against hers, creating a symphony that you could listen to forever.

“I love it, my god, Yujin. I love it when you ride me like this. The way your tight cunt squeezes my cock so much, fuck—” Never before in your life had you been so content to be this helpless. It was the little things that added up and made you breathless—how Yujin changed the angle she rode you from squatting over your dick to leaning back enough so you could watch your cock disappear while she held your thighs to help fuck herself.

Then there was your favorite variant—the way she rode your cock with reckless abandon while dominating your lips, wrapping those long fingers around your throat and squeezing hard enough to leave you actually breathless.

“Don’t worry, daddy, I know what makes you feel good. I’ll ride your big cock until your balls empty inside me again. And maybe I won’t stop after that. I’ll keep going. I’ll keep riding you until there’s not a single drop left to drain.” There was almost a cackle in her voice. It was arousing, if not a little fear-inducing, knowing she could go on indefinitely, draining you even after the sun came up, using you as an outlet for her indomitable libido. But you wouldn’t fight it—you’d let her use you as long as you had a purpose, even if that purpose was just a hard cock for her to cum on.

“Yujin…” You were suddenly at a loss for words, reduced to nothing but the most desperate groans, a vessel for pleasure under the spell of a merciless rhythm. It was never easy to keep up with her, to match her vivacious energy and insatiable lust, but somehow you managed—for now. After all, there were no real consequences here. Your balls had already been emptied once, so if you repeated it before Yujin took her own climax, she'd just ride you until you could return the favor.

And at this point, it might have been a photo finish to see who could orgasm first. It wasn’t a competition, but even if it was, you’d be too hypnotized by the way Yujin stared down at you to put out any effort. The grip around your neck became tighter while she observed every reaction you made, tracing droplets of sweat with her thumb, as her hips gained more and more momentum until it became almost unbearable to handle.

“Yujin, god, I’m gonna lose it I swear—” Maybe it was the restricted airflow, the heat in the room, or the clenching walls that hadn’t taken a breather from suffocating your aching shaft for the past several minutes, but you felt light-headed, delirious from bliss, with exhaustion creeping up.

But the delicate hand that wasn’t choking you caressed the side of your cheek, and snapped you out of it, forcing your attention back to reality, to the jarring noises of slapping flesh that filled the room and the painful realization that time was always your worst enemy.

You took it all in—the violent pulsations that her cunt made, and the moans that filled your eardrums as Yujin’s tense body craved release. She could cum on your cock at any moment, not a matter of if, but when.

Yujin kept up the vigorous use of your body, grinding her hips back and forth while she slammed down hard on your cock, chasing the inevitable. “Almost there, daddy, fuck!”

At that moment, you didn't care if Yujin forced you to pass out from a lack of oxygen, as her hand wrapped around your throat tighter than a collar on the last notch. The only regret would be not seeing her gorgeous face when she climaxed. But thankfully, you stayed conscious as her pussy pulsated in waves, the supple cheeks of her tight ass bouncing with such intensity, you almost beat her to the finish line.

Down to the wire, you tried everything you could to stay behind, grasping fists full of sheets, gritting your teeth, but your willpower was shattering like broken glass.

Just hold out. Hold out a little longer.

The chant in your head was easier said than done, especially when the glistening set of pink lips gripped your shaft like they were testing you, daring you to take your climax first.

“Oh my god, daddy—I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna fucking cum hard on daddy’s cock, fuck!”

You fought longer than you thought possible until Yujin achieved what you both desired. When her eyelids grew heavy, unable to stay open, the grip on your throat tightened, her moans grew into shrieks, and her entire body trembled as the bed frame rocked with her.

It wasn’t quite as powerful as the previous orgasms from before, but you could still feel Yujin’s slick juices spilling everywhere, her warm walls constricting the hardest they had around your cock, rewarding you for your patience.

“Please, daddy. Cum inside me, breed me, please breed me. I need everything in your balls emptied inside my pussy. You’ll do that, won’t you? Daddy deserves to fill me, daddy deserves to breed me.”

Even as Yujin begged and pleaded, everything that left her lips still sounded like demands. Those two words breed me repeated over and over became an incantation, and finally—you reached the breaking point and spilled your seed into her warm cunt.

Yujin’s eyes opened back up and widened, followed by the brightest smile on her face as she took the last few bounces on your dick. Her fluttering walls milked you once more, as the rhythmic throbs your shaft made delivered a second serving of semen, flowing into her pussy like it was meant to be there. It was the biggest sense of relief; the tension floating away, becoming a loose balloon lost in the wind, and you swore you never came this much in all your life. Yujin’s lustful eyes watched in astonishment every second that she drained you.

But she kept going—riding your cock at the same careless pace, selfishly fucking herself into another shuddering, thigh-quivering orgasm. That devious smirk showed itself again while you squirmed helplessly underneath her as the post-orgasm torture set in all at once.

“Yujin, p-please! No more, I can’t—”

Saying nothing, Yujin made continuous slams that impaled herself to the hilt each time with unknown intentions as you endured every moment of painful pleasure, the twitches and throbs of your cock screaming in protest. Her hips rolled in full circles at the end of one stroke, then gradually lost speed, until she mercifully came to a complete stop.

“Daddy can’t take it anymore?” she asked, her tone settling somewhere between joking and mocking. You shook your head, laying there limp, every muscle in your body groaning in agony.

“Don’t worry, daddy. You filled me plenty.” Yujin gently lifted her body until your cock flopped out of her, and her pussy demonstrated by leaking out the thick dripping creampie that filled her to the brim.

“Fuck, even after I drained you, it’s still so thick. I love the way daddy’s cum feels inside me. So fucking warm—I can’t have any more, right daddy?” she asked, releasing her hand from your throat, then stroking your tired, sore, hypersensitive cock, and gave your balls a squeeze, ensuring she extracted every little last drop from you.

“N-no, please, no. Not right now,” you begged. Two loads taken from you were enough, and if she made you cum again—you'd actually pass out from exhaustion. So for now, Yujin showed satisfaction on her features, as she played with the load inside her cunt, pushing it in deeper, before once again sampling it from her fingers.

“That’s too bad, daddy. I’m so wet just thinking about when I’ll get to milk that cock again.” It was always difficult to comprehend the not-so-innocent words that came out of an innocent creature like Yujin, but then again—she was the furthest thing from innocent. While you waited for your breathing to calm, Yujin grabbed one of your hands, interlocking fingers, as the other ran through your hair and then she kissed the side of your cheek.

“Come on, daddy. Let’s go shower.” So casually she said it, like you could even get up from the cum-stained mattress or still feel the use of your legs. Yet you wondered if you would actually end up clean in there, or if this was a poor excuse to fuck another load into her. As if your balls even had any cum left in them. But the thought of hot water running against your sore muscles did sound appealing, so you mustered what little strength you had left and followed Yujin, watching the hypnotic sway of her hips as your cum still dripped down those perfect thighs.

✦ ✦

“Just relax, daddy.”

It would be difficult not to when hot water flowed down your back, easing the tension out of your muscles. Yujin’s tight frame pressed up against you, helping massage and soap up your body.

“Daddy looks so good naked,” Yujin purred, while she moved over to your back, kissing your shoulder, your neck, then tilted your head to the side, granting access to her sweet lips. You weren’t sure if it was a genuine compliment, or just an attempt to stir up your loins, or both—but you’d take it either way.

“Not as good as you do, Yujin.” You could feel her smile against your lips, as she then grazed her nails over your abdomen, and you half-expected her to grip your cock, but she spun you around to let your eyes take in the wet nakedness of her absolutely divine body. And what a view it was—absolutely breathtaking.

“Daddy, you’re staring,” she teased, while you moved strands of wet hair away from her forehead. It was hard not to. It was hard not to pepper her wet body with kisses, hands around her tiny waist, capturing her those soft lips in a delicate embrace—but kisses were all you had energy left for, using the hot water flowing down as the ideal backdrop. So thankfully, your shower became little more than a means of cleaning up.

You both stepped out squeaky clean, towels hung up, bodies dried off, with fresh linens on the bed, even though the same clothes stayed left sprawled out on the floor. Finally, your first moment of rest came when you laid on your side, nuzzled beside Yujin’s nude body with a hand wrapped around her waist, tucking your head into her shoulder. She insisted on keeping your cock inside her warm cunt, a pleasurable warmth better than the most luxurious blanket, and you insisted on kissing every spot your lips could find.

“Daddy…” she murmured, and you had almost fallen asleep before she interrupted your journey to dreamland. Nestled against her neck, the scent of her freshly shampooed hair smelled lovely, and even though it was your shampoo she used, it smelled much better on her.

It hadn’t been that long since the sun had risen, yet it felt like Yujin had been draining you the entire morning. You made an effort not to make much effort, partly because you didn’t have enough stamina to start another session, and partly because your muscles ached with fatigue. Having Yujin’s pussy warming your cock was far preferable to using any more strength than was necessary.

“Isn’t staying inside me much better than staring at screens or whatever boring things you do all day, daddy?” A simple answer for sure, but it was dangerous how you could dodge responsibilities so easily whenever Yujin wanted. Still, if you wanted to—you couldn’t exactly go in with marks all over your body without some clever explanation, not to mention you felt like you could sleep for several days straight at this point.

“Yujin, I…” You forgot what you were saying—which wasn’t that difficult, especially with your shaft buried in her warmth.

“Yes, daddy? I can feel you twitch. Are you ready to go again?” she asked, and you could hear the teasing laughter in her voice. The temptation was strong, but so was the weakness in your body. You sighed, and the rest of your thoughts vanished. “No, it’s—nothing.”

“Then maybe you should get those balls full again. And maybe I should throw away this stupid birth control. Time to make daddy a real daddy.”

“Yujin.” Your breath hitched as you tried to speak, but no more words came out.

“What, daddy? Don't you wanna knock me up and make my tits nice and swollen? Nobody can fill me up like you can.”

She led your hand down to her belly, rubbing it in circles, as if she could see the future.

“Anything you want, Yujin," you said with zero hesitation.

“Rest up, daddy. The next time you breed me, it'll count. All that seed is going straight to my fertile womb, every last drop."

#ive smut #kpop smut #reader insert #male reader #yujin smut #izone smut #kpop fanfic

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 11 months

Text

Bluebird — Part IV — (Azriel x Reader)

Hey! Here’s Part IIII to this! Thank you for being lovely about it. 💕

Warnings: None for this part!

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Your fingers danced across the piano keys with a mind entirely of their own.

Sheet music sat before you, but you didn’t need to glance at it. This was pure muscle memory. Your favourite piece, memorised note by note. Playing it always felt like breathing for the first time.

Arrival of the Bluebird, it was called. You couldn’t help smiling as you played.

The notes climbed and fell in their flawless way, always like the calming ebb and flow of a tide. You soaked it in, your eyes closed, your skin prickling at the music caressing you—

A soft rustle sounded behind you. A rude awakening.

Two thoughts struck you at that moment.

The first — that you’d never played for anyone but yourself. To have a spectator felt like parading naked through the village.

And the second — that said spectator was, bizarrely, of the same ilk that you had been raised to detest.

A shadow moved in your periphery, and your fingers fell still, the music coming to an abrupt stop.

The creature — Azriel — loomed at your side, his gaze intent on where your hands had sat.

“Beautiful.” He murmured softly. “You play so flawlessly.”

It seemed so, so strange, so wrong, to sit and chat casually with a creature of such bloodshed. Like the tune had washed over you and made you truly aware of the situation. Of the action you’d taken.

You’d let him into your home.

You’d helped him when he’d been more or less incapacitated. When you probably had the advantage to strike and make a killing blow. To rid the world of one of its demons.

And now you were playing music for him. Had he…had he enchanted you, somehow? Some faerie magic, perhaps, that put you at such ease? That made you forget who you were alone in a building with?

Your body was taut as a bowstring as you slowly swivelled on the stool to face him. And his beauty struck you speechless again.

He offered you a smile. One that was small and reserved, and yet held such devastating charm. You quickly forced your eyes away.

“Who taught you to play?” He asked softly.

Your hands twisted around each other as you answered, “I taught myself.”

“Entirely by yourself?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Some people can’t reach such skill even with honed, esteemed pianists to master them. It must be in your blood.”

You’d always thought so. The piano had been here your entire life — your fingers had inched towards it for as long as you could remember.

“I’m told my mother used to play.” You said. That sore spot in your heart stung at the mere mention of the parent you’d never known. “The piano used to be out in the bar area. My father told me that she used to play every night, and people would flock to the inn just to listen.”

There was a heavy, unmissable pause. You were sure you noticed Azriel’s shoulders stiffening out of the corner of your eye.

“Used to?” He asked quietly. “Is she…is she no longer alive?”

You turned your gaze on him, sure it appeared as blazing as you felt. “I never knew her. She was murdered. By your kind.”

“By my kind?”

“By a group of High Fae.”

Another pause. Azriel’s head dipped a fraction, his eyes lowering to the ground.

“That’s awful.” His voice was soft. Unbearably gentle. “I’m truly sorry that you suffered such a loss. However…I’m not High Fae.”

The declaration was enough for you to narrow your gaze on him. He certainly looked High Fae; you were sure there wasn’t a human in the world who carried such flawless beauty, nor the preternatural stillness that only a honed, immortal being could master.

Azriel smiled wryly, like he knew you were searching for some physical evidence of what he’d said. He turned his head to the side, his fingers moving up to brush the shell of his ear.

A very rounded ear. No pointed tip.

“I hail from a warrior-race of the fae called Illyrians.” He explained. “We’re fae, but…certainly not High Fae.”

You stared at him.

At those rounded ears. The scarred fingers.

As if not being High Fae somehow erased all that had been done.

It didn’t.

You shrugged rather brusquely. “Makes no difference to me. Aren’t all fae the same, with a history steeped in violence? I hate violence.”

“…Blood has been spilled on both sides of the Wall—”

“I hate it.” You cut him off. “Too many people resort to violence needlessly. I see it every single night working in this place. And for fragile humans like ourselves, all it can take is one strike to finish a person off. I wish people — human and Fae — thought more before deciding violence as their route. Perhaps if they did, I wouldn’t have grown up without a mother.”

It was the most you’d said to Azriel in one breath. And you waited for his defensiveness, for him to tell you your thoughts were somehow wrong.

But he simply stared at you, an unreadable expression on his face. And his response wasn’t what you anticipated.

“You’re not wrong.” His voice was like wrapping yourself in silk. “I’m sorry you’ve seen such violence. I’m glad you have music to escape to, at least.”

You stared back at him, your thoughts emptying for a moment. You willed yourself not to be intimidated by the beauty; by the deadliness of it. He could probably snuff out your life without anyone hearing so much as a squeak from you—

“Are you going to kill me now?” You blurted, rather pathetically.

Azriel’s steeled face twitched just slightly; the only reaction to your question.

It surprised you as he retreated a step. Put more distance between you.

“Why are you so convinced that I want to kill you?” He asked quietly.

“Am I supposed to believe it a coincidence that a Fae male begins appearing in these parts at the same time that the girls in this village are being murdered?”

His brow furrowed. “Girls are being murdered?”

“Yes. The Village Guards have found them brutally slain, and then you appear. If I’m to be next, I’d really appreciate it if you don’t leave me to be found by my father in that condition.”

“I haven’t killed anyone in this village, and I’m not going to kill you.”

His words should have reassured you. But you honed in on the sentence. Saw it for what it was.

He hadn’t killed anyone in this village.

But he’d killed elsewhere.

Bile rose up in your throat as you stared at him. And as he studied your fearful expression, he sighed. Looked away.

“What I told you was true. I was passing by, and I heard your music, and I wanted to hear more. But I don’t wish to frighten you.” He retreated another step. “Perhaps I should go—”

He was cut off by a thump so abrupt, it had you jumping out of your skin. Azriel quickly looked up.

Another thump, followed by a third.

“It’s the door.” You quickly stood, brushing yourself down. “I should answer.”

He pressed himself against the wall as you brushed past him, hurrying through to unlock the front door. You pulled it open a fraction, narrowing your eyes at the darkened figure on your doorstep.

Kiall. He looked…wired. Stimulated. But he didn’t stink of booze, for once.

“I’m sorry about the music.” You said before he could speak. “I didn’t realise how late it had got—”

“I’m not here about your little piano.” The older, scruffy male looked around feverishly. “I shot one down. A Fae. That fucking winged bastard from the alley. Got him right through those wings. He was flying above the village and I got him.”

You swallowed. Pulled the door a little closer to you. If Kiall — or anyone — knew that you had a Fae in your home, you’d be done for. Probably killed right alongside him.

Unless, of course, you gave him up. Disabled him somehow and turned him over to the Village Guards. Perhaps those ash arrows, still lying in the puddle of his blood, could still be of some use—

“Where is the Fae now?” You blurted, blocking Kiall’s minuscule glimpse into your home. “Have the Guards dealt with him?”

“No.” Kiall sneered. “He got away someplace. Probably bleeding out somewhere nearby. I wanted to know if you’d seen or heard anything.”

This was your chance.

Kiall could help you.

Azriel had regained most of his strength, but he’d been caught unaware once already. Surely the two of you could deal with him.

And then you’d never have to worry about him hanging around here again. Watching you. Watching and—

And listening to your music.

If he was to be believed…that was all he’d lingered for.

You didn’t really know why you did it. It probably made you an utter fool. But you swallowed and schooled your expression, shaking your head.

“I didn’t see or hear anything.” You lied. “Like I said — I was playing music.”

Kiall studied you for a moment. And you wondered if, perhaps, the untruth lay blatantly on your face, in your eyes. The Bluebird Inn — your family business and home — was the hub of this little community. Everybody knew you. Everybody knew that you were the daughter of the Fae-hating innkeeper, and the woman who had been murdered by their kind. That you were raised to hate them just as fiercely.

To have one right here, in these very walls…to have helped him, and to now protect him…

You had utterly, utterly lost your mind. But you let none of that show.

“If I see or hear anything suspicious, I’ll report it right away.” You said.

Kiall eyeballed you again. “You do that, Y/N.”

“I will. I’m going to go to bed now.”

“Be sure to lock your doors. Don’t want to end up like those other village girls.”

A shiver ran down your back. But you nodded. “I will.” You repeated. “Thank you.”

Kiall had always been a strange person. His reputation for being a drunk was known from one end of the village to the other. But being the one who served him most of those drinks, you saw something more. An ever-present, crazed look in his eye, like he was always on alert, always ready — and happy — to attack. Many of the brawls in the tavern had been started by him over nothing.

That crazed look stayed trained on you, now, as he slowly backed away from your front door. And when a good distance was between you, you pushed it firmly shut. Locked and deadbolted it. Released a long, deep breath.

You slumped against the door, blinking forward.

You’d lied. You’d actually lied. All those years of your father telling you what to do if you came face-to-face with a Fae, and what had you done? Played him music.

And then protected him from the wrath of other villagers.

Maybe you were the crazed one. Maybe—

Soft footsteps thudded against the floor. You looked up as Azriel slowly approached, keeping a great distance away. He studied you unsurely; you had no doubt that he’d heard every word. That he knew what you’d done.

“Are you alright?” His voice was so gentle, so quiet; something you knew no human voice could ever master.

Are you alright? When was the last time anyone had asked you that?—

You knew precisely when. When Azriel had stepped in and protected you from Kiall’s drunken ranting in the alley.

You stared up at him — those hazel eyes — and wondered why. Why he seemed to care.

And why it made you feel good.

“I’m alright.” You eventually answered, pushing to your feet. “You should…probably go, though.”

He dipped his chin. “Thank you — for what you did just then. And for pulling those arrows out. And for sharing your beautiful music.”

Your beautiful music. The words almost knocked you breathless.

To hear someone appreciate it so freely—

That, you told yourself, was why you asked, “Will you come back and listen again?”

You could have sworn Azriel’s lips twitched. “I’d certainly like to.”

Insane. This entire thing was insane. You with a Fae in your house, engaging in pleasant conversation. You more or less inviting him back.

But you couldn’t stop yourself.

You dipped your head, staring at the floor. “Will it be safe? Flying, I mean — with the injuries. And with Kiall still snooping around.”

“I have enough strength to get home without flying, now.” Azriel nodded. “I’ll be alright. And what of you?”

“What of me?”

“Will you be alright?”

Yes? No? You weren’t sure. Possibly not. You weren’t entirely convinced that you wouldn’t collapse under the entire, bizarre weight of the night’s events. You were in need of a stiff drink yourself.

But you nodded, all the same. “I’ll be alright.”

A moment passed of nothing. No sound, no movement. Neither of you took a step forward or back.

But then Azriel inclined his head. “Goodnight, then. Sleep well.”

“You—”

Before your very eyes — before you could complete your sentence — he disappeared into thin air. You blinked at the space that he’d vacated. And at the words you knew you were about to speak.

You sleep well, too.

Well-wishes to a Fae. You almost laughed at yourself.

But as you stepped past the spot in which Azriel had stood, you paused at the scent that lingered. And inhaled.

A scent like…like fresh, undisturbed snow. Frosty nights and cedarwood.

It was calming. Soothing. You felt it wash over you, like a blanket of security.

You stood there for a moment longer, and then made your way into the bar area to clean up. And fix yourself that drink.

And you found yourself continuously glancing out of the window. Wondering if Azriel truly would come back.

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Azriel didn’t consider the fact that he looked a little worse for wear.

That blood still stained his wings, his clothes, his skin.

That his hair made him appear like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. That he looked as though he could use at least three weeks’ worth of sleep.

Honed spymaster, indeed.

He traipsed into Rhysand’s office. The High Lord immediately sat up in his chair, relief filling his eyes.

“Don’t go quiet on me like that, asshole.” He admonished. “I couldn’t reach you.”

“Sorry.” Az winced slightly as he lowered himself into his chair; the wings were still a little sore. “Took a couple of ash arrows to the wings.”

Rhys stared back at him. “So it’s true, then. The humans are trying to rise up against us.”

“A whole group of them are travelling from village to village, spreading the word of their cause and trying to rally forces. They’re serious about this.”

Rhys slumped back, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Why now, though?”

Slowly, Azriel shook his head. “I think they’re using a whole number of reasons to justify it to themselves. They’re incensed about the land we have, the lives we live…a bunch of things. But…there have been attacks in one village. A few women have been slain. I think the Village Guards are spreading the word that they’re Fae attacks.”

“And do you believe them to be?”

“Not sure. I’d have to investigate it further.”

Rhys firmly shook his head. “I don’t want you going near those villages again for the time being. Not if they’ve got ash arrows in their arsenal.”

Azriel sat up. Tried not to wince. “The bastard had no more than two—”

“I’m not risking anything until we know exactly what we’re dealing with. We wait to see what move they make next; it could all just be talk, and I’m not risking you for some human gossip. I want you here, alerting the other courts that we may have an issue on our hands. Understood?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. Yes, he understood. He understood his High Lord’s order perfectly well, but he didn’t have to like it. He wanted to go back to the village, ash arrows or no ash arrows. He wanted to hear the music again, to talk to Y/N again—

“Understood, Azriel?” Rhysand repeated.

“Yes.” The shadowsinger gritted out. “Understood.”

“Good.” Just like that, Rhys was shucking off his title; sitting back and becoming a brother again. His face softened. “Go get some rest. You need it.”

Azriel stood without a word, dragging his feet from the room.

He wouldn’t disobey Rhys’s orders.

But Cauldron fucking boil him, something nagged at him to do exactly that.

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Weeks passed. And there was no dark, passing figure in the skies. No booming clap of wings.

And your disappointment at Azriel’s absence frightened you far more than his presence ever had.

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satuguro · 1 year

Text

*ೃ࿐TO FAULT A NET

[ ACT III: CURIOSITY AND THE CAT ]

spider-man! ethan landry x black cat! reader

#SYNOPSIS— having one (1) friend is making you a bit too soft to your liking, your dad is dead and you make too many jokes about it, and you need a new suture kit.

#CONTAINS— enemies to lovers, slowburn, antihero&vigilante reader, familial issues, implication of ptsd, gore, blood, murder, death, sexual/suggestive content (in other parts), reader is overly flirtatious

#AUTHORSNOTE— tumblr pls let me write on my phone and still be able to see the words i type thank you xx

ACT I, ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, EPILOGUE

the doors to the police department flew open, nearly hitting some people who were exiting. ethan, eyes heavy with bags and hair tousled from being stuck in the mask all night, pushed past people who were waiting dutifully in front of the receptionists' desk, ignoring their protests and harsh exclaims.

the policeman sitting behind the desk didn't even seem fazed, only looking up at ethan boredly as he drawled, "sir, you're supposed to wait in line—"

"where's detective bailey?" ethan asked, eyes cold as he raised his head to peer deeper into the department. when no response was given quickly, he slammed his fist into the table. "where is he?!"

"ethan!" his head snapped towards his father's voice, his eyes welling in tears as he tried (and failed) to keep himself together. but seeing his father with no evident emotion on his face besides his red eyes, completely unlike how he was when richie died, ethan couldn't do it.

he walked up to his father, trying to push past him to make his way deeper into the department. "take me to where i can see her," he sniffed, shoving his father's hands away as he tried to stop him. "dad, i need to see her," he begged, shoving his father, hard, away from him. so hard, that he nearly was knocked off his feet, his face dropping at the sudden strength his youngest child exhibited.

but ethan was too focused on trying to find out where his sister's body was being kept to care.

two policemen came between him and the hallway deeper into the department, their hands hovering over their guns while another policeman grabbed ethan's arm, urging him to leave. he was crying now, just a mess of tears and healing bruises in the police department, but they didn't care.

"she's evidence, ethan. and they took me off the case—"

"she's my sister," he seethed, tears freely flowing down his face as he looked at his father in disbelief. nothing. ethan saw nothing in his face. "don't call her evidence. i need to see her," his voice cracked as he shoved himself away from the other policeman, reaching for his dad like he always did as a child. reaching for some reaction, something, anything, even the bare minimum, only to be shoved away and ignored. and this was no different, because even as he grabbed his arm and begged him to let him see his sister, to let him talk to her, to let him say goodbye, there was nothing.

"dad," ethan cried, reaching for his hand, only for him to move it away quickly. "dad, say something. please," he sniffed harshly, "i wasn't there—"

"and why weren't you?" the detective snapped, and ethan's face fell. "why weren't you there, ethan? what was so important that you weren't there?" his words became more accusatory by the second, and it suddenly felt like he was a child again, being yelled at for something that wasn't entirely his fault. "tell me!"

"i," ethan tried to force out, but the lump in his throat was too large. why wasn't he there? why didn't he make it on time? his dad was right. he had all the power in the world to be there in time, and yet he wasn't. "dad, please," he whispered, but his father was already walking away from him.

"you'll see her soon. but not now." he couldn't even look at him as he walked away, leaving his youngest standing alone in a waiting room full of people, tears dripping onto the tile.

"ethan?"

his head turned to the entrance, finding tara, sam, and chad all standing at the doorway. he couldn't even say a single word out, tears welling up in his eyes again as he tried to force out a sentence, a word, anything, but to no avail.

without another word, tara walked up to him and pulled him into a hug. ethan couldn't even bring himself to sob, only allowing the tears to fall freely as he felt the others' arms wrap around him. since then, he didn't utter a word. usually he had a hard time not speaking, but there was so much circling his head that he felt like he could say anything. he didn't have the energy to, so he sat in silence in the waiting room, waiting for the others to be done with their accounts.

tara was the first to come back. she seemed as shaken up as he was, her shaking hands shoved in her pockets as she walked to stand in front of ethan. she didn't say anything at first, as though she had been pondering her words before she spoke. "my friend drove us here. figured it'd be safer, even though the others don't really trust her."

ethan didn't look up, his eyes dead set on his lap. his hands were moving over each other, one over the other as though he was massaging them angrily. the massaging turned to picking at his hangnails for a moment, before returning to massaging. he was anxious; too many emotions and too much happening all at once.

it was a habit that had been going on for a long time, even when he was a kid. he was an anxious child; bullied for speaking too much and made fun of for being dorky, completely unlike his brother who was charming enough that people had actually liked him. but with his new powers that heightened his senses.. ethan found that when he was anxious, everything felt like overload. it all felt like too much.

"i need air," he murmured, standing up abruptly and moving past tara, ignoring her protests of, 'but it isn't safe!'

the cold night air hit his face, bringing a chill throughout his body that he would've found uncomfortable if he wasn't so desperate to be outside. ethan breathed in the air and let it freshen up his insides, trying to focus on the feeling of air expanding his lungs rather than the fact that his father blamed him for his sister's death.

the hairs on his neck stood up, making him immediately clench his fists and look around, walking a thin line between anger and fear as he looked for what had set off his senses in such a way.

you had been leaning against the side of the police department, obviously out of your element and only mildly perturbed by it. you didn't expect to settle into bed and have tara call you moments later, talking about the attack you had been in as well and how she'd rather get a ride from you rather than take the subway or walk. her reasoning made sense, but you didn't understand why she called you all of people. but sleep had been getting harder for you as the days passed, so you reluctantly agreed to bring her and her friend group to the department.

so you tried to seem as though you weren't uncomfortable loitering around the one place you had been avoiding for the majority of your life. but as you stared at the brunette who had been panicking not even a minute before he had seen you, you realized that maybe things weren't as bad for you as it was for him.

his eyes were red and his hands were repeatedly clenching and unclenching at his sides tightly. so tight, that you could see his knuckles pale despite the lack of light. he was looking at you, you realized, his huge puppy dog eyes glassy with tears and his brows furrowed as he raised a hand and quickly wiped away his tears.

you didn't say a word (you didn't even know him, what could have you said?), choosing to only tilt your head as you peered at his face.

he felt like you were studying him. taking in his features like a painting you'd stare at in a museum, studying the red of his eyes and the drip of his tears, the light dapple of freckles that had been fading due to the oncoming winter. he found himself swallowing down his need to cry so that he could force out a small, "what?" that sounded a lot less intimidating than he wanted it to sound.

