#foaming from the mouth. thrashing against my cage

[chilapis]

To put this in the most eloquent way that I can,

….. hsskhskjskjjsksksjakuakxhalakagh <3333

[sinfulsigh]

𝙰𝚂𝙿𝙷𝚈𝚇𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚂𝚄𝙱𝙻𝙸𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙿𝙴𝚃𝙰𝙻𝚂

summery : he, who bloomed and ravished, sought euphoria in your high.

pairings : hanamaki takahiro x fem! reader

caution warnings : smut, nsfw, asphyxiation, marijuana

word count : 4.3k

He hated how your name felt against his tongue during an achroous downpour on a friable Monday afternoon; complaining how it’s harsh and jagged, as if it could shatter ivory molars. Your name sounded of foreign revolutions and fescennine opulence, a name he claims that static nymphs would own as they choke on nude snapdragons. So, he prefers to call you Hanaame, for the rain storm you lingered under and how he desperately wanted to pinch himself onto you for an eternity.

Delirious and illecebrous was his four o’ clock stare as he gazed at how your hair rests in heavy tussles against the rainfall, admiring how your uniform clung to to your statuesque body (exposing every soft curve and barbed edge of your anatomy); silently worshiping a sfumato muse with amaranthine forelsket that taunts him. Amid captivating midsummer showers, you were the luminary of his hazed, vain possessed reality that’s soaked in the trichromatic hues of explicit soaking. The tip of his fingers trembled lightly as they ghost over your skin, pulling away the hair that cascaded down your face—water droplets slowly descending from the ends of your hair and the curve of your face; baptising you in solstice sorrows.

“You look pretty this way,” Hanamaki informed with a honeyed, shy voice. His skin flushing the vast shades of peaches as it paints his flesh in warm tones.

You cusp your palm against his cheek, cherishing the warmth that radiates from his ambiance that felt strangely of smoke. You smiled at him, the gloss of your lips seeping into the cracks of your chapped lips as he melts in the softness of your voice, “You look beautiful in the tides of this storm.”

All he could do was stare at you with squinted eyes that are glazed in an amaranth hue. Hanamaki smirks as he allows your hand to linger for a second longer before moving his body onwards into the insouciant prisms of the storm. The light drum of thunder quaked your bones, setting the rhythm for your heart as you walked between the roars and screams of a malicious tempest.

Hanamaki’s home lingered somewhere between a busy street that is known for its dense population of hallowed bodies and rural authority of decayed forests. The lights in his home glowed with warm lights with silhouettes of his youngest sister dancing hazardously as the hem of her dress fluttered around her. You can see his mother lingering in the kitchen as the small, crystal windows placed emphasis on her beauty—her strawberry blonde hair tied into a tight bun as her nepenthe eyes rested downcast at the counter while she cut away at freshly plucked produce.

Hanamaki leads you inside his home, ignoring the shrieking greetings of his sister and his mother’s demanding call of pleads as he pushes you up the koidan-dansu staircase. His home was small with narrow hallways and thin walls, wooden floors that creaked under your weight and memories plastered in oxidized silver frames on every mahogany surface. Hanamaki’s room was in the far back of the hallway where shadows brood, and he’s profusely apologizing that the light fixture above is broken and has been for many years now. His nimble fingers sliding the door to his bedroom open as a darkened room sat in cimmerian stillness.

The smell of musk and earth envelopes you into a sense of tranquility as you push farther into his room, taking in the sight of an unmade futon laying messy on beige tatami mats and a polluted desk messied with papers and unread books. Dust collected on the surface of his bookshelf, dresser and far corners of his rooms as lone spiders spun silk plexure on his windowsill. Hidden in too obvious of spaces were selcouth paraphernalia made of glass, their crystal bodies odd yet arcane with yellow inert water and resin clinging to the neck of his bongs.

You turned to Maki, who’s reaching into his closet to grab a spare hanger, as you melt away the tears of Mother Nature’s tantrum onto the floor. You're drenched and glistening after being consumed by the rain and Hanamaki listens to the subtle droplets fall from your hair onto his floor. Like the rest of his catastrophic room, he doesn’t care that you're making a mess. If he wasn’t so occupied trying to make things comfortable for you, he would gladly get on his knees and lick every stray droplet that falls around you (in his foam gagged consciousness, anything that spills from you should never go to waste). But he keeps his composure with a deep inhale from his nose as he hands you a wire hanger.

“Here, put your clothes on that and I’ll place them in the bathroom to dry off.” Hanamaki offered before the sudden realization laved over him. His skin burning into molten hues of rose golden as he quickly added onto his statement with furrowed brows, “And while you do that, I will get you some spare clothes to wear.”

“Thanks.” You smiled, waiting for him to turn around before you discarded your clothes one by one.

You stripped away the light blue button down that caged your torso, followed by the unravel of the red ribbon secured tightly around your neck. Bare flesh being kissed by the dampened freeze of his aircon spitting clear, turbulent winds. You shutter, the vertebrae of your pretty spine vibrate in a shockwave of agglomerative climax. Gentle fingers unfastened the zipper on the side of your plaid skirt and quickly did it fall down your legs with a deadened thrash. You stepped out of your skirt and gently tucked away your clothes in an orderly fashion on the hanger, standing half naked in the midst of his room with artificial lights spotlighting the delicance and elegance of your flesh.

Hanamaki blushed, attempting to hide the tinge of apricot blush that painted his face in soft strokes, his hands trembling as he attempted to offer you a gray shirt. You thanked him as you handed off your uniform into his empty hands, watching him quickly dart out of the room as you played with the hem of his shirt. Once the door slid shut, you placed his t-shirt over your head and watched it cascade down your body as it engulfed your stature completely. A normal shirt for him was an oversized dress in contrast to your feminine build, something he admired once he returned into the sanctity of his room.

“You look pretty like this.” He praised, his smile carving into the lunar flesh of his face.

“I can say the same for you,” you pointed, acknowledging how he slipped out of his uniform to wear a plain, light blue t-shirt and a pair of sweats. “Thanks for the T-shirt.”

“I couldn’t just leave you in that wet uniform,” he exclaimed as he walked to the far side of the room. His hands brushed against the light fixture of his LED lights that quickly blazed in a violescent pigment; his hands rapidly tampering with a different, much smaller lamp that illuminated the many shades of a citrus sunset. He walked back to the other end of his room again to turn off the main light fixture, “It should be dry once you leave tonight.”

“Hopefully this storm lightens up.” You peered out the window as maudit winds routed between the spaces of buildings and trees.

“Even if it doesn’t, I don’t mind giving you my clothes so you can stay warm.”

“Such a typical guy thing to say,” you rolled your eyes.

“I’m only human and you look too pretty in my clothes,”  Hanamaki reminded, looping his arms around your waist as his lips pressed a chaste kiss on the top of your head. “Thanks for skipping homework to have a smoke session with me.”

“Thank you for providing the flower.” You smiled against the skin of his collarbone, taking in his scent of musk, jasmine and coconut shampoo with earthy tones of cedar wood and lavender.

Hanamaki pushes you into the futon before giving you one last squeeze, watching you fall like dazed cinematic sequences of lovers falling in lust. The back of your head hitting the pillow too hard that it ached in a dull pulse but you didn’t mind. Your dilated eyes watch him stalk towards the long bookshelf from between your legs that gaped slightly opened. You watched him with sublime lacing your beings as his oversized hands grasped at his pink grinder with a uv dripped face, a small gray bag that tore at the seams with frayed threads while his other hand carefully held a beaker bong that's dusted in a light pink color. You felt the sudden relief of knowing that the bong you’ll be sharing is clean with freshly added water.

You watched him open his grinder, the pungent smell of terra and dirt invading your aura as he sprinkled bud into the glass bowl. You lean into him, watching Hanamaki set up everything on his own as he demands you to relax and seep closer to him with a soft smile. His warmth like molten suns as it lulls you into halcyon elation, wrinkling the fabric of his shirt as you curl your fingers across his thin torso. Lips latching onto his neck, sucking on the subtle skin that makes Hanamaki feel euphoria against the plush of your pouty lips and the slime of your saliva staining his skin. A deep moan escaped the charred airwaves of his throat, sounding sweetly of corybantic arousal.

“Hey, at least let me finish this,” he sighs, hands roaming into his bag to find the yellow lighter he believed to be was lucky. He placed the tips of his fingers against your chin, turning your head to face him with a smirk planting his face as the pad of his thumb brushed against your bottom lip that was swollen with lust and anticipation. “Here, place your mouth on the rim and inhale.”

You obeyed, leaning your head down to attach your lips against the glass and began to slowly breathe. Hanamaki held the lighter to the bowl as to set the bud ablaze; he encouraged you to suck harder with a gentle rub of his calloused hands as it traces the curvature of your spine while the smoke began to accumulate in the glass. He released his hold on his favorite lighter as he pinches the bowl of the bong tightly between long fingers, Hanamaki smiled as he gazed at you, “Okay, darling, start sucking.”

Hanamaki pulls out the bowl, making you quickly suck in the clouds that swirled in the glass bong. The water in the bong began to bubble with the force of your soft inhales, trying to match the rhythm of heavy downpours that shatter his windows. The smoke traveled down your throat, scorching into your esophagus as it settles in your lungs—the smoke burning your respiratory system as if you consumed a thousand molten, honeyed suns whole. Your lungs felt like they dropped into your core as the pain tangled your nerves and spread across your back, making you want to release the smoke you were currently choking on. You looked at Hanamaki with blurred vision as tears swelled into your eyes, the smoke you poured out of your mouth billowed around you till it dissipated into the atmosphere.

“Ah! You drooled!” Hanamaki laughed, collecting the silver spit that glossed your lips and dribbled down your chin.

