#//-Hi next day Vio proofreading this

[tocontinue]

  —Is next year the one?

  It’s an idea he hasn’t humored in so many years. De-weaponization. The chance to finally shed the mantle of Mega Man and return to his roots, his purpose, his function, as Rock. The lab assistant Doctor Light wanted in his second foray into the Robot Master.

  The idea was attempted before, to some extent. If they had followed through with it, it may have cost countless people their lives. Rock would never consider a Robot Master attack to be a blessing, but... well, thank goodness Cossack hadn’t delayed his uprising any further. If he had to be re-weaponized, the delay... well, he tries not to linger on the what-if.

  It’s selfish, but he can’t help but particularly wish it on himself this time. Wily’s last attack hadn’t just seen him donning the blue armor once more; Rock was weaponized even further, outfitted with the Double Gear System of Wily’s own design. Sure, there was technically nothing inherently... weapon-y about it, and Rock had found plenty of other uses for it in the aftermath of that attack. But that was why it was installed into his systems. To fight. To stop Wily.

  It had been a long time since the last attack. Maybe, just maybe, Wily was down for good this time. Run off to some hidden bunker to waste away, ensuring everlasting peace. And yet...

  ‘Remember this! Doctor Wily always strikes again!’

  ...There were too many risks. It was unlikely Rock would ever be able to retire the title in his lifetime.

  A door opens behind him. In that moment, Rock becomes acutely aware of how sad he must look, gazing out of the window of Light Labs so... well, sad-looking. He turns to greet Doctor Light with a smile, but it’s painfully clear to both of them how forced the gesture is. The facade is abandoned almost immediately, with blue eyes turning to the ground below instead.

  “You know, Rock,” he begins, pulling up a stool and sitting across from him. “...you would be terrible at poker.”

  The comment catches him off-guard. He turns his gaze back to Light, a curious frown replacing the forlorn expression there a moment prior.

  “I’m... not sure I understand.”

  “You really haven’t heard of a poker face?” The realization earns a chuckle from Light. “Poker is a game of lies, above all else. Knowing when to hide your look of disgust, or your joy upon seeing a good hand, is all part of the basics of the game... hence the term.”

  A slow nod of understanding follows, though Rock doesn’t look happy about it. He supposes he’d rather be bad at a game all about lying, all things considered... still, he can’t help but feel like he’s failing something. Even if it is really as simple as not hiding his emotions well.

  ...Proving his father right, it’s clear that Light takes notice of it.

  “Now, I never said it was a flaw.” Light tries again, leaning forward and placing a hand on Rock’s shoulder. He can’t help but find some comfort in the action, and visibly relaxes, if only a little.

  “Most men would have crumbled under the weight of your responsibilities. To stand up, time and time again, to stare danger in the face...” Light shakes his head. “Honestly, Rock, I struggle to keep my head up sometimes, and I’m not even the one to face Wily each time.”

  “But I’m not keeping my head up.” Rock interrupts, shaking his head as well. “I’m... sad. I’m always sad. I wish... I wish it would all be over already.”

  There’s a pause in the conversation. If Rock were to look again, he’d see his father thinking his next words over very carefully.

  “...It’s true, you may be sad now. And I can clearly see that you are.” He adds with a chuckle. “But your emotions are not just limited to despair, and I can see that as well.”

  Rock shakes his head yet again... but doesn’t interrupt, instead looking up at Light once more.

  “I designed you as a son. A child, meant to experience the world with the same sense of wonder a human child would.” He stops briefly to clear his throat... it’s clear he’s getting a little emotional, too. “With each time Wily comes back, I... worry you may lose that.”

  A pause, as Light takes a deep breath.

  “Yet, after over a dozen times of saving the world from destruction... you haven’t changed, my boy.” There’s the faintest threat of tears welling up in his eyes, but the smile below them is warm and genuine. “When you help me in making new Robot Masters, or when you go out to help your brothers... even when you spend time with Roll, it’s clear to me that you’re having fun, Rock. The same fun a child like you should have.”

  Another lull in the conversation, but this one falls on Rock. He sits there for a moment, mulling his father’s words over. Thinking back to exactly what Light described... helping him make the new Robot Masters of tomorrow, or showing up to a work site to use his Copy Chip to double manpower on a Robot Master’s project. Even just helping Auto with the reconstruction of the 11s...!

  A laugh actually slips out. The sound even catches Rock himself off guard. Light can’t help but laugh as well.

  “I don’t fault you for wanting this war to end. We all wish it had ended a long time ago.” Light says with a pat on the shoulder. “But you are more than just this war. You’re a beacon to the world in so many more ways than you realize.”

  Rock nods his head with the smallest smile on his face. Thanks to that awful poker face of his, it’s easy to tell this one’s actually genuine. It only takes a moment for the boy to jump off of his stool and run in for the hug.

  “...I do this all the time, huh?”

  “All part of that terrible poker face of yours.” Light says with a chuckle and a ruffling of Rock’s hair. After only a moment, though, his tone becomes genuine once again. “There’s no need to stress over how you feel. We’ll always be here to help you.”

  Rock nods again, then pulls himself out of the hug. His joyful expression has returned in full!

  ...And it vanishes almost immediately to a look of panic.

  “The fireworks.” He looks to the door, then back to Light. “I’m not late, am I?”

  “What? No, that’s not for another...”

