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rcksmith · 2 years ago

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Untouchable - Five Hargreeves

You can find the 2 request here: anonymous 1, anonymous 2.

Resume: The villain falls in love with the girl.

Trope: “ Who did this to you?” “Touch her and you are dead.” “i´ll find you in every lifetime”

Couple: Five Hargreeves /Fem!Reader.

Warnings: A LOT OF ANGST, swearing, mention of death, blood, fight between the Hargreeves and the Sparrows,a little enemies to lovers in the end, fluff, SMUT, degrading talk.

Word count: 15k.

A/N: Spoiler from season 3.

OMG THIS IS HUGE JAHHSHDAHSDJAHDHND it turned out bigger than i expected.

Because I have a lot of requests in my box, I compile orders that are similar and put together, but I took care to added all the elements that were asked for individually, and made sure that all ideas were respected and written down.

We not tolerate any pedophilia here!! I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter, MHA and others fandoms.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are OPEN. Love you ❤️

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Honor comes from the Latin honoris. Indicating a person who lives with honesty and probity, basing their way of life on the dictates of morality. A principle that leads someone to have a righteous, virtuous conduct, which allows to enjoy a good reputation in society.

Five Hargreeves thought of himself as a callous man with no honor and, somehow, able to drown out the voice of morality in his head. He was very knowledgeable about literature and history, and his physics and math skills could surpass Tesla's, but philosophy for him was a bunch of weak principles and dictated by people who didn't really know the world, who didn't pass 1% of what he passed by, who did not see what he saw. Not even Socrates, Plato or Machiavelli had known the worst of humanity like him, the truth about realities. A big part of his existence came down to surviving, fighting, winning, crushing everything that threatened his life.

His cynical outlook on life led him to pragmatism, and he knows that if he wants something done, he will have to do it himself.

His actions were more about getting things done than about displaying a display of rebellion or power. However, Five was not afraid of pain or even killing. He didn't mind being the author of the worst massacres if it meant going back to his family.

Five Hargreeves don't give a damn about being the villain of the story. He did what had to be done.

It was why, when The Handle ordered him to carry out the death sentence of a Duke and Duchess in 1730, Five did not question or hesitate.

Even though in the back of his mind, in a very small part of his brain, the question arose as to why people from such an old and outdated date, he did nothing about it, much less pulled the thread from the ball of yarn that would trigger a series of questions in a row. His job was not to ask why, to investigate step by step, to go through file by file. Five wasn't on The Commission to know the reason for each death, he was on the execution.

So he went, letting the suitcase unfold before his eyes an ancient era, from a faraway time, introducing him to carriages, flowing dresses, gigantic balls. And, as much as some people considered that era poetic, Five never liked lack of practicality.

So he killed the couple as quickly as possible, determined to escape from the need to spend more hours in that old-fashioned place.

It was like any other murder he had committed over the years on The Commission; he came, killed, and left. No looking back, no questions, no hesitation. Drowning in the deepest wave any second feelings that might have submerged, ensuring his emotions were chained very well at the bottom of the ocean.

It was easy, normal, routine. He was once again the villain, and could sleep very well the night with that.

But something began to change gradually in the atmosphere, in the air.

On some mornings, it was as if Five's hands were tingling for no apparent reason, eager to catch up something he had no idea what it was. On some afternoons, his heart vibrated in his chest, like a ground being punished by an earthquake, shaking his balanced state of mind. And, on some dawns, Five's mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert, thirsty for something that not even the coldest water could appease.

Wherever he was the air stayed suddenly thin, stuffy. And sometimes, in the middle of a mission, the wind seemed to blow in only one direction, hitting Hargreeves' back as if pushing him to go in a path. At those moments, his heart returned fluttered in his chest, as if he knew that one north was calling him and was that where he needed to go.

Everything inside Hargreeves began to be affected by strange reactions, spurred by banal, mundane events.

An in a few seconds, if Five stood completely still, silencing his thoughts and hollowing out any inner voices, he could hear something in the wind calling for him. Small seconds that swept away any balance that one day he ever had.

Five Hargreeves was going through a peripeteia, and he had no idea what was causing it.

What hell is going on?

It was wen, on an afternoon where the sun hid with shame among the dark gray clouds, The Handler gave him another murder.

In 1750.

His soul shuddered inside him in that second, echoing through his bones, keeping Five's egyptian green eyes fixed on the paper in his hands, unable to look away from the bold numbers that indicated the date of his next mission.

The icy breeze ruffled his dark hair, but he didn't move. There seemed to be something important and unspoken in the air, and this time, the voice calling his name on the wind grew softly louder. Now, it didn't seem to come from the back of his mind anymore, but from a place far away.

Five looked around, in an instinctive movement in the pathetic and vain attempt to find the source of that voice.

Nothing. As always.

“Five.” The Handler snapped her fingers in front of his face “May I have your precious attention?" The irony didn't go unnoticed, but his eyes flickered to hers. “As I was saying, the time and place of this mission is strictly important. Viscount Sebastian needs to be killed in his office at midnight, in the middle of his daughter's debut ball, not a minute less and nowhere else.”

Hargreeves gave a nod. Not because he had devoted all of his attention to her, just because he wanted her to stop talking. Much of his concentration was still on the way his body and the hemisphere around him behaved. Mission times and places were standard, no need to focus on this nonsense and listen to someone reiterate the rules as if Five were a child. He was 26 years old, a child was the last thing he was.

Something seemed to be happening, occult like a current that rattles under the sea. And the knowledge that he couldn't see the bottom of the ocean unnerved every cell in his body. Hargreeves couldn't stand things he couldn't perceive, understand how it works, take it apart and put it back together again.

This time, when Five returned to the eighteenth century, with 20 years having passed in that time after his visit and only 2 weeks for him, what hit him first was not the impracticality, the carriages, the big dresses. But the wind. Strong, cold, bringing with it the voice who called his name for weeks, now loud and clear.

The dark strands of his body prickled, and he could feel his heartbeat in his throat. Suddenly, anxiety snaked through his body like venom, stirring every fiber in his body, pumping something into his veins that made his blood heat like lava. An emotion he couldn't name what it was.

In the last mission, Five had a string of complaints about the way the black waistcoat squeezed the white linen shirt over his abdomen, and how heavy the straight-cut coat felt heavy under his shoulders. But in this time, he wasn't bothered with the clothes he had to wear so as not to attract attention and go unnoticed. Now, with his heart pounding in his chest, his throat dry and the constant feeling that he had to be somewhere urgently, his clothes were the last things on his mind.

It was an emotion that squeezed the pit of his stomach, made his hands itch and his body shot with an adrenaline that screamed that he needed to move. That he had a more important place to be. All the sensations he'd felt leisurely over the weeks now came back with absurd force, as if he were getting close to the source of it all.

What was happening?

The moon in that far away era shone sovereignly in the sky, blessing the houses, carriages and large mansions with cascades of distilled light in the purest color of silver.

Las time, the feeling that came over Five was to get out of there as quickly as possible. But now, looking around in search of the source of the voice calling him in the wind, the last thing on his mind was leaving.

His watch still read eight o'clock, but the sensation was like he was already late.

The most practical plan was to stay hidden somewhere near the mansion where the ball was being held. Avoiding crowds, witnesses, minimizing risk and being a shadow. As always did. The most rational thing to do was to stay away from that place at all costs, until the inevitable arrived and he was forced to enter through one of the windows.

He should have done it. But he didn't.

Just as a sailor follows a siren's song on the high seas, Five followed that voice on the wind. His brain screamed for him to seek a hiding place, but his soul rebelled with an absurd ferocity, ricocheting tremors through all his bones and ordering his legs to follow a path his conscious did not know. His whole mind was confused, but his soul carried a certainty that no other living being had ever had in they life.

With no other option, stunned by the sensations in his own body, he found himself walking towards the front door of the only place he was supposed to avoid until midnight.

If Five Hargreeves had to describe what was happening to his five senses, he would say that his vision was mildly blurred, as if were searching for focus. The smell was of climax and the ambient sounds were drowned out by his own heartbeat. It was like being there in flesh and blood, but not in soul.

He didn't focus on the details of the world around him, but he knew when he finished climbing the front steps. He couldn't focus on the conversation around him, but he knew that a few people were walking beside him.

His mind saw everything, but processed nothing.

It was a mistake not to be 100% aware of the environment, not to study each individual's body language, not to constantly calculate the odds of a move going wrong. But... it was as if something prevented him from emerging to the surface.

Five didn't respond when the butler greeted him at the entrance to the great hall, but looked around as the wind from outside hit his back and his name rang in his ears once more.

It was a female voice. Now he could tell.

Going deeper into the hall, the melody of the orchestra invaded his ears while thousands of people, talking, dancing and drinking, took his view. Everything resembled a blur on a painting, the sounds were still muffled as if Five were at the bottom of the sea, and the smell transitioned between flowers, feminine perfume and poetry.

Five Hargreeves was a pragmatic, cynical and austere man. Everything that made up his being was based on rationality, laws of physics and mathematical concepts, he wasn't oscillated by tender things and he certainly wasn't carried away by things of the heart or soul. He always followed what rationality dictated. Until now.

Until now.

Like a violin string that ruptured, Hargreeves was gripped by the feeling that something very important was about to happen. Something that would not only change his existence forever, but change him for eternity. This fact stared him at back, bold, warm and as inevitable as the setting sun. And very hair on his body stood on end at once while everything inside him pulsed with a brutality that could shake his bones.