“God, that hurt!” You complained in between deep breaths.

“The first hit of the day is always the hardest.” Hanamaki informed before taking the leftovers your small lungs couldn’t carry. He quickly took in the smoke and held it in his lungs like a blanket before he began to slowly choke on colorless clouds. Smoke poured out of his lips as if it was second nature as they thickened around him. Between gentle coughs, he began to speak.

“Hanamaki, can I ask you a question?” You jeered. All too soon between after school smoke sessions and tender kisses on the rooftop of your school, you began to notice how Hanamaki feigned vanity (pretending to be possessed with solar incendiary with every shallow breath and dagger pierced eyes). He wasn’t like he claimed to be, if anything, Hanamaki Takahiro was a man that had interest in everything and a deep desire to be loved. Blood deep, he was still a prelude mortal that carries inordinate vitality. But he gravitated somewhere on a spectrum of flowers blooming in a subtle reality and an acid trip of lilac skies, where pain is easily mistaken for pleasure. You were sure you knew the answer but the words still slipped past your saliva glossed lips “Are you a virgin?”

Hanamaki smiled as urged you to place your mouth against the rim of his bong, lighting the bowl as the green residing within it became blackened ash. “No, I’m not.” He said simply, no emotions carried as he pulled the bowl away, “suck hard, darling.”

You held the smoke into your lungs as your chest expanded, your eyes glazing over to Hanamaki who could only smile at you. Slowly, you felt skin heat under his stare and all at once, the shame relaxed your spine as your lungs pleaded for oxygen—like a slave to your body, you obeyed as the smoke pooled out of your mouth slowly to create thick mist between you. Quickly, you let out a sharp cough that scraped away at the flesh from behind your throat. Hanamaki mutters how cute you were before he played with his glass to seek his high.

“I’m still a virgin.” You admitted.

The bubbles of his bong roared as he swallowed the thick cloud that billowed in his bong. He held the smoke inside his lungs for a minute as his lips carved into a smile, his head nodding in understanding, as if he knew. You were a good girl and he just ended up becoming the floral demon that took possession of your nectar spine, quickly corroding the prayers etched into your grapefruit brain. He made assumptions of you, just as you did of him, but he could never call you anything with malicious intent. Like he said the first time you smoked with him beneath the rose hedges of his home as bumblebees swayed around you, ‘you’re the world to me’. He blew out his smoke, the front of his teeth brushing together before returning your stare, “I know, baby.”

Lean bodies protrude closer as Hanamaki slid closer to your aura, his slender fingers gently scraped at the curve of your face. Your skin was coaxed in slime and salt, oddly did it remind Hanamaki of the rapid rivers from behind his house and how the mist of fresh water soaked his skin. His thumb brushes against the edge of your cheek bone before his hand slowly glides downwards to rest on the base of your neck; his lips finding the corner of your parted mouth as he kissed you gently—the taste of the cannabis stained onto his skin invading your sense of taste that burst of charred earth lave your tongue.

Hanamaki grasped your wrist, willing to pull you deeper into his core of guilty pleasures. And just how willing he was to expose the rot and hallucinations that polluted his mangled body, you willingly stepped into his delusions of lilac skies where flowers bloomed vibrantly and violently—saturated in the acid that distorts your angelic image into a nymph that births peonies. He leaned forward, hovering his chapped lips above yours as waited for your signal, hoping it was fine to sink into your solar prisms and taste the honey from your lips. Eyes half lidded, he sweetly framed your mouth to his with open mouth kisses. His touches feel comforting as his weight is forged onto you and he pulls you down.

Nimble fingers card through his hair, the tip of your fingernails scratching against his scalp but he didn’t mind. It only encouraged him more with fever blossoming beneath his pale skin, your touch was something he craved and Hanamaki desired to capture it more with greed in hands.

Hanamaki bit the bottom of your lip before pulling away, gasping for air as you were far more dangerous than any smoke he could devour. “Hanaame,” he gasped, as if it was your actual name. The tips of his fingers inched higher above the hem of his t-shirt draped on your body as they roamed against your skin. You followed his movements, slowly pulling at the cloth that entraps his body till it raised just above his navel. Your fingertips brushed every hard edge and muscle of his torso before he replaced your hands with his, quickly discarding his shirt that suddenly felt too heavy to bear.

With furrowed brows, he gently placed his hands on your stomach from where your skin exposed, looking at you with half lidded eyes as you gave him the okay to touch your flesh. He slowly pulled at the hem of his shirt, raising it up to reveal your chest that was adorned in a bra that matched your black panties. Raindrops fell onto your skin from the open cracks of his window, painting you in cold, summer rainstorms as Hanamaki discarded the shirt; your body leaning forward from the assistance of your numbing elbows digging into the fabric of his futon. You harshly pressed your mouth against him again, missing the mold of his lips that feel like strelitzias swarming around you. The lingering taste of ash and earth of his lips felt hot in comparison to the rain that drizzled over you.

Water droplets began to pile against you, pooling into the spaces of your collarbones and neck muscles that you shivered. Hanamaki wanted to cure you of the pale freeze that glimmered onto your skin, jealous of how the rain loved you with it’s elixir offerings, so much so that attached his open mouth against your neck and dragged his tongue down. He cleaned the salt and purity from your skin, the sweat and nectar that doused you as the feel of your flesh mimicked the heat from oblivious, vermilion hell fires. He sipped on the rain fall that ruined your gentle image, knowing in the back of his mind he’ll become sick with infections that will soon saturate his organs with toxicity. However, he didn’t mind and it proved as his tongue still swayed against your skin.

Hands trembled as they pulled at the hem of your black panties, pulling them down slowly as you adjusted to the sudden chill of being bare and exposed. Hanamaki searched for your evening stare through half lidded eyes, assuring that he wasn’t pushing boundaries. Shaken fingers trembled as they gently pressed against the slit of your opening before they ran upwards to press lightly on your clit. You stirred, letting out a soft hiss as your body trembled from his touch, and for a moment he was scared that he harmed you but the apprehension that laced his translucent flesh washed away when he noticed your legs opening just slightly. He pressed agonizing small circles around you, adoring the sweet mewls that leave your lips with a drunken smile—saturated in euphoria at the beauty sprawled out in front of him as his high quickly takes over.

His movements felt slow as he carefully pushed away the hairs that curtained your face. The pad of his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before grazing it over your eyelid, smearing the eyeshadow and liquid eyeliner that painted you in renaissance beauty. “Open your eyes,” Hanamaki demanded, leaning his body closer to yours as you felt his hardened cock rest painfully on your thigh.

You obeyed, your vision going hazy like a noise filter. For a second you couldn’t comprehend as to why your body reacted in such a way but you couldn’t escape this high that made you feel like mauve flowers blooming underneath the heat of a uv lamp. You felt dizzy, as if you orbited around Saturn’s orange halo rings yet you knew perfectly well that you laid still and composed under Hanamaki. You reached out your hand to cusp his face, your reaction time slow as your limbs felt too heavy.

“Your eyes,” he complimented, “Are a beautiful shade of red.”

“I feel like the color purple, rare and untouchable.” You murmured, “But I know I’m in nude tones of skin shows and it’s just my aura slowly reaching enlightenment under the haze of your influence.”

He smiles at you, returning his lips to your skin as his fingers trailed down to feel the nectar collecting at your opening. His fingertips coated in slime as he pushed one digit in, curving his digit against your walls to witness the reaction of ecstasy that laced your bones. He moved his fingers in rhythmic tone, sliding in and out before needing to replace his slender fingers with his raged member that demanded to be noticed.

He grasped the base of his cock, sliding it between you in slow pushes to give you time to adjust to his length. He shutters at your unintentional squeeze as you milk him, Hanamaki never realizing how loud his gasps and grunts are as the pounding in his heart (from embarrassment, the pleasure and the high) became too coherent in his racing mind. The grip around your hips could break, allowing the black ichor spill like ink, blotching your flesh in a bouquet of flowers. Once he’s fully in, he recomposes, staring at you with the casual sparkle in his eyes as his smile resurfaces. Hanamaki traces the skin from just below your eyes, demanding you look at him with those red eyes that captivate him completely like salacious artwork hanging proudly in elegant museums.

“I can take you even higher,” he admits, fingertip brushes tracing softly against your neck, “I can take you away from this reality.”

You don’t say anything, still attempting to understand his words as they pour slowly out his lips. The reaction of his fingers on your skin was delayed, and it wasn’t until he pulled away did you notice his lingering advances. Once you could comprehend his words, you nodded your head, shaking it so quickly that it pulled at your center of gravity. “Okay,” you meekly whispered, giving him consent before you completely forget what he offered, “Just don’t kill me.”

Hanamaki pressed his lips onto yours sweetly before pulling away, his words tracing your lips in the same hush toned you spoke, “I could never.”

Because, you were his world.

He quickens his thrust, his hips carving into yours as if you’re a goddess demanding to be worshipped. You could feel the pleasure resonating from your love and spreads—every little edge and surface of your skin feeling sensitive to the touch of his lust. The slam of his hips felt like thunder as it echoed and reverberated off the thin walls of his room, and in the back of your mind before you forget about it mid sentence was, ‘I’m sure his mother can hear us.’ But Hanamaki didn’t mind, he wasn’t ashamed to let his mother know that he was deep within the bathic caverns of the girl he worshipped.