"nothing," you said, and he was surprised to hear that your voice was so smooth. you were still looking at him though, probably coming up with your own judgement of him just by looking at his messed up state. you weren't, though— you were just trying to figure out whether you should show some simple human concern for once in your life.

but was some stranger worth it? in any other circumstance, the answer would’ve been simple, but there was something so familiar about the boy that it was

"you have a staring problem," ethan said defensively, facing away from you as he stared into the street.

"better than whatever's going on with you right now." the words fell from your mouth before you could stop them, the brutal honesty in that sentence taking even you aback by them. but they were out now, and you weren't the type to apologize for stuff you said.

you weren't the type. but as you stared holes into the back of his head, having a moral battle over some dude, you found yourself saying a quick, "sorry," that made you feel like you were suddenly naked out in the streets of new york.

“it’s fine. you’re probably right, anyways.” he sniffled, wiping the last bit of tears from his eyes. “i bet you’re having a hell of a better time than i am.”

you took in his words as you shoved yourself off the side of the building, walking ahead of you so that you stood horizontally from him. there was a distance between you both as you stood there, staring at the street. the silence wasn’t uncomfortable by any means, but the tension was making the air thick; the both of you were waiting for one of you to talk.

"my.. friend got attacked." this time you could feel his eyes on you, boring holes into your side profile as you avoided his gaze. "i had to pick her and her friends up. so, yeah, you're right," you sighed, and your breath came out in white steam, "my situation is probably better. doesn't mean i'm having a good time, though."

“there you are.”

you shut your mouth again at the sound of chad’s voice, turning to the others as they came exiting the station. you watched as chad looked at ethan concernedly, your eyebrows raising when you realized; he was one of tara's friends. that's why he looked so familiar.

you had never stayed around to see them for more than a few seconds. they were tara;s friends, not yours, and to simply linger as thy approached her after her singular lecture with you was far too weird for you. so you often kept your distance, choosing to walk away before she had the chance to introduce you, turning your back before they could ask you what your name was. having one person you considered a friend was dangerous enough in your line of work.

"you already met y/n," sam said to him, looking towards you with a tight lipped smile. "tara called her to drive us after—"

"after the attack, yeah," he was still looking at you with those doe eyes of his, taking in your seemingly nonchalant front. he wasn't blind to the feeling of familiarity he got when he saw you, but knowing now that you were one of tara's friends made sense. you were the girl they always saw walking out of psych lecture with her. "i'm ethan," he said, forcing a toothless smile.

"y/n." you nodded at him in acknowledgement before turning to the rest of the group. "where am i taking you guys?" you asked, starting to walk to your car, which was parked down the street.

"blackmore dorms," chad said, making you nod. "since the apartment is a no-go.. they can probably sleep in our dorm for a little bit, if that's okay," he glanced at ethan, who only nodded. "i'll bunk with ethan tonight, you two can sleep in my room," he said to tara and sam, who only nodded. both of them looked too beat up to even try and protest.

you walked up to your car— a black porsche carrera that your father had stolen before you were even born —unlocking it wordlessly.

"this is your car?" ethan couldn't help but ask, eyebrows raising at the sight of it. it was practically new despite its age, and the fact that you were a college student who casually owned a porsche was beyond him.

"that's what i said," chad said with a small chuckle, "what do your parents do again, y/n?"

"my dad's rotting dead 6 feet below," you responded dryly, unlocking the car for the rest of them and not even bothering to look at their reactions. when no laughs followed except for tara's amused snort, (tough crowd, you assumed), you peered at them with a cocked brow. "well? are we leaving?"

"right," chad mumbled, climbing into the backseat next to tara and sam while ethan took the passenger seat.

the ride to blackmore was quiet, the most of you far too focused on just getting home and sleeping. ethan's head rested on the window of your car, his eyes fluttering closed every once in a while as he struggled to stay awake. he was exhausted, having barely slept a wink between patrolling, school, and fighting off serial killers. his mind was far too focused on getting revenge on whoever killed his sister, but as he listened to the smooth hum of the car and the soft music that played through your radio, he found himself drifting off.

"did you talk to him for a little?" sam asked you from the backseat, and you nodded, your eyes still set on the road.

"yeah. granted, i didn't do much comforting. it's not really my forte, i guess." you sighed. "he seemed like in pretty bad shape."

"it was his sister," tara said softly, looking at ethan's sleeping face with empathy. "quinn. she didn't make it."

the rest of the ride was in silence.

he was jolted awake when his senses went off, sending that jolt of energy through his body and forcing his hand to grab your wrist before it could touch him. it looked like you were just trying to shake him awake, but as his hand wrapped around his wrist, you tore your hand away (with surprising strength) from his grasp.

"shit," you breathed, sending him a look as you tried to process what just happened. "your reflexes are crazy."

"sorry," ethan breathed, eyes traveling down to where your hands were, your other hand massaging your wrist as you stared at him. "i didn't bruise you, did i?"

"not in the way that i usually like," you grumbled, making a dusting of red appear over his cheeks. "it's fine, really. you're on edge."

"still," he mumbled, warily looking at your wrist. there wasn't a bruise forming, thankfully, but ethan often times found himself cautious of his own strength. he didn't want to accidentally hurt you just because he was anxious. "'m sorry anyways."

"it's okay. really."

a beat. "where did the others go?"

"they went ahead. tara 'n sam were tired so chad offered to bring them to your dorm while i woke you up." you shrugged, reclining your seat a bit as you unbuckled your seatbelt. your eyes drifted towards ethan, who was still sitting with his seatbelt, eyes staring holes into his lap. he seemed so far away, almost unreachable. "you don't have to go now," you found yourself saying, "take your time."

jesus, what was happening to you? first you get out of bed for a friend, now you found yourself telling some stranger to take their time with getting out of your car. you were losing minutes of sleep— you could be with your cats, and yet you were sitting in silence next to a boy you only knew the name of. the silence that should've felt uncomfortable simply.. didn't. the silence was comfortable; just two strangers sitting quietly alone in a car.

"okay," he glanced at you with a forced smile. "let's go."

you locked your car behind you as you walked next to ethan, digging your hands into the pockets of your pajamas. he seemed to be more tired than distressed as he trudged next to you, arms crossed over his chest. the night was cold and far more eerie; being attacked in the past hours would do that to you.

"do you live on campus?" ethan asked. he usually hated small talk, as he was one to never shut up to other people unless they were complete strangers. but he was silently thankful that you had been patient with him through the night, even letting him have a bit of time before he exited the car. he wasn't sure why he wanted to ask you questions.

maybe he was curious about you. maybe he wanted to know you.

"no," you replied smoothly, eyes set on the pavement ahead of you. "i have my own place."

"rich family?"

"yeah, their life insurance money was great," you lied in a monotone voice, eyebrows raising in surprise when you heard him stifle a chuckle. "i'm guessing you feeling a little better than before."

"arguably worse, actually," ethan said matter-of-factly, making you hum in response. "i think i'm just too tired to fully feel everything, y'know?"

"makes sense," you said, walking up to the entrance door and opening it with your card. "that's why we gotta get you into your dorm."

"but what about you?" you raised a brow at him as you shut the door behind you. ethan's brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of what he just said, having just blurted it out without another thought. "who'll bring you home?"

you blinked. "my car?" you couldn't decipher that look on his face, as though he was mentally turning over a plan around and around. for someone who seemed to always have something to say, he was suddenly rendered quiet. "are you worried about me?" your tone was teasing, but you were genuinely serious as you asked.

"i'm jus' worried about your safety, that's all!" his eyes widened in slight fear when your arms crossed over your chest, your eyes becoming more unsure by the second. "i mean, you can probably handle it on your own—"

"i can handle it on my own."

"but it's a murderer!" ethan exclaimed as he began to lead you to his dorm room. "you live alone, and no one watches over you— this sounds really bad and i'm sorry —but i don't know if you've watched horror movies, but that's basically how every single one starts!" a pause. "not that i'm saying you can't handle your own or anything!"

"may i remind you that you don't actually know me. we aren't friends." you said dryly, but even that didn't change his mind. you came to the conclusion then that he was far too stubborn for his own good. anxiety filled, almost too talkative, and closed off emotionally, but he was stubborn.

"that doesn't matter," ethan said with a shake of his head. he stopped in front of his dorm room door, looking at you with a worry ridden face. "do you," he swallowed thickly, "want to come in?"

"you already know the answer to that, eth."

"i know, but—" he looked at the warning look you had on your face. “fine. it was worth a shot." he stepped into his doorway, turning around to take the door. "good night, y/n."

"good night, ethan."

".. i went through their financial records dozens of times and this was not in any of them, it doesn't make sense," agent kirby grumbled, looking up warily at the fire escapes that hung over head. the alleyway was tucked away pretty well— you had only used it a few times when getting away, primarily because most of the police didn't even know the theatre nearby it existed.

"maybe you're just not that good at your job," you said under your breath.

"who brought little miss sunshine along?" kirby asked, sending you a warning look. you only gave her a sarcastic smile in response.

"i did," tara said as she walked next to sam. "she helped us last night."

that was an understatement. you consciously rubbed the bandage on your neck, which you had hidden under your jacket. you didn't want them thinking that you had gotten it because you had attacked them.

you had woken up to a text from tara asking if you wanted to come along and investigate. she was under the assumption that you wanted nothing to do with any of the murders, but you saw her invitation as an in. it'd allow you to be able to investigate from the inside, and truthfully, your curiosity was getting the best of you. you wanted to know who was behind everything.

“i told you that you didn’t have to come,” tara said pointedly, but you only shrugged in response, peering up at the spray painted killer on the brick wall.

“what else am i supposed to do nowadays?” you sighed, "helping you avoid murder feels just like another friday at this point." tara scoffed at your words, which made a downward smile appear on your face.

gale swiped her card down at the entrance way and opened it, allowing everyone to pile in. it was pitch black inside, lest and you found yourself gripping your bag tighter to your body, suddenly aware of the knife that was hidden inside of it.

if any one from the group saw it, they'd surely think that you were the murderer. if only they knew that you just liked being prepared.

"what is this place?" kirby asked, hand hovering over her gun as she looked around the dimly lit area.

"a movie theatre," you murmured, walking away from the group to explore further, until gale turned on the energy.

"how'd you know that?" mindy asked you cautiously, eyes furrowed as she looked you. of the entire group, she was the most distrustful of you (for good reason, honestly).

"new york born and raised," you responded with a shrug, "besides; my dad showed me once."

mindy clicked her tongue. "that's only mildly suspicious."

"can't even deny that," you muttered.

"but this place isn't just a movie theatre." gale weathers (who you had only ever seen from afar, as she was usually the one reporting all your burglaries) nodded over to the official entrance to the theatre, where some gears were turning as a run-down curtain was raised. "it's also a shrine."

you swallowed thickly as you entered, eyes widening at the sheer amount of all the souvenirs inside the rundown place. what once used to be a beautiful theatre was replaced by mannequins of outfits worn during the stab killings and glass cases full of what police would call evidence. knives of different variety, all still bloodied by their last victims, were posed proudly within the glass cases right next to sketches showing how they were used. drawings upon drawings of the survivors and legacy characters of the stab franchise was beside almost every item, and based off of the style, they were all from one person.

"they've got the whole god damn franchise," mindy said in shock, peering into one of the glass cases. her face fell when she saw the shirt on display, calling out, "chad," over her shoulder. as her twin walked up to her, she looked back at the black shirt. "this is uncle randy's," she breathed. "they've got everything."

you looked into one of the glass cases full of drawings of the original killers and original victims. they were all drawn with a meticulous hand; the artist was obsessed with them enough to be able to draw them repeatedly over and over. they studied their faces, from how they looked like when they were terrified all the way until their last breath.

"the same artist," you breathed, unaware that ethan had walked up next to you and looked into the same case.

"just one person." he seemed to be in deep thought, his brows furrowed as he stared at the artwork. "do you think one person's behind this?"

"god, no," you shook your head, "but i do think one person is more obsessed than the other. or at least, someone was." you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, watching as his tongue poked at his cheek as he read all the pieces of art.

you saw spider-man doing that once. you shook the thought out of your head as you focused your attention back on the evidence; you were sure that the masked hero would love to hear about this.

but as you stood next to the boy who was studying the artwork intently, a question popped into your head.

"so why are you here?" you asked him casually, crossing your arms over your chest. he turned to you, raising a brow at your sudden question.

ethan walked closer to you, tilting his head to the side as he looked at you suspiciously. "i could ask you the same thing."

"actually, tara—"

"it was so that we could keep an eye on you," chad interrupted, making the both of you snap your heads towards him. he managed a thin lipped smile, putting an arm onto one of the cases. "both of you."

mindy pointed two eyes at her eyes before pointing them at the both of you, her face nothing short of serious. if you weren't being suspected, you would've laughed.

"the killer must've found this place before he murdered jason and greg," gale explained, "and then he.. took the masks off the mannequins. all nine, from stuart and billie to amber and richie."

ethan swallowed thickly at the sound of his brother's name, turning away from the others as he tried to focus on something else. he could feel his father's eyes burn into the back of his skull. how convenient was it that he (and later, his family) moved to an entirely new state just to forget about his brother, only for it to bite him in the ass once he got here. he barely talked about his relation to his father to the others, much less the fact that they were all related to the killer who tried to kill them only a year prior. quinn and his father wanted to move on from richie too. at least, that was what they had told ethan.

"so somebody killed these chuckle fucks and took over?" chad asked, making you roll your eyes at the words he used.

"someone who believes that sam masterminded woodsboro," gal said with a nod.

"if this were a normal stab movie," mindy began, looking at all the cloaks that were left with no mask, "this would be the killer's lair."

"which means that this isn't a normal stab movie," you said with a sigh, "great."

tara's face was unreadable as she stared at the cloak labeled 'billy.' shaking her head, she turned around and left the theater without another word, sam following close behind her.

you sat alone at the edge of the stage, tapping your fingers on the wood as you let everyone figure out what the next move was. the sound of heavy footsteps made you look up, eyes narrowing when you saw detective bailey not too far from you, turning his head away from your vicinity. you couldn't tell whether he was staring at you or not, but there was an unsettling feeling in your chest that gave you enough of an answer.

you couldn't trust anyone.

they had dropped you off before they went on to their new plan. you claimed you had a lecture; and you technically did, but you never went to your lectures most of the time.

you gave them a fake address before walking home yourself. you didn't trust any of them— to casually give them your address was like a death wish. you knew better.

the black mask fit comfortably over your face as you pulled it over. while the others had their own plan, you had your own; you'd do some patrolling (jesus, who were you, spider-man?) and watch over them from afar. you were shoving a gun into your side before you heard someone knock on your bedroom window. immediately, you took out your gun and pointed it at the glass.

it was him. dressed in his suit as per usual, looking at you upside down. his mask was on half of his face, and he managed a toothy smile that made you roll your eyes in annoyance. shoving your gun back into your side pocket, you walked over to open the window for the hero.

"what did i say about friendly visits, spider?" you asked skeptically, moving back to your desk to get your items in place. his feet hit your hardwood floor gently as he swung into your home, shutting the window behind him.

"this isn't technically a visit," he said with a shrug, coming up next to you. he watched you put on your gloves with interest. "a little birdy told me that the stab survivors needed our help."

"and which little birdy is that?" you asked, not even looking up at him. you were too busy making sure every claw was working well, but you could feel him standing next to you. his back was to the edge of the table as he placed his weight comfortably on it. his hands were holding the edge of it as he talked freely with his mask pulled up half way.

"i just used my radio and asked them politely—"

".. you asked the police if you could help?"

"i asked detective kirby if i could help," he corrected, obviously exasperated by your surprise. "i needed an in, so i asked and she told me to be on standby. we'll just be listening to them on this," he pulled out a burner phone, setting it down on your table, "and they'll tell us where some action is happening."

"some action," you scoffed at his words, "that's one way to put it."

"how else am i supposed to put it? anyways, i decided to come here and politely invite you to join me, kitty." spider-man said with a tight-lipped smile. but as his eyes looked you up and down, realizing you were already fully ready, his smile faltered. "did you have your own plan?" he asked you curiously.

"i did." you said pointedly, unsheathing your claws before retracting them again. "i wanted to watch over them. lawfully stalk them to make sure they're still breathing or whatever." there was an odd silence that hung in the air as you worked diligently on your claws. "you seem to be in a better mood than yesterday," you commented, glancing at him from your peripherals before focusing back on your weapons. "are you really feeling that way, spider?"

spider-man cleared his throat at that. truthfully, ethan was masking everything again. he wanted to feel like himself, to be able to freely joke and banter with others how he used to, but everything seemed so forced now. all he felt, all he really felt was anger. he wanted to get revenge, and for once in his life, he was willing to stoop as low as richie and kill for what he believed in.

he hated that you saw right through his act. it was as though you had ignored every forced smile he flashed, ignored how he was desperately trying to feel like himself again, and ignored his light hearted facade.

you knew he was lying to you.

ethan stayed quiet. you knew what that silence meant.

"thought so," you murmured. you looked down at the burner phone, the black screen reflecting your own face back to you. "can i ask how you knew her?" you asked him, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"who?"

"quinn." you looked up at him. "there was only one person killed in that attack. quinn bailey, the detective's daughter." his jaw clenched when he heard her name come out of your mouth, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

"just a friend i knew," ethan said, the lie coming out like a taboo secret. to refer to his own sister as just a friend pained him. "i was close to her. incredibly close to her and i wasn't there in time to save her. i couldn't get there in time." he seemed to be millions of miles away as he talked, his eyes set on the floor.

you stayed silent for once, letting the silence surround the both of you. he didn't continue, seemingly too deep in his head to say more about the subject, and you understood that. you knew how that felt, to be physically in one place and mentally somewhere else. "if you're blaming yourself, you're a lot stupider than i thought. none of it is your fault."

you were so nonchalant, as though your words were factual. you never truly lied unless it was for your own gain, and that alone made you distrustful, but as you casually stated his innocence in the whole scheme of things, ethan found himself looking at you with hopeful eyes. he believed you, and whether that was dangerous of not, he wasn't sure.

"don't even say anything, it'll ruin the moment," you added dryly, sending him a warning look.

the burner phone began to ring, making the hero immediately click answer (crazy reflexes). kirby's panicked voice rang through the speaker. "gale weathers' house! upper west side—"

"west 96th," you interrupted, already opening the window.

spider-man blinked as he quickly hung up, already crawling out the window. he pulled his mask over the rest of his face. "how did you know that?" he offered a hand out to you,

"i was thinking of stealing her shit before all this," you grumbled, taking his hand. he pulled you close to him, his hand finding your waist as your arms wrapped around his neck.

"typical." he shot another web up, and you tried not to scream as you were suddenly brought up into the sky, the wind whipping in your face as he began to make his way to the upper west side.

the sun had set significantly by the time you made it, your leg coming up to kick through one of the bedroom windows. spider-man came in right after you, barely making a sound as he listened for any sounds. it was so quiet. even as you stepped towards the ajar door of the bedroom, not a single sound was heard.

you crept out into the hallway, hand grabbing your gun and raising it. spiderman crawled above you as you walked slowly down the hallway, catching a glimpse of blue as you did. looking up at the hero, you nodded in the direction of where you had seen it. he nodded in response, crawling ahead quietly.

gale had seen him as he crawled up the side of her wall, his finger coming up to his mask in a 'shh' motion. she nodded, the phone still up against her ear as she spoke, "the brains and the sex appeal," she responded, turning around to try and find the killer. but all she saw was her dead boyfriend on the ground of her living room, the killer nowhere to be seen. but then she saw you, gun in hand as you pointed it around you, your eyes looking into her's and practically begging her to not say a word.

you heard the muffled talking of the killer through the phone, your gun pointed opposite of where gale had her's pointed.

"can you hold, please?" gale asked, and you raised your eyebrows, turning to her in shock. but she quickly redialed the number, making a loud ringing sound appear from the closet.

you shot it. once. twice. five times, walking closer with each step.

ethan felt that familiar chill run through his body, his eyes widening as he yelled, "watch out!"

the doors flew open as ghostface jumped through, their knife nearly piercing your shoulder as they did. you jumped back before they could reach you, shooting your gun at them and groaning when it didn't stop them. "gale, get back!" you yelled over your shoulder, watching as spider-man swung down to kick them away from you.

ghostface quickly got up as spider-man shot his webs at them, their dodges quick as they tried to lunge at him with their knife.

but as they raised it up to throw it at the hero, you shot their arm, making them groan in pain and let go of their weapon. they fell to the ground, spider-man shooting yet another web at them to stick their feet to the floor.

he was so close to getting him. he was only feet away, walking closer as he did, his hands curling into fists as anger coursed through his veins. they were stuck. they had no way of leaving, no way of escaping.

"remove his mask," you told him, the curiosity almost too much as you kept your gun pointed at him. gale stood behind you, her eyes wary as she watched the hero walk closer. "spider, remove his mask—"

he threw a punch at the killer. the mask didn't fall off, but the groan of pain he heard was enough that he wanted to keep going. ethan kicked their stomach, his anger growing at the lack of response as he kicked it again. and again.

they killed his sister.

another kick.

they slit her throat. they stabbed her and twisted the knife into her chest. they took away the person that cared for him when his dad didn't, who paid attention to him when all his father really cared about was richie. the one family member who truly loved him and cared for him like any older sister would. they killed her.

and ethan didn't even get to say goodbye.

he could feel tears burning his eyes as he grabbed them by the collar, raising them as much as he could with their foot stuck against the floor. he punched them hard, and that's when he felt it. his nerves going crazy, electrifying his body, and before he knew it, all he felt was pain.

his hand went to the hilt of the knife they had stabbed into him. right into the lower left of his torso, and your gun rang as you shot the killer in the chest. they pulled the knife out with them as they collapsed on the floor.

and as he stumbled to the ground, you caught him. "spider? oh fuck," your breaths were heavy as you immediately applied pressure to his wound, eyes wide as you tried to stop the bleeding. your heart was pounding harder and faster in your chest. he was bleeding so much, the crimson pooling into the palms of your hands as you applied as much pressure as you could.

gale rushed forward, her hand going over yours as her eyes, wide and panicked, looked at you. "you have to take him to the hospital."

"i can't—"

"do you want to save him?!" gale demanded, staring right into your eyes.

"i'll be fine," he seethed through gritted teeth, the pain growing as he tried to move. "i can't go to the hospital. i have to—" he coughed harshly and tasted iron. "i have to get him—"

"are you people fucking crazy?!" gale cried out, looking at the hero in disbelief. "you need help!"

"i'm not letting you get back at them.." your words died in your throat when you looked back at where the killer was supposed to be.

they were gone.

the hero groaned as he pushed himself up, ignoring the way you and gale tried to keep him laying down. "where are they?" he demanded, his head whipping around as he tried to look for the killer. it felt like all his hope for getting his revenge was lost in a blink of an eye. he got away from him again, and he was so close. he had him in his hands. "where are they?"

"we have to get you help," you urged, hearing the ding of the elevator as the carpenter sisters ran in. surely the police was close behind.

"i can't leave, please—" he was pleading with you now, gripping your arm tightly as he tried to change your mind, as he tried to make you forget that he was literally bleeding all over your hands. the warmth of his blood made your eyes glass over as past memories ran rampant through your head, but you prevailed.

"we need to get you help. now." you looked into the eyes of his mask, eyes serious. "please. let's go."

he swung the both of you through your apartment window, groaning as he pulled his mask over half of his face and laid on your bedroom floor. you hurriedly shut the window behind you as you ran to get the medical supplies you needed. your hands were shaking, you realized, as you grabbed your first aid kit and tried to calm your body down.

"dad? dad—" your panicked voice rang through your father's head as he stumbled into your home, his hand holding his side. you were so young, still so full of life and completely oblivious to his line of work. but a heist had gone much too wrong, and with no family, no trust is anyone, he had nothing but you, his 7 year old daughter.

"y/n, get the kit in the bathroom under the sink," he managed past heavy breaths, coughing to his side and spitting blood onto the rug of your living room. you were crying now, eyes blurring over in tears as you pressed against where his hand was, your breathing picking up when blood gushed out of him.

"spider? hey, you gotta stay with me, okay?" you said as you ran back to his side, helping him get onto your bed. you sniffled harshly as you grabbed the first aid kit.

you grabbed the first aid kit with shaking hands, the once-white plastic staining red with your father's blood. "i don't know what i'm doing, i don't know what i'm doing," you said over and over, whispering the words like a panicked mantra.

you could feel the walls of your room tower over you as you forced the box open, grabbing the gauze and bandages with trembling fingers. it was different when it was someone else. it was different when the entire situation reminded you of when you realized your father wasn't who he said he was. that he was a criminal, and after keeping it a secret from you for nearly a decade, his cover was blown.

"kitty," spider managed to say, staring at your wide, horrified eyes as you struggled to clean the blood around his wound. you looked terrified. "look at me."

you ignored his words, taking the roll of gauze and beginning to wound pack his stab wound. the red pool that seemed to grow larger and larger around him made your breath hitch.

he was bleeding everywhere. the pool of red underneath him seemed to grow with every passing moment, and you were crying. sobbing as you tried to listen to your dad's instructions of how to wound pack a bullet wound.

you couldn't think straight. it felt like you were reliving the moment again, as though you were barely 7 with your father's blood on your hands.

you heard him hiss in pain as you continued to press the gauze into his wound, but you kept going. everything was white noise to you as you kept wound packing, frustrated tears dripping from your eyes when the red continued to seep into the white of the gauze. "fuck," you muttered under your breath, grabbing another roll of gauze.

he bit down on his lip to keep himself from screaming, head falling back as he tried to focus on something. anything that would keep his mind off of the stabbing. "please, talk to me," he said, pulling his head back up to look at you. "just talk about something. anything."

you packed the gauze into his wound as you sniffled harshly. "i was 7 when i patched up my first wound. my dad," you swallowed hard, "my dad came home with a bullet wound."

"your father was the original black cat," spider-man said, groaning in pain before he could get another word out.

"he was." you had never admitted that to anyone before. "but i didn't know. not until i was patching up his bullet wound on the living room floor." you felt your heart rate slow when you saw no right of blood seeping through the wound. you had to suture him up.

you slowly began to remove some of the packing gauze, your brows furrowing when you realized his own body was healing him from the inside. slowly but surely, his own powers had stopped the bleeding. all you had to do was suture him.

"you were so young," he managed to say before letting out a whimper of pain. "fuck! sorry i can't talk that much all this hurts really bad and the fact that i couldn't get them—"

"it's fine." you looked into the eyes of his mask. you turned back to the wound, grabbing your suture kit (you really had to get a new one) and taking the needle, thread, and forceps.

"it's not fine. it really isn't fine." the needle pierced his skin and he winced, teeth biting harder into his bottom lip. "i should've thought before going to attack them, i should've removed their mask—"

"stop."

"i shouldn't have let them get away." guilt consumed his every being as he spilled his heart out to you, tears blurring his vision. "i was just.. i was just so angry at them because they killed her. they killed my sister, and i couldn't do anything about it because i wasn't there. i was too fucking late."

his sister. your actions paused when your eyes widened in realization.

"it was his sister," tara said softly, looking at ethan's sleeping face with empathy. "quinn. she didn't make it."

ACT IV, ACT V, EPILOGUE

#AUTHOR'S NOTE— pls feel free to ask me for nsfw/sfw headcanons about this series! & thank you all for being so supportive xx

#TAGLIST— @ethanlvndry , @iloveneilperry , @starsfilm , @goosenoggin , @aminatic , @wenvierismycomfort , @l5byrinth , @wroetoslut , @briefwinnerpersonaturtle , @oliviapopewannabe , @wzrlds , @raggedyoldwitch , @hotweeb , @marsyay78 , @valenftcrush , @bonkyandsteeb3000 , @bubs-world , @danis-stuff-is-here , @nuhteyam , @ravenstrueluv , @taeversity , @heartipods

#scream 6 imagines #scream 6 smut #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry #ethan landry x you #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry x y/n #scream fanfic #scream 6 fanfic #ethan landry fanfiction #to fault a net—!#scream 6 imagine #scream vi imagine #scream vi smut #scream vi imagines

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catgirlredux · 9 months

Text

Technosymbiosis

Here's another mech story, inspired by/a continuation of this one:

I was the only one to figure it out. None of the others ever bothered to pay attention; between the natural casualties of war and the constant switching out of pilots, it didn’t make much sense to get too involved in each other’s lives. But something about Pilot Grieg, fellow member of Hoplite division V, captured my attention from the moment I saw her. While most of the other pilots were either frightened or overconfident on their first day (I nearly pissed myself from the anxiety), I could see nothing in her eyes but a fierce, powerful hunger. She stepped into the cockpit of her Hoplite and didn’t even flinch when the nanofilament harness closed around her chest.

I was entranced by her piloting skills and her determined, nearly emotionless behavior. All pilots tended to be a little cold, rumor had it that recruitment intentionally selected soldiers who scored lower on the EDEs due to the nature of some of our missions; but she was something else. Her face never changed outside of that cockpit, and she walked around with an ungainly clumsy stride, her gait resembling that of a much larger being. But when the mesh closed around her and the interface cable plugged into her neck, I swear her eyes sparkled brighter than ever and she sometimes even smiled. In the midst of battle, among dozens of rookie pilots disoriented and frightened by the steady flow of their mechs' peripheral data, Grieg maneuvered the battlefield more capably and calmly than anyone else. She was like the eye in a hurricane of titanium and lasers. She seemed to take to piloting so naturally.

It was a bit of an obsession for me. I never wanted to join the army, but at my family's civvie status it was either that, or spend the rest of my life working the same scrap hauls as my father and his father before him. I'm not sure I made the right choice: piloting was a lonely job, and our orders were always changing. The war had been going on since before I was even born and now that I was a part of it, I felt like it wasn't going to end anytime soon. I didn't even have anyone to confide in: between missions, I knew no one and no one bothered to know me. Still, a good soldier follows orders, so I took solace in what little consistency I had. Every time I suited up I kept an eye out for Grieg, hoping that we would get deployed together - that I would get another chance to study her.