  Wrong answer, apparently. Rock bolts through the door without waiting for Light to finish, his voice echoing through the halls of Light Labs.

  “Rush! C’mon, boy, we’ve gotta hurry!”

  “Uh, Mega Buddy? I dunno how to tell ya this, but set-up isn’t for another--”

  Ruff, ruff!

  “Alright, finally! Let’s go, boy!”

  The sound of the door opening and slamming shut, and Roll’s complaints about the noise ringing through the halls a moment later...

  “Please, never change, Rock.”

[yandere-yearnings]

Contract-Bound Death (Yandere!Actor x GN!Reader)

feat. Viorel Dalca

♡ pt.0, approx. 1k words | next.

♡ post-specific warnings: (off-screen) murder, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, the entertainment industry, dark themes, implied use of contracts as a threat | series warnings: yandere themes, the entertainment industry, reader has a guilt complex

♡ a/n: we're pretending it's still 'around the end of october' so i'm not a liar. this is purely a work of fiction. yandere behaviour in real life is a cause of concern. unedited, not proofread.

♡♡♡

It’s the middle of the night, and the floors are still stained with blood when you arrive. Thin smears across marble, flaking up when the wheels of your suitcase roll over them. You'd convince yourself it was just rust that had formed over time, but the lie would die too easy for you to try. After all, now you were working for the devil — and who would he be without murder to his name?

You see him for the first time under the low lights, chandeliers casting dim orange overhead. The Vio before you looks so very different from the one you'd watched from the other side of your screen. Lacking his trademark blue, blonde to the roots and rolling over, wearing white as blank as the look he shot you, brow raised into a pinched arch. You tell yourself that his disdain is only so palpable because he's been through these exact motions a million times before. You tell yourself that it's only natural. 

His attention shifts quickly, back to his script and the lines highlighted in electric teal. It's at this point you realise he isn't going to give you the time of day, that he won't even consider it. All the training leading up to this moment has whittled away your hopes, and finally, they've diminished. Wiping away cold sweat for the promise of six figures lying somewhere in your future, praying that if you didn't last the week, you'd at least be fired instead of killed. 

Unlike the last man in your shoes.

The lump in your throat is firm where it lodges itself; you swallow once, twice and give up. Dry lips parting so you can speak, hoarsely. “Hey.” Already, the nerves have made formality slip your mind. “I'll be working with you from now on. Your new manager.”

Vio scoffs and flicks a page. you think you notice him glare. “Hey,” he mimics, “it’s been a minute and I already can't stand you.”

Wincing at the harshness and deciding that now isn’t the time — that there would likely never be one since the rumours about him had proven to hold — you steal away. Thankfully, Vio doesn’t give you a harder time for it. You suppose he wanted you out of sight, so he wouldn’t.

At least you had your room to look forward to. Back in the winding hallways that this job forced home to you, all your life packed up in the little fabric box that trundled on behind. These white walls made everything seem like they stretched on forever, made you feel awfully alone. A wide world you’d stepped foot on, it was funny how you had been so ready only to get lost so soon.

Tomorrow’s schedule was an early start, high rise at the break of dawn so the light felt more natural on camera. Vio was shooting a solo scene. He’d be the only actor on set. Somehow that did nothing to calm your nerves. Somehow it made them worse. Up velvet steps, your footprints pressed their marks. The choice of colour made you remember something that a producer had said to you before this: that scarlet covered scarlet well. Your stomach churned.

On the ceiling of the top-most storey, there was a brown door nestled in the far corner. You stopped and stared at it for a long while, at the string that dangled down, worn and frayed and used time and time again by different hands. Yours would be the next to pull it, and maybe you didn’t want to anymore. Over your shoulder, there was the winding staircase that you’d just traveled, leading back down to the entrance. The sight drew a sigh from you, it was choked and wet because no matter how much you were beginning to regret this all — you’d signed your life away. That entryway could never be an exit to you.

So you turned your back to it.

Pulling down and unfolding the steps didn’t take much effort, yet the hinges seemed strong. You hauled your luggage up first before you followed, just to stall a second more. Surprisingly, the attic was unlike the rest of the mansion. A largely wooden interior gave it character, and strung fairy lights around potted plants made it feel warm. For a single moment, you found your breath taken in a better way than it had been all week, and then it filled back into your lungs entirely cold because there was something you’d almost forgotten. A dead man had lived here before you.

The way the image kept haunting you, you were starting to convince yourself that it must’ve been your hands that wrapped around his throat and strangled the glimmer from his eyes. They never did, though. It was Vio who took his life. You’d watched it happen from a ways away, but it had still been in front of you. You’re not sure what you had been expecting after that, things were too late; before you could even breathe a word there were papers being held to your neck like knives and they all had your name on them. 

As you shut yourself in and sat there, in the glow you’d been greeted by and that had started to flicker, you finally broke. Your tears were hot but that didn’t make them any comfort. You were scared. Everywhere you turned you were met with the dead looks of people who had seen it all again and again and again. Unable to understand how you were the outlier in this normality. Terrified that Vio didn’t seem even the slightest bit remorseful. Terrified that you’d get used to it. 

World spinning, all a blur on your heavy bones. Fatigue settled and inside you knot after knot tied. You felt heavy, like you’d been flooded entirely in water. No matter how much you cried, the sensation did not ebb. Perhaps your guilt remained to save you. Perhaps it endured, on your mind as the last thing, so that you were still human when you woke up come morning.