He knew you would most likely come before him, so quickly he fulfilled his promise and offered his hands to you. The palm of his hands pressing tight against the side of your neck as the curve of his thumbs sat against the base of your neck. Once he paved inside, he began to squeeze, restricting your breathing as his hips hit hard against your liquid love. He ignored the rainfall that slaps against his limbs, the cold thrush of droplets adoring his skin like impaled jewels. Disregarding the water droplets that splashed against his narrow shoulder blades and traveled downwards across his spine. And under him, you were soft with widened eyes as you try to comprehend his soothing words. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ he assured and you believed it, ‘cause deep within your core, he’s nurturing the lotuses that wilted as the stomach acid dissipated from your organs. Hanamaki was a literal demon, adored in flowers as he puked up petals beneath your naked frame—he could make you witness the destruction of paracosms and rebuild the dimensions that you nuked with heartache with the growth of florals and cannabis oils.

Your vision faded into this reality to a white cascade that appeared like static in your dilated pupils. Against his palms, he could feel the gentle pulse that fastens with every pace of his hips. Once you could witness the rebirth of this reality, your vision still clouded in noise and static, everything felt slow. His pace, his touch, your buildup. You never notice how the rain pours onto your bare flesh, or how Hanamaki’s heated exhales mist your skin. Slowly, did you feel euphoria tightened around your love as it escalated heavily before the vertigo grew overwhelming.

“H—Hana...maki!” You moaned, “I think I’m going to—!”

“It’s fine, darling.” He whispered, “Come, it’s okay.”

With or without his permission, your climax heightened as your hips raised against his careless rhythm. His cock brushed against your cervix as his hands began to squeeze tighter around your neck. As you slipped out of this reality, you released the pressure that pooled inside, your body seizing with the heavy weight of your climax and milked his cock.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He moans.

His hips continued to thrust as he formed his lips onto yours, swallowing your moans and saliva as he too was close to reaching his high. Beneath him, you felt the wave of euphoria graze your daybreak ambiance, shedding away the title of mortal to enter a slow metamorphosis of godly.

[evolutionsvoid]

It turns out victories are not as quick and clean as people think they are. When the enemy is defeated and the day is won, everyone thinks it just ends there and we all live happily ever after. That was what we thought when we finally toppled that leviathan, believing that our troubles were over the second that beast breathed its last. After all the cheering, celebrating and partying, though, everyone kind of realized that it wasn't over. We all looked at the aftermath and noticed there is a 100,000 ton corpse still sprawled all over downtown. Rivers of blood and debris were flowing through the streets and the holes we blasted into its hide were now leaking the foul stench of decay. After all the efforts and sacrifice, the heroes now had to play the role of cleanup crew. Even in death, the great beast proved to be a daunting opponent. With such a size and weight, you couldn't exactly toss a rope around it and tow it to the dump. Our only option was to take it out in pieces, and that wasn't easy either. Bunker busting bombs were the only thing that had penetrated its armored hide, and even then multiple runs had to be performed to reach its vulnerable flesh. Saws and blades were useless against the massive carcass, and drills only succeeded in poking extra holes. Controlled demolition was our only option, which made the scientific community practically foam at the mouth with rage. Even as the beast trampled over the city, they had talked of studying the beast and learning how such an impossible being even existed. When it perished under a hail of bombs and missiles, they assumed that they would get free reign over the carcass, to use it as they saw fit. When said corpse is draped over dozens of businesses and corporations, though, people with money tend to complain. It didn't help that the thing reeked to the high heavens, and rebuilding the city was impossible with it there. So the choice was made to blow the thing into manageable chunks, which would then be hauled to some facility so that research could be done on what remained. Crazy to think that such a decision led to so much misery. If we had given the scientists time to study the beast and learn more about its biology, then maybe we could have avoided the whole mess. On the first day of demolition, we targeted the weaker underbelly for the first charges. We had intended to relieve the build up of internal gases, and also to get access to the creature's fleshy inside for easier demolition. We armed the charges and stood back in our splatter suits, hoping that we were far enough away from the splash zone. With the press of a button, a chunk of the underbelly popped open in a fountain of gore. A great wave of gas, blood and rot shot out like a geyser, and with it came the worms. Pale squirming things the size of anacondas burst from the flowing wound and poured into the streets and crowd. Panic and chaos immediately took hold, as no one had been expecting a second battle. Soldiers scrambled for their weapons as the worms thrashed about in the open air. Over two dozen people were injured during the incident, as the flailing, slithering things ended up wrapping around the nearest warm body. Due to their size and strength, this snaky hug wound up snapping bone and cracking rib cages. Guns and flamethrowers were pulled out and the army moved to destroy these vile parasites. Once they were scorched, everyone went back to the drawing board. Moving this corpse was now a greater challenge, as we now had angry residents who did not agree with our relocation plans. Unfortunately, as the head honchos argued over strategies and ideas, something slipped our notice. It is believed that one or more worms escaped the destruction, and wound up in the city's sewer system. While we focused our attention on the massive carcass, it bathed in a nutrient rich stew of waste, kaiju blood and other crap. No one really knows what triggered its growth and mutation, but weeks after the worm incident, it came back for revenge. 

After reports of workers and soldiers disappearing throughout the city, we performed a search of the sewer system. Our presence and machines must have agitated it, as it burst from the pipes and shredded three different squads. Efforts to flush it out wound up driving it upwards, and it made its appearance to the surface world. While it was nowhere near the size and bulk of the leviathan, it was still a 300 meter long worm. And it was mad. The army immediately moved to kill it, but it proved to be a completely different beast to fight. It was fast, agile and it didn't have any of the delicate organs that its host had. Bullets and piercing missiles simply passed through its flesh, like stabbing a knife through a cake. Even when we blew its "head" off, it just slithered back into the depths and disappeared. Efforts were made to pursue it, but after fifteen people disappeared, everyone pulled back. Sadly, this battle would not end on that day. Or any day after that, as it still remains alive and dangerous. After multiple skirmishes and incidents, the terrible worm has mutated and grown into a monstrous form. Its regeneration and adaptive body has turned it into a parasitic hydra. Its new appearance inspired its new name, "Bitoso." A rather fitting name, as this horrible thing lives to bring misery to mankind. With these mutations and changes, it has become an even deadlier opponent than before. So far we have found that it can grow five different types of heads, and more may come in the future. Before, these were probably simple tools it used to feed on its host, but now they have mutated into powerful weapons. The "Anchor Head" is one that is petaled like a flower and barbed like a rose. While it was probably used to anchor itself to organs and tissue, it now serves as a piercing drill and thorny mace. The "Cutter Head" is a tendril covered thing that ends in a single wicked blade. Such a tool must have been grossly overpowered when it came to slicing through flesh, as it seems quite capable of cleaving through concrete and steel. The "Acid Head" is coated in boils filled with digestive fluids, and it can spray these caustic fluids with reckless abandon. Its lipped mouth parts can also serve as suction cups, latching on so that it can pump acid into a foe or structure. We have no idea how many have perished to this horrible head, as it sucks onto buildings and floods them with digestive fluid. "Spitter Heads" are a nasty one for our soldiers and weapons, as it fires streams of adhesive fluid with ridiculous accuracy. Perhaps it was once used to coat its body in a protective sheath, but now it serves to gunk up our vehicles and drown our fighters. The "Egg Heads" are probably the ones most feared and reviled. These plain clumps of eggs and bulbs can only explode when it comes to battle, but it also releases dozens of tiny larvae. More terrible worms will rain from the heavens, filling the streets with these horrible little things. Once they hit the ground, they desperately seek out a host, as the open air is painful to them. Unfortunately, humans are the only viable bodies nearby, which are a bit small for a parasite the size of your arm. Regardless of how poorly suited our flesh is, they slither to a victim with lightening speed and immediately seek out an open orifice. They will jam their bodies into any available hole and force themselves into the abdominal cavity. Due to their size and desperation, they tend to rip through the throat and internal organs, pulverizing the internal anatomy into soup. Those infected by these worms suffer a quick, but painful, death. Though the "Egg Heads" are destroyed with each use, it won't be long before a new head replaces it. Bitoso seems to have powerful regenerative properties, allowing it to grow new heads and sprout new appendages with each new injury. So much so, that it can actually detonate the bulbous parts of its neck to launch its head at a target, knowing that a new one will grow back in time. No matter how many times we fill it with lead and rip it to pieces, it just slithers off our radar and heals back up. Then we can only search and wait, not knowing which city or town it will attack next. While its healing powers seem to make it indestructible, there is something we fear even more. What if Bitoso is not as powerful as we thought? What if we actually killed during a few of our encounters? The great beast before it was filled with worms, and it is foolish to think only one made it so far. What if Bitoso is not one but many, and each new encounter is just another monstrosity rearing its head? We pray it is not so...   ----------------------------------------- And here is the last I got for Kaijune, which I think is my favorite of the bunch. If kaijus are animals, than they got to have parasites. And these little critters are not so small when compared to us...

[trashpandaorigins]

89P13: Ch 2

You have studied your entire life, sacrificed friendships, lovers, family for this-the message now on your tablet. Holding your breath, you tap the message and your heart jitters, you’ve been accepted. There it is plain as day. Accepted to The Halfworld Bioweaponry Laboratories. You start Tuesday.

My take on Rocket's origins.