Now, the sound of the orchestra was drowned out by the soundtrack of his life, which was coming closer to apex by the second. It was like being submerged in a slow-motion, in a moment that preceded an momentous event.

As magnets are pulled one by the other in an impassable way, his eyes, as if they already knew where to look, were drawn to a figure among the others who danced in the middle of the hall.

You.

Was like an explosion. Loud and brutal. He suddenly submerged from the bottom of the sea, bewildered, desperate, out of breath. The stupor released itself all at once, bringing his mind back to the reality. Instantaneously, nothing was blurred anymore, sounds weren't muffled, and he abruptly returned to his conscious state. But his soul was not so lucky. Like being whipped by live eels, his heart pounded in his chest with such fury that he leaned over forward millimeters, his throat was drier than the Egyptian desert and now his hands itched in a hellish, bestial, uncontrollable way.

Five Hargreeves has released himself from a wave of numbness only to be hit by a tsunami of sensation.

His eyes were seeing everything clearly now, but he couldn't take his attention away from the female figure dancing in the middle of the room, her bouffant gown swirling gracefully across the floor as if deities were blowing the fabrics.

There were a lot of people around him, in front of him, behind him, but Five Hargreeves only had eyes for you.

In an insane, magical and inexplicable logic, Five had the purest certainty that it was your voice that called him in the wind, that was by the desire to touch your skin that his hands itched. Five would never be able to explain it to other people, but at that moment, there was nothing more concrete on Earth, in physics and science, than the certainty that was because of you that his soul felt, so many times, that he should be somewhere else.

Like the indubitability that you need oxygen to breathe, touching your skin has become just as indispensable. It was a matter of needing, something that now not only itched his hands, but corroded the bones in his fingers.

There was no reason for all those absurd feelings, Five had never even seen you before. But rationality had no space in that moment.

There, in that rift between the past, future and parallel realities, there was no discernment, lucidity, judgment. It was a hideaway free of any cohesiveness, with the smell of romance, an atmosphere full of emotion, passion and poetry. A distant era that allowed, for the first time in many years, that the soul of Five Hargreeves to take control of his body.

He moved, one step after another, his focus petrified on you. With each centimeter closer to your body, the more he felt able to breathe again, relieving the brutal anxiety that had been beating him for weeks, giving a truce to the martyrdom that lacerate him day after day without even him even knowing why.

You had finished your dance, clapping along with the other guests for the orchestra that started the new melody, this time more lyrical.

Your hair, the tone of which seemed to be the personification of poetry, of art, was tied in a bun that allowed a few strands to fall under your neck, the skin of your bust was speckled with a few little droplets of sweat, the perfect amount to glisten under the yellowish light of the candles in the chandelier, making a divine, almost celestial aurora radiate from you. The dark blue gown referred back to the night sky in its greatest splendor, highlight your full breasts at the straight neckline and opening at the hips in a skirt that preached the illusion of you being floating across the hall. Your lips were a red that Five had never seen in his life. A red that seemed to exist only to serve you, enhancing the color of your eyes.

You were like a mirage. An oasis in the farthest desert. One of those paintings that people come from all over the world to see in person, capable of sweeping, taking they breath away, making they cry for having to live with the burden of never having the possibility of knowing you in life.

The romantic period was going on in that century, society was tired of trends in intellectual thinking, rationalization, industrialization and the veneration of science. People longed for an escape into emotionally charged images and fantastical fiction in the visual arts and literature. And Five Hargreeves was certain that you were one of the greatest inspirations of this movement. It was so clear that you were the influence of John Waterhouse's paintings, sweeping the hearts of artists and illuminating poets. Lord Byron was thinking of you when he created the short lyric poem “She Walks in Beauty”, completely fascinated by you.

That thought shuddered Five's soul even more. And an acidic emotion rose in his throat and burned his eyes. In his chest was injected the feeling that he was facing one of the greatest beauties in history, the person the poems and paintings were based on, the inspiration for so many names of literature and art that would become renowned.

There, in front of him, was more than a person. It was a piece of history, art, literature, a beauty that was immortalized and that would be admired even after centuries. Five had already gone to different times in the past, but nothing touched his soul as much as now. As much as you.

Five Hargreeves went in your direction like a sailor following a siren's song across the seven seas.

You were relatively distracted when he got to you. Lungs catching breath from the last dance, body preparing for the next, your mind was on that ballroom but your heart was far away. It was universally true that girls your age should revel in balls like this one. Full of potential husbands, dancing and music, governed by a perfect night for falling in love. You came to like it in the past, but now, after so many similar events, everything didn't have the same magic anymore.

You've heard enough stories - filled with adrenaline, pirate ships and dangerous waters - to crave adventure in your life. It was also noticed that you spent too much time with your books, and that the consequence of spending so many hours in the fictional world brought you very high standards for men and love. The whispers through the darkened streets were that you would end up a spinster. Since you took no interest in any gentleman who courted your hand.

In your defense, it wasn't your fault. The men in your reality were terribly...tasteless.

That was until he showed up.

You don't know where he emerged, or what lineage he was from, much less his name. But he came towards you like that was more important than breathing. In a virile, perfect posture. As if he knew all the secrets of the world and was able to show you them.

One of the first things you noticed were the eyes. The room was partially dark, lit only by the flickering candles in the candelabra, but the darkness only made his eyes clearer. Intense greens. Of such a pure emerald tone that it shone like a mystical cat, calling you to sink in his greenish sea. The stranger had hair as black as midnight, which fell softly and romantically over a face with firm features; jaw as sharp as a razor and a nose full of masculine personality. Although was well dressed, all his clothes, with the exception of the white linen shirt, were as dark as the strands of his hair, something unusual among the sophisticated gentlemen who were invited.

Looking at that gorgeous face, you were left speechless. The deities had been generous to this man, gifting him with bold, aristocratic features and iris as green as Egypt's most precious jewels. The mystery and secrets contained within in those eyes were a fascinating contrast.

“Can I have this dance?” Just a sentence.

He didn't introduce himself, he didn't say who he was. He just dropped that sentence as if it was the only thing he really cared to say.

The gravity of his words made your heart flutter. What a beautiful voice that man had. With a provocative huskiness, a touch of superb, as if he were an oracle at his peak in ancient Greece. The sound seemed to seep into your body and run through you like warm honey.

The truth was, you had reserved the dance for another gentleman, but in that second, you couldn't care less.

“Of course, milord.” That's what you said, accepting the hand he extended to you.

Never taking his eyes off yours, an unfamiliar sensation washed over your mortal body and engulfed everyone around you. You wondered if it was just the stuff of your imagination or if he too felt the electricity whip through his body as he positioned you closer to dance.

Single women weren't allowed to touch men's hands if you weren't wearing gloves, and that rule had never bothered you. Until now.

Until be affected by an insane, visceral desire to feel that man's skin. Of experiencing the heat radiating from his hand against yours, of feeling those white fingers, slender and pale, holding your denude skin. You've never been touched by a man without a layer of clothing intervening. No brushing of elbows, no bumped of fingers, no errant caresses. And you wondered what it was about that man that made you aware of this deprivation. That stranger radiated secrets in an inexplicable but extremely palpable way in the air and you wanted to feel the touch of mystery on your skin more than you wanted to breathe. A will as strong as fear, as intense as hunger.

Your soul screamed in frustration because of the dress when his hand cupped your cover waist. In a touch so firm it only existed in the romance novels you read. Your heart raced, your breath disappeared, and you didn't notice when you rested your hand on his shoulder and your feet began to follow the rhythm of the waltz.

It was pathetic the intensity of your emotions for a man you had just met and didn't even know his name. But, it was like you'd found something didn't even know you'd lost.

Well… if it was the lack of knowledge of his name that was making things a little difficult…

“Aren't you going to tell me your name? Mine is Y/n”

Your voice, sweet as molasses, velvety as suede, made the hairs on the back of Five's neck stand on end. He recognized the timbre now, he had already heard you calling for him in the wind, but nothing surpassed hearing you from inches away.

This was one of those moments where, if you asked Five why he was doing this, he couldn't answer. He couldn't find any logical answers to his actions, reactions, thoughts. But, once again, this rift in space and time was an environment free of rationality. He didn't need this here. He felt he didn't need to. Not when had you in his arms.

A name…

Five Hargreeves was the name of a villain. Someone who would carry on his shoulders to the grave the weight of the thousands of souls he killed. Someone whose hands were marked, eternally, with thick, hot blood. A proof that his destiny was traced directly to hell. His name was the personification of a freak created to be a hero, an orphan in the apocalypse, a man who belonged nowhere in the timeline, someone without family for many decades.

He looked at the hands that held you. The hands of a serial killer. And then he looked at you, full of beauty, life, happiness and innocence. It was like committing a crime against nature to hold something so pure in such infamous, disgraced, death-scarred hands. And something inside he twisted with something like pain…disgust, for the fist time.

His soul didn't want to hold you in the hands of Five Hargreeves.

Five Hargreeves was the villain. And he didn't want to be that man right there.

His mouth, which looked so beautiful yet so dangerous, softly approached the foot of your ear, while the body of you two continued to follow the steps of the waltz. "We don't need names here."

A current of electricity slammed into your body like a whiplash from a live eel, raising goose bumps on parts of your skin you didn't even know you had. My goodness, it was a sin for a single man to have that much charm.

Sensible young women would have turned away at once. Practical girls who appreciated rationality, sincerity and transparency, who had no estimate for games, mystery and sensuality, would have rolled their eyes. But you were not sensible, practical or appreciative of the good customs of the epoch.

