#Just another Authority Hero Guy who sometimes stands places

[vikugnavikugna]

Got bored, so I quickly sketched some more random stuff for the One Piece au today - Sophia, Defiant and Miss Milita as Warlords. Really unhappy with all those designs tbh. Sophia feels like she's just lacking something for a big time warlord (her crossbow should be at least 3 times as big and cartoonish looking, maybe), Defiant doesn't really feel enough like his Worm equivelant (and also looks too much like Katakuri and Franky's lovechild) and Miss Militia looks too much like a Marine because of that coat and american flag scarf. I also forgor to give them each an animal theme, despite tumblr user thesternet mentioning it in my tags like 2 days ago - real rookie mistake. Still sharing them, because I make like 1 drawing a month at best and it cannot go to waste 😌

[boinin]

Broken Hero: Kunigami's journey in the Neo Egoist League

Overanalysing one edgy orange

0. Background and references

This weekend, I read an excellent analysis on Kunigami on Reddit (it spawns things other than fraud allegations and thirst posts sometimes)... and I was not OK as a result.

I'd been building up to writing an analysis of Kunigami's character for some time, and when the hyperfocus kicked in, it kicked in hard.

Come with me to explore how Kunigami's character arc and journey may pan out within the Neo Egoist League. Manga spoilers throughout, including up to the latest chapters (226 at time of writing).

I'd highly recommend reading StarBurstero's analysis (and their other work!) as this piece heavily draws on the points they raise.

All manga panels are sourced from the official translations, due to the possibility of nuance and foreshadowing that may not arise in scanlations.

Like this? Want to reference these points in your own analysis, on Reddit, YouTube, wherever? Go ahead! A shout out to this post is appreciated. (Straight up plagiarism isn't.)

Pre-Wildcard Kunigami: a wannabe hero

Kunigami has his grumpier moments in the first selection (see: him yeeting Bachira, or breaking up fights), but all in all he's a stand up guy. That's clear from his interaction with Isagi in the cafeteria, where they both share his goal-point steak.

Another character defining moment for him takes place after Team Z's victory against Team V. Kunigami doesn't support Kuon's actions, but he is willing to forgive him now that all has been settled. Raichi is decidedly less forgiving. But Kunigami lingers, and helps a bloodied Kuon to his feet. The choice of dialogue is interesting.

We'll advance together. We know this won't be the case. Both Kuon and Kunigami fail in the second selection, and Kunigami is the sole participant that leaves Wild Card.

But nevertheless, this exchange showcases Kunigami's core attitude. He sees the best in people. He values teamwork and unity, even if he shows egotism in relation to his own goals. He's someone that helps others.

2. What canon information do we have on Wild Card?

...just crumbs. Information on Wild Card has been intentionally vague, with only Ego, Kunigami, and possibly Noa knowing what happened.

Ego simply calls it a secondary route for the losers, and doesn't specify whether there were any entry requirements. The pile of bodies and the attention given to hands suggests two things.

Firstly, contrary to my own assumptions, Wild Card was likely open to all participants eliminated during the second selection. Ego threw the losers a bone, despite having a very specific outcome in mind. The vast majority wouldn't have had a hope of meeting the criteria.

Is that cruel? Maybe. But it's consistent with Ego's attitude towards "lumps of talent". He admitted both Chigiri and Isagi into Blue Lock despite their lacklustre performances in high school, on the basis that the programme might bring forth their sealed egos. He was proven correct.

The focus on hands, other than being creepy, hints at ambidexterity being a key deciding factor in the Wild Card programme. Kunigami confirms this above, in a panel from chapter 213.

Kunigami himself refers to Wild Card as a survival battle, where participants had to match Noa's physical specs number for number. He implicitly confirms that he himself got the closest to Noel Noa's physical abilities, thus winning Wild Card.

3. Kunigami's mindset

We're all Isagi in the bottom corner of that last panel, wanting to know more. But Kunigami has yet to elaborate.

In the Reddit post I linked, StarBurstero theorises what's going through Kunigami's angsty little head: becoming the best striker. Not a midfielder, not a false nine - a striker, and only that. The author proposes that, having had to crush and eliminate everyone in Wild Card, Kunigami has limited empathy for those such as Isagi and Kurona, who are remoulding themselves into other roles to fit into Bastard Munchen.

This tallies with how Noa sees himself, in explaining the distinction between him (the world's best striker), and Snuffy (the world's best player) in chapter 223.

As a player Isagi is closer to Snuffy, in terms of his ability and willingness to adapt, than he is to Noa. Isagi is willing to do whatever it takes to participate in the Neo Egoist League, even if this means providing assists or playing in midfield. But he still maintains his dream of playing as a striker.

As different as Kunigami and Isagi are on the surface, they share a dream. Both want to be the best strikers in the world. In that, they're a lot more similar than the fandom give them credit for.

But the conditions of the Neo-Egoist League pose a stumbling block.

There are limited forward positions, not only in Bastard Munchen, but on the national team itself. To nab a starting position for the U20 World Cup, the characters have only two choices: outshine everyone else playing as a forward, or forsake their dream by assuming a different position. They must choose wisely.

4. Resolve versus adaptability: the Bastard Munchen test

Thematically, Isagi and Kunigami are reflections of one another. They are each others "what ifs?" in a sense.

Heroes in the first selection, both Isagi and Kunigami faced elimination in the 2v2 stage of the second selection; Isagi survived, while Kunigami lost. Isagi emerged as the hero of Blue Lock, following the U20 Japan match. At the same time, Kunigami battled to become the "hero" of Wild Card.

Eventually Kunigami joined Bastard Munchen, alongside Isagi. But they're not co-operative teammates as they were before. They're rivals, battling against one another for the role of striker on this team.

Theirs is a quiet competition, secondary to Isagi and Kaiser's more hostile conflict. But I believe there's thematic significance to their rivalry. For this reason, it's interesting to trace their dynamic over time.

Isagi considered himself outclassed by Kunigami in the first selection. Back then, Kunigami didn't the same "goal sense" that Isagi had. He wasn't particularly technical as a player. He relied on passes and his physicality to get the ball and score goals, using his strength to reliably score from a distance. He's still extremely impressive, in Isagi's eyes.

As Isagi sees it, Kunigami's key attribute is his resolve. He trains hard to maintain his physique. He has a clear vision of who he is, and what kind of footballer he wants to be. At the same point in the story, Isagi lacks this. Even at the start of the Neo-Egoist League, Isagi struggles to articulate what his ideal form is as a player, which Noa calls him out on.

It's understandable that Isagi struggles to formulate what his ideal is, because Isagi's genius lies in his adaptability. Throughout the manga, Isagi has been placed into situations that are chaotic, novel and difficult. His approach to football and his abilities have been challenged in every match, and he's been forced to rebuild himself over and over again.

This is what makes Isagi exceptional, in addition to his incredible eyesight and football sense. He's constantly evolving, constantly coming up with ways to beat his competition. No wonder he can't settle on an ideal, when he's been forced to change constantly. All he's certain of is his desire to play as a striker.

5. Chasing strikers: Isagi's journey

Isagi's problem is that he's never been the best striker in Blue Lock. It's his dream to play as one, but purely in terms of his ability to convert opportunities into goals, Isagi is outclassed by a number of players. Rin. Nagi. Shidou. Arguably Barou.

When these players receive the ball near the goal, their ability to put it through the goalposts is simply better than Isagi's. They have the physique, the strength, or the technical skill to outmanoeuvre whatever obstacles are in the way. This is also true of Kaiser: both have metavision, but Kaiser is far better at scoring, as Isagi himself admits. Kaiser is another prodigy, like Nagi or Sae.

Kunigami is also better at securing goals than Isagi is. However, he's not a prodigy, and he lacks Isagi's insane playmaking ability. Nor does he have Ness, Kurona or Yukimiya on his side. Nobody on the team has a reason to support Kunigami or his goal-scoring competence. Least of all, Isagi: his rival for the position of striker in Bastard Munchen, and his antithesis in a sense.

While Isagi assisted Kunigami in the Barcha match, he does so to stay relevant, after Noa threatens to bench them both.

In the Manshine match, Kunigami poaches Isagi's goal attempt. As furious as Isagi is in this moment, it's not obvious that Isagi's shot would have gone in by itself. He targeted the corner of the goal, but the trajectory appears to veer up and left, beyond the goal.

Kaiser alludes to the shot's inaccuracy, and Isagi acknowledges his shortcomings after the match ends. While his eyesight is his "god given gift", he realises that he lacks the physical ability to make his foresight a reality, per this conversation with Hiori.

Who else does he approach?

While he has the wrong idea (seeking Kunigami's advice on becoming ambidextrous), Isagi's dialogue is on the nose.

Kunigami has what Isagi lacks: the physique and ability needed to consistently score goals. Halfway through the Neo-Egoist League, Isagi realises that to secure a position as a forward, he needs to emulate Kunigami in some way. His hard training pays off: his ranking jumps six points between the Manshine and Ubers matches.

Kunigami is a mirror that Isagi looks into and learns from. And like a morphing reflection, their positions are starting to reverse. While Kunigami performed better initially in the Neo-Egoist League, both in training and in the Barcha match, now Isagi is coming to the fore as the strongest Blue Lock player in Bastard Munchen. His performance in Manshine was incredible. His playmaking in the Ubers match so far surpasses it.

If they are intended to be mirrors, then what can Kunigami learn from his reflection: Isagi?

6. Inert hero: Kunigami's arc

Analysing Isagi is straightforward. We have access to his thoughts and development, all the way through Blue Lock. The same can't be said for Kunigami, whose POV was shown rarely during the first and second selection, but not once since his return in Chapter 155.

There's still conclusions we can draw, despite leaning into extrapolation territory.

Kunigami has always trained hard. The Volume 3 omake (Team Z's schedule) alludes to the guy spending every hour he can in the gym.

While Kunigami entered Blue Lock at a higher level than arguably anyone in Team Z, he stagnated as his teammates rapidly developed. He doesn't have a documented awakening, unlike the other Egoist Four characters. The single moment of progression shown was his first goal against Team V, but this was more Kunigami challenging his limits than truly evolving.

My theory is that this goes back to his key attribute: resolve. His formula of working hard and playing consistently has worked so far. Why change?

Other characters like Isagi experienced failures and setbacks prior to and during Blue Lock, but we don't see Kunigami experience anything similar until the second selection.

It's unfortunate that he only experiences a first setback in losing to Team White. Had a moment of failure taken place earlier, the second selection may have played out differently for Kunigami. As it was, this segment of Blue Lock was not forgiving of mistakes. Only players who could adapt and evolve, devour and be devoured, made it to the third selection.

Kunigami just didn't have that adaptability. It's contrary to his nature of working hard, consistently and fairly.

Shidou remarks on Kunigami's resolute nature explicitly after their 2v2 match. It's why he chooses Reo over Kunigami.

Analysis often focuses on Shidou's criticism of Kunigami's heroic idealism, given that Kunigami goes on to reject this himself. But the second point Shidou makes is more important. He's really critiquing Kunigami's inability to adapt and react, not his strength or his motivation. But Kunigami seemingly only internalises the first part.

Failure in the second selection made Kunigami discard heroism as his motivation, in addition to the conditioning forced on him in Wild Card. But Kunigami continues to struggle, even after leaving his so-called naivety in hell.

He came out of Wild Card stronger, faster, and more competent at scoring. It's still not enough to out-do Kaiser and impress Noa in the Barcha match.

If Kunigami took Shidou's words to heart, he might consider his success in Wild Card proof that he can break himself down and be rebuilt. At a minimum, we can speculate that Wild Card consisted of the participants being deconstructed piece by piece, egos eroded and replaced with a drive to become Noel Noa's "vessel".

But in truth, Kunigami already had a lot of the traits needed to become Noa's copycat. Other than developing ambidexterity and packing on even more muscle, the "breaking down" that took place was really the overwriting of his idealism with that of Noa's.

When Ego considers the ways participants may succeed in the Neo-Egoist League, both Isagi and Kunigami are pictured. At the present stage in the manga, Isagi seems to be the fish adapting to his environment and thriving - slowly dyeing the fabric of Bastard Munchen to suit his playstyle.

Kunigami is the one suffocating, unable to breath in this claustrophobic environment.

His core issue - his lack of adaptability - persists. He is unwilling to consider being anything else than a pure striker. In the Neo-Egoist League to date, he has failed to make chemical reactions with anyone.

If Isagi is a universal catalyst, Kunigami is inert. For now.

7. Hero rebuilt: Kunigami, secondary protagonist

Kunigami is an important part of the Neo-Egoist League arc. Not only is he a returning character, but a significant parallel to Isagi. It's no coincidence that they are presented together in many of the panels relating to the arc as a whole.

There's a lot of symbolism in Blue Lock. The panel announcing the Neo-Egoist League establishes Isagi and Kunigami as dual protagonists, with Kaiser as the primary antagonist. The end of the Barcha match really reinforces the idea that these characters are the main heroes within Bastard Munchen.

Isagi has been on a learning journey from the beginning of this arc, starting with his underdog struggle against Kaiser. If Kunigami's journey is a mirror of Isagi's, then we can expect him to encounter his most difficult hurdle later in the arc, leading to an epiphany about his playstyle. At this point, it's fair to conclude this will happen in Bastard Munchen's match against Paris X Gen.

These are my outstanding questions about Kunigami's journey, which I believe the manga must eventually address:

What will be Kunigami's darkest hour: the low point where he realises he must change or die (metaphorically)?

When he overcomes this moment and emerges stronger, like a phoenix - what will Kunigami's true ego be? Will he return to his original heroism, or strike a balance between his past and present selves? Hero and Wild Card, accepting both?

I'm not going to delve much into Question 2. Hero, Wild Card, Dark Horse, Phoenix - all of these could work as a manifestation of Kunigami's ego. The only thing I can say with confidence is that his ego will manifest. This has been the case for each of the other Egoist Four characters (although Isagi's true ego remains in flux). Personally, I'd like to see an ego manifestation that reconciles the personas of pre- and post-Wild Card Kunigami. I trust the writer and mangaka will serve on that front when the time comes.

On question 1, the fandom (and myself) are hyped for a particular reunion. It's hard to imagine a better catalyst for Kunigami's change than the person that sent him to Wild Card in the first place: a literal demon, the manifestation of Kunigami's internal woes.

Shidou is the opposite of Kunigami in many ways, when they encounter each other in the second selection. Although both are strong with imposing physical abilities, Shidou is chaotic while Kunigami is lawful; Shidou abhors dull players, the ones that cannot spark "explosions", while Kunigami sees Shidou as a violent psychopath. Shidou has no qualms in crushing weaker players. Kunigami defends them, regardless of their nature.

But Kunigami has changed greatly since their last encounter. He and Shidou have more in common than before. In Wild Card, Kunigami had to learn how to crush the weak, despite his inclination to advance together. He's had to become more aloof, more violent even, to survive in Wild Card and in the Neo Egoist League. He's more resolute in becoming the world's best striker than ever.

But Kunigami still doesn't know how to explode. He doesn't have chemical reactions with other players. The part of him that valued teamwork died in Wild Card. Compare this to Shidou, who thrives off what he calls explosions. He adores Sae, because their chemistry on the field made Shidou soar. Sae unleashes Shidou's inner dragon.

I believe in facing Shidou, who will form reactions with his supportive teammates, Kunigami will come to realise that he cannot overcome his demons without assistance from outside. He'll realise his heroism was never the issue: it was his lack of adaptability. To overcome Shidou, Kunigami will need a catalyst to create a chemical reaction.

Luckily, Bastard Munchen has the one person capable of reacting with anyone: the embodiment of adaptability. Who better to set the true Kunigami free than his idealogical mirror? The one person who, thematically, has been by his side since the start?

A link-up between Isagi and Kunigami - dual protagonists, reflections of one another - would be an amazing way to round off both Isagi and Kunigami's journeys in the Neo Egoist League. Even better if the final goal against Paris X Gen is the result of their genuine teamwork - mirroring their resentful co-operation during the Barcha match.

I'm manifesting this and I hope you might too. If for no other reason because... can you imagine the look on Kaiser's face if this happens?

Absolute gold.

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If you read to the end, thank you! I'd love to hear my fellow nerds thoughts on this and Kunigami generally.

Further reading: short analysis of Kunigami's effectiveness on the pitch up to chapter 232.

[ben-talks-art]

12. Action Manga recommendations!

This is something that I'm kinda shocked it took me this long to start doing... Let's try talking about some of my favorite mangas from different genres and why I like them and maybe who could like them too.

I'm gonna try to split them up into what element I think stands out the most from each to make it easier to talk about them.

I'm will at least try to bring attention to some obscure series... But I make no promises. This will mostly just be me talking about the stuff I like, and hopefully one of them will end up being something new to someone.

Nice drama recommendations

These are the series that usually involves a lot of characters talking and debating over the morality of the plot. They usually have people asking things like "are we right? are we wrong? Why? Who's the real enemy? What are we fighting for?" and so on.

First, we have Radiant, a series about a magical world of mages and monsters with a main character that's kind of a middle ground between the two and is trying to seek this place called "radiant" which apparently is where all the monsters come from so he can find out why they are being sent to this world and possibly find a way to stop them from causing chaos to the people.

It's written by a French author and you can tell, the dialogue in this is phenomenal. I would highly recommend checking this out just to see the way these people talk with each other, it feels so natural and everyone is so charming. They all have amazing interactions.

Peach Boy Riverside is about a girl that receives a power that allows her to kill demons with little to no effort while also giving her a dangerous thirst for killing them. The problem is... The girl as well as plenty of other characters are actually friends with many of the demons so she has to constantly keep this power under control, on top of that, the boy she has a crush on also has that power and he just despises demons, so she keeps finding herself caught in the middle of everyone's anger and trying to find a solution that doesn't rely on just killing everything, even though her own power really wants to. It's really interesting.

Claymore is about this woman who works as a professional monster killer. She, as well as many other killers, go from place to place and get hired with the task to eliminate some creature that's attacking all the people, and once they're done, they just move to the next place.

What's cool about Claymore is that all the monsters used to be regular people, so a lot of time is dedicated to the heroes and the villains trying to understand each other and thus adding more layers to their fights. It basically go from the usual good vs evil to two individuals who just happen to be stuck in opposite situations and have to face one another. And some of the backstories for tons of the antagonists are just so freaking interesting. Everyone here feels like the main character of their own story. This is a really solid 10/10 cast of characters.

Crazy action recommendations

These are the series where the authors just enjoy going bonkers with the fights.

Dandandan is about a girl that likes ghosts that has psychic powers and a boy that likes aliens that is possessed by a spirit. The idea is that this mixes supernatural threats with sci-fi threats, and they do it in a very fun way. Sometimes the antagonist will be a giant ghost that likes to dance, another times it will be a boxing alien crab. This series knows how silly its premise is, and its just loving every second of it.

Undead Unluck is about a girl that can curse anyone that touches her with a lot of misery and a guy that can't die. They put 2+2 together and decide to team up as he's the only one that can survive her and she's the only one that can make him feel alive.

The fun of this series is that everyone has very specific powers based on tons of specific rules, so a lot of the fights rely on characters playing 4D chess with the rules of their weird powers to overcome their opponent, and this sounds like it would get tiresome as if every fight was like some sort of homework, but they manage to keep the action going at all times and getting you up to speed to what everyone can do and how they can exploit what they can do. The ways they use the guy's ability to not die in particular are absurdly creative, doing things like turning his blood into swords and bullets or using it as a lightning rod for the girl's bad luck. Fun stuff!

Zatch Bell is one of my favorites. It's basically a pokemon/digimon setting where kids get paired with some sort of teammate and fight other kids and their teammates, but in this case, the teammates are little children and they fight using books of spells.

Each child has dozens of spells in their books that are a variation of their base power. For example, Zatch himself has lighting powers, so one spell is like a blast of electricity, another is like an electric shield, another one can magnetize the enemy, and so on.

You never what new spell will be used and how it will be used, which makes each fight feel fresh and unique. And the fact that these are kids teaming up with children allow for them to create deeper relationships and thus make you care more about seeing them get out okay from the fight.

Wholesome recommendations

These are for the people who just want to enjoy nice likable people having sweet wholesome moments.

Ottoman is about a guy and his wife who both get fused with an alien and get tasked with fighting other dangerous aliens to keep the world safe, but the nice twist is that the dude's alien is powered by affection, so in order to get stronger during fights he needs to remember all the things he loves about his wife. It's so freaking silly but at the same time so adorable.

The wrong way of using healing magic is one of those isekai stories where three kids go to another world and one of them gets the role of being a healer, except he doesn't use the healing just to help people, he uses it to make his fatigue go away so he can work on his body muscle and reflexes. And what's even better is that because he keeps healing his opponents everyone eventually ends up befriending him. This one is just a really likable read.

(Oh God, I can never remember this one's name...) A Breakthrough Came Out by Forbidden Master and Disciple, is about a boy who instead of being a hero tasked with facing the demon lord, is actually the son of the hero who defeated the demon lord, and thus has a lot of insecurities because he has trouble living up to his father's name. But that all changes when the ghost of the demon lord starts haunting him and they make a deal where he will train the boy if he promises to show him the world (it turns out that the demon lord was stuck in a basement for years with nobody to talk to... poor guy...)

The bond between the boy and the demon lord is honestly very sweet. You can tell they respect each other and want to make the other proud while also proving their full potential to all of those that looked down on them. One being looked down for not being as great as the hero, and the other for having been killed by the hero. It's a great premise.

Edgelord Recommendations

Okay, this is for those who want to inject some "hardcoreness" into their blood.

Ragna Crimson is about a guy that sends all his powers into the past after he realizes there is no way to save the future from the threat of the dragons. Once he succeeds in contacting his younger self, he also advises him to meet up with Crimson, one of the smartest dragons of the world who also happens to hate dragons.

Together, with Crimson's brains and Ragna's powers they just travel the world beating the hell out of tons of dragons with some freaking metal artwork. Some of these fights go way harder than they need to and it always feel so damn epic. The person drawing these action scenes is just giving their 120%, to the point where sometimes I just want to ask them to chill a little (as an artist, you kinda start to feel sorry for other artists when you realize how much work they put on every page).

Here's another name I can never remember... Gachiakuta is a garbage manga, and by that I mean, everyone fights using garbage.

We're operating with Ghost Rider rules where each character can pick up something that was thrown out that holds some sort of special bond to them and turn it into an absurd weapon.

It has all the usual cool edgelord tropes. The main character was betrayed by his people, thrown out like trash, had his loved one killed, decided to dedicate his life to revenge and making them pay, while also teaming up with other people that were also thrown out like trash who each have their own angsty backstory, all while fighting giant trash monsters (because why not?), and also trying his best to keep this rage inside of him from going out of control.

You just know Sasuke and Shadow, the hedgehog are just looking at this from somewhere and going "That's our boy!"

Just like Ragna, the artwork here is insane. Everyone here has such a badass design that makes it look like they're ready to throw down with anyone at any moment.

Finally, we have Rebuild World, a series set in a dystopian future where a young boy is found by a psychopathic A.I. who wants to turn him into a super amazing warrior so he can enter some... Place and get some... Thing... that she wants him to get.

This series feels like the kind of story that could happen in the background of the anime Cyberpunk: Edgerunners. The atmosphere of this setting feels very similar to Edgerunners.

This future just feels like it's waiting to tear the main lead apart. The people want to kill him, the monsters want to kill him, the robots want to kill him... Everyone and everything wants to kill him. And the only way for him to survive is to listen to his A.I. (his very, VERY horny A.I., because of course...) and learn how to use the people around him in order to secure his safety. If you like dark sci-fi futures with lots of gun fighting, you're gonna love this.

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And these are my action manga recommendations. Hopefully, you end up finding at least one that got your interest and turns out to be to your liking!

Give some of them a chance and find out!

[marvel-writer-101]

The Winter Nightmare

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Part 1.

Warnings: mentions of torture

Word count: 2.2k

Author note; Now THIS is the longest one shot (part) I've ever written

Your life wasn't easy.

When you were just 8, HYDRA broke into your house.

A man, who you would later identify as The Winter Soldier, killed your grandparents who you lived with, then kidnapped you.

You were experimented on.

You were tortured.

You were shocked. Kicked. Slapped. Punched. You were bit one time for christ's sake.

Now why were they doing all this?

You have powers.

Pyrokinesis to be exact.

It was easy to control, for you at least. But you still screwed up sometimes.

They would stretch you past your limits until you physically passed out or collapsed. Even then, you'd be beaten for not being strong enough. You'd wake up with new bruises.

You were taught that the heros, the Avengers, those were the bad guys. You half believed it, but also half believed that HYDRA was bad. But how would you know? You hadn't been able to look anything up or anything like that.

As you got older, your hatred for this Winter Soldier grew and grew.

Years of training and torture passed by like pages flipping in a book.

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

Then one day, everything changed.

The Winter Soilder had disappeared a few months ago, though that didnt mean you still weren't getting beat. If anything they upped the punishments to almost make up for him not being there.

December 4th. 5:17 a.m.

A crash.

Gunshots.

Foot steps.

"Grab the kid! We cant afford to lose 'er!" One guard shouted. Another yanked your arm.

You figured this was your chance. You burned the guard's arms and he drops you.

"SON OF A-"

You make a run for it.

You bolt out of your holding cell. You run and run until you bump into someone.

Shit.

Was your only thought.

You look up. You expect to see the face of an angry guard. What you see instead is the Black Widow.

You inch back a bit.

"Guys I found the girl." She says into an earpiece.

You continue to move back, fear in your eyes, "S-stay back-!" You manage to stutter out.

She bends down to your level on the floor, "Listen kid, we're here to help. We arent going to hurt you."

"B-but.. You.. I.." You stumble over your words.

"We're the good guys. We're gonna get you outta here. But if you dont let us help you, you'll blow up with the base, alright?"

You simply nod your head, too shaken up to talk.

You stand up and follow her as she walks off.

The two of you are about to round a corner, you pull her back.

"There are guards.. Uh.. Hiding in.. The v-vents.." You mumble, pointing to a large vent on the ceiling.

She takes out a gun and shoots through the vent a few times till a few guards drop out, dead.

"Not anymore."

She leads you out of the base and into a jet. There's a few others there too.

You quickly identify them as Captain America, Iron Man, The Scarlet Witch, Dr Strange, and Spiderman. And then obviously Black Widow.

You tuck yourself into a secluded corner.

Black Widow walks over to you and sits next to you.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Natasha, what's your name?"

"Y/n.."

"That's a lovely name. What powers do you have?"

"Pyro.. Pyrokinesis.."

"That really cool. We're going to arrive in about.. 3 and a half hours, so get some rest while you can, alright? I'll grab you a blanket."

"Wh.. Where are we... going..?" You mutter, your eyes growing heavier.

"The Avengers Tower." She says, a slight smile appearing on her face.

"M'kay.." You say as your eyes close, drifting off to sleep.

Natasha grabs a blanket and places it over you. You curl into it comfortably.

-

-

-

-

-

You wake up.

You groan, your neck stiff from being in a literal corner.

You're still in the jet. You hear some people talking.

"What do we do with her?"

"She could make a good avenger."

"Or we could-"

"Guys shut up she's waking up."

You curl the blanket around you and look up.

"Like the blanket?" Natasha asks, looking over at you.

"This is like.. The first blanket I've used in.. A lotta years.. So yeah.." You sigh, a slight laugh at the end.

You gain a few sympathetic looks.

"We're going to be there soon. We'll show you to your room, give you some clothes, then we'll.. Well we will discuss that after." Steve says.

You nod, then rub your eyes a bit, "That was the longest sleep I've had without being interrupted in a long time.." You say, a small smile appearing on your face.

"How long were you there?" Tony questions.

"Since I was.. Like.. 8.. So.. 12 ish years.."

You all talk for a bit, then eventually the jet lands at the tower.

"C'mon, I'll show you to your room." Natasha says, holding a hand out to help you up. You stand up and follow her into the tall building.

After going up a decent amount of floors, you step out of the elevator and are led to a room at the back of the floor.

"Here's your room. There's some clothes in there already, they might be a bit big though."

You step into the room and your jaw drops, "Woahhhh!" You say in awe, "This room is like twice the size of my cell! And there's an actual bed!" You go and jump onto the bed like a small child.

Natasha give you a sympathy filled smile, "Take a shower and get changed. We're going to have you meet someone soon."

You nod and Natasha walks out. You take a decently long shower, scrubbing every inch of your body. You wanted every dust speck from HYDRA off of you.

You step back into your room and find a pair of jeans and a baggy t-shirt.

You turn to a large mirror on the right side of the room.

You didn't recognize yourself.

The last time you had seen yourself in a mirror was when you were 8. In your house. With your grandparents. Before everything changed. Before anything happened.

You remembered it so well.

-

"C'mon Y/n!" Your grandma called out, "The party is starting soon! We're going to be late!"

"But Gramma, the party starts in like 3 hours! We still have time!" You sighed, but ran to your room to get ready.

"Little Flare, what should I wear?" Your grandpa asked. Flare was your nickname, taken from you powers.

"I'm gonna wear my favorite red dress!" You said, grabbing it out of your closet.

You walked over to your full length mirror and held it against yourself. Your face was clean, no bruises or scars at all, "Gramma, Grandpa, what jewelry should I wear?"

"Ooh, you should wear those cute diamond earrings I got you for your birthday!"

"I agree with Gramma, and your little blue necklace."

Then it happened.

The window smashed open. Your grandparents were shot right infront of you.

You were grabbed. Your adorable red dress fell to the ground and got stomped on.