That's why it didn't take me long to figure out - she was always there. Pilots were supposed to take regular breaks from duty to avoid excessive neurolink buildup, and these breaks were usually staggered within a division. I rarely flew out with the same Hoplite squad two weeks in a row. Yet every time I got ready for a patrol, I caught sight of Grieg skulking around the locker room already prepped. She usually looked like she hadn’t slept in days but she hopped into her suit with an eagerness unlike any other soldier in our division.

I really have no clue how nobody else caught on. I mean, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out: her constant presence, her aggressive combat tactics, her clear exhaustion versus her eagerness to pilot - Grieg was addicted to battle. Or something like that. I wasn’t sure whether it was the speed, or the action, or something else entirely. Maybe it had something to do with the depressant α-IVs - after my first time in the cockpit I spent a week throwing up. Maybe they did something weird to make her dependent on the mech?

Not that any of that mattered. Somehow she had managed to fuck with our shifts so that she was always on duty, strapped to a giant death machine. Her link was probably through the roof - god only knew how close she might be to terminus. I still remember the video they had showed us in training. A squad of pilots traveling in formation, when suddenly one of them lets out a bellowing screech and starts flailing around. The other units immediately try to suppress it but it fights like a beast, blasting and tearing at all who come near until finally it’s taken out with a TAC-beam to the core. It was terrifying - a team of twenty-one pilots reduced to just four, all because of a single terminus incident. The video ended on a close-up of the rogue pilot, emaciated limbs pinned down with thick nanomass cables, fluid flooding his throat and rivulets of blood trailing down wires that burrowed straight into his eyes. Pilots were taken off of active duty for a reason.

I decided to confront Grieg about it. I probably should have reported her to the division leader but something stopped me - curiosity perhaps. I had to know.

I stopped her in the locker room before a patrol.

“I know what you’ve been doing.”

She looked fucking exhausted. Her eyes were even more sunken in than when I first saw her, her lips were cracked and her hair was an oily mess. She smelled strongly of sweat mixed with the metallic sweetness of vitrofluid. Jesus christ, did she sleep in her mech? But her eyes still shone with that hungry anticipation, and she fucking smirked at me.

“I thought you’d catch on. I know you’ve been watching me. She told me.” Her voice sounded harsh, throat scraped up from constant alternation between air and vitro.

“She? She who?”

Grieg reached up and brushed a hand against my face. She wasn’t wearing the fingerless gloves that came standard with our uniforms. “How high is your link?” Her touch was cold. She had a look on her face like she was trying to read my mind.

“43.7. Well within safe limits.”

She laughed through her teeth. “Khh-kh-kh. Safe limits - of course, of course. Safe."

"Yes, unlike you." I brushed her hand away and she shivered. "Grieg, what the hell are you doing? You've attended the trainings, you know what happens when a pilot is deployed this often. Do you want to die?"

The smile she gave me was chilling, sympathetic but without her eyes changing emotion. "Terminus... you still believe that shit. Why wouldn't you? It's frightening, isn't it? The melding of pilot and machine, flesh mangled and twisted and mutated. Frightening... Say, have you ever spoken with your unit before?”

“Spoken? I’ve interacted with the situational matrix, yes…” All Hoplites possessed an AI of sorts designed to help pilots make split second decisions in the midst of battle. But I’d never really considering it “speaking”, any more than you would speak with a dog. It didn't have the capacity for conversation... right?

“No, no I mean speak. Have you ever listened to your unit, spoken with her, let her take the reins? No, you- of course you haven't. They're all just numbers on a screen to you, aren't they? Just another crazy killing machine for you to puppet around.

"Think - how many times has your Hoplite saved your life? How many deaths would you have died by now if it weren't for that protective, loving embrace of mesh and steel? That's what it really is. They love us. They need us. You never listen, you all never listen, but they love us. I complete her as much as she completes me. Don't you feel strange when you have to leave her? Doesn't it feel wrong - backwards?

Grieg pushed closer to me. I tried to back away but she pressed me against a wall and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “We're almost complete. Our link is at 99.7 percent.”

My heart beat in my chest like an autocannon. Grieg wasn’t just at risk - this bitch was about to fucking explode!

“I - I - you can’t. You’re going to - you’re going to kill everyone. I-”, but she placed a two fingers, rough from countless wire insertions, against my lips.

“Please. You don’t need to tell anybody. We don’t want to hurt anyone… we just want each other. We don't want to be tools anymore."

I was sweating in my suit. No Hoplite is that smart... right? Surely someone else would have been able to talk to theirs - Grieg’s must have had a glitch. A unit gone rogue; the thought was terrifying.

“S-snap out of it Grieg - please. Your suit... it's clearly wrong. It's bugging - w-we can fix this. You're n-not in control here.”

She just smiled. “Neither are you, hm?”

I shivered. She wasn't wrong... I hated the missions they sent us on sometimes. I followed orders because, quite frankly, I didn't want to go back home. I didn't want to live the rest of my life as an E-class, scraping by on small NDs and living in fear of police quota checks. In a way I guess I did take solace in the time I spent in my mech, time spent not worrying about my family I left behind or shyly observing other soldiers, worrying about what civilian encampment or occupied city the higher ups would send us to raze next.

Fuck. She had me all figured out, didn't she? Did she feel the same way? Did my Hoplite really complete me like that, and even worse, did I complete it? I felt lightheaded - this was too much. I should have reported her to our captain... but what if...

What if she was right? What if the Hoplites really could think and speak - really did want to connect with us? What if I... god, I couldn't believe I was thinking this, but what if I bonded to mine?

I could barely look her in the eye.

"P-please... just don't hurt anyone."

Grieg stared at me for a moment, then pulled me into a tight embrace. I didn't resist. She smelled good.

"We'll try not to. No promises."

*****

They say she left in a hurry, blew the doors right off the hangar and flew west. No casualties, but they want to stop her before that changes. As one of the pilots on duty, I’ve been summoned to join the hunting party.

My suit feels too tight - too clingy. I leave off my gloves and unzip the front. No one tries to correct me; they're all too busy prepping for the chase.

Setting foot inside my mech, Hoplite unit HE-2729, I feel its hard steel with my bare hands. The harness wraps around me; it feels warm against my chest, vaguely pulsing and humming as the machine comes to life. I plug in and brace for the influx of peripheral data from its many sensors, but it's softer this time - gentler.

I can't believe I'm doing this. I bask in the flow of data: a cacophony of sight and sound most of which I can't even process, but I let it wash over my mind and surround me. Piloting usually makes me so tense, but right now I feel calmer than ever before.

I take a deep breath.

“Hello?”

#cheetah writing #empty spaces #mecha #mech #cyberpunk #robotgirl #scifi #scifi story #original short story

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builtbybrokenbells · 9 months

Text

Gold Dust Woman | iv

Driven to the brink of insanity, y/n turns to her best friend for advice in her time of need. A Sunday brunch paired with day drinking leads to a world of new information she hopes will help her to better understand the new world she is caught up in.

Read part three here

Pairing: jake kiszka x f!reader, sam kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: sexting, sort of phone sex I guess, dirty talk, name calling (ish?), pet names, touch of praise, teasing, drinking, swearing, gossip (is that a warning? idk anymore guys), mentions of cheating, but nothing super heavy for this chapter! sorry if i miss any!

in my hungover state I present you with this! I’ve been waiting to write this chapter literally since I’ve started this. it’s super important to the plot and I think clears up a lot of stuff!! plus it’s a good little summary of everything leading up to this chapter. also id just like to say a super sincere thank you for the love i have received on this series. it was a big step out of my comfort zone and i was really worried that it wouldn’t be enjoyed, but you guys are so kind and supportive. i <3 you all. as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 🫶🏻

The tiny diner was overcrowded for its size, but still as welcoming as ever. Cheer and comfortability radiated through the air from the minute you stepped inside, never failing to brighten spirits. The small booth in the very back corner was routinely reserved for you and Danny on your Sunday outings. Brunch, always, but it was normally followed by some sort of wholesome activity to fill the afternoon. Then again, it didn’t matter what you were doing; time spent with Danny was always wholesome, and quite fulfilling. His friendship was one of your most prized possessions, mostly because you never really experienced anything like it before him. The conversation was never dull, radiating a type of safety that made you feel like you could tell him anything. Jokes were always well timed, advice was free-flowing, and a gesture of comfort was routinely available if needed.

Sundays were your favourite day, because you got the opportunity to spend time with him. Sometimes, the other boys would join, but that was rare. Even if they opted not to, you were fine with that, because you knew that the booth in the very back would always be reserved for two. That day was no different; you picked Danny up from his apartment at the usual time, and you both showed each other new music discoveries from the prior week. After the high stress of the weekend, you were happy to return to some type of normalcy, even if your regret for your careless decisions were constantly looming over you. When you arrived at the diner, the familiarity of the scene wrapped you up in a warm hug.

When you settled in to the seat, you placed your purse beside you and your phone face down on the table. The morning had started in a strange way, still leaving you frazzled hours later. After yesterdays activities, you had woken up tangled in the bed sheets and wrapped around Jake Kiszka. You never thought you would find yourself in such a state, but the reality of it was all too overwhelming to ignore. Although it wasn’t a bad start to the day, you were still aching with residual stress from the entirety of the situation. When he woke, too, the feeling seemed to wash away. There was a few hours where things seemed perfectly right, instead of troublesome; laughing and kissing your way through the earliest hours of your day, cooking breakfast and sharing cups of coffee along with stolen glances and smiles. It was beautiful in its own twisted way, making you genuinely believe you could spend the rest of your life doing just that. Once he’d left you on your lonesome, the guilt creeped back in like a disease, eating away at every part of you and taking you for its own. It had yet to satiate, even with Danny in front of you and a promise of a good day.

“You look terrible.” He stated, taking a sip out of the coffee mug the waitress had quickly delivered. Your eyes snapped up to him, shocked at the blunt statement.

“Thanks?” You furrowed your eyebrows, a small laugh stuck in your throat.

“No, not like that.” He corrected, placing his menu on the table. There was no need for it; you both had tried the entirety of the menu the restaurant offered, settling on your favourites long ago. “You always look pretty. I mean, you look like you just saw a ghost.” He was right, you couldn’t deny it. The bags under your eyes were darker than ever, skin pale and eyes distant. You were a mess, definitely looking like yourself but a mostly just a shell of it. It didn’t take a detective to figure that out.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, unsure of how to respond to his statement. “Guess I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” He shot back, his gaze unwavering. You shifted under the stare, feeling like he had already picked up on your predicament. You hated that about him; he always seemed to know there was something on your mind, even if you exhausted every way to hide it. It was just a Danny thing, and you had picked up on that long ago. He cared too much, noticed too much. Secrets didn’t exist around him, and perhaps that was why you were so excited for this particular outing, subconsciously hoping you might be able to get at least something off your chest.

“I don’t know if there’s enough time in the day.” You grumbled, taking a long sip of water from your cup. “I wouldn’t want to make your ears bleed.”

“I’ll strike you a deal.” He offered, causing you to look up at him. “Bottomless mimosas on me, and a shoulder to cry on.” You eyed him, nervous to agree but comforted at the thought of speaking your mind. “What’s said at brunch stays at brunch. I’ll drive home.” His invitation was very tempting. As much as you felt like you should keep the turmoil to yourself, the idea of advice or even just to confess your mistakes was overwhelmingly alluring. After a moment, you decided you would have to say something, even just an elusive idea to get some kind of answer to your internal debate.

“Deal, but it stays between us.” You finally said, realizing that if you didn’t speak your troubles aloud, they would eat you alive. Besides, there was nobody in the world that you trusted more than Danny. You knew you could probably confess murder and he would only ask how to help. “But my lips are sealed until those mimosa’s get here.” You smiled.

When the waitress came to check in and take orders, you both settled on a meal and Danny was sure not to forget your drinks. As you waited for her return, you struggled to arrange the thoughts in your brain. You had no idea how to explain the situation to him, or even where to begin. You were scared he would think differently of you, even though deep down, you knew he wouldn’t. The whole thing was sick and twisted, and you were so on edge that you thought you might combust. The last thing you wanted was to lose your friendship with Danny because of your inability to understand your own feelings. When the champagne flute was finally in front of you, your stomach churned with unease. You looked up to meet his eyes, but found he was already waiting in anticipation.

“So, what’s going on?” Before answering, you grabbed the glass and made quick work at finishing the liquid in one go. You figured you’d need the courage to tell this story.

“Remember that lesson we were talking about?” You asked, checking the flute to make sure you didn’t miss any alcohol before setting it back down.

“Vaguely,” he smirked “but I don’t think you ever told me exactly what it was.”

“Yeah, because I still have no idea what the fuck it is.” You let out a nervous chuckle. “I made a really big mess of things, and I have no idea how to fix it.”

“Okay, don’t panic. We can work through it together.” Your heart warmed at his words, feeling a little better just at the thought of his input. Even if he were to tell you that you were an idiot, you knew you deserved it. There had never been a time where advice from Danny hadn’t helped, even if it was only for a moment. And, although you hated to admit it, he was almost always right. “What kind of mess?”

“A big one.” You said, unable to find a better way to describe it. “I guess I probably have to go way back to the start for anything to make sense.” You sighed, placing your head in your hands. Your plan for keeping your feelings quiet had crumbled long ago; if you were going to tell him anything, you would have to explain it all. “The lesson was Sam. I’ve been in love with him for months.”

“Mhm,” Danny nodded, pausing his response as the waitress walked over to replace your drink. Once she was out of earshot, he spoke. “I had an idea.”

“Was it that obvious?” He quickly averted his eyes, not wanting you to see his face as he reacted to your question. You could tell he was trying not to laugh, finding your inquiry quite funny. “Oh, god.” You groaned.

“No, not exactly obvious.” He lied. You let out a groan, embarrassed that everybody seemed to know about your crush. “I don’t think he did, though. He’s pretty oblivious.” He comforted you, the second part of his statement much more genuine. “Why is that such a big deal?” You audibly laughed at his comment, realizing that he had no idea the extent of the problem.

“He never gave me any idea he liked me back. Flirted with girls at my house, acted like I was just another one of the guys. I never really felt like I meant anything more to him.” You explained. “And I was too much of a coward to say anything. Thought it was better if I kept everything a secret. I didn’t want to risk losing you guys as friends. I like you all too much.”

“We like you too, y/n.” He smiled, finding your worry silly. He knew that whatever happened, he still wanted to be your friend. You were his solace away from the chaos of his band mates, and to him, it was the best thing in the whole world. You gave him a soft smile, taking a moment to sip at your drink again. “No matter what, you’re always going to be my Sunday brunch date.” He assured you. You let out a long breath, now preparing to get into the deepest part of the conversation.

“So that night, after you and I talked, I figured that I had to snap out of it. I spent every weekend watching him, hoping he would make a move, or even give me some sort of hint that he acknowledged I existed in any way other than a friend. I was tired of waiting. I wanted to have fun, so I asked you to play beer pong.” He hummed an agreement, letting you know he was following. “And I partnered with Jake.” And what a grave mistake, that was. “I was drunk, and at first it was friendly, no different than usual. Then he started looking and talking to me different. It wasn’t bad, obviously, but he was very clearly flirting.” You paused, noticing the small smile he was fighting back. You tried to ignore it, not liking the way he was looking at you. “I was really drunk, and it felt really nice to be noticed. I shouldn’t have entertained it, but I did. I played along with him, thinking it was harmless. The game ended, we went out separate ways, and I figured that was the end of it. It should have been the end of it.”

“It wasn’t, though, was it?” You shook your head at his words. The conversation was stopped by plates of food in front of you and another replacement for your empty mimosa. You took a break from the grievous topic to have a bite to eat before continuing. After a few moments, you answered.

“Nope,” you sighed, popping the p to accentuate the impact. “We talked for a little while longer, then I went to the bathroom. Heard someone playing my guitar in my room, so of course I had to check.” You cursed yourself for not knowing better. “There he was, playing so well that it draws you in without a second thought, looking as pretty as ever.” He got a laugh out of your statement, never hearing two compliments sound so much like insults. “I joined him and we talked for a while, completely normal stuff.”

“You guys hooked up?”

“Ah!” You snapped, pressing your finger to your lips, silently telling him to keep his voice down. He let out a hearty laugh at your dramatics, knowing that nobody in the vicinity gave a single care about what you were talking about.

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yeah, sort of, I guess!” You said, exasperated at the thought of recalling that moment aloud, especially to someone so close with Jake. You took another long drink, hoping the alcohol would calm your nerves. “I went to bed, and I didn’t know what to think. Part of me was thrilled, but a bigger one never wanted to do it again. I felt so guilty, almost like I cheated on Sam even though he had no idea I liked him. How stupid is that?”

“It’s not stupid, y/n. I think it’s pretty normal, actually.” He shrugged. “We live in our own head, and when we like someone so much, especially for a long time, it kind of starts to feel real. I think you feeling guilty is actually more normal than not caring. Means you really do like him, and it’s not just a surface level thing.” The confirmation was nice, but also made you feel even worse. You felt as though you shouldn’t be allowed to have feelings for Sam anymore, especially after how you spent your morning. “I take it that’s not the end?” He chuckled, picking up on your sullen expression.

“No,” you groaned, burying your head in your hands again. “I wish it was, but no.” He reached over, looping his fingers around your wrist and gently pulling your hand away from your face. You glanced up at him through your eyelashes, noticing his smile.

“It’s okay. What’s said at brunch stays at brunch.” He promised. You gave a slight nod, letting your hand fall into his. He rested them on the table, giving yours a reassuring squeeze.

“When I woke up and only saw you three in the living room, I kind of thought he regretted it, too. Figured he sobered up and… yeah.” You laughed, not feeling a need to get into your insecurities. “I was nervous, still feeling pretty guilty, but we were all hungover so I just blamed it on that. Things felt normal for a minute, when we were all just sitting and falling asleep. Then he came back. From the minute I saw him, I knew he didn’t regret any of it. He gave me my coffee. My coffee, exactly how I order it. He remembered, and I don’t even think I’ve ever told him.” You mumbled, feeling a blush rise at the memory. “We ended up going to the basement, and nothing happened, really. We kissed and talked, and we kind of agreed he would stay after everyone left.”

“That doesn’t sound bad.” He reassured you. You narrowed your stare, causing him to back down instantly.

“Aside from the feelings thing, no.” You admitted, feeling bad for giving him such a harsh look. “While we were playing songs, everything felt fine. It was fun, I wasn’t nervous or worried about anything, and I thought that maybe things would be fine. I know Jake isn’t the bad guy; he’s not someone I wouldn’t want to fall in love with. I think I’d like it, actually, if the situation were that simple. He’s always been kind to me, he’s funny, he remembers things about me that nobody bothers to. He cares about the little things. He pays attention.”

“And Sam doesn’t.” He affirmed. You nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly.

“He never has. I feel like I wasted months loving someone who didn’t give a shit whether I was around or not.” Danny looked like he wanted to protest, but bit his tongue instead. It was your time to vent, and he wanted you to say what you needed without interruption. “I went to the kitchen to get more coffee, more comfortable with everything. I thought maybe if Jake and I spent enough time together, the feelings for Sam would just be… obsolete. I’m sure it would have worked, too. But, he just had to follow me.”

“Sam?” You nodded, giving him a bit of clarity. You were so worked up that you were rushing yourself through the story.

“Yeah, we just chatted for a minute, both drank our coffee like normal friends. Then he tried to hold my hand! And then tried to hint around that he liked me, too!”

“He did not,” Danny sat back in the booth, letting his head slump against the seat, internally cringing at his best friends terrible timing.

“Sure did! The whole confession was pretty funny, actually. Not to me, but definitely to someone! It was like god was sitting up in the sky laughing at me while it happened.”

“He’s so stupid.” Danny groaned, clearly exasperated himself. Danny was so unapologetic about his secret love of girl talk, and it made you incredibly happy. He really was your best friend in every sense of the word.

“Yeah, and I was a little pissed off! It made me feel like I was only worth loving when he was afraid he couldn’t have me. We argued for a few minutes, and he basically pried the confession about Jake out of me so he could use it for his own personal agenda! Then, he got this grand idea that he’d make it into a competition between him and and his brother to see who can win me over.” Danny gave a wince at the thought, already aware of Sam’s thought process before you even said it aloud. “I told him it was a bad idea, and I meant it. It is a terrible idea.” You clarified before telling him any more. After a few moments of silence, his eyes were urging you to continue. “We kissed.” You sighed. He let out another laugh, like what you had said was a joke rather than something you deeply regretted. His hand squeezed yours once more, another gesture of comfort. “What’s so funny?”

“No, no. You tell your story, I’ll talk later.” He assured you. With an air of discomfort, you accepted the deal, deciding to purge yourself of the last bit of the story so you could get it over with.

“It was fantastic. Something I’d been waiting forever to do. It almost felt wrong because it felt so right. So I planned on ending things with Jake. It was the right thing to do; I know if Sam had kissed me even a day sooner, there would have been no problem or conflict. I would have been over the moon.” Danny gave a hum, understanding what you meant, but not certain he agreed with it. Still, he held his thoughts back until you were finished. “You guys came in, and Sam left. Jake was still in the living room, because I told him to stay after everybody went home. I went in to talk to him, fully prepared to end things, but when I saw him, it was like it disappeared. He’s just so… captivating. Like, when I’m around him, he’s the only thing that exists.”

“Yeah, he does have a pretty big personality. Hard to ignore. He’s quiet, but I think that’s part of the charm.”

“Yep, because everything that comes out of his mouth is perfectly thought out.” You snipped, angry at the thought of his perfection. “He started talking, and he knew Sam and I had done something in the kitchen. I didn’t even have to say anything to him. There was a lot of back and fourth, kind of unimportant. I don’t even think I could explain it, anyway. But, he basically said that they both had feelings for me and they decided that they should both have a fair shot at winning me over. Isn’t that fucked up? That they decided that on their own, and didn’t tell me?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“That’s what I thought! Anyway, whatever. Doesn’t matter now, I guess. He said some cryptic shit and I told him to leave, but it was mostly just because I was pissed off. I don’t think I really wanted him to go. Like I said, it doesn’t matter, because he stayed the night, last night. He left before I came to pick you up.” You sat back in your seat, defeated still, even after talking through the whole thing. The words being spoken into the universe only seemed to make you feel worse about the predicament. The only hope you had left was that Danny would have some sort of miracle advice to help you out, but you didn’t want to keep your hopes too high. “I think Jake’s been feeling the same way about me as I feel about Sam.”

“Okay.” Danny said, showing you that he was sufficiently aware of your predicament. “My turn?”

“Please.” You urged, finishing the last of your drink. You barely had the glass back on the table before the waitress was there to replace it. You were starting to feel the buzz of the liquor, realizing that you were genuinely getting day-drunk just to forget about your own mistakes. You were at an all time low, you decided. Your usual attitude towards relationships had continually assured you protected yourself, never letting anyone get to close, and never falling for anybody too hard. It was lonely, but loneliness was much preferred to how you were feeling in that moment. Now, in addition to a broken heart and a guilty conscience, you were scared you were going to lose the only true friends you ever had.

“I’ve known Jake and Sam for a long time. It’s a blessing and a curse. I love them to death, they’re family. Fun to be around, great friends, all that mushy shit. But, after so many years, you pick up on the bad stuff, too.” You were intrigued, now. As the fourth glass of the heartache remedy slid down your throat, you felt yourself leaning in closer to the table, not expecting a response like such. You thought Danny would call you on your bullshit, tell you that you were an idiot. You prepared yourself for that, still, because the conversation wasn’t over. It was still a possibility, but you certainly didn’t think his advice would lead in with the Kiszka’s baggage.

“You mean to tell me they’re not perfect? That god didn’t hand craft them and put them on earth just to make the rest of us feel bad?” He had another hearty laugh, finding your tipsy smile hilarious. Your ability to joke even through your turmoil was heartwarming.

“Seems that way sometimes, but no. At least I don’t think so.” He reassured you. “Jake and Sam are a lot more alike than everyone thinks, and not just physically. Sometimes, they’re more alike than Jake and Josh, which is incredibly hard to do. I mean, they’re brothers, so it’s expected, I guess. I didn’t notice it when we were in high school, but Jake wasn’t around as often. Once we all graduated, we started making music and spending a lot of time together. I think that’s when I realized how similar they were.”

“Mhm,” you agreed, wholeheartedly believing him. The two were strikingly similar in lots of ways, despite a few blatant things that offset their shared traits. You could even tell through their touch, or the small interactions that left you guessing if they previously conspired what they were going to say to you, or if it was just their Kiszka nature.

“Their taste in girls has always been one of those things. Over the years, girlfriends or flings caught interest in the other brother, or vice versa, and it was always a bit messy. It seemed like if you fell for one of them, you’d eventually fall for both of them. Or if one of them fell for you, the other would, too. It’s really fucked up, actually.” He gave a little chuckle, trying his best to explain the observation. “They caught on to it pretty soon, and fought over it once or twice, but it never seemed to cause an issue between them. They’d be mad for a few days, then they would move on like it never happened. I don’t know if they accepted it, or if they just didn’t care. Personally, I couldn’t do what they do. It would drive me crazy.” He added, clearly letting on that whatever he was leading in to was common, very deeply rooted and still pressing. You could see in his eyes that the idea was unsettling to him. “For a year or so, whichever way it went, the other just admitted defeat and moved on.”

“Oh, wow.” You breathed, trying to wrap your head around his words. It felt like you were learning deep lore about them that you weren’t supposed to know.

“I wouldn’t be telling you all this if I felt like I shouldn’t be, but it seems like they’re back to their old ways. Trust me when I say it’s much harder on you than it is on them.” You nodded, agreeing with the statement. The whole twisted relationship had given you nothing but turmoil since it had begun, and you were desperate for insight on how to fix it. To them, it just seemed like another day’s work. “Our first real tour, Sam fell super hard for a girl we met at a bar one night. Like, I mean head over heels, stars in his eyes, the whole nine yards. He got her number, and they were in love before we even left the bar. They ended up getting together, and things were really great between them. She even came along with us for a few weeks. They were happy for a while, but then Sam let tour life get to him, I think. He fucked up, hooked up with a random girl and threw the whole thing in the garbage. It was absolutely his fault, and I’ll never defend him over it, but he was young and had no idea how to handle the fame, even if we weren’t that big back then. He seemed to cling to every bit of attention he got. I know he regretted it as soon as he realized what he did, but obviously it was too late. I don’t blame her for leaving.” He shrugged. You were watching intently, immersed in every word.

“Now, I don’t know for certain what happened. Nobody talks about it anymore, and we never really did back then, either. It’s in the past, and everybody wants to keep it that way. But, that girl ended up in Jake’s bed after the big blowout. I don’t know if she initiated it, or he instigated, but it didn’t really matter, anyway. Sam found out and went insane, and he wasn’t interested in knowing who started it. They fought, like really fought, fists and all. We thought that would be the end of the band; they didn’t speak to each other for weeks. Rehearsals and concerts were constantly tense. The girl wasn’t even in the picture, anymore, Sam just felt betrayed and Jake didn’t want to admit he was in the wrong. Before, I don’t think he was ever really in love with anybody, so it didn’t matter as much. But that time, Sam reached his breaking point.”

“Holy shit,” you didn’t care about anything else happening around you. The story was captivating; both boys were very closed off, never giving too much away about themselves. They’d always answer questions if asked, but you never really heard much about the past, especially relationships. You were realizing why, now. “Poor Sam.”

“I guess.” Danny shrugged. “In that situation, yeah, but he’s not innocent. After they made up, he never let it go. He wanted to get back at him, and he did. Ever since then, Jake never had a chance to have a relationship. The minute he showed interest in someone, Sam was already trying to win her over. At first, I think it was just a coincidence. They’re similar, they like the same type of girls, obviously that can cause some issues. After that, it was different. Clearly intentional and meant to be hurtful. I stopped feeling sorry for them a long time ago. They know what they’re doing, and neither of them want to be the bigger person and apologize. Over the years, it’s just grown into a big mess.”

“So that’s why they’re doing this?”

“Yeah.” He felt no need to lie. “They’ve always been competitive. It’s a brother thing. Sam more than Jake, really. I think it’s because he’s younger, maybe feels inadequate sometimes. But to be competitive over girls with real feelings… I don’t like it. After so long, they learned to take the loss and move on. Better luck next time, to them. They mope around for a few days and then they’re back to best friends like nothing ever happened. The girls always end up getting hurt in the end, and that’s the fucked up part. They can hurt their own feelings as much as they want, but I don’t think it’s right to do it to anyone else.”

“That’s why Jake knew what happened in the kitchen. And Sam was so certain he was going to win me over. They’re masters at the game.” The whole wicked, devil-like persona’s were making more sense, now. Every move was thought out, meticulously planned and executed with grace. They’ve been playing this game far longer than you’d even been a part of it, and you were curious if they even had real feelings at all, or if it was just a part of the spiteful process.

“Masters, I’m not sure about. Cocky and annoying, absolutely. I don’t care what they have against each other. They have to settle that between themselves, not bring anyone else into it. All of us consider you a friend. A best friend. What they’re doing hurts everyone, but clearly it’s been hurting you the most.” You finished your drink, looking around for the waitress to get another refill. You were in information overload, more questions and worries filling your head with every second that passed. He picked up on the nervous energy, giving your hand another small squeeze to bring you back to reality.

“Do you think they even care about me, or is it just to piss each other off?” His eyes widened, realizing how easily you could have interpreted that from his story.

“No, y/n, not like that. I can’t speak for certainty on everything, but I am pretty sure Jake’s head over heels for you. He always perks up when we talk about you, and he’s the first one ready when we’re going to your place. Most of the time, he’s begging us to hurry up. I can see it in his eyes. We all see it, and I think that’s why I got so excited when I saw you guys flirting on Friday. Hoped that he’d finally get the courage to make a move.”

“Okay,” you whispered, scared to ask anything about the other boy, unsure if you even wanted to know the answer.