You were romantic, hungry for a good charade, adventure. And that man seemed to be built by those two things.

The world was just a shapeless blur, other people were no more than wandering silhouettes, and the atmosphere was enraptured by the flickering orange light of the candles in the candelabra. The smell was of poetry, romance and freedom, which intoxicated the brain and alcoholize any common sense. Was like a magical place in the middle of space and time, a rift that allowed just being. Time passed slowly, as if dancing together with you two.

‘One second can change many things...’

Just as Five could hear his father's voice saying 'I told you so' during his years in the apocalypse, he could hear his words now.

‘you can crumble empires, win battles...’

Five swirled you around before pulling you into his arms once more, his heart pounding with each passing moment. Neither of you realized it, but every second you spent together, every step, more messed up the timeline.

You smiled full of romance and magic as he leaned you back, his hand firm on your spine, bringing you to the surface and returning to dance around the hall with the waltz that dandle yours bodies.

‘you can fall in love.’

With every strong step the two of you took on the floor, in an apocalypse dance, realities were immediately misaligned. With each spin, lines of events were exploded into other universes. With each look shared, with each smile, with each heartbeat full of romance, people were erased, born, disappeared.

An apocalypse was brewing somewhere because of his hands on your body. A mystical waltz that brought the ascension of chaos in other timelines.

Neither of you two knew about it. But if Five knew, he wouldn't keep his hands off you anyway. Five Hargreeves was the villain in many realities. And he would accept the burden of being in a few more if it meant having you in his arms.

In an inexplicable and irrational way, what was happening now had more importance than everything he had ever lived and would live through in his entire life.

"You dance very well." You praised him, and his hands on you tighten a little more.

"No more than you". Then he gave that smile.

The half smile that lifted only one corner of his mouth. Malicious, sagacious, sphinx. Who promised to know all the mysteries of the world and show you all the sins of life. What man was that? So full of charm, sensuality, beauty. He seemed out of this world and you found yourself wishing that time would freeze in that moment, that you could hold onto your chest and live in that dance for the rest of your life.

There was something different in the air. A soul-deep feeling that whispered that your life would never be the same again.

Not after this man.

“It is not difficult to find women who dance.” You joked. "You've certainly danced with others to know."

Yes, with his mother and Allison.

But even if he had been dancing with all the women in the world, they would have disappeared in that moment. No memories memory experiences with other women could stand out at that moment.

"If I danced, they all disappeared the moment I waltzed with you." He realized he might have said the right thing, because he could see the breath go out of your lungs and cheekbones flush deliciously.

God in heaven… this girl was breathtakingly beautiful.

Five led you around the hall masterfully, committing your features to his mind like the tattoo on his wrist. Permanently, eternally. Suddenly, he was struck down by the insane desire to know more about you. To hear more of your voice, to taste the way the words flowed from your lips like the purest honey.

You were like a drug, an obsession. An addiction that had stuck with him since the first time he came into that century, since he breathed the same air as you, since he coexisted under the same night sky as you. There was insane logic in the fact that his soul felt your presence without even seeing you on that first mission. He would never be able to explain it, but somehow it made sense inside in him.

Five Hargreeves didn't think about what would happen when he had to leave. He didn't think about the withdrawal his body would suffer when he was away from you. Much less noticed the way there seemed to be something important in the air. If he had been in full intellectual faculties and grounded in rationality, he would have managed to understand that that something was the temporal lines collapsing, an apocalypse forming elsewhere, pure and perfect chaos destroying parallel realities.

But he was not being led by rationality. And even if he was, he wouldn't have minded a few worlds burning if it meant having you next to his body. He didn't care. But The Commission was a different case.

But Five Hargreeves wasn't thinking about any of that.

He conducted a conversation with you the way he conducted that waltz. He discovered that you liked the high seas even though you were never allowed to be on a ship. You loved nature and enjoyed good books. He heard your eagerness to know the world and learn about different cultures, that you wanted to unravel the mysteries of Egypt, see the architecture of Greece, visit Spain and wanted to go swim in the beaches of Brazil. You were an adventurer, and Five's heart skipped a beat for it.

But in a corner of his soul, deep down, he felt an ache reverberate through his bones. The urge to tell you about the world came with overwhelming force, and something inside him died when he realized he could never tell you the truth about the subjects you cared about.

He could never tell all that the world already knew about Egypt, about its tombs and its pharaohs. He could never be able to show the beauty of Brazil's beaches that become famous tourist spots, and he reserved a note in his brain that you would have loved to visit Genipabu in Brazil, a beach with huge sand dunes that seemed to be the junction of a huge desert whit a beach. He could not tell you what science, oceanography and marine biologists already knew about the oceans. He could never say about the cruises that roamed the seas in all the luxury and comfort, much less about the planes.

Five Hargreeves would never be able to show you the world. And his soul decided to torture itself even more thinking about what it would be like if you were from his time. The things you would do, the freedom you could enjoy.

He could show you anything you wanted, tell you the secrets of the universe…His secrets.

When the waltz was over, on a note as dramatic as the situation, you couldn't say goodbye to him. Your soul, enchanted and completely enraptured by the man in front of you, vehemently refused to remove your hand over his. It seemed that every molecule in your body, every corner of your spirit, every fiber of your being, had defined that it was with that man that they wanted to stay. Forever.

What was foolish.

The truth was that the sensation of poetry, romance and magic that surrounded you two throughout the dance, had evaporated from the air like mist in the sun. Now the sure that you two weren't meant to be together hung in the air like a black cloud, thundering and flashing. This feeling oppressed you with an overwhelming force, so tangible it was possible to cut it with a razor.

No words needed to be said, but it was stamped into the environment, filling every millimeter and gap, putting that magical dance into a category that would never go beyond that: a dance.

A feeling of melancholy jabbed your throat like a scorpion's sting, injecting an emotion of sadness and helplessness into your blood like distilled poison. You didn't want that to be the end. You didn't want to say goodbye. Even with everything in the air indicating that whatever existed between the two of you, ended here, now.

Five's eyes seemed to exude the same as you. Feeling the end heavy and resounding in the air, reverberating like thunder, as every corner of his soul roared the opposite. The green sea of his irises looked like it was in the middle of a storm. Full of pain, anger. With colossal waves and revolts, which promised to destroy everything they saw ahead. Just like the oceans did in the apocalyptic events in the era of Younger Dryas.

Somehow, without having to utter a single sentence, you both knew you were feeling the same thing. Wishing, with all their might, that this wasn't the end, that they were able to hold time against their chest in a tight, desperate embrace, an attempt to freeze the pointers.

At that moment, Five clamored, to any god who would listen, that you not be taken from his arms.

However, like the evil joke that was his life, his thoughts were cut short by the chiming of the clock. 11 chimes. That echoed in his soul like the trumpets of hell, laughing at him, mocking him, making fun of a murderer thinking he would be graced with something like you.

Five Hargreeves was a villain. And he was destined to have the things villains deserve. And none of this things included someone like you.

In that sadistic moment, Five finally understood a sentence from one of the books Grace read to them at night; ‘If I were to kiss you then go to hell, I would. So then I can brag with the devils I saw heaven without ever entering it.’

Yes. Now he understood. Five Hargreeves leaned in, bringing the back of your hand to his lips, laying a kiss that, however much it was impeded by the muslin layer of your glove, he prayed that this kiss could transmit all the feelings he could never say. This are the only kiss he could give you. That sentence echoed in his head like a fact, as sure as the sky is blue, as true as the salt in the oceans.

And when he went to the core of hell, paying for all his sins, he would brag to the other demons that he had been to heaven without ever having entered it.

You wish you'd said something, asked where he was from, stopped him from going. But none of that happened. This was one of those moments that we regret forever, that are branded in a red-hot iron in the soul, in the mind, in the body. Everything inside you was screaming to go after him when Five turned arund and walked into the sea of guests. But he disappeared in the waves before you could even move your feet.

No one had to tell you, but you knew you'd never see him again. And your heart would never beat for another.

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Five Hargreeves has had to do a lot of horrible things over the years. Actions he wasn't proud of but he knew needed to be done, nights awash in blood and the smell of death.

But nothing has wobble him as much as you have.

His soul, body and mind, trained since he was a child not to develop any weakness that would prevent him from being a perfect hero, then perfected and aggravated by the Commission to be the unbeatable assassin, were rarely stirred by feelings.

He was cynical, hard-nosed, crotchety and arrogant. He never got carried away by emotions and, as much as his desire to save his family is pure, he will cross any ethical lines for the greater good. And all of that made him the Commission's best weapon.

Until now.

Until his emotions messed up not just one, but thousands of timelines. Created catastrophes, formed apocalypses, killed people. Hargreeves meeting you was something that could never have happened. Repudiated not just by nature but by the gods. Having you in his arms was like a crime against the timeline, against the balance of the world.

And heavens and hells would make him pay. With work, blood, or his heart. Promising to take not only the soul, but any hope of laying eyes on you once again. As Icarus had his downfall for the sun, so Hargreeves had for you. In a triumphal ruin.

“Do you have any idea what you caused ?!” It was the first thing The Handler said as soon as Five returned from his mission, seconds after he had killed his target.

Her voice was loud, suffused with anger and rage and… despair. Five frowned, soul still aching from having to leave you, your warmth still in his arms. He didn't have the head to deal with her right now. Not when he had so much to process.

“A death.”

“Don't play smart on me!” Her roar was loud enough for Hargreeves to realize that something really serious was going on. The Handler was many things, but she never got worked up without good reason.