-

Suddenly you were back to the present. You look closely into the full length mirror, just like the one you had in your home, staring at your unfamiliar face. You trace your scars with your fingers.

You take a step back, starring at your scar filled arms.

You take off your shirt and look at your body.

Bruises and scars.

That was all you saw.

A wave of painful despair washes over you. You begin to cry, still staring at your reflection.

Wanda walks into the room, "Hey, just seeing if you were almost ready for- Oh my stars!" She exclaims, running over to you.

You flinch as she puts a hand on your shoulder, "Darling, what's wrong?" She asks, taking on a motherly role with you.

"I just.." Your lip quivers as you hold back more tears, "look a lot different than i thought i would.." You meet her eyes in the mirror, giving her a not-so-reassuring smile as a tear falls down your cheek.

"Look at me," she says, turning her head to yours, you look at her, "you're so strong. You survived through so much. You look wonderful, kid."

You pull her into a hug, mumbling a thank you as you do. You take a deep breath and pull your shirt back over your head.

You and Wanda walk down to the common area of the tower. There's a new face, a man that hadn't been there before.

"Look who finally showed up." Steve joked, sighing as he looked up at you.

The man walks up to you, "Director Fury. Nice to meet you Ms. L/n." He holds out a hand for a hand shake.

You shake his hand. You're still very shaken up by the whole situation.

In the span of a day you had gone from being tortured to being greeted nicely.

You and Fury both take a seat, the rest of the people there watch the two of you intently.

"So, L/n," Fury starts, "You're a pyrokinetic, correct?"

You nod in response.

"On a scale of one to ten, how would You describe your control of those powers. One being no control, ten being total control."

"Uh.. Like an eight... I guess..?"

"Care to demonstrate?"

"Isn't that a bit.. Uhm.. Dangerous..?"

"You have decent control do you not?"

You simply nod, you hold your hand out and a small, flickering, shakey flame comes up.

Fury arches an eyebrow.

"She's had a long day." Steve starts, "A lot has changed over the last few hours for her. Give her some time to warm up." (Pun intended.) Steve continues, looking at Fury.

Fury nods and stands up, "I'll come back in a few days. I expect to be impressed." He says, then walks out.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

"You alright, kid?"

You just shake your head and close your eyes. You feel weak. The adrenaline that had been flowing through you this whole time was wearing off.

"You should get some rest, it's getting late. C'mon, I'll help you back to your room." Natasha says, getting up and then helping you up.

The two of you go up the elevator to your floor and walk back to your room.

"Once you regain some strength, we'll test out your powers, alright?"

You nod, going into your room and grabbing some pyjamas, "Alright.. Talk to you tomorrow.." You yawn and give her a tired smile.

Natasha walks out and shuts the door. You quickly get changed and lay on your new bed. The bed is so goddamn comfortable, you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

-

-

You wake up feeling more refreshed than you ever did. You check the time, 1:37 p.m.

You do a bit of quick math in your head.

God damn.

You slept for 17 straight hours.

You take a quick shower and get changed into a pair of black leggings and another baggy t-shirt.

You walk down to the common area.

"Look who finally woke up." Tony says, glancing up at you from one of his little inventions.

"That was the best sleep I've had in a LONG time." You smile, then go and sit on the couch next to Natasha.

A few other people were in the room too, Wanda, Bruce, and Steve.

"Guys, Buck is gonna be here soon." Steve says.

"Who?" You ask, it was a name you hadn't heard before.

"A friend of mine, he's also an Avenger. He's been on a mission for the past week."

"Oh, alright!" You don't know why, but the thought of this new person makes you uneasy.

After a bit you would find out why.

"Buck's here." Steve says, "He'll be up in a minute."

You stand up and walk to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. You hear Steve greet his friend and you walk back into the common area.

You see who Steve is greeting.

The man who tortured you for years.

The Winter Soilder

Your eyes meet his.

"Oh hell no." Is all you say.

Bucky's eyes go slightly wide.

"Buck? Something wrong?"

"Y/n, you alright?"

You walk up to him.

"So the Winter Soldier has a name."

The room goes quiet.

You make a flame in your hand and launch it at Bucky, he moves away just before it hits him.

"Aw how sad. I missed."

"Y/n, stop, what's going on?!" Steve shouts, stepping between you and Bucky.

"That man, no, that boy, tortured me for nearly 12 straight years. Can't I get some payback?" Your voice is unnervingly calm.

"Flare look-" Bucky starts, you cut him off.

"Don't FUCKING call me that!" You shout, tossing another handful of fire at him. This time you hit him in the chest.

Natasha grabs the top of your arms and pulls you back. It was just like the guards did.

Your mind goes back to HYDRA. You make yourself go limp. The guards didn't like struggle, going limp was always the best option.

Natasha didn't know what to do. She'd just grabbed you and you'd suddenly gone limp. She lets go of you.

You look back to Bucky.

"Go fuck yourself. And stay the hell away from me."

You storm up to your room. All eyes turn to Bucky.

"Buck, I need one hell of an explanation.

[cupids-chronicles]

Hades X Persephone Saga: A Game of retribution #3

Author: Scarlett St. Clair

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Mythology

My Rating: ⭐⭐⭐/5.

Spice: 🌶🌶🌶

Goodreads rating: 4/5

Pages: ‎‎‎468 

Published: 31 May 2022

A Game of retribution Review

Note: This book is intended for mature audiences over the age of 18 due to explicit content (steamy chapters).

Well, dear readers, hold on to your mythical chariots because we've been taken on yet another whirlwind ride with the gods of Olympus and the Underworld in "A Game of Retribution". Our old pals Hades and Persephone have returned, along with an entourage of divine drama that could only be rivaled by a soap opera airing directly from Mount Olympus.

Remember that old chestnut of a quote, “Knowledge changes perception”? This statement encapsulates the essence of this third installment perfectly. Hades, our underworld anti-hero, who once saw no issues letting souls meander off into the afterlife, is found in the midst of many a mortal miscommunication. Bless him, he did try to respect Persephone's time with her friend, Lexa, but as they say, the road to the Underworld is paved with good intentions. You'd think after centuries of existence, the dude would’ve mastered the art of timing and empathy.

On a side note, why was Persephone so desperate to keep Lexa alive? If I were to see my friend for eternity in a place like the Underworld (which, let's be honest, is essentially an eternal spa retreat for souls), would I really be so worried about a premature send-off? No, but maybe that's just me.

Meanwhile, Hades is found juggling a narrative equivalent of chasing his own tail. Every time he tries to investigate, interrogate, or perhaps indulge in a much-deserved nap, our dear Persephone, with her seemingly never-ending escapades, interrupts him. And poor Hades is dragged from one scenario to the next, like a divine yo-yo. At times, you almost wish for the guy to just hit the 'mute' button on his celestial phone.

We also delve deeper into Zofie's past. Remember Zofie? Persephone's bodyguard who packs more mystery than Pandora's box? Our glimpse into her history and Hades' hand in her life added depth to an already intricate tapestry of storylines. It’s akin to finding out that your mysterious friend who always wears sunglasses was actually a spy… and also once played in a rock band.

However, let’s address the papyrus in the room: the formatting and editing. Was there a minor deity in charge of this? Maybe the god of typos? The occasional errors, though not tragic, did sometimes feel like Hermes had misdelivered a sentence or two. And as for the formatting - the margins! It felt like reading a scroll that Zeus might have accidentally sat on. Perhaps it's a design choice meant to symbolize the vast emptiness of the void? If that's the case, kudos for thematic consistency. If not, let's hope the next edition will be more space-efficient.

In conclusion, A Game of Retribution scores a celestial 3 out of 5 stars from this humble mortal. For all its highs and lows, it's a must-read for fans of the series. And I, for one, am eagerly donning my toga in anticipation of the upcoming books announced by Scarlett St. Clair on her divinely curated Instagram. Bring on the melodrama, the myths, and maybe a map of Hades’ underworld investigations - because this mortal is here for it all.

Please note that this book is part of a series and can not be read as a stand alone. Lucky for you this can be your little weekend binge as almost all the books in the series has already been released !

Wait a minute boys and girls, check out these trigger warnings first:

Suicide

Death

Violence

Romance Tropes, you ask ?

Miscommunication

Marriage

Who do we meet in this book ?

Hades

Persephone (Perri)

What to read next:

Neon Gods (Dark Olympus) by Katee Robert.

The Cruel Prince by Holly Black.

Drag Me Up (Gods of Hunger) by R.M. Virtues.

Or just like read the next few books of this series.

[cryingoflot49]

Book Review

The Balkan Trilogy by Olivia Manning

Olivia Manning is not a well-known writer. Why this is I really don’t know. The Balkan Trilogy is a great accomplishment and any young writer who is serious about learning how the craft should take a few cues from it. There are three aspects of great writing that Manning masters. One is the building of characters through dialogue, another is a strong sense of place, and the third is the building of tension and suspense.

The Balkan Trilogy tells the story of Harriet and Guy Pringle, a young couple who have just gotten married after knowing each other for a week. The two arrive in Bucharest, Romania since Guy works for the British Legation, teaching English literature at the university. The British Legation is a branch of the colonial ministry and the British relation with Romania is one that is a mixture of political alliance and colonial possession. The first two books, “The Great Fortune” and “The Spoilt City” take place in Bucharest while the third, “Friends and Heroes”, takes place in Athens where the Pringles go to escape from the Nazi invasion of Romania. They get involved with a whole cast of other characters along the way. One of the most memorable is Yakimov, an exiled Belorussian prince who has fallen into poverty since his wife died and his inheritance has dwindled down to a trickle. There are other colonial bureaucrats and journalists in Bucharest. The expatriate community is a network of socialites and they have little more than loose associations with the Romanian people who mostly stay in the background.

It is fair to say that there is not any overarching plot in this trilogy. Rather there are a lot of subplots, or I might actually call them “micro-plots”, that support an overarching theme. That theme is the shaky relationship between Harriet and Guy. Both of them are naive and both also came from lower class backgrounds, a detail that isn’t thoroughly explored but does, however, give insight into why the two of them act the way they do. Harriet is smart and perceptive, possibly the most intelligent character in the novels. Her desire is to get closer to her husband and discover who he really is while also discovering Romanian society and getting to know herself. Guy, on the other hand, is gregarious by nature, always willing to help the downtrodden and generous to a fault. This is both the best and the worst trait of his personality. Guy is book-smart and ideological, but tragically naive when it comes to other people. He wants to spend time with everybody he meets, everybody, that is, except Harriet who he treats like a kid sister that he doesn’t want tagging along while he goes off to do what he thinks of as more important things. Sometimes these things involve socializing with people who are down and out, looking for ways to take advantage of him.

From the beginning, we get a clear picture of who Guy and Harriet are. This is primarily done through dialogue, not just with the Pringles but also with the other people they interact with. The characters stand alone as individual humans, but their personalities and psychology are built for the reader by how they interact with others. They are who they are but they become much more because of how they socialize; it is a gestalt effect where the overall picture is much larger than the sum of its parts. Olivia Manning isn’t the only writer to have employed this technique but she does do it better than most any other authors I have read. Some readers compare her to Jane Austen but I think she is better at dialogue mostly because I find Austen to be a crashing bore.

The theme of the Pringles’ marriage carries through the whole trilogy. The first book intoruduces this theme which is especially seen where Guy directs a stage production of Shakespeare, despite the political turbulence that has begun to set in. During rehearsals, Guy all but commands Harriet to stay away even though she wants to be a part of the project. In the second book, as the political situation gets worse, the two of them start to grow closer together. When the monarchy gets overthrown by Antonescu, the fascist Iron Guard starts crawling out of the woodwork, and the German Nazi presence in Bucharest grows on a daily basis, the Pringles begin to face some hard decision making. This is exacerbated by Guy allowing two people to stay in the apartment, Yakimov, who is homeless, and Sasha Drucker, the son of a Jewish banker who abandoned his military service because the soldiers where persecuting Jews. An even more absurd situation occurs when the Legation flies a scholar named Primrose into Bucharest to give a lecture when the entire country is being shut down by the Nazis and British citizens are being commanded to leave the country. Although Harriet continues to feel alienated from Guy and the rest of the expat community, she is drawn by circumstances to spend more time with him, even if it is solely for pragmatic reasons. The peak of their relationship comes when they take a retreat in the nearby mountains and have some serious discussions about their future.

And that theme continues when they move on to Greece. The German occupation of Bucharest puts their lives in danger, so they flee to Athens, a city that Harriet immediately becomes enamored with. She hopes that being there will bring her closer together with her husband, but he just returns to being his old self again. He spends most of his time socializing in cafes or working on lectures even though he isn’t formally employed. As the Italian and German fascists begin closing in on Greece, though, food becomes scarce, the situation becomes dire, and again the two of them are forced to spend time together because of the miserable circumstances. Guy continues to be optimistic and naive; he never gives up hope even though an aristocrat who has influence over the Legation in Greece and possible ties to the fascists keeps stabbing him in the back as Guy tries to get the Legation school running again. Guy also puts on variety shows for the benefit of the British soldiers who have shown up in Athens to defend Greece against the Nazis. This offends his boss and Guy can’t comprehend why. His strength of character and desire to do good for everybody while keeping a stiff upper lip is proven to be a symptom of weakness because he misreads these situations. He begins looking like he needs public adoration to feel good about himself, a flaw in his character which prevents his marriage from success. There are times when you might feel like slapping him and telling him to wake up and look at reality. Harriet, on the other hand, continues to get stronger. She develops an intuition for reading people that is more accurate than Guy’s perceptions. Even if she doesn’t solve all their problems, she does a good job of explaining the psychology of the other characters. By the time they leave Greece, Harriet has Guy and herself all figured out too. She realizes she has more potential as a career woman than he does as a lecturer due to his chronic problem of misplacing his priorities and ambitions. Some critics have criticized Manning for not sufficiently addressing feminist themes, but I think this unfair because the strength of Harriet’s character and intelligence speaks for itself. Just because Manning isn’t hysterically ranting about destroying the patriarchy doesn’t mean she isn’t sensitive to women’s issues. Besides, battering people over the head with a message doesn’t always mean it will be received; sometimes being subtle is a stronger way of communicating. This is something people in the 21st century don’t seem to understand. We live in an age of loudmouthed know-nothings who think they know everything.

While The Balkan Trilogy is largely about human relationships, these relationships take place against a background that is atmospheric, historical, and political. The second most distinct aspect of Manning’s prose is her ability to capture the feeling of a time and place with her language. For one thing, the dramatic shifts in the Romanian climate do a lot to move the pacing along. From the balmy and humid summers to the rainy autumn and heavy winter snowfall with its perpetually grey skies, she creates an environment you can really feel. She does just as well with the climate in Greece. Her descriptions of Bucharest and Athens are accurate as well. I know because I have spent time in both cities. The descriptions of Bucharest, called the Paris of the East in the pre-communist era, are vivid and show all sides of the city. Romania has always been at the crossroads of history. Once an outpost of the Roman Empire and a thoroughfare for migrating tribes from the Slavic lands and Central Asia, they were eventually conquered by the Ottomans who had ambitions for seizing territories farther west. In the cafe culture, street life, peasant markets, and restaurants you can see the ebbs and tides of history washing through the city. The aristocrats, mimicking the ways of the French upper classes are sinking into irrelevance. The peasants and Romani people ply their trades on the streets. The Jews are eternal scapegoats, and the English are popular because the Romanian king is allied to Great Britain. Things change quickly when Romania ditches the U.K. to join the axis with Hitler while Hungary claims Transylvania and the Soviet Unions claims Bukovina and Besarabia which is now Moldova. The social atmosphere of Bucharest, as portrayed by Manning, is fickle and emotionally detached. This contrasts sharply when the Pringles visit the mountains and have some freedom to contemplate their lives. The scenery is described as majestic and elysian although a shadow enters the paradise when Harriet sees the cruel way that the peasants treat their domestic animals.

The atmosphere is described just as vividly in Athens with its busy cafes, noisy bars, and restaurants. This inner city atmosphere contrasts nicely with the time the characters spend in the calm of gardens, on the beach, visiting the Acropolis, and hiking in the hills and forests that surround the city. The atmosphere continues to darken as the fascists progress towards the borders of Greece, food becomes scarce, and the country is plunged into a winter with downpouring rain. It is an atmosphere of hope deferred while the city plunges into the misery of starvation and fear.

Then there is the building of tension, another aspect of Mannin’g writing that makes it high quality. On a small scale, micro-plots are used frequently to keep the narrative interesting. One such micro-plot involves the arrival of an inconspicuous British secret agent in Bucharest who conspires to blow up Romania’s oil reserves if the Nazis ever take over the country. Guy gets involved with this and brings home a paper with the details of a bomb, but the conspiracy gets thwarted and nothing comes of it. The paper comes up again later in a second micro-plot involving Yakimov, the homeless former prince from White Russia who gets taken in by Guy to sleep in the spare bedroom. Yakimov is a complete leech who refuses to work and lives by begging for money and eating other people’s food. He gets angry at Guy for a petty reason and steals the paper then hands it over to a Nazi official in northern Transylvania. While Yakimov is angry at Guy, his ultimate motivation is to curry favor with the Nazi so he can get some food from him. Yakimov really is shallow and amoral, kind of like stray dog that begs for food and never reciprocates the kindness. He never considers that this action could lead to the Iron Guard harassing the Pringles and chasing them out of Romania. There are literally dozens of other subplots involving the affairs of the Legation, the activities of the journalists, and the relations between the large cast of characters in the Balkan region of Europe.

Another impressive way that Manning builds tension is with the creeping specter of World War II getting closer and closer. At the beginning, the movement of the Nazis across Europe happens far away and is of little concern to the expats in Romania. They are worried but the threat isn’t close enough to actually prevent them from pursuing an ordinary life. As the Nazis come closer to the Romanian border and finally occupy the country, showing up more and more around the city of Bucharest, it is like an ominous dark cloud moving over the sun. The closer the war comes, the more British nationals from their community start to leave and living in Bucharest becomes more and more precarious. Finally acts of violence against members of the Legation come like lightning strikes and it becomes obvious that the Pringles have to leave. What is so brilliant in the writing is the way the way the war starts off as little more than a small noise in the distance and becomes louder as it approaches until it is deafening roar in the narrative. When the Pringles arrive in Athens, the process starts all over again. At first they wax optimistically when the Greek army defeats the Italians invading from Albania, but then it wanes as the Germans move in and begin bombing Greece. The story moves gradually from joy to doom and you can see how it effects the characters psychologically like a noose tightening around their necks as they realize that trouble is coming their way.

It is almost tempting to say that this trilogy is a work of perfection if only there weren’t some glaring mistakes. There are a few spots where the narrative degenerates into purple prose and Manning also has a tendency to use long lists of adjectives that come off as amateurish and silly. There certainly isn’t enough of this to ruin the book though. Yet another problem is some sloppy editing. I usually overlook this when reading good literature, but it is almost embarrassing at times in Manning’s writing. In one scene after Yakimov has fled Romania and arrived in Istanbul, he walks into the Pringles’ apartment. After that he disappears from the narrative until they meet up with him again in Athens. In other scenes, characters speak up in conversations without the author telling us they were present. Some of these characters were never even introduced into the story so you scratch your head in wonder trying to figure out who they are or why they are there. The proofreading was done hastily to the detriment of the writing.

The Balkan Trilogy comes close to perfection in terms of both style and content. The story is deeply engaging and smooth, often moving at a fast enough pace to keep you going despite its length of over 900 pages. It is easy to read and as anyone who knows about writing will tell you, writing something that is easy to read, especially while maintaining a certain level of complexity, is extremely difficult to do. I don’t know how good Manning’s other books are, but she certainly hit the ball out of the park on this one. The Balkan Trilogy deserves to be a classic.

[dycefic]

Have An Evil Day

No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’

Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.

But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.

I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it.  They didn’t give me any trouble.

I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.

I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.

We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.

I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.

And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.

“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”

He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.

“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”

He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”

“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”

“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”

He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”

“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”

He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.

About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”

Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”

“Biohazard.”

“Oh. Class three?”

“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”

He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”

“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”

He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”

I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.

We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.

I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)

By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.

“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”

“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”

“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”

“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.

“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”

“Sir, I know you’re not – “

“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”

I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”

Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”

Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”

I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”

“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”

I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”

“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”

“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.

“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero… one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”

Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”

“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”

I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.

It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.

“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”

Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”

Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”

“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”

“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”

Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”

“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”

He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”

“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”

He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”

“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.

I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”

“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”

Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”

Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.

She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”

Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”

“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”

He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”

“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”

Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”

“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”

“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.

“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”

He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”

“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”

He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”

“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”

Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”

“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”

Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”

“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”

He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”

We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”

He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”

“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”

“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”

“A union? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”

“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.��� Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”

“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”

“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”

His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”

There was a long pause.

“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.

“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”

We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”

“You want me to join the bad guys?”

“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”

“That’s a regular concern?”

“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”

“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”

“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “

Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”

“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”

Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.

Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.

But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.

Have an evil day!

[lovinkiri]

This time, some male heroes are causing trouble for Quirkless hero S/O! They flirt with her, touch her inappropriately, and when she tries to avoid or ignore them, they tend to get a bit violent, like physically grabbing her hair or insulting her “lightly.” Once again, S/O’s pleas and reports are ignored or dismissed to the higher ups. One day, when they almost went too far, S/O felt dirtied and cried to Villain Deku. This time, Deku had to bring the LoV to get info and then kill them.

Deadmen Walking

Author's Thoughts: Named it that cause that's exactly what those guys are 👌🏾

Warning: Death, Graphic Death Threats, Torture, Cussing, Sexual Harassment, Inappropriate pictures being taken without consent, Emotional Abuse, etc.

You didn't like your coworkers at your agency snd you weren't a big fan of other heroes.

Most of both groups treated you like shit. Of course, not everyone was like that. But it was so blatant and obvious, no one who hated you cared enough to hide it. It was so tiring and you honestly didn't think it'd get any worse.

Then male heroes at your agency began to target you. Because you were this quirkless little thing who couldn't beat them. At least that's what they supposed. One good right hook and you'd knocked one of them out.

Of course you got reported. You tried to explain yourself but no one listened. Whether they didn't believe you or they just didn't care, you weren't sure. But they gave you a warning saying that if you attacked another hero, you'd be out on suspension and have your hero license removed.

So you had no choice but to endure their advances without the option of defending yourself.

You tried reporting them, but the higher ups again dismissed you. They'd said you were wasting your time. And after a week, they sent you an emailing telling you to stop reporting or they'd suspend you for that.

You just couldn't afford that. Suspension for you could end badly in so many different ways. They surely would try to keep you suspended for as long as they could, stories even circulated of heroes on suspension never getting their licenses back.

And if you did come back, your popularity would decline among heroes and civilians. Newsletters would make up stories, heroes being interviewed would spread their "theories" as to why you disappeared, this theories simply being an excuse to spread gossip.

And if you interfered with any crimes, even if you saved 100 lives, they would throw you in prison without a second thought for unlicensed quirk use.

They had you cornered and they knew it, but hey, anything to make the quirkless hero suffer.

You would've told Izuku but you he was always going out of his way to protect you and you were hoping this would just pass.

All you could do was try to ignore your tormentors. And to your credit, you did your absolute best. But sometimes they'd pull you back by the hair if you walked away. They'd leave bruises that you tried your best to hide or blame villains for.

They would get upset and call you names you'd never been called, saying the most horrible things to you. Things that would make any person breakdown.

But it wasn't until one night in particular that your broke. They'd cornered you like usual, sliding their hands all over you and calling you all types of things.

Then one attempted to get your costume off.

"C'mon, show us those tits."

"You think you're anywhere near our status? We'll show you just where you stand as soon as we get your undressed."

"Oh stop whining, be grateful in touching an ugly slut like you."

They'd gotten your costume halfway down your arms and one of them even managed to take a picture, getting a good shot of your cleavage.

That's when you managed to shake them off all at once and sprint between them. One of them grabbed your hand and you struggled at freeing yourself for a second, but you succeeded and ran off.

You thought about going to your place, but you didn't want to be alone. You couldn't, not tonight. Not after what had happened. So you found your way to Izuku's place. You struggled to get the key in the door, hands shaking and vision blurred with tears.

"Fuck!" You exclaimed in frustration as your dropped your keys, quickly leaning down and picking them up.

That's when Izuku's front door quickly swing open. He looked down at you, eyes going wide at your shaking form. You stood up and immediately buried your face in his chest, sobbing.

Izuku gently pulled you inside, wrapping an arm around you, closing and locking the door behind you with the other.

"Hey, hey, I got you.. You're okay, rosebud, I've got you now." He pressed a kiss on the top of your head.

He noticed you'd began to struggle standing, so he gently scooped you up and sat on the couch. You were placed on his lap and he continued to keep you close to him.

He wasn't sure what made you do upset, but his main priority at the moment was to calm you down and make you feel safe.

After a while, your sobs turned to whines and whimpers, and those turned to sniffles.

"... Are you ready to talk honey?" He once more kissed your head, rubbing your back gently.

You hesitated before speaking. You told him about everything, about the abuse and the sexual harassment. About what the higher ups ignoring your pleas for help and their threats. And then you told him about what had happened that night. You were crying again, but didn't stop until you were finished, and Deku let you finish.

"I'm s-so sorry, Izuku! I should have told you earlier, b-but I just- I didn't-.. I-Just feel.. Dirty.." You whispered the last part, sounding ashamed.

To say Izuku was pissed was an understatement. If you didn't need him right now, he'd already be out the door. You'd given him names during your ramble and that was honestly all he needed.

But he understood that his partner was in pain and needed support. So he'd stay to give it. At least until you fell asleep.

He showered with you, watching as you continuously scrubbed the areas you'd been touched. He cupped your face in his hands, leaning his forehead against yours. "It isn't your fault, rosebud. You don't have anything to be ashamed of."

You hesitantly nodded and leaned into his palms, closing your eyes and letting silent tears fall.

He got you dressed in his pajamas, knowing you liked how baggy his shirt and boxers were on you.

The both of you laid down and he kept you against his chest, rubbing your back again as he hummed softly to the tune of your favorite song, once in a while whispering the lyrics before switching back to humming.

It didn't take you long to pass out, probably from the exhaustion of crying and all the emotions you'd felt.

He managed to slink away from you, kissing your cheek gently with a silent promise to be back soon. After making sure you were under the warm blankets and fully comfortable, he left making a phone call.

Shigaraki answered with an annoyed tone. "What the hell is it? It's late." Shigaraki didn't sleep often, but by the sound of his voice, Izuku caught him on a rare occasion. Not that he gave a shit.

"I need you some people tracked down."

Shigaraki had never heard him sound so.. Serious. "What's going on? Are they a threat?"

"I guess you could say that. They broke someone very dear to me, Im sure you know who. And I need locations in the next 40 minutes."

Normally he would roll his eyes at the freckled man for his Yandere tendencies, but this didn't seem like a typical protective Izuku moment. No, Shigaraki would have assumed you were killed from the tone he took on.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it. Give me the names."

Izuku gave him the names you'd mentioned and hung up. Waiting was the most frustrating part. He filled the time by doing some simple muggings. He didn't do those often, but he just needed to occupy himself until he got the names.

He didn't even kill his victims like usual. That would mean blowing off steam and he was bottling it all up for your coworkers.

He finally got the names and he dropped by the hideout to get his "tools". Afterwards, he visited each man one by one. He never made their deaths quick. No, he got creative.

Drowning, suffocation, strangulation, bludgeoning, blood loss, etc. Just a few examples of his killing methods.

No one got it worse that the man with your picture. Izuku had him unable to move as he opened the phone. The picture was the first thing to pop up and Izuku felt sick to his stomach.

He felt horrible seeing you the way you were and knowing he wasn't there.

Then the realization hit that when he found the guy, he was in bed on his phone. Looking at this picture of you. He deleted the picture from existence, breaking the phone then snapping the SIM card for good measure.

He grabbed the man by his chin roughly. He'd already activated his quirk, so it didn't surprise him when his jaw cracked and the guy cried out in pain.

"You think that's bad? Imagine how my rosebud felt, you piece of shit." He tightened his grip which resulted in a muffled scream as Izuku covered his mouth.

"Here's gonna happen. I'm going to hurt you in as many ways I can think of without killing you. I'll rip your fingernails out and break every bone in your body if possible. Then I'm gonna cut you dick off, stuff it down your throat, and leave you to choke on it. And that's how you'll be found. Sound good?"

All he received were more muffled screams.

"Don't worry. I'll be sure to take some nice pictures too, okay?"

[dienamights]

Unfavorable Guidance | H.Shinso

​✎ Mindjack has been doing these kind of jobs since he was recruited as a hero, he is unmistakingly the best at them, doesn’t need anyone butting their noses in his business, especially you, the sly fox in disguise, offering your tainted helping hand.

✎ Protagonists: Hitoshi Shinso x Fem!Reader.

✎ Word count: 6.4K

✎Category: noncon/dubcon, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

✎Caution(!):  noncon/dubcon, Smut 18+ MDNI please, , mentions of alcohol, mentions of murder, minor character death, sex under quirk use, spitting, degrading, swearing, manipulation, unprotected sex. 

✎ Author’s notes: I KNOW I’M LATE EUFGKHDFVBDFXL, but here is my contribution to @daisy-bakugo​ 2k event Vice City! Please take the time to read everyone’s work if you haven’t! Thank you so much for letting me participate.