“Sam likes you, too. He told me himself, and not just yesterday, either. I’m not picking a side, or trying to get you to choose. Just telling you what I think you need to know so you can stop beating yourself up.” He explained. “I don’t know why Sam didn’t speak up, sooner. I told him you liked him, gave him encouragement, but he never said anything. He acted like he was oblivious, but he knew. Everyone knows you have feelings for Sam. I love you, but it was obvious.” Your cheeks turned rosy, embarrassed at your own inability to hide your emotions. “I think they both really like you, and they were scared of the same thing. They didn’t want the other to steal you away, but they fell into routine again and they’re doing exactly what they wanted to avoid. When Sam saw you with Jake, It probably lit a old fire in him, which is why it all happened so fast.” As much as you wanted the knowledge to give you reassurance, it only made the dread grow even larger.

“I don’t know what to do, Danny.” You sighed, closing your eyes to ward off the stress headache. You retracted your hand from his, missing the comfort of the hold almost immediately. You brought your fingers to your temples and gently massaged the area, satiating the ache slightly. “I never should have started anything with Jake. I had feelings for Sam. It was selfish, and I know that.”

“I think you had feelings for him, too. Maybe you just didn’t realize it.” He offered. “It’s not like you to start something like that without any reason. Plus, like I said, if you like one of them… history tends to repeat itself.” He said, keeping the truth light.

“If I didn’t, I sure do now.” You let out a humourless laugh, pushing the food around on your plate with your fork. “I feel like I maybe put Sam on a pedestal because I had such a big crush on him. I always thought I was in love with him, but I was never with him. I didn’t know anything beyond the surface, never experienced anything more than friendship. Not even an idea. Now, I’ve been with Jake. I know him, and I feel like maybe what I felt for Sam was just infatuation.”

“Could have been.” He shrugged, unable to answer that one for you.

“But when I’m around him, both of them, actually, they have this pull, like the earth is forcing me into their arms. It’s impossible to think clearly with them around, and I think maybe I just have to take a step back to figure it out.”

“Good luck with that.” He joked, eyes drifting to your phone on the table. “Your phone’s been going off all day, and I’m pretty sure I have an idea who it is.” You couldn’t deny anything, mostly because you knew he was right. Intermittently, another vibration would sound, and you knew if you picked it up, it would be one of the brothers you were trying so hard to ignore. “I don’t care if you ignore them, as long as I still get to see you. Wouldn’t give up our brunch dates for the world.” He sent a playful wink your way.

“Let’s just run away, get married and have mimosa’s for the rest of our lives on a cute little porch while we watch the sunset.” You grinned. “Don’t have to worry about anything ever again.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he smirked. “If I get involved in this, I’m definitely winning.” You both shared a fit of giggles, happy to ease the tension with light jokes. “But seriously, if that’s what you want to do, do it. I know how hard on the head they can be normally, so I can’t imagine what it’s like being in your position.” He sympathized. “It’s not fair to you. I think maybe that’s why Jake tried to be so secretive about it, he wanted to make the move and start something before Sam could get involved. But, it’s like some weird brother thing; they can always tell.”

“I don’t know what to do. I feel like I ignored too many lessons, and the universe is super mad at me right now.” You sighed, your attention grabbed by the waitress dropping another drink off. You mumbled a small thank you before she disappeared again. “I like them both, but I don’t want to hurt either of them. I don’t want to get hurt. The whole thing is fucked up.”

“May I offer my opinion?” He asked, mischief laced in his tone. You gave a nod, figuring that anything would help at this point. “I don’t think you’re going to hurt them nearly as bad as you think.” He assured you. “Yeah, obviously, however this goes, someone is bound to be disappointed, but they’ve been playing this game for years. If you like both of them, play the game with them.”

“Encourage it?” You were in disbelief that he would even suggest it.

“Yep.” He confirmed, no hesitation in his voice. “Listen, they started this whole thing. They think it’s okay to play with your feelings, so play with theirs, instead. Maybe teach them a lesson.” He explained. “Don’t let them run things. You’re in control here, even if you don’t think you are. Have fun with them, and hopefully they’ll see what they’re doing is wrong.”

“You’re evil, Daniel.” You contemplated the idea while finishing your final mimosa, feeling positively tipsy.

“No, just think it’s time they got some karma. They have to learn eventually, they can’t do this for the rest of their lives.” He said, throwing his cutlery and napkins on his plate. “As long as you think you can do it without hurting your own feelings.”

“I’m so pissed off at them that I don’t even care about that.” You chuckled, but it wasn’t funny. The statement was completely truthful.

“So teach them, and then we can eat our brunch in peace. When you do, hopefully they’ll never do it again.” You weren’t expecting Danny to side with you in the matter, but you especially weren’t expecting for him to cheer you on. As you listened to his story of the years he spent dealing with them, you understood why he was telling you to do it. Knowing Danny, you could only assume that there had been many instances where he had to do damage control because of Jake and Sam’s childish behaviour, and he was sick of it. Plus, he seemed quite annoyed with the amount of broken hearts that have ensued because of the brothers tyranny.

Part of you thought it was crazy, that there was no way you could do that to the boys. The other, angrier part of you thought it was a great idea. After only two days of turmoil caused by their behaviour, you were in shambles. Now, knowing that they were completely aware of their own actions, you had no issue handing it right back to them. “Okay.” You agreed. The liquor definitely had an impact on your decision making, but not enough for you to worry about it.

“There. Problem solved.” He smiled. “Maybe that lesson you were dreading wasn’t really your lesson after all.”

You both left the diner with a little more pep in your step than before. Your fears were settled, but not fully resolved. Still, the sense of doom that was looming over you seemed to ease up, and you accredited it solely to Danny. Without his words, you would still be drowning in your own misery. You spotted your car, making a move to get in the drivers seat. As you reached for the handle, you paused yourself, realizing that you were in no state to drive. You reached into your purse, fishing out your keys, and turned to see Danny already holding his hand out for them.

“All yours,” you said, dropping them in his palm. “Forgot.” You let out a giggle.

“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes, sending a playful smile your way. You walked to the other side of the vehicle, getting in to the passenger side. Once you had your seatbelt buckled, he began the journey home. You connected your phone to the speaker, clumsily tapping the screen to unlock it. You hit shuffle on your playlist, not having the mind to scroll through and pick a song.

You turned your head towards the window, letting your eyes take in the sights as you passed by. Your mind was spinning with thoughts, but none stuck out as they passed through. Most were a jumble of topics from the previous day’s events, no coherent nature to them. You wanted to check your missed messages, just to see what they’d been saying, but you couldn’t find the strength to do so. You were angry, still, upset that they had no issue involving you in their mess and seemed to have no remorse over it. Even so, the urge to talk to them, to be with them, touched by them, was growing more urgent by the second.

Danny was right; it would be impossible to ignore them. That left you with two choices; play along, or let them play with you and get hurt in the process. You still weren’t certain that the first option would keep your feelings safe, but it was worth a try. Even if it didn’t, hopefully it would ensure neither would pull a stunt like such ever again. “I think I drank too much.” You stated, another giggle laced in your words. He glanced over at you from the drivers seat, giving you a grin.

“Guess that was my fault.” He chuckled.

“No,” you shook your head, smiling softly. “You helped, a lot.”

“I’m glad.” He replied, turning down the street your home was nestled on. “I’m always available for free therapy and alcohol.”

“I always appreciate it. I appreciate you.” You said, watching your driveway creep into sight.

“I appreciate you, bug.” He shot back without missing a beat. The pet name made your heart warm with affection. He really was your best friend, always your biggest comfort and favourite person. Nobody else compared to him, and you hoped that no matter how the situation played out, you’d still have him by your side. A small, selfish part of you wondered why you couldn’t just fall for him; he was funny, sweet, and genuine. Any time spent with him was worth more than the world, and he was beautiful, too. For some reason, it was written in the stars that he was to be your best friend, but that was more than okay. A life with Danny as your best friend was a certain promise of a good one. As much as it sucked dancing with the devil, or the Kiszka brothers, rather, it was meant to be. Even while you wished it away, hoped you could fall out of their grasp and into someone else’s, there was a part of you that loved being loved by them.

He parked your car in its usual spot, getting out to open your door for you. He walked you to the house, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. You both went to the living room, collapsing on the couch with exhaustion, as if you’d just ran a marathon. “You’re stuck here.” You laughed, finally realizing that he didn’t have his own car with him.

“I’ll call a cab, don’t worry.” He assured you, grabbing his phone to do just that. As he found himself busy telling the company the address, you reached over to the chair beside the couch, grabbing the acoustic guitar Jake had been playing earlier that morning. As he hung up the call, you plucked at the strings mindlessly, eventually switching to a chord progression that you had grown to know very well. “Dinner and a show?” He teased, still in awe that you had hidden your talent for so long.

“You know, it would be a lot of fun to come with you guys.” You thought aloud, dismissing his joke.

“You should.” He affirmed your idea. “Even if you just came for a part of the tour.” You let out a low hum, letting him know you heard him without having to respond. Instead of pushing you further, he leaned back into the couch and watched you as you played. Once you were certain he wasn’t going to speak again, you began to sing along to the music, to the song you loved so much. Jake had pegged it as your nickname, and at first it was endearing, but the more you listened to it, the more the words resonated with the ache settled deep in your chest.

“Rock on, Gold Dust Woman

Take your silver spoon, dig your grave” you looked to the fretboard, feeling the need to focus harder because of the alcohol swarming in your system.

“Heartless challenge, pick your path and I’ll pray

Wake up in the morning, see your sunrise loves to go down

Lousy lovers pick their prey but they never cry out loud.“

You sang the rest of the song, breathless by the time you were finished. Danny had a smile stuck on his lips, understanding that sooner or later you would agree to their offer. He could tell how badly you wanted to say yes, but your anxiety was holding you back. You were thinking of the offer, too, but something more pressing came to kind in light of the song choice. Or the mimosas. Or both, maybe. You weren’t sure. Either way, Jake Kiszka had inevitably made his appearance in your thoughts once more, but it wasn’t like he had left in the first place. His presence was always existing within your brain somewhere, even if it wasn’t at the forefront.

It was horrid, never being able to escape him, but it was phenomenal all at the same time. In the last twenty-for hours, he helped you feel more alive than you ever had before. His touch was still lingering in your skin, electrifying every nerve. The memory was fantastic, but nothing compared to the real thing. He was addicting; his company was no longer a want, but necessary for survival. You wondered if you would ever be able to live without it, quickly realizing that you never wanted to find out. Before, the thought of not having Jake around was terrifying, but after having him so intimately, the idea was debilitating, stealing the air from your lungs and crushing you under its weight.

“I could listen to you sing all day, but I gotta run.” Danny broke you from your thoughts. “Plans for tonight, can’t get out of them.”

“Cheating on me, Daniel?” You let out a tsk, showing your displeasure. He let out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Could never do that to you, darling.” He said, as dramatically as possible. You put the guitar to the side, standing up with him so you could give him a proper goodbye. You pulled him into a hug a bit tighter than usual, catching him off guard. It only took him a second to return the gesture, wrapping you in an aura of comfort.

“Thank you for everything. I feel a lot better.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” He assured you. “I love you, and I’ll talk to you soon?” You nodded, head still pressed to his chest.

“I love you.” You said, parting ways with him. “And yeah, I’ll update you.” You smiled, your secret plan solidified by your words.

“Give them hell.” He said, a tone of pleading hidden in the joke. With a wave, he disappeared around the corner and the front door sounded a moment later. The second the door shut, the emptiness of the home already started to seep in.

You gathered your thoughts, shaking away the haunting feeling of seclusion, and made your way to your bedroom. Once inside, you switched the power on to your record player, resuming whichever vinyl you had left from this morning. You let your eyes flutter closed at the hum of the song cutting through the silence. Another vibration from your phone caught your attention, suddenly remembering the messages you had intended to ignore. Now, with Danny’s words sounding in your mind, and your first chance at alone-time, you channeled a new courage to reply. Your fingers pulled the phone from your pocket, eyes immediately drifting over the screen. There were a few texts from your own band mates, and when they could come over to practice. You made a mental note to respond to them later. You moved on, seeing Sam’s name adorned on a missed call. You opted to focus on him later, your eyes seeking the contact you wanted to deal with first.

The notification bar from Jake had three messages. When you tapped them, you expected to be met with filthy words to fuel your desire to get back at him. Instead, the first was a small message of thanks for letting him stay the night prior, confessing his enjoyment. It was simple, not detailed, but enough to make your heart beat a little faster and a blush to make its way onto your cheeks. The second message was a well wish for your lunch date with Danny, saying he hoped you had a good time. The third was much different, more on par with what you had expected from him.

Jacob

Let me know when you want to share some more secrets, Gold Dust Woman

You felt a surge of emotion rush to your stomach, the words so simple, but the feeling so large. It was so easy to give in to him; he barely had to look your way and you were jumping at the chance to be noticed by him. It was crazy how fast the dynamic changed, how quickly he became so important to you. Without a second thought, you were already typing a response.

You

What kind of secrets would you like me to share, Jacob?

You hit send, not expecting a response considering you had waited so long to reply. Before you could even shut the screen off, the text bubble appeared on the screen, signifying his presence in the chat. A smirk pulled at the corner of your lips, happy to see that he was on your hook just as much as you were on his.

Jacob

I can think of a few

You

I’m sure you can. Care to elaborate?

His response was almost immediate, as if he’d pre-typed the words in anticipation of your question.

Jacob

Still wearing that red thong from earlier, or was that just to show off?

You enacted a plan as soon as the text was delivered and you processed what it said. You threw your phone on your bed, quickly shimmying out of your clothes and discarding them on the floor. The alcohol was still buzzing through your veins, your decisions heavily reliant on the false confidence the champagne bestowed upon you. You retrieved your phone, making a move to stand before the mirror on the opposite side of your room. You pulled up your camera, taking a few pictures from different angles, clearly showcasing the red fabric he was so curious about. The pictures that included the matching bra was just out of generosity.

You sifted through the pictures in your camera roll, picking the ones you thought were the best. You swiped back into his chat, reading his message over again. Instead of saying anything else, you sent the few photos you deemed acceptable. You went to the kitchen, unable to find a care to put your clothes back on, and turned your phone screen off. You scoured the fridge, finding a bottle of wine unopened and patiently awaiting your arrival. As you poured yourself a glass, you listened to the repetitive vibrations of incoming text messages. You looked to the clock on the wall, noting the time. Then, you took a seat in a chair and enjoyed the beverage you had fixed for yourself.

After a few moments, the texts ceased, leaving you to sit in silence and ponder your actions. You sipped away at the bitter liquid, refusing to give in to the temptation of answering him. When your glass was half empty, the vibrations resumed. This time, it was an incoming call. The ticking of the clock caught your attention, realizing you’d left him on edge for about fifteen minutes. You figured if you let it go much longer, he would show up at your front door. The thought itself wasn’t terrible, and you certainly wouldn’t mind the company, but you decided you wouldn’t push him that far. His incoming call ended, but it wasn’t long before another one sounded. With a smile on your lips, you picked up your phone and accepted his attempt to reach you.

“Hi,” you said, cheerily, as if you had no idea he had been blowing up your phone. “What’s up?”

“Ignoring me, sweetheart?” His voice was low, no angry tone or hint of annoyance. The soft inquiry sent a rush of arousal through you, just knowing that you had bothered him so badly was enough to send you spiralling.

“Why would I do that?” You asked, tipsiness laced in your voice. He picked up on it almost immediately, thinking your new-found confidence was a result of the alcohol. In truth, he wasn’t completely wrong. Although you and Danny had devised the plan, the execution was heavily reliant on intoxication. For some reason, sobriety did not help your case with either brother. Their charm and wit held you in a chokehold, any time you had the courage to retaliate, they made another move to make you submit. Despite your lack of control, it was still quite enjoyable. Now that tables had turned, that he was the one sitting and thinking about you and slowly driving himself to insanity, you had to admit that it was enjoyable, too. Maybe even more so, if you had to choose.

“Don’t be a tease, angel.” He hummed, the sound of his voice through the phone sending a shiver through you. You thought you might give in, throw the act away and beg for him to come over, but you bit your tongue and powered through.

“I thought that’s what you wanted to see, baby.” You played innocent, taking another sip of wine to keep the spirits high. Your head was buzzing, swimming with many thoughts. Most were filthy, focused mainly on how badly you wished he was in front of you, rather than on the phone. It was ridiculous how fast he consumed your entire being. Thoughts of his hands, his tongue, and how good they felt when they were on you. You missed him, even if you opted not to say it aloud. It had only been a few hours, but it was much too long for your liking. “Was that what you wanted, Jacob?”

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, bothered by your use of the pet name, bothered by the sultry tone you were speaking in. A smirk formed on the corner of your lips, cocky enough to know that you had power over him, too. “Yeah, it was, baby.” He conceded, unwilling to argue the point. “You still didn’t answer my question.” He stated, not willing to let you off the hook so easily.

“What was your question?” You asked, one last attempt to get under his skin. He let in a long breath, trying his best to stay calm while you made it a point to piss him off.

“Why were you ignoring me, angel?” He was heavy on the terms of endearment, leaving you unsure if it was because they were genuine, or if he was using them to coerce an answer from you.

“Wanted to piss you off.” You admitted, feeling no need to lie to him. “Did it work?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled his response wordlessly. Even without an explicit affirmation, you could tell it did just by his tone change. He had expected the answer, but it didn’t seem to make him feel any better. “Didn’t know you were such a brat.” He noted.

“Maybe you just bring out the worst in me.” You snipped back almost immediately. He let out a chuckle, but it wasn’t because he thought your words were humorous. It radiated a tone of shock, as if he was trying to tell you that you had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

“Careful, sweetheart.” He warned. “Don’t make me come over there and fuck that attitude out of you.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You teased. He could hear the smile on your lips through your words, making it difficult for him to keep up with the act. He found your joy infectious, and the teasing fun, in a greater sense than just sexual. He enjoyed all conversations shared with you, even if there was no sexual gratification. He just loved being around you.

“I would, but I don’t think you would.” He said, simple enough to get the point across, but powerful enough to worsen the growing ache between your legs.

“Maybe you’re the sadist.” You theorized, throwing his own idea back in his face. If only he knew how badly you lived to please him, his previous accusations of sadism would be laughable.

“You’ll have to wait and see. I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.” His voice was soothing, even if the topic was filthy. You could listen to him speak all night and never get bored. He was devastatingly perfect, and he made it easier to fall for him every time he opened his mouth. Without thought, you opened your mouth to speak, letting the wine take control of the conversation.

“I miss you.” The statement was quiet, but impactful. In reality, the three words were barely loud enough to catch a normal listeners attention, but the sound was deafening, to him. When you were met with silence, a fizzle of regret formed in your chest, wondering if you took it too far. You would take it back, pretend you never said it or bury it so deep down that could never surface again, just to ensure he wouldn’t hang up the phone; the last thing you wanted was to scare him away.

Although drunk, your feelings were true. You did miss him: you wanted to stay wrapped up in him forever, whether it be just with basic comfort or with sexual nature. You didn’t care, as long as he was with you. In three days, his presence had not only caught your attention, but made home within the walls of your house. Feelings for him were blossoming from every angle, immersing you within them and tying you down with their roots. It only took three days for Jake to make you a fool for him, three days to produce a feeling that rivalled your feelings for Sam. If you thought you were in too deep before, you were drowning, now.

That’s the funny thing about love; it cares little about who it’s next victim is, only about the fatalities it leaves in its wake.

Despite equal consent to the game, fatality was most definitely the prize. By choosing to be ignorant to risk, all three of you willingly sealed your own fate. No amount of repent could save you from the consequences. Deep down, you were well aware of that fact, but the sin was so pleasurable that it no longer mattered.

“I miss you, Gold Dust Woman.” The words only solidified your desire to ignore the risk. It was the most beautiful statement you had ever heard, and it was laced with sincerity. Imbedded with so much emotion that it made your head spin, wondering if it was even possible for someone to speak with such unwavering clarity. As if he, too, realized the extent of his vulnerability, he quickly spoke to cover it. “I miss being inside you, more.” The sweet tone quickly turned into one of desire, but both of you knew it was a lie. He desperately missed the mornings activities, his arms wrapped around your waist with a kiss placed to your neck while the smell of coffee lingered in the air. Smiling and laughing, singing along and poorly dancing to the hum of the record player. Taking turns playing guitar for each other, him dedicating every song to you but leaving it unspoken. He missed the moments of silence, more comfortable than any other, where he could hear your breathing steady while your eyes fluttered closed, enticed by the idea of falling back into a slumber. He missed the fleeting feeling of you being his, and his alone. Even if the idea wasn’t wholly truthful, he liked to pretend it was.

And in a way, you were. Every part of you belonged to him in some sense, even if other forces were trying to pull you away. But neither of you would ever speak those thoughts aloud, scared of the same things, even if the ones you focused on were not the biggest threats. Instead, you played along, sad that he felt the need to discredit such a genuine confession, but relieved that you didn’t have to explain your own. You both fell in step with the devil once again, ignoring the ache in your hearts and covering it with animalistic attraction and half-truths. If only you could both hear how loud he was laughing, pleased that you carried on just how the devil intends.

“You know there’s always a place for you between my legs, baby.” You whispered, the low tone shaking him to his core, settling in his bones and breaking them under the weight of the statement. It was unspoken that the confessions of emotion would be ignored, as always. It was just the way things were. You could practically hear his need for you through the phone, even if he didn’t say anything.

“Is that what you want?” He posed the question in a derogatory manner, as if he was trying to make you to feel shameful for wanting him so badly. You could see through it, knowing that he just wanted to hear you admit your desperation for him. “You want me, baby?”

“Mhm,” You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. As you realized that, you also realized how badly you wished you could see him. Before responding any further, you clicked the FaceTime icon on his contact. Within seconds, he accepted. The screen lit up with his face, immediately giving you a sense of relief. You took in the sight, noting he was sitting in his living room. You had only been to his apartment a handful of times, but you knew it well enough to recognize it. “Hi,” you smiled, almost forgetting the nature of the conversation.

“Hi, beautiful.” He disregarded the vulgarity for a moment, too, just so he could admire you. The blush that spread across your cheeks caused a smile to break out on his lips, too. He noted the wine glass in the frame before his eyes inevitably landed on your attire, the adoration in his eyes quickly fading into lust. The distant look let you know that he was already imagining what was beneath the flimsy red fabric. Remembering what lie beneath. As much as his expression enticed you, you couldn’t let him get away with it without making a comment.

“Eyes up here, Jacob.” You scolded, catching his attention again.

“Expect me not to stare when you look like that?” He asked, a smile still lingering on his lips. “Sadist.” He smirked, the word bouncing between you both, accompanied by pointed fingers and accusatory tones. Perhaps both of you were the sadists by continuing your entanglement without caution or worry about the future.

“I know how much you love the red, but I think you’ll love what’s underneath it, more.” You said, eyes never leaving his face. You could see the muscle in his jaw tense at the thought, proving you were correct.

“I think red is your colour, sweetheart.” He noted, disregarding your words. As bad as he wanted you to remove the clothing, he’d be caught dead before admitting you were right. “Sit back, baby. Let me see the rest of you.” The order was firm, making sure you knew that it was not a request. You propped your phone against the wine bottle, obeying the instructions and leaning back in your chair, allowing him a better view. He let out a sigh, content with the sight of your mostly exposed upper body.

“Like this?” You asked, bringing your hand to your chest and gently running your fingers over the edge of the cup on your bra, gently pulling it down in the process. It was enough to tease him, but not enough to show him what he was hoping to see. You let your finger linger for a second before releasing the hold. The fabric drifted back to its original position and you let your fingers trail down your bare torso.

“Just like that.” He affirmed, visibly bothered by the show you were putting on. “Be a good girl and take that off for me.” His plea was covered with dominance in attempt to hide his neediness, but it wasn’t working. Part of you wanted to give into the request; with the way he was looking at you, it was hard to want to deny him of anything. But, that little devil in your head was as angry as ever, now fuelled by the knowledge Danny had given you.

“Come over and take it off yourself.” You replied, trying to remain unbothered by his pet names. His eyes flashed with discontent, fed up with your continuous disobedience.

“You want me to come over?” He asked, playing into whatever game you were trying to start with him. You gave a nod, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to withstand the temptation for much longer. “You need someone to take care of that ache between your legs? To make you feel so good that you can’t remember your own name?” His tone was soft, sympathetic almost, but the flame ablaze behind his pupil and the slight tension in his jaw led you to believe he was being quite misleading.

“Yes, please.” You pleaded, ignoring your worry about his honesty. The arousal pooling between your legs was beginning to feel uncomfortable, like a constant, dull pain that would eventually drive you crazy. Something about Jake always led you to believe that life without him would lead you to the brink of insanity. The constant talk of want, or desire was quite minimal compared to how you truly felt about him. Necessity was closer to correct, depending on his touch more than your own heartbeat to keep you alive.

“You need someone to take care of that pretty little cunt,” he deducted, taking in a long breath at the sound of his own words. He was just as worked up as you, debating throwing his plan in the garbage and getting in his car that instant. “And you know I’m the only one who knows how to do it right.” He finished, finding the strength to stay seated and continue his merciless taunts.

“Please come over, baby. I need you so bad.” The words slipped out easier than any you had said before, the strength you had to endure his words was breaking apart every time he opened his mouth.

“I know, angel.” He hummed, soothing you for just a moment. You thought he was going to give in, to tell you he would be there in a minute, but when he spoke again, you wish you’d never started the battle in the first place. “I want to help you out, but you haven’t been very good for me. Being a tease doesn’t get you what you want, baby. You know that.”

“Jake, please. I’m sorry.” You begged, that feeling of familiar dread filling your stomach. “I’ll be good for you, I promise.”

“If I give you what you want, you won’t learn anything.” The irritation that grew from the smirk he was wearing was unbearable. You couldn’t genuinely believe that after the entire call, he would have the nerve to deny either of you the pleasure of spending another night together. “Go take care of yourself, sweetheart. Just think of me when you do.” Your teeth were clenched, frustrated that your efforts seemed to have no effect on him.

“Just come over, baby.” You tried once more, but his mind was made up.

“If you do what I say and behave, I might come and see you later.” So that was his plan; like always, he was willing to give in, but he felt the need to ensure you would suffer, first. “Another picture might help, too.” He sent a wink your way, so subtle that you almost missed it. Before you had a chance to respond, he had ended the call and you were met with the disappointing sight of your screensaver, wishing you had one more minute to admire the sight of his face.

You had two options: deal with the issue yourself, wait it out and hope he would feel generous enough to pay you a visit after a while, or call a cab and go to him, first. As much as the second option was tempting, you knew if you did so, it would only fuel his ego even further. He was well aware of the power he held over you, and running to him would only solidify the idea in his mind. Waiting to see if he would come over might do the same, but at least you would have the upper hand. By the time he showed up, your overwhelming need for him would have time to simmer. Then, you could give him a taste of his own medicine.

So you sat, sipping away at your wine, thinking that it wouldn’t be too difficult to wait it out. The closer the bottle got to empty, the more confident you felt about the situation. If he wanted to be an asshole, you could be, too. His request for more pictures would go unanswered, and he would have to give in. Even in your drunken state, you were aware of the power you had over him, too. Confidence did not equal satisfaction, though. You nursed the last of your wine until he showed up, or until you found something better to do, quickly realizing that time would not satisfy your craving for him. With every minute that passed, you hoped the feeling would fizzle away, but the more you ignored it, the worse it seemed to get.

Eventually, as you drained the last few drops of your glass for the second time (you had to make sure it was completely empty, of course), you heard a knock sound at the front door. A jolt of energy surged through you, realizing you had won the battle without putting any effort in at all. You stood, leaving the empty bottle on the table for decoration, and wasted no time following the sound of the knock. When you reached the front door, you ran your hand through your hair, straightening yourself out to look the best you could for him. Before opening the door, you ever so slightly peeked through the blinds.

In your drunken state, it seemed blatantly obvious that it was Jake standing outside. The tuft of brown hair that caught your eye was so familiar, immediately showering you with relief. But, if you looked for a moment longer, you might have clued in that opening the door in your current attire was a mistake. Had sobriety been in the question, you would have noticed the distinctive difference, how the body was taller, a bit more slender than the boy you were looking for. Maybe, it was possible you did notice, but we’re too blinded by excitement to cognitively understand that Jake was not the one knocking on your door. You wished to see him so badly that you overlooked any possibility of it not being him standing there.

When the door creaked open, you had a smirk on your lips, ready to throw his bluff back in his face. Instead of grasping the feeling of satisfaction for Jake’s failure, dread bled into every nerve in your body. It took a moment for both of you to understand exactly what scene you had found yourself in, but when you came back from the shock, you couldn’t even find the right words to express how you were feeling. Your limbs were frozen, unable to shut the door again and your heart was stuck in your throat. Sam’s wide eyes and parted lips showcased his matching emotions, also void of a proper response. Even in his complete surprise, he couldn’t help but feel his gaze drifting over every exposed part of you that was offered. If you wanted to be dramatic, you could even go as far as to say he was drooling at the sight of you.

After a moment of staring, you took a step to the side, covering as much of you as possible behind the solid door. “Do you greet everyone like that, or am I interrupting something?” He said, clearing his throat, joking to subtly to pass off his blatant gawking.

“Um, no… and no, I guess.” You squeaked, cheeks red enough to match the fabric that was barely concealing you.

“Expecting someone else?” The corner of his lip upturned into a smirk, finding humour in the awkward moment. He knew you were likely expecting his brother, but his cockiness allowed him to use the knowledge to his advantage.

“No,” you said after a long bout of silence, trying to sound confident. The alcohol was sending the devil in your head into a drunken rampage. Your plan to play into their game was bouncing around within your skull, urging you to take the embarrassing greeting and make it into something better. If Jake wasn’t willing to give you what you needed, you were sure that Sam would have no problem helping you out. If they wanted to involve you in their mess, you should have no issue using it for your own benefit. You were both playing with fire, but the heat was gradual; welcoming at first, and only burning you after the fact, once you were too far in to turn around.