The clatter of her heels echoed through the room as she walked towards him, her eyes full of fierce emotion.

“You had only one job to do! One! Kill the man and get out of there. Like always!" Her voice was as rough as desert sand. “But not only did you mess up entire timelines, but created apocalypses on thousands of worlds that were to happen only thousands of years later!"

Five's mind was racing like a Catarina wheel, spinning at full throttle as it tried to put the pieces together. He blinked once, twice, his heart starting to race with the feeling that something devastating was about to be revealed.

He looked at The Handler, who understood his look. "That's right! Your little feat of dancing with that girl shattered thousands of timelines! People were killed, disappeared, events took a completely different course because of your little impertinence!"

She pulled his arm towards the thousands of screens that monitored infinite realities. And what he saw was chaos. Pure and perfect. Some worlds succumbed to fire, others to water, others to war. But they had devastation as a resemblance.

Five can hear the voices of other Commission workers in the background, in another corridor, other rooms. Some sounded desperate, others irritated, and others helpless, but all seemed concerned. He couldn't even say that he didn't know that little things had chain reactions. Because he knew. There was nothing to justify his actions, for he didn't even have a good reason for himself.

But the truth was, even staring the apocalypse in the face across nine different monitors, he felt no…remorse. There wasn't a part of him that would have done differently, that wouldn't have touched you, that wouldn't have known you. Deep in his soul Hargreeves knew he didn't care how many worlds he had destroyed just by touching you. He was going to hell anyway, it was better to have a memory of you to remember for eternity.

"...we'll have to kill her." It was just that sentence that Five's messed up mind paid attention to.

Then everything stopped.

The weather, the conversations. The world seemed to have held their breath, suspended, staring at Five. Everything inside him fell silent into scary silence, and he turned slowly toward The Handler, all his senses heightened, heart still, mind clear.

She seemed to notice his state. "What did you expect?! You know how things work. Causers of apocalypse get killed, that's our job! And because of that dance of yours, this girl has caused nine different apocalypses.”

There was a kind of insane, evil logic to the situation. The last riddle of gods and life to see Five Hargreeves on his knees. Broken, empty. To punish his sins, taking from him what he took from so many people. They engineered his downfall perfectly, writing with a red-hot iron on his soul the sentence that he could never be happy. His curse, the price to pay. Cosmic fit.

What the fucking hell.

“I'll send some agent to kill her immediately and...”

But Five Hargreeves has never been one to accept sentences imposed on him with his head down. Limitations, rules. He made his own destiny, no matter what he told him, and lived with the consequences. No god, destiny or universe dictated his life.

Everything inside him roared like a beast. Exploding, bursting, sending any control flying away. In an action without any hesitation, delicacy or ambiguities, his hand closed on The Handler's arm. In a firm, strong, tense grip that started hurt her very soon.

She looked at him in a mixture of shock and annoyance. There were very few people in the world willing to face a woman on her level, some too fearful, others who value life too much. But Five Hargreeves was none of those things. He'd never known any predator he should fear, everyone knew he was capable of anything and everything. Maybe there was no line he was able from crossing, or plan he wasn't capable of executing.

Five Hargreeves was the predator she should fear.

And The Handler realized that. For in that pair of eyes she saw danger, rage, pure and perfect hate. His sea of green gave way to red, glittering waves, shining with all the blood he had already spilled. And with a warning that he wouldn't mind spilling more.

“Stay. away. from. her. ” he guided each word with a tighter grip on her delicate arm, sure to leave marks that won't go away anytime soon.

Bewildered, she looked at him like a man possessed, filled with a rage that could fuel hell all by itself. The Handler had never seen him in that state, he was always angry, annoyed, acidic, but that… that was hatred, a bloodthirsty hate.

Five Hargreeves promised to go to hell and drag anyone with him without saying a word.

For the first time in her life, The Handler was afraid.

“Five...you know her need to die...”

"Listen to me" He vociferate, shaking her by the arm. “I don't give a fuck what you have to say. I swear, for all that exists in this world, that if you lay one finger on her, there will be nowhere on earth you can fuck hide from me.”

Five Hargreeves was a tall, masculine man, wrapped in a macabre and sinister aura when he wanted to. He pulled The Handler closer, his face filled with colossal rage being etched like a tattoo into her soul.

“I don't give a fuck about how many worlds are ending, I don't give a fuck if fucking people are dying! You won't touch her until the day I'm dead! And you can bet that, even seven feet under the ground, I'll find a way to take you with me to hell if you do fucking something to her."

You were untouchable.

All of his work on The Commission was about killing a number of people to save even more. But he would never, ever, sacrifice you for the greater good. Not even if it meant millions of dead people.

It didn't matter as long as you weren't one of the dead.

Without waiting for further discussion, he led The Handler towards the exit door, leading her out of the room and locking the door when he returned. Five wasn't stupid or naive to think that she would follow his orders. The handler might be afraid of him, but she knew how to get what she wanted, no matter how long it took. And now that he'd bruised her ego, Five knew she'd make it her primary mission to kill you.

Something he would never let happen.

If someone asked where so much anger, so much sense of protection came from, Five Hargreeves couldn't say. Because he didn't even know. In the same way that he still didn't understand everything that had happened, everything that he had been feeling, he still hadn't reasoned where such primitive, territorialist impulses came from. He had no idea where it all came from, but he was sure he could never let anything bad happen to you.

In a twisted and somewhat obscure way, you had gained a villain as a protector. A fallen angel who didn't promise to do good to people, but only to you. Who swore allegiance not to humanity, but solemnly, exclusively, to you.

It was a sensation that filled his entire body like boiling lava. And Five put his hand in the fire for the certainty that he would never be able to get rid of his feelings for you again.

His soul said that, as long as he was alive, he would be yours.

Making his mind work faster than it ever had before, Five Hargreeves concluded that every record of you had to go. There could no longer be documents proving that you were part of humanity. That once you had a name, a house, a reality. Five would have to erase you from any and all records. Forever. The only way to keep you out of the hands of the people who had access to every form of terrestrial existence, was to erase you from the world. Only then, hidden from the Commission, could you live happily. Fully.

But throwing all your documents away was signing the sentence that he was took the risk of never getting to see you again. Without them, finding someone was nearly impossible, much less accessing their reality. Five could start a calculation to find you one day, but that could take years, ages, and even if he memorized your documents number by number, did the calculations and managed to get to you without any side effects, The Commission could follow him and find you.

And finding a civilian's documents was much easier than finding a special agent like him and throwing them away too.

Once again, his life was a cruel joke of the gods, which served as entertainment for any higher power. Five strongly believed that, if there was anything above or below him, they designed his life for they own amusement.

Five Hargreeves spent hours in the file room, locked in that cubicle, not letting anyone in, not getting out. Once he disappeared with your documents, he would be declared a traitor and deserter, where his punishment would not only be more years of work, but death.

The world was spinning. Head ached. A sound gnawed at his mind, a scratch without melody, like a rustle of paper. Someone had taken a scream, a memory and a fear, crumpled it into a jagged ball, and used it to stuff Five's skull. He need to think of a plan that covered all the rough edges, but his eyes were bombarded with futures he didn't want to think about. Every time he blinked he felt the tragedy lurking in a dark and dismal corner, ready to catch him in their sharp mouths and take him somewhere he feared to go.

A place where the worst had happened to you.

Suddenly, the world was filled with secrets, fears and terror. Just as his soul took control of him in that night, it was the same in this moment. Five Hargreeves wasn't someone to get carried away by anything, but the feeling that something very bad was about to happen to you haunted him to the bone. That would be the perfect ending to his sinful life story; having the one person who touched his feelings so powerfully killed in the same way he killed so many other people.

Life was taking its toll on all the things he had done. For a second, he was afraid of that reckoning. Because the worst is not the bullet hitting yourself, but someone you like.

The feeling outside of being torn apart. All the patches and pieces of what it was to be Five Hargreeves - which he had been painstakingly piecing together throughout his life - were coming loose again, all at once. The clock was ticking, the hours were ticking, and he knew that just as he was coming up with a plan, so was The Handler.

It was a macabre race against time, in which if he lost, he had the feeling he would never fully recover. Not without a part of his soul dying along with you.

When he found your documents, the photo they had of you was a portrait made in that last century, a small painting of your face, eternalizing your smile. Suddenly, the memory of how you'd smiled at him like that gripped him like a demon. And when the memories of you intensified, they brought no comfort, just only fear and dread. Five Hargreeves could not live with himself if those memories were tainted by the knowledge that he was the cause of his tragedy. He would never be able to remember those tender moments again if memories of you were vandalized by images of how you were killed.

It was too late to remedy the consequences of what he had unleashed. The macabre possibilities of what The Handler could do to you were there, tattooed on his brain, as if they would snap open and bolt to reality at any moment. So, as panic rose, Five Hargreeves' mind slammed shut like a heavy book. He wouldn't let any of that happen. Never.

After scheming and checking all the plans in his mind, Five decided that he had already orchestrated the almost perfect scheme. He would destroy all of your documents and, when he had done that, he could no longer remain on the Commission. Thus, he would steal the mission from one of the agents about killing John F. Kennedy, the time that most closely matched his calculations to return to the family in 2019. Then Five Hargreeves would evade The Commission and deal with them without being an employee anymore. And even if they went after him, they would never find you.

Not even Five.

And so it was done.

-----------

Five Hargreeves went through the reunion with his family, faced the commission agents coming after him to kill him, dealt with The Handler and put up with his siblings drama.