WARNING: Animal abuse, PTSD, Graphic descriptions of violence and gore

The first procedure happens when the kits are three months old.  Enhancing a quadruped to a biped is no easy feat. Extensive cybernetics and skeletal reinforcements will be needs coupled with muscle stretching and suspension. 89P16 is first for it is the largest of the kits, fitting the muzzle around its jaws takes work, the iron pricking its tongue as the handlers wedge it between the subject’s teeth. Blood and foam flick on to your coat as it is wrangled to the gurney. You strap its limbs and tail downward until the skin pinches. Once in the operating theater the subject’s eyes wince at the bright light. You transfer it to the table, and it squirms, tail lashing. One claw manages to scratch a technician when they try to hook up the anesthetic. You already hold a scalpel in your hand, eager to begin and curl your fist in a rage, striking the raccoon kit across it’s muzzled face. It lets out a pained squeak your knuckles having jostled the sharp muzzle. Blood leaks from its teeth into its fur and it lies stunned. With a not to the technician you begin. Breaking the bones is the easy part, they are still somewhat malleable and snap easily with the blunt hammer you use. The hips and knees take more time, they are hard to break, stuck in place connected to the oh so precious spinal column but finally you and your team manage to snap the pelvis and widen the hips outward. You don’t mind pushing the soft tissue aside, all pink and lubricated with blood and bile and other fluids. The lower intestines are quite cumbersome to deal with as you are trying to insert a cybernetic rod into the right hip, so you decide to scoop them out. Your fellow doctor holds the tray while you heave coils out of the cavity, careful not to tug too hard. With those out of the way you finish pressing the left hip outward though it resists you eventually bend it to your will. 89P16 is crudely sown up after you put its innards back in. Yellowish fluid mixed with blood seeps through the stitches and you can see the black cybernetics through the shaved flesh. Not bad for the first of many surgeries you think on the way back to its cage. You deposit 89P16 in its enclosure and go back to the lab to write up your notes. It will require at least four more procedures before the skeletal restructuring is complete, then another two for the muscles and the ligaments. You factor in additional operations for the kits growth rates.

89P13 is next. It too hisses and growls and claws as you wench the muzzle over its head. It’s chittering grates on your ears so you tighten the clamps around i’s jaws. It thrashes all the way to the operating room, little body buckling under the restraints. It tears at its fur and does not stop it’s fight until you pump the anesthesia into it on full blast. Its throat gags and chest inflate in panic, reacting to this new thing that is not air. It’s red eyes dart about until it can no longer fight any more and its gaze goes rolling backward into its head. When you slice into its flesh the subject jerks its clever little paws and as you continue to peel back its skin 89P13 shits itself on the table, the defecation soaking into its fur and blood with a fetid stink.

The kits, no, subjects they are growing older now; the subjects handle their first round of modifications in varying degrees.  89P14 gets an infection in its left leg and has to be opened up again. It refuses to eat, and its hair begins to fall out. It curls in a ball in the corner of its cage and does not even resist the gloved hands that read for it. 89P11 claws at its stitches and almost gnaws out the cybernetic bolt in its left hip. You have it muzzled at all times, filing a tube between its teeth for food. 89P13 has to be re-opened after it chews at the stitches on its lower abdomen. When it awakes listless from the anesthetic it mewls and cries, but it does not dare resist the next time it is taken for weapons training. 89P15 is the first subject to die. It perishes under the knife on the third surgery. Just when its right shoulder is being modified. Its eyes are open, but it is knocked out with the gas. You see its quivering little heart beat faster and faster under layers of tissue. The small organ pumps furiously, you watch it twitch and shudder and slide your hand between its lungs to hold the slimy thing. It vibrates madly and though you shout for the defibrillator by the time one of your assistants bring it over, it is too late.

Afterwards you consult with your team. They determine the anesthetic to be the cause of cardiac arrest and that settles it. You do not use anesthetic when you crack 89P13’s chest and expand its shoulders and ribs. It kicks and growls and whines and foams at the mouth against the clamps that bind it down to the table. Blood splatters your coat when you break skin with your knife. 89P13 lifts its head up as much as it can, neck engorged as it presses against the leather strap. Ears are pressed downward, tiny nostrils puffing in and out with effort. You watch its red eyes stare down its own muzzle to where it's fur and flesh has been cut and opened and pulled apart. It looks at its own quivering insides, taking it in by degrees though of course it doesn’t’ understand. It’s cognitive electro and hydro therapy hasn’t progressed that far. Still you see its face look down at its own bones and clear mucus. Its eyes widen, its face crumbling. The subjects head sways briefly while its lungs rapidly inflate and deflate, finally its head falls with a thud to the aluminum table. It does not come to until you finish driving the second bolt into its left clavicle.  It awakes with a screech and arches against the straps, huffing and chittering. It is awake long enough to scratch your forearm, a sharp pain cutting into your own warm skin. You examine your own blood red and bright streaming in a thick line down to your elbow. You throw 89P13 into its cage with force and smile at the sound of its pathetic whimper when its sore form clangs against the bars.

[imashybear]

The Smuggler & the Apprentice

“That happens when you’re being hunted by a creature in a mask.” The words rolled like thunder out of his chest.

She said nothing. He got the impression that his words had somehow surprised her again. Then she abruptly stood, raising her gloved hands to the mask. There was a mechanical whine and a hiss of air, and then she was pulling off the helmet.

- In honor of #reylo au week, here’s a short fic of the Reylo interrogation, if their roles had been (slightly) reversed. (ao3 link)

“Careful.” The word shot out like blaster fire before she could stop it. She mentally lowered her finger from the trigger but looked on with approval as the troopers lowered Ben Solo’s shoulders, neck, and head more cautiously into the sturdy metal frame of the prisoner's rack. The man’s impressive shoulders challenged the dimensions of the frame, but with a ringing clench the iron bar snapped into place at his waist, locking him in. Rey watched as the guards moved to fasten the wrist and ankle restraints. The aluminum cuffs flashed in the overhead light, skittering bright spots across the man’s eyelids and drawing her gaze to his face.

He was still effectively neutralized, but she could sense something brewing beneath the outward calm. One closed eye twitched beneath a limp strand of sky-black hair. His head had lolled against its metal brace, and she could see the pulse pounding double-time beneath the pale skin of his throat.  She inhaled slowly and absently crept her awareness outwards. She could hear the faint rhythm of his mind, distant, like a strong wind heard through a thick curtain. If she pushed harder, she knew she would get a look inside – see what was making his pulse fly. She wondered if she would find anything worth exploring, or whether it would be better to wait until he was conscious to begin. But she felt curious, if nothing else. This was the closest she’d ever been to a Skywalker – even a powerless one. Even when she’d lived in ignorance, she’d heard the legends of their family. Some part of her wondered if she would find his thoughts the same as any other creature’s, or if they would be something she’d never encountered before. She mentally pushed in closer, a surprising eagerness pulling her forward…

She abruptly realized that the guards had stepped away from the prisoner and were awaiting orders. She moved physically then, making a show of stepping closer to the rack and inspecting their work. The woven fabric of her cloak brushed against the man’s hand as she passed it, and she saw his index finger twitch reflexively. Her eyes lingered on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, its carved lines visible beneath his fitted undershirt. They’d removed the leather jacket he’d worn when they were searching him for weapons and small, prickled paths were running up his arms and along the skin of his collarbone. He was cold.

She moved her gaze back to the guards.

“Leave us.”

There was the sound of retreating footsteps, the familiar thud of the door snapping into place, and then they were alone. Her eyes had slid back to his face while she was listening. She stepped away a few more paces and lowered into a less-threatening crouch, still facing him. She moved silently, though she didn’t fear waking him. She had made her decision; she would wait until he was conscious before probing further into his mind. Might as well keep the anticipation sweet, while it lasted. Too soon she would be done learning his secrets – secrets that would no more surprise her than those of any other prisoner. Weak, silly, worth little more than the dust they had come from. She might as well wait for them, if the waiting meant the mystery. But she wouldn’t have to wait for long, now. She could sense the restlessness on him; his growing consciousness as the room grew warmer with the heat of both their bodies. Like a gathering storm, the feeling was dense, with little crackles of awareness lighting the air. Her gaze absently traced the rings of fatigue that were pooled beneath his closed eyelids. She followed the line of his body down from them, across his leather belt, down his dark trousers, all the way to his scuffed leather boots. Some part of her noted that, like his hands and shoulders, his feet were large.

She raised her eyes again. His breathing was quickening. Any moment now. She felt her limbs light up like a saber blade. Luke Skywalker was finally within her grasp. Soon she would be face to face with the only real threat she had left in this galaxy. The starving jackal, nearly forgotten in the discovery of the man in front of her, thrashed against its bone cage. She could feel it foaming at the mouth and, just like that, her patience was gone. Like the snap of a rubber band, her mind scaled the distance between them in a blink. She shoved past the cloudy membrane of his consciousness, hitting the hot, writhing core with needle precision. She inhaled through her nose–

He seized awake. Every muscle springing into action, rushing against cold hands and being mercilessly thrown back. The back of his head thudded against what felt like a hard, metallic surface, and he looked down. The hands gripping his wrists were four-inch-thick, military-grade cuffs. The arm across his chest was a solid titanium bar, warped like the rib bone of some great mastodon.

He didn’t have to guess how he got here. He saw her immediately. The woman. The thing. Crouched before him, apparently at ease. The reflective eyes of her black metal helmet gave nothing away. Even masked and with skeins of black fabric blurring her outline, she affected an unmistakable calm. Like a predator eyeing its prey. He automatically pulled against the restraints.

“Where am I?”

Her head tilted infinitesimally to the right. “You’re my guest.” The soft, muffled voice was familiar and unmistakably smug. It infuriated him. He remembered hearing it before everything went black. It had spoken in his ear, above the sounds of gunfire, above the distant shouts of his crew… The crew.

“Where are the others?”

The helmet tilted back. “You mean the murderers, traitors, and thieves you call friends?”

His teeth pressed together. She was toying with him. She continued.

“You’ll be happy to hear I have no idea.”

The relief came in an awesome wave. They must have escaped the base. They were smart, they could evade the First Order’s fighters and survive long enough to make contact with The Resistance, he was sure of it. Looking into the endless black pools of the militant mask sitting before him, he didn’t feel nearly as certain about his own fate. Blacker than ink against the chrome walls – she reminded him of a demon, crouched at his feet.