“So I showed up at the perfect time, then?” Your anxiety washed away, even finding yourself able to produce a genuine smile at his ridiculously childish response. Your eyes drifted over his face, taking in the details of his expression. He had recovered from his nervous state, too, but his eyes were still glistening with appreciation at the beauty of you before him. You could have shut the door, turned him away with an apology and let the memory die, but his beauty was captivating, and you were drawn in by the way he was watching you. If you had found yourself in the situation with a lower blood-alcohol content, the whole thing would have been ridiculous and terribly wrong. Maybe it was the wine, or the brunch conversations that lead you to the conclusion in which you were headed towards. It didn’t matter, anyway, because you had already made up your mind. You didn’t want to turn him away; you were eager to let him inside.

“I think so.” You agreed, playing into him.

“Red’s your colour, princess.” He noted, trying to catch another glimpse of what you were trying to hide from him without being too obvious. Just another blatant show that Sam and Jake were in fact brothers, and brothers indeed. Too alike for their own good, and too foolish to see the problem. “You should wear it more often.” His voice was quiet, much different than his usual chipper tone that sounded through an entire room. You had never heard him speak in such a way, except for the small moment shared in your kitchen. It was enticing, perfectly alluring and dangerously gratifying.

“You should come in,” you stated, not as a request, but a fact. He watched you for a moment, attempting to convince himself that you were serious and not just pulling his leg. When you kept your composure, no hint of anything other than a genuine nature, he made a move towards you. Once he was inside, you closed the door behind him with little thought.

Perhaps too much carelessness for such a grave decision that would ultimately seal your fate.

Lousy lovers pick their prey

but they never cry out loud

TAGLIST: @itsdannysworld

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notiddygxthgf · 11 months

Text

9. "daybreak"

★ pairings: plug!wakasa imaushi x f!reader

★ synopsis: the one where you have the hots for your dealer, and Wakasa is always eager to please a customer. (don't let your bf stop you from finding ur hubby)

★ content warning: smut, angst, lotta porn w a lotta plot, car sex, dealer wakasa, cheating, oral sex, sneaky link, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, sex while high, consensual drug use, mentions of abuse, unprotected sex, so much more...

★ a/n: omg. I am so sorry for disappearing for a month... finals have been cray cray.. also my grandma died rip. ive been carefully crafting this for a month and updates will flow much quicker after this!! shit gets real tho... beware. (yall know the drill, comment ur thoughts n wishes).

★ w.c.; 5.2k

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YOU WOKE UP TO A COLD, EMPTY BED. As the morning sun peeked lazily through the thin curtains, they cast a wam glow across the hardwood floor. Your hair was a tousled mess atop your pillow, legs still sore from the night you had shared with Wakasa – though the activities had trailed well into this morning. You opened your eyes, disoriented for a brief moment as you blinked a few times. You shifted to the right, and then realized that you were alone.

The realization brought a pang of sadness that fluttered in your chest. You reached out to feel the empty space beside you, sweaty fingers trailing over the cool sheets – sheets that had been twisted between your fingers only a few hours earlier.

There was a sharp pain in your back as you sat up, though it didn’t compare to the overwhelming sense of loneliness that came with waking up alone. The memories of the previous night flooded your mind and filled you with a sense of longing you couldn’t deny. You recalled the way Wakasa’s eyes bore into yours, lips dripping with passionate praise as he claimed your body. Then you recalled the sound of his laughter, the hushed conversations, the gentle, intimate touches – in the quiet stillness of the morning, you were alone.

You should have known that he would leave in the morning. Thats how hook-ups usually worked. He’d had his fun with you and he vanished like thin air. Under normal circumstances, you would have thought nothing of it. Just fun. That’s all it was supposed to be.

But still, you couldn’t help but yearn for him; for the feeling of his hair between your fingers, for the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around your body. He made you melt. Was it all a lie?

Wakasa cupped your face, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. “I wish I could run away with ‘ya, doll, but we gotta be realistic,” he said, voice filled with longing. “There can’t be a happy ending for us. You know that, don’t ‘ya?”

He was right about that much. There couldn’t be a happy ending for the two of you.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and let your bare feet make contact with the cool floor. The shiver you felt could have been from the sudden chill that hit your body as the sheets fell from your shoulders or the emptiness that enveloped you. You cast your gaze to the floor, feeling the heaviness in your chest again.

Just fun, you had to remind yourself. No feelings.

You slid your slippers onto your cold feet. The morning routine which once brought you a sense of comfort now felt mechanical and devoid of meaning. Going through the motions of getting out of bed, you allowed your mind to wander – and wander it did… wander right back to him.

You found yourself missing him. You couldn’t help but replay the moments of intimacy in your mind. The feeling of his lips brushing against yours, the way he let your fingers trace patterns over his tatted skin, the way he held you through the night. He was so warm – it had all felt so real and perfect. But now, with the morning light casting a harsh reality upon your heavy heart, you couldn’t help the sense of emptiness you felt at the prospect of going back to the way things had been before yesterday.

Was that really all it was to him? You asked yourself. Were you a placeholder? A quick cum-and-go situation?

Instead of dwelling too hard on it, you made your way to the kitchen. You felt around on the countertop for the coffee machine. Popping one of the instant coffee capsules into the top of the machine, you watched it whir to life. The familiar aroma of fresh coffee brought little solace. You stood in front of the coffee machine half asleep, heart aching with longing you knew you shouldn’t have felt. The analog clock on the stove read 12:41 PM.

Weary eyes scanning the room, you let yourself wake up little by little. Your gaze settled on the pile of blankets on the couch, which… you didn’t remember putting out there. It looked to be one big blanket draped over a pile.

Figuring you might as well clean it up while you were still looking at it, you pushed yourself away from the counter, walking – or perhaps limping – to the couch. You had been expecting a mess beneath the blanket. What you hadn’t been expecting when you peeled back the first blanket, however, was a head of golden hair to peek out at you.

You froze with surprise at the sight that greeted you. There, on your couch, was the White Leopard himself, the man of the evening. You hadn’t expected him to stay, so you weren’t quite sure how to process the situation. Still, your heart warmed at the sight of him, knowing he’d cared enough to stay with you – and even more to let you have the entire bed while he slept on the couch. The gesture was… well, surprisingly kind.

You couldn’t deny that you had been preparing to be left in the dust. That’s all you had ever known. Given the passionate haze of a night that lingered in your memory, however, you had found yourself wishing it would last a little longer. Seeing him asleep on your couch, you felt a mix of surprise, curiosity, and uncertainty.

Continuing to watch the man sleep, you allowed your eyes to trace the curves and contours of his feminine face. His long, golden hair peeking out from beneath a layer of deep, purple dye. The smaller strands framed his delicate features. His lips were parted just slightly, blonde lashes casting soft shadows over his cheeks.

You were stuck by how beautiful he was in such a vulnerable state. Was this really the same criminal you had bedded last night? The alluring, passionate man who exuded such an intense air of confidence…?

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of curiosity about Wakasa as you stared down at his serene, sleeping form. Who was he beneath the surface? Who was he outside of his relationship with you, outside of his ties to the criminal world? What were his dreams, his fears, his hopes? What was his story?

It was then that you realized how little you really knew about your forbidden lover. You approached the couch slowly, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Being careful not to wake him, you knelt beside him. The man stirred in his sleep, scrunching his nose, but he didn’t wake up. The movement made you smile softly, feeling a sense of warmth and contentment you hadn’t expected.

He was breathtaking, a symphony of beauty – the way his brows arched just so, the way his lazy, downturned eyes were just barely shut. You found yourself lost in the details, the intricacies of his face.

As you continued to watch him sleep, you felt something shift inside of you. You wanted to know more about the man in front of you. You wanted to see his ups and downs, hear more about his past with Shinichiro and Takeomi. You wanted to know about all of his dreams and aspirations, what made him tick and what made him laugh. You wanted to unravel the alluring mystery that was Imaushi Wakasa.

Your heart swelled with a newfound tenderness. You gazed softly at Wakasa, who was lost in a peaceful slumber. This was so much more than just sex to you. You wished – above anything else – that circumstances could have been different.

You picked a stray away from his face, tucking it behind his ear. Wakasa stirred, lashes fluttering as he began to wake up. You quickly pulled your hand away, heart skipping a beat.

Wakasa blinked sleepily, droopy eyes searching the room until they focused on you. A soft, lazy grin made its way onto his lips as his gaze lingered on your face. “Mornin’,” he said hoarsely.

Feeling your face warm a little bit at the sound of his morning voice, you returned the gesture. “Good morning,” You replied softly, unable to tear your eyes away from him even though you knew it would be dangerous to keep looking at him. “Well, good afternoon.”

He rolled over on the couch, tugging the blanket down so he could stretch his arms out above his head with a loud yawn. His muscles tensed, toned arms flexing above him. Your eyes wandered from his tattoos down to his chest.

Gazing at you with a mixture of admiration and curiosity, he licked his lips. “What time’s’it?” He asked, running a a hand through his hair. It looked so silky, even now after the two of you had spent the entire night rolling around.

“12:42,” You answered him, avoiding his tired gaze. “What are you doing out here?”

Wakasa shrugged. “Thought it would be best for the both of us if I slept on the couch. Figured I’d give you some space,” he explained. You understood the implications of his words, and you knew he had made the right choice. Lord knew that waking up next to him would make you fall in love. “Were you watchin’ me?”

Embarrassed, you pursed your lips.

His grin only widened, and he reached out to gently cup your cheek, turning your flustered face towards him. “You’re sweet,” he said, thumb caressing your hot skin. “You sleep well?”

You knew you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, feeling the warmth spread from your face to the rest of your body. You knew it was foolish of you to continue indulging in his attention like this when you were walking a fine line already, but when you looked into his eyes and saw him look back at you with desire, you found yourself unable to resist him.

“We didn’t sleep until, like…” You trailed off, racking your memory while memories from last night flicked through your mind like you were rewinding a VHS tape. “Five. In the morning.”

Wakasa chuckled, sending sparks up and down your body. The two of you glanced down at his stomach when it grumbled. He laughed, “Dunno why ‘m still hungry. I ate real good last night.”

You bit your lip, letting your face burn at his words. You glanced to the kitchen, and then back at him. “You like eggs and toast?” You asked. “I haven’t gotten the chance to go grocery shopping or do much cleaning around here, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting–”

Wakasa pulled you in, locking your lips together to shut you up. The two of you parted slowly, savoring the moment, before Wakasa said, “Eggs and toast sound great.”

You licked your lips with a smile, putting some distance between the two of you for the sake of your mental health. He was dangerous, him and his lips. Wordlessly, you made your way over to the kitchen.

“How do you take your coffee?” You called, grabbing the cup of coffee that had just finished brewing and then popping another capsule into the machine.

Wakasa answered, “Two sugars, baby.”

You followed his command, popping the sugar canister open and scooping one big spoonful into the mug you had originally brewed for yourself. You let it dissolve a bit before stirring the cup in a clockwise motion.

“Here you go,” You said, setting the mug on the table. There was a clean pan on the stove already. You turned on the flame, and then reached into the cupboard above you in search of a bowl. Fetching three eggs from the fridge, you set your station for the meal you were about to make.

As you cracked the eggs into the bowl, you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, and a familiar warmth pressed up against your back. Biting back a gasp, you leaned into his touch. There was something else pressing into your back too, but you were trying your best not to think too hard about it.

Something was an early bird, even if Wakasa wasn’t.

“I had a great time last night, doll,” He whispered against the back of your neck, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You always this pretty in the mornin’?”

Fighting a smile, you tried to focus on the task at hand. You added a pinch of salt to the eggs, but your attention was stolen away by the feeling of his slender fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your tee. He gripped your stomach pudge, leaning down to plant soft kisses along the valley of your neck.

Casual, you had to remind yourself. Keep it casual.

“What happened to keepin’ it casual?” You replied, though your voice was dripping with amusement. You took the fork into your hand, sticking it into the yellow goop and attempting to whisk it. But, alas, Waka’s proximity was making it a little difficult to keep on track.

His hands roamed over your waist – warm, secure, safe. When he peppered more kisses along your jawline, you squirmed a bit, grinning hard enough to feel it in your cheeks. You dumped the egg mixture into the now heated pan, listening to the way it sizzled.

“You ain’t exactly makin’ it easy, c’mon,” he teased, nuzzling his face into your neck, and you couldn’t help but blush at his words. “I won’t tell your man.”

You turned to face Waka, bracing your arms on the kitchen counter. He was grinning at you with that affectionate twinkle in his eyes, and you found it suddenly difficult to keep your feelings to yourself. As if he had read your mind, he leaned in, and you melted into his touch.

Your lips met in the middle, dancing against each other lazily. He brought his hands down over your thighs as you tangled a hand in his hair to deepen the kiss. They slid up to your hips, and then gripped the meat of your ass. With a hungry groan, Wakasa lifted you onto the counter.

“You don’t get tired, do you?” You panted through a mouthful of his tongue.

Wakasa chuckled – the sound was low and sultry. “Of you?” he said. “Neva’.”

Then his lips were back on yours, hot and soft. His hands found their way back to your clothes, sliding up your bare thighs and ghosting over the hem of your panties. Suddenly, you had forgotten all about the eggs on the stove.

That is, until you smelled something burning. You pulled away from him, shoving him back while you rushed to the stove. “Shit!” You exclaimed.

You turned the heat down. Using the spatula you had laid out earlier, you scraped the burnt egg bits off the side of the pan, trying your best to salvage the meal. Eggs were expensive these days.

Wakasa laughed a little as he stepped back. You couldn’t help but laugh with him as you grabbed a dish towel to wave away the smoke. Even though you were a little disappointed that your makeout session had been interrupted, you felt yourself smile as you surveyed the damage.

“Well done is good too,” He hummed.

It took a remarkable amount of strength to keep your feelings out of the mix. You waved him off with a smile, gesturing toward the table. “Make yourself useful and go set the table.”

★

Takeomi sat back in his chair, swishing the brown liquid in his glass around with an air of mild interest about him. His hair was down today, black tufts speckled with grey like pepper, falling over his scarred face. The dining table was remarkably quiet. Though, admittedly, him bringing liquor for the two of you to share was nice. Usually he downed the whole thing himself – not like he hadn’t come home shitfaced already.

“You had fun today with Shin and Benkei?” You asked him, trying to strike up a conversation. You decided you wouldn’t acknowledge the fact that he had drunk himself stupid last night already as he took another hefty swig. You were in no place to talk. Not after the night you had spent with his coworker.

“You’ll be back soon, right?” You asked.

Wakasa stretched his arms out, straddling the seat of his motorbike. He slipped the key into the ignition. “Course I will.”

Coming up behind him, you threw your arms around his waist, pressing your head to his chest. He looked so cute like this, wearing a hoodie that was a few sizes too big for his small frame. It was your boyfriend’s hoodie, of course, but that wasn’t important.

“Stay with me,” you whispered, voice still a little husky from your… post-breakfast activities.

“You know I would if I could, doll,” the man replied. He reached behind himself to tie his loose, golden locks into a ponytail. He picked out his two signature strands to hang around his face. Turning to face you, he pressed your foreheads together.

You felt your heart fluter in your chest. You didn’t want him to leave.

“Wanna kiss you,” he chuckled, shaking his head, although he didn’t pull away from you. “But that’ll only make it harder to leave.”

“We shouldn’t,” you agreed, peering up into his soft, lazy eyes and pleading with him to stay with you. “Someone might see us.”

The distance between the two of you – or, rather, the lack thereof – remained the same, neither of you daring to break the trance.

He leaned down a bit more. His lips ghosted over hers, warm breath fanning over her hot skin. “Yeah. Wouldn’t want that happenin’.”

Before you could object, he pressed his lips to yours in a deep, passionate kiss. You melted against him, wrapping your arms around his neck and losing yourself in the feeling. The way your lips slotted together like they were made to fit each other had you reeling for more. When the two of you finally parted, you could see the desire in his eyes, and you knew that even if he couldn’t say it, he felt the same.

“Get home safe,” You told him.

“Will do, princess,” he promised before turning the key. His bike revved to life.

Takeomi’s tired eyes observed you as you uncapped the bottle of whiskey and poured yourself another glass. “It was alright,” he deadpanned, then he paused before adding, “Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I should’ve taken you home myself.”

You froze, only for a moment, before returning your gaze to him. It took a great amount of effort to cool the burn that threatened to crawl its way over your face at the prospect of him knowing what happened between you and Wakasa last night. “You’re fine,” you shook your head. “I wound up going to bed early anyway.”

“Fuck,” Wakasa breathed. “Y’look good with my dick in your mouth, baby.”

He doesn’t know, you had to remind yourself. There was no way he could have known.

“Waka get you home safe?” He asked.

You rubbed the sweat off your palms onto your pants, nervously avoiding eye contact. “Yeah. We took the highway back.”

“I would’ve sent you home with, like, literally anyone else if the guys weren’t so drunk. I can’t stand him,” Your boyfriend sighed, leaning back in his chair like he knew what you had done. “Little shit thinks hes so much better than everyone else. Him and that… Brut.”

The way his hair fell into his face as he snuggled his head into the pillow was almost hypnotic. “I could treat you better. So much better, ‘know I could. I’ve never felt that for anyone before.”

“He ain’t put his hands on ‘ya, did he?” Takeomi hummed, eyes darkening suddenly with the weight of his words.

“I won’t tell your man.”

With a weak smile and a humorless chuckle, you answered, “No, baby. He knows I have a boyfriend.”

Briefly, you wondered if he could sense his presence on you. You wondered if, even though you had bathed yourself in perfume before coming here, Takeomi could smell his scent on your body, the faint essence of his expensive cologne lingering on your clothes. While the two of you had been careful not to leave marks on one another, you felt self conscious in front of him, like Wakasa’s lips had left blistering scars and love bites all over your skin.

Takeomi only nodded at you. He reached for the bottle of whiskey and topped off his glass, taking another sip. Then, just as it had been before, the table was quiet for a few minutes.

He doesn’t know, you had to remind yourself. As your phone buzzed against your thigh, you reminded yourself that your boyfriend didn’t know who it was, even if you had only assumed it was him. A thought crossed your mind – perhaps it would serve you well to change your passcode one of these days.

Flipping the phone screen-side-up in your lap, you swiped on the notification. The warmth returned to your cheeks with remarkable speed.

Waka

| Image Attached

| Thinkin of u doll

You clicked on the photo. When it blew up on your screen, you fiddled with the brightness settings. It was a picture of two eggs done sunny side up. The yolks resembled a set of tits. You could see Wakasa’s hand in the corner of the photo, holding the plate up to the camera, tatted skin reflecting light from somewhere behind the screen.

You

| go fk yourself

| mine dont sit that pretty lol

Waka

| idk wtf ur talkin abt, yours sit real pretty.

| but i mean s been a min so

| might need a refresher ;)

Fighting the urge to laugh at his shenanigans, you typed up your brief response quickly before turning the phone off.

You

| no comment lol

You muted all notifications for Wakasa for the time being, setting your phone on the table as you pushed yourself up and away from the chair.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower. I hope that’s okay,” You said.

Too wasted to comment verbally on your request, he waved you off. You dusted the hem of your shirt, stumbling drunkenly for a moment before leaving the table without so much as another word.

★

The steamy shower provided a brief – yet much needed – moment of solace for your conflicted spirit. The hot water felt like acid against your even hotter skin, melting your troubles away and easing the pain away from your shoulders. Yet, still, it did little to ease the guilt and confusion that seemed to overwhelm you.

You had cheated on your boyfriend. You were past that part. What shocked you now was the fact that you were catching feelings for the guy you did it with. The emotions were almost too strong to bear. You felt like a monster – it all felt so wrong.

But, shit, not to be cliche… but if that were the case then you weren’t too sure you wanted to be right.

The man thrilled you, filled you with desires you had never felt before. In a mere month alone, he had managed to completely sweep you off of your feet. He had taken what was once a plain, boring reality and painted his name all over it.

Having already had washed your hair earlier today, you focused on working up a lather over your skin with Takeomi’s body wash – anything to help cleanse the filth from your soul.

Your mind was racing with thoughts and emotions, wondering how you had let things get to this point.

If I could go back in time, would I do it again? You furrowed your brows. Letting your hands glide over your body on their own, you mindlessly scrubbed away at your skin. You knew you had betrayed your boyfriend by that point, having cheated on him with – of all of his coworkers – the man he appeared to despise the most. He would undoubtedly try to kill one of you if word got out that you were seeing each other behind his back. All things considered, Takeomi was a decent man, least that’s what you told yourself. You’d be doing a disservice to yourself to leave him and all of this stability behind for the pursuit of temporary happiness.

And then what? Would Wakasa eventually grow tired of you and leave you for another? You didn’t want to be blacklisted from Tokyo’s criminal world, as crazy as that may have sounded.

Then again, it would be even more of a disservice to yourself to give what you had with Wakasa up so soon. His lips dripped with venom; His half-lidded eyes contained promises of a future you weren’t sure was even possible.

In those eyes, you saw a reflection of your own desires – the future you desperately wanted the two of you to share. You saw a man who was both powerful and vulnerable; a man who had earned the title of one of Japan’s most feared men, a man who had swept the hair out of your face and wiped your tears away. In those eyes, you could see the weight of the responsibility he carried, knowing you only added to that burden. He led like it was second nature to him, having been well-known around these parts for the many generous sacrifices he’d made to those in his circle – your boyfriend being one of them.

You wondered if he had ever truly allowed himself to be happy.

But, shit, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t see the way his whole face lit up when you entered the room. It couldn’t have been a lie, not all of it, at least.

Most of all, behind those eyes, you saw a kindred spirit, someone who seemed to understand you in a way that no one else ever has before. You could see this unspoken connection that defied both logic and reason – a shared emotion that was both forbidden and undeniable.

As you stood there in the shower, you realized that you would have to face the consequences of your actions at some point. You couldn’t run from it forever – what you had done was undeniably wrong in a moral sense; no amount of reassurance from Waka or yourself would change that fact. Some day, Takeomi would find out about the two of you, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for things to come to an end so soon.

You sighed. “I don’t want him goin’ after us.”

Wakasa’s hand found its way over to yours. “I’ll keep ‘ya safe. Promise,” he said.

You didn’t care if it was an illusion. He looked so ethereal beneath you, hair splayed out on the pillow around his face like a halo. He was so vulnerable, so perfect. Wakasa’s eyes were filled with a mixture of longing and determination. “And if ‘ya change ‘yer mind about being with him,” he said huskily, his hand reaching up to caress your cheek one more time. “I’m a call away.”

You felt your resolve crumble as you crashed your lips down on his, mouths melding together for what must have been the hundredth time that night. You moaned softly, moving your hands from his waist to the pillow beneath his head as you felt him brace his hands on your hips.

I’m not ready yet, you decided. You didn’t care if it was wrong. You didn’t care if there would be dire and extreme consequences if and when word about the two of you got out. You wanted to stay in this illusion with him a little while longer.

Warm, salty tears mixed with the water running down your face and over your quivering lips as you tried to wrap your head around it all. The thought of being hurt by Takeomi again made you feel sick to your stomach – You had seen the damage he was capable of doing to his opponents, you didn’t even want to know what he would do to you if he found out about Wakasa. Still, you had betrayed him. You knew repercussions would come eventually.

As you stepped out of the shower and dried yourself off with a towel, you swallowed your guilt. You had a clean set of clothes folded neatly atop the sink. The shirt slipped loosely over your head, though the pants took some effort to squeeze into. You gazed at your tired face in the mirror. You looked about as lost as you felt. Deciding eventually that worrying about it now wouldn’t change the eventual outcome, you sighed, reaching for the door.

“Might as well ride the train until it crashes,” you murmurred beneath your breath.

Who knows? That confrontation might be years away.

Looping around the hallway, you approached the staircase. There was that faint, distinct aroma of booze that lingered in the air – that and the familiar stench of Takeomi’s cigars. A smile adorned your lips at the thought of being able to share a smoke with him. You rarely got the chance to smoke a Cuban these days. Slowly, you made your descent down the stairs.

You could hear the TV playing something – Takeomi had moved to the living room. You guessed he was done drinking for the night. Lord knew you were too drunk to continue on yourself.

Anticipation bubbled within you as you approached the living room. Takeomi was seated on the loveseat with a cigar pinched between his thumb and index finger. His hair was a bit greasy from his day out, just faintly illuminated by the yellow light cast onto his face from the lamp in the corner.

As your gaze met his, your anticipation was met with an unexpected sight. Takeomi’s brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. The tension that radiated from his rigid posture seemed to cast a shadow over the room. There was a storm brewing behind his eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat, then two, your smile dropping from your face. Concern etched itself across your expression. The soft pitter-patter of your bare, damp feet on the hardwood floor seemed to echo louder in the charged atmosphere.

“Is something the matter?” You asked, doing your best to keep your tone gentle despite the hint of unease that lingered behind your words.

“Yeah,” he answered. The end of his cigar crackled as he took a long, hefty hit.

Confusion washed over you. A flicker of worry cast a cloud over your sunny disposition. You approached him slowly, steps tentative. “What’s up?” You asked him.

Takeomi’s gaze met yours, anger flashing behind his dark eyes. His voice, once a drunken, slurred murmur, now carried the weight of his emotion. Wordlessly, reached into his lap and produced your phone, holding it out toward you.

It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the screen, widening when they did. The warmth in the room dissipated, replaced by a chilling silence that hung heavily in the air.

“You’re fucking my coworker?” He spoke, voice tinged with a mixture of hurt and anger.

And in a moment’s width, your world had flipped upside down.

a/n: dun dun dunnnnnn!! -- ok im sorry for the cliffhanger, shit is about to get juicy, trust. I just wanna take a moment to thank each and every one of you reading rn for all of ur unwavering support. the amount of love this fic has gotten during the past month ive been on hiatus has kept me going thru difficult times, I dont think yall will ever understand the impact you've had on me. ur comments make my day!! (please leave more I love u all mwah mwah mwah). as for next chapter, strap in. remember the angst and craziness I warned yall abt last month? yeah. get ready. lmk what u think as always and feel free to comment or reblog with any thoughts, suggestions or just to say hello, mawmah loves u all<3

I obviously do not own tokyo revengers or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

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weirdmageddon · 6 months

Text

long meditation on jade and dave's relationship - part 1

here's a three-part heavy homestuck meta. took me about 3 days to scrobble together and format and everything

part 2 part 3 cooking

i apologize in advance for the disorganization of my thoughts. after writing it i realized this is probably one of the clearest glances into how my mind thinks associatively so everything relates in some way to something else in here. the foundations for my thoughts might be invisible to others because they can’t see the connections ive built upon but you can probably see them here, and that strong foundation is also why i care so much about them and why i chose to lay it all out. sometimes i feel like i have Got to get this tangled associative web out of my head and into some form of writing so other people can be like, “oh so This is why you have so much to say” and can just. see into my head and where it all comes from for me. people have expressed interest and the general opinion tends to be that people like hearing my thoughts a lot so yeah. pov you are in my brainwebs. seatbelts everyone get on the magic school bus in that bitch

some time ago i saw this post i saw as i was going through florals jade tag again. my homestuck hyperfixation flared up again and ive been hyperfocused on dave and jade and particular just absolutely entering these monotropic black holes over them and turning them around at different angles and looking at discussions and what people thought both now and in the past and now that im older i can appreciate them even more. ive always been a fan of dave and jade both, but i cant even lie dave has my whole heart so maybe im biased as well. but i like to believe that regardless of my liking for dave and interest in not even x-ray scanning him just straight up 3D mri scanning him and rotating him in my head that my argument is still very reasonable. i just understand his psychology a lot

i want to preface this by saying i absolutely love floral and im so glad she’s on the hsbc team because i know she can do jade harley justice. one of the best jadesters fr. we all come into media analysis with different personal experiences and perspectives, and i understand this was from her perspective as someone who had run ins with dumb boys and relates a lot to jade which is why she can put so much love into her <3 i just found myself disagreeing with some of the arguments that she presented in that post just as a peer who also read the comic from my own perspective. keep in mind i also love jade to bits and want the best for her

so yea this isn’t a targeted post at all. it just got the juices flowing and inspired me to actually write my pre-existing thoughts down and i used it as a springboard for them

i think it ended up being pretty insightful overall especially because i was stoned as fuck writing it and ive come to realize being stoned amplifies and improves the output of my deeply inwardly associative thought processes tenfold. or maybe weed just changes how significant it feels. maybe a little of both

part 1: on using davesprite as a basis for interpreting jade's relationship with all daves

i love what hussie does with alternate versions of characters and. it’s one of the coolest things about homestuck’s characterization. like floral quoted:

… we see that Jack is a simple man, no matter what name he goes by. He is, if not much else (and he’s not), impatient and violent. We only got the briefest glimpse into these qualities when we were first introduced to him on Derse. But now we get to spend much more time with him, albeit in the form of a completely different character. This is another bit of sneaky utility provided by this intermission tangent. It serves as an arc to help indirectly characterize the villain of the early acts. Having multiple copies of a character operating in totally different circumstances turns out to be a great stealth characterization tactic, and it gets used much more aggressively later in the story. In fact, it proves to be inseparable from one of the story’s most essential themes. (Hussie’s Intermission commentary)

so i agree in principle and think the alt self thing is fucking brilliant

however, i disagree with the argument it’s supporting.