In a matter of weeks, he had already gotten himself into so much trouble and confusion that sometimes he didn't even have time to breathe. Processing events and digesting them had become a luxury he no longer had, and saving the world from one apocalypse and falling into another had seemed to become a family pastime.

But there were nights. Cold, when the moon reached its apex in the sky and the rain poured down on the ground, when he was finally able to be alone and clear his mind. In those rare moments, the only thing on his mind was you.

Always you.

His point of peace, his refuge from his constant stress and pressure was in the images of you. In the way your body fit perfectly in his hands, in the way your gaze, enchanted and completely shining, did not leave his. Five Hargreeves felt that, like him at that moment, there was no other place you would rather be.

Twenty years could go by, but he would still feel what it was like to have your warmth in his arms, in the smell that your perfume exhaled and in the way the candles in the candelabra glowed on your skin. You were like a goddess, dancing at that ball as if the world would never be graced with such beauty again.

When Five Hargreeves closed his eyes, he could see you perfectly. Swirling around as if the ground were your clouds and everyone there were mere mortals, watching what the angels in heaven looked like.

It was like a dark paradise. He managed to slake some of that suffocating tightness in his chest whenever he returned to those memories, but it resulted in more flagellations in his poor, tortured soul. The notion that he would never have anything but memories, dreams, and mowed wishes, would skin him alive until his last days. Five would forever be haunted by the notion that, even when he died, you wouldn't be waiting on the other side.

You would be in heaven. And he belonged in hell.

But, it was worth it.

All the pain, all the desperation his soul struggled with, all the shortness of breath that coiled in his lungs, all the feeling of being stabbed with a dagger knowing his would never lay hands on you again, it was all worth it when he reviewed your face in his memories.

Five Hargreeves didn't clamored for relief from his pain, balm for the cuts deep in his soul, a minute's mercy. No, he accepted all of his fate with his head held high. He clamored for you to be okay. Safe, happy. Free from any worries or tribulations. He wished you had forgotten about him, erased that night from your blood, because it would be impossible to live if he knew you were suffering just like him.

Five Hargreeves had never given you a single kiss, tucked your hair in his fingers and tasted your tongue, but he didn't need it. His soul didn't need that to fall madly in love with you.

Yes, pure and perfect passion. It was the only logical explanation for how he felt about you.

Even though he never tasted your skin in his mouth, or touched you without the interference of a piece of clothing, Five Hargreeves was in love with you.

And it would be for the rest of his life.

-----------

All the Hargreeves siblings thought all was well when the Commission was defeated and they got a briefcase to take them back at home. The nightmare of the second apocalypse had already passed and now the feeling that invaded their bodies was one of relief. For a second, Klaus thought that everything would now be back on track; with the family together, stronger ties and improved relationships.

Everyone thought so, actually.

The shimmering blue flash engulfed all the brothers, passing through the barriers of space and time, leaving the Hargreeves in the mansion where they grew up and spent most of their lives. Everyone looked happy, relaxed. And Five also shared the same relief.

Until that fateful moment.

Until a draft of wind enter through the window behind him and hitting his back, bringing a feeling that immediately made every hair on his body stand on end. In a matter of seconds, all sense of relief, calm, and peace were shattered, exploding one by one with the same aggressiveness of a nuclear bomb. The world seemed to stumble and stoped, the colors of the hemisphere fluidized into a vintage orange, flickering, almost as if the lighting came from candles.

As much as his siblings were laughing and making noises, everything for Five was quiet, in a tacit silence. The sound of cars on the streets did not exist anymore, the conversations disappeared, and, little by little, the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat. Increasing in tempo gradually, like a soundtrack.

Then, in the apex of silence, when Five could already hear the blood rushing through his veins, he listened.

Five.

Your voice in the wind, almost like a whisper. Calling for him. Just like you did a long time ago.

His soul gave a scream that shook him to the very bones, and he didn't notice when his eyes widened and his breath hitched. Suddenly, his whole body came back to life, being pulled sharply from the bottom of the ocean, submerging, desperately, breathless, astonished. Abruptly, the heat returned to his hands, to his cheeks, to his heart. Five could feel warmth coursing through his body as if they had rekindled the flame of his soul.

Was like resurrect.

He looked back in one jerk, spinning in place, heart pounding in his ribcage, his frantic, frantic eyes darting around every corner.

Nothing.

“Hey, are you okay?” Klaus looked back, focusing on his brother, but Five didn't respond.

He walked past Klaus as if he couldn't hear him, his eyes and hands trembling visibly, his step tight. Five chased the wind current as if he were chased his life, oblivious to anything or anyone.

His siblings, finding the situation strange, followed him without hesitation, accompanying the owner with green eyes entering more in the house. They had no idea what to expect, or what to think, but they stopped behind Five as he froze in the middle of the living room, eyes petrified, wide, fixed on a very specific spot at the top of the stairs.

But nobody noticed what he saw.

While all the Hargreeves were taken aback by Reginald's appearance in the outer corner of the room, stunned and petrified, growing more and more stunned as their father went on to explain the situation, Five couldn't take his eyes off the top of the stairs. Nothing in the world would have made him look elsewhere.

You.

Fucking hell...you.

There, standing next to people he didn't care to find out who they were, looking down, observing at the people who had just entered.

Suddenly, everything inside him was whipped by currents of electricity, as if he'd been struck by lightning. An argument seemed to be brewing in the background, but Five Hargreeves didn't fucking care. May the world explode, may everything end up in dust, fire or water. He didn't want to know.

You were there. With the sunlight coming through the large windows behind your back, and illuminating your silhouette as if you were a deity, a goddess, a muse. You shone. Like the gates of heaven. At that moment, the soul of Five Hargreeves fell to his knees in front of you. For you.

An extremely strong emotion invaded him without asking permission, destroying everything he once was. Five felt like crying.

As a war in the background unfolded, the people who were beside you started to descend the stairs one by one. But he couldn't take his eyes off you.

“Five. Five.” Luther seemed to call out to him in the background, but he didn't care.

You walked down the steps the same way you glided through that ballroom, as if the floor were your clouds. Yours robes were uniform this time, but Five was pretty sure that behind that high collar, your skin harbored a birthmark on your collarbone. Your hair was down, but he knew how you looked with your strands tied up.

With each step you took, more his pulse quickened. It was like a dream, a mirage, his oasis in the scorching desert. At some point in the battle against the Commission he had died, and that was his dream.

However, Luther's hand gripped his arm, forcing his green eyes to meet his brother's.

“Dude, what's wrong with you? Didn't you hear dad saying that we're in another reality?”

“I am not your father.” Reginald countered. “Not in this reality.”

Five frowned, rationality slowly returning to his body, his brain taking over once more. A parallel reality. That explained a lot. A reality where…you existed.

Holy shit.

Someone said the Hargreeves had better go, and Five would have laughed out loud if he hadn't submerged in thoughts. If they really was in a parallel reality, that meant you didn't remember him. You didn't even know him. The version who have danced with him was still in another century, in a timeline far, far away.

But…Five looked up. You radiated the same beauty of the romantic period as before, your skin still looked feather soft, your lips still where able to take away his complete self-control, your eyes still have… the same glow that he remembered so many times during so many nights.

You didn't know him, but that didn't matter. Because Five knew you.

He suffered the worst of martyrdoms all this time, and now that he'd finally, finally found you once more, he wasn't going to leave. Even if it meant having to make you fall in love with him all over again. In fact, Five Hargreeves would dedicate his entire lives to making you fall in love with him all over again in every reality there is. He would have as many times as necessary a first dance with you.

He didn't realize it, but his lips lifted in a smile. In a snap of fingers, everything reached a apex, higher than the buildings, higher even to the clouds. All the problems evaporated like mist in the sun, and being in a parallel reality, with a father that wasn't his, in a house that wasn't the one he grew up in, seemed to be extremely insignificant.

For the first time in a long time, Five Hargreeves was happy. And nothing would change that.

That's when, amidst all the arguing the Hargreeves and Sparrows were having around, your eyes met his. And for him it was like coming home after an excruciating winter.

You cocked your head slightly to the side, intrigued by the way that man was looking at you so…surrendered. You understood the gravity of the situation, of those strangers breaking into your home and trying to claim everything as theirs. You were also irritated just like your siblings.

But... when you looked at that man… with eyes so green and hair so dark, something inside you caught your breath. A shiver went up your spine. And maybe you were crazy, but you can swear that felt your soul heave a sigh of…relief. A strange, emotional feeling reverberated through your spirit as if…somehow you'd just found what you've spent so long waiting to met again.

It don’t make sense.

As the confrontation unfolded between the two families, you couldn't help but notice that, minute by minute, you found yourself wanting to look at this man more. As if it were never going to be enough, as if the second you turned your head, you were overcome with an insane urge to see more. You should be focused on trying to get those strangers out of your house, not admiring one of them.

But Five realized that. A spark inside him vibrated with hope, and he delighted in being able to relive the feeling of what it was like to be looked at by you again.

But before he or you could even do anything, the physical feud between the two families broke out with astonishing speed, spreading like the plague. Diego, as usual, was the first to go into battle, followed by Luther and Allison.

See, you didn't consider yourself a confrontational person. Your peculiarity was to manipulate the natural elements and, although that made you one of the strongest figures among your siblings, you had a more adventurous spirit than a fighter. There was no such homeric thirst in your blood to be the best, the strongest, the most brutal. Ben said that was the most unattractive thing about you, but Sloane saw this feature with good eyes. Like you, she wasn't much inclined to brutality.