I listened to this throughout the entire process of writing it, if you’re familiar with Kingdom Hearts, some names will ring a bell to you lol. also I hate the header and the summary but you’re just gonna have to live w it for now cause its 8 am I NEED SLEEP

» Masterlist | Requests | Taglist

The annual auction of Vice City is one of the biggest social events of the year. The wealthiest families and richest people in the world come from everywhere in attempts to win what is secretly considered the greatest treasures of all time. Greatest and most expensive.

Alas, the after party held later on is what people are all secretly actually waiting for, where the most exquisite and rarest artifacts of the year get auctioned off to whoever is lucky enough to even be included in the guest list.

While not all are there for the auctions, it certainly is the perfect opportunity for anyone who's anyone in the world to show off their wealth. Filthy rich people sway all around, laughing and bragging. Venetian crystal chandeliers, velvet carpets, gambling, and alcohol. Men with their cigars, men with their wives, and men with their arm candies, their escorts or mistresses.

Yet, Shinso isn’t here for the luxury, he isn't here for the fame and the fortune, nor the reputation people thrive for when they buy those - meaningless, he calls them - relics. No, he is here on a mission, one he certainly wants to be done and over with because he wants to go home. He loosens his tie with an aggravated sigh before knocking back the last of his only gin and tonic, the bitter taste prickling his throat as he surveys the crowd of people all around him while he stands idly by the bar.

He knew it’d be a pain in the ass the second he got the mission assigned to him from the agency, the words “intel” and “Vice City'' of all places forced a frown upon his face, yet, being the most suitable for this job, he couldn't really decline.

Mindjack isn’t the type of hero you see on billboards and magazines, isn’t the type of hero to kiss babies’ heads that get thrusted at him in meet and greets, he certainly isn’t one to have those adoring fan clubs that follow his every move, posting about his greatest conquests. Oh no, he is a hero that works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, undercover -lie through your teeth throughout the whole ordeal- kind of hero, the kind of hero that goes home at the end of his missions with no gratitude towards his work, because nobody knows who he is or what he contributes to the society.

For the longest time, Shinso accepted the life he’s living, he didn’t look for validation from the citizens, knowing his work is always beyond the scope of their knowledge and their awareness, but sometimes, just sometimes, the sour droplets of envy would foul his mouth when his amethysts for eyes scan over the extravagant heroes, making a show out of saving their cities and getting praised and awarded and loved for doing what they’re supposed to be doing, their job. 

“Squeeze that glass a bit more and you’d break it”

A voice just like silk, weaving around him and entrancing him, Shinso blinked twice before his eyes dragged over to you, oh so beautiful and oh so close. Your nimble fingers wrapped around his fingers, the lacey glove lightly scratches his hand before he lets go of the glass in surprise, dropping it into yours. You giggle sweetly, turning around to place it on the bar before ordering your own, but not without looking at him over your shoulder and sending him a smile.

“What will it be, sugar tits?” the bartender leans over the counter, towel thrown on his shoulder as he sends you what's supposed to be a sultry look. Your elbow is placed on the counter while you rest your chin on your hand, smiling temptingly at him. “Anything that’ll get you to stop staring at my boobs.” Shinso almost laughs at the contrast between your smile and your voice, sharp and venomous, and the man leans back so far from you like he’s been stung. Walking away to work on a drink for you.

Shinso’s eyes rake your body without his knowledge, he admires the dress adorning your body, hugging you in all the right places, cascading down to the floor, and that slit my god, your legs looking endless in those heels he wonders how you can strut so elegantly with them on. A snap of your fingers breaks his trance and he tries - keyword tries - to act nonchalant to his obvious ogling and you only laugh in return.

You hum lowly, “So,” you’re turning to face him as you lean back on the counter, pushing your chest out to grasp even more of his attention, “what's an esteemed hero like you doing in a place like this?” It takes Shinso a good minute before he narrows his eyes, left foot back and ready to either take you down or run away if you were to involve greater forces. No one is supposed to know about his true identity, no one is supposed to know that there is a hero within them.

But what shakes his demeanor is the way you dangle his wallet in front of him, like dangling a stupid feather for some silly cat, waiting for it to jump at you to entertain you. Shinso swallows with a struggle, deciding that using his quirk to retrieve his wallet back will lead to him leaving, and he didn’t want that. He’s been keeping an eye on the wanted man for hours now, and it’ll all go to waste because of your slimy little hands and your-

“Here,” you toss it back to him, and he stumbles a bit before catching it properly, eyeing you for any sudden movements, but you simply turn back around in time to hold the drink from the bartender’s hand with a smile dazzling your lips. “You’re getting intel on The Wise?” you mumble against your cup, sipping slowly, eyes never leaving Shinso’s glaring ones. How the fuck do you know?

“You’re not the first.” you smirk, finger wiping the smeared lipstick against the glass before circling the rim. “You all look the same, thinking you’re better than them because of your position in the society, only for that ego to come and bite you right in the ass.” It’s almost ironic how poisonous your voice could get while still maintaining that mesmerizing smile, and oddly enough, Shinso’s eyes keep drooping despite his desperate attempt to fight against them.

You hum again, the click of your heels sounding muffled to him, eyes blurring when you get so close to him your breath tickles his cheek. “But you’re different, hmm? You’re gonna make the bad guy go away?” 

“Yes.” it's rushed, almost desperate, and the hero is astonished at how he sounds. “Then, lemme help you… Hitoshi.”

A blink, and you’re gone just like you vanished right from under his nose, slipped right between his fingers. A low curse escapes Shinso’s lips and he turns around swiftly to question the bartender, hell bent on getting any information on the girl that just revealed his entire identity and mission to him in a matter of seconds. 

“How can I help you, sir?” the question boggles his mind, the big burly man with an attitude problem wasn’t there anymore, replaced by another sweet woman that held concern in her eyes at his sight. “You’ve been staring at the wall for a while there, need me to call your driver to get you back?” 

“Wa- but I- She,” Shinso’s body started heating up in anger, worry, embarrassment, he doesn’t really know, but what he wants to know right this instant is how long he’s been out of it and for god’s sake, why?

Shinso doesn’t really consider himself to be the sharpest tool in the shed, but dammit did he feel like a complete idiot letting you run off like that, a quick trip to the restroom for a splash of water clears his head enough for him to pull back his wallet from his pocket, flipping through it and finding something he was absolutely sure wasn’t there prior to your visit. A silver card, with ‘Surveillance room’ scribbled on a note behind it.

Caving in and accepting whatever help you were offering him, Shinso slides the card through the reader, sighing in relief upon the satisfying ding sound, followed by the door opening to the surveillance room.

“Now that’s what’m talking about.” life got so much easier now that he could watch The Wise through multiple screens, making it hard to miss a single move of his. The hero allows himself to relax a bit, hand messing with his hair and tired eyes blinking in irritation against the glare of the screens. The Wise was the mastermind of Organization XIII, as their name intel, they’re consisting of the same thirteen members that founded it years ago, nobody really knows how they started, what shocked the whole world is how grand their first crime actually was, bloodbath of the century -they would call it, seventeen slaughtered heroes, followed by their families, including women and children, thousands of millions of ¥ in money laundering atop of it, all within a span of 4 months, that was years ago, back in their prime.

Now, with eight of them behind bars, the remaining five were able to stay under the radar, distributing whatever money they were able to keep between them and fleeing to different parts of the world. Just because they were apart, didn’t mean they were any less dangerous, The Wise is a prime example for that, brutally murdering three of the undercover heroes sent his way to bring him back to justice, but they weren’t Shinso, he’d try to remind himself.

May their soul rest in peace, they were those heroes he felt dissociated from, the type of heroes to flaunt their powers, monetize the peoples’ knowledge of their quirks, uncover the secrets of their job, they were easy targets for people like The Wise, he’d know their weaknesses and how to take them down before they even think about pursuing him. Now, Mindjack was a different story, he wasn’t held on a pedestal by the people he saves, simply because they don’t recognize him, while he would loath that reality sometimes, he thanks the god for it today, as he’s watching the man’s call out for a drink.

Amethyst eyes scan the remaining screens, widening upon the sight of you looking right back at them, you are a vixen to him, eyes half lidded with a smile so intoxicating it does nothing but entrance whoever was lucky enough to catch its sight. Lace clad fingers wrapping around a piece of paper, you are so beautiful, Shinso tries to stop his mind from wandering, imagining what you wore underneath that angel crafted dress, envisioning what those fingers could do to please him, the same fingers that held the unfolded paper, the word ‘RUN’ smeared across it in lipstick.

Wait a minute, run?

Even before the poor hero could react, the similar satisfying -now dreadful- ding rings in his ear, before the door opens behind him, illuminating the room even more. Shinso stands to face two men, both as surprised as he is to see another occupant in the room. Right before any of them move, the hero opens his mouth and prays to god that whatever way he’s winging it works. “You got a permit to be here?”

Jesus one of you answer, and they both do - the left having fingers curving into talons while the right pulled at strings from the tips of his fingers, both ready to attack - and by god Shinso couldn’t be happier upon hearing a sound, because the minute the word ‘yes’ slips through their lips, Mindjack is smiling like a madman, welcoming the look of glossy eyes and heavy heads like a beloved relative’s return back home. 

“Great… Now,” the two manipulated  men face him, unaware of the dreaded fate bestowed upon them, while Shinso just can’t seem to keep the glint in his eyes at bay. “Why don’t you put on a show for me,” he breathes, smiling down at the ground before looking at them. ”Choke the fucking life out of each other.” The men don’t even blink, quick to face each other and jump, hands wrapped around throats like a vice, Shinso only moves away from the men on the floor as they thrash and kick at each other, limbs flailing as they try to force the life out of each other.

Turning his back against them, Shinso eyes the screen he was monitoring before their entrance, ignoring the groans and gasps of air behind him. He curses under his breath when he sees The Wise getting up from his place, heading towards a room that is supposed to be monitored by screen #6, but is purposely out of service. If he isn’t able to question The Wise or even keep an eye on him, then he’s gonna head on over to the next best thing. Gargled screams echo through the corridor as the hero makes his exit, making sure the door clicks shut behind him, he wouldn’t want to cause disturbance to the esteemed guests of the society of lowlifes.

Mindjack works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, killing machines that didn’t spare the live of the innocents, so why should he spare theirs? 

Shinso makes it back to the main event, immediately finding you between guests, sitting so pretty on the poker table, eyes drawing him closer, the grin adorning your lips now wobbly, easy for him to distinguish as fake, forced, a façade kept for the people surrounding the table. He is hasteful in settling himself in the chair near you, shoulders tense when different pairs of eyes fall upon him, the dealer shuffles the deck to draw cards for Shinso, but you hold your hand out with a smile. “He’ll sit this one out, by my lucky onlooker.” A round of laughter causes Shinso to flush in embarrassment, feeling degraded and looked down upon by all these lowlifes, petty thieves and criminals, thinking they’re better than him, oh he’ll show them.(1)

It takes a few rounds for the table to empty out, now occupied by Shinso and yourself, the dealer asks him to move over to the next chair before they start their game. “Place your bets.” you’re quick to slide over a few of your chips to his side - some black, others red and blue, he didn’t really pay that much attention to them- your eyes daring him to reject your invitation to take the money to play.

He only blinks at you, his eyes seemingly never wanting to lose sight of you as he fights with himself to sit straight to face the dealer again, the man proceeds to deal both of you the cards for you to review before placing your bets. “You tricked me.” Shinso is almost appalled at the hurt laced in his voice, as if the two of you had a bond that was never meant to be broken. “don’t believe so, told you to run didn’ I?” The mockery in your voice is a hoax, the single twitch in your brow catches his attention and he can only deem it as you being stressed, whether it be because of the ordeal regarding the surveillance room or not is beyond him. No, he was stupid and foolish and he will not fall for your silly games again. “Exactly, you knew they were coming.” you hum in response to his accusation.

“Call.” Dropping a few of your chips on the table, your eyes shift momentarily to him, “I did, I said I’d help you and here I am.” He slams his bet on the table, ‘Raise’ gritted right through his teeth at your words. “I don’t want your help!” He reveals his cards on the table, a way to show his disinterest in your assistance as the dealer announces ‘Flush’ at his hand. Your eyes meet again from above your cards, now narrowing down instead of the half lidded look you seem to always have “You don’t want it, but you need it.” The façade you held before is slowly but surely breaking, now a deep frown tugging at your lip as you reveal your own hand, brows furrowing even further in challenge as you hum in displeasure when the dealer announces your ‘Full House’ hand to be the winner of this round.(2)

Shinso moves swiftly to stand when he sees you do the same, right before his entire world starts to spin, lights and colors mingling together and causing his head to spin, he sits down again, head between his hands as he tries to calm himself down, it's probably the strain of the mission, maybe it’s the weight bestowed upon his shoulders to finish it up. The hero lifts his head up to ask you, about something he himself isn’t even sure of, he just wants to hear your voice, like a drug to him that he can’t help but ask for more. Except when he does, you aren’t there, the table is occupied by different people, the dealer is another man with longer hair and slimmer figure, and by god did Shinso want to rip his hair out.

The minute he feels like he could get back on his own to feet without falling down on his ass, Hitoshi is quick to check his pockets, adamant to find a clue your sneaky hands slid into one of his pockets while he was out, despite the tantrum he almost threw at not wanting your help nor guidance, and he does find something, a simple metal key, attached to it was a tag with the number XIII on it. 

In his shock, he almost drops the key on the ground but barely holds himself together to avoid any further embarrassment, Shinso takes deep breaths, knowing that the key in his possession is his entry to the heart of the organization, and especially to The Wise. 

Every year, specifically at the Vice City annual auction afterparty, The Wise holds a meeting with the most dangerous men within the continent, the most loathsome masterminds of the criminal world, all in the hopes of recruiting one of them into the organization, to uphold its name and spread its message. Every year, with no recruitment yet. 

With trembling hands, Shinso stuffs the key back into his pocket, eyes on the lookout for anyone who might’ve caught the key in his hand, but sighs in relief when he sees some engrossed in their meaningless poker and absurd talks, while the majority have made their way to the next hall over for the auction that is being held. He takes the stairs three at a time up the floors, facing a red oak double door, the same forsaken number engraved into it. After multiple failed attempts at inserting the key in the lock, he finally does with a huff, hearing the lock echoing in his ears before pushing the door open.

To be honest, Shinso didn’t know what he was expecting to see on the other side of the door, he thought maybe he’d watch weaponry trade off, perhaps people brawling and fighting amongst each other for the title of being the new members. But he certainly didn’t expect to be engulfed in jazz music, men with their cigars laughing and chatting, without a single care in the world, as if their hands weren’t tainted with the blood of the innocents, oh how he loathed them. In an attempt to fit in, he grabs a glass of whiskey from the butler standing by the door, nodding to him in thanks before moseying his way over to the corner in the room, he’d be damned if he got caught in the crossfire of those lunatics.

A stage is set up in the front of the room, and it takes a second for him to acknowledge the pole placed right at its center, it takes him another few seconds to see the beauty dancing on that pole, Shinso’s eyes rake her body without his knowledge, he admires the lingerie adorning her body, hugging her in all the right places, garter snug against her thighs as she twirls, her legs looking endless in those heels he wonders how she can dance so elegantly with them on… wait a minute. 

As if predicting the minute he realized it was you, you twirl to face him, lips pulled into a smile yet again, a giggle interrupting your humming as your body twists and turns on the pole. Shinso isn’t really sure how long he sits there captivated by your body, the only thing breaking his trance is the clap on his back and the heavy weight that sits next to him. “Beauty, isn’t she?”

Bile rises to Shinso’s throat at the mere sound of the person next to him, fear stills him in his place, restricting any movement he’s even thinking of doing, all he could do is sit, widened eyes and sweaty brows at the sight of The Wise right beside him. 

“Don’cha love it when women like her,” The Wise points at you with his cigar, “work to please men like us?” His arm now completely wrapped around Shinso’s shoulder as the hero feels his soul levitating from his body. “Look aroun’ya,” and he does, and only then does he really pay attention, he should’ve seen it all along, the glossy eyes, the droopy heads, it's a sight he was so well accustomed to that his brain normalized it to him. With whatever courage he musters up, he shifts his eyes to look at the man beside him, noticing the ear plugs he wore, and right then the gears start to turn in his head. “My most prized possession I tell’ya.” 

Of course you would be, how else would you have access to all these things, the card, the key, the vanishing from thin air, it all makes sense now.

“Enjoying yourselves, gentlemen?” your words are flowing like honey to his ears, a low buzz ringing in his brain as you spoke to the men in front of you. His ability to frown is nonexistent, a relaxed look adorning his face as he looks up at you, so elegant and beautiful in whatever hugged that miracle of a body.

“Sure are,” The Wise jerks Shinso by the shoulder, and he realizes that was done to break whatever trance he was in, he could only glare back at you when you smile at them, that conniving smile that hosted all the lies you spouted to him.

“y/n,” He calls you and by God if this isn’t the most beautiful name Shinso ever hears, what a shame it's being tainted by the voice of this criminal. “Wadda ya say to takin’ this fine boy to the red room, hm?” The man urges him to stand and take your hand, which he did at the blink of an eye, his body moving on it’s own to graze his lips against your knuckles in a breathless kiss. “Treat’m real nice for me.” The hero’s feet take him to follow you, his steps light, like walking on clouds, the sway of your hips pulling him closer to you until his chest is flush against your back, pushing you to move faster into the room you are pointed towards.

Walking aimlessly through hallways, taking lefts and rights he would never be able to recollect in his current state, you both enter a room, red just like The Wise called it, crimson silk sheets fitted on a king sized bed, maroon loveseats and plush carpets, everything in that red hue that it's almost nauseating. 

Bringing your hands in a loud clap, the fogginess in Shinso’s vision dissolves, your creased brows and frown now more prominent to him than ever, his eyes catch the scar trailing from the back of your neck to your cleavage, confused as to why his usual perceptive self would miss it, but then again, he doesn’t feel like he was ever himself throughout this whole ordeal.

To say he was furious is an understatement, he never felt more played in his life, he is Mindjack, the most conniving hero of all of Japan, he was manipulative and sly , known by his people to get jobs done, no matter who his opponent is, he always comes back victorious. And when his ears pick up your sigh of relief, he could only see red, he is hurt, he is scared, but now its his act, his turn to fuck shit up, he wants to hurt, he wants to scare.

“Fuckin’ lying bitch,” It takes him all but two steps for his body to graze yours, tantalizing eyes boring down into yours as you gasp at the close proximity, “you were workin’ with’em this entire fuckin’ time?”

“N-no that’s not it,” you stutter, flustered at his overwhelming presence, trying to put some distance between you and the fuming man by pushing his chest, “Please, I need you to listen to me.” 

“Oh, now you’re beggin’ hmm?” his firm warm hands circle your wrists, tugging them away from his body and using them to pull you even closer to him, his breath now grazing the tops of your cheeks, “Didn’t your boss tell you to treat me right?” he breathes, “well, get to it, slut.”

“That’s not what this is Hitoshi, just listen-” for the love of all that’s pure in this world, why does the sound of his name exceed his perception of how happiness is supposed to reverberate in his ear? “Keep my name outta your mouth, or I swear,” He hisses at you, the grip on your wrists tightening as you whimper out in pain. 

“You think you can just toy with me? Have me running around and following your orders like a lil bitch!?” He sees you trembling, lips wobbly and in tears, how ironic, he doesn’t know a few words would get you to start tearing up, the change in demeanor from when he first met you confuses him for a second, but only a second, because he’ll be damned if he falls for any of your tricks anymore. “N-no, I swear it isn’t like that, just p-please, please c-calm down! Let me explain myself-” the ugly cackle he lets out shuts you up, teary eyes widening as they fall on his, the aura he’s radiating is terrifying to say the least, your knees shaking in dread at what’s about to fold.

“You think you can play my game and win?”

It takes you a minute to answer, the word no echoing in your head, throbbing in your brain so painfully you forget the words that follow it, but what you can’t forget, what you will never forget, no matter how delirious you feel, is the look of pure sin across Shinso’s face, grin rivaling that of the Cheshire cat, because you were now simply a measly little pawn in his game. 

Mindjack works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, criminals that broke every law in their way to get what they desire, so why couldn’t he indulge even a little himself? 

He lets go of your wrists, watching as your arms sway next to your body like dead weight before he turns around to flop down on the loveseat, legs spread wide as he waves his hand over to you.

“Waddaya waitin’ for,” he knows you can’t answer him, but it feels so fucking good to hold such power over you after all you’ve put him through. “Now, strip.” the surge of power he feels jolts his dick up in excitement as he watches you take off your lingerie, moves robotic and forced, eyes glazed over both with tears and his control over your dumb little brain. Hitoshi is no villain, he is a respectable hero, but he’s been called that all his childhood, he might as well live up to that expectation, one way or another.

Shinso stands when you’re fully naked in front of him, long legs circling you and taking you all in, the back of his hand grazes your nipple and he all but groans as it pebbles at his touch. But god, he was nowhere near being done with you.

“Spread your legs for me on that bed,” he grins at the way you follow his orders even before he asks, “will ya?” you settle yourself on the bed before slowly dropping your weight on your back, hazy eyes staring up into the ceiling as your arms bring themselves down to circle the back of your knees, pulling them up close to your chest to expose yourself to him. 

Shinso’s cock twitches in his pants again at the opportunity to just seath it into you without any warning, but he barely holds himself back, approaching your body and feeling himself salivating at the sight, what a sight it is, your pussy looking so fucking beautiful clenching over nothing, the sight tempting him to just dive his face right in to get a taste of your juices.

Taking off his suit jacket and rolling the sleeves of his shirt, Shinso presses his thumb to your clit, frowning when he notices how dry you are, of course you would be, he chuckles to no one, puckering his lip to spit right at the nub, watching it trail down to your clenching hole, the sight igniting a flame within him, he does it again, simply to watch your spit hide in your cunt, impatient to follow suit and bury himself in there. 

His thumb is quick to draw circles with your clit, needing for your orgasm to wash over you quickly, eager for the things he’d do to you after he preps you enough to take him. The usual comforting silence is thick between you, no moans escaping your ajar mouth as your arousal seeps out of your pussy, he prods your hole with his finger to collect your nectar, smearing it across your clit again to rub even faster against it.

The only indication of you coming undone is when your thighs start to shake, your body curling in on itself as your back arches, your cunt gushing on his fingers, and Shinso is almost disappointed to not hear you moan out his name in pleasure. But he isn’t that disheartened, he’s bound to hear you scream.

You on the other hand, are petrified at the way your body is being handled, feeling yourself looking down at the horror being folded in front of you, this isn’t you, this is a shell of who you are, wrapped around his finger, at his mercy, and you want out, no matter the cost. But, you are to regret these words, because you see him unbuckling his belt, you hear the zipper drilling in your ear, and you watch him lay atop you, feeling your lungs constrict at the weight settling upon it, and to your utmost terror, the only thing that breaks his bind on you is when you feel his warm head prodding at your entrance, right before seething completely in, your throat prickling when you wail hoarsely in pain at feeling like being split into two.

“No, nonononon, st-stop please, please!” You’re crying, legs thrashing and arms flailing trying to push this monster off of you, but you can’t, you think as your walls pulsate in pain at the intrusion, you’ll never be able to with him placing his entire weight on you like that, and the way he pulls out before impaling you again has you seeing stars in the worst way possible. Desperate for an escape, you grab a chuck of his hair, your nails digging into his scalp before you yank, your jaw throbbing at how tight you clench your teeth in pain and disgust and pure panic. The strength you muster to pull his head up is in vain, because it only jerks his face deeper into your neck, right where your scar trails, and he bites, so hard you’re certain it draws blood. 

Only then does he lift his head up, his upper lip smeared with a smidge of blood, your blood, before he spits right into your mouth. Sick to your stomach at the metallic taste invading your taste buds, you spit right up at him, mindless to the debris falling right back at your face, your mascara running down your cheeks as you sneer up at him. Even as he laughs teasingly at you.

“Don’t worry slut,” He rasps, his nose brushing against yours as his thrusts find a pace, pulling out to the tip before pushing himself fully inside, “It’ll feel good in a minute.” and it does, he feels more of your arousal coating his cock as he snaps his hips against yours, your wails and whimpers slowly yet surely are coated more with lust as you moan out his name. “See tha’, almost too easy…” almost too good to be true.

And it is, because when his eyes struggle to find yours, he is reminded by the feeling that overtook him this entire evening, and when he sees the corner of your lips pull lightly does he want to rip your head right out, but the minute he moves his hand, he is overwhelmed by how wobbly he feels, how your face distorts and misshapes before he is met with the sight of the ceiling, the sight you grew accustomed to when he was taking advantage of your unconsciousness. 

He groans when he feels you impaling yourself on his cock, pussy clenching so tight as you bop yourself up and down his shaft, your tits bouncing with you as he looks up at you, so mesmerized and entranced by your beauty all he does is hold your hips, helping you lift yourself up before dropping you on him, the squelching sound that follows it music to his ears.

You plant your hands against his chest, hips rolling as you pant at his lips, both of you so drunk on the feeling of each other and chasing your highs, “You gonna listen to me, when I ask you to?” His hand claps against your ass at your question, “Yes, yes oh God, anythin’ just don’t stop.” He can’t help but want more of you, want to feel his cock push against you even further, so he plants his feet firm against the bed, hand grabbing handfuls of your ass as he starts thrusting up at you, moaning against your neck when he shoots ropes of his cum inside of your sopping cunt, squeezing him so tight and milking him, and all of what Shinso remembers is the way you arch your back, pressing your chest against his as your whimper out his name, as he feels your juices dripping against his balls and down on the sheets beneath you. After that, all he could see was black.

Shinso awakes startled, eyes darting in alarm before he relaxes when he confirms he’s alone, the red silky sheets now draped over his lower body, pooling at his lap when he sits up to look around once more, desperate for any sign of you. Yet he only sees a brown folder on top of the love seat, impressively thick with the amount of papers stacked inside it, and when Shinso reaches for it, he catches the note that slipped off and draped down on the floor, reading it and scowling at it. ‘You promised you’d listen’

And boy is he more than lucky to listen to you when you asked him to. Because that folder has every tiny little detail he needs to know about The Wise, from the quirks of his circulating bodyguards to the keys to his multiple homes within the world. Pictures upon pictures of the man, decoded letters and basically intel on his entire criminal record.

Fucking finally, Shinso gets to just go home no that everything’s over and done with.

Limited Edition Sneak Peek:

It is way too early for Shinso, the sun glaring at him as he makes his way into the agency, the honking cars and chattering people feeding into his migraine so early in the morning, and he groans as he pushes his door open, ready to get back to his regular routine after the incident at Vice City.

It hasn’t been even a week, but it sure was eventful, using the folder you left him, Mindjack was able to capture The Wise the very next day, via the map of the routes he takes that was attached in the folder. They were able to ambush him, easily being able to bring the right heroes for the job to overcome the quirks of both his workers and himself. Now the mastermind of Organization XIII was behind bars, making the job of catching the remaining members now much easier.

It almost felt like child’s play, at least, that’s what the heroes made it out to be, flexing their powers and their potential, when they were well aware that all their efforts would’ve been in vain if you and your folder weren't there to aid them in every step.

To say that guilt ate him up is an understatement, he feels himself decaying from the inside out from resentment, he figures he spent too much time in the dark, that it started to mess with him, manipulate him, carve him into someone he isn’t, someone that isn’t fit to be a hero. He feels like was walking into a tunnel with no way out, engulfed and trapped in pure merciless darkness, that ate away at his soul every step he took further in.

Shinso trudges up the stairs with a heavy heart, the dread at what he did to you, especially that your intent to help him didn’t waver despite his actions loomed over him, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt like he didn’t deserve the life that he’s living in right now. 

Yet, the saying ‘there's a light at the end of the tunnel’ rings in his ear, the minute he opens up the door to his office, eyes widening at the sight before him, smile so dazzlingly sweet, a voice just like silk, weaving around him and entrancing him as the words captivated him despite their simplicity.

“Missed me, Hitoshi?”

(1) its common in poker for women to be onlookers, like the wives of the players for example, the jab at him being an onlooker is basically just a sexist joke to make the people around the table laugh to ease their mind.

(2) to help gain more perspective about the poker scene you can read the elaboration here

Aaaand more about the reader’s quirk here!

Hope you enjoyed! Also, PLEASE if you could theorize with me after reading the fic I’d love you forever, ask me about the reader’s quirk, ask me about some hidden meanings between the scenes JUST ANYTHING. MWAH

Borrowers (taglist):

@hanji-is-life @anarchicmartyr @sleepykyan @yourprincess-maybe @wolfygirl1900 @tteokdoroki​

@theehoneybunii @nanamisbento​ (not sure if you wanted to be tagged for bakuhoe only of all my fics, so sorry if its the former!)

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

[brooklyn-xoxo]

Dabi reacting to seeing his childhood crush/friend (y/n) after faking his death and becoming a villain.

－𝐹𝑙𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘－

“Oh, hey y/n.” I spoke nervously.

“Toya! What’s up?” Y/N spoke smiling.

Why didn’t I prepare for this? What do I say? I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a second. “𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒! 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑛𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡!” Time stands stil again once my eyes meet y/n, every breath I attempted to inhale was be suffocated by just her eyes, every hour, every day that I’ve spent with y/n came down to this. I could ruin our relationship or create a new chapter.

“ I just really need to say this. Please don’t hate me after it though.”

“Of course I won’t hate you. Tell me.” Y/N rested her hand on my shoulder.

“I-I….l” I could speak my mind raced. Spit it out! Say it! Cmon, don’t be a coward! I chanted over and over in my mind.

“I…I like a girl.” I blurted out.

“Oh…..really? W-well, who is it?” y/n looked at me, almost hurt. The look she gave me kinda confused for a moment.