So, not the same character, but if switched, I would go out on a limb and say that Dave would experience all the same issues as Davesprite did, but without the “bird” part acting as an easy explanation. That doesn’t make Dave responsible but it does speak volumes to how their personalities respond to each other, insinuates that a relationship involving any Dave would end badly for Jade and that “Real” Dave indeed has Some Issues To Deal With.

i don't agree that dave and davesprite should be compared in this context. yes they are splinters of the same character and floral is right on the money in that canon deflecting the relationship failing on "bird issues" doesn't really explain anything meaningful, but i do not think its the case that all of jade’s relationships with dave are doomed to fail because of what we saw with jade and davesprite.

yes, if switched, dave strider would be practically identical to davesprite since they were the same exact person until a branch in the timeline

however, it's the unique things davesprite has been through that made him like this. davesprite has baggage that dave doesn't. a timeline where john was tricked into fighting his denizen early and died and jade couldn't get in on time and was presumably wiped out dinosaur style on earth. with alt future dave's year-worth of knowledge, gear, loot, and experience, he rescinded his player status and "realness" as a human person to be a game guide for his naive past self right before the timeline split in order for himself and his friends to continue existing.

that would mess anyone up mentally. it's no wonder he's jaded, no pun intended. he's depressed as shit and bitter and probably has trauma issues unrelated to his bro, though they do compound on it. yes they both experienced bro's abuse but i'm talking about the differences between alpha timeline dave and davesprite; right now im not going to talk about things that are the same about them prior to the timeline split because it applies to them both so it's redundant.

essentially what's setting them apart is their experiences playing sburb, their chronological age (alt future dave/davesprite had been making timeloops over a span of four months and he says that in total the time from his chronological perspective is close to a YEAR in sburb grinding shit out before he goes back), their relationship to their friends and how their friends see them and how they see themselves, their ontological natures as beings, what their purposes are.

davesprite had his ontological status as a person and purpose changed. he assumed he'd be the one playing and doing important main shit in the alpha timeline with all his friends but then it turns out that wasn't the case due to the events that went down in his timeline. and becoming a sprite solidly changed his degree of existence. davesprite's best friend john asking if he can talk to "the real dave" is when i think he realized just how fucked up his existence as a person has become despite him doing pretty much everything for everyone for nearly a YEAR before the alpha timeline was even able to get properly started. if davesprite didn’t exist, nobody would have (john needed to live to do ectobiology). davesprite knew this and weaponized it against john who john treated as a secondary, lesser dave. so of course he’s kind of an asshole. it’s like his efforts and sacrifices meant squat to the people he considered his best friends because they didn’t experience it. to john he just suddenly appeared from the future and became a sprite.

this is heavy shit for davesprite that alpha timeline dave does NOT have to go through and it did change him in ways that cannot be said about alpha timeline dave. this is not a universal dave experience. so while it’s true that dave has the capacity of act like davesprite under those exact circumstances, alpha timeline dave didn’t undergo those that led to davesprite’s more miserable traits. therefore i don’t think it’s fair to conflate jade’s failed relationship with davesprite in particular as informing of how most of jade and dave’s relationships would unfold, because davesprite has been in exceptionally tragic circumstances, coming to terms with the state of his own existence. the last thing davesprite needs is romance. alpha timeline dave does not carry this burden.

Everyone believed that what was creating the dissonance wasn’t a central part to Dave’s character but an aftereffect of Bird Syndrome. Which you can’t blame them for because there’s nothing that would lead them to think differently. Every character besides Dirk is completely in the dark about Bro’s abuse and Dave stated he’d probably never tell any of the Betas. Which is fine, no one’s owed to know somebody’s baggage. But when you don’t give people a means to understand what you’re going through, especially when it leads you to hurt them, its only inevitable everyone’s going to be confused and going to come to conclusions using what they do know.

rebuttal to this: as i said earlier i don’t buy the whole bird issues thing and i get the handwaviness about being fused with a bird being john’s explanation for davesprite’s bullshittery. however i think it’s important to mention that john and jade both question if becoming a sprite might have had something to do with his change.

being fused with a bird never bothered him, as jade says. it was all the other baggage that came with the prototyping.

this includes playing the game for way longer than anyone else and mindlessly grinding from the ground up for about a year, then turning himself into a game construct and having his ontological level of existence as the platonic ideal form of dave strider lowered in the eyes of his friends.

JOHN: like what? JADE: its hard to explain JADE: just some slight differences in personality i guess JOHN: he still raps sometimes. JADE: yes... JADE: so? JOHN: i just thought i would mention that. JADE: ok i will admit i cant really tell if his rapping style has changed JOHN: trust me, it hasn't. JADE: i dont know if the differences are because he is a sprite JADE: or because he lived for a while in a different timeline... (p.4733)

JOHN: why is he such a basket case? he's like regular dave, but like, aloof enigma edition. JOHN: maybe it's because he's part bird? i think becoming a bird and a sprite did something weird to him. JADE: i dont think being a bird ever bothered him JADE: like i said... its all more complicated than that JOHN: normal dave was so much more level headed. JOHN: i have to admit, i spend a lot of time wondering what he and rose are up to. JADE: me too JOHN: ehh... JOHN: maybe it's for the best he broke up with you. JADE: why? JOHN: well, what kind of future do you think you would have with him? JOHN: he's a sprite. like really, what even is a sprite? how long do they live? will he still be around if we win the new game we are allegedly trying to get to? JADE: i dont know (p.5294)

as for the bro abuse thing, i can’t tell if floral’s position here is that davesprite is fucked up and had a failed relationship with jade because of bro’s abuse, and that dave would also necessarily have failed relationships with jade because he had the same experiences and also doesn’t tell anybody? the wording there is kind of vague and can be interpreted in different ways but that’s how i interpreted it.

they are right that bro’s abuse is something dave keeps to himself. but remember that dave has also deluded himself about it to cope. he doesn’t know what to think of it himself. both alpha timeline dave and davesprite have this baggage, but we explore it more with alpha timeline dave.

i know dave said in the post-retcon timeline when having a conversation with dirk that he could never tell karkat all of this or any of the betas about his abuse. but i still find this pesterlog interesting and i want to put a spotlight on it. even while dave was still chugging that copium, jade was the person he was closest to opening up about the nature of his relationship to his bro at this point. remember this is quite early on in the comic and he didn’t have 3 years on the meteor to contemplate it yet when he said this to her, his bro had just died at this point

GG: anyway dave im really sorry about your bro/dad GG: you were pretty close with him right? TG: meh it was a pretty bizarre relationship by any standard TG: fightin off wave after wave of face pumicing puppet ass every day TG: always being on guard for stealth attacks in the middle of the night while getting up to go to the fucking bathroom GG: heheh TG: but i guess it all sorta amounted to some vague unspoken semblance of kinship TG: if thats a thing TG: like if honor among thieves is something then lets call it camaraderie among ironic rapping roof ninjas TG: but thanks GG: sure TG: i thought about taking his sword TG: when i was there TG: but i couldnt TG: couldnt really bring myself to try to pull it out it was too weird GG: dave we have to stop him!!!!! TG: what GG: jack! GG: he shouldnt get away with this TG: you think (p.3204)

even if he’s in denial about it, deciding to point out the positivity he can rationalize about it to avoid spending too much time thinking deeply about it (it makes him uncomfortable), he’s getting closer to acknowledging the truth here that shit wasn’t normal, about it being “bizarre” and you can tell hes being genuine here when he thanks jade for her concern about his loss

dave then continues talking about his thoughts/feelings on the situation after jade says “sure”, as if he took her concern as an invite to open up about his thoughts even when it’s something vulnerable for him that he tried putting on false bravado in front of terezi about. jade then abruptly changes topic to what’s to be practically done about these tragedies—dave was still on the topic of his bro and she changed the topic to jack noir without clarifying, hence he goes “what”

this is interesting because terezi tried to get something out of him about this and was met by riddly puzzlecock and false bravado but he’s pretty straight up about his current feelings with jade. basically it really depends on the person dave is talking to.

in this specific argument, floral approaches grimbark jade solely from the position of her being uninhibited which is true in many ways, but grimbark jade is also quite nefarious and not in her right mind. i think that even if jade were unihibited and spoke her mind, she wouldn’t have it in her push the mayor into lava to get dave to fight her. thats the evil. floral does acknowledge this in a separate post though, but it’s not really touched on in her argument im discussing. i also want to reiterate that even though it might seem like im violently ripping this post limb from limb its really just something to bounce my pre-existing thoughts off of. this is all written with civility towards and respect for floral

even roxy says something about this—that the schtick doesnt suit her. like it doesnt feel like something she’d have the natural capacity to really be without some external influence

ROXY: so alt grannydaughter english ROXY: whyre u part dog + evil lookin JADE: DO NOT CALL ME THAT!!! ROXY: what JADE: my surname is harley not english JADE: but you may refer to me as jade, or ma'am if you are feeling especially nervous and deferential JADE: which as it turns out is the way you should be feeling about me, ALWAYS >:B ROXY: LOL!!! JADE: lol WHAT ROXY: jade i am in no way buying that ur normally this pompous and tyrannical ROXY: the shtick rly doesnt suit you its so obvious (p.6291)

so i don’t think everything jade says here should be taken to heart about her real feelings or how she would express them if she was being genuine as her normal self. we know jade can get mad but i think we’re giving her evil possession a little too much credit

that’s why i was personally disappointed in grimbark jade when homestuck was ongoing, is it felt like it didnt really give us anything? it was like empty calories while just waiting for the regular jade to come back which she never did. it is interesting to look at in retrospect to see if there’s anything there but…grimbark jade isn't exactly a reliable narrator. i guess none of them are but like, especially not grimbark jade. if i can’t separate what’s genuinely jade under this mess from what isn’t then what’s the point?

like for example this was left out of floral’s argument when showing this part, but in the comic grimbark jade tells dave that he’s “more messed up inside than davesprite” …. right after dave wouldnt comply with her demands to fight her and doesnt want to fight lord english. that’s…not really telling about anything at all for either of them. jade is evil and if things dont go the way she’s programmed to get them to go she’s gonna flip her lid. this is what i mean about her not being in her right mind

JADE: the fact is youre going to have to rely on those powers if you want to stand any chance against a lord of time JADE: it is safe to expect he can only be challenged by someone with a similar command over the aspect DAVE: why is that safe to expect DAVE: where are all these presumptions coming from DAVE: if you can use swords why dont you take the welsh cueball sword and fight him yourself DAVE: i bet you could fuck him up DAVE: youre probably even more extra strong now that youve succumbed to the bark side DAVE: did you ever think about that JADE: dave i am perfectly aware of the awesome powers granted to me by the bark side JADE: it does not matter JADE: i cant be the one to wield your sword against english JADE: it has to be you JADE: it is the will of the empress, and thats final DAVE: the empress can suck it DAVE: i have no intention of fighting him DAVE: and this isnt even me pulling more lame self aware reluctant hero junk DAVE: i am just straight up not going to do it DAVE: see thats not reluctance its just petulant refusal on my part DAVE: reluctant hero shit is when the guys like aw shucks i dunno if i wanna but deep down we all know he really does DAVE: but i really dont DAVE: why should i DAVE: i dont give a damn about lord english or his nebulous atrocities out in nowherespace DAVE: what kind of villain is someone you never met who hardly did anything evil to you or your friends directly DAVE: or even to anyone in your universe for that matter other than through some vague insidious influence DAVE: who even is this guy and why should i hate him DAVE: am i really supposed to be pissed off at a green muscle monster i never met DAVE: cause i aint pissed off at no muscle monster DAVE: hell wasnt he in some ass backwards way responsible for us existing in the first place? DAVE: or all of humanity for that matter?? DAVE: maybe i should thank him before chopping him up via welshscalibur JADE: jeez you sure have some issues JADE: honestly it has become very tiresome listening to this sort of thing JADE: i thought davesprite had problems JADE: his issues i could kind of understand JADE: i thought you might be different, being the alpha dave and all JADE: but no JADE: you might be even more messed up inside than he was! DAVE: what DAVE: why are you dragging that guy into this (p.6385 / 6386)

part 2

#homestuck #homestuck meta #dave strider #jade harley #davejade #davesprite #hs #homestuck analysis

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unsupervised-meatsuit · 3 months

Text

Inconveniences, Cultists, and the Warehouse of Rejected Toys

Cross posted on AO3!

If there was one thought that Marinette could attribute to describe the entirety of this situation, it would be that Thursdays suck.

It is not the most commonly hated day of the week, since that dubious honor belongs to Monday, for rather obvious reasons. Since it is so universally hated, however, it never comes as a surprise when the bad things come out to play. Oh, there was a fire in the office next door over the weekend, and now the air conditioning smells like burnt rubber and brick dust? That's just Monday for you. A villain attack in the warehouse district caused a shipping delay and that package you ordered got lost somewhere? Disappointing, yet unsurprising. The subway is so packed that a sardine tin would be spacious in comparison? Well, that's the subway every day, so it doesn't really count.

Tuesdays and Wednesdays are just that, days. Nothing exciting, nothing awful. Middle of the line, going through the motions, monotonous. Whether trudging through or in the zone, things get done and nothing exciting happens. Fridays are, of course, celebrated as the finish line, the checkpoint in the marathon of life that says 'you made it! You can take a rest now'. The final stretch before the glorious work-free weekend. The one where you can go home with the comfort of knowing there are no alarms coinciding with dawns break, just waiting to sneak up on you too soon. No annoying coworkers waiting with their metaphorical talons and too-cheerful-to-be-real attitudes, ready to interrupt your flow at the worst possible moment. Fridays are the tantalizing breath of freedom, just awaiting for the clock to strike.

But Thursdays? Thursdays are the worst.

They are the day you always forget. The one that sneaks up on you, where you wake up with the inkling of hope and relief that the end brings, only to have the crushing realization that it is not, in fact, Friday. Like seeing a finish line on the crest of a hill in front of you, only to watch as the closer you get the further away it seems. The one where you cram every ounce of procrastinated effort into the projects you have been putting off until right before the deadline, wishing for nothing more than an IV drip of straight espresso into your veins, followed by a three century long nap.

The day where you get kidnapped by an evil cult and strung up from the ceiling next to an unconscious vigilante, simply for the crime of being a nice person in Gotham.

Or maybe that is just Marinette.

'Embodiment of good luck and creation my ass,' she thought bitterly, rope digging painfully into her elbows and just below her ribs. 'Oh yea, let's go to Gotham. The city is unbalanced and needs a Guardian to fix all of the curses. That is such a great idea. Nothing bad will happen! Well what do you call this then, Tikki?!' Marinette sighed, the feeling of pins and needles creeping down towards her bound wrists as she swung precariously some twenty-five odd feet above the concrete warehouse floor, trying to ignore the worry she felt being separated from the little deity. Beside her was none other than Red Hood; former(maybe? she's not sure) crime lord, gunslinging vigilante, and too freaking heavy for his own good. Seriously, for someone who uses firearms almost exclusively, there is no reason for him to be so damn muscular. Or tall. Completely unfair for someone to hog all the height like that. It's what got them into this whole mess to begin with!

Well- That wasn't entirely true, but still. If he didn't weigh so much, Marinette could have easily grabbed him and run from the masked, potato-sack-wearing, nonsense-spewing, second rate fanatic occultists before they even knew she was there. But no, Red Hood just had to be the size and weight of a small bear, and now they were both in this mess.

"I should have never gotten out of bed this morning..." She muttered despondently, hearing a groan come from the limp figure beside her.

"Son of a bitch..." Red Hood murmured, voice changer in his helmet distorting the words to be near incomprehensible. The following string of curses as he presumably opened his eyes and took in their predicament was much more audible, however. Looking down, Marinette couldn't even begrudge him the swearing.

The two of them were currently hanging from a catwalk suspended in between two of the six total concrete pillars and directly above where the aforementioned potato-sack-wearing cultists were busy drawing out chalk guidelines for some kind of complex ritual circle. She couldn't quite make out what it was meant to be yet, seeing as it was in the early stages, but she could assume that it wasn't anything good for their would-be sacrifices. They were really dedicated, too, not even glancing up at the vigilante that was giving his best impression of an angry drenched cat. One of them even had a protractor and was double checking all of the angles in the twelve pointed star. Clearly, whatever this ritual was meant to be, it was going to take a while to complete.

Red Hood clearly didn't appreciate the attention to detail, which honestly? Fair. But the way he showed his displeasure at the situation involved thrashing around in the cocoon of thick chains wrapped securely around his whole body. (Marinette was only a little bit jealous at the differing treatment, since if she had more than a single rope wrapped around her torso, it wouldn't hurt nearly as much, but also it would make escape harder.) The thrashing wouldn't bother her if it weren't for the fact that A) they were both tied to a rickety catwalk, and B) every time there was movement on said rickety catwalk, it caused Marinette to bounce around and dug into the already forming bruises on her arms and abdomen.

"Hey, could you cut that out?!" She snapped, wincing in pain. Her voice caused Red Hood to whip his head in her direction and freeze, "You aren't the only one here strung up like a pinata, and unlike you, I'm not wearing any armor. I would personally rather not be split in half and spew my intestines all over the place like a macabre birthday celebration, thanks!" There were several long moments of silence while he stared at her and she attempted to alleviate some of the pressure of the rope. She was unsuccessful, sadly, but at least she was no longer bouncing. After a few moments, the swearing started up again, much more vehement than the last time, though without the accompanying thrashing, thankfully.

Marinette huffed, turning her attention to the warehouse below, allowing him to get it out of his system. It was very clearly disused and permeated with the smell of dust, but not quite abandoned as she would expect. Various sizes of wooden crates were scattered and stacked all around the stained brick walls along with stacks of empty pallets and cardboard boxes. The center of the large building was a two stories tall square, held up by four concrete pillars fading into darkness and broken windows. The empty space was only broken by the catwalks that were claustrophobically close to the exposed, rusty rafters, and a disused... crane thingy on an I shaped track above the two truck-sized doors to the right. In front of and behind them were what she guessed to be offices with windows that overlooked the main floor and connected to the catwalks through discrete side doors. The bottom floor continued underneath the offices where there were stairs resting against the back wall, though they were barely visible through the deep shadows and pallets of stacked boxes.

Directly underneath them, the cultists had cleared out a large area and hung up bright florescent floodlights that cast stark shadows pointing down towards their try-hard craft project. They had a cheap table set up to the side covered in candles, chalk, various liquids, jars, and bowls of different white powders, which Marinette guessed was salt or bone dust or something of the sort. Oh, and rumbling minifridge full of blood bags. There was that, too.

"-toe-eyed shit monkey fuck-tard motherfucking piece of-" Red Hood was still going, but seemed to be somewhat running out of steam. Or different ways to say the same swear words. Or maybe breath, Marinette wasn't quite sure yet.

Down below, the cultists remained focused on their ritual. Or, at least most of them did. Only about four total were actually doing any drawing or plotting out, with exactly twelve seated a little ways away from the star's points, all meditating. There were three more that Marinette could see, and from what she could tell, they weren't very focused on anything work related, if the one holding the weird, green-haired doll was any indication.

Marinette squinted in concentration, calling on her connection with the Kwami to sharpen her senses and hear past the still-swearing Red Hood.

"-whole box full of the creepy little things." The one holding the doll said, her voice disdainful. I hereby name you Dolly, Marinette thought, eyes flicking to the medium sized crate she had pulled the doll from. It had some kind of toy company logo on it, though not one that she recognized.

"Why would you even go looking through those?" the other cultist asked, somewhat judgmentally. And I hereby name you Judgy.

"I was bored." Dolly replied flatly, inspecting the green haired doll in her hands.

"Aren't you supposed to be watching the sacrifices?" Marinette squinted, tensing slightly despite the flare of burning pain it caused, but the cultists didn't even bother looking in their direction.

"No, that is Mark and Jacob's job." She waved dismissively, not glancing up from the doll.

"Ah." He paused for a moment, before letting out an exasperated sigh. "Who thought it was a good idea to put those two together?"

"No clue. Better them than me, though. I hate watching sacrifices. They always cry and yell at me, or try to beg their way out. It is so annoying. I'd rather just be bored." Judgy nodded in agreement, shifting his weight and crossing his arms. Marinette couldn't help but scoff quietly. As if.

"Well, at least you get to look through dusty crates and find creepy dolls this time." They both stared at the doll for a few moments as Dolly scoffed.

"Yeah, and that totally makes up for the fact that we are a day early. I had to call out of work for this shit." She said sending a small glare at the cultist with the red trim decorating their burlap 'robe' before looking back at the doll. Dolly turned the thing over in her hands before finding something on the back of it. "Oh hey, there is a switch here."

Marinette could barely hear a tiny click as the switch flipped and the two went quiet as they waited for it to do something. Dolly shook it, but got no response aside from the sounds of chalk scraping concrete, plastic rulers clattering, the constant drone of the minifridge, and the sound of moving cultists that overlayed the faraway screeches and honks of the city outside the warehouse walls. The two(plus Marinette) waited to see what the doll would do for several more moments to no avail.

"Does it need batteries or something?" Judgy asked. Dolly opened her mouth to reply, but didn't get the chance as the doll's eyes lit up and laughed, long and loud, to the cadence of Judgy's voice. It was unsettling, and very clearly reminiscent of a certain clown. The way it echoed around the warehouse amplified the creepiness. It was somewhat comical how Dolly jumped and scrambled to flip the switch back off as almost everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their heads towards her in unison, though. Or, well, it would be if it weren't for the fact that these people had strung her from the ceiling up and were waiting to sacrifice her to whatever entity they worshipped.

Marinette was jolted out of her concentration by a throat being cleared, and her head snapped towards the source. Beside her, Red Hood was looking in her direction(or at her, it was hard to tell with the helmet) and very clearly no longer swearing.

"You done, now?" She sassed, glancing back at the cultists she was so rudely interrupted from eavesdropping on. Dolly and Judgy were looking sheepish(as much as one could look sheepish, wearing *that*) as most of the others glared at them(presumably). The one with the red trim on their potato sack seemed to be scolding them, and about half of the ones sitting at the star's points weren't looking, continuing to meditate unbothered after the initial interruption. Interesting.

"Yeah. Sorry about that." Red Hood said, sounding somewhat uncomfortable, though it was difficult to tell through the voice changer. Marinette didn't look back at him, scanning the warehouse for the two that were supposed to be watching them.

"No, it's fine. Not everyone can be cool under pressure." She said smoothly, squinting into the deep shadows on the ground floor, sharpening her vision with as much of her magic as she dared, though there weren't any people hiding that she could see. They will be somewhere that they can easily see us, but won't have to pay much attention...

"Excuse me?" He asked, taken aback. Marinette began scanning the catwalks above them, craning her neck and analyzing them for hiding spots. Or rather, for comfortable areas to hang out and pretend to be working. Clearly, these cultists have gotten too used to their routine. Which is a bad sign for all the previous sacrifices, but good for us.

"I mean, it's not every day that you get kidnapped and hung from the ceiling, so your reaction is understandable." She turned her head to the vigilante after determining that the lookouts were not visible, who was looking at her, the feeling of incredulity coming through loud and clear. "Though I would have expected you to be a bit more used to this kind of thing." She spoke with a note of scorn in her voice. He was the one to lead the cultists outside her apartment in the first place. She was just trying to take out the trash when he flopped over unconscious right in front of her. And Red Hood was unnecessarily heavy. And muscular. And well proportioned. And tall. Is that a tailored leather jacket? It looks well made, even through the chains. He would make a great model, honestly. Broad shoulders, long legs, nice chest- Gah! No! Focus!

"Wh- it-, no I am not used to waking up chained to the ceiling." He said with a growl in his voice that she could almost feel in her chest. Marinette suppressed a slight shiver. Why do warehouses always have drafts?

"Really? Huh." She said absently, looking around the grimy and broken windows that lined the upper wall above the truck doors. Unloading dock, I think it's called? "I got the impression that Gothamites were unfazed by stuff like this." Beside her, Red Hood scoffed, head turning to look below them and presumably analyze the cultists.

"Being kidnapped, sure. Happens all the time. Sometimes, it's even on purpose. Being tied to the ceiling, not so much." The obnoxious red helmet ticked to the side, eyeing her presumably. "What, is this normal where you come from?" From the small huff she could tell the question was clearly meant to be rhetorical, but Marinette answered it anyway.

"Eh, it's not my first time." she looked down at the ritual circle and 'bored' cultists who were completely ignoring the two, having opened up another box filled with what seemed to be... bags of gumballs? Interesting.. "At least it's just cultists and there is no swimming pool full of boiling soup." Marinette shifted, attempting to regain feeling in her fingers without putting her full weight on her bruised ribs. She had never wished to be transformed more than she did right now. Heck, she would even take the old onesie she used to call a superhero suit. She really did feel like she was about to be split in half. "Though whoever tied this rope did a much worse job than Kung Food." She said with a grimace, rocking from side to side and scooching the rope downwards a little bit. It stung, and the balance was a little more precarious now, and she just knew it was going to be hell on her back and core muscles, but at least it didn't hurt as much, so she took that as a win.

"... please tell me you are joking." Red Hood asked with a note of desperation in his voice. She grimaced, thinking back to the wafting steam and the smell of the since renamed 'Marinette Soup'.

"I wish I was." Marinette said, resigned. The thought was sweet in theory but thinking back, having a soup that you almost got cooked into renamed after you is pretty morbid.

"Jesus fucking Christ." He muttered with what she could only assume was mild distress. She knew the feeling.

"It's fine." She said, stretching out her fingers that wanted nothing more to curl in on themselves from the lack of blood flow. Marinette twisted her wrists and reached her hands in a way that just barely let her nails latch onto the poorly tied knot of the hemp rope. Seriously? This is just sad. I don't even need help from the Kwami to get out of this.

"It is very much fucking not." Red hood said pointedly while, assumedly, pinning her with a glare. Not that I can exactly go anywhere yet, anyway.

"I would shrug if I could, but as you can see, I am physically disinclined to do so." She looked at him with a sardonic smile, vaguely gesturing with her head at their general predicament. Eyes unfocusing, she concentrated on the feeling of the rope latched underneath her fingernails and started pulling at it.

"Could you be any more nonchalant about this? That is supposed to be my job." The deadpan response so monotone it sounded nearly robotic through the voice changer caused her to let out a small huff of a laugh. Ow, that hurt. Come on, you stupid rope, work with me here!

"Would you rather I be freaking out, screaming and crying about how we are going to die tragically?" She asked, pulling a face as one of her hands started cramping from the curled position. Ow ow ow ow-

"Absolutely not." Hood said without hesitation. So close... YES!

"Then I don't see what you have to be complaining about here." Marinette smiled triumphantly as she finally felt the rope around her wrists loosen, stretching the discomfort away as much as she could. Red Hood was silent for several long moments as she took in a few deep breaths, attempting to shake the few strands of hair that had escaped her high bun out of her face. Okay, wrists are free. Next are the ankles, then I can slip out of the rope and climb up onto the catwalk without falling to my death/serious injury in the process. Easy peasy. I just need to-

"You are something else, you know that?" He said in a tone that she didn't quite know how to name, distorted as it was. Marinette paused before she could start to move onto the next step, looking into the expressionless helmet of Red Hood that somehow still failed to hide that she had his full attention. She blinked several times, confused. "I don't think I have ever seen such a pretty smile, especially not in a situation like this." He clarified. Marinette couldn't stop the pink rising to her cheeks, and she had absolutely no idea what to do about the sudden flutter in her chest, but what she did know was that this hot vigilante/crime-lord had just(maybe?) given her what sounded like a compliment, and she needed to say something.

"Why thank you. You aren't too shabby yourself." Marinette said, realizing as soon as the words left her that her automatic response might have not made sense.

"... Thanks?" Red Hood said, tilting his head slightly. And then Marinette opened her stupid, stupid face hole.

"I mean- you have quite the impressive mouth on you." She said, followed by a long moment of silence as he stared at her. "WAIT- NO! I didn't mean that! I meant- well- I didn't not meant that, I'm sure your mouth is just fine- but not like fine fine, or it could be, I'm not saying it isn't, it's just with the whole bucket-head thing I can't tell either way so like- I'm not commenting on how nice your mouth is- I just- What I am trying to say is that your ability to use your mouth is what is impressive." The vigilante made a faint choking noise, and Marinette had approximately the half a second it took for her to register what she just said before wishing that she could cataclysm herself in the face. "NO! WAIT! NO! That's not what I meant! It was- talking- using mouth, but not like-" she started sputtering, words tumbling out of her without control, and the faint choking noise coming from Red Hood turned into full blown coughing. "SWEAR WORDS!" She finally shouted, face bright red and a shrill note in her panicked voice echoing faintly through the warehouse. None of the cultists so much as looked up, clearly ignoring them, for which she was thankful. Oh my Kwami, kill me. Please. Right now. Strike me down without remorse.

Red Hood was gasping for air beside her in between wheezing laughter and coughs that rattled the catwalk above. Marinette honestly couldn't remember a time she had ever been more embarrassed. Not even in Lycée. Honestly, if Hawkmoth were still around, she might be in danger of being akumatized out of pure embarrassment. A high pitched whine escaped from the back of her throat as she glared at the vigilante, trying to hide her misery behind anger.

"Don't laugh at me!" She tried to sound intimidating, but it came out more petulant.

"Fuckin'," he said in between wheezes, "swear words!" If he were standing, rather than hanging, Red Hood would undoubtably be doubled over in laughter. As it was, he was curled up in the air in the shape of an unnecessarily beefy shrimp. Marinette was just thankful that he wasn't looking at her, or she might just explode. In an effort to distract herself, she quickly kicked her legs up behind her and began untying the rope around her ankles, putting her focus into remaining balanced rather than the laughter beside her. Unfortunately, it only took a few seconds and a couple precarious wobbles to free her legs, leaving the loop around her torso and the two free strands in her hand. Oh, and the Red Hood who was taking in deep breaths like it was an Olympic sport.

"I will fight you." She said, something burning in her chest as she glared at him.

"You're adorable." he said, getting his laughter under control.

"I will fight you, and I will win." Her scowl deepened as she glared into the lenses of his helmet.

"I appreciate the threat," he quipped back, voice filled with mirth, "but no offense, you look about as dangerous as a feather duster." Face still bright red and heart still pounding painfully, Marinette's eyes narrowed. Then, she smiled sweetly.

"I take full offense and I will make you eat those words." She said with the full confidence of a Ladybug.

"Uh huh. And how exactly are you going to do that?" Hood said teasingly, sounding as if he were just entertaining her. Her only response was to grin toothily, tip forward, and then fall.