Looking down at her, he found that there was room now in his head for the anger that had been simmering beneath the stress. He could feel it spreading, licking up his arms and across his chest like fire, putting a dark flavor on his tongue. How dare she. This person was responsible for the deaths of who knew how many Resistance fighters; she represented a faction who, for decades, had hunted his bloodline like wolves, attempting with every conquest to smother whatever light was left in the galaxy. Even more disgusting, she had chosen this life. She had chosen this endless war. It was because of people like her that he had never had a home, had never belonged anywhere in this goddamn galaxy. The pain burned along with the fury, as if the wound were reopening. He blamed her. He blamed all of the legions that had formed her, and all of the legions that would come long after she was nothing but bones in the dirt.

He stared her down, silent. If she was what he thought she was, she could probably sense the sharp edge of his feelings. His suspicions were confirmed when her head tilted lightly to the left, towards his closed fist.

“You still want to kill me.” She dared to sound surprised.

“That happens when you’re being hunted by a creature in a mask.” The words rolled like thunder out of his chest.

She said nothing. He got the impression that his words had somehow surprised her again. Then she abruptly stood, raising her gloved hands to the mask. There was a mechanical whine and a hiss of air, and then she was pulling off the helmet.

Freckles. That was the first thing he saw. A small nose, precisely pointed, and dusted with a cloud of golden freckles. They seemed strange – almost unnatural – against skin that might have once been browned by the sun, but had now faded to a smooth, bloodless pallor. Hard eyes the color of kindling salted with dark flint. Pale pink lips arranged in a line that somehow looked both rigid and uncertain. Her forehead was smooth and unreadable, her eyebrows were dark slashes. The weak overhead light dribbled between them, hitting the high points of her cheekbones and making them shine like bleached bone. She was beautiful – in a still, starving way. His pulse stuttered, then picked up again, double-time. He had seen her face before. In a dream, in a nightmare.

The helmet dropped to the ground with a leaden thud.

She stepped closer to him and the light caught on curling tendrils of chestnut hair escaping from a leather tie. The golden brown was a shock against her black clothing. It brushed her shoulders with all the solemnity of sunlight on a shroud. He closed his mouth.

He kept his eyes straight ahead as she circled to his side. He didn’t see the far wall though. He was still seeing her face in his mind, trying to reconcile it with that feeling of recognition that was now pacing the room, refusing to be ignored. He could feel her studying him – her gaze moving like a finger beneath his skin, pushing at his bones. He wanted to glare back, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Tell me.” Unobstructed by the mask, her voice was melodic, her words pulling up at the edges like a smile. His eyes twitched into almost a wince.

“Your mother is General Leia Organa.”

That wasn’t a question. He didn’t respond.

“The legendary leader of the Resistance,” she continued, looking away. “Born a princess, seasoned for war during the first rebellion.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her gaze slide back to him. “Her only lapse in duty seems to have been when she fornicated with a smuggler and gave birth to one...son.” She let the last two words fall, like stones into deep snow.

Ben didn’t move. The far wall had started to blur and warp, as things do when you stare at them, unblinking.

“Your father…” She began and suddenly he could feel her smirk, even as the muscles of his stomach tensed involuntarily.

“Disgraced criminal turned war hero.” She continued derisively. “He would have turned tail and run from the war, if your mother hadn’t had him thoroughly wrapped around her royal finger…”

He didn’t realize he’d turned his head until her cold, fathomless pupils were rearing closer to his. His entire body had twisted against the metal frame in one single, violent shove.

“You don’t know my father.” The words, and the ferocity with which he spat them out, left a familiar throb in his chest.

Sable eyebrows raised slightly – the only indication that she’d registered his reaction. The rest of her didn’t break rank as she leaned threateningly closer. “I know you, Ben Solo.”

The sentence sounded unfinished. It was as if she’d meant to say, I know you… and are you so very different?  

Her forehead was a few inches from his left shoulder, and he could smell the salt on her skin. It was oddly primal, like an animal that has nearly finished toying with its prey and is warming to the kill.

She surprised him by stepping back. He followed the movement automatically – it didn’t occur to him to look away from her again. She planted her feet and faced him head-on. “Where is Luke Skywalker?”

It felt like ice water had been shot into his veins, stiffening his limbs, drying up his mouth. He’d suspected this much, but it was still a shock to hear her say it outright. She made his uncle’s name sound like a stranger’s. She made it sound cursed.

And wasn’t it?

He wanted to sigh. He wanted to hit something. So this was what it had all been for. He stared back at her, jaw locked, even as he felt the dread coiling behind his eyes.

He had the answers she wanted.

The map. The map that was never meant for him to see – probably for this very reason. The map that led to Luke Skywalker.

He remembered his premonition on Takodana, the feeling that fate’s snapping jaws were finally finding purchase on him. He’d known the second he’d laid eyes on her that she had come with a more insidious purpose than just intercepting a Resistance transport. He’d sensed that she would be the catalyst for an upheaval, the consequences of which he could only begin to imagine.

He should never have seen that map. He wished he could excise the image from his mind with a scalpel.

Wishes didn’t carry weight in this galaxy. They certainly didn’t here, in the dark belly of an imperial cruiser. He’d seen it. She knew. Somewhere in the back of his head, he wondered which would come first – his death or his surrender.  

He didn’t know what she saw on his face, but something there seemed to dissolve her patience.

“You know I can take whatever I want.” The threat was undeniable. He hardly had time to register the movement before she’d raised her gloved hand towards his cheek, almost like a caress. And then…

Then he was clenched fists and sharp, panting breaths between gritted teeth – pressed so hard together he was sure they would break.

Then he was tight muscles and fear and resistance, pushing so hard against his skull he wasn’t certain that he wasn’t going to pass out. He was all of these things at once and she was all of them with him, because she was there. In his mind. Pushing back.

“Listen, kid. There’s a thing about interrogations…”

His father’s voice rang in his ears, unnervingly clear after so many years. A forgotten lesson from when he was a child. He could still remember the way Han Solo had stopped and seemed to study him, making sure he was paying attention before continuing.

“The guy asking the questions always wants answers,” he’d held his palms open in an obvious gesture. “That’s all he wants. So you can either stay quiet and let him cut you up. Or…” he’d rolled his hand like he was leading up to something, “you can give him some answers.” Ben had furrowed his brow, perplexed. Han had seen that and raised an eyebrow. Then he’d leaned close conspiratorially. “Improvise, Ben. Tell a story. Keep talking.” He’d leaned back. “You ever heard the phrase ‘talk is cheap’? Well bail is expensive. Stall as long as you can – until your buddies can spring you, or until you spring yourself. You got it?” Ben had nodded dutifully, earning a grin. “Good.”

Han had shoved himself up from the Falcon’s round tabletop, leaving Ben to re-focus on the navigational charts in from of him. He hadn’t missed, however, when his father had murmured under his breath, “Maker knows, you might need it someday.”

Ben had grown older, and he hadn’t followed the well-intentioned advice. He had flown ships from one end of the galaxy to the other. He had woven in and out of imperial crosshairs. He knew the cold bite of handcuffs on his skin, a feeling that had always stayed with him more sharply than most memories of his father. When he was questioned, he stayed silent. Whatever the low-life shavs thought they could hold over him, they held nothing as long as he kept his mouth shut. He knew that, at the end of the pain and the sweat and the shouting, all they would have in front of them was a wall.

But there was no pain here except for the pain of his jaw, wound tight. There was no sweat except for the cold beads he could feel forming on the back of his neck. There was no shouting, only the quiet hum of both of their breathing, and something else – a ringing echo that felt familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. And the memory of his father’s lesson flew in his face as if it could help him.

Even if he felt capable of speech, what would he say? Everything that crossed his mind was crossing another’s just as fast. There was no distraction in this little room. There was no rescue coming, as far as he knew. There was nothing he could do but fight for every inch she plucked out of his head.

So this is what it’s like, some part of him observed, to go up against a force-sensitive and lose.

He concentrated harder, willing his mind to go blank. Willing himself to give her nothing.

He felt rather than saw her hand turning at the wrist. Feeling him out, every thought he had, every memory. She was sifting through it all with chaotic efficiency. Something shifted, and the memories of his childhood suddenly percolated like oil, black and viscous, staining everything else. He felt himself as he’d been then, and as he was now. Evidently, she did, too.

“You’re so lonely.” Her voice was unexpectedly soft. A murmur instead of a growl in the darkness. If anything, it made the feelings more poignant. He fought to swallow. His mouth tasted like metal.  

“So afraid to leave…but terrified to stay…” The memories hit him, quick and painful, as he struggled silently against her. The last time he’d seen his mother, her upturned face a distant smudge, watching him fade away from the landing dock of a cruiser. The whispered voices, the stares, the shame that had painted the hallways of the senate where he’d played as a child. His father’s face most recently, when he thought no one was looking – the longing and uncertainty competing for dominance there. The yearning, so constant it was like a second heartbeat inside him, for something in this galaxy that felt like home. For something that wouldn’t feel like sand slipping through his fingers.

“At night, desperate to sleep…” she continued, needlessly. Neither of them needed the verbal descriptions. Both of them were lost, in some sense, to his mind. “…you imagine an ocean. I see it. I see the island.” He could feel her warm breath, totally at odds with the setting, washing over the shell of his left ear. “The rain…it’s so thick there. Like cold sheets.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “You feel like you could get lost in them…”

“Get out of my head.” He could hear the bile in his voice as he bit off the words. She relented and stepped back, but kept her arm raised, her palm centered on his temple.

“I know you’ve seen the map.” The threat was back. “It’s in there. And now you’ll give it to me.”

No.