“No…I love a girl. No, I’m in love with a girl. No no, yn… I love you! Yeah, I love you y/n l/n!” I said, clenching my fist. Before I knew it yn had pulled me into a hug. Her hand on my cheek and he head on my chest.

“I love you too, toya todoroki.”

－𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘－

Y/N’s POV;

You a pro-hero, one of the best. You did enjoy helping people but the public scared you and sometimes you would call other hero’s to save someone because you were to scared to do it yourself, most of the time it was your anxiety and fear of becoming popular after saving that person, or anxiety of you doing something wrong and hurting/killing them by accident. You were hesitating to save a persons LIFE, that’s not what a hero does. I guess you weren’t hero. That’s why you were quitting soon, if you were gonna hesitate to be a hero then why be one? Give your place to someone that really wants it.

“𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 -𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜- 𝚗𝚘𝚠! 𝚈/𝙽, 𝚠𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚅𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔-𝚞𝚙.” Hawks text me. I guess this it pretty urgent. I grab what I need and go immediately. Not looking forward to it but im hoping this will be my last mission anyway.

“I’m here hawks, what’s up? Where are the villains?” I arrived.

“Follow me. Also, sorry for bothering but we don’t have much hero’s working today, not that you were… Anyways, some are injured, and some can’t get here in time. Please help us out.” Hawks talked fast while running while I followed behind. He could easily fly but we weren’t that close to where I trusted him enough to lift me in the air. It’d be cool to fly but if I’m not in control, HELL NO.

We finally got to the fight.

“Take down Dabi. I got eyes on toga.” Hawks said then lifter himself in there air leaving red feathers behind.

“Got it.” You mumbled. You don’t really know what Dabi looks like or who he is, all you know is that he has blue fire. Kind-of like toya…nevermind, nothing like toya. Fire quirks are common anyway.

You tackled a guy using his fire to hit another hero. You pinned him to the ground and made eye contact with him.

“Your Dabi, right?” You said, more of clarification then a general question. You used your quirk to hit him. As the weapon/energy (Authors note���️𝚒𝚔 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎, 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢. 𝙵𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘 <𝟹) came out the palm of your hand and to his cheek, smacking him silly, his eyes widened. Not in rage or anger how you would expect but in total disbelief.

“Tell me Dabi, you like ruining lives? Eh?” I said, trying not to pay any mind to his face expression. To my surprise, he didn’t fight back, he laid there and did nothing. Did he think little of me?

“You scared you gonna go to jail or something? I thought most villains took that into consideration. You know, being caught?” You said sarcastically.

“Something wro—” Dabi pushed you behind him and quickly turned one of his (teammates/partner/co-worker) into complete ashes. They had a weapon in there hand ready to kill you, before he burned them.

“y/n l/n?” Dabi looked back at you. Almost out of breath, still a bit shocked.

“How do you know my name?!” You blurted out. You were supposed to be fighting him but instead you were ready to run away and never show your face in a mission or as a pro-hero again.

“Oh, don’t remember? I see.” He looked hurt but more relieved then hurt.

Dont remember? Remember what? Who was—. Then it hit you. This was toya, wasn’t it? The piercings, the quirk, his teal ocean eyes, and that spiky-ish soft hair.

“T-t-t…”

“Toya…? Mhm, hello y/n.” He said, trying to keep a straight face.

“I-I can’t be here…no no.” You said in tears, refusing eye contact.

“Please don’t be afraid of me, I’d rather you just kill me now. Finish the job, what are you waiting for y/n.” Dabi starred at you, studying you.

You smacked him, this time with your palm and not your quirk. You were almost sobbing at this point. Why would I kill you?! I still 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 you.

“I almost died EVERYDAY waiting for you to come back to me. I loved you before you “died”, and you left me!” You sobbed.

“I loved you and waited for you so long…. but” you said still sobbing. Dabi almost flinched at the ‘but’ he was getting ready for you to say the words ‘but I don’t anymore’ or, ‘but it wasn’t worth it.’

“But, I won’t kill you! I’ll will wait longer. I’ll love you for forever and have you leave me and make me suffer without you before I kill you.” You grabbed him my his jacket and looked angrily trying not to break and show your relief he was alive.

“Come back to me doll, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you. I have loved you ever since I met you. I want to love you for forever more. Please.” Dabi said, almost begging. Thank god you were in any view of the other hero’s or villians.

Dabi pulled you into a hug. You melted into his touch and gave up all hope on one day liking your job as a pro hero and not having to quit.

－𝑚𝑎𝑗𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑝－

（Authors note🤍: i thought this song rlly fit for this whole story. But I put the exact lyrics in this scene. It’s called ‘A thousand years’ by Christina Perri.)

Finally, your ℎ𝑢𝑠𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑑 had come back from a long time at work, he got home and got freshly changed. He hugs you from behind and gently started swinging left and right slighting dancing.

“You scared me, leaving to a mission without telling me.” You spoke hugging him.

“Dollface, don’t be afraid. I have loved for 1,000 years. I’ll love you for 1,000 more. All along, I believed I would find you (referring to when he “died”). Time has brought your heart to me. I have loved you for 1,000 years. I’ll love you for 1,000 more. I would never leave you” Dabi whispered and lightly kissed my forehead.

Authors Note: Reading it is a bit cringe but if you listen to the song then imagine him saying it, it’s comforting <3 hope u enjoyed. These that a while♡︎

[todoscript]

SEQUEL TO  “don’t forget it”

SYNOPSIS: One week after accidentally blowing you off on your date, Bakugou Katsuki seeks your forgiveness.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

genre: fluff, very little angst

word count: 5.4k+

warnings: none really accept maybe a character sustaining an injury

author’s note: hellooooo this is a very very very late part 2 of my don’t forget it drabble that many people asked for! i hope this lived up to your expectations and was worth the wait!

Since the events that led you to leave Bakugou’s room in a fit of bitterness after attempting to penetrate that thick head of his, he hadn’t been able to speak to you for a week.

It goes without saying he did his best to chase you down the hallway from his room and toward the elevator the moment he realized his faults. But at the stink eye you shot him through the minimizing slit of the elevator doors sliding into place, he knew he had no right to reconcile with you after pulling a stunt like that. Nor did he think you’d want to spare him any more words to begin with. It was clear you were done arguing with him.

“C’mon man, it’s probably best to let her cool down before you try to make up with her,” was the advice Kirishima offered when Bakugou returned to his room, disgruntled as he heavily fell back into his seat next to the desk. He did the bare minimum to acknowledge his friend’s words with a grunt before resuming tutoring the redhead, his method of teaching suddenly harsher than how it began thanks to his soured mood. He lapsed the day away by pounding Kirishima with problems upon problems against that hard noggin of his, both literally and figuratively.

At the very least, Kirishima earned himself a passing grade on their exam as a result of his hard work and their rigorous tutoring sessions. But what followed Bakugou’s and your relationship was still undetermined.

Days later and you were relentless in giving him the cold shoulder.

Bakugou was met with nothing but empty glances and blatant disinterest whenever he crossed your path. It felt like the wall you slotted between him grew another layer at each encounter, your defenses so impenetrable, it could give Kirishima’s quirk a run for its money. He couldn’t so much as utter a word in your direction without you effectively dodging every possible interaction in favor of joining another conversation nearby.

At first, Bakugou shrugged it off, calling your “childish attitude” unwarranted for something he thought was incredibly trivial. In his eyes, it was just an ordinary date at some run-of-the-mill restaurant he just happened to suggest to you because he took a liking to their spicy food. Not like it was some fancy dinner reservation serving caviar on dry toast beside a pretty, city night skyline. To him, it was nothing special.

However, as the week continued to roll by, it became clear to him how much he hurt you due to his selfishness. In a hangout with the Bakusquad, he learned that you apparently told Mina, along with the rest of the girls, everything during one of your girls’ nights. Which included the events prior to your heated argument in Bakugou’s dorm. And Mina, being just as peeved as you were at how Bakugou stood you up that day, had to let the blond know of the damage he’d done.

.

.

“I swear, Bakugou Katsuki, I know you can be an asshole sometimes—”

“Make that all the time,” Sero quietly adds in the middle of Mina’s rant while he lounges backward on Kaminari’s bed. If it wasn’t for his current dilemma, Bakugou would have elbowed him in the back of the head.

“—but this is crossing the line!” she finishes. Her arms are thrown exaggeratedly over her chest. The amber surrounded by the black scleras of her eyes points a beady look at the ash-blond crisscrossed on the floor between Kirishima and Kaminari.

“Poor girl sat there for hours waiting for you, only to find out she got blown off because you couldn’t even properly check your reminders!” She paces back and forth in the room, feet excessively stepping across the floor as she’s engulfed by the emotions she feels for her friend. “What’s worse? She comes back and finds out you’ve been doing your own thing with Kirishima the whole time!”

“Hey! It’s not like we were playing around! We were actually having a very serious study grind, thank you very much,” the redhead immediately clarifies. Though his explanation doesn’t alleviate Bakugou’s case in the slightest, who pounds his palms against the surface of the table they’ve gathered around.

“Look. I fucking get it, Ashido. I screwed up, okay?! Now what the fuck do you want me to do about it?!” he exclaims, anger overpowering his voice, but it does little to deter Mina.

“Fix it, obviously!” she quips back with equal fierceness, leaning in eye level with Bakugou.

“And how do you propose I do that, Raccoon Eyes? Hah?” Repositioning his elbow to rest on the table, he leans his cheek against his hand. “Y/n won’t even let me within five fucking feet in front of her and you still expect me ‘fix this’?”

Despite the situation weighing heavily on his shoulders, no immediate answer is bestowed upon him. That is, except the obnoxiously loud crinkle of a chip bag popping open next to Bakugou that cleaves into the scene like a record scratch. As if unable to read the mood in his own room, Kaminari fishes a chip to throw in his mouth, stirring the awkward silence into tension.

“Wow, Bakugou. I know you’re bad with girls and all, but you really messed up this time,” he remarks. His voice is slightly muffled as he munches his chips, continuing to wrinkle the bag for more. It incites a vein to swell on Bakugou’s forehead. He amasses all the willpower within him not to blast the bag of chips to ash, and the boy alongside it.

“If you dunce faces are just gonna sit here and throw salt in my wound then I’m outta here.”

“No, wait!” Kirishima catches Bakugou’s wrist before he fully lifts himself off the floor. “Come on, Bakugou, I’m sure we can think of something! We just need to put our heads together! Right, guys?” he assures. Finding it hard to deny his friend’s hardened conviction, Bakugou gives Kirishima the benefit of the doubt, albeit with slumped shoulders and a tentative raise of his brow as he slowly sits back down.

“Right! Everyone, let’s get some brainstorming done!” Mina yells encouragingly.

The atmosphere of Kaminari’s room is consumed by moderately thoughtful silence for the next ensuing minutes. A few hums pass, followed by an exchange of contemplative looks as four of the five rack their heads together to uncover a solution. The one in need of help only hunches in his seat, waiting with mild disinterest.

“Oh hey, don’t we have hero training with All Might tomorrow?” Sero is the first to comment, scooting to the edge of the blond’s bed.

“Yeah. So?”

“He said we were going to work on group exercises this time around. You know, teamwork and stuff,” he explains further.

At that, Mina snaps her fingers, the work of a brilliant idea flickering in her head. “Sero, that’s it! Tomorrow, during training, we’ll just form a group together with Y/n! After all, she’ll have to talk to Bakugou if you two are on the same team!” She claps her hands in front of her, her enthusiasm rippling through her body and shown energetically with each raise of her voice. “Then, while the rest of us ‘split up’ to cover more ground, that will be your chance to make everything better with Y/n! It’s genius!”

“You missed one fucking crucial detail, Pinky,” Bakugou gruffs. “That will only work if Y/n doesn’t join another group. The moment she sees I’m on yours, she’s not even going to hesitate making a u-turn.”

“Worry not~ I’ll just text all the girls except Y/n about the plan later and ask them to help sort everyone out!” She solves the problem with relative ease—quick as a click of her phone lighting up and finger sliding open to her messages.

“Uh, another thing though.” Kirishima raises his hand to spare his concern. “All Might says we’ll be splitting into groups of five at most, but there’s already five of us here.”

There’s a brief moment of deadpanning until Mina speaks casually. “Oh, that’s right. Kaminari. Take one for the team and make sure to join another group, ‘kay?” She settles without batting a lash.

Kaminari almost chokes on a mouthful of chips. “H-Huh?! What?! Why me?!!” he sputters.

“Because you’ve been eating chips this entire time and haven’t contributed to anything.”

“Hey, I offered the room, didn’t I?!” He tries justifying but is inevitably rejected by Mina’s wagging finger.

“Ah-ah, no complaints! Besides, it’s only one day of training. If we want this dilemma between Bakugou and Y/n fixed then we all have to play our part, got it?” Mina finalizes with a firm point of her finger nearly grazing the tip of the blond’s nose as he leans back to avoid it, eyebrows scrunched in discontent at the role he’s been reduced to.

“Alllllright!” Kirishima springs from his seat with outstretched arms and tightened fists. “Operation: Get Y/n to Forgive Explosion Boy is underway!”

“Dude, that’s a terrible name!” Sero laughs but rises from the bed to join the redhead’s cheer alongside Mina, the group already in high spirits.

Despite rolling his eyes at their swell of confidence, Bakugou does not object to the state of things. As crazy as it sounds, one could almost decipher the cusp of a grin pulling the seams of his lips as a possible sign he’s actually all for this extravagant little plan. Quite a first for Bakugou, but then again, there’s not much else he can do in this situation except rely on his pack of chumps.

Meanwhile, Kaminari grumbles something beneath the salty grit between his teeth.

“Alright, can you all get out of my room now?”

.

.

The scowl etched on your face carries a strong air of disdain that dampens the mood around your teammates considerably. Well, no one should be surprised. With Bakugou standing across from you, staring into the void of your expression, it’s to be expected that you wouldn’t be happy with this outcome.

No, “unhappy” doesn’t quite do your circumstance justice. You are beyond livid.

You feel your eyebrow twitch as you try quivering your lips to form a tinge of a smile. Unfortunately, all that quickly falls apart when you suddenly recall the disaster of last week, triggered by an accidental glance at Bakugou’s mug.

Trying to simmer down, you release a mental sigh amidst the turmoil boiling inside you.

Okay, maybe you’re over-exaggerating. Maybe you’re still just a bit too bitter for your own good and letting your emotions get to you. But in a class of twenty or some students, how did you end up in a group with the one person you were actively trying to avoid?

The moment All Might gave everyone the go-ahead to form their teams for today’s training exercise, you swiftly made a beeline toward two particular star students. Midoriya and Todoroki.

It was simple really. Your experiences throughout the school year told you Bakugou planned on staying away from his rivals when it came to teamwork, regardless of whether you’re there or not. He’s a competitive ass whose goal is to beat anyone he deems a threat in his climb to be the number one hero. It’s only logical you partner with people he adamantly dislikes to evade him.

Yet it seems fate has other plans for you today. By the time you found yourself pacing over to the two students you had in mind, they’d already gone and picked their own group members, forming teams before you could even ask.

Your nose wrinkles like you’ve taken a whiff of something rancid. Or, to be more specific, something fishy. Hooking an arm around Mina’s elbow, you drag the pink-haired girl off to a corner somewhere while tilting your head back at the three other boys.

“Ex. Cuse. Us.” Your words sound as stiff as cardboard. It comes out in practically a hiss when your eyes cross Bakugou. Once you’re positive you’re out of earshot, you whip your head at Mina.

“Mina, what the hell? When you dragged me over here to form a group with you you didn’t tell me he’d be there,” you groan. Childish and petty as you may sound, you just couldn’t fathom the idea of confronting the boy so soon.

Mina holds her hands out, ready to rationalize the whole ordeal. “C’mon Y/n, this is actually an advantage for us! With us four plus you on our team, we’re sure to knock the rest of the other guys out during training today! I mean we showed pretty good teamwork together at the sports festival, didn’t we?”

Steadying your gaze, you hold a finger below your chin as you slowly buy into the explanation. The reasoning is there. It’s hard to argue against a case like that, fully aware that being on the same team as explosion boy will easily snag good results for you and your party. ‘Cause as much of an arrogant jerk as he is, you have to admit Bakugou Katsuki knows his way around hero action like the back of his grenade gauntlets.

“Besides it’s not like you could avoid him for the entire school year. I mean, you two are in the same class. It was only a matter of time before you had to—”

“I know, Mina,” you interject, not wanting the rest of her sentence about the inevitable fall to your ear. “I just… Agh, you know what I mean!” You ruffle your hands through your hair in confliction, unsure how to piece your thoughts together.

Tilting your head over Mina’s shoulder, you sneak a glimpse at Bakugou, watching him as he’s cast to the side with the others. He’s fending himself from Kirishima and Sero’s combined jokes, that usual look on his face sending glares at the two and yelling something you could almost pick up on if you honed your ears a bit more. Surprisingly, when his eyes meet yours for a split second, he stands there looking nonchalant again. Both of you immediately avert your gazes.

Mina pats your shoulder, bringing you back to the conversation at hand. “I know, I know, but after this, I’m sure you can go back to ignoring his ass. After all, it’s just one training exercise, right?” she says. As her words deliver some relief to your ill-timed situation, you give in with a sigh.

Unbeknownst to you, turning your back to Mina and striding toward the rest of your teammates again, you miss the small glint in her yellow eyes, along with the subtle gestures she aims at the three boys, waving her pointed thumbs over your head secretively.

“So I take it you’re on the team with us, Y/n?” Sero asks when the two of you return. You nod in reply and the boy flashes his pearly whites in a wide grin that Kirishima mirrors. He nudges Bakugou at his sides which you subtly catch in the far corner of your eye.

You raise a brow suspiciously at their fidgeting, wondering why having you on their team warrants such enthusiasm, but you’re thankful for their energy at least. Someone has to lift the atmosphere for this not to be a complete drag and Bakugou surely isn’t going to be the mood maker of the group.

The blond scoffs. “Yeah, well, if you dumbasses are going to form a team with me, you’ll follow under my leadership, got it?”

The three readily agree. Though you roll your eyes, you don’t challenge his position, considering no one else is that much up to the task as he is. You’ll simply have to deal with the fact that you’re forced to tread through the day under his leadership. So with no objections, the five of you walk back to the class, gathering around the entrance of today’s battlefield.

Jumping into the activity, All Might goes about explaining today’s lesson to the four sets of teams—consisting of a group exercise to heighten teamwork. The name of the game? Capture the flag.

In short, each team will be split off into different sections of the labyrinth where their assigned flag is stationed. The objective is to not only protect your flag from being stolen but also try and steal an opposing team’s flag from their base and escort it safely to your home field. Nice and simple.

Not long after All Might’s explanation, the gate to the training grounds opens and you all scatter off into your teams, navigating through the twists of the maze to locate your flags. Once your group situated themselves onto your home base, you assemble in a huddle to devise a strategy before the game starts.

“So what’s the plan?” Kirishima asks, eyes darting around his teammates until they rest on Bakugou—the team leader. The ash-blond crosses his arms, a confident sneer plastered on his face as he’s already thought of his plan of action the moment All Might announced the mission.

“Easy. I’m going straight to the front-lines to swipe one of those dumbasses’ flags. You lot are gonna stay here and guard ours until I come back.” He delivers the strategy in a matter-of-fact tone that you quickly don’t take a liking to. Your fist curls in irritation.

“What kind of a plan is that?” you question audaciously, your voice louder than you intended. “So you’re just going to do all the work while we sit around and wait for you?”

Bakugou grits his teeth, leaning further into the huddle to direct his senseless logic. “Look, it’s the fastest and most surefire way to snag our victory without sacrificing anyone,” he says. Playing over his words again, he finds it surprising he even chooses to offer his reasoning. Because if it were anyone other than you he was arguing with, he’s certain he’d leave it at that.

Knowing the current tension between you was a result of his misjudgment, it feels only right for Bakugou to make an effort in communication. He ignores the antsy expressions belonging to the others who signal from behind you to follow along with their original plan.

You don’t seem to catch the hint, nor do you buy into his ridiculous strategy. “Oh, so you’re that confident you won’t get taken out by the other team then?” you quip. As a result, Bakugou’s brows tighten at your noncompliance.

“I know how to take care of myself. You of all people should realize by now that no other nerd in this whole damn class can outmatch me.”

“And what about an ambush? How do you know they simply won’t anticipate your strategy and see you coming?” You fire another counterargument and the boy purses his lips, beginning to find this quarrel spiraling into a headache rather than a step in the direction of reconciliation.

While Sero and Kirishima stand there, shifting their heads back and forth throughout the fiery exchange, Mina speedily reacts. The gears of that cunning mind of hers click into place again.

“You know what, Y/n’s right. Why don’t you two go together then?” she proposes boldly. Her suggestion catches you by complete surprise. You veer in her direction with an incredulous look blown in your eyes.

Before you can open your mouth to protest, the two boys standing beside her immediately back her up.

“Hm, Mina has a point. The chances of you falling into a trap wouldn’t be much if you two work together,” Sero remarks.

Kirishima follows, “Yeah, you guys can watch each other’s backs while going to collect the flag! It’s safer to go in a pair than by yourselves I’d say.”

The three seem adamant about the idea, sharing equally content expressions, and with all that said, you find it hard to dig yourself out of this situation. In a way, you practically volunteered yourself after questioning Bakugou’s plan and doubting his abilities. The group only feels it’s right you come along as his support since you clearly must be worried about his well-being.

Pushing your objections down your throat, you reluctantly agree to tag along with the blond. What you find exceptionally shocking is how Bakugou doesn’t oppose these new conditions. Given his hard-headed temperament, you thought he would’ve scoffed and turned his back at being paired without notice, but no such things were happening here.

...Odd.

“Tch, whatever. Let’s get going then,” is all he gives, starting in the direction into the urban area of the training course.

You trail behind him. “Coming, Boom-Boy…” you mutter the last bit but don’t suppress the urge to let your words be known. Bakugou turns his head and gives you a look akin to an uptight six-year-old you just offended at your local playground. You shrug in response, a corner of your lip pinched upward. He doesn’t pick a fight over the nickname, but his eyebrows remain fiercely slanted, and coupled with his heavy steps and the excessive swinging of his gauntlet-clad arms, it tells you of his emotional constipation plain as day.

.

.

The journey toward the other teams’ flags is cloaked in strained silence and the physical gap between you two does not encourage any of you to speak up. At this point, both of your levels of annoyance for each other have mellowed out. Now it just feels... awkward—strange. You don’t see his expression, nor does he see yours. It feels like you’re being left in the dark, having only the back of Bakugou’s head to stare at the entirety of the way, and though you supposedly have his back, Bakugou feels precarious in this state as he trudges along at the front, not daring to turn his head to cross your eyes.

The ambiance is reminiscent of the ancient Greek legend of Orpheus and Eurydice. Where Bakugou walks through the depths of the underworld, seeking you out in hopes you’d join his side once again. If he turns around now and spills his thoughts to you too soon, he fears that your forgiveness would be whisked away, thoroughly beyond his reach, and replaced with your promises of retribution.

That was the eloquent version of the situation anyway. To put it bluntly, Bakugou was just impatient as hell to say something to you. The silence suffocates him to the point where the words are nearly about to be squeezed out of his throat, but he bites his lip to snuff out the urges.

The more he keeps them in, the more fidgety he becomes, hands itchy and mouth trembling with grit between his teeth. The idea of not letting his voice be heard was something Bakugou detested. Mainly because it was already such a challenge to even keep his mouth shut, given his fiery attitude and lack of patience.

Man, what the hell am I hesitating for? he asks himself, that outspoken side of him spurring him on.

Ah, screw the uncertainty, he thinks. If he doesn’t say anything now, then he won’t get to say anything ever.

Bakugou stops in his tracks, turning his head. Here goes nothing,

“Hey, Y/n, I–”

“Katsuki–”

Words collide into each other, jumbled and incoherent, which take you two by surprise as you meet each other’s furrowed gazes. It’s quiet as you both piece your way through this, eyes trained like you haven’t seen each other in months when the reality is that a week of bitterness has somehow made you act like strangers. The bewildered look crossing his features is foreign to you; you’ve never quite seen Bakugou as taken aback as he is now.

“You first,” you grant before Bakugou could mix up your words again. Even being given permission, the blond still isn’t sure what to say, his thoughts lost on him the moment his voice clashed with yours. He takes a deep breath, calming his senses and steadying his mind for what he wants to convey.

“Look, Y/n, I don���t know how to put this as nicely as I can,” he begins, tone consistent yet wary, assessing your expression, “but I know I fucked up and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you there all by yourself. I shouldn’t… have blown you off like that and forgotten about you.” He delivers this bluntly—honestly—as open as a boy of his nature can muster with arms spread out, willingly exposing him to his faults and your reprisals.

Looking at you, he finds your eyes are cast to the floor, assuming to be reflecting on his words carefully. After some deliberation, you come across the vermillion in his eyes.

“Frankly, I haven’t entirely forgiven you just yet. But I will say that despite how I’ve been acting, I’m not as mad at you as you think,” is what you give, and Bakugou would be lying to himself if he didn’t achieve relief at your statement. He mentally releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding throughout the exchange. However, you aren’t done yet.

“I just want you to understand what moments like those mean to me. It’s during that time where I can share my feelings and learn more about you—understand who you are,” you say. Bakugou latches onto every word. “And it goes both ways, you know. It’s hard to want to stay in a relationship with someone who doesn’t make an effort to make time for you.” It’s obvious you aim that comment at him as Bakugou’s eyes soften slightly hearing it. His calloused, glove-clad hands wrap into his palms. Man, he really was a jerk.

“Still… I know you’re making an effort to be sincere and that you’re genuinely sorry for what happened, especially considering how the others seem to have set this whole conversation up, right?” Bakugou winces over the Bakusquad’s ploy coming to light and makes a note not to follow along next time unless those dummies can scrape up a more elaborate plan.

Despite that, he presses on, “So, what does this mean?” A smile settles on the curve of your lips, sensing his impatience as his voice hastens you along.

“Well…” you begin, speech drawn out in anticipation as you step toward him to where Bakugou follows your movements. That is until he catches a few shadowy figures shifting around atop the small building behind you. Before you can open your mouth to continue, his instincts flare to life.

“Hey, look out!” he exclaims, already acting on his warnings by lunging forward to push you out of the way. Your breaths draw back into your lungs, your body thrust abruptly into the opposite direction. Landing on your butt, you wince at both the shock and the pain, but your whines desist when you witness Bakugou taking a force to the head as a result of coming to your aid.

“Katsuki!” you yell, immediately getting off the ground to rush to his side, but he can’t find it in himself to respond. Afflicted with a substantial blow to the crown of his head, his whole being throbs and his vision spins.

Fuck, is Y/n, okay? is the first thing on his mind, ignoring the liquid trickling down his forehead. His question is answered upon turning his head to meet your anxious expression—your eyes wide and lips quivering as they move to say words he can’t exactly make out beneath the pounding sensations consuming his mind. As he feels a set of arms wrap around him, he tries discerning his surroundings to form a reply, but can only capture bits and pieces.

“—tsuki! ...old… n!”

“...god—! I’m so dead!”

A sputter of words tangling together is the last he hears before his vision fades to black.

.

.

The next time Bakugou awakes, his eyes slowly sever open to come face-to-face with a blurry white ceiling. The lights assault his vision as his senses take time to adjust, unraveling the environment to realize he’s laying on a bed—a hospital bed to be precise.

He attempts lifting himself but is met with retaliation in the form of his pulsating head which he immediately flinches at. His hand goes to rub his scalp to soothe the ache and he finds bandages wrapped tightly around him. “What the hell happened?” The last he remembers is traversing the urban area with you for the capture the flag mission before finally confronting the subject that had been plaguing your minds for a week now. After that, he caught sight of some object descending toward you and before he had even realized it, his feet had moved on their own. Next thing he knows, he’s waking up in the nurse’s office with a headache from hell.

Wait, what about you? Were you okay? Surely, he had to have pushed you out of the way in time, right?

His head moves quicker than it should’ve, revealing the other hospital bed in the room to be unoccupied, vacant. He sighs and his relief is further bolstered by the door to the nurse’s room opening to unveil you unharmed with only your heavy look of concern troubling him.

“Katsuki, oh thank god, you’re okay!” you say, quickly pacing over to his side with a glass of water in hand. You leave it at his bedside, sitting before him. Gauging your appearance up and down, Bakugou tries making out even the smallest details.

“You aren’t hurt?”

You’re appalled he would ask this despite clearly being the one patched up in a hospital bed right now, and likely sporting some serious head trauma.

“Of course I am, you’re the one that lunged forward to protect me,” you tell him. Bakugou looks down at his lap, figuring that was what happened, but hearing it from you comforted him more than he thought. However, his comfort is wretched from him by the intense pressure persisting in his skull. Seeing him in pain, you urge him to lay down and rest.

“How the hell did I end up here anyway?”

You fidget with your fingers, hesitating on answering. At that, the blond lifts a brow, suspicious.

“Mineta… accidentally dropped a rock on your head.”

“...You gotta be joking, right?”

Bakugou leers hard, finding the reason he was out of commission to be a damn pebble hitting his head a detriment to his pride. And because of Mineta of all fucking people. Still, if he hadn’t acted as quickly as he did, you would’ve been the one to meet his fate instead, and he weighed this outcome to better than the former.

Then you explain how the teachers had temporarily intervened to bring his unconscious body to the nurse’s, where the old lady went about tending to his injury. Said she did her job and all he needed was to rest and let her quirk take fuller effect within that time.