The fight drove you and Five away from each other, separated by rooms, siblings and war. You saw your family appeal to brute aggression very quickly, while, if you're honest, you didn't want to hurt anyone. Is trut that you were irritated by the way they claimed your house as theirs, but you didn't think they were bad people.

Or all this bland resolutions were for the fact that you didn't want to hurt him. Because, in some way you couldn't explain, you knew he wouldn't hurt you.

But that's when Alphonso yelled at you from upstairs. “Y/N! Do fucking something too!”

Everyone was scattered around the house, but you still remained downstairs, in the living room, arranging a way to help without being very aggressive like your siblings were being. You had no intention of killing or seriously injuring them, but you also weren't willing to put up with the scolding your brothers would give you if you continued to be omitte.

So, when one of the strangers came running to get away from something, the tail of his dark overcoat dancing in the air and his black hat toppling along the path, your reaction was to do the one thing that couldn't seem to do any real damage. In a wave of the hand, the windows were shattered by large, sprawling tree roots, that came out of the garden earth like thick snakes and entered the house in a steady stream.

The man gave a high-pitched scream, but his feet were already entwined by the roots and he was knocked to the ground. The roots, which spilled earth over the floor and exhaled a forest smell, wrapped themselves around the man's body up to his chest, with the only purpose of immobilizing him.

You weren't putting force or brutality, and you were sure the roots were just putting considerable pressure on, like a bandage around an injured arm. But the man didn't seem to notice this, because he kept screaming.

The fear should still be clouding his senses, and you revealed the situation. For it wasn't often that someone was wrapped around by giant roots that moved of their own accord. In your place, you would have reacted that way too.

“Hey, hey” you tried to get closer “It's ok, they won't hurt you and…”

But your speech was interrupted by shrill hum, which cut through the air with force and passed like a bullet in front of your face, shaking a few locks of your hair. The speed were frightening, and for a second your heart stopped in your chest. The fright made you take two steps back immediately, but in a matter of seconds any feeling was replaced by a very strong burning in your left cheek. In the same second, a hot liquid began to ooze from your injured skin like water in a current, spreading pain wherever went.

Two seconds that were able to put you face to face with death. Because that attack was not joking.

The bearded man ran to help the one who was lying on the ground, forcing his freedom between the roots that were now weak due to your distraction.

Unlike you, Diego didn't care about the things he had to do to save his family. He was willing to injure, inflict permanent damage, even killing if that was the only way out. He would have a guilty conscience later, but in the heat of the moment, he wouldn't hesitate. Diego did this to the Commission agents hours ago, and he would do this to you if he had to. As sure as the sky was blue, the Sparrows were the enemy. And he was the hero. Thats it. Two polar opposites, destined to face each other into the death.

And that was why he didn't hesitate to attack when he saw Klaus lying on the floor, screaming as if he were being killed. After getting a small taste of the kind of things your powers were capable of doing, it was pretty clear that you were one of the first ones that needed to go down. So Diego didn't hesitate either when he pulled Klaus off the ground, and wielded yet another dagger. Aiming not to hurt, but to kill.

But love could drive even the smartest minds crazy.

Because when the dagger was thrown in the air, a blue flash invaded the scene and a male body enveloped yours, pushing both of you aside in a rough, protective, intense gesture.

Five Hargreeves was on the stair railing, fighting Jayme, when Klaus's screams grab his attention. He didn't have much time to process what he was seeing, but the moment one of Diego's daggers slashed across your cheek, the primal, visceral instinct he'd felt so long ago, with The Handler on The Commission, roared through him like an angry beast. So when another dagger was wielded and thrown into the air, he didn't think twice, didn't hesitate, didn't blink.

Dropping everything behind, Five Hargreeves dove into the blue flash, having you as the only focus in mind.

As soon as the crash of his body with yours caused you both to leave the deadly path, the arms, masculine and wide, wrapped around your back as if he were holding the only anchorage on the high seas in the middle of a storm. His heart was pounding in his chest, and as much that adrenaline, primal instinct and rage were bubbling through his body, he still managed to feel his soul sighing in deep relief when felt your warmth again in his arms.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"

Diego's angry roar seemed to shake the walls, but didn't stop the obstinate, angry look that swallowed Five's expression.

“Diego…” his voice didn't match the situation the Hargreeves found themselves in. His tone was serious, steady, so calm it was terrifying, like the warning of darkness to the light. “Stay away from her.”

His brother's confused and perplexed look couldn't have been more accentuated. And even Klaus, known for being the least serious about situations, looked completely astonished. Five Hargreeves didn't held you like he was preventing a murder. No. He held you like Cerberus should have held the only person he was ever loyal to.

"You are fucking crazy?!" Diego gestured with his hands “Let go the enemy now!”

The Hargreeves have been through a lot, seen a lot. Many of them being absurd, beyond any rationality or law of physics, moments in which they had to deal with situations that were not possible to be of this world. But nothing, and no one, could have prepared Diego and Klaus for what they heard from Five;

"Never."

The moment was dispersed when Viktor appeared in the room, shaking, hurt, out of his mind. His head fell back in a single gesture, his arms opened up and the fists closed, as white lights began to shoot out from within his eyes and chest.

Five Hargreeves knew what that meant.

He didn't think twice before running to the side, hiding you behind the bar counter and lowering you two bodies to the floor. His body in front of yours, blocking access to the roughest impact in you.

You two had three seconds, three seconds to look into each other's eyes before the flash explodes. And in that three seconds, the only thing that passed in the soul of both of you was the feeling of finally being where should be.

-----------

"They're stupid villains who think they're smart!" Ben was furious in the kitchen, pacing back and forth.

The last few days had passed like this. With Ben angry about the invasion, Ben angry about the fight, Ben angry about Marcus disappearing, Ben angry about... well... he was always angry.

Of all your siblings, he had the worst temper. Fei and Christopher were practically his dogs, going along with all of Ben's stupid plans just because... you really didn't know why they followed him so fervently, but had a theory that it was because they both thought they would have more power when Ben's plans came to fruition.

A hierarchical system that filled the family with toxicity.

On the other hand, there were Jayme and Alphonso. You never really understood the two, but you described them as bullies. A duo who liked the power they had and how they managed to exert it over people.

The only one you could relate to more deeply was Sloane.

"It would have been better if Y/n had made an attack." Alphonso brought your name up in conversation, his gaze full of rancor.

"Fuck off, asshole" It was the only thing you deigned to say, because you didn't have the patience to deal with his comments at the time.

The truth is, since the invasion, you couldn't get him out of your mind.

It was like a drug, an addiction, that had seeped into your blood from the first time you laid eyes on him. There was something there, something you could never explain. He should be the enemy. Your enemy. But…

The way he saved you from the knives, the way his arms wrapped around you. Almost like he already knows how to hold you. How to protect you.

Your heart couldn't slow down whenever your thoughts returned to that man. From the memory of him placing his body in front of you, standing at the forefront of the explosion.

He saved you. Everytime. And there was something that told you he would save you every chance he got.

The truth was…you wanted to see him. Know his name. Talk with him. There was no longer a fiber of your being that saw the situation as your siblingsdid, your body was facing the complete opposite north.

You wanted to touch him, not fight with him.

When time passed, and Luther showed up at the mansion as someone who was kidnapped, you, again, did not see the situation as a beneficial opportunity for your family. But for you.

Suddenly, your entire soul was gripped by a completely unsettling anxiety that made your hands itch, stomach churn, and your legs unable to stay still. Then you were swept by a feeling of deep sadness, as if you'd already experienced what it was like to spend your whole life wanting to see that man and never getting.

There was no more logic, rationality or coherence to what you were feeling, but finding him was as indispensable as breathing.

That's why you volunteered - more like an imposition - that you would be the one to escort Luther home the moment Ben said he could leave.

“It was kind of you to accompany me” The blond man smiled at you, as the two of you walked through the night streets.

"It was nothing." You tried to sound casual, but with every step toward your destination, the more your hands itched, the more your heart was racing, and in a moment, you found yourself picking up the pace to get there faster.

“I have to confess that you were a topic of discussion between my brothers.” Luther laughed, his odd way of bringing up the subject and not mincing words.

But that got your attention. "What do you mean?"

“A-ahem…well…from what I understand, Diego wanted to kill you, but Five stopped him and…”

Five…Five

His name was Five.

Something inside you stirred. An unfamiliar emotion, but one that made a smile rise to yourcheeks.

“Five” you tried to say aloud, and his name just… felt right on your lips.

You went the rest of the way not being able to pay attention to a single syllable Luther was saying. You don't wanted to be rude, but you just… couldn't stop thinking about Five.

“How long before we get there?” you cut off something Luther was saying about Sloane, and the blond eyebrows drawing together in strangeness.

“Actually” he looked at the big hotel in front of him “We already arrived and…”

But you couldn't stop yourself. All of your muscles felt like they had undergone countless electrical discharges, your heart was faster than any living soul has ever been, and your blood was rushing through your veins like marathon runners. You increased your pace considerably, quickly climbing the steps and opening the doors of that building as if you had just walked through the gates of paradise.

You needed to see him.

Luther came up behind you, giving you a suspicious look and walking towards a bar, where the outlines of several people were talking.

-----------

"I returned." Luther's voice brought Five out of his thoughts, and a part of her brain tried to remember the time his brother had left.

And he didn't find any answers.

To his defence, Five's mind had been elsewhere these days. Moments when he rewound in his mind once, twice, three times. Not even the impending new apocalypse knocking on the door seemed to have any effect on Five. To be honest, he… saw no point in trying to save the world this time. Meeting you once was a miracle, but meeting you again, in an entirely different reality and without The Commission making things difficult, seemed like too much of a luxury for him to ignore.