Marinette allowed the precarious balance she had carefully kept for the past however-long it had been to fail and slide through the single loop of rope. The friction of the rough hemp fibers burned as it scraped along her arms, but it was worth it to hear his panicked gasp and the rattle of chains as her bent knees caught the rope(ow- that'll bruise), the only thing keeping her from plummeting two stories. She swung back and forth a couple times, building momentum as she allowed her muscles to relax for the first time since she got kidnapped and Red Hood hissed out something unintelligible from above her. With one last swing and a flex of her poor, abused core muscles, she sat up and grabbed the rope, climbing her way onto the catwalk with little trouble. She let out a small sigh of relief at finally having semi-solid ground underneath her feet. She hasn't exactly been afraid of heights since before her time as a superhero, but being in the air for so long get stressful, especially without her transformation.

"What the hell were you thinking- Are you okay?!" He asked somewhat frantically, the catwalk under her feet swaying as he twisted in an attempt to look up at her. No. That fucking hurt. She smiled before replying cheerfully.

"Of course I am! What, worried for my little feather duster arms?" She dropped the two rope pieces on the catwalk and then reached up to undo her bun which had become tragically loose from the kidnapping.

"Oh, ha ha." he muttered with a sigh of mild relief, "Point made. Okay, so it looks like there is an exit near the stairs which you can go through those offices to get to. It is really dark, so if you are careful and stick to the shadows, you should be able to get out and find a way to call Commissioner Gordon and tell him to-"

"Nope." She interrupted curtly, holding her hair-tie in between her teeth and running her fingers through her hair a couple times.

"-What?" Red Hood asked, tensing. Marinette grabbed the hair-tie before responding.

"I said no, I am not going to do that." She took a deep breath, shaking her head side to side to test the security of her new high ponytail. Good enough. "First of all, you weren't awake when they brought us in here, but those doors sound like hell itself trying to escape into the mortal realm via rusty hinges, meaning there is no way that I can get out without being noticed." Hood grunted disgruntledly, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Marinette took the opportunity too look over everything from this new vantage point, now just barely able to see into the dirty windows of the offices behind them, one of which had faint light coming from within.

"There are other doors and windows, you could find a way out." he said pointedly, head turning briefly to glance at the rope she had been hanging from previously. She couldn't quite see any movement in them, but the farthest one had a broken window, so she could only assume that the office with the light was where Jacob and Mark were.

"Second of all," she continued, "there are two cultists who are meant to be watching us, and no matter how negligent they are, they still managed to catch you. From what I have overheard, they have done this enough to have a solid routine, so they can't be all stupid. If I were to leave, we would only have a limited amount of time before they noticed." Down below, Dolly and Judgy seemed to have gotten bored of looking through crates and were both hovering over a phone while leaning against the foldout table, watching something. The third cultist that appeared to be on watch had tucked themself into a dark corner and seemed to be taking a nap against a pillar. Perfect, let's hope they stay like that.

"You would still have time to get away and call for help. The streets are a maze, they wouldn't be able to find you once you got away." Red Hood said with a light growl. Marinette could feel the catwalk move underfoot as he shifted slightly, swaying back and forth like a cranky pendulum. Her eyes flicked to each of the cultists down below, all looking consumed by their respective tasks.

"Yes, however, the chances of them just continuing with their ritual and ignoring the missing sacrifice are not great. They could panic and scatter, rush through and sacrifice you with a half done ritual, or any other not great outcome. So again, a time limit. Which brings me to point number three," She said, holing up three fingers. "We are currently in the warehouse district, which is a forever-and-a-mile walk away from anywhere I could find someone willing to lend me a phone. Even if I were to walk right out of here and they don't notice, they would have plenty of time to finish up their evil scheme and get the heck out of dodge before help arrives."

"Drive, then." Hood shot back. Marinette held back a wince, her eye twitching instead, thinking about the last time she drove a car. Or, tried to drive a car.

Marinette and Grandma Gina looked into the turbulent lake, drenched and covered in mud, listening to the slowly approaching sirens, smelling of burnt rubber and smoke. The previous panic fueled screaming echoed in her ears now that it was silent. Her Nona turned to her, pale and somewhat shaky, but with a smile on her face.

"I won't tell your parents if you don't."

"Deal."

"Do I look like I know how to hotwire a car? Or how to pick pocket someone's keys?" She asked rhetorically, already knowing what he thought she looked like. 'Adorable.'

I'll show him 'Adorable.'

"Then," he said slowly, posture wary and tone frustrated, "What exactly are you going to do?"

"I already told you." Marinette replied, leaning down and looking directly into the glowing eyes of the Red Hood's helmet with a smile, "I am going to make you eat your words." Marinette didn't allow him to respond, standing in one swift motion and walking quietly across the rickety metal and towards the open archway of the offices behind them.

Time to get to work.

Marinette was careful to keep her steps light an even, hand ghosting over the steel cable railing that ran along the side as she made her way towards the office with the intact, if filthy, window. She was fairly confident that was where the two cultists that were meant to be watching them, Mark and Jacob from what Dolly said, were hiding based off of process of elimination. Once she took them out, she could take her time with the rest since it will be less likely that they will notice her missing. With how adamant these cultists were about not looking up, she could almost think they were video game characters. The time she had spent hanging from that damn rope wasn't completely wasted, as she was able to put together the beginnings of a plan for how to do that without outing her superhero abilities or skills. Sure, what she had said to Red Hood wasn't *completely* truthful, as she was certain she could find a phone and call for help in ten minutes if she really wanted to, but...

"-no offense, you look about as dangerous as a feather duster."

That's not happening. She had something to prove.

Okay, so steps. She thought as she reached the wall of the office and creeping towards the window in a crouch, trusting the darkness and the cultists inattentiveness to hide her. First, take out the lookouts.

Marinette looked over her shoulder and out into the shadowed building, finding the darkest place from the perspective of the window and shifting herself into that space before slowly lifting her eyes over the dusty window ledge. Her gaze flicked quickly through the room, dimly lit by a small camping lantern on an old desk situated just in front of the door with a chair on either side. On the opposite wall was a couch where the two cultists were-

Marinette jerked downwards, flattening herself against the filthy brick wall with a newly bright red face. That was a lot of- Where did they get the- Okay! Not thinking about that! That's fine. This is fine.

…

"At least they won't notice I'm missing..." She took in several deep breaths, staring intently at the patterns of rust on the catwalk's railing.

"I am never going to unsee that."

After a few long moments, Marinette crept her way around the edge of the office, through the arch and into the hallway. The door to the office the cultists were in was closed, *thank the Kwami*, but the empty one was cracked open. The stairs downward were straight ahead, swathed in darkness and shadows. There was less echo, and it was in general quieter in the hallway except for faint- not thinking about it.

"Step one, focus on step one." She whispered to herself, straightening up and slipping through the cracked door into the empty office, careful not to catch her clothes on the door handle. This office wasn't as empty as the other one, and seemed to be much more dusty, though that might be attributed to the broken window more than anything. There was a desk in this one as well, though it was pushed against the wall on the far side with paper scattered all over the floor on front of it. Instead of a couch(Not thinking about it), this one had a stack of chairs, a duffle bag, and a hefty looking toolbox. Dumped dead center in the room was a frankly ridiculous pile of guns, knives, and what looked like a miniature version of a harpoon. In a much smaller pile next to it was her purse.

"Tikki!" She whisper-shouted, diving forward and scooping up the bag.

"Marinette!" the small Kwami excitedly yelled back, muffled through the fabric. Once it was opened, she whizzed through the air to hug her holder's cheek.

"Are you okay? Did anyone see you? It's not another Chloe situation, is it?" She blabbed with worry until the Kwami pulled back and smiled reassuringly.

"No. I'm okay, no one saw me." Marinette let out a sigh of relief, slouching where she stood. "Are you okay, Marinette?"

"A little bruised, but fine." She replied, examining her arms for a moment to see what was going to be a line of ugly bruises and some serious rope burn, before turning back to her friend with manic energy. "But, Tikki, I have been challenged!"

"Challenged?" She echoed with a tilt of her head and a sparkle in her eye.

"Red Hood thinks that I am 'as dangerous as a feather duster' which is frankly ridiculous- just because I am small does not mean I am not mighty!" Marinette said with a pout and a defiantly raised fist, to which Tikki giggled.

"So what are you going to do to meet this challenge?" the little goddess asked, floating higher in excitement. In response, Marinette bounced on the balls of her feet with a near feral grin.

"Here's the plan-!"

"Hey, Oracle, have you heard anything from Hood tonight?" Nightwing asked as he swung between two of Bludhaven's buildings and away from a foiled break-in. He was still catching his breath from the quick but brutal fight. He managed to leave unscathed for the most part, barring one lucky hit the woman with a crowbar managed to get on his bicep that left a shallow, if jagged, gash and was already forming a nasty bruise. It was going to make his night job rather unpleasant the next week or so, which wasn't great, seeing as he and Red Hood were meant to bust up a cult that had had been causing trouble tomorrow.

"Last I herd from him, he was chasing you through the house with a serving plate." Came Oracle's quick reply, the sound of clacking keys hiding under her flippant and amused voice. Nightwing rolled his eyes with a fond smile as he alighted upon the edge of a building, taking a moment to sit down and rest.

"Oh, har har. He was supposed to be doing recon for our bust tomorrow, I want to make sure he hasn't gotten himself in trouble." He said, settling down and kicking a leg out over the edge of the roof.

"From what I heard," Red Robin chimed in, "There was no 'our' about it. Hood made it very clear that he was going to go after them without you."

"Mhm," Oracle hummed in agreement, "I distinctly remember something being said about 'forsaken bonds of siblinghood' and that you are 'beyond dead' to him." Nightwing remembered that. He had been so excited at Jason actually referring to them as family out loud that he hadn't really paid much attention to what was actually said beyond that until afterwards, though.

"Oh, please. He was just cranky because he was too slow and I got the last of Agent A's cookies." Nightwing said with an eye roll. "He wouldn't go after a dangerous cult by himself just because of that."

"Are you sure about that? This is Hood we are talking about." Red Robin said skeptically. Nightwing opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off.

"Chatter on comms." Came Batman's gruff voice, silencing everyone. "Oracle, check in with Hood."

"Already done. His comm is off and all of his trackers are showing that he is in his safehouse on the border of the Narrows." She replied promptly, there was a pause as more keys clacked in the background.

"His security system is armed, too, with a window having been opened and closed at around eight forty-seven pm and no activity since." The silence between them was loud as the vigilantes digested the information.

"I'm on my way." Nightwing said gravely as he sprung up from his spot and shot his grapple gun in the direction of his motorcycle.

"Enroute." Batman grunted over the sound of revving engine.

"I'll try and track down his location." Oracle said, her amusement from before gone.

After a few seconds, Red robin chimed in with a deadpan voice.

"Even after all these years, you still underestimate the pettiness of this family."

Nightwing's sigh was lost to the buffeting wind as he swung down to the streets below.

Locking the two lookouts in the office was probably the easiest step of any plan that Marinette has had in years, being able to check that off after simply sliding a chair underneath the handle in order to lock the two inside. Thank all the Kwami I don't actually have to go in there and interrupt whatever it is they are doing... Still not thinking about it!

The next step, while still relatively simple, wasn't going to be nearly as easy.

Step One: Take out the lookouts, Check. Step Two: Gather Supplies.

Which means finding supplies, which means sneaking past the 19 remaining cultists on the main floor without being caught or seen. Simple as can be, but not exactly easy. Add in pilfering through and opening the many crates, some right next to the main area for the cultists? Not easy in the slightest. Thankfully, Marinette wasn't exactly someone to give up that quickly, and she wasn't alone.

There was a quick glimmer of light that burst through the dim room and a tingling feeling in her fingers as the summoning spell completed, burning up the small sticky note she had drawn on and replacing it with the inert foxtail pendant, dark orange fading to a white tip separated by five segments, hanging off of a delicate gold chain. As she pulled on the necklace however, its appearance changed to be purely silver with the segments disappearing, the bright glow of another Kwami appearing before her flashing through the shadows.

"Guardian." the Kwami greeted, bowing respectfully in the air before looking around with his bright purple eyes, taking in the dirty office.

"Hello Trixx." Marinette responded with a smirk, "Ready to cause some mischief?" The Kwami's ears perked up as he smiled brightly.

"I always am, Guardian! What did you have in mind?" He responded eagerly, following Marinette as she crept to the cracked office window.

"Okay, down there are nineteen cultists who we need to take down before they manage to activate their ritual and sacrifice the vigilante who I got captured with." she began, pointing out the shifting shapes moving through the harsh brightness of the floodlights and Red Hood, who was mostly obscured by the rusty catwalks and shadows. "We are going to need to get them all at once, or else we will be caught, and I can't transform without revealing my identity."

"I am happy to lend my Illusions to keep you hidden from their senses until it is time to pounce!" Trixx said eagerly, twirling around in the air, illusory sparks dancing in between his paws.

"Thanks Trixx, but I will be channeling your magic this time, we don't want another dancing Eifel Tower incident." The Kwami pouted, but agreed, diving into the inside of her jacket and joining Tikki in the small pocket dimension sewn in there. Marinette took in a fortifying breath, strengthening her connection to the two Kwami and feeling the magic course through her. She *probably* pull this off without it, but there was no way that she was going to let any opportunity pass her by. She promised Red Hood that he would eat his words, and she was going to serve them to him on a silver platter. With a final exhale, she turned away from the window and went to examine what she had in the room that she could use.

The first thing she checked were the drawers of the desk, pulling them open slowly to make as little noise as possible, despite the rusty ball bearings. It was well worth it too, for the sight that greeted her.

"Yes!" she exclaimed in a whisper, pulling out one of the three and a half rolls of duct tape and an unopened reel of fishing line, ideas already springing to mind. "This couldn't be more perfect!" she whispered with a grin, looking in the remaining drawers. Aside from the various bits of paper, she pulled out a container of thumbtacks and paperclips, six carabiner clips(two of them being broken), an unopened packet of yellow sticky-notes(she already had some light pink ones in her purse, but she wasn't going to pass up more), and an oily can of WD-40.

At the opposite end of the room, were the duffle bag and the toolbox, which aside from the pile of weapons that she assumed to be Red Hood's, seemed to be the only other potentially useful things here. Marinette started with the toolbox, finding a couple of hammers, a mallet, a huge red monkey wrench, some screwdrivers, a jar of assorted rusty screws and nails, and a thing of Allen wrenches. Out of everything, she only took the monkey wrench and set it with the other useful objects on the desk. Next was the duffle bag, which when she opened it, revealed itself to be full of a bunch of other duffle bags.

"Huh..." she muttered, staring at it and running her fingers along the hefty cloth. It's a good thing that it is cloth, and not plastic. Though this does feel like polyester, it won't have that crinkly sound whenever it is moved, so I can use it to transport things from the crates downstairs. With a definitive nod to herself she stood, dumping the extra bags on the desk and pulling the now empty bag's strap over her shoulder.

"Okay, here we go!" she whispered to herself before slipping out of the room and towards the dark stairs.

Jason didn't know whether to be amused, pissed, or suspicious, so for the moment he was settled decidedly on 'bewildered'.

The cult had been somewhat out of the ordinary from the beginning. The string of disappearances that led to him finding them were, sadly, not too uncommon. The cult aspect of it however, was a bit of a shakeup from the usual human trafficking, territory disputes, or straight up murder cases they normally take on. Just different enough to make it interesting. What *hadn't* been ordinary was the glowing tranquilizer darts that could go through his Bat-approved armor. Bruce was not going to be happy about that when he found out. Hell, Jason wasn't happy about it now.

All of his memories from that point on were fuzzy in that familiar way that could only be caused by drugs, but he remembers getting away. At least, he thinks he remembers getting away, but clearly he didn't seeing as he woke up dangling from the ceiling next to some tiny, blue-haired French woman.

A tiny, blue-haired French woman who Jason was stuck watching sneak around the shadowed edges of some warehouse with a duffle bag slung over her shoulder and a smile on her face, surrounded by murderous cultists.

He was surprised with the skill she moved around with. Despite her confidence, he had expected her to get caught near immediately, and was mentally preparing himself for a whole slew of situations that could arise from that inevitability. But, much to his chagrin, she practically waltzed right past the cultists without so much as a curious head turn in her direction. Her style of stealth was much different than what he was accustomed to. She didn't meld into the shadows like the bats did, but she moved silently and with a confident sort of grace, using her surroundings to their fullest. Her path around the edges were calculated, he could tell, keeping obstructions in between her and the cultists as much as possible. She even climbed over and across a few crates to stay out of the peripheral of the two occupied with their phones, keeping her weight on the corners and junctions to avoid making noise or breaking the old wooden boards. It was something that Jason himself wouldn't have been able to do(not that he would need to in the first place), and it spoke of either years of practice sneaking around, or a lot of talent. All in all, he couldn't help but be grudgingly impressed. Not to mention suspicious.

She was clearly more experienced in these situations than he first thought, even including that concerning comment about some ridiculous food based(and possibly cannibalistic, which is a red flag for multiple reasons) villain she mentioned, and the damn Bat Patented Paranoia that Bruce managed to instill in every one of his wards was coming to light. Who was she? Is she a threat? An ally? Or just some random girl with more skills than sense? He didn't know and that was bothering him, so he watched.

It's not like I can do much else.

And he had tried. Despite how easily she had slipped through the rope they tied her with and climbed up with a strength and fluidity unexpected from her tiny frame, Jason remained stuck in his swaddle of chains. After searching for his hidden weapons when he had first woke up and finding them missing, he had reluctantly reached for his backup comm, before remembering the small argument with Dick he had that led him to stupidly spitefully take on this cult by himself in the first place, as well as leaving his comm and trackers in a safehouse along with a rather heartfelt 'fuck you' note. So, there was no way for him to get out, no way to call for his fam- the bats. His whole escape rested on the shoulders of the four-foot-tall-at-best, blue-haired girl with a smile too carefree for Gotham's rough edges and baked-in soot. The girl who was currently carrying around an empty duffle bag doing god knows what as she somehow silently pried open a large crate with confident motions and said mischievous grin, as if there wasn't a cult of psychos one mistake away from catching her.

No, he wasn't worried about her. He was frustrated that he was currently damseled. There is a difference, Dick.

"I already told you. I am going to make you eat your words."

And... maybe a little intrigued.

Though, despite his years of vigilante experience, time on the streets, growing up in Wayne manor, and his training with the League of Assassins, he had absolutely no fucking idea what she was going to do with a duffle bag full of Harley Quinn inspired rubber chickens.

It took nearly all of Marinette's willpower not to giggle with glee when she found the crates of rubber chickens in her search for the Joker-inspired dolls(Which, seriously, who's idea even was that??). They were about three crates full that she could identify, all with the same logo as the boxes full of creepy-laughing-fake-clown-things and they were all fortunately placed near-ish to the opposite staircase that she came down from. This side of the warehouse was more crowded, mostly covered in pallets of cardboard boxes and some crates interspersed throughout.

This is perfect!

It took her a few trips and a couple close calls to get enough of the rubber chickens up to the office without accidentally setting them off, but thankfully she didn't have to sneak around the main floor for it, using the catwalks above instead. Admittedly, she used a bit of Luck to avoid the overly creaky paths and get away with it, but no one else needs to know that. Gathering up the neon-green-haired-monstrosities was quicker since she already knew where they were, but a tad more difficult seeing as the boxes were just behind and to the side of Judgy and Dolly(She could practically feel Red Hood's stress while she was doing that). For that, she called on more of Trixx's power to stay as silent as possible. Next, she went though the boxes farthest from the cultists, sifting through them quickly and making several trips up to her designated storage office.

Step four of The Plan had gained some wonderful additions in the form of metal BB-gun pellets, jacks, bouncy balls, and the gumballs that she had seen the cultists looking at as well, but she was getting ahead of herself.

There was one thing that she almost passed up, though, but the smallest of tugs from her Luck caused her to take a second look.

And by the Kwami, is she glad she did.

If the abundance of warnings on the package hadn't peaked her interest, the bold lettered label she read afterward sure did.

'FAST ACTING, WATER ACTIVATED SUPER GLUE POWDER'

"Hehehehehehe" Marinette couldn't help but giggle near breathlessly from where she crouched, shrouded in the darkness of the stairs, holding onto the sturdy plastic container with an evil grin.

Bruce loved his kids, he really did.

If he for some reason, in some way, ever lost all of his memories or sense of self, he would remember that. If there were nothing else left of him, be it from mind control, magic, head trauma, or for whatever reason, having to sell his soul to some malicious entity, all it would take is just looking at one of them and he would know.

Bruce loved his kids.

He loved them when it wasn't easy. Through all the fights, be them together against criminals and supervillains, or against each other with harsh words and silent treatments. Through moral differences, his failures and communication issues. He loved them when it was stressful. Through all the injuries and sickness, tough nights on patrol, prank wars that cost him thousands of dollars in repairs or teasing that ends in brawls over the dining table. He loved them when it was easy, too. Family dinners, game nights, public outings, or just working quietly in the same space.

Bruce loved his kids, and wouldn't trade them for anything.

But sometimes?

Sometimes he really wished he could give them back.

"This is Red Hood speaking, bringing you your top of the hour weather report," came the all too glib sounding voice from the speakers mounted in the corners of the warmly lit room. "Be careful out there tonight folks, because it looks like the clouds are heavy with betrayal and the threat of tyrannical and patronizing vigilantes!" The fake newscaster voice called out, echoing around the bare off-white walls that were splashed with black paint. Some were splotches or droplets, abstract Rorschach-esque compositions surrounded by messy and dripping quotes. The section directly opposite the window where he stood read 'Et tu, brute?', surrounded by twenty-seven kitchen knives, stabbed into the drywall.

"Condescension is an epidemic, easily spread through contact of those near you, so he careful to keep limited contact as to not fall prey to it's effects," Hood's voice spoke, glee very clear in his tone. Next to the circle of knives there were two more quotes on either side; 'Stab the body and it heals, but injure the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime', and 'For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first.' The second quote he recognized to be from the hunger games, though Bruce couldn't quite pinpoint the origins of first.

"If you are hearing this, you clearly didn't take my message to leave well enough alone seriously," the newscaster voice dropped, leaving Red Hood's sounding all too proud of himself. "To whom it may concern; consider all future collaborations null and voided, you are all dead to me, I never had a family, yada yada, etcetera etcetera. Any who enter my territory are personally liable for any and all actions or damages against them, including but not limited to inconveniences and humiliation via glitter, slime, paint, and dye. Please vacate the premises or suffer the consequences. Have a pleasant day."

"Oh, and tell Nightwing that he is a little bitch."

Bruce spent several moments to just stand in the empty apartment, staring at the pile of trackers on the table laid out in the shape of a middle finger. He sighed.

I love my kids.

Step two of Marinette's plan was coming together well, and she was close to moving on to the next phase.

The good part of hanging from the ceiling for longer than was even mildly comfortable was that she could see a lot with the bird's eye view. Many parts of her plan had gaps when she first started out, since she didn't know all of the materials available to her, but step two fixed that quite easily.

If there was one thing that Marinette had learned from her years as a Superheroine, especially one who fought a villain that preyed on people's emotions, it was how people reacted to sudden danger. Adrenaline does funny things to a person, taking perfectly rational thought and turning it into blind action. Fight or flight is a strong, instinctual reaction for all kinds of creatures, not just humans. When there is nowhere to run? You fight. When there is nothing to fight? You run. And when you run, what is it that you look for?

Step One: Neutralize Lookouts, Check. Step Two: Gather Supplies, Check(mostly). Step Three: The Path of Least Resistance.

There are four main exits and nineteen total cultists on the main floor. Two normal doors on each side underneath the offices that lead out of the building, and two large truck doors. With no real way to predict exactly who would go where, she has to assume that the best case scenario is each door having four or five cultists exit through them, and her traps being able to take out all of them at that number. Realistically, that isn't feasible. It could be all of them go through the same path, and most escape, or it could be that they scatter so far, they bypass the majority of her traps, leaving all of her work to be for naught. With how things were now, there were too many variables, too many obstacles, and too many unknowns.

But this was Marinette. This was Ladybug. And it was time to do what a Ladybug does best; even the odds.

Marinette crouched on one of the catwalks that was hung in the direct center of the warehouse, just to the side of the cultists' ritual, her small travel sketchbook in hand. She was drawing out her plan and doing her best to ignore the prickling feeling of Red Hood's eyes on her as she marked out the best way to do this.

Two pillars on either side of the circle with the table and minifridge set nearest to the one towards the back side of the warehouse. The other one is down and to the side of the right most truck door, giving the least amount of room for error. To the left, further out and underneath the offices is the door we came in from, and it is the most likely exit that they would choose, seeing as it is at least marginally familiar, easier to open than the truck doors, and second closest. On the opposite side of the warehouse is the other normal door, which has the benefit of being in the darkest section of the warehouse and having a much longer path to set traps up on, but less likely to be chosen...

She leaned forward against the thin railing of the catwalk, staring down at the activity below and tapping her pencil against her chin as she thought. She heard a rattle of chains and couldn't help but lift her gaze to look at the source. The faintly glowing eyes of Red Hood's helmet stared at her intently from where he hung. She smirked at him, giving a little wave with her fingers, before an idea came to her and she looked back to the rightmost truck door.

If I block that one off and make a longer curved path from the side of the circle, it gives more of a chance to take out a few on the path. I could... Yes, that'll work.

Marinette quickly doodled a whole bunch of little boxes on her paper.

Then I could use the fishing line here and here, then all of the jacks, pellets, gum and bouncy balls on this side, then- hmm...

She looked up with narrowed eyes, examining all of the rafters and catwalks above where she was planning for the paths to go. Then smiled. That would work perfectly. Within another minute or so her sketches were finished and she stood, feeling giddy to see the end results of her plan. Before turning back to head down she looked again at Red Hood's intense stare, and gave him a wink.

Marinette spent the next half an hour moving boxes from one pile to another, shifting crates, and pushing pallets to create solid looking barriers, all while trying to remain as silent as possible, and there had only been a couple hiccups along the way. Along with a couple interesting discoveries. The first had been while she was creating the longest path, creating a good number of empty pallets for one of her planned traps.

Marinette had stopped as she brushed up against a solid feeling thing wrapped in plastic, and took a moment to examine the pallet next to her. It was hard to see in the dark and with the little light there was reflecting harshly off of the plastic wrap, so it took her a few seconds to figure out what it was she was looking at. Two adjacent pallets stacked taller than she was(Not that that was difficult, but good luck to whomever mentioned it cough cough Red Hood), completely made up of heavy paint cans. Marinette looked around, noticing that the path she had been making came directly toward the paint can pallets. There was no way in hell that she would be able to move them out of the way, let alone without being noticed, but... She looked up at the catwalk directly above, to the sides where she could curve the path around the bend and at the conveniently placed pillar, and back at the straight stretch of space she had been making. She smiled as another trap added itself to her list.

The second discovery was while she was clearing the shorter pathway towards rightmost door. To counteract the small amount of distance she had to work with, she decided to split this one in half with what was essentially an island of boxes that tapered off just before the doors. She was doing the shorter path first, despite it being closer to the cultists, because where the longer path was meant to go was filled with heavy crates of what she thinks are car parts which, for some reason, smelled faintly like smoke. Add the fact that Nappy was napping against the pillar over there, she didn't want to risk getting found this early. Needless to say, she was working extra hard to make as little sound as possible.

Marinette's heart had leapt into her throat when something shifted under her foot with a faint metal clank sound, very clearly not the solid concrete ground she had been expecting. Her head snapped up as she froze, straining her ears and glancing around her hidden spot in the shadows to determine if anyone heard. She was still for several long moments, sounds of the cultists washing over her, before determining that it was safe. With careful movements and a momentarily stronger draw on Trixx's power, she moved back slowly. Looking down, she found a slightly warped metal plate that was about the same size as her with a handle in one side. Curiously, she shifted the box she had been moving out of the way and gently pulled the metal plate up.

A shadowed abyss. An all consuming void. A dark, dank hole.

It was a maintenance tunnel, right in the middle of her path.

Marinette gently set the metal covering back down, mind racing. What could she do with this? It was much too good of an opportunity to pass up, and thankfully, she had an idea. Near the back of the warehouse, she could remember seeing a pile of cloth tarps. She could use those if she could just find something stronger than the fishing line...

An idea popped into her head. Very likely a bad idea but... well, she's sure Red Hood couldn't be too mad about her taking apart his weird harpoon-gun if it is to save him from being sacrificed, right? He probably has extras anyway.

She glanced up at the vigilante, then went back to moving boxes with a quiet snicker.

Jason still had no fucking idea what this woman was doing, and it was stressing him the fuck out. His escape rested solely on the shoulders of a woman playing high stakes ring-around-the-cultist instead of calling the cops like any sane person would do!

Jason wasn't as stupid to think that she couldn't have found a phone like she claimed. In face, he was certain she already had one in her purse, which, had to be some kind of pocket dimension to fit all that shit inside of it. Why would someone carry around a whole ass sketchbook and unopened roll of fishing line of all things?

(Jason was ignoring the fact that he knew several people who would, could, and have carried around that and much weirder. In all honesty, he just wanted something to be annoyed about. It was cathartic.)

It had been about an hour or so since she practically skipped her way out of being kidnapped like it was no big deal, and he had spent it with nothing to do but become more appalled and concerned by the second. If it weren't for the fact that he was watching this happen live and in the flesh, he wouldn't believe some of the stuff she managed to get away with.

The blue-haired woman(he really needed to find out her name) had nearly gotten herself caught already. Not by climbing up one of the support pillars like a spider which the ones on watch missed by conveniently turning away from at the right moment, or making a frankly ridiculously sized pile of boxes in front of the truck door which the sound of was drowned out by the fridge seemingly having a mechanical seizure, or even moving a crate right fucking behind two of the cultists who somehow didn't notice because of a supposedly funny video on their phones! No, she almost got caught by a fucking sneeze.