“So did we win the game?” He switches the topic to today’s mission of capture the flag that was cut short on his end.

You shake your head, but at least grant him the benefit of knowing Mineta’s team ended up placing last. At that, his eyelids shut and he crosses his arms behind his bandaged head. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t my intention to win anyway.”

You give him a look. “...Liar.”

Bakugou cracks an eye open at you. “Hah? What do you mean I’m a fucking liar?”

“I know you, Katsuki. I dated you, after all. And the Katsuki that I dated is an arrogant, competitive jerk who thinks of being the best above all else.” Bakugou scrunches his nose, wondering what you’re implying through your... overly frank descriptions. “Still… he’s sweet and caring at times… and reliable when he needs to be,” you continue, tone softening that draws Bakugou in, “And the kind of guy I want to give a second chance to.”

Absorbing your words, Bakugou blinks. “S-Seriously?” He doesn’t mean to stutter, but the offer catches him off-guard. He replays what you just said. That’s what he heard, right? A second chance?

You giggle at how uncharacteristically astonished he sounds. “Yes, seriously.”

“Does that mean you forgive me for what happened last week?”

You hum between pursed lips in playful contemplation. “Well, maybe you can redeem yourself by going on another date with me then?”

Hearing your proposal, a wide grin arcs his lips, edging into a smirk.

“That’s it? Well, I can definitely fucking do that,” he states, confidence rejuvenating his body at the new, hopeful chance before him.

“Oh, just one more thing though,” you suddenly add.

“What?”

“We are not going to that Chinese Restaurant again.”

[royalelusts]

Could I have a request for upper demon moons with s/o gender neutral in a date in modern world ?

A/N: Here you go anon! I hope you enjoy these.

Kokushibo

I feel like he really enjoys quiet places

A day at the book store is usually you twos go to date

Just helping each other pick out books

Or finding really funny ones to make fun off

Another date you two go on regularly is to the park with your dog

Just watching you play fetch with her is enough to make Kokushibo laugh to himself

His favorite part about the walks though dont happen until the sun goes down

You two were walking hand in hand through the part

“Hey is something wrong?”

Your question caught him off guard. “Why would you say that love?”

“Well you keep checking your watch like somethings going to happen.”

Knowing you caught him he sighed leading you toward the tunnel of trees

As soon as the clock hit 9 the fairy lights in the tunnel turned on

“Oh so this is why you were in such a hurry.”

Pulling out his phone he put on a slow song and held out his hand

“May I?” “You may.”

And you two danced in the tunnel like you were the only people left on the planet

Doma

Did somebody say shopping?

He will buy you anything and everything

Oh you want that new book that your favorite author just dropped?

We’re picking it up right now

You want those shoes?

On it

Want the new video game that’s really hard to get?

Already in the bag

He absolutely loves to take you to buy clothes the most though

He pushes you out of your comfort zone in a good way

“Come on out darling. Let me see~”

“Doma I don’t know...”

“Nonsense. I bet you look amazing.”

After taking a deep breath you walked out of the changing room

“Look at yoooouuuuuu.” He squealed. “Do a turn for me won’t you.”

Rolling your eyes you complied to his wishes

“Ah you just look amazing. Yep we’re buying it.”

Yeah dates with Douma are a real confidence boost

Akaza

His dates are usually very chill

He’ll walk around town with you all day if he could

Doing whatever you wanted to do

But there is one time of year that is absolutely necessary for a date

And that my friends is fair time

You two wear matching outfits cause you’re that couple

He definitely makes it his mission to go on all the rides

Even the pirate ship

“Babe just one more time.”

You’ve had to pull him away from things more than once

You two were walking around having just got done eating when a certain clown started flying insults at your boyfriend

“Oh look at the big tough guy.” The clown teased

Of course Akaza ignored him cause he’s got self control like that😌

You two were walking away from the clown until he made a comment

“Oh I see you got a nice looking s/o with you. I would love to take them on a date.”

Yeah all self control out the window

Akaza walked straight up to the dunk booth and paid the vendor

“Come on big guy. Lemme take your lovely s/o on a date.”

Akaza smiled at the clown before hitting the target sending the other in the water

When Akaza came back you laughed

“Seems he got under your skin~”

“I can’t stand assholes like him.”

“Haha my hero.” You say giving him a kiss as a reward

Nakime

Dates with her are somewhat difficult

Don’t get her wrong, regardless of what you pick she’ll love it

But you really wish she would have some input sometimes

But that aside, stay home dates are more her style

Cuddling on the couch watching a movie, cooking together, self care nights?

The whole package

Absolutely loves when you play with her hair

Makes her soft

Lo-fi music played in the background as you typed away on your computer

Nakime, who just got out the shower, got behind you resting her head on your shoulder

“Rough day?” All she did was hum a yes

“You know what that means~” You turned around hugging her tightly

“Self care night!” She let out a soft chuckle at your antics

Hantengu

Like Kokushibo, his ideal date would be someplace quiet

But with less people

So he always has weird places to take you

There was this bookstore in this part of town very little people knew about

Or rooftop cafe that served your drinks in the strangest cups

Your favorite thing is when he find small events to take you to

“Sweetheart...I found this new cafe. Would you like to go with me?”

“Of course I will!”

The cafe was a little bigger than the ones you usually went to but not by much

There were plants everywhere, chairs were shaped like teacup mugs, and there were teddy bears of different sizes at each table

“Tengu this is adorable”

“It makes me happy you like it” He gave your hand a soft squeeze before deciding to head to the counter

Gyokko

He’d probably take you to an art museum

Since he himself is an artist he goes there to analyze insult the art pieces

“My art looks way better than whatever this is”

He said that about the Mona Lisa….THE MONA LISA

I actually see him to be a really respected artist in the art world

So he’s constantly being invited to art galleries

Of course he brings you along

Before you two met he went alone and got bored really quickly

None of the art truly caught his eye

But with you there?

He has the absolute time of his life

You two were staring at a painting

“...what is it supposed to be?” You asked tilting your head

“It’s fucking atrocious that’s what it is.”

You laughed at your boyfriend’s comment

The artist having overheard you two didn’t like the comments you were making

He was so fed up he went right up to your boyfriend

“You don’t know the first thing about art. How would you know what looks good?”

Already knowing where this was going you unhooked your arm from your boyfriend

“How would I know? Anyone with eyes can see that this doesn’t deserve to be here. These brush strokes aren’t even going the same way and you have the audacity to yell at me for not knowing anything about art?!”

(please know I know nothing about art so I’m sorry if I offended anyone🥲)

The artist having been embarrassed in front of everyone quickly exited the room

Gyokko wrapped his arm around your waist again smiling

“Ready to go love?”

Kaigaku

Dates with Kaigaku will either be super chill or chaotic

He once took you both to a rage room

It may or may not have ended with either of you crying

Another time he took you to paint pottery

It really depends on how he’s feeling that day

Tonight was going to be a chill night though

You two were laying on a mountain cuddled up on a blanket staring at the stars

“Babe look it’s orion.”

After a few seconds of him not saying anything you raised your brow “Babe?”

You looked over to see him staring at you

“Sorry I was just looking at the prettiest star ever”

You laughed at his horrible pickup line and pecked his forehead

“Thanks babe.”

Gyutaro

(ah the love of my life)

He’s not a guy who would take you to an extravagant restaurant or to walk around in a crowd

Unless that’s really want you want of course

Even then it would take a lot of convincing

You know that he doesn’t see himself that highly

(no baby you’re literally perfect please don’t talk down on yourself🥺)

He would much rather stay at his/your house and vibe

But if you REALLY REALLY want to go out he’ll arrange something

He has a spot he goes to that overlooks the city

It lets him forget his responsibilities for a while

Gyutaro: i’m outside get dressed

You raised your brow at the text but got dressed regardless

Outside he was waiting next to his motorcycle staring at the sky

“Sooo what’re we doing?”

“It’s a surprise. Here.”

He held out one of his hoodies and a helmet

You two drove for about 30 minutes before he stopped on a cliff

“We’re here.”

You walked up to the edge in awe

“Taro it’s….it’s amazing”

He hummed wrapping his arms around you resting his head on your shoulder

Yeah this is all he could ask for

Daki

Did someone say parties?

She 100% sees going to parties together as dates

I mean you get to see her in an amazing outfit

Who wouldn’t want to see that?

Now if this is your scene then there’s nothing to fix

If it’s not you’re going to have to explain that to her

You would probably take her to a flea market

Daki look around the building in utter disgust

“What the fuck? Why are we here?”

“Babe please just trust me.” You gave her a soft smile

Remembering this was supposed to be a 'date' she begrudgingly goes along with it

First you take her to the food section

She’s never seen food like this before so she’s a little hesitant

“...what is that?”

“It’s ox tail. Try it.” Hesitant she ate a piece and omg she absolutely loved it

You walk around some more until you get to the section with the perfume and jewelry

She’s absolutely amazed. They are so many different sizes with different colors.

“I want them all.”

“Babe no-”

[san-fics]

In The Wrong Bed?

Maribat: Daminette, Robinette, Damibug, Robibug

Ao3

[Author’s Note: In this story when the morning comes, it comes everywhere despite time zone]

Part 3

Marinette was nervous and furious all day.

For the third day now, she and Chat Noir had been desperately trying to find traces of akuma on their patrols, but their actions didn’t bring any results.

Sometimes, Alya told her that she had found more cases of waking up in other people’s beds on the internet. Especially frankly shocking were the cases in which married people woke up with strangers, or worse, with people they knew…

But based on those cases the heroes couldn’t identify where and when the akuma appeared, since the affected people lived in completely different places, and even in other cities.

By evening, Marinette had an insidious plan how she would no longer end up in an unfamiliar house with a cute psychopath in bed.

Her plan was simple — she would just not go to bed.

Yes! She will sew all night, or read… no, then she will surely fall asleep! Best of all, she tried on all the dresses that she sewed in order to see which of them could be altered and improved.

Yes, then she won’t have to go to bed, and even put her time to good use.

Great plan!

What could go wrong?..

*

Marinette woke up in comfortable warmth. All her skin seemed to be smiling from a pleasant sensation. This much comfort could be only in her own bed, she thought sleepily.

Finally.

No scary huge house. No good-looking, but aggressive boy chasing her around it.

She sighed happily and smiled, digging deeper into her warm blanket.

The blanket in fact was too warm…

“At least now we can say with certainty that the girl exists.” An unfamiliar male voice whispered in English.

“Which means we don’t have proof that he is crazy.” Another slightly younger voice whispered back. “Which is sad by itself…”

“And after that he wants us to believe he didn’t bring her here by himself?” The third voice laughed stiflingly.

Marinette opened her eyes wide and saw the same foreign room around.

She tried to get up, but the warm blanket, which turned out to be a warm, strong arm around her waist, wouldn’t let her go. She made a jerk and at the same moment the hand disappeared and she jumped out of bed.

Marinette saw three young men standing at the entrance to the room and carefully looking at her.

“Who are you”!” She exclaimed in English.

“Uhh…” The youngest boy blushed a little.

Why did he?..

Marinette looked down at herself and realized she was standing in just a set of underwear. She must have fallen asleep on the lounge after taking off one of the dresses and before putting on the next one.

So was it a skin to skin sleeping hug in which she was so comfortable waking up today?.. The memory of this recent embrace gave her a pleasant warmth, but the thought itself horrified her at what it implied.

Luckily Marinette didn’t have time to think about it.

She searched around for some life-saving clothes and grabbed a green T-shirt that lay on an armchair near the bed and quickly put it on. The T-shirt reached her mid-thigh and the girl decided that this was enough, given that nudity was not her biggest problem now...

“We are Dami’s brothers.” Said the older man, politely giving her time to get dressed, if you could call it that.

“Didn’t he tell you about us?” The tallest guy smirked.

“Typical.” The youngest added.

Marinette looked at the boy in pajama pants and with a naked torso, who also jumped from his bed and was staring at her from the opposite side of it.

“I don’t even know her!” He (Dami?) protested.

“Am I getting old?” The tallest guy said. “In my time it was considered polite to get to know each other before waking up in the bed together.” He obviously teased them.

“Ahaha!” The oldest one laughed. “I knew it was gonna be fun to babysit you while Bruce and Alfred are away.

“I didn’t drink enough coffee for this...” The youngest of the three grumbled.

“I waited all night without sleep to find out how she sneaks into my room!” Demi yelled.

“I didn’t sneak into your room!” Marinette protested.

“Are you french?” The not-enough-coffee-guy asked. “I mean, judging by your accent…”

“I…” Marinette looked at the men, trying to figure out if they were dangerous. But they looked pretty friendly. “I am.” She replied, thinking it was safe information to share.

“I gotta say,” the tallest guy said, “Baby-brat has a taste.”

Marinette looked back at the boy at the other side of the bed and noticed a faint blush on his cheeks. But before she even started to think what it was implying, the oldest man spoke softly again.

“So how did you get into Damian’s room then?” He asked.

“Yes. How?!” Damian demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I… I’m not sure.” Marinette admitted. “I woke up here…” She convulsively considered whether they could be trusted and how much. “But I think it’s because of the akuma that hit me. I heard people wake up in different places. But I’m not sure how this happens…” She said at the end.

“At least they fit one another.” The younger guy whispered to the oldest, covering his mouth with his hand. “They are both crazy…”

“What is akuma?” The older one asked, glancing at his brother disapprovingly.

How can they not know what an akuma is? – Marinette thought, unless...

“I’m not in Paris, am I?” She asked.

“How can you even pretend you don’t know where you are?!” Damian snapped at her. “You somehow got in here and somehow escaped from here twice already!”

“Don’t be so rude, Dami.” The nice one put him down.

“Yeah, if you want her to appear in your bed again.” The tallest one smirked.

“I... uh... I can’t tell you how I got out of your house.” Marinette admitted. “But judging by your speech, I‘m in the US.”

“So you aren’t from here.” The coffee-guy asked. “You actually live in Paris?”

“Yes.” Marinette sighed.

There was no point in denying it. Even if she lied that she lives in the US, she would still have to run from them using her miraculous, it is unlikely that they would just let her go.

“So what’s that akuma-thing you told us about?” The polite guy asked again.

“It’s a person infected with the magic of the Parisian villain Shadowmoth.” Marinette explained shortly. “Can I go now?” She tried.

“You are not going anywhere until you tell us exactly how and why you entered my room!” Damian stated firmly.

“I just told you: I don’t know!” Marinette turned to the oldest guy, who seemed the softest of four. “Can I at least go to the bathroom?”

“Sure!” He smiled brightly at her. “Hey Timmy, would you like to show the lady a bathroom? With NO windows?”

“Hey!” The coffee-Tim exclaimed. “Why should I show it to her?! She’s Damian’s girlfriend!”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Damian yelled.

“I’m not his girlfriend!” Marinette yelled at the same time with him.

“Right, when I don’t show up for breakfast and my brothers go to check what happened to me, they also find me in bed cuddling with my not-girlfriend all the time.” Tim muttered under his breath.

Both Damian and Marinette blushed from his comment.

“Oh, but look!” The tall guy teased again. “They already began agreeing on something!”

“That’s a start.” The nice guy smirked. “But I’m still not sure about leaving this nice lady…” He paused and turned to Marinette. “What’s your name by the way?” He asked.

“Marinette.” She replied in a reflex, not having time to think whether it was dangerous or not.

“I’m Dick,” He introduced himself. “And those are Jason and Tim.” He nodded at Damian. “And you already know Dami quite closely.”

Marinette blushed again and stopped herself from turning around to see if the comment had affected her bed-mate just as much. She doesn’t care at all! Not a drop! Why would she even!

“So as I was saying,” Dick continued. “I’m still not sure that leaving Marinette with Damian alone will not lead to serious physical consequences.”

And although he clearly spoke of a potential threat, Dick’s jocular tone made it difficult to take the danger seriously and Marinette somehow imagined very different possible physical consequences of being alone with a muscular green-eyed handsome boy…

She shook her head, banishing the memory of his pleasant embrace.

He’s a psycho, she reminded herself, she needs to lock herself in the bathroom, transform and get out of here as soon as possible.

[part 1]

[part 2] ... [part 4]

Chapter 4 in available on my Patreon

Chapter Preview:

“Marinette?” A familiar voice interrupted her. Marinette whirled around to face the closet.

.

Daminette Tag list (ask me to join)

@mochegato

@thepapillonnoir

@snow-leopard-777

@loves-books

@turiankitty

@toodaloo-kangaroo

@readingismyoxygen

@aespades

@starlightshield

@apasponsor

@iloontjeboontje

@ritacrow-blog

@hammalammadamdam

@yuriyuhitsu

@darth-nikeon

@trippingovermyfeet

@adrestar

@maanae

@kittyditzydancer

@imchaotic-dontmindme

@aliveforbatfamilymembers

@roselynfey

@kazuristar

@mimissss-s

@scarlixy

@angelwreckedd

@achaoticmess1

@maribatforever

@hammalammadamdam

@intercoursefluids

@unoriginalmess

@psychicdelusionwerewolf

@literaryhiraeth

@solangelo252

@jayphoenic

@ledalasombra

@alyssadeliv

@prettylittlebutterflie

@wolfy-kat

@uknowninglydead

[tryingmyves]

Girl All the Bad Guys Want

okay i won’t lie, i remembered this song exists and i could not get the idea of a badboy!iida out of my head

this is a bit self indulgent because i was definitely that girl in hs lmaoooo

anyhow hopefully y’all like it too

PAIRING: Iida x Y/N

cw: badboy!iida

✨ tagging the iida army: @coleluuviida + @saturnity + @peachiileaf ✨

You have a reputation at UA, mostly with the male students. It isn’t something you put effort into maintaining or even something you cultivated on purpose, but you’ve gained some notoriety amongst your peers. At first glance, you don’t seem too different from your female classmates. You certainly don’t feel superior or disparate from them, but you’ve also never quite felt like you belonged with them. You don’t excel at being soft and demure, and you refuse to shrink yourself down in order to make others more comfortable in your presence. You spit in the face of all the things typically expected of a lady. And frankly, you’re more than a bit awkward when you hangout with the girls from your class. They always invite you to their sleepovers and shopping trips, and try to engage you in their conversations, but you’re always worried about saying the wrong thing or accidentally offending them. You’re never really able to add anything of value when they talk about the boys in your class - a recurring subject. Mina knows everything about everyone in class; she loves to gossip. It’s like her horns serve as antennae and pick up on all the juiciest secrets. She is always interrogating the other girls about their crushes but you just never really felt that way about anyone. Honestly, you find the conversations about who likes who to be a bit boring. You typically end up hanging out with Bakugo, Kirishima, and the rest of that squad. Boys are just easier to be around. They don’t get offended at your crass comments and your sometimes gruff disposition looks outright friendly next to Bakugo. 

Your undeniably attractive appearance, unquestionable skill with your quirk, and nonchalant attitude have landed you in the sights of several of your fellow UA students. You are the embodiment of do no harm, but take no shit and something about you is intoxicating. Mina frequently jokes with you about how the entirety of the Bakusquad is duking it out to see who gets to ask you out first. You roll your eyes at her, convinced she’s imagining things. But in reality you’re just clueless. As cliché as it is, you really are the girl all the bad guys want. Too bad you didn’t want them back. 

What you didn’t expect with your tough exterior, competitive nature, and tendency to slack off on class work is that class rep, Tenya Iida, would want you too. God, not even he expected it but he had fallen hard. You frustrate him. You’re just as smart as Yaomomo or Todoroki, but you skate by in class. You don’t outwardly disrespect authority, but you won’t blindly accept orders just because someone says so. He thinks the rap metal music you listen to while training is abrasive and doesn’t understand why all your favorite artists sound like they’re mad at their fathers. He finally gave up on lecturing you on the fact that the fishnets you wear with your uniform are not regulation and he was still wrestling with how he felt about learning you were one of the students caught at a dorm party with alcohol a few weeks ago.  More than anything he hates that you’ve so effortlessly got him pining for you and you haven’t even noticed. Iida loves the rules! Order, structure, regulation - these are the things that Iida covets, so why was he craving the taste of your lips on his?

He is tired of silently lusting after you, and decides he’s going to try actively pursuing you instead. Tenya thinks that you like “bad boys” so as foreign as the concept is to him, he concludes he’s going to have to take on that persona. He starts off simply, making a playlist of songs he’s heard you blaring from your dorm. He eases himself into your music, starting with Linkin Park and Korn, before adding Incubus, Machine Head, and even some ICP to the mix. He’s hesitant at first… the music just sounds so hostile and aggressive to him. But soon he finds himself relishing the fierce energy the songs give him. Tenya gets why you train to this sort of music, his workouts becoming more intense than ever. They end in his chest heaving and his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His muscular calves throb vigorously after every run and he feels powerful. It gives him a new found confidence that he strategically channels into his interactions with you. For class today, Aizawa simply instructs you all to pair off and spar. You’re about to ask Sero to partner with you when he approaches. 

“Y/N. You’re with me.” Tenya doesn’t ask, he’s telling you you’re his partner. 

A small sound of surprise leaves your throat at his unexpected forcefulness, but you don’t question it. You just nod, giving a small shrug to Sero before following the class rep to a vacant spot of the training gym. 

You look over your challenger, rolling your head on your shoulders a few times to loosen up. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you. You asked for this,” you smirk, bringing your fists up in a defensive stance. 

Before you can even blink, Tenya has closed the 10 foot gap between you, sweeping a long leg beneath yours in a circular motion, knocking you off your feet. You land with a thud on your back and the air in your lungs is forced out with a nmph. 

“Just try to keep up, Y/N.”

Oh, it’s on. Previously you found Iida’s flustered demeanor around you endearing. But this new, assertive, almost cocky disposition is irresistible. His momentum propels him in a circle while he stays anchored in place on his massive left thigh. As he finishes turning through the motion he reaches forward hoping to pin your arms to the ground, but you’re just getting started. You plant the palms of your hands on either side of your face and kick up from the ground with a boost from your quirk. The added flow of air thrusts your legs up and over your head so you are now standing once more. You are sure that the soles of your shoes connect with Iida’s face during your arch through the air. 

“It’s not going to be that easy, specs,” you taunt. Now it’s your turn. 

You launch yourself at Tenya, closing the small gap between the pair of you in an instant. He extends a locked arm to block your approach but you simply dip your head, gliding underneath and down the length of his limb until you are just one step behind him. You pivot on your right foot as you swing your left arm across your body. Your open palm lands just between Tenya’s shoulder blades, your natural momentum accompanied by a gale force wind. The impact knocks him off his feet and sends him toppling forward. Tenya’s speed is unmatched and his large frame is covered in tone muscle, but with the addition of the very air around you, your strikes are ferocious. Your air quirk aids in your mobility, but you’ve used it to master hand to hand combat. You dominate in tight quarters, so you just need to keep Tenya close. He’s already returned to his feet, calculating his next move. The moment ‘s hesitation creating an opening for your right shin to collide with his side. Tenya growls through gritted teeth in response to the blow and the feral vibrations send shivers down your spine. Instead of recoiling from your attack Tenya’s hands clamp onto your shoulders like vices. His brows are furrowed in smug determination, and he practically sneers “Recipro Burst!”

You are propelled backwards rapidly, the gym surrounding you flashing by in a blur, the only thing you're able to see clearly is the dark glint in Tenya’s eyes and the zealous grin on his lips. You try to activate your quirk to counter his momentum, but it’s futile, he is pushing you backwards so quickly you can’t manipulate any of the air whizzing past you. Your back is suddenly pinned to the back wall of the gym, Tenya’s large hands holding your slender wrists to the concrete wall. He places a muscular thigh between your legs so his left knee is pressed to the wall as well - he has you completely immobilized. Both of your chests are heaving, your faces no more than three inches from one another. You don’t know what possesses you but you smash your lips to his, desperate to close the miniscule gap between you.

Tenya’s body stiffens in shock for a moment before he opens his mouth, snaking his tongue past your lips. You wrench your hands from his grip, placing one on the back of his neck and tangling the other in the mess of his navy hair. You didn’t expect the class rep to be such an amazing kisser, but when he catches your bottom lip between his teeth you can’t contain the soft moan that escapes you. Tenya swallows your noises and begins to pull away. Your lips hungrily follow after him, but you’re stopped when one of his calloused hands rests on your neck with just enough force to hold you in place. 

“Such public displays of desire are unbecoming of future heroes, Y/N. Come to my room this evening and we can finish this privately.” And with that, Tenya separates himself from you completely, already settling into a stance that signals he is ready to continue sparring.    

[anaiswriterr]

 For the sake of our relationship

Pairing: Fem!ProHeroReader x Hawks

Rating: M

Authors Note: This story contains subjects that may not be suitable for a younger audience, warning: Blood, fighting, swearing, the word rape is used and sexual content. This is an angst story. Inspired from the story, “I’m your Salvation.” Also the readers quirk is: Electricity, you can control electricity. Hero name: Elytra. Also this story is extremely long!

Synopsis: When Y/N loses her quirk and possibly her career all in one day, she’s faced with hard decisions, and grief. Keigo just wants to help but what if you just don’t want his help? Will the relationship crumble?

 He didn’t know if it were the cuts, scrapes, burns, gashes and the deep dark bruises that covered your body, that shook him to the core. Or if it were the ventilator that was placed in your throat that made him boil and shake in his seat in anger.

   His lips pressed into a thin line, rubbing the tears that spilled over his cheeks away every few minutes. His uncontrollable sobs that shook his body, and the constant whispers of encouragement he’d give to you through his choked sobs.

   “Come on kid, just fight it.”

   He held onto your hand, rubbing over the bruise on your wrist lightly, waiting for you to wake up. His teary eyes wondered all over your beaten body and landed on your neck. A large imprint of a hand was bruised, painting the area in black and blue, the cuts all over your face only made him want to go out and find whoever did this to you.

   You had been gone on a mission for only a couple of weeks, saying, “Stop worrying, I’ll come back home like normal and you’re gonna see how silly you were.” You’d teased, sticking out your tongue at him and kissing him goodbye. He knew the work you two did was dangerous, sometimes one of you would come in the early hours of the morning with bruises and cuts that weren’t there the other night. And sometimes it’d be burn marks and for him shorter wings. But he never knew it’d be like this, to the point you were in a hospital room fighting for your life after a mission that went horribly wrong. Nobody had word of the incident, and the Hero Commission would make sure of that till you were fully healed.

   It only made Keigo angrier. The fact that they only thought of your return, and jumping right back into hero work.. Not giving a damn if you were just holding on by just a thread. Life was different now. It had been now, two weeks since you were admitted into the hospital. Keigo would only leave your side to shower and come back, dismissing all his hero work and leaving it to his sidekicks; instructing them to only call him if it’s absolutely necessary.

   He’d only hope that he wouldn’t have to leave. Your state had only seemed to worsen, it was later when a doctor had come in to discuss an important and life changing conversation with Keigo.

   There was one word that rung continuously in his brain, one word that made him sit down.

   “Quirkless.”

   ***

   You wished you were dead.

   You wished your body would’ve given out and that you would’ve died. Not wake up in a lifeless hospital, with guilt rushing over your body. Staring lifelessly at the blank ceiling, you woke up after another week of being admitted into the hospital. You didn’t cry, you didn’t mutter not even a single word.

   Your voice wouldn’t let you.

   It was hoarse and raw, your body ached and throbbed and yet you still didn’t cry. You couldn’t, they’d dwell but wouldn’t fall 

   You didn’t even acknowledge your longtime boyfriend Keigo; sitting there.

   ‘What kinda hero am I if I couldn’t even save those people?’

   The screaming and yelling, the sound of innocent children being slaughtered. It was your fault, you couldn’t save them.

   And now it appears you can’t ever save people.

   When the doctor informed you about no longer having your quirks you remained lifeless, laying your body right back down and turning to face the wall.

   “Leave.” You mumbled.

   “Babe, you need to listen he’s-“

   You gripped at your pillow even tighter, “Tell him to get the fuck out! Or I’ll tell you too next!” You shouted into the pillow, not looking at his hurt expression. He looked towards the Doctor, with an apologetic look. And returned back to sitting next to you, watching you. It was the first time you expressed something, it was cruel.

   Innocent people died and now you’re quirkless? You don’t even know how, it was all so fast. So was it a sick game, to be forever punished. But you guess you deserved it, karma after all.

   You haven’t spoken a single word to Keigo, not wanting to face him as the ‘Pro hero who couldn’t do her job.’ It was shameful. Embarrassing to even be linked with him. He was perfect, like an angel. And you were just like the rest of the hero’s who burnt up too fast.

***

   You were discharged a week after, with an assortment of prescriptions and medications. Even creams for the deep scars on your body.

   Keigo insisted the first thing you should do was take a bath when you got home, he was helpful. Making sure you were all set to go and even brought you clothes for when you were finally discharged, your attitude towards him remained the same:

   Cold and quiet.

   It was like radio silence between you two, with slight static from his end as he’d try to reach with with kind eyes and soft kisses. But like a painting, you remain the same.

   When you two got home he quickly helped you inside by grabbing your bicep. And closing the door behind you with a small kick, “Let’s get you out of these clothes.” He says softly, but you wave him off.

   “I can do it myself, I’ll take a shower tomorrow.” You argued back, but his grip only got stronger. He arches a brow, you instantly decided to let him help you this once. You nod, and make your way to the bedroom. He grabs you a pair of panties, and a nightgown.

   Seeing at it was a more comfortable option, and would make it helpful to change your bandages without having to strip you.

   He later sat you on the toilet and ran the hot water of the bath, making sure to add your favorite scented bubble bath soap. You smiled weakly, for the first time at him.