The truth was that in the first attempt to escape the apocalypse he ended up sending the family to different times, with intervals of years between each one. And, deep down, he didn't know if he could handle trying to take you with him to another reality and end up losing you too.

Five had been through this once before. He knew pain too well not to be willing to risk it.

“What is the enemy doing here?!"

Diego's voice snapped Five out of his thoughts, and an electric current shot through his head and reverberated down to his toes. Immediately, without any hesitation, his eyes flew away, finding not just Luther - whit several bags in hand - but you beside him.

You.

Something inside him ignited, his heart raced and, for a moment, the whole world around him fell away.

But just for a moment, because Diego was already getting up from his seat.

“Hey. Hey!” Five teleported away, once again placing the body in front of you . “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

“What would anyone do to the enemy! What are you doing? Defending a stranger again?!"

“She is not a stranger, Diego. Now be quiet in your place before I have to do it for you.”

"She is not?" Klaus and Viktor said in unison

"I'm not?" Your voice, the only one that mattered to him, came from behind his back, quieter than the others but loud enough for him to hear.

Five turned towards you, turning his back on his siblings. Unlike how he looked at Diego, his eyes held all the softness and attention in the world when they met yours. A small smile appeared at the corner of his left mouth, a secret smile, hidden from the world but revealed only to you.

"It's a long story," he admitted, having no idea how to start. How to tell something that even to him don't make sense.

“I came to see you.” you rewarded his honesty with another truth, a gleam crossing his eyes like shooting stars. “I have time to listen.”

A smile blossomed on his lips, and Five was overcome by the purest feeling of happiness. Without saying anything, or giving anyone satisfaction, his hand laced into yours, and he disappeared with you in the blue flash.

-----------

Any sensible, practical, centered woman, would have laughed at what Five had just told you. Anyone who didn't get carried away by matters of the heart and didn't believe that two people, when destined to be together, are helped even by the wind, would have turned around and walked away.

But you weren't a sensible woman, nor practical, much less centered. Your being was composed of romance, adventure and magic. You fervently believed in destiny, soulmates and that some loves are capable of overcoming the barrier of space and time.

What's more, if all that wasn't enough, you also felt, from your soul to your bones, sensations that couldn't be explained. Feelings he was also saying he felt too. You believed in him. And that fact came as soft as the droplets of dew, as the brightness of the moon.

After his account came to end, with him letting himself be vulnerable in telling all the thoughts that ever crossed his mind about you, the urge to say just one thing screamed your blood rumbling. “You’re no the villain in my story” your words hung in the air.

“I am,” Five's voice brimmed with a liquid honesty that was able to chill your bones, but nothing in his words hinted at remorse for the things he'd already done. “But i'll be the villain for you. Not to you. I'll let worlds burn again if it means keeping you alive. In a problematic way, that I'll never be able to explain, I don't feel guilty about doing something if it means your safety.”

Five Hargreeves expected many things. Many different reactions. Many words of contradiction. But never what happened next.

Your mouth, without any hesitation, joined his in a kiss that was capable of making his world explode. His body was ignited by a fire that swallowed even his soul, washing away all his sins and giving a demon a taste of heaven.

So what was it like to kiss a goddess? An angel, a muse.

If before, without even touching your skin without the interference of clothing, Five would have happily accepted going to hell, now, with your hot mouth melting into his like warm honey, he would accept the torture of eternal fire with a smile on his face.

And when the small kiss intensified into something much bigger, his hands, warm and masculine, wrapped possessively around your waist. There was no going back. There was no turning back. Five would keep you for himself in the same selfishness that a villain steals a princess. And there was no hero in the world capable of pulling you away of his clutches.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” He found the last bit of strength to let you know when your hands untied his tie “I could really hurt you.”

But all good intentions evaporated when your eyes, eager and full of desire, blinked at him. There was an addictive sweetness in that look. The way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, the way your eyes held tinges of delicious submission but hid an incendiary fire behind them.

Fucking damn. He wanted you so badly.

"I don't care." Your breathless whisper invaded the room. But he didn't know if you understood the seriousness of the situation.

“Y/n.” his hands cupped your face. “I spent a lot of time contenting just for the way you looked at me. Spending sleepless nights reliving what it was like to feel the contour of your waist in my hand.” His voice was serious, deep, rough like sand scraping against stone. “Do you have any idea of the things I'm going to do to you now that I can finally, finally, have you?” his pitch lowered a few notes, like a predator talking to its prey.

You didn't know it, but only imagination made yours thighs tighten.

“I can destroy you.” his lips went to the foot of your ear, down to the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent and tasting you. “I can leave your body purple, your breasts bitten, your hips marked by the aggressiveness of mine whenever I enter on you.”

A moan escaped your mouth, fingers tightening on his arms, head lolling to the side.

Oh lord, please he do that.

Five's hands went up to your shoulders, in a touch that became more and more possessive, gluttonous, as if he wanted to swallow you.

“I can spend hours fucking you.” his fingers lowered the straps of your dress, letting the fabric fall unceremoniously to the floor. Five pulled his face away enough to be able to look at your body fully, and a husky growl followed right away. “I can kill you.”

Here, in that moment, Five Hargreeves was giving you one last chance to give up, to make him tame the villain he was and who would destroy you for any other man.

If you slept with Five Hargreeves, you would never stop being his.

"Do it." but you didn't have an ounce of self-preservation in the inner body "please."

You didn't have to beg twice. His hands pulled your legs up, making you place your feet on his hips and hug him with your legs. Your back hit the closed bedroom door as Hargreeves' mouth claimed all it could of his. Twisting your tongue around his, biting and sucking on your bottom lip, he was beginning to mark you as his in a single kiss.

“You have no idea how much I want you.” his confession was more of a hoarse groan, hands fumbling with his belt and lowering the waistband of his pants.

Under other circumstances, he would have sucked you until drive you unconscious, pushing your walls with his fingers until you begged for his cock. But he didn't have the presence of mind to do that now. Not now. Not today. He warned of the consequences of wanting to continue at that moment. But you wanted, you begged, and now he was no longer afraid of being able to fuck you with all the vehemence he needed.

Your moans invaded the room very quickly, your waist, even if limited by the door, moved in his groin, exorcising any common sense and control that Five once had.

He pushed your panties to the side impolitely and entered you in one single, glorious, primal thrust. His cock slid in with extreme ease, being completely soaked by the way your pussy was so slick.

“Oh fucking hell” his growl sent even more waves of pleasure to your uterus, and you pressed your mouth to his neck to keep from screaming.

That's when he withdrew and pushed himself into you. Strong, brute. Hitting until found the bottom of the well. His thrusts began relentlessly, thrusting in and out of you aggressively, possessively, almost animalistic. Five's hands were all over yourbody, fingerprinting every bit of your flesh. The nails digging into your waist when you contracted and squeezed him within your plush walls.

“Fuck. fuck.” his groans mingled with the attrition of the bodies of you two against the door, which sent loud, telltale noises throughout the hotel.

But you would rather die than stop.

His cock suddenly hit a place that made your moans come out too loud. Tears began to pool in the corner of your eyes, and your toes curled.

“Oh do you feel this, baby?” Five teased you, digging himself as deep as possible anatomically and rubbing the tip of his cock there, eliciting sly, desperate cries from you "That's your cervix."

Then he went back to fucking you aggressively, this time pulling his chest away from you and digging his hands hard into the flesh of your hips, pulling you towards him at a intensity that could only be described as animalistic.

This was better than anything he had ever tasted in his life. Better than any sin. Better than any whiskey.

His cock desecrated your pussy like it was the only thing that mattered in the world, pulling thick liquids out of you that enveloped him in pasty white rings. Five Hargreeves would ensure that whenever you thought of any man, your mind was invaded by the way he fucked you.

"I will… I will…" your tearful voice blended with the noise of the door slamming and your bodies bumping into each other.

“Thats right, baby” his mouth covered your “cum for me. cum so I can fill that gluttonous pussy with my cum.”

If the way he thrust in and out of you wasn't enough to make you come, his lines had done the job. You came in a glorious explosion of stars, colors and sensations. Your body contracted with absurd force and relaxed like the best of massages. Your arms went limp around his neck, and you could feel his cock tremble and the hot, thick liquid fill your entire pussy.

The noise of the door stopped, his moans calmed down and now the only thing that could be heard was the heavy breathing in the air.

You thought it was over, until Five climbs a hand to your neck and lets out a broken growl "'You look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat, baby."

His cock moved inside you, moving in and out smoothly, pushing his cum even deeper inside you. Make sure you gobble it all up.

“Did you think we were done, princess?” he chuckled evilly, his lips moving closer until they were inches from yours. "I'm just getting started. I'm going to show you how much I've wanted you this whole fucking time.”

4K notes · View notes

romerona · 8 months ago

Text

All Y/N ever wanted to do was sing her songs and be free. Yet somehow, after offering to pay for the meal of a certain boy in a straw hat she finds herself causing havoc through the East Blue.

Masterlist - Next.

Trigger warning: canon violence. Word count: 8K

A/N: The only thing I will be describing about Y/N is her hair colour. Everything else you can imagine her as you wish.

Disclaimer: The songs I will be using in this fic aren't mine bc I have 0 creativity. I'm sorry.

Middle of the ocean, Nami's boat.

"Sooner or later, I'll wander into the unknown

Sooner or later, you'll face the world on your own

Who will you hang to when you're left all alone?