He fought the presence in his mind with everything he had. It felt like he was keeping it at bay with sheer willpower.

No.

He saw his mother’s face.

No.

“I’m not giving you…anything,” he forced out.

Her lips twitched. The barest of smirks. “We’ll see.”

Then there was silence, except for that distant resonance, like a storm heard from the bottom of an ocean. Time passed endlessly. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours. But suddenly, he was thinking of the sand slipping through his fingers again. Because that’s what it felt like. Slowly, disjointedly, thin trickles speeding up and up and up into a steady stream. Images, feelings, memories rushing towards him. Not his own.

As she burrowed deeper into his mind, carelessly pilfering every thought, starving for answers…he had somehow stumbled into hers.

The awareness hit him, bringing everything into focus so sharply, he could have been walking through life blind up until this moment. He stared into her hard eyes, reaching into forever like black holes, and he felt it running through his veins for the very first time. Power.

He pushed back. And the sky opened up.

He saw a little girl, being dragged across blinding sand by a relentless hand. Her face already puce with blood and terror, she screamed up at the sky as a small spacecraft shot out towards the horizon like an arrow from a bow. The abandonment, the pain she carried…he felt his body shudder under the weight of it.

He re-focused on her expression. It wasn’t assured anymore. Her jaw ticked. Shadows of worry gathered in the hollows of her face. He realized he was leaning towards her, his entire body straining against the cuffs. Her hand hovered mere inches from his forehead. It shook. Her fingers wavered, and he felt her uncertainty as he caught glimpses of the strength she sensed from him.

The images shifted again, and he saw the cold hand of another master curling around her matured shoulders. He felt her desperation to please this person. He felt her reckless aggression, held barely in check by this deathless loyalty, and by something else. A greater fear. He pushed closer, wanting to see. The fear was so large, it felt like the molten core of a planet, leaching into every other aspect of her. Suddenly, he knew her better than he had ever known anyone.

“You…” He felt her dread, still equivocal in the confusion of the moment. “You’re afraid.”

Something in her flinched.

“That you will never be anything but a scavenger…”

With a vicious motion she swung her hand down and away from him. The connection snapped. His mind abruptly was free of her, and hers of him. He should have felt lightheaded with the sudden release, but he didn’t. He felt strong.

Eyes wide, her pupils had contracted to almost nonexistence, velvet irises exploding around black orbs. The distant hum was gone. The sound of their panting breaths was the only thing reverberating against the walls.

She’d dropped her hand. She’d closed the connection.

She’d closed the connection. She’d dropped her hand.

She knew she had. She could feel it down by her side. Tiny jolts of electricity zinged up her arm with every quiver of her fingers. And yet she still had the urge to check. She still felt vivisected. How…how had he done it? How could she have let him do it? This nothing, this smuggler…he had…

She could feel the humiliation blooming on her cheeks, searing hot. Those eyes. Those hazel eyes shone with such a look of triumph that she felt physically sickened by it.

A Skywalker. A bloody Skywalker. That was the only explanation. But she’d heard the rumors, and she’d seen his mind. He was not like the other Skywalkers. He had been worthless…

Had been. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears. Had been, had been, had been…

If it offered any consolation to her, he looked as shocked as she felt. But that was no consolation at all.

She absently felt her shoulder hit a wall. She couldn’t remember backing away. The room seemed to be getting smaller. The sweat on Ben Solo’s facing, the heaving muscles of his chest, everything stood out in aggressive relief.

Hunted. She felt hunted. It was the prickly sensation of eyes on the back of your neck, but these eyes were in front of her, and it wasn’t her neck that she was worried about. He had seen her. He had seen everything.

No.

With that one word, the jackal found its teeth again. She swallowed. Straightened her spine.

Supreme Leader would know what to do. This man…this boy…may have been stronger than either of them had predicted. But the Supreme Leader could annihilate him with a twist of his fingers. Perhaps he would.

She didn’t look at him as she left. She didn’t feel his eyes on her. She didn’t feel his presence linger like a stain on her thoughts the farther she got from the room. She didn’t quicken her pace as she crossed the halls. Her lungs didn’t hitch and stutter, as if the very air were trying to see into her, too.

[baelllamyblake]

The First Female Reaper ( Bellamy Blake x reader AU )

Summary : You’re a female grounder who’s been kidnapped by the reapers of the mountain men. Dr. Tsing has cleared you for the Cerberus Project and Bellamy has been going to the ends of Earth to get you back from the evil intentions of Mount Weather.

Pairing : Bellamy Blake x fem reader

Warnings : Lil’ bit of gore, couple curse words, not too bad. 

Word count : 1,716 words. wowee i have a problem i don’t think i know how long one shots are supposed to be

A/N : yep, another long one. my inso for this one shot is just i never really saw a female reaper so i was like hey never been done before lets do this shit and i just took out Lincoln and replaced him with Y/N. i think it’s long but i think it’s still pretty good ( i hope )

FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED SO PLS FUCK ME UP WID IT <3 

The world felt like it was moving in slow motion and the light was blinding. The noise of heavy boots and crunchy leaves echoed throughout your muddied brain, lighting off pain receptors like a million flares all at once. Your vision was blurry and your right eyelid left sticky from the drying blood on your face. You moaned in pain while trying to stretch your limbs. Strong arms and hands held your torso and legs in place. Your hands were bound tightly together. Someone was hauling you away on their shoulder but you couldn’t figure out who. It definitely wasn’t your boyfriend, Bellamy. He would’ve been kissing your face all over, begging you to stay awake for a few more moments. It didn’t matter anyway, you passed out after fading in and out of consciousness for so long.

Bellamy was worried, what if you were dead? He couldn’t stop pacing back and forth in the bunker while Finn was busy interrogating the one-eyed grounder about a damn watch. He was desperate to find you as Finn was desperate to find Clarke. He frantically wished you were by his side, holding his hand and keeping him grounded. Bellamy missed your beautiful smile and the way you talked when teaching him about Earth. He yearned to find you and bring you back home.

A bag was snatched off your head and revealed your surroundings. It was a dimly lit tunnel in Mount Weather. The memories came flooding back painfully as you kept glancing around at your surroundings. Octavia successfully bargained for you but Reapers attacked and kidnapped you. You wondered if Octavia and Bellamy were out there looking for you. Your daze was broken when the door at the end of the tunnel opened and a bunch of people in rubber suits walked into the low light.

“ Harvest, harvest, harvest… ” A woman with a clipboard looked to the fellow grounders before marking them down. Another man in a rubber suit began to inject the reapers with a crimson elixir. You narrowed your eyebrows in confusion after watching the reapers groan in relief and lay still in ecstasy. You brought your attention to the woman who kept marking grounders off. She stood before you and the helmet lights illuminated her features. You grimaced at the tan woman in anger. You didn’t deserve to be here.

“ Mark this one for the Cerberus program. ” The woman said, ticking another mark on her clipboard before observing you one last time. The mountain men grasped you by the biceps and you were too weak to rebel against their grip. The men dragged you to a dark, humid room before shoving you roughly into the centre. You turned around and was met with a torrent of boiling, hot water.

You woke up, fighting for air but was hitched to a chair by a numerous amount of straps. You wailed into your gag, jerking at the ropes, trying desperately to rip them off. The door opened and you lifted your head as much as you could to see who came in.

“ Hello, I’m Cage Wallace. ” the slimeball of a man said, running a finger along your jawline. His cologne burned your nose. All you could do was whimper in fear. He motioned over a guard with the same gun you saw the rubber suit man inject the reapers with.  Your eyes grew glossy with tears.

“ The first dose is always the worst, honey. ” Wallace said smiling, not a single shred of sympathy could be found in it. The needle pierced your skin and you felt the drug be absorbed into your bloodstream instantly. You felt a high so unrelenting, you bit the gag in agonizing ecstasy. The convulsions were intense and your body went limp yet you were still clinging to life.

“ We’ve got a pureblood on our hands, boys. ” Wallace happily said, clapping his hands together while you inhaled and exhaled heavily, tears streaming down your eyes. Days and weeks passed but you didn’t know that, you just knew when the Mountain men were coming to torture you and give you your next vial. The torture grew in intensity: longer and more frequent shock treatments and higher dosages. They were conditioning you to become absolutely terrified of the high-pitched shriek a tiny machine emitted. The withdrawals were debilitating your ability to think of anything else but the red drug you craved so badly for.

Cage even had you kill a man for it. You were transformed to a hollow shell of yourself: enraged, hungry, and addicted. Wallace finally let you loose and you killed whatever you could before having to retreat to Mount Weather for that lovely red liquid.

Bellamy and Octavia were teaming together to find you and a way into Mount Weather without getting killed. Unfortunately, they were cornered into a dark and musty car garage by the enshrouding acid fog. Two guards accompanied them before splitting off. You killed the both of them in an rabid frenzy to satisfy the unyielding hunger for blood. Bellamy and Octavia stopped cold in their tracks at the sight they encountered. It was you with white paint splayed across your face, contrasting against the blood running down your chin and neck. You were hunched over Sgt. Scott’s dead body, devouring the meat and skin off his bones like a wolf.

“ Oh my god, Y/N.. What the fuck have they done to you? ” Bellamy’s voice broke as tears pricked at his eyes. You rose at the sound of his voice and immediately stormed the siblings in another blind fury. You tackled Octavia onto the ground and started strangling her. She latched onto your hands, trying to pry them off. Bellamy raised his gun and forced himself to pull the trigger. The bullet hit its mark, piercing your shoulder. You jerked off Octavia in pain, fleeing away from the two into the shadows of the garage. Octavia jerked up, almost hacking up a lung. The siblings quickly hid in a nearby car, hoping that you wouldn’t find them.