   He kneels down in front of you, and pulls your shirt off and pants, his glorious wings touch the tile floor beneath him. He strips the rest of your clothing off and helps you in the bath, washing your body off with its hot water.

   He leans down to kiss your forehead, “You okay?” He asks, pouring water over your hair and scrubbing it gently with his fingertips unto your scalp with the shampoo. You don’t answer, but instead grab a handful of bubbles in your hands. Blowing them away, he pours more water over your head; and scrubs your back.

   The cuts and gashes burned in the water, but the sensation gave a small calming effect, it was something you could finally feel.

   Keigo is mindful of the wounds and only goes over them gently, cleaning off the area like instructed; earning a small hiss from you as you lean forwards in pain.

   “I know it hurts kid, but you're gonna have to endure for just a little while longer.”

   He continued to clean you off, and suddenly you felt a wave of emotions.

   Here it is, the after shock had finally dissipated and here it was, your emotions. “Keigo..” you finally say his name after so long, he stops, “Yes Angel?”

   “A-Are they really gone?”

   He didn’t know if you were asking about the people or your quirks, but one thing is certain, it was still the same answer. He nodded.

   “Yes.” He simply says.

   A tear escapes your eye, and then another, till eventually you’re full out bawling in the bathroom tub.

   Keigo is smart enough to know that anything he says, or does can not bring you back what was lost. And it killed him, so all he did was simply hold you, your wet hand gripping onto his forearm and sobbed. He knew nothing he could say would help you, so he did the next best thing: 

   He sat down, and took it. He remained quiet, and did not bring up the situation any longer: even going as far as to shield you away from hero related stuff, and would only take missions at night. Even making sure the TV was never on the news channel.

   He’d help you out of the bath and would help put back your clothes on, you cleared your throat when you noticed his eyes wandering on the wound near your gut for too long. You hated how he looked at you like some sort of sick child, you hated the way he’d constantly treat you like a porcelain teacup. He aided with your bandages and helped you towards the bed; still not uttering a single word to each other. 

   He just wrapped you in the warm sheets and left you with a blanket that smelled like him, remembering the silly arguments you’d two would get in when he cleaned the old thing. 

   Arguing, “Now you have to sleep with it cause it doesn’t smell like you anymore.” But of course he’d smile back at you and oblige to the order. 

   Now it has just provided you the small comfort of better times, he tucked you in and handed you the remote. He leans down, wiping the last of your tears with his calloused thumbs and glancing at you with a sad smile. 

   “I’ll be in the kitchen making dinner, I’ll be up in a few.” He said weakly, before standing up and heading towards the door. But you reached out for his hand, catching it at the last second. The movement made you wince, but you needed to say it. 

   “I love you, Keigo.” 

   He deserved to hear it, he needed to hear it after weeks of radio silence. 

   “I love you too, songbird.” 

*** 

   The relationship wasn’t always the healthiest, before losing your quirks the two of you would never raise your voices at one another, and swore to never lay a hand on one another. You two swore at the beginning of the relationship, that if you guys had a problem or if something was bothersome then you’d speak out about it. 

   But of course, even after being together for three years and seeing each other rise to be the hero’s you were today; the two of you found different sides of one another; sides neither of you knew existed. You never realized how scary and intimidating Hawks could be; you never realized how his eyes could darken and narrow as if a real Hawk would watch its prey. A warning sign as he glared at you from across the room.

   And he never realized how cruel you could be, just how your words could cut so deep. People say behind angry voices, lies a little bit of truth behind it. Even when you said you didn’t mean it; he also never realized how quick you were to anger. 

   Not even a week after you left the hospital, the relationship felt like the two of you were walking on eggshells. Yelling at one another, as you poured the pills down the sink. He grabbed your bruised hand roughly, and turned off the faucet. 

   It was early in the morning, too early for him to even fight, he thought. 

   “What the fuck are you doing?” He looks at you sternly, and then at the empty pill bottles you had successfully drained. 

   You remained quiet, too weak and tired. Lately all you felt was anger, you barely left the bedroom the both of you shared and you’d push away Keigo when he attempted to feed you. Turning your body around to not face him, “I’m not hungry.” You mumbled. 

   You return back to reality, his sigh of disappointment bringing you back. 

   “You can’t keep doing this! This I won’t allow, just talk to me? What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. You won’t talk to me, unless we’re arguing, you won’t eat, you won’t let me touch you. You have to talk to me, I can’t keep playing this game where you ignore your feelings and emotions and just push me to the side. I’m trying to help you-” 

   You interrupt him with a laugh, his soft eyes turn dark, he hated when you mocked him. 

   “That’s the problem Keigo. You’re helping is just a reminder of how fucking useless I am. You treat me like I’m glass, I know you do your hero work at night. You don’t have to hide it away from me. We get it, poor little Y/N, right? I never asked for your help.” 

   His grip on your wrist tightens; he looks down before glancing back up at you. 

   His gaze on your E/C eyes hardens, “Fine.” 

***

   He left you for the rest of the day, cooling off from the argument and leaving you too cool off as well. It was the first time he has left in the daylight since you were discharged. You only sat in the living room, wrapped in your blanket watching TV. Segments of heroes speeches came on, and all you could do was stare aimlessly at the silver screen. 

   The announcement was made public that you won’t be able to come back to the hero scene, explaining all the details of the incident.

   The Commission already had you booked with interviews with the press. But how could talk to them when all they’ll do is remind you of your failures as a hero.

   Like they didn’t care that you were grieving, that you weren’t the same anymore and here you are being forced to fake a smile and laugh it off as if this job meant nothing to you. Years of training to be perfect, the people you’ve saved, the people you had to kill, the families you reunited; it suddenly meant nothing. 

‘I have no reason to be here anymore.’

   What was the point of living if you weren’t the same anymore, you have nothing to lose. 

*** 

   Keigo came back in the dead of night, his lips pressed into a fine line as he wiped the look of tiredness off his face, he noticed your body laying out on the couch, your hair draped over the pillows; he crouches down in front of you. Noticing an even darker bruise on your wrist, he cringed at the memory of his tight grasp. 

   He never meant to hurt you.

   He came back with the pills you threw away, he realized without your painkillers and antibiotics that your healing process would be even more grueling. And he refused to watch. No matter how much you spit, hit, and cry; you have to take it.

***

   He had finally had enough. 

   Another two weeks passed and here you guys were, again, fighting in the kitchen. His voice rising even louder than yours, and his eyes narrow in warning. Your eyes water, and your voice trembles. 

   “Just talk to me! Please!” He begs, he pleads. 

   You stare at him blankly, and try to feel something. But there’s nothing, there’s no feeling anywhere in your body. You pull at the sleeve of your sweatshirt. 

   “I-I can’t.” 

   He tilts his head in confusion, “I don’t know how..” 

***

   “After running multiple tests and asking Y/N Y/L/N an assortment of questions, it appears that you,” The doctor in the room turns to look at your blank face, she looks at you apologetically, “Are showing signs of depression. Now there are treatments, and I’ll prescribe you some medication to help aid her during the healing process. But I do suggest therapy, and just talking more. Surround yourself with positivity.” 

   Keigo nods and thanks the doctor before she leaves the two of you alone to discuss the options. 

   He stares at the variety of pamphlets stacked in his hand, sorting through them. “We’re gonna fix this, bird. You just gotta help me help you.” He glances at you hoping for a reaction, but you shrug. “A new pill to add to the loads that I already take.” You say sarcastically, shrugging your shoulders, “Yay me.”  

***

   The relationship had its ups and down, there were times when you’d let Keigo help you, you’d also apologize for treating him poorly, But he’d just brush you off with a kiss and a simple sentence, “I’m here till the end, angel.” 

   The little blue pill had seemed to help. 

   For the first month, that is. 

   But slowly, oh so painfully slowly, you went back to your old post-accident bitchy no emotion self. Keigo would drop you off at therapy and pick you up to drop you off back home. 

   But like all good things come to an end, the somewhat normal life you were finally starting to settle into shattered, you were made to go to interviews and you’d come home crying. You were completely gone and empty. You and Kiego stopped having sex (though the last time was the night before you left for your mission), that bothered him the most. Not you not wanting him, it was your urge to be as far away from him as possible, not letting him even touch you. 

   It hurt the Pro Hero.

   Seeing as you no longer wished to even look at him; the love he had held onto slowly dissipated as time went on; like two ghosts living in an apartment full of memories. 

*** 

   You looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror, noticing all the deep cuts that once scattered your skin were finally all healing, turning into light scars and the bruises were finally gone. It was as if it never happened, you sigh and turn on the shower. Setting it to the hottest setting.

   Keigo was out at work again, and you still haven’t talked to him. It ate away inside of you, it felt like you no longer had control of your body and it’s emotions.

   ‘Was it the pills?’ You thought, the doctor informed you of the possible side effects and this was definitely one of them. But you couldn’t just stop taking them, the last time you tried to throw them away it ended bad.

   You entered the shower and allowed the hot water to fall off your shoulders.

   There was something you were depriving him of.

   And you knew what it was.

   You haven’t touched him. You haven’t talked to him.

   The words I love you, haven’t left your mouth in such a long time it felt like you were forcing yourself to feel something that you couldn’t feel.

He stopped trying after a while longer, and would leave before you could wake up and came home when you were asleep. It was now a routine that he had grown accustomed to.

You wash your body with the raging thought that rushed to your brain, ‘maybe if I try.. tonight. I can’t get some sort of feeling.’ You forced.

   You rinse off the soap and dry yourself with your towel. Changing into a nightgown and making your way to your bedroom.

   You waited for Keigo to come back home.

***

   You could hear the shower head turn on and the door close shut behind him. Only briefly seeing his winged silhouette in the dark, you turned to face the door that connected your room to the bathroom. You say up and wait for him to come out, Keigo never took long showers, unless the two of you were showering together.

   Which hasn’t happened in awhile.

   He came out after a ten minute shower, in loose sweat pants and white tank. His wings falling behind him, dragging against the tile.

   He stood at the doorway when he noticed your eyes on him. He cleared his throat and refused to share eye contact with you. He couldn’t look at the shell of the woman he had so desperately fallen in love for, he could feel his heartbeat rattle against his chest.

   “Why are you up kid. It’s late.” He finally said, glancing up towards you.

   Your body is numbed by his glance, but you ignore it. It was worth a try, you had to see if what you had was still there or if it was long gone by now.

   He cocks his head to the right and relaxes his gaze, “What's wrong?”

   You remain quiet and only look at him. You point a finger at him, and curl it towards your direction.

   “C-Can you come here, please.” You whisper, he nods and slowly walks towards you, his strides are smaller than usual. His look is cautious, when he gets to the edge of the bed you get on your knees and scoot towards him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, and gazing into his eyes. You feel his hands slowly make their way to your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze.

   He looks down at the sheets, and then back at you.

“What do you need?” He asks. Eyes almost asking permission to touch you, you push aside the feeling of disgust with yourself. 

   “You.”

***

   Your leg hooked onto his waist loosely as he pumped in and out of you, what you feared was real. It wasn’t the same anymore, it felt like nothing.

   The love behind it didn’t even feel like it existed. It just felt like you were having sex to get it over with it.

   He groans into your shoulder. Shuddering on top of you, his forearms barricade your sides. Your arm hooks over his back, with each stroke you scrunch your nose staring blanking at the ceiling over you.

   “Ouch.” You say quietly.

   It hurt more than usual.

   You yanked hard on his feathers, causing him to duck his head into your shoulder, “Don’t do that.” He warned.

   His pace increased and all you let out were small groans, still yanking at his feathers, your head up in the cloud, ignoring the annoying thoughts that floated in your head.

   His thrusts abruptly stop, “What the fuck are you doing?” He asks.

   You ignore his question, and let out another groan. Pulling again at his wings, “Okay! Stop, what the fuck are you exactly doing? You don’t wanna have sex?”

   You stare blankly at him, and pull him closer with your legs. “S-Stop! No I’m not gonna do this! I’m not gonna do this when you clearly don’t want too.”

   Again, you ignore him and try again, this couldn’t be happening. Did you really stop loving Keigo to the point your body was physically rejecting him, refusing to be aroused at the mere simplistic action that had before had you screaming out his name so loud the neighbors could it.

   You raise your hips before being met with a stern gaze and hands now pinning you to the bed.

   “Y/N stop!” He yelled, “What do you want me to do? Rape you? I’m not doing this. No, I wanna make love to you, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

   Everything.

    Your body finally allows you to look at his dark golden eyes, he was angry. And rightfully so, your body just finished telling him you didn’t love him anymore. And here you were trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal when it was.

   You hit him first, your hands slam against his bare chest. “Fuck you.” You spat.

   “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! Why can’t you ever just do something without having to ask so many damn questions huh! I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I was trying to see if I still loved you!” You yelled, he slams your body into the mattress, “So you decided the best idea was to see if I could still fuck you right? Huh? You wanted me to use you even though you’re clearly in pain! Is that how you like it? When I hurt you!” He yelled, his grip on your wrist loosening and letting you go. His feathers bring you back your underwear and nightgown from the floor as his other feather brings back his clothing.

   After he quickly puts back his clothes on he turns to face you, “Honestly Y/N, the last thing I’d ever wanna do to you is hurt you. In any way shape or form, I understand you are still grieving but now you’re just being cruel. You want me to be the bad guy so bad don’t you? Fine, your wish is my command.” He glares, picking up the rest of his stuff and leaving for the night.

***

   You stopped referring Keigo to his name and started referring to him as Hawks.

   Just like he stopped acknowledging your existence at all, you followed in suit. He decided that the two of you should have space; for the sake of your relationship you agreed. Though, it would’ve been easier just to break up.

   But you knew it had to be done, your body physically was rejecting Hawks. Your mind was now thinking for its own and you had no control, all the memories somehow mysterious meant nothing to you.

   Now all the times the two of you would share a rare shower, have living room dance parties, eat dinner together on the balcony. The talks of the two of you possibly even starting a family before seemingly slipped your mind and the ring he fingered in his pocket still sat in a velvet box hidden from view.

   It was all crashing down. It’s been barely four months and now you lost your quirk, your relationship was in shambles, the pills you took seemingly increased the more you talked to your therapist, and now you sat in the living room looking for apartments across the city and far away from him.

   Eventually you found a match, it was the perfect size so you decided to place a down payment on it and move as soon as possible. He came back to the apartment before you moved out, he avoided you, but sometimes you’d catch the sense of his eyes wandering over you.

   You packed your bags, folded your clothes, and took everything that was yours.

   “Look, I just think, if we weren’t in the same place and took time for ourselves we could.. be better.” You said, scratching the back of your neck sheepishly as he eyed you down as if you were prey from the end of the hall. He crosses his arms over his chest, “Do you still love me?” He asked curtly. It was a simple yes or no question, he needed to know, the timer was running out.

   You wanted to simply say no, not anymore. Because then that would be the truth, but your body wouldn’t let you say it. You look at the coffee table, and see a picture frame of the two of you, “I-I don’t know Hawks.” Your grip tightens on your suitcases handle.

   “Do you still love me?” You ask. Gripping your suitcase even tighter.   “I don’t know, either.” He sighs, a sad smile paints his face. His eyes water as he looks down to the tile floor, his hands deep into the pockets of his sweatpants. It was an intimate moment for the two of you, filled with raw emotion. You were given the privilege to see Hawks in such vulnerable moments for the past three years despite his training, when it was about you, he'd drop all the walls he built just for you.

   You couldn’t help but wipe a tear yourself, it was a confusing time for you.   He glances up at you, glossy eyes sparkling in the light. “I don’t really want to do this.”

   You nod, and hold in a choke sob, “This is just as hard for me as it is for you, but we need time apart. We need to be separate for a while and see new people. I-I hate the idea-“  

   “So why are we doing this!”

    You sigh, “Because, we can't even look at each other without raising our voices. I wanted to be able to love you the way you need to be loved, and for three years I did.”

   You look down towards your feet, chewing your bottom lip.

   “I loved you more than anything, Hawks. But right now. We shouldn’t be together.”

   Keigo doesn’t face you, he crosses his arms over his chest. “So that’s it? We’re breaking up?We’re separating.”

   “Yes.”

   He shrugs as his hand goes to cover his mouth, his lips pressing into a line, he sends feathers to open the front door and help you with your bags. They follow you to the front door and out, Hawks gives you one last look from the doorway, and waves you goodbye.

 ***

   It had been three months since your move to the new apartment, and you saw improvements in your life. You attended therapy and soon dropped all your pills, noticing you didn’t need them anymore since you were physically healed.

   After much pleading and much needed talking, you finally were able to slowly get off the antidepressants. Your therapist had made a discovery as to why you may have been having erratic mood changes, the hero commission had still paid your therapy and bills and eventually you were given a job to teach at UA High as a science teacher (due to your incredible skills and hands on learning from your quirk, and besides it came naturally to you), you were also teaching kids how to master their quirks, joining the group of teachers that would teach the next generation of heroes.

   Life was starting to get back on track, you even bought a dog. It was out of the spur of the moment, you decided to adopt a little dog and named it Birby after walking by the nearby shelter and seeing him wag his tail in joy, attempting to grab your attention.

   Hawks would occasionally pay a visit to you, and catch up. The two of you decided that during the separation it would be best to at least make time to see each other one day out of the week.

   He’d stop by every Thursday during your lunch break, he helped you grade papers and even met your dog when he came over to your apartment. Which ended with him playing on the floor with the pup the entire evening.

   It was a healthy separation.

   “I’m glad you’re doing much better, you’re smiling like you used to.” He said, in between laughs as he cooed at the dog. You stick your tongue out at him and continue to grade papers.

   “Oo a smiley face, let me guess the kid got an A?” Hawks guessed, suddenly appearing by your side. You nod and hand him a stack with an answer key and blue and red colored markers.

    “Correct you are Hawks, my class rarely fails which means I’m a good teacher.” You applauded yourself, he lets out a laugh.

   “Ha! I bet the only reason those kids pay attention is because they got a hot teacher. Hell I’d stay after school if it meant more time.” He joked, adding check marks to the correct answers and grading the papers accordingly, he’d even put a smile on the page like you.

   You stay silent, it was like it all hit you at once that you and Hawks were separated. The thought had slipped your mind, it wasn’t like you didn’t appreciate it coming from him, but it was the fact that you guys haven’t spoken about each other like that. He senses the tension and cocks an eyebrow at you, “You're doing it again.”

   You scoff, “What do you mean I’m doing it again? What am I doing?”

   He points and waves the marker near your face, “The face you make when you're thinking about something really deep.” He says, before going back to grading. You place the pile of graded papers on your coffee table and turn towards him. He catches your gaze before placing his pile beside yours.

   “Why are you looking at me like that?”

   You wave your hands in front of your face defensively as he inches closer to you, “N-No it’s nothing! It’s just-“

   He scoffs, “Are you seriously mind fucked because I said you’re hot? Damn, I know we’re in separation and stuff but if I wanna call you hot I’m gonna call you hot.”

   You wave your hands even more and slap them on your cheeks, “Hawks!-“

   “That’s not my name.”

   You roll your eyes, “I don’t say your name anymore because of how personal it is too you-“

   “And what? It makes you sound like all the rest, I allowed you to know my name for a reason. I don’t just hand it out to whoever. Again, just because we aren’t together doesn’t mean you can’t call me by my name.” He says, leaning back into your couch. You sigh in defeat, he was right.

   “Soooo, Y/N, it’s been awhile since you’ve really talked to me. You haven’t told me much, so how’s the dating life?” He asks.

   A frown appears on his face and you mentally facepalm yourself. ‘Way to get to the damn point.’   Keigo would only ever visit on Thursdays, which was part of the reason why he looked forward to Thursday’s. But even after you moved out, you guys remained close seeing as it would be impossible to forget one another and just called the split a separation though it was truly a break up. You never really opened up to him when he came over, during your lunch breaks he’d just help around and listen to your complaints about “How will this even prepare them in life? I don’t even fucking use this!” As you looked over your lesson plans.   He’d admire you from afar, and watch you. He cringed each time you called him Hawks, but still carried on with life. You just never really told him about what was going on like you used to.

  “Keigo,” you say, earning a smile from the winged hero, “There’s nobody, I don’t really wanna get into another relationship.” You mumble, he shrugs.

   “How about you? How’s the dating game?” You ask, crossing your legs.   He arches a brow at you and almost laughs, “I don’t got time for another chick, not in my interest surprisingly.” You nod, and squint at him.

   “I’m sure you are busy, bird boy.”

   A silence falls in between the two of you, creating an almost awkward tension in the air. You clear your throat, hoping he’d say something. But he doesn’t, he just grabs the pile of papers off the coffee table and continues to grade.

   “What have you been up to, since you’ve moved here.” He asks, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

   “I-I well, I go to therapy twice a week, I finally dropped all my pills, I got a job, I got my dog, that’s really it Keigo.” You said, shrugging your shoulders and giving a content sigh, you looked around your place and crossed your arms.

   He nodded and smiled, “You stopped your pills?” He asks excitedly, it was a huge milestone and a big deal to him, and you understood why; the pills drained you and drain who you were as a person. It was just time to finally let them go. 

  “yup.”

   A grin plastered his face. He looked like he was proud, “I’m so happy for you, Y/N.” You thank him, and glance at his eyes. It’s been awhile since you looked at his eyes, which only reminded you of something you’ve been meaning to speak to him about.

   “Keigo,” you grab his attention as he arches a brow, “I was wondering, I know this is sudden but I want you to know that at the time I couldn’t be with you because I was scared I didn’t love you anymore, I know we’re still in a tough spot but.. I want to at least try again.”

   A silence falls between you two, he smirks after a couple seconds.   “You wanna give this relationship thing another try?” He asks, widening his grin. You smile back, “Yes. But I think the only way we’re gonna survive this is with counseling. We can’t just jump back in like when we first started dating.” You say, it was a good option.

   There were still things left unsaid, sometimes old rotten memories would come up, it wasn’t going to be easy, and you finally came to terms that if it wasn’t him. Then it wasn’t anybody else.

   The best idea was to have a mediator.   He agrees with you and you notice his wings twitch slightly, he was happy. And so were you.

***

   “Now, before we start our first session I wanna make sure what my chart says is indeed true,” The counselor states, she crosses her legs and pulls at her glasses; adjusting them.

   Keigo sits on one side of the couch meanwhile you sit on the other end, your palms are sweating in nervousness.

   “Is it true that the two of you are in a state of separation currently? Meaning that you two no longer live together or see one another on a daily basis?”

   You both answer, “Yes ma’am.”

   “Alright, is it true that the both of you have been in a relationship for three years?”

   Again, the both of you nod and answer, “Yes, ma’am”   The middle aged woman claps her hands, flipping through her chart. “Alrighty you two, I usually start my counseling with a series of questions of basic getting to know you two, before we can truly get to the root of the problem.” You both nod in understanding, your hands clammy as they rub together.

   “Now, Hawks, may you please retell the story of how you two met in the first place.” She smiles pointing at him with a pen. “It usually helps remind the clients why they fell in love in the first place.”

    He clears his throat, “Well, I met Y/N when I was twenty years old, she worked for another agency at the time and I first heard of her when I realized she was climbing the hero charts pretty fast. We met at a Heroes Convention and she was wearing a red dress. The whole night I kept looking at her and eventually I introduced myself, a week later we found ourselves on the scene in a villain attack together, and I just asked her on a date. She said no,”

   You laugh at the memory, he looked so rejected but instead of taking the no and dropping it, he’d asked every time you met till you finally said yes.

   “She said yes after asking her twenty times.”

   The counselor nods, opening her mouth to ask another question, “Who said I love you first?” She asks.

   You answer this time, “Hawks, we had been dating for a month and he blurted it out when I was in the shower.”

   Ah yes, he was ranting about something while you showered when he said, “I hope you know I love you, because if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be sane.” You had peeked your head out slowly pulling back the curtains and stared him down. Stumbling on your words as a warm blush creeped onto your neck.

   “Say that again?” You asked him, he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

   “I love you?”

   “Yeah, say it again,” you smiled at him. Nodding for him to continue; “I love you.” He said it more confidently, you gave him a peck on the cheek and retreated you head back into the shower; “I love you too, birdbrain.”

   It was a beautiful memory that you had forgotten, and now, it came back in a lightning strike. As if talking about it opened a whole cabinet of memories in your mind with him.

   You had blamed him and treated him like nothing during that cold turmoil time in the relationship. Who knew the two of you would end up in an office trying to revive it.

   Doctor Marie (the counselor) nodded, and proceeded to ask questions of the relationship.

   “When did you two notice the relationship was coming to an end, in other words when and why did you guys decide to separate?”

   That was a very loaded question.

   It struck a nerve in you as you clutch onto the hem of your skirt. The two of you didn't respond nor answers.

   Keigo simply said, “After her accident she started to take a boatload of pills but we didn’t know of the side effects. Not to mention she lost her quirk and Y/N really did cherish her quirk, that with also losing lives,” he mutter yet continued when you nodded for him to keep going. “It was a boat load of things, but I genuinely think for me we separated because we couldn’t handle it anymore. Every time I’d try to help her, or talk to her it just ended up in a screaming match. I loved her so much, but it’s hard to love somebody and be happy when the person doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

   He turns to face you, nodding that it was your turn.

   You sigh, “Well for me.. I was jealous of Hawks.” You say, it was true it was a feeling you hated. You felt like a stupid schoolgirl when that feeling over powered you, it was the first time you admitted it. “I was jealous because he still had his quirk, he still had everything. And every time he helped me it felt like he was treating me like a fragile porcelain doll he found from a vintage store. He’d look at me like a wandering puppy, and then on top of that it was like my head was just clouded with nothing. I started taking so many pills for pain, depression, sleep, you name it. Pretty irresponsible on my part, but I let it take over me to the point my body was just physically rejecting him. All I wanted to do was just leave and not have to face him anymore. And it hurt. Hawks was my first everything, we always talked. But now, or may I say then, it felt like he wouldn’t understand.” You confess.

   Doctor Marie nods and takes notes on her small pad, “Interesting, when you say your body felt like it was physically rejecting Hawks what do you mean by that?” She asks.

   You shrug sinking deeper into the couch, “I didn’t wanna see him, feel him, smell him.. touch him.” Your voice trailed off, it made your stomach churn.

   “How’s that make you feel Hawks?”

   Again, very loaded question.

   Keigo shook his head, racking up his thoughts before he spoke, “I-I felt shitty, like I was doing something wrong. I use to go to work and think I was missing a step, it wasn’t the fact that she didn’t wanna touch me that bothered me, I understand at that time sex can’t fix everything. But when the person who shared everything with you just doesn’t even want your presents around them anymore - it hurts. It made me feel like she didn’t love me anymore. There was a time I didn’t even love her, I couldn’t look at Y/N in the same light.”

   Your heart broke as you stared at the mahogany desk in front of you.   The whole session was filled with more questions, some going ever deeper till eventually it was over.The sessions were two times a week, and it got easier for the two. Slowly their relationship fell back in place, but the house they shared once felt different.

   The first time you stepped back into Keigo’s apartment you had to stop yourself. Looking back at the kitchen sink where most of your fights occurred, you dropped your bag off at the door.The place was filled with good and bad memories. But it was the bad memories that infested the place, eating away at the beautiful ones. And reminding the two of you why you hated each other.The both of you agreed on moving after couples therapy ended.

***

   You hug your old hero costume tightly to your chest, the fabric nuzzled up into your neck as your racked sobs fill the nearly empty bedroom of your apartment. Birby nuzzled at your feet whining.

    “Songbird are you - babe are you okay?” Keigo rushed to your side, and held you close. Noticing your costume in your quivering arms, as you started to slowly calm down he reaches for the costume with a concerning look, quietly asking for you to hand it over to him. You push the fabric lightly into his hands and wipe away your tears. “If it makes you feel better we can put it in a nice box full of other things, you can always look back at it. Or if it’s too much we can-“ you interrupt him and give him a reassuring smile. Your hand clutching onto his, rubbing small circles around his knuckles. “Throw it away. I had to come to terms that it’s over, I’m not crying because of my hero days being over. I’m just mourning the people I couldn’t save. That’s all babe.” You give him a peck on the cheek  and a gentle squeeze on his hand.

   A box full of those memories would simply just be a painful reminder, besides, being a hero was in the past for you. Now, you were entrusted with teaching the new generation of heroes.

    You feel his strong arms tighten around you.

 ***

   Time passed and the two of you eventually moved in all of your belongings and furniture from the old apartment.

    Now laying breathlessly beside one another underneath the cool bed sheets covered with sweat, slick and cum. This was the first time in a longtime, the two of you made love to one another. Breaking in the headboard against the wall, you wince at his touch.

    “Keigo..”

    “Our neighbors are gonna hate us in the morning.” He chuckles, a small smile grazing your lips. You allow his finger to trace circles over your shoulder blades, allowing them to wander over the small bruises that littered the base of your neck. “They probably already know your real name..” You giggle, pecking his lips. “That's bad.. because then I’d have to kill them.” He reminds you of the strict rules he must follow, but he was mainly joking. He made sure to find a place with soundproof walls.

    “Well, I’m sure you're right..” You feel his fingers run down to the curve of your thighs, stopping in between your legs. “Fuck..” You moan into his shoulder, “Fuck, songbird. I wanna hear you sing that song even louder. So wet for me, still so tight.” He growls into your ear.

    It had been so long since the two had any sort of intimacy, you apologized deeply to him.

    “I’m never gonna leave you again, Kid. It’s always going to be you.”