She had been picking up some pile of cloth from a dark corner that she was undoubtedly going to use for some weird-ass thing that would make perfect sense well after he finally managed to finally get the fuck down and out of this god damned warehouse. But, from his vantage point, Jason could see that in getting so comfortable moving around in enemy territory(helped by the fact that she must be the luckiest person in Gotham. Seriously, share some of that with the rest of us, would ya?) the blue-haired woman had gotten complacent.

He winced as the fabric slipped from her fingers and sent a massive cloud of dust right into her face. Both he and the woman tensed as a long moment passed, Jason in anxiousness, while the woman seemed to be winding up, holding her hands tightly over her face. Then, she sneezed, full body convulsing and letting out a squeak that even he could hear from his vantage point.

…that was adorable.

One of the cultists blow looked of from their phone and looked in the direction of the noise, then asked their partner something.

Oh shit-

"Hey, did you hear squeaking?" Dolly asked, head raising from where she was hunched over her phone. Marinette felt panic rising as she dropped into a crouch as fast as she could, pressing her side into the heavy crate beside her, holding her nose and blinking through watery eyes, the dust making her entire face feel as if it were being attacked by tiny, sword-wielding specks.

"No? What are you talking about?" Judgy responded, looking up from his phone, pausing some video that she could faintly hear playing through their earbuds. Marinette's sinuses stung and eyes watered as she took deep breaths through her mouth, full body seizing several times with the force of holding back the sneezes. She made as little noise as possible, slowly crawling around the edge of a box to be out of sight of the cultists. Owowowow, my everything-

"Dude, are you deaf? That sounded like a mouse getting stepped on."

"Why do you even know what that sounds like?"

"I had cats as a kid."

Taking one hand away from her face, she pressed it to the ground to help her do an awkward crab walk further down the line of pallets to a mostly empty one that lead to an enclosed area where she could die in peace.

"So you've stepped on a mouse before?"

"No I- just- shut up and come check it out with me."

"Hell no, I don't want to see any mice. They're like, the size of rabbits in this city."

"Those are rats you fucking dumbass-"

Marinette crouched next to the pallet, taking more careful deep breaths and wiping the tears from her eyes. She watched carefully from her place in the shadows until they were both fully turned away. She was mostly obstructed by boxes but not willing to risk it. After what felt like an eternity, but was likely just twenty seconds or so, her chance came in the form of Dolly opening a box. She practically dove through the gap left for her and curled up on the floor for a while, recovering her senses as Dolly and Judgy talked. Marinette was only half paying attention, lamenting the existence of dust and wallowing until her half-formed bruises stopped stinging, when the shifting of cardboard and something Judgy said caught her attention.

"That is an unholy amount of glitter."

Marinette paused, a grin pressing against her hands.

I take it back. Worth it.

Marinette can't say that she had ever been particularly talented at sneaking around. It just never came naturally to her. Disguises and hiding in plain sight? That's just like an extension of sewing or acting, easy peasy. Hiding? Sure, she's great at picking the right spot and fitting in tiny spaces, it's just an extension of luck and strategy. Sneaking? That's a different story all together.

That isn't to say that she is bad at sneaking, she's just not talented at it. It means that every bit of skill she has was hard earned through extreme situations and years of practice. Being a superhero made her learn a lot of things, sink or swim style, with no safety net to fall back on. So, despite how... unusual and high stakes this situation is, Marinette isn't quite out of her depth yet.

That's what she told herself at least, standing fully upright with a wooden pallet hanging from her shoulders as she walked with it to a dark corner of the warehouse where another fifteen wooden pallets lay stacked, silently begging the universe that none of the cultists look over at this exact spot. Of course, she planned for this particular trap to be set up just before the leftmost exit, meaning she was as far from the cultists as she could be and had many obstacles in between them, making it very unlikely to be seen, but still. The chance was there.

Luckily, this was the last pallet she needed to set up this trap in particular, so she didn't need to haul any more all across the place. And extra luckily(Thanks to the magic she borrowed from Tikki and Trixx, no doubt), no one saw her walk around the edges of their circle and through the now complete pathways. Well, no one except Red Hood, who had been staring so hard at her this entire time, she wondered if he was trying to spontaneously develop the ability to shoot lasers from his eyes. Or maybe telepathy so he could yell at her for 'unnecessary' risk taking, she could only guess.(Well, he may have a point about the risk taking, but there is no way in hell she would ever say that. She was doing this to prove a point, practicality be damned.) She ignored him, as she had been doing since the beginning, setting the pallet down as quietly as she could despite the two stacks both reaching above her head. After a moment to breathe and admire her hard work, she pulled out the roll of fishing line and her extra pair scissors, tying the two stacks of pallets together and then working her way back through the slightly curved path until she reached the pillar.

Trap list; Web of Ouch, Check. Series of Unfortunate Tripwires(1), Check.

Onto the next!

Time flew by as Marinette gleefully set up the rest of her planned traps. A grapple gun, disassembled for its wire, and a cloth tarp carefully placed in front of a slick patch of WD-40. A block of wood suck in the opening mechanism of the truck door and a huge, precarious pile of various sized wooden crates that really tested the limits of her Tetris skills. A person-sized mat of duct tape woven together and placed sticky side up after another Series of Unfortunate Tripwires along the winding path to the leftmost door. A wooden wedge carefully positioned underneath the back edge of the two huge pallets of paint cans to slightly tilt them forward, and another paint can tied to the I-beam above and held to the underside of the catwalk by a thin string. Boxes filled to the brim with bouncy balls, gum balls, BB gun pellets, and metal jacks tied above two of the four exit pathways, a stolen steel-toed boot filled with rocks ready to swing at the turn of a handle. And, her personal favorite so far, a wooden plank positioned just above the cultists' plastic table and mini-fridge, piled with the superglue powder and the wonderful addition of rainbow glitter.

She had managed to test the superglue powder on Nappy, using it to fuse his clothes to the concrete he was resting on, and it was wonderful. There is no way that he is getting up with his clothes still intact. She kind of felt a little bad for the ones who are going to get this dumped on them, but oh well. She's sure the hospital will take care of it.

Probably.

She had managed to find a working water spout and long hose, complete with attached nozzle, that would reach all the way to where Red Hood was hanging, so that was one less thing for her to worry about doing herself. The last thing she set up was the discount Joker Dolls and the Rubber chickens while sitting in one of the disused offices. The whole room had become a sort of base of operations, and looked just about as chaotic as the end product of her plan was going to, but Marinette didn't care all that much. To get the effect she was going for just right, she had to be very careful in how she went about it. Packing in the rubber chickens at the bottom of the crate as precisely as possible then slowly lowering heavy bags of all the black and red glitter she could find to make the chickens stay in their deflated state. She carefully poked holes in the tops of the bags with one of the thumb tacks she had found, before carefully switching on all the joker dolls and placing them in the box.

Marinette will admit to using a lot of magic to make sure this step didn't go wrong, but once the four boxes were attached at their points on the catwalk and connected to her activation pull cord, she couldn't help the little giddy happy dance. It was ready!! The only thing left was letting Red Hood know his part, then the trap is set!

Jason wanted to throw his previous resolve to just wait and see how things turn out through the fucking window, because this was getting ridiculous. Patience has never really been his thing, which is becoming more and more apparent to him the longer he is forced to watch the sheer, unadulterated audacity on display.

He will admit to being mildly entertained in the beginning, watching the woman doing whatever the hell it is that she's doing like it was some kind of soap opera. When The Sneeze(TM) happened, he had been near certain she was caught, but seeing as she somehow had to be the luckiest person in the whole god damn world, she got away scot-free as the two cultists with the same skill level and attention span as low level videogame characters got distracted by industrial sized bags of glitter.

Which of course she later took to use for whatever unholy Rube Goldberg Machine she was making, alongside with a mysterious white powder that came from boxes absolutely covered in warning labels.

But the craft herpes and unprecedented luck were not what made him want to scream at her from two stories up and eighty feet away, cultists be damned. No, that urge came from the very familiar line of cordage she had looped through some kind of tarp and tied in knots, knots!! She took apart his grapple gun and used it for some kind of dirty picnic blanket! HIS FUCKING GRAPPLE GUN! The AUDACITY! He was fuming, glaring as she wrapped a hose over her shoulder and started trekking up the stairs and over the catwalks towards him.

Finally!

"My fucking grapple gun?!" Red Hood hissed with indignation as soon as she was withing earshot, if barely. Marinette huffed and rolled her eyes, adjusting the hose wrapped around her shoulder to let more slack down.

"Well hello to you too." She said, tone filled with sarcasm and sass in equal measure, but internally she was beaming. He's not ruining her good mood when she is so close to success. She gently laid the hose wrapped around her shoulder down onto the catwalk as she crouched, careful not to make any suspicious noise. Not that the cultists would be likely to look up even if they heard it(After being subjected to the eye-searing glare of the floodlights herself, Marinette didn't exactly blame them, though still...), but it doesn't hurt to be careful.

"You took apart my fucking grapple gun?!" He repeated, voice inching higher. Clearly, some people don't think the phrase 'better safe than sorry' applies to them. She looked up at the rafters, rolling her head back in mild annoyance, as she drew on more of Trixx's power to muffle their conversation before taking a dramatic pose and poorly mimicking Hood's voice.

"'Oh, hi Marinette, thank you for risking your life to save me from being sacrificed by these scary cultists, I really owe you one.'" She shifted her stance and changed back to her own voice. "'No problem, Red Hood, I'm glad you understand that sometimes sacrifices must be made for the continued freedom of the innocent.'" She crossed her arms and looked pointedly in the faintly glowing eye of the Vigilante's helmet with a slight pout. She couldn't see it, but Marinette imagined that he took a split second to blink.

"Was that a pun?" Marinette tilted her head, thinking back over her words before silently grinning. "So not only do you take apart my god damned grapple gun, you fucking pun at me about it?!" Marinette chuckled, uncrossing her arms and going back to carefully untangling the hose.

"You can get another one, cant you?" She asked flippantly, Red Hood grunted in displeasure.

"Ugh... Yeah, but that is so inconvenient." If it weren't for the voice modulator, Marinette would *almost* call his tone petulant, but for now she simply thought of it as pouty.

"Welcome to the club." She responded, to which he huffed.

"What, the club for inconveniences and cultists?" She could hear the smirk in his voice, and had to hold back her own.

"Yep." She responded cheerfully instead, "Meetings every Thursday in the warehouse of rejected toys."

"Why Thursdays?"

"Because Thursdays are the worst day of the week." She said with certainty, staring off into the middle distance as she remembered all the bad things that happen on Thursdays.

Well, at the end of it all, this might not end up being one of the bad things after all...

"Isn't that supposed to be Monday?" Marinette rolled her eyes and huffed in exasperation before shaking her head.

"I'm not going over this again." Red Hood leaned his head back, seemingly nonplused.

"Again?"

"Anyway," Marinette continued, cutting him off from speaking further. "I have everything ready except for this one last thing, which I will need your help for." Hood straightened(as much as he could anyway), as if remembering something and his voice pitched slightly deeper in a commanding kind of way. As a former superhero herself, she was very familiar with it.

"Yeah, actually, I'm going to need you to exp-"

"Shush shh shh." Marinette said, waving a hand at him while distracted with straightening the rest of the hose and turning the nozzle to 'shower' mode in preparation to lower it to him. Despite this, she could feel the affront radiating off of the vigilante. She fought down a smile as she continued. "Don't interrupt people, its rude."

Red Hood made a strangled noise, like he was trying to start several different sentences at once but nothing managed to make it past the first syllable, very effectively cutting off his demand for explanations she absolutely wasn't going to give him. She wished that she could see what his expression looked like right now, it would keep her giggling for weeks.

"Okay, so I don't know how much you were paying attention-" That's a lie, she knew he has been watching her like a hawk this whole time, "but you see the boards I set up with the piles of white powder and glitter above their supply table?" she asked, pivoting on the balls of her feet to look at him, wrapped in chains and hanging above a half done ritual circle.

"Yeah?" The word sounded like he wanted to growl it, but was too off kilter to fully manage. She held back a laugh, but couldn't help the smirk that slipped through.

"Well." She said, holding up the hose next to her head for him to see, "What I need you to do, is spray water on the cultists that powder drops on." She finished with a sunny grin. There was silence for several long moments as they stared at each other, sounds outside their little bubble left ignored. Marinette didn't falter, expression as solid as Hood's helmet. When he finally spoke, it was loaded and laced with emotion and demand.

"Why."

Marinette blinked and tilted her head. There were a lot of ways that she could answer him, ways to interpret what exactly he was asking about. Why the water, why him. It could be why she insisted on being so... Cavalier about this whole situation, or why she stuck around to help instead of running. Or, most likely, it could be why go through all this trouble? Why spend hours setting all this up when a single phone call would have gotten them out of this mess in minutes? And yet...

She felt the magic in her chest swirling, Luck and Misfortune dancing across her shoulders. Creation and Destruction chasing each other through the blurry seams of the world around her. Her connection to the Kwami hummed in her ears, and she felt the Balance on the verge of a Shift. Her words here could change the Fate of this city. A small action could tip the scales of Order and Chaos.

No pressure.

"Because," she said slowly, earnestness in her eyes as she stared through Red Hood and into the Destruction and Misfortune clinging to him like leaches, tainting and feeding on the Hope and Safety in his Soul. Magic seeped into her voice, spreading through her like invisible veins of sunlight and guiding her words. "When life takes you down a path that gives nothing but blood and darkness, the only way to make it to the other side is to create your own light."

She got no response, the vigilante seeming frozen by her words, staring intently from behind glowing lenses. She herself took a few moments to collect her thoughts as the Magic dissipated, the feeling of Balance fading to the background, leaving behind no indication on if she said the right thing.

But she did, she knew she did.

With a comforting smile loaded with memories of long nights, suppressed feelings and more responsibility than any child should ever have to shoulder, she reached down and handed him the hose. He took it automatically, still processing her words. Marinette stood to leave, before looking over her shoulder and saying,

"Enjoy the show, Hood." She smirked at him, turning and walking away. "Maybe you'll learn a thing or two about how dangerous 'feather dusters' can be."

"I got something." Oracle's spoke suddenly through the uncharacteristic silence of the coms.

"Report." Batman ordered, the speed of his reply being the only indicator of his worry, but after knowing him for so long Oracle could read it very easily. Keys clacked rapidly under her fingers as she hacked into phone satellites and pulled up tracking software.

"A phone call, asking specifically for Commissioner Gordon." She paused for a moment, skimming over the auto-generated transcript from the audio file.

"Hn." Batman grunted impatiently. She could almost feel his signature stare through the computer.

"Hold your horses." She muttered quietly, speaking up again shortly after as several blue dots started appearing and disappearing on the map of the warehouse district on her other screen. "Someone called in to report cult activity and kidnapping approximately two minutes ago."

"Is it Hood?" Red Robin asked, voice calm if slightly winded. A quick glance at his body cam footage showed him finishing up a fight with a couple muggers.

"It seems likely," she said, refocusing. "The video feeds I managed to find earlier put him near the reconnaissance point N gave me before he disappeared, and the call claims two people were kidnapped." Her eyes narrowed at the screen, the tracking software taking somewhat longer to pinpoint the origin of the call than normal, only giving her the general area, but...

"But?" Nightwing interrupted, much more subdued than earlier in the night. Barbara smirked a little at his words aligning with her thoughts. She started combing through traffic camera feeds from the estimated time of the kidnapping to pinpoint the location manually as she spoke.

"It was a woman with a French accent who called it in, and from the sound of the audio, she was suspiciously calm. Almost excited sounding, even." Barbara frowned, finding a suspicious looking beat-up brown van and several cars all driving to one warehouse approximately 3 hours and 28 minutes ago. "There was no mention or description of who exactly the kidnapped people were, though the caller implied she was one of them." There were no cameras pointing towards where they parked, and any security the disused warehouse had was either completely broken on or a closed circuit. She started back tracking the path of the van while she ran the license plates she managed to get from one of the higher quality traffic cams.

"Think it's a trap?" Red Robin asked. She hummed, chewing on the inside of her cheek for a moment. She started looking into the warehouse's utilities, searching for any any weirdly high power draws that would indicate a villain lair, but didn't find anything on that scale.

"I'm sending you the address, B." She said quickly, inputting it to the Batmobile's navigation system before answering Red. "There's not enough evidence to say, but I don't think it is a trap, exactly. All the information we have about the cult from previous reconnaissance doesn't indicate them being a setup, and the call, despite specifically mentioning the Commissioner, was for the police, not us." She checked the rout on the Batmobile's map against hers, looking it over for roadblocks.

"But it is suspicious." Red Robin replied, a calculating edge to his voice.

"But it is suspicious." She confirmed. Construction blocked off the block with the most direct route from Batman to the warehouse, looks like a fire in a machinery overlay facility that took out a corner of the building. The traffic cones and interspersed equipment would be little obstacle for Bruce the Broody Dad-Bat, though.

"Enroute, eleven minutes." Said the aforementioned Overprotective Flying Marsupial. Oracle looked at his tracker.

"Take a left in two blocks and you'll be there in eight." She typed in several commands and a new path showed up on his map. "Careful for the piles of bricks." A flash from another screen caught her attention and she turned her head.

Ah, good.

"Red, I'm sending you the address of where it looks like Hood was taken from. N, I'm sending you files for the owners of the cars that the cultists used. None of them have been reported stolen, so see if you can confirm or find anything incriminating we can give to the police." From their body cam footage, she could see Red pulling out his grapple gun and shooting off while Nightwing quickly looked through his wrist computer.

"What would we ever do without you, O?" Nightwing asked with a laugh, the first one since Hood turned up missing.

"Die, probably." Red Robin responded as he leapt off of a building. Oracle snorted.

"Probably." She agreed

Marinette was in position, crouched behind the cultists' table of junk and fridge of dubiously sourced blood. All of her traps were set and ready to go, the few she needed to activate all connected back to this one spot. She went over her mental checklist with a feeling of satisfaction.

Step One: Neutralize Lookouts, Check. Step Two: Gather Supplies, Check. Step Three: The Path of Least Resistance, Check. Step Four: Traps, Check.

It was a simple plan, though by no means easy. The bruises and rope burn had made friends with the muscle fatigue and aching joints from all the crawling, climbing, and carrying that she had done to get to this point. The close calls that made her heart race with adrenaline bled into giddy anticipation for the payoff. Finally, the culmination of all of her hard work was here.

Step Five: It All Falls Down.

She looked up, past the eye watering glare of the floodlight and directly at Red Hood. With squinting eyes and a toothy grin, she shot him a thumbs up. After a moment, he responded in kind, holding up the hose. Marinette looked back down, blinking a few times to clear the spots from her vision and then steeling herself with a deep breath.

Go time.

Creeping forward, Marinette reached the extension cord that powered the mini-fridge. The very same mini-fridge that filled the warehouse with the constant gurgling drone of an appliance on the edge of complete and utter non-function. With a quick and simple yank and a careful dive back behind cover, the warehouse suddenly descended into silence.

"... The hell?" One of the cultists that had been drawing runes into the edge of the circle muttered, looking up at the sudden quiet, quickly followed by the other three.

"What happened?" Dolly called from the other side of the circle, voice echoing as she stood up from where she rested against a large crate with Judgy.

"The fridge just turned off." Drawing Cultist number two said, setting down her protractor.

"Well no shit-" the third one said, before being cut off by the one in the red-trimmed potato sack.

"Figure it out without disrupting meditation, lest our hard work go to waste." He said in an excessively haughty voice that gave her flashbacks of a certain blond. Marinette couldn't see their faces, but from their posture she could deduce that the four drawing cultists and Dolly weren't too happy about this guy. If she had to guess, it would probably be because his version of 'hard work' consisted of sitting with his eyes closed and bossing people around.

Oh well, that's what you get for being in a cult that kidnapped people, I guess.

The four Drawing Cultists made their way over, two stopping next to the table, one going directly to the fridge, and the last hung back with their arms crossed, just beside one of the meditating cultists. Marinette shifted, hand wrapping around the first fishing line, pulling it until it was just taught.

"Hey, who unplugged-" the cultist never got to finish their sentence, as Marinette *yanked* the fishing line and four crates balanced on top of the catwalks above tipped. Then spilled...

Then it all fell down.

----

Jason had never been big on the Internet. Sure, it was beyond useful for investigative work, but from growing up poor, to living on the streets, to being dead, there wasn't much time for him to get immersed in 'internet culture', as Tim called it. But, he did remember one of Dick's attempts at 'brotherly bonding night' where he spent several hours putting up with far too many compilation videos meant to 'catch him up on what he missed while dead'. He remembered them, at this one very specific moment, because of the one 'Vine' Dick showed them of a rubber chicken falling off a roof. It had been mildly amusing at the time, enough keep him around longer than he otherwise would have stayed. He had even laughed a little, and made a joke about it being accurate to what Dick sounded like when pushed off of high places. The responding squawk from his adoptive brother proved his point perfectly, to the amusement of the rest of the room.

Jason was not laughing now.

If he had been asked before to imagine the bone chilling sound of hundreds of screaming rubber chickens falling through a warehouse like an unholy rain, nothing would have come close to the reality. He doubted anything could come close to reality; the single most unsettling sound he had ever heard freezing everyone in place with held breath as the screaming and thwaps of rubber hitting concrete stopped. That was, until the dolls activated.

From inside the dispersed mounds of toys and clouds of glitter slowly spreading over the floor in a way that reminded him of fear gas, more pairs of red eyes than he could count lit up like beacons, followed by laughter.

Screaming laughter.

Jason knows that if he wasn't hanging from chains at this moment, he would either be running or shooting. His fist clenched around the hose in his hand, and water started raining down below him. At the same time, he heard two separate thunks, followed by what sounded like a rain of vaguely spherical objects and confused screaming from below him.

White powder fell in a heap, coating the cultists and spreading over the floor near the table they had set up, and he remembered what the woman- Marinette- told him. Swallowing down the adrenaline induced haze, he aimed the water as the cultists scattered.

It was chaos.

The three cultists closest to the table had the most powder on them, and when they ran directly under the path of the water, something unexpected happened. The first one fell, foot stuck to the ground, and the other two tripped over them and didn't get back up again, writhing where they had ragdolled against the floor, stuck to it like a glue trap. The white powder got on two more, one of the people who were meditating and the person standing next to them. They ran, only getting partially soaked before they were out of range. They ran for the door behind Jason, clothes becoming stiff and sticky with glue, but not managing to fully stop them. They didn't get far, because as soon as they got to the border of the boxes they tripped over the balls of various sizes scattered over the floor. One fell to the side, catching themselves on a heavy crate while the other fell face first into the floor. Neither got back up, despite how much they struggled.

On the path next to them, two more cultists had tried to escape, but instead of sticking to the floor like the others, they slid on it. Crashing into each other, they both fell head first into a dusty tarp that seemed to swallow them whole as they fell into a pit. The cord of his mutilated grapple gun pulled taught, closing around the edges of the tarp, leaving only a single flailing leg sticking out of the top.

Across from him, on the longest and darkest path, the two cultists who were meant to be on watch followed behind a third at a dead sprint. They gained speed unhindered, until they were around twenty feet away from the door when the one in front hit a tripwire, stumbling but keeping momentum. But then they hit another tripwire.

And another tripwire.

And then another tripwire.

They managed to dodge by jumping over the last tripwire, only to miss the clothesline that hit them directly at neck height. The cultist fell, slamming their head on the ground, knocked out cold with a muted thud.

The two behind didn't stop for their friend, simply jumping over the prone form and ducking past the clothesline, speeding up for the last stretch to the door. They almost made it, but we're stopped dead by the web of fishing line and stacks of pallets that collapsed around the two, trapping them in a tangle of limbs and splinters.

Just behind them, almost at the same time another cultists barely dodged a paint can swinging down from the rafters, only to be buried under the resulting cascade of paint cans that spilled from two huge pallets. The one behind skid to a stop and backpedaled, watching four of their companions go down trying to get out that way. They then turned around, seeing a fifth person groaning on the ground stuck to a mat of tape they fell on after running through another series of tripwires and singular clothesline. In a panicked haze, they looked around until spotting a couple of others at the truck door that wasn't blocked off, trying to open it. The panicking cultist rushed over just as they managed to crack it open, incidentally causing a veritable avalanche of boxes and crates to fall on all three.

There were three left standing. The one with red trim, who was yelling obscenities while standing in the middle of their half done ritual, and the two who were walking through the minefield of tripping hazards that got the ones half-covered in glue. They reached the other side without falling within just a few seconds of each other, the one who got there first sprinting forwards and throwing open the door with a screech of rusted hinges.

Then was promptly knocked the fuck out by a boot to the face.

The last one made it out the door, then screamed. Their footsteps fell silent.

Jason was gaping.

Holy... Fucking... Shit...

Below him, he heard cackling. Not the unsettling, mechanical and screaming laughter of the joker dolls, but the nearly evil delighted glee coming from the small blue-haired woman dancing around with a monkey wrench the size of her arm held in one hand. Her high ponytail bounced behind her, covered in cobwebs and dust. Her clothes were rumpled and dirty, and even from this distance her arms looked like she went ten rounds with an octopus and lost. But despite this, she was practically glowing.

"IT WORKED, YES!!! HAHA!" She shouted out, twirling out from behind her wall of boxes, head whipping around in every direction, taking it all in. The lead cultist whirled around, gaze locking onto her.

"YOU!" He shouted in outrage, immediately charging at the much smaller woman. Jason sucked in a breath, whether to warn her or just shout, he is not sure, but the sound never left his throat.

Marinette turned her feral grin on the charging cultist, and when he was in range, swung her heavy monkey wrench and hit him right in the shoulder. Jason could hear the bone snap. She hit him again, this time in the stomach with a forwards jab, then another swing to the knee with a sickening crunch, taking him down completely and then stepping far enough away he couldn't reach her, just in case. She spun, turning to look directly at him.

"You still think I'm adorable and harmless, Hood?!" She shouted up at him, dropping the wrench with a heavy thunk. "I told you that you would eat your words," she threw her arms out wide "Now eat them and weep!" She cackled madly, not waiting for an answer as she turned and skipped away. Skipped.

Jason was left speechless, open mouthed and hanging above the groaning and unconscious cultists who had kidnapped and were prepared to sacrifice him with only one thought.

I think I might be in love.

The Batmobile skid to a stop in front of the warehouse and he practically flew out of it. The outside was dark, but he could see light seeping out through broken and dirty windows and hear a commotion coming from the inside. He ran towards the closest door, only to be mildly surprised as it was thrown open with a near deafening screech of the hinges when he was still a few paces away. The surprise didn't stop, because even as he was getting into a fighting stance, the person(whom he identified as one of the cultists his sons were investigating) was knocked out by a boot swinging down from the crude mechanism he only barely had time to noticed before it activated.

… What?

Pushing his confusion and surprise away, he focused on the second cultist that came running through the loudly closing door. They made it a few steps out before noticing him in the dim lighting. Expression already contorted in fear and panic, the shock of seeing Batman standing in their way was too much, and they screamed.

Bruce punched them in the face, then spent a few precious seconds zip tying their hands and feet so they couldn't escape when they woke up. Creeping forward to the door that was held open by the unconscious body of the first cultist, he peered inside to where he could hear a woman's manic laughter. Once he did, he stopped to take it all in.

His son, in full gear, was hanging from the ceiling, wrapped in chains and holding a leaking garden hose. Below him was a small woman covered in dirt and injuries, laughing maniacally as she stood above an even more injured cultist who was trying to crawl away with one arm, and another pile of people somehow stuck to the ground. He could see a hole of some kind to the left with a single still-moving leg sticking upwards, and to the right two people splayed out like ragdolls. He could hear muffled arguing and curses from the other side of the warehouse, along with creaks of pallets and groaning from underneath piles of boxes. Bruce felt a very familiar feeling creeping over him, one his kids loved to induce for the sole purpose of causing grey hairs.

What the hell happened?

But this time, it wasn't one of his kids who were responsible. He watched as the woman turned, looking directly at Jason and yelling up at him.

"You still think I'm adorable and harmless, Hood?! I told you that you would eat your words, now eat them and weep!" Then she cackled madly, turned, and skipped through to the opposite side of the building.

Well, Bruce thought with a restrained sigh, maybe he was at least a little responsible.

Bruce slid through the door, creeping around the edges of the circle before emerging from the shadows in front of his son. Hood jerked, whipping his head from where he was staring after the woman to Batman. He grunted, clearing his throat before speaking.

"Uh, hi- hey." Jason cleared his throat again, attempting for casual and failing miserably. "How's- uh, how's it goin'?" he stammered, glancing back to where the woman disappeared. Stammered. Bruce didn't answer, tilting his head and scanning the carnage again, before spotting the loop of rope hanging next to his son.

"...How long have you been here?" His tone was harder to decipher with the voice modulator, but Bruce would recognize it easily from any one of his children. Jason was flustered.

"B?" Hood asked, unsettled as a small grin grew on The Batman's face. Whoever that woman was, whatever Jason said to her to cause this reaction, Bruce would likely thank her for the opportunity to get back at one of his children for all the grief they cause him. Uncrossing his arms, Bruce pulled a phone out of his belt pouch. "B? B don't you fucking dare-" He still didn't respond, holding up the device with one hand, and snapping a picture. Ignoring his son's vehement protests, he sent the photo to Alfred with the attached message:

B: please print and frame this for display in the cave.

A: Of course, Sir. I suppose the bulletproof frames will come in useful after all.

Red Hood continued to swear, attempting to spray him with water from the hose he still held tightly in hand. Bruce just put the phone away and reached up to tap his comm with his small smile still in place.

"Oracle, please send Nightwing and Red Robin to my location." He said calmly, concerned exclamations immediately coming through only to be drowned out by Hood's booming voice.

"B, DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!"

#MLBxDC #mlb x dc #jasonette #maribat #Feral Marinette #my writing #this took me literally six months to write #Jason Todd #marinette dupain cheng #Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

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