“ What are we going to do, Bellamy? Y/N’s a fucking reaper. ” Octavia choked out, her throat felt like it was on fire. You lurked around the car garage, on the prowl for the Blakes. The two hatched up a plan to get you out of Mount Weather and somewhere safe. Bellamy called out, grabbing your attention. You charged at your boyfriend, Octavia coming from the side to shock you in the ribs, knocking you out cold.

You slowly woke up, unfamiliar of where you were.  You started screaming, foaming at the mouth and thrashing around in your chains. Bellamy kept watch over you from a distance, he felt guilty having to tie you down like a wild animal. Clarke and Octavia observed you from a close yet safe distance. You tried to strike one of the girls, the effort rendered futile.

“ I knew Mount Weather controlled the Reapers. I had no idea they were creating them. ” Clarke said astonishedly after noticing the purple needle marks in your neck. Bellamy scanned your angry face, nothing of you was there. It was completely replaced by severe addiction and violence. “ If they can do that to Y/N, what are they doing to our friends? ” Bellamy asked Clarke while examining your furious features, longing to embrace you in his arms.

Bellamy just stood in front of you, arms crossed over his chest. You pulled against the ropes as hard as you could. Your wrists started bleeding from the friction of the chains . You continued to thrash around before the chain attached to your wrist severed from the wall and you socked Bellamy square in the face. He staggered backwards, tripping over boxes while holding his cheek in pain. You yanked an ankle restraint out of the floor while Bellamy was disarmed. Clarke immediately scrambled over to constrain you. Your leg jolted out into her stomach, sending her flying onto the ground, dry-heaving. A steel pipe, wielded by Octavia, collided with your skull, sending you to the floor with a dull thud.

Clarke began operating on your shoulder, successfully getting the bullet out. Bellamy sat by your side, regardless of how dangerous it was. You finally looked peaceful despite having to be knocked out. Bellamy moved the hair out of your face and stroked your forehead gently. He needed you more than ever before.

The shit really hit the fan when Octavia barged in with Nyko, screaming that the commander is drawing near with a grounder army to massacre Skaikru. You seized multiple times, Clarke was able to revive you with chest compression but she didn’t know how long the compressions would work. Bellamy wasn’t going to give up on you though, he stuck by your side through every seizure and every coughing fit. He loved you far too much to lose you to addiction.

You seized once again, Abby darting to your side and commencing the chest compression. Bellamy squeezed your hand tightly, eyes growing wide when Abby slowed down then stopped completely.

“ It’s not working, it’s too late. “ Abby sighed out, looking to Bellamy. In a split second, he initiated the chest compressions. Abby was taken aback by Bellamy’s desire to keep you alive, she wasn’t aware of the relationship you shared. Abby scurried for a shock baton and in a last ditch effort, she shocked you in the chest in substitution of a defibrillator. You weren’t breathing so Abby shocked you once more. Your eyes shot open as you jerked to the side and started hacking. Bellamy sighed out in relief, he squeezed your arm as you coughed harshly.

You looked to Bellamy with tears in your eyes and embraced him tightly. It felt so good to feel something other than craving and emptiness. He wrapped his arms around you, bringing you as close as he could. “ I love you so much, Y/N. I’m sorry you had go through this. Thank you so much for staying alive. “ Bellamy choked out, crying into the crook of your neck. Your heart swelled and you broke down.

“ I owe you my life, I love you so much. “ you strained out, your throat crying in misery. Bellamy just pulled you closer and didn’t let go.

He couldn’t afford to lose the love of his life again.

[velvetroom--imagines]

Ryuji, Akira, Minato and Yu's headcanons when they see their crush's awakening their personas and wanting to become one of them. How would they treat them in the Metaverse? Maybe Small scenes of confessions when crush is hurt, because they're so worried? Thank you

Ahh, this are the type of asks I really like, especially if it interferes or has something to do with the plot. Thank you! I wasn’t sure about Minato and Yu’s since they were from a different game, so I will be writing it in their own dungeons like the ‘TV World’ or ‘Tartarus’. 

“Let me Join You.”

Akira Kurusu

It was accidental. You weren’t supposed to be here, he thought. If there was anything Akira was afraid of, it would be the fact that his specific other had strolled into the deep into Mementos, alone. In all honesty, he hadn’t noticed your presence until Futaba noted that she felt a faint unrecognizable energy in one of the floors.

Prior to your awakening, Akira had already established a Confidant with you. You were a student, someone who only watched as things fell apart. Bystander was the word, but it wasn’t that you refused to do anything. It’s just that no matter what you did, no one would listen.

It was then when one day, you wanted to talk to Akira when they had suddenly opened an app and warped the whole world. To your surprise, you had found yourself in the Metaverse. Quietly, you trailed after the ‘Bus’ but had gotten lost along the way.

May God know how you managed to escape from the Shadows. You ran from the monsters for a time until you took a wrong turn and trapped yourself in a dead end. Luckily, from the corner of your eye, someone had come to your rescue.

The Phantom Thieves, right before your very eyes. Covering you, they didn’t let you in the sight of the enemy. Again, like always, you were just watching without being able to do anything. It wasn’t until you watched as the Shadow knocked everyone down, leaving Akira on his knees.  

“A-Akira!” You squaked, scrambling onto your feet. What could you do? Was there anything… you can do? Suddenly, you feel a pounding to your head, a voice echoing out to you.

“Finally, you’ve come to your senses and have broken out of little cage. I’m disappointed that it had taken this long.” Writhing on the floor, you felt a searing pain take place on your eyes. You felt blinded, and the urge to remove it was pulsing.

“Come now, let’s give them what they deserve! I am thou, thou art I…” Desperate, your hands made their way up to your mask, gripping the sides before ripping it off, the scent of iron hitting your nose. “Now, what do you plan to do?”

“No. I won’t stand and watch anymore.” You hissed, gripping the weapon given to you. You stood, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You smiled at the Phantom Thieves, ecstatic. “Come, let’s finish them!” 

Once the battle had come to a finish thanks to your new abilities, the Phantom Thieves approached you. Akira came into view, glancing at your wounds with concern. “S/O, are you alright?” 

He had that soft spot foryou, and seeing those scars made him wince. He didn’t hesitate to take off his gloves to brush his hands along them, checking how severe they were. “Next time, don’t enter places that look shady.”

Shaking your head, you smiled at him. “It’s okay. I actually want to continue entering shady places if it’s for the greater good.” Akira would always be captivated by how sweet and compassionate you are, why would he deny your request?

Akira smirked at you, holding out his hand for you to take. “Consider yourself a Phantom Thief, my dear.” A confession wasn’t even needed at this point, really. He’d flirt his way into your heart until it becomes clear that he isn’t going to stop.

Battles are actually very convenient. At moments when he asks you steal something or whenever you jump to avoid enemy attacks, Akira would always catch you. Literally, most times, you fall right into his arms. He’d smirk, unwilling to let you go. “I think you belong here. Don’t worry, you can pay the rent through kisses.”

Whenever you get wounded, Akira would always place himself in front of you. His cheeky demeanor would fall whenever your life is as stake. If you get seriously damaged, he won’t show mercy to the Shadows that hurt you then tend to your every beck and call.

Expect Akira to drag you into Mementos for ‘training sessions’. Sometimes they get heated after battles. Imagine Akira taking your hand and attempt to seduce you out of the heat of passion. “If you beat the next one by yourself, your efforts will be rewarded.” 

Rewarded? Pfft, he ends up taking you for a Mega-Burger Challenge. Gotta get your stats up after all.

Bonus; There was a time when Akira accidentally dismissed an ability your Persona had, and now he desperately needed it. You were awfully confused when he had taken you to Church. 

“Akira, why are you asking me to confess my sins?” 

“You can kneel before me later. Please do a confession. I really need that Salvation move.”

Ryuji Sakomoto

Ryuji was horrified once he discovered that you, out of all people, had been following the Thieves into Madarame’s Palace. Ever since the two of you had met, he has had this urge to protect you. 

Geez, this guy isn’t willing to even let someone lay a finger on you. You were always quiet and lenient towards Kamoshida’s advances. While Ryuji would bark at the man, you couldn’t avoid the harassment. Your silence and submissive decisions made it clear that you couldn’t stand up for youself.

One of the reasons he wanted to destroy Kamoshida so badly was to protect you. When you displayed your surprise when Kamoshida turned himself in, your friend simply grinned victoriously. You knew something was up, and Ryuji was involved.

For the past days, Ryuji was nowhere to be seen. You’ve heard whispers that he has been sen at an Art Museum, but as far as you knew, Ryuji would’ve left the place since it felt too boring. Eventually, you decided to follow him, trailing him to the house of Madarame.

You weren’t too surprised when you found out they were the Phantom Thieves. Curiosity got the better of you, leading you to watch from afar. It wasn’t until you got lost, and found yourself curled against an artifact. 

Suddenly you felt a chill run down your back, noticing a dark figure standing behind you. You desperately didn’t want to look behind you, but you ended up doing so.

Ryuji always recognized that scream. It was too familiar, and it was certain it belonged to you. On instinct, he ran off and followed the sound. That was when he had found you backed against a wall, a Shadow looming over you with dark intentions.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” He yelled, immediately catching the shadow’s attention. Grinning darkly, it’s attention diverted towards the Phantom Thieves, bigger lives aching to be destroyed. 

“S/O! Stay back!” Ryuji yelled, unable to notice that the Shadow was inches away from attacking him. Before you can yell out a warning, it was already too late. Before you knew it, the Phantom Thieves were struggling and low on health. 

It won’t be long until they are defeated.

“Is this how it will end?” A voice echoed within you, sending painful tremors through your head. Clutching your hair, you collapsed onto your knees. “Are you going to simply watch them fall apart? You can do better than that, don’t you think?”  