 ***

   Months passed and your relationship was now at its best, you smiled as he eagerly kissed your cheek.

    “Whoa birdbrain! What’s the hype.” You giggled as he lips peppered down our face, he only smiled and showed off his back. Pointing his thumbs at the now small wings, you gasped. “Kei! What the fuck happened!?” You exclaimed, he brushes you off and picks you by the thighs. “No time, don’t worry about it. No wings means shower sex!” He cheers, rushing towards the nearest bathroom. You sigh, throwing your arms around his shoulders.

    “Why can’t we just have a peaceful shower instead.”

    He stops and gently places you down on the bathroom counter, stepping back from between your legs and reaching down to the hem of his shirt, pulling the black and yellow fabric off. He looks like he is thinking when he smiles and kisses your forehead, “Tomorrow?”

    Holding out a pinky for shower sex, you smile back at him, wrapping your pinky around his. “I promise tomorrow.” You begin to strip off your clothes for the day, watching as he turns on the shower head, tapping at the modes and setting the temperature to hot.

   Later on as you feel his hands run through the roots of your hair you feel the sense of calmness, smiling and humming at his actions. You start to feel a tickle in your nose, “Babe. I’m gonna sneeze..” You warn, who knew a sneeze would be so... deadly that day.

    In a matter of seconds the electricity in the apartment complex went out, and the water short circuited. Keigo stood behind you, dazed at the sudden shock.

    “Babe! I’m so sorry!” You apologized, tugging at his puffed hair. He laughed in shock, before stuttering out the words, “Y-your q-q-quirk.. paid a-a v-visit.” You gave a weak laugh, wrapping a towel around him and you as well.

    “Guess it did.”

 ***

   You made a doctor's appointment for the next day and was told indeed your quirk came back, that the possible medication had something to do with it’s delay. But you were also given extra news; you were expecting.

    You smiled down at your tummy awaiting for Keigo to come back from his agency, though he was out of commission still didn’t mean he didn’t have work. He came back through the door with a smile, “So songbird, what’d they say.”

    He pecks your cheek pulling off his jacket and gloves, “Well they said that the lab results do say that it’s positive that my quirk came back, it also says that it decided to probably show up now because I off all those medications and don’t have much stress anymore from after the accident. They themselves don;t know exactly how, initially the reports stated  that there were no signs of my quirk. So I must be lucky!”

    “Well that’s great! That means you can come back and kick some ass again!” He cheers walking towards the kitchen, though he still wasn’t keen on the idea of just throwing you out to the public again. Because you worked at his agency before he’d probably have you doing small work. He couldn’t lose his songbird again.

    You shook your head though, “Actually, I think I might just fully retire from all hero work. And stick to teaching, besides the doctor says it wouldn’t be good for the baby.” You grin, hoping he’d catch your drift.

    He stopped dead in his tracks, processing your words. And slowly turning back to face you, a huge grin plastered on his face.

    “It wouldn’t be good for the baby. You’re pregnant?”

    You nod, “Three weeks along. Besides, I love my job teaching, I just love my kids.”

    He runs out to you and engulfs you in a large hug, you feel tears start to stain your shirt. Your hand caressing his soft hair, running your fingers through his locks to calm him, “I thought I lost you.” His words tremble, you smile softly. “Never.” 

BONUS:

Five years later…

    “Alright kids! Have a good weekend, I’ll see you all tomorrow!” Y/N exclaimed, waving goodbye to her students for the weekend. She pulls out her chair from behind her desk, finishing up her work, when she hears the click of her door opening. The person behind it seemed to be having trouble opening the door, cocking a brow and tilting her head to the right, she smiles.

   “You need help?” 

   She grins when small feathers appear, and a small five year old boy waddles in. A bouquet of flowers covering his face, as he makes his way towards his mom.

    “No mommy, I got it! We got you flowers!”

    You gasp, “Oh baby! Thank you, what are you doing here? I thought you were still at school?” She gathers the flowers out of his small hands and admires the boy, he was a blessing. With his father's quirk, and hair, even his eyes. He was a carbon copy of your husband (That’s right the two got married after the birth of their son) and oh how much you loved the two of them.

    “Daddy picked me up early because I had a tummy ache, and then he gave me medicine when we got home and now I feel better! So we decided to get you flowers and visit you!” He grins, sipping from his red sippy cup in his hand. Drinking away at the juice his father poured for him, Y/N grins, “Well where’s daddy now?”

   At that exact moment, in appeared her husband. Opening the door to her classroom once more and placing a small kiss to her forehead. “Hey bird.” He grins picking up his kid and balancing him on his hip, “We missed mommy so we came to see you.” He pouts, earning a giggle from the boy.

    “I missed my boys too.”

    “Mommy! Daddy even taught me how to fly, he dropped me off the balcony and at first I was falling-” 

   Keigo’s eyes bugged nearly out of his head, placing his gloved hand over his son's mouth. Muffling his words, “Well! Would you look at that! It’s time for us to leave, sorry we gotta cut this short-”

    “YOU THREW MY SON OFF A SEVENTY FOOT BALCONY BY HIMSELF!?”

     “He was fine!” 

[thranduilsperkybutt]

Killer

Gif sources:  1  |  2  |  3

Pairings:  Baron Helmut Zemo/Reader

Warnings:  TFATWS Spoilers! Hurt/comfort, slight angst but hopeful ending, a little bit of spice 🤏 but it’s still solidly SFW and mostly near the end; insignificant character death; canon violence; Zemo being a menace not only to my heart but my mental health

Word Count:  11,932 words

Reader Gender:  Female

Author: Meg

Summary:  While tracking the Flag Smashers across Europe alongside Sam and Bucky, you suddenly find yourself in need of a hero. The man who comes to your rescue, however, is the villain of too many people’s stories to ever be mistaken for one. The lines between what is and what should be become blurrier, making it too easy to forget that you aren’t supposed to like Baron Helmut Zemo at all.

A/N:  Based on a simple sentence my friend said in the middle of us both simping over Zemo together, which inspired a novel lolol 😂 Whoops! Sorry I’m so long-winded, but I hope you guys like this anyway!

Oh, this was not good.

So very, very not good.

A twisting grip on your arm, pain shooting up your shoulder and from the side where the knee of the supersoldier atop you digs into the flesh of your hip, pinning you down. Cement bites into your cheek like a taunt of the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into when he slams you into the ground. Wind knocked out of you, you feel the painful strain in your joints, and know that if your arm is pushed too much further at this sharp angle, it’s likely your shoulder will come out of socket.

A whimpered yelp that you can’t bite down escapes just as the supersoldier’s grip tightens when you struggle beneath him, desperate panic lacing your blood as you realize you can’t escape his grip. You remember the sight of the back of Sam and Bucky’s heads when they went off towards the east side of this warehouse, and for a brief moment you wonder if that’s the last you’ll see of them. Splitting up had been the last thing you wanted to do, but the maze of this place made it a necessity if you were to do the thorough sweep of the area for the group of Flag Smashers rumored to be taking shelter here.

Well, you found them, alright.

Why did you have to be the one to get stuck searching the west side with Zemo?

The reluctance you’d displayed when Sam initially split you up with Zemo wasn’t exactly one-hundred percent truthful, though, was it? God, maybe it made you stupid and foolish, but a secret, cursed part of your stomach had flipped with nervous anticipation at the thought of being entirely alone with him. Something which had only been accomplished briefly over these past few days of tracking the Smashers all over Europe.

A subtle glance in Zemo’s direction had revealed no such similar reaction on his part, his stare meeting yours. Distant and unreadable, is what he was.

Except for when he wasn’t. Distant, that is.

Except for when he treated you with a modicum of civility. No, you couldn’t even fool yourself into believing it was simple civility, or even whatever traditional ingrained gentlemanliness that a Baron of Sokovia would have been taught in his youth.

Zemo had treated you with something more than that, especially when no one else was looking.

Sometimes, even if they were, and you still hadn’t decided if that dangerous toeing of the line between animosity and flirtation was a manufactured tactic to manipulate you or not. Uncertain if you should be offended that Zemo figured you the weakest link of your companions, or if, in the case that his interest was genuine… it wasn’t, so no use dwelling on what you would do in that case.

What you should do, when he set upon you with that look in his eye, like he knew something about you that you didn’t.

Like at the end of Sam’s introductory speech detailing the plan of the warehouse sweep, where that lingering glance in Zemo’s direction had ended with a slight curve of his lips upwards. Looking bizarrely satisfied with the announcement of Sam’s plan, and you couldn’t tell if it was at the thought of hunting supersoldiers, or the strange, treacherous feeling swimming in your own gut--- that Zemo’s pleasure was even minimally at the truth of another opportunity to have you, all to himself.

It had been enough to make you tear your eyes away, but not enough to get his lingering stare to stop itching the back of your neck. Enough to make Bucky raise a brow at you, a wary look in his eyes as he observed the one member of your party who seemed at all pleased with the fact that you were all likely heading into a fight, or worse, nothing at all, in mere moments. A warning simmered in blue, Bucky’s unspoken, “be careful,” resting on the solemn line of his frown.

You’d been told it enough in the past few days, to be careful of Zemo. Terrorist, criminal, killer--- a portion of the words they’d used to describe Zemo.

At first, you were acutely aware of the warnings you’d been given, of the story they’d told you. The same one you’d heard pieces of from different sources. What had happened in Bucharest was national news, but to think that the man who had sat across from you on his private plane, tension thick in the air while a smile rested on his own lips, had been responsible… it had churned your stomach at first. Sitting there in his finery, attended by a footman, he seemed a strange visual for the description that predated your formal introduction to him.

And you had excused yourself to the bathroom, if only to escape the feeling. The animosity of Bucky’s conversation and the tension in Sam’s shoulders, the weight of curious eyes, which always seemed to glance back towards you.

He was unnerving, if only because of how peculiarly normal he seemed in certain moments. Approachable. Amiable, even. A predator’s façade, meant for you to wonder if he had truly been the kind of man capable of terrorizing Bucharest and your friends the way he had.

Which was how he looked at you, just like a predator sizing up new prey.

The quaint jet washroom could not be your solace forever, and you were inevitably forced to emerge, or face the embarrassment of worrying your companions with an abnormally long bathroom break. When you emerged, however, you found the murmured conversation to be of a slightly lighter tone, and soon discovered the reason for it when you nearly walked straight into the chest of the man you’d gone to the restroom to escape.

“Apologies,” he had said, as if you were not the one who almost ran straight into him, amusement dancing in his eyes as his body easily blocked the narrow aisle towards where Sam and Bucky sat further in. They’d not yet noticed your emergence from the restroom, and your hoped your quick glance towards them had not looked too desperate. Torn back to Zemo with the startling shock that he would even offer, “Would you enjoy a drink? I was just on my way to get a refill, you see,” he raised the short glass in his hand, ice clinking, empty otherwise. Your pause was pregnant enough that he eventually teased, “I promise not to poison you, if that is your concern, my dear.”

“No, thank you,” had been your curt answer, pushing down the heat that threatened to burn your cheeks at his familiarity with you when you attempted to move around him, forced by the narrow aisle to graze his chest with yours in order to return to the attention of your companions, ignoring the additional attention which had followed you from the aisle.

The outfit you discovered he had chosen for you upon landing on the outskirts of Madripoor was… just another reason to dislike him. The one relief was that it was comfortable enough to fight or run in, if need be, but nothing about it was sensible in the least. What the outfit lacked in cleavage, it made up for in its form-fitting style, leaving little to the imagination otherwise. You felt as if every inch was on display for the perusal of whoever simply cast their eyes upon you, regardless of how you would tug and pull at the fabric in an attempt to make certain areas less focal.

And then there was what he’d said about it, humming appreciatively when you emerged from the jet just after Bucky and Sam to be offered a hand by Zemo at the last step, if only to scrutinize you in this ridiculous outfit as you equally scrutinized him, donned in a fur-trimmed jacket that you reluctantly had to admit made him look… handsome, “Good. In that, you shall make a believable lover.”

You’d almost tripped that last step at his words, despite the firm grip keeping you upright, eyes wide as you heard Bucky choke on his own spit before collecting himself.

Zemo paused long enough that you think he simply enjoyed watching whatever conclusions you were jumping to flash upon your face until he clarified, just as you opened your mouth to demand an explanation, wishing there was some way to wipe the smirk from his lips, “Not my lover, of course,” a gesture towards Sam, “but that of our friend, the Smiling Tiger.” His smirk broke out into a proper grin as you snatched your hand from his, realizing your form complimented Sam’s own ridiculous outfit, as Zemo addressed him, “The source of your alias is known for philandering various women. Seeing the Smiling Tiger with another woman has become somewhat expected.”

“He takes different women with him, even to do business?” Sam raised a brow.

Zemo chuckled slightly, “Certainly not.”

“What am I supposed to be doing tonight if I’m not going to meet the contact with the rest of you?” jutting your chin out, you cross your arms over your chest, if only to attempt to appear as if Zemo didn’t utterly disarm you with the slip of his attention back to you, “I’m not here to stand around and look pretty, you know.”

“Although I’m certain you would excel at that,” Zemo had purred, your poker face almost breaking under the shock of his forwardness, wondering if he simply enjoyed toying with you--- if perhaps you were an easier read than you thought, “Madripoor is full of dangers, but no one would dare bother a woman who belonged to the Smiling Tiger. It is typically assumed that these women pose no threat in and of themselves, considering his habit of picking shallow, frivolous women who rarely realize they are not the only of their kind in his orbit. This assumption will offer you the perfect position to scout the outskirts of our interaction for anyone unsavory, who might try and interrupt us during our business tonight.” He reached out, pushing your hair from your shoulder, and you took effort not to flinch back at the ghost of a touch on your bare skin, “While you will undoubtedly draw the eyes of many, none who are searching for a potential threat will linger on you long.” Zemo’s teeth flashed with his smile, his hand returning to his side, delving into the pocket of his coat leisurely when he shrugged, “You are simply another beautiful woman on the arm of a dangerous man tonight. That is nothing new in Madripoor.”

“And just how loving is Smiling Tiger with his girlfriends?” Sam huffs, and you wondered if the apologetic look he cast your way was for Zemo’s behavior, or what would undoubtedly be his own tonight.

Striding forward towards the waiting car, Zemo glanced over his shoulder as he passed your companion, “Very. You might want to warm up to each other rather quickly, if that is to be an issue.”

But you’d done worse undercover before, and a night of flirting on the arm of Sam Wilson was the least of your worries, so you mimicked the shrug Zemo had given you, and fell into step beside Sam, “No problem.”

Sam nodded, “None for me, either.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Bucky agreed with a clench of his jaw, marching after Zemo towards the car, and you remembered that whatever you had to endure tonight, would probably be only a fraction of the discomfort Bucky would feel at reliving his Winter Soldier days.

Even if it wasn’t real.

Part of you yearned for the weight of Sam’s hand in yours, his breath tickling your neck where he had kissed it for show, upon being left alone at the bar in this strange Babylon that was the Low Town of Madripoor. Not that you were incapable of defending yourself, but you were outnumbered--- really, you all were.

And you preferred for your only intel on the region to not have come from the single man in your company who you knew you couldn’t trust. Zemo’s word that no one would bother you, alone, in this ridiculous outfit, simply because they’d seen Sam--- or, the Smiling Tiger, as he was tonight--- all over you? Well, it wasn’t enough to put your mind at ease.

You tried to hide that unease behind the drink in your hand, thankful that you’d been given something fruitier and less daring than the drink Zemo had ordered for Sam, as your eyes scanned the bar, catching where the three of them had disappeared into the unknown of the one area you could not enter.

Technically, you could, but you’d have to take out the four--- no, five--- guards lingering in the main chamber of the bar, before doing so. You couldn’t do that without starting a scene, though, and there was no reason to do so until absolutely necessary.

Pushing away from the bar, your only indication of what was going on past those burly statues of guards flanking the way beyond was the sound of the earpiece in your ear, shaded from view by your hair. A whisper, compared to the throbbing music around you, but just loud enough with its closeness to make out the conversation you weren’t otherwise privy to. It was going well enough, as you moved throughout the bar, ensuring your counted five guards remained in their positions, with their relaxed posture, and counting a sixth one as he returned from the direction of the restrooms.

Some tried to stop you, to get you to dance with them, but a simple name of your alleged lover had sent them on their way easily enough. So perhaps Zemo had not been entirely untruthful, it seemed.

Then, the meeting had turned sour. Going south fast, and you watched as the two guards flanking your companion’s escape tilted towards their bulky earpieces, but you were on them before they could go further within, to where you now heard fighting in your own subtle earpiece.

Doing your best to sound like a bubbly drunk, you draped yourself between them, obstructing their path, “Oh, is this the way to the bathroom?” You were two steps into the hall, when one grabbed you by the arm, the other attempting to walk around you, but you easily blocked the way as you tumbled yourself into his arms, apparently losing your footing at the tug on your arm, “You don’t have to be so rough!”

“Get out the way, lady, this isn’t the bathroom,” the one whose arms you were haphazardly steadied with grunted, and you watched as the other slipped past you towards the beyond, his partner following close behind.

But by then you were halfway across the bar in a quick stride, hearing the hushed, “Meet us outside, we’re going out the back,” that Bucky murmured, just for you.

“No weapons,” Zemo added curtly. “We are not ready to cause a scene, my dear.”

The threatening chime of the phones around as you hit the front doors and pushed beyond, only to find that the clinging followed you even there, lifted up by the chill and stink of Madripoor’s Low Town air, had you growling out, “Looks like that scene’s already started, whether or not you want it to, Baron.”

You caught sight of them up ahead, walking just as briskly down the side-street, and nearly had to run to catch up to their pace. By the time you did fall into step beside Sam, the neon glow of the bar at your back went black with a heart-stopping shunt, right before the gunfire started.

Your only relief as Sam pushed you down with his ducking, was that whoever was firing the automatic weapon was not a good shot. Then, you ran.

But, from the corner of your eye, you saw the flap of a long coat, the swivel on firm calves, as Zemo turned to the side, and escaped beyond the adjacent alley, and, right then, you thought that would be the last you saw of him. Yet, you couldn’t be concerned with hunting him down, what with the gunfire coming from all directions, straight at you, Sam, and Bucky. Allowing the perfect moment for Zemo to slip away.

As you ran, heart pounding and barely registering the sound of your companion’s voices, you almost laughed bitterly with the hysteria of the chaos around you, and the thought that maybe Zemo had created it just to escape. Whether he did or not, it certainly worked to his advantage, and the rev of motorcycle engines biting at your heels reminded you that, like it or not, you couldn’t worry about where he had gone, down that side-street, at the current moment.

Blindly following Sam, who was blindly following Bucky, down the alleys of Low Town, you turned the next corner as a shot rang out. Not the same, quick bursts of an automatic, but rather, the loud, resounding hollowness of a sniper’s bullet.

Air brushing against your cheek, the deathly kiss of wind as the bullet moved past your head, and straight into the motorcyclist behind you. You barely breathed as the second, then third shot rang true, and your pursuers fell dead on the slick, black wetness that was Madripoor’s alley streets.

Just as Zemo emerged from the opposite end of the street, catching your bewildered stare as his own, matching confusion, accompanied a breathless, “You seem to have a guardian angel.”

Even by looking at her, you could tell Sharon Carter was anything but your guardian angel.

Madripoor had changed her. The events which had trapped her here had done even worse. Something bitter and estranged lingered under each word the former agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. said as she presented her story for the four of you. Enough to make you wary of her intentions, regardless of how helpful she may have seemed.

Despite the fact you had known her, when you, too, once worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Well, this is just too perfect,” were her first words, when she’d come upon the four of you in that alleyway.

Too perfect, was right. Her High Town home, her art gallery full of stolen things, the undisclosed clientele she apparently kept, and expected, resulting in your hasty changing of clothes. It all was too perfect, even down to her tragic story of exile from the States. Something was off, but you had too much to worry about to concern yourself with picking apart the story of your host, your momentary refuge provided by her hand.

You wondered if Bucky could sense it, too, when he said, “She’s kind of awful now,” following her abrasive callousness in detailing the hypocrisy of heroism.

If not him, then perhaps the look Zemo sent your way could confirm your suspicions, but he buried it down behind the glass of whatever hard liquor he had acquired in her too perfect home. Nagel, Wilfred Nagel was who you should have been focusing on, rather than the question you nearly dared to ask Zemo right there, as Sam offered Sharon a pardon that you all knew relied on too many bureaucrats to ever be a certain promise.

The longer Zemo held your gaze, the less you concentrated on the conversation around you, until something of a party was mentioned, and the low promise of the, “Trouble,” that Sharon would find parted Zemo’s lips. You could believe that, more than whatever Sam had promised her.

The art gallery had taken on the atmosphere of a club, rather than some simple party. Music throbbed, louder than that of the bar earlier in the night, pulsing bodies to move in tandem with the beat of the sound. Veins, stretching out from the same, beating heart.

But further in, past the stage and the DJ, was a viewing of priceless art, which was certain to be priced and sold tonight. The business Sharon was conducting, the contacts she’d said she would work for information on Nagel’s location, were undoubtedly among the people gathered there.

Waiting around was rarely enjoyable.

Your group moved towards the open bar, but none of you looked to the bartender for a drink. Zemo’s eyes affixed along the dancefloor, surveying, as much as Sam or Bucky were. If someone were to look closely enough, in that moment, that simple glance would give away their training. Your eyes, however, traveled past them, catching the questioning glance Bucky sent your way as you moved to separate and disperse into the crowd of writhing bodies around you.

“I’m going to dance,” was your only explanation. If the three of them had not seen some potential threat in those few moments of surveying, then it likely wasn’t there.

Either way, Sharon had said, “Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party,” before sending you on your way.

That much, you could oblige her with.

Considering the dancefloor was a great percentage of the party, dancing also allowed you to survey the room without looking like you were gawking. Thankful to be back in your own clothes, the black on black and buckles of your light tactical wear fit in appropriately with the variety of party-goers around you. Tempo flaring, sweat and alcohol, adrenaline rushing your veins, for a moment you found you were enjoying yourself, after the initial sweep of the dancefloor had come up empty of threats. Or, well, anything that was immediately threatening to you.

Which is why you could have kicked yourself for letting what might have been the biggest threat in the room creep up on you, in that brief moment of thrumming ecstasy.

His hand caught in the buckled strap at your waist, pulling you into a firm back, not unlike other dancers around you had, but his breath smelled of bourbon as it ghosted your cheek, and the accented voice at his lips was enough to have you whirling in his arms, “Do you mind if I dance with you?”

In your defense, the last you’d seen of Zemo had been moments ago, across the bar as he perused the artwork with Sam and Bucky. You could hardly believe he’d crossed the room as quick as he had--- quick enough to catch you off-guard.

“What?” you question blandly, the mixture of unease and shock churning into something else that you wouldn’t dare admit as he offered a dazzling smile, and you suddenly realized you were still standing far too close, with the growing crowd around you.

He mistook your confusion for difficulty hearing over the blaring music, and leaned closer, to catch you by the ear, “Dance with me.” Not a question, this time.

He was close enough you could smell his cologne--- a rich scent, peppered with cinnamon, which had you wondering just how much he had paid for the bottle of whatever it was, or if it had been something Sokovian from before the fall. It was unlike anything you’d scented before. He even smelled expensive.

For a second time, you almost jumbled his question, though not from shock. The heat rising to your cheeks and the skip in your chest, you couldn’t convince yourself was entirely from the dancing or the light drink you’d had earlier in the evening.

His own cheeks were faintly pink, upon closer inspection, but otherwise there was no evidence in his smooth posture of the multiple glasses of liquor he’d had tonight, yet it’s enough to make him look warm--- perhaps not as cold as he once had appeared.

Human.

“We are to enjoy ourselves, are we not?” he suggested, as if that would push you toward one answer over another, and it worked.

“Yes,” your lips said it before your mind caught up with them, and his smile widened into a grin, as brief as it was.

“Then, dance, my dear.”

His own dancing was rigid, but he kept beat. Small movements which would not draw attention from anyone, yet were somehow the barest ability required to be considered dancing. As if he had little experience dancing to club music like this, though you couldn’t be sure. It was almost comical, yet no-one could laugh at him, since he miraculously managed to pull it off.

Well, you, at least, were able to bite back a chuckle at the sight of him. Something about it, about him, in that moment, dancing so awkwardly yet with so much confidence, brought a genuine smile to your face, as you danced alongside him.

And when he gestured in a round motion with his hand for you to spin, you did that, too, without a second thought. It was easy to forget, for only a second, when your eyes caught his in the strobing light and the smile upon his face, his hands coming together to clap for you in time with the pulsing beat between you, just who he was, and what he’d done.

Far too easy to forget.

But one glance towards the edges of the dance floor has you remembering, as you caught the movement of Bucky and Sam following after the slip of Sharon’s form. Bucky’s eyes bored into you, his jaw clenched. Displeasure written on his face, and you don’t think the sake of blending in would be enough to excuse your dancing with Zemo, or the enjoyment with which you’d done it.

“Perhaps, she has found our missing Doctor Nagel,” Zemo’s form was too close, all over again, and this time you do step away from him, if only a single step. It’s enough to breathe, to clear your head of whatever had overcome you moments before. He’s too busy looking after their three retreating forms to notice the guilt catching at the back of your throat, suffocating you for barely a second.

You ensure any proof of the feeling settling in your gut was gone by the time he cast his eyes towards you, the brown of his irises nearly black in the lowlight of a High Town party, but you didn’t keep his stare long, “Let’s find out.”

The sun was dawning when you emerged onto the street, and reached over your heads by the time you made your way to the water-side lot filled with shipping containers. Sharon’s intel had led you to it, and container four-two-six-one had come to your knowledge with little questioning on Sam and Bucky’s part, if only because she was an old friend.

You still wondered who would give her the location of such a prize as this, and what it had cost her, since you were slowly learning that nothing in Madripoor came free. Regardless of where she had received the information, it had been where Nagel was hidden, along with the remainder of his serum research.

It had also been where the bounty hunters of Madripoor descended upon you.

Dr. Nagel was a young, lanky man who had barely finished his exposition of where to possibly find the Flag Smashers who had stolen his serum when the very man you had danced so happily with not two hours before shot a bullet right through his heart. All you could think, in the stunning moment of realization that Nagel had been dead before he even hit the ground, was how stupid you were to ever let your guard down around this man--- this killer.

“What did you do?” Sharon’s cry rang in your ears as the gun clattered to the ground from Zemo’s hand, jolting you into action from staring at Nagel’s body to turn on them. Catching Zemo’s cold eyes--- no remorse within them--- as Sam and Sharon struggled to pin him to the grated shelves of Nagel’s lab. You think you might hate him, just in time for the blast of an explosion to push you face first into the metal slatted floor of Nagel’s bunker.

That hate was all you had left to fuel you from getting up off the floor, bones creaking as flames danced in your peripheral, a hole blown through the side of the crate. That anger, and the grasp of Sam’s hands on your forearm, pulling you up after he got his own footing.

Zemo had been gone by the time you had enough sense to scan the area, but there would be no searching for him this time, either, as the bounty hunters descended upon your location with the ease of wolves circling their prey. Shooting out from cover, you knew the bullets of your pistol weren’t enough to last you for all of them, and they had you pinned.

Part of you still hated him, even when he saved your asses. Another part wondered why he even bothered.

You hoped you radiated that hatred when you got into the back of that getaway car he’d found, too sullen to even wish Sharon a farewell, let alone offer a smile at the cheeky attitude Zemo had pulled up in it with. After everything, it only made you stew more--- his nonchalance. If you were being truly honest, you were angrier still at yourself, and the thought that he’d played you like a fiddle. If you had kept your guard up and kept an eye on him, perhaps Nagel would still be alive. Perhaps you wouldn’t feel like Zemo was playing this two steps ahead of the rest of you.

Even on the plane out of Madripoor, you had sat in sullen silence, refusing so much as to look at Zemo, even when he offered you food.

You hoped your sharp, “I’m not hungry, thanks,” cut deep, as childish as it may sound. You didn’t bother to look long enough in his direction to see if it had. Speaking exclusively to Sam and Bucky, even when Zemo changed your course to Latvia, you had not spoken a word to him until you landed in Riga, and his conversation turned towards Sokovia.

“Erased from the map,” he clicked his tongue, but his pace didn’t slow, when he spoke in what was as much an accusation as a question, “I don’t suppose any of you bothered to visit the memorial?” Met with silence when he looked upon Sam, he turned his eyes toward Bucky, then you, and it was the longest you’d dared hold his gaze since he killed Nagel, when he scathingly said, “Of course not. Why would you?” Nodding towards an old set of double doors, he drops the subject as suddenly as he’d brought it up, “We are here.”

Your traitorous heart clenched as you watched him disappear beyond them, Bucky remaining by your side while you lingered at the bottom of the steps leading into the residence.

“I’ll be back,” Bucky murmured, glancing your way, to which you silently nodded, too troubled by the fact that you felt anything at all akin to pity for that horrible man to worry where your friend might have to wander to in the middle of Latvia. Zemo was, undeniably, horrible, wasn’t he?

A huff of annoyance blew past your lips as you marched the steps towards where Sam and that man had disappeared beyond. Maybe you were just getting soft in your old age, or something.

Yeah, that had to be it.

What you hadn’t expected was for Sam to meet you at the doorway to Zemo’s… loft? Loft.

“I’m gonna’ hit the corner store, if you’re alright to watch you-know-who,” Sam murmured low, and you scrambled for words to say aside from the hell no which threatened to spill from your lips. “He’s in the shower, so maybe he’ll be a while anyway.” Glancing over your shoulder, Sam’s brow furrowed, “Where’s Bucky?”