Ryuji watched as you thrashed around in your position, fearful for your safety. Drool spilled from your lips, foaming out. “Mercy? Don’t be foolish. Being nice will never get you anywhere in life, dear. Let’s seal the deal, right here, right now. I am thou, thou art I...”

It all flashed before your eyes. You were always being protected, always being shielded against others. Never had you fought back, and it was always Ryuji who took the blow for you. Not anymore, not this time. “That’s right! Wreak havoc upon your foes! Destroy them!”

Weapon in hand, you grinned widely at the Shadow. “Thank you, Ryuji. You have always protected me from the dangers of this world.” You looked at your friend, smiling gently. “Let me return the favor.”

Ryuji was frozen in awe, too lovestruck to even protest. He watches as you land a blow on the Shadow, amazed by how powerful you can be when agitated. Getting up himself, he runs to your side with a matching smile. “Come on, S/O! Let’s finish this!”

At the end of the battle, he finally approaches you with an upset expression. “S/O, be careful next time. If we didn’t find you, who knows what could’ve happened to you...” Without any hesitation, he takes your hand.

“I really don’t wanna lose you, you’re everything to me.” His eyes widened in realization, only registering the words that flew out of his mouth. A faint blush glazed over your cheeks.

“Is this your way of saying you love me?” You asked, noticing the matching red shade on Ryuji’s face. He groans, already foreseeing his rejection. “Yeah, but it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way--” 

His words were cut off by a swift kiss to the cheek. Frozen in his spot, he blinks in confusion. You laugh softly before jumping onto his back, burying your head into his neck. “Thank you for protecting me, my knight.”

In battle, rather than protecting you, he tries to fight alongside you instead. He tries to sync his movements along yours, both creating flashy attacks. You would attack first, then suddenly he runs straight into the Shadow from behind to give it the final blow. 

Just be careful when you get struck down, Ryuji will show no mercy. If you’re still hurt, he won’t mind carrying you until the next safe room. Even in the Metaverse, he’s still the sweet guy we all know and love.

Yu Narukami

It was another night, and Yu already had a feeling about his next target. It was a bit too obvious when a familiar face appeared on TV, questioned about the mysterious Inaba Murders. He felt sick to his stomach, hoping that it wouldn’t be you and your appearance on the news was just a coincidence.

When the TV turned on, Yu couldn’t help but blush at the sight. You were dressed in an exposing white attire, pure. Behind your figure was a brightly colorful background of endless artifacts and paintings. 

“Hello dear viewers! Today’s program is the pre-showcase of this painfully bright museum! Gah, it disgusts me how much color this around.” Posing inappropriately, you smiled at the camera. “We can’t have that. I’m supposed to be the Number 1 Artifact there is! My name is S/O, and you shall witness me tear down these walls into a pure white shade!” 

Yu furrowed his brows with confusion. Were you planning to repaint the whole museum white? Grinning mischeviously, you leaned in closer towards the camera. “Once we are finished, you shall witness this Museum’s greatest and only exhibit. Of course, it won’t be ready until I get rid of everything else! Until next time!” The screen fades out as your Shadow takes out a bat, smashing a colorful vase. 

Yu was very flustered during the meeting the next day. “No questions, we’re going into the TV World today.” “Yu, aren’t you being a little too worked up?”

He wastes no time working through your dungeon. It was a colorful museum with paintings and artifacts scattered and torn apart. The rooms were covered with white paint, attempts to cover up it’s vibrant and eye catching wallpaper. It was a hunch, but Yu suspected that your Shadow was a manifestation of a desire to feel special. 

His conclusion was right once he made it to the final floor. It was an art studio, and your Shadow stood before you. Paint was ready, scattered and thrown along the floor. “No! This isn’t right. It must be beautiful– I must be beautiful!” 

Yu’s heart hardened at the sight of you on the floor, teary-eyed and angry at your counterpart. “Please, stop it!” You cried out, refusing to look at your own reflection.

“Oh please. Do you really think I’m happy with out plain I look?” Your Shadow asked in a dark tone before chuckling. “My friends are so colorful. They’re so smart, so pretty, so… eye catching.” Rolling it’s eyes, your Shadow snorted. “Then there’s me, little boring me. I tried everything, you know. I joined clubs, studied hard and all, but did I get any praise? No!”

Disgust flashed over your Shadow’s face, glaring at it’s human counterpart. “I’m so sick of it. I’m sick and tired of being average! All the crap about everyone being special, lies! It’s all lies!” 

“N-No… You’re not me.” You said in a hoarse whisper, collapsing in defeat as your Shadow grinned widely, warping into an unrecognizable form. Yu gripped his blade tightly, ready to summon his persona.

“I am the Shadow, the True Self! Come, let us paint this lonely canvas with your demise!” 

Yu found it hard to fight your Shadow. It made him feel terrible to know that the one he held feelings for would have such a distorted view. Yet, this only gives him a better motivation to fight, to free you from your sadness.  

Once your Shadow had been defeated, you sighed and got up on your feet. “Disgusting, isn’t it? You probably dislike me now for that side of me.” To your surprise, Yu shakes his head in disagreement. “Even with your flaws, you’re still the same person I fell in love with.”

Glancing at your shadow, you nodded in acceptance. It faded into air, giving you a glimpse of a figure you would soon call your Persona.  

Just before collapsing from exhaustion, a faint smile rose upon your lips. “Thank you, Yu.” Even your tiredness couldn’t hide away the pink shade of your cheeks.

Once you had become accustomed to the Investigation, nothing really changes in battle. Every now and then, Yu would try to catch you off guard in battle by sending small flirtatious comments your way. It grosses the team out, but it always found a way to make you smile. 

“You know, I wouldn’t mind if you were feisty when we are alone–”

“EWW, SAVE IT FOR THE BEDROOM!” -Yosuke Hanamura

Minato Arisato 

Minato was always certain to make sure you didn’t catch onto his late night missions. Everytime you asked to stay overnight, he tried to make sure it doesn’t interfere with his little visits to Tartarus. He would always send you home, no questions asked.

He always did appear stone cold in front of his teammates, at least until he heard a piercing scream in Tartarus. It was very familiar to his ears, causing his never-changing expression to falter in terror. Running past the hallways, he finally made it to a corner where a Shadow stood threateningly. Behind it was a small figure curled against the wall, eyes filled with fright.

“S/O?!” Beckoning his team over, he calmly charged for battle. Unluckily for him, this specific monster managed to land critical hits on the team. Minato fell onto his butt, groaning in discomfort. His evoker had been thrown against the wall from impact, as the shadow approached him with interest.

“S/O… run.” He whispered, praying that Fuuka had already contacted backup. You weren’t moving away, instead taking the gun in a shaky grip. His eyes narrow with seriousness. “S/O, just get out of here!”

You ignored his desperate pleas. Placing the gun to your head, your eyes remained fixed on Minato who lay helpless on the floor. At that moment, you knew what you had to do. Even if it means to meet Death itself, you were willing to throw it all away to save him. 

“Persona!”

His vision was blurry, but he could already make out the small figure from your back. Grinning madly, you gestured your hand forward towards the shadow that stood menacingly before the boy. “Megidolaon!” You cried out, a shining light eradicating your enemies.

Minato was astounded once he figured out that you had the potential. Once he gets back up on his feet, he immediately grabs your wrist. Was he angry? Furious? Scared? Who knew? Minato couldn’t bring himself to yell or scold you for doing something so risky. Hissing to himself, he lets go of you. “Let’s go back to base for now.” 

After that encounter, Minato quietly protested against you joining SEES. To fight against shadows, one must accept the possibility of dying. He certainly did not want you to fall to such a fate. However, after multiple meetings, Mitsuru welcomed you to the team with open arms.

For the first few missions with you, Minato becomes a bit too protective. He’s the Battle Leader, isn’t he? He would mostly leave you out of battles until you start to persist him to do so. To avoid any disputes with Mitsuru or Yukari, he gives in.

Even in battle, he is still hesitant to let you fight. Minato was mature enough to let you fight on your own accord, but was always pulling back at the slightest hint of danger. He would always cast Diarama whenever you were hurt, just to keep your safe. 

Due to the fact that he is responsible for your life, he ceases all his plans on asking you out. Letting his love evolve will not help in the field of battle. Subtly, he still shows his affection in different ways. He often takes blows for you in battles, and heals you once they are over. 

Boy, his confession for you was on complete accident. It was when a Succubus cast a ‘Marin Karin’ spell on him. With a faint blush on his face, he swung his blade at you as you dodged. “Tartarus is full of dangers. I must end your life before the shadows do!” He growled, seemingly irritated at each miss. 

“Snap out of it, Minato!” You cried out, already growing tired at each attempt. It wasn’t long until you tripped over your own feet, back against the floor. Delighted by the action, the Leader straddled you while raising his sword up high.

“I’m doing this because I love you, please understand that.” Just as he was about to land the final blow, you snapped at his words. “What?!” You squeaked in surprise, your hand immediately flying upwards to smack his cheek.

His eyes snapped back to their original calm hue, brought out of his delirium. “S/O?” Scrambling off you, he had a horrified and embarrassed expression on his face. 

By the moment the battle was over, you dragged Minato to a secluded area in the building. He wanted to escape and hide his face in shame for what he had done, but you weren’t going to let him escape. “Did you mean it when you said you loved me? Was that why you didn’t want me to fight?”

He remained silent. Minato didn’t know how to answer your question, torn between tell you and keeping silent. After a more moments of silence, you were about to turn around and leave before he grabs a hold of your wrist, pulling you into his embrace.

“So what if I do? What are you planning to do with that information?”