“Said he’d be back,” you looked behind yourself, as if expecting to find him there. “Don’t know where he ran off to, though.”

A questioning breath was sucked through Sam’s teeth, before he let it out in a sigh, affixing you with a, “You good?”

With babysitting Zemo?

No.

“Yeah, go,” you had ushered him out the door despite your current feeling towards the subject, and by the time you shut the door behind him and rummaged into the kitchen area to ransack the refrigerator, you realized why Sam was going to the corner store. This place was positively barren of the necessities. Groaning in disappointment, you lean your head back in a silent cry to the heavens. Why was nothing going right on this mission? You were starving, and hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep on the plane over.

Standing there for a moment, you let the cold air hit your skin, daring it to keep you awake.

The door to the washroom pushing open grasps your reluctant attention, head lulling to the side slightly as you shut the empty refrigerator. There he was, the bastard, clad only in a robe and lounge pants, pushing a folded towel along his neck, catching the water there which dripped from his semi-dry hair.

Footsteps softened by the slippers at his feet, he asks upon taking a look around the room to find only your presence there, “And where have your soldiers run off to?”

You grit your teeth, forced to answer him, “Sam went to the store, because you don’t keep your safe houses stocked with food.”

“This is not a safe house,” he murmurs, coming close enough that the sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows catches along something gold glinting at his throat. Large hands lower the towel and fold it neatly, as your gaze lingers, observing the necklace where it delves into his chest, a view allowed by the robe’s relaxed fit, just open enough to reveal the soft hairs there. You snap your eyes back up before you can stay there for too long, and Zemo is smiling slightly. Bastard caught you.

“What is it then?”

“A vacation home.” For a pitiful instant, your mind sent you images of the family he’d lost in Sokovia. The last thing you needed was to feel sorry for him, so you clear your throat, shaking off the thought of what was missing. What had led to who he’d become. Your pity thankfully didn’t show as he moved ever closer into the kitchen, feet stopping just before your own so that he could look you down. You couldn’t help but grasp the counter you leant yourself upon until your knuckles blanched under his scrutiny, nearly on the verge of demanding he explain what his problem was, until he nodded to the cabinet beside your head, “Excuse me.”

You almost jumped out of his way.

Watching, desperately clawing for the anger that had been so comfortingly oppressive in your chest earlier in the morning, because anything was better than lingering on the cut of his jawline, or the way his robe dipped as he reached for that very cabinet you had been standing in the way of a moment before. Anything else, focus on anything else.

When he opened it, your eyes snapped to the few jars within. Olives and fruit lined the shelves in twistable jars, flanked by large bottles of that same dark liquor he seemed to favor, and a tin of coffee beans. In the back, nestled away for a rainy day, was a box of Turkish delight.

“Ah,” he breathed pleasantly, shooting you a cheshire grin, “so it is not entirely as empty as you thought.”

Bastard, bastard, bastard---

The word rings in your head like a mantra as you feel the anger crumbling, fading away with each second he looked at you like that. What was wrong with you, to be this easy? Something had to be.

His eyes were thankfully torn away when he looked into the cabinet once more, plucking the fruit--- peaches, looked like--- from the shelf, along with the coffee and candy, “I doubt you would like to eat pickled olives alone.” He says it, right before he closes the cabinet, and reaches out with the jar of peaches towards you.

Blinking up at him, you don’t dare take them, genuinely curious, “They’re not for you?”

“You did not eat on the plane, and it has been hours, now; you must be starving.”

You’re surprised he even cared, or made the appearance of caring, but that shrivel of spiteful anger you clutched onto with all your might refused to take them from his hand, despite the growl in your stomach, “Sam will be back soon enough with food.” Turning on your heel to keep yourself from going back and snatching them away like a starving animal, you move to the other side of the kitchen.

His jaw is set when you look back at him at the sharp tap of glass and metal along the countertop. Zemo’s fingers clutched the jar and coffee tin with a fury that was only revealed in the depths of his dark eyes, watching you move across the living room without so much as a word.

Until you sat down, and he breathed calmly, so calmly, that you knew it was the calm before the storm, “Am I to expect you to act as a petulant child for the remainder of the mission, or shall I ready myself for you to come to your senses?”

You scoffed at him, “Excuse me?”

“Please do not make me repeat myself, my dear.”

“I’m sorry, Baron,” you grit with as little remorse as possible, that once-simmering anger nearly boiling again, “that I don’t want to trade peaches with a man who murdered someone not two feet from where I stood.”

“Try again.”

“What?”

“Try, again,” he breathed slowly, as if he had to do so to keep himself from breaking into some fit of rage. You’d never seen him enraged, even when he fought and killed, he was always a deathly calm, and some sick, twisted part of you wanted to see him truly, frightfully angry, “You don’t treat Wilson and Barnes with this childish disdain, despite them killing countless people in your presence.”

“Don’t even compare yourself to them. You killed an unarmed man!”

“I do not wish to litigate the details of what may or may not have happened---”

“‘Litigate?’” you rose to your feet from the couch, not even realizing that he had half-way crossed the room by the time you did, “Do you even hear yourself? You put a bullet in his heart! What is there to litigate?”

“He was a threat.”

“He could have been arrested, or---”

“Criminals can escape prisons,” he bit, nearly in each other’s faces by the time you laughed at your own bitter answer.

“What? Like you?”

“Precisely,” he agreed, and you met his glare with one just as heated, until something shifted in his gaze. A sort of dawning understanding that muddled his glare, until a raise of his brow accompanied the easing tension in his shoulders, and you already knew you weren’t going to like what he was going to say before he’d even said it, “Is that what bothers you?”

“What?” you ask warily.

“That I am considered a criminal.”

“You’re a killer.”

“My question stands, regardless.”

“I’ve worked with criminals before,” you shook your head, making to turn back to the couch, but a fast grip at your upper arm stopped you in your tracks, and he was far too close all over again. Suffocating you with his closeness, with the oppressive cleanliness and water his scent still carried from his recent shower. Ungloved, his fingers were warm, radiating through the sleeve of your shirt, digging firmly into the pliant flesh of your bicep.

His breath carried the faint smell of mint that comes after a fresh brushing as it wafted past your skin alongside his demanding amusement, and your stomach dropped dreadfully when he teased, “Ah, but you danced with me.”

Have you ever let someone you didn’t trust get too close?

The question seemed to dance in the black endlessness of his dilated pupils, rimmed with the deceptive warm brown of his irises. You were so close that you could notice the gold flecks in them which caught in the sunlight streaming from the window, something you otherwise would have missed. A dare in the dangerous flick of his lashes, he glanced to your lips and back; was he all too aware of your closeness, too?

The reflexive dart of your tongue to wet your lips gave you away, face burning hot with anger and embarrassment, and you ripped yourself from his grip, “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“I’m sure you’re clever enough to figure it out,” is his sarcastic counter, a satisfied smirk which said he had all the answer he needed already left you wishing there were some way to rip it from his face, because were you really that obvious? Or was he just that good at reading people?

This time, when you headed to sit back on the couch, he simply stood there, allowing you to be unobstructed. You plopped down upon the couch with all the defeat you felt at his satisfaction, lying down in the hope that if you ignored him, he’d simply go away.

When you hear the sound of his slippers along the floor, signaling his departure from your side, the distant shuffle paused in their tracks when you couldn’t help yourself from asking, “Why did you come back?”

“Hmm?”

“When we were in Madripoor,” you breathed slowly, curiosity overcoming your anger, “you had escaped us twice. It was the perfect chance to run for your freedom. Why come back?”

You don’t dare open your eyes, even with the length of his pause, before he answers, a solemn honesty in his voice, “This is not a mission which I can abandon. I must see it through.”

You almost asked him why, once again, but thought better of it. Something told you he wouldn’t have given you a straight answer, either way.

Just when you think he’d gone on his way, the shuffling sound of his slippers closed in once more. Tempted to look, your curiosity at his approach was answered with the sharp sound of glass clicking against the wooden coffee table.

“Feel for me as you will, but eat,” his voice is low, soft. You don’t know if it was the straining of your ears to make up for what you would not see, but you could have sworn you heard an apologetic tone when he added, “You’re no use if you lack the strength to fight your enemies. As you are now, anyone could overpower you if they wished.”

That earns him a peek of a glare from out of the corner of your eye, and you earn a stern look in return as he nods towards the canned peaches on the table.

You couldn’t help yourself from asking sarcastically, before cracking a small smile, “So, are the Flag Smashers about to propel from the ceilings to catch us unaware, or is it you I should be worried about overpowering me?”

No apologies, from either party, but his dark chuckle is enough to set your soul aflame when he teases, sounding too much like a promise, “I would only overpower you, should you to ask me to.”

And that was when you realized how your question had come across. The burning in your face only increases as you sat up sharply at his words, about to protest that it had not been what you meant by them, but the doors to the loft opened, saving you the embarrassment of that conversation.

“Where’s Sam?” Bucky asks, and Zemo leans away from the coffee table, freeing you from the sweltering scrutiny of his gaze.

“I’m afraid we are running low on groceries, and he was so kind as to do the shopping for us,” Zemo explained innocently enough, but Bucky’s eyes narrowed at him regardless.

“Speaking of going out,” you reached for the jar of peaches, feeling Zemo’s glance upon you as you popped the top open, “where’ve you been?”

“I saw an old friend,” Bucky grumbled, shrugging off your question as he moved towards the washroom, “I’ll tell you when Sam gets back.”

The door closed behind him with a certain finality on the subject, at least until Sam returned. By the time you looked back towards Zemo, he was fiddling with the box of candy.

“I shall put the coffee on,” he announced, glancing to catch your eye with the flick of a candy wrapper glinting between his fingertips, offering, “Turkish delight?”

Upon Sam’s return, the news that Bucky’s old friend had been a warrior of Wakanda was a bad one, at least for Zemo. But with bad news came good news, and soon enough you were following the trail of the Flag Smashers once again, even if that meant the Wakandans were following your trail.

Hours turned to days, and by the end of a weeklong trek across Europe filled with close-quarters and even closer encounters with your Sokovian prisoner, you were standing in front of the dingy warehouse which had found you in this final, terrifying predicament.

Wondering if it had all been pointless, to be snuffed out at the hand of the supersoldier above you, pushing you into the dirty concrete. He wouldn’t need a gun to end you, and you both knew it. So you might have been panicking, with how savagely you pulled in his grasp. A trapped animal, fighting to get free.

Blood rushing to your head fills your ears, catching the first sight of the man pushing you into the ground just barely out of the corner of your eye, and the dark mask covering his face with a handprint. You could make out that he was light-skinned, dark hair pushing down past his chin, young enough to make you wonder just how old he was, and if yours would be the first life he’d take.

His voice is softer than you expected, for someone who sounded so terrifying when he began his order of, “Stop struggli---”

The bullet that rips through his neck tears his grip away from your body, ringing off the hollow echo of the room for just the moment it took the eyes beyond the frame of his mask to widen and dilate as they looked into your own. Green.

His eyes were green.

Silence far too sudden for the adrenaline of the close gunshot not to shake you to your core.

The supersoldier is dead before he hits the ground, and you’re pushing yourself up on aching joints to get on your feet as quickly as possible, until the familiar voice of your companion meets your ears in a thick, Sokovian accent, “He did not hurt you.” It’s flat, not hitching into a recognizable question at the end, but the dark eyes of your savior seem to question you despite the cracking disinterest of his tone.

There was no denying you were happy to see him.

“Zemo,” it’s breathless, and sounds too much like a hoarse relief for your own liking, so you focus instead on rolling your bruised shoulder and avoiding the searing gaze upon you, trying not to appear as shaken as you truly were, “Not anything I can’t walk off.” The sound of something muttered in Sokovian under his breath brings you to look upon him again, finding that his gun lingers along his hip, locked in the tight, leather-gloved grip. He looks displeased, lips set into a tight line that suggests he’s angry, even, but not in the same way he had been in Latvia. This was worse, a colder, solemn anger that threatened the fire behind his eyes, threatening to burn this whole place to the ground, and you can only question, “What is it?”

“Undoubtedly any others remaining here have been alerted by the noise,” Zemo says curtly, turning towards the hallway from whence you came. He is angry, you manage to confirm, when he bites across his shoulder, “Mind your surroundings this time, so that you don’t find yourself pathetically helpless again.”

His words were scathing, but they’re meant to be. Even worse, you know he’s right. This dead one, whose blood was splattered over the top half of your tactical gear, had crept up on you too softly, and was too strong to shake off once he’d gotten hold of you.

Constructed to kill, thanks to the serum.

Even going into a fully aware fight, you were at a disadvantage, especially in close quarters. It was something he understood. Something he used repeatedly in his own strategy against opponents which were physically stronger in every way.

Your only hope of an upper hand had to come from either distance, or subterfuge. At least, if you weren’t accompanied by Bucky or Sam.

You’re lucky, despite the burning ache in your side and back, that it hadn’t been worse than it was, and that Zemo had come upon you as he did.

“Remain close,” he murmurs, as you emerge out into the hall, and you don’t dare to argue with him on it, even if you might have had the situation which just transpired not done so. Clearing the upper west floors were methodical, swift, and it became apparent by the third that whoever had been here was gone, either before or after Zemo’s gunshot had rung true.

Bucky and Sam appeared winded when you regrouped at the designated meeting point, and you didn’t have to wait for Bucky’s explanation to guess what had occurred, “We tangled with a few of them. They got away, but we got another lead from what they left behind…” Bucky trailed off, swapping a glance with Sam at the sight of your disheveled state.

“What happened to you two?” Sam’s eyes dart between your torn clothes and the scrapes along your skin towards Zemo’s tense, rigid frame.

“I was jumped by one,” you grit, embarrassed enough that he’d caught you off-guard without even verbalizing it, “he had me on my stomach, but Zemo, he---” you clear your throat, remembering the vacant green stare and splash of deep, vibrant red that had accompanied your rescue.

“It has been handled,” Zemo supplies for you, and before Sam could question him further, he adds, “the man is dead.”

The blood along your black tactical gear has dried by now, but it’s black stickiness must be ever apparent for them now, as Bucky sighs a weary, “Well, shit.”

“Are you okay?”

You open your mouth to answer Sam, but Zemo gruffly responds, “She’ll live,” before brushing past the two of them towards where the car which would take you back into the heart of the city was waiting.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sam wonders, when Zemo is far enough ahead that he can’t hear the question.

“You want a list?” Bucky grumbles dismissively, stretching his metal arm in a wide circle that suggested it had set peculiarly after his last fight.

Your throat tightens, and you try your best to keep from remembering that helpless, desperate feeling which had drenched your soul as the supersoldier pinned you to the concrete.

Forcing a humorless laugh, you offer up a half-hearted explanation, daring it to sound as unbothered as you wished you truly were, “Maybe he regrets the bullet he spent saving me.”

Bucky’s exhale is somewhere between a bitter laugh and sigh, “Who knows, with him.”

As much as you wished for it, you couldn’t be sure if those words you’d spoken didn’t ring true.

“Whatever,” Sam agrees, dismissively rubbing the back of his neck. Redirecting back on the target of chasing the Flag Smashers, you hoped you’d get a step ahead of them soon when Sam instigates your following of Zemo to the car, “We’d better get back to the motel and regroup. Got an early day ahead of us tomorrow.”

The, “yeah,” you supply the back of their heads with, finding yourself following after them, is almost as distant as you felt. Internalized, and thrumming with the melting adrenaline which made way for exhaustion to settle into your bones and take hold.

Yet, you can’t get that deathly, dilating green out of your mind, or the ghost clinging to the ache in your back, where murderous weight had been.

Zemo did not meet your eye the whole ride to the motel--- and it was nothing like the dazzling vacation home Zemo had introduced you all to in Riga. Complete with plain walls and shuttered windows, the view of Prague you received from the window set in the dead center of the narrow bedroom was that of the wall of the building opposite. Utility, over luxury, but privacy had been key, as well.

He had retired to his own room just as soon as you’d set foot before it, bizarrely silent in that same way that you had come to realize could never be a good thing, because it meant Zemo was lost in his own head. Neither Sam nor Bucky made note of it, at least aloud, and so you held your tongue as well, rather than acknowledge the dark cloud which seemed to follow the man as he disappeared beyond the click of the motel room door.

“We can trade,” breaks you from your intense scrutiny of that door, key card clutched firmly in hand as you glance towards where Bucky stiffly supplies, “I don’t blame you if you’re not okay with it. You can stay with Sam instead.”

Your heart clenches, and for a moment you’re brought out of your remembrance of the Flag Smasher’s body atop your own by the offer, somewhat touched that he would take your place as Zemo’s keeper tonight at the sacrifice of his own comfort. Even after all that Zemo had done to him, he would take the bed which you had agreed to sleep in earlier, when the motel owner had explained the issue of limited capacity.

You can see the apprehension behind his eyes, despite his generous offer. He was still unsettled by Zemo, and, if you were being honest, so were you. You won’t make him do that for you, all so that you can avoid whatever tension lingering between you and Zemo.

Instead, you pat Bucky in the chest gently with the palm of your hand and swallow down the nauseous churn of your stomach, forcing a light tone, “I’m a big girl, Bucky, but if he gives me any trouble, I’ll shout for you guys. How’s that sound?”

“If he gives you a chance to shout,” Bucky frowns.

“Well, if he suffocates me in my sleep, I’ll haunt him forever,” it’s meant to be teasing, but it comes out dry.

“Our side will be unlocked, just in case,” Sam mentions, lingering in the open doorway of the adjoining room, “might wanna’ unlock yours, too.”

“Or else I’ll just have to break through it if anything happens,” Bucky’s tone is just as dry. Tired. This chase was wearing on you all, and you could only hope that tomorrow would be different than today.

Slipping the key card along the door, it whirs to life with a click. The acceptance of your entry indicated by the green glow of the lock’s internal light. Slipping into the room, you rest your back against the shut door, willing the green remembrance of your attacker’s eyes to shake from your head.

Your death-grip on the key card doesn’t ease as the bathroom door opens, and you catch sight of Zemo. He’s shed his jacket, left in that dark turtleneck and slacks. His hair had fallen, ever so slightly, from its perfected part against his forehead. The tips of a few strands there are dark with a dampness which evidenced the water he must have splashed his face with before emerging from the restroom.

His hands are free of his gloves as he flexes them at his sides, pausing for but a moment of acknowledgement at your presence before he goes further into the room, towards the full bed near the window which he must claim as his own. The jacket lies there, until he retrieves it to hang in the closet on one of the wooden hangers provided within.

Not a word. You don’t know if it should make you relieved or concerned, but truthfully, it makes you feel nothing. Because you’re still standing at the door by the time he turns from the closet, staring unfocused at the floor before you and screaming internally to pull yourself together when he does it for you.

“Are you going to stand there for the remainder of the night?” Curtly, “If my presence has you so paralyzed with fear, you may as well take up your soldier’s offer to switch rooms.”

His voice holds an edge, despite the deceptively smooth calmness to it. A taunting, instigating bait hung there. As if he were still angry at you.

And for what? For getting attacked?

The thought sends white-hot, simmering rage swelling in your own chest. Did he think you a nuisance, after having to save you from that brute of a supersoldier this evening? It had been a sneak-attack! You doubt even having your wits about you would have helped catch the silence with which you’d been crept up on in that warehouse, now that you’d had time to replay every second of it in your mind twofold.

Glaring at him with that fire in your eyes, was better than that frightfully distant look you’d held a moment before, he thought.

“What do you want from me?” comes biting from your teeth, bared at him as you bristled under the cold anger of his own stare.

“There is nothing you could possibly offer me that I would want,” he strikes back.

Snake, meet wolf.

“As if I would offer you anything at all after the way you’ve acted,” it’s an effort to keep your voice from rising. You want to fight; to feel something other than the crippling terror that had nearly killed you this evening--- that panic, which had gripped your heart until it felt like it bled.

“The way I’ve acted?” Zemo’s demeanor changes, flaring rage in his eyes as he stalks across the room. It takes everything you have not to wilt in his approach, but to instead glare right back at him, even when he crowds you up against the door, palm coming flat against where your head resides. His voice doesn’t rise with his seething fury, but rather, lowers into a tone that turns your blood cold as it rushes through the heat his closeness spreads through you, “I am not the one who almost got myself killed.”

“Well,” you struggle to remain even, as you breathe all the disdain you can muster into your words, “I’m not going to apologize for you having to save me.”

His head tilts to the side, snarling through his thick accent at the thought, “I do not want an apology for that.”

Standing straight from your leaning on the door, if only to feel as if you were invading his space rather than the other way around, you find that he leans away ever so slightly when you snap, “I’m not going to thank you for it, either.”

“Thank me for---?” he stops himself with a clench of his jaw, breathing slowly through his nose, as if to calm the crackling fire behind his eyes as his glare burns into your own. Too close; he’s still standing much too close.

And he moves so quickly you have zero chance of escaping his path. The hand he didn’t have laid flat on the door pushes you roughly by the shoulder, into it. By the time your mouth is open to even yelp in surprise, it’s suffocated by the hasty press of his lips against yours. Searing, pressing the length of his body firm against your own as he kisses you with all the wild fury his eyes betrayed. Nothing was left of the collected calmness of his posture or voice from before, as his hand on your shoulder digs into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging you into him.

Not that you needed to be coaxed, with the way your fingers dig and scrape into the fabric along his chest, his shoulders, his throat, his hair. Digging in, his part is destroyed as you nip at his lips, teeth and tongue distracting you from any fragment of sense that was left screaming at you to remember it. To remember who he was, and how things are supposed to be between you.

Which was definitively the opposite of this. His hands were never supposed to find themselves fistfuls of your hair, your hip, your flesh, as they did now. You were never supposed to know that he tasted like something sweet, or felt soft beneath the hard lines of his turtleneck.

He was dragging, pulling, tumbling with you away from the door, as anger and fury melted into a complex, sweltering mixture of something else entirely, heat burning through your core when he tugged at the buckles of your tactical gear.

The world turns sideways, and then you’re falling upon something soft--- the mattress creaking beneath your weight and the weight of him kneeling atop you as you dragged him down to your lips once again. Rough, not gentle, as you arched into him and tugged at his hair, a breathy groan escaping into your mouth from his own.

He inhales sharply, as if suddenly realizing the position you were both in, as his fingertips grazed the bare skin of your waist, where your shirt had become untucked from your pants.

Breaking, parting, breathless, he stares down at you. Brown eyes blown wide and dilated, staring at you like a deer in the headlights--- perhaps the most honest expression you’d ever seen on Zemo’s face.

You were no better, sprawled along the comforter and trying to catch your breath. A single question ringing around your brain in search of an answer, any answer.

What are you doing? What are you doing?

“I,” he breathes softly, in a lilting apologetical tone, and you realize he’s between your legs, hooked along his hips precariously. Your anger dissipates, evaporating like it had been burned away with the roaring flames he’d ignited within you, and he clears his throat slightly. Troubled is how he looks, when his eyes become incapable of holding your own, “I can’t do this.”

No apology, though it may as well be there, in the way he said it.

Though you know he’s keeping you from a terrible mistake, part of you is lying when you murmur, “It’s okay,” back up to him.

“Yane mogu etogo sdelat,” he leans down, as if collapsing under the pressure of whatever he was feeling, right into the curve of your stomach. Sokovian, you register faintly, as another reverent, “I can’t do this,” falls from his lips to be muffled in the fabric between you.

Your hand finds his head, fingers carding through his hair reflexively, and you don’t know if it’s from the shock of your situation or a genuine desire to comfort him, when you repeat, even softer, “It’s okay, Helmut.”

It’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name, you realize.

Maybe it’s the fact that he was still tangled up in you, or the fact that you’d been mere moments away from letting him have his way with you, but you don’t dare move from this spot. From pushing your fingertips against the crown of his scalp, or the weight of him against you. Neither does he, as he breathes raggedly for a moment against your stomach, face buried there.

Breaking the silence almost feels wrong, but you do it anyway. A compulsive, desperate need to do so crawls up your throat, until you can’t contain the words any longer.

Reaching down, finding the curve of his jaw, you pull, until he lifts his head enough to peer over the curve of your chest to meet your eye, questioning after a moment of peering into the lingering want, and tragic grief of his stare, “Are you okay, Helmut?” But you already know the answer; you finally understand that this man is far more broken than you’d ever realized.

“Is anyone ever just, ‘okay?’” is his evasive answer.

You say it before you can think better of it, offering him another piece of you with which you probably shouldn’t have, but you were already neck deep in possible regrets, so what was one more?

“People’ve said I’m a good listener before, if you need to talk about whatever it is that’s troubling you.”

You liked to think he owed you some kind of explanation for all this, but if he’d asked you for the same, you don’t know if you could give him one, either. It had just… happened. No rhyme or reason, but some bizarre, broken part of your own soul had called out to whatever was cracked and frayed in his own. It was all the answer you could think of, for why you were flat on your back beneath him still.

“I would not bother you with my troubles,” Zemo starts, attempting to piece back that calm, collected mask which kept this fragment of him that you had bore witness to hidden.

“If not me, then you should bother someone with them.”

And maybe it’s the soft, bittersweet smile with which you look up at him, or a deep craving to be understood by just one other human being in this world, but his chin remains firmly planted against your chest as he says quietly, sadly, “I have no one left. They are all gone.” He doesn’t flinch away when you brush the hair from his forehead, out of his eyes, catching sight of the confusion, the trouble in his soul.

Trouble, indeed.

Stormy, dark, he stares a hole into your soul, and you ache with the hollow tragedy of it, when he murmurs as firmly as he can, almost worse than if his voice had cracked with emotion, “I have lost them all.”

You want to tell him the reflexive compassions that come at times like these, but sorry feels cheap, and you could never understand the pain he must feel. You hope you never do.

So you breathe out slowly, one word at your lips, “Sokovia?” as if you didn’t already know. As if you had not read his file, years before he joined you for this mission. Back when he had terrorized the Avengers and murdered diplomats at the United Nations hearing. You tried not to think of it, now, when he looked so vulnerable, and sad, as the slight nudge of his chin into the flesh of your skin is all that’s required to acknowledge your question.

“You already bother me enough, Zemo,” you try to add a joking hum to your voice, as you sigh beneath him, but even that sounds bittersweet, “so feel free to bother me more with your troubles, if you like.”

There’s quiet for what feels like a long time after that. Your words permeating the space between you, and you don’t know if he watches you like he does to gauge your sincerity, or because he simply likes looking at you like this.

He gives you a fragment, when his body shifts, and his weight moves up just enough to catch your eye from where you were left staring at the ceiling in this thrumming silence, your fingers slipping from his hair to his shoulder, “I…” he clears his throat softly, “saw you underneath that supersoldier, and I just… could not lose one more.” Zemo doesn’t say he cares about you, not explicitly, “He was going to kill you.”

“I know,” it tastes hollow in your mouth, as you do your best not to go back there, to how he’d found you.

“It,” he breathes, searching for the right word, “frightened me, and so I was furious. Not entirely at you, but because…”

He trails off, and you supply instead, the similar feeling which had buried itself in your own chest, “Because of how it made you feel?”

Zemo nods, his hands smoothing down your back, catching at your waist, “I did not like the way it made me feel,” his gaze flicks along the planes of your face, before returning to your own, that want-mixed-grief once again swirling within them. “The way you make me feel. It is like… a betrayal.” His voice does shake this time, when he breathes, “It is too soon since… I lost my whole world.”

A betrayal, he had called the feeling.

It felt like that for you, too. This swirling, guilty want in your bones for him, when you know it’s the last thing you should want. That he should be the last thing you want. If Bucky or Sam saw you like this--- you think they might hate you for it.

For wanting him.

Your hand rests at the curve of his neck and shoulder, thumb close enough to feel the short stubble which threatened to peek through at his jaw with the late hour of the day, and you agree, “I was angry, too, because of this feeling.”

“The feeling of wanting something you cannot have,” he chuckles, a truce, offered from his body to yours in the vibrations of it which resound in your chest.

“You could say that.”

Perhaps, in a different world, things could be different.

Maybe, if you’d met him at a different time.

But as things were, you were just two broken people, seeking solace in one another when every fiber of your being told you not to. That it was wrong--- despite how comfortably right he felt against you here and now, lingering between your thighs and against your body for as long as he possibly could, despite the guilt that you’d shared, without even knowing it.

It’s not your place, but when he sits up finally, his weight lifting off of you and somehow leaving you feeling more suffocated than when it had been there, you catch his attention with the sound of his name, “Helmut?”

“Hmm?” he wonders, knees pressing into the mattress as he’s halfway detangled from between your legs.

Catching his eye, you hope you look as sincere as it felt within you, the ache in your chest for him, “Anyone who could have loved you, would have wanted you to be happy.” It sounds cliche and generic, but you don’t dare mention his wife specifically, or the terrible emptiness that comes with the loss of a child. Still, you see it in his eyes, in the way he observes you with increased curiosity, that he knows it to be true, despite that desperate, clawing pain you know he must feel within his chest.

Zemo’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “That is a sweet sentiment.” And he’s gone, leaving you spread there to watch after him as he crosses the room, towards the restroom, probably for a moment of privacy. Stopping in his path, he glances at you, hand resting on the doorframe, “But they do not have to go on living without them.”

The bathroom door shuts behind him with a definitive click, and you’re left reeling as you piece together the facts of the night. The pieces of his grief, and want, which you’d witnessed. The fragments of yours which only seemed to swell with his own.

A miserable, self-pitying groan slips past your lips.

You were truly in trouble, now.