When the night grows cold, and the winds have blown--"

"....give me some quiet and some space?"

Nami's annoyed voice made Y/N look up from her booklet to Luffy chasing after his hat, it came right to where he was sitting at the nose of the boat. So, she simply stretched her arm to catch it just before it could fly away.

"Here," Y/N gave the thankful Luffy his hat back who took it with a small smile while mumbling his gratitude.

"Not cool," Luffy then turned to Nami, more serious than Y/N had ever seen him be. "Don’t mess with my hat."

"Why do you care so much about that hat anyway?" Y/N asks, glancing back down at her notes.

"Yeah, It looks like you fished it out of the trash," Nami added as she continued to try and unlock the safe.

Luffy smiles down his straw hat "One man’s trash is another man’s treasure."

"That still doesn't answer the question, stud."

Zoro groans inside the cabin, "Will you three knock it off? I’m trying to take a nap."

"Oh, I’m sorry," Nami said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Were we interrupting your beauty sleep?"

"Don’t like what you see? Look away."

Y/N chuckles at the response, however, her laughter is interrupted by the sound of the lock clicking making her snap her head towards Nami who was opening the door of the safe.

"You did it," Luffy exclaimed.

"Holy shit," Y/N swiftly stands and makes her way to stand next to Nami. She smiles at the orange-haired girl, "You actually did it, Pumpik."

They all looked down at the inside of the safe and it's content. Y/N was a little disappointed there wasn't anything special in it, not treasures one assumes a safe would keep, instead, there were some confidential files and a wanted poster for a pirate named Kuro. And then there was the golden map tube, the only valuable thing.

Nami reaches over and takes it. She hastily takes the top off and pulls out the map causing Y/N to let out a breathy sigh.

"That’s it?" Zoro deadpanned unimpressed by the findings, "Isn’t there supposed to be gold inside a safe? Or jewels?"

Nami looks at the green-haired boy in disbelief, "This is more valuable than gold. It’s knowledge. This is a map to the Grand Line."

"The Grand Line. Ah," Luffy, with his usual smile, stares at the map in Nami's hands."The Grand Line is just right… Where is it exactly?"

Y/N looks at the boy with narrow confused eyes, "Seriously?"

"You’re going there, but you don’t know where it is?" Sharing Y/N's thoughts, Nami asks.

"Guess I need a navigator on my crew," Luffy stated grinning at Nami.

"Oh, god," Y/N mumbles, cursing herself for being so stupid to think Luffy could take her to The Grand Line. Maybe she can steal the map at some point or draw a copy and go herself.... thought going solo wasn't a great idea. Not when ghosts continue to hunt for her.

They follow Nami inside the small cabin.

"The seas are divided into four quadrants." Nami grabs some chalk and starts drawing down on the hanging table. "East Blue, North Blue, West, South. This thin strip of land that circles the globe is called the Red Line, and this band across the middle is the Grand Line."

"A treacherous stretch of ocean with bigger islands, bigger cities, bigger pirates. Flush with riches and ripe for the picking." Nami grins.

Y/N regards the drawing with a soft frown as she recalls her past "And way more dangerous..."

"That’s where we’re gonna find the One Piece!" Luffy exclaims.

"I’ve taken out a lot of pirates looking for that thing," Zoro says before asking. "What is it? Like, a big diamond or something?"

"It’s Gold Roger’s treasure," Luffy told him. ""He hid it somewhere in the Grand Line. All in one piece."

"It’s a myth. The reason no one’s found it in 22 years is that it doesn’t exist." Nami says with exasperation.

"Reckon he just said it to piss off the Marines," Y/N hums, "Admirable."

Luffy grins at the girls. "Can’t wait to see the look on your faces when we find it."

"If you find it you mea--"

The sound of an explosion cut Y/N off sending all four of them into alarm mode.

"Is that the Marines?" Zoro asks placing his hands on his katanas.

Y/N quickly pulls her war-fans from her skirt. "Shit. Are they?"

They walk out to the deck. Nami mumbles "How did they find us?"

Y/N looks up with a frown for from the skies, some red dust falls upon them, slowly enveloping them. She was begging to feel dizzy, and very sleepy... with dread, Y/N realized what it was. This has been used on her before.

Nami was out first.

"This smoke smells weird," Luffy mumbles, feeling the effects of the dust.

Zoro was next.

"Luffy, the ma..." Before she could finish she felt the world went dark.

Y/N's bare feet danced across the warm sand, her laughter mingling with the gentle lapping of the waves. With each step, she felt the freedom of the island envelop her, a secret sanctuary where worries vanished like mist under the morning sun. She glanced back, her eyes alight with mischief as she spotted her much younger sister, Miri, darting through the bustling market stalls.

"Come on, Miri! You'll never catch me!" Y/N called, her voice carried away by the salty breeze.

Miri's laughter bubbled forth, a melody that echoed Y/N's joy. With a determined grin, Miri chased after her sister, her small legs propelling her forward with unbridled enthusiasm. The market around teemed with life, vendors hawking their wares beneath colourful awnings, the air rich with the scent of spices and freshly caught fish.

Dodging between crates of exotic fruits and stalls piled high with vibrant fabrics, the two little girls raced through the people with loud laughter.

As they emerged onto a sun-drenched promenade, Y/N slowed her pace, allowing Miri to draw closer. She turned to face her sister, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Think you can keep up, fish-legs?"

Miri grinned, her round cheeks flushed with exertion. "Just you wait, Y/N! I'll beat you yet!"

With a mischievous wink, Y/N took off again, her laughter trailing behind her like a comet's tail. The younger girl followed in hot pursuit, their laughter intermingling with the sounds of the island—a symphony of joy and freedom that echoed across the sun-kissed shores.

The girls skidded to a halt in a quaint courtyard nestled amidst the bustling village. The air was redolent with the aroma of freshly baked bread and spices, luring them to pause and savour the moment. They settled onto a weathered bench, their breath coming in exhilarated gasps as they gazed around, taking in the vibrant tapestry of island life.

"Y/N/N, you think Mama would let me take one of those landfolk trinkets back home?" Miri exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with delight as she bit into a juicy slice of tropical fruit.

Y/N thought for a moment. Her parents were in an important meeting of some sort, she recalls them quietly speaking about the World Government declaration that was supposed to be out that afternoon, they sounded worried but Y/N had no idea why. "Maybe, depending on the trinket can withstand being in the water for long,"

"It's one of those dolls," Miri mumbles

"Those are made with fabric," Y/N shakes her head, "She won't let you,"

Miri pouts and deflates. Not liking seeing her younger sister sad, Y/N purses her lips in thought, when an idea hits her.

"Maybe not a doll but she can let us take one of these shiny stones. You like those, right?"

"Oh, yes," Miri smiles, "The stones with crystals inside of them, those are pretty..."

Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden commotion in the distance—a chorus of shouts and panicked cries that shattered the tranquillity of the courtyard. People began to scatter, their faces etched with fear as they fled back towards the ocean.

"What's happening, Y/N?" Miri's voice trembled with uncertainty as they were swept up in the frantic throng of people.

Y/N heart skipped a beat as she glanced around, her senses on high alert. People were scattering in every direction, their voices rising in panic as a wave of fear swept through the village like wildfire. Without hesitation, she grabbed her sister's hand, her grip tight with determination.

"We need to find-"

As if on cue, their father appeared, his brow furrowed with worry as he rushed towards them. Without a word, he took hold of Y/N's hand and began to guide them through the throngs of panicked villagers, his grip firm and unwavering.

"Stay close, girls," he urged, his voice tinged with urgency.

"Papa, what's going on?" Y/N asked, her voice wavering with concern.

Their father's expression was grim as he gathered them close, his hands firm yet gentle as he began to guide them towards the beach where their mother was anxiously waiting for them. "There's danger, my pearls. We must go to safety."

The sisters exchanged a worried glance, their steps quickening as they followed their father through the labyrinthine streets. The distant roar of the ocean grew louder with each passing moment, a reminder of the peril lurking just beyond the tranquil facade of the island...

When Y/N first woke up, she was confused.

"What...?" She looked around noticing the others were just as confused as she was. Then she noticed the box they were all in. Her heart began to race.

"They took my swords," Zoro grumbles once he notices the missing weight.

Nami groans noticing they took something away from her too. "And my rucksack, ugh, with all my navigation gear."

"And my fans..." Y/N mumbles, quickly standing up. Ignoring the rest, she reaches to place a hand on the hard wooden wall, "No, no, no..."

Her hands scrabbled against the rough walls, searching for any means of escape. Splinters dug into her skin, but she hardly noticed amidst the rising tide of fear. Memories flooded back, memories she had long tried to bury— The air was stale, each inhale felt like a struggle, as if the very act of breathing was a battle against the confines of the box.

"Hey," A raspy familiar voice said as a large hand landed on her shoulder but it swiftly slapped it off.

"Don't touch me," Y/N snaps as she continues to desperately look for a way out. "No. Not again, please,"

Suddenly, she flinches at the sound of someone next to her banging on the wooden walls.

"Stop." Y/N faintly heard Nami hiss. "Stop that."

"What? I’m trying to find a way out." The same raspy voice said. It was Zoro.

"We’ve been captured. We need a plan." Nami tells them.

"No, fuck no," Y/N continues to look for a way out, this time, however, she starts to push against the wooden wall.

"I just need to beat the hell out of every Marine I see," Zoro agrees.

"Hey, everyone, relax," Luffy, like Zoro, places a hand on Y/N's shoulders only to be slapped off. "We’re fine."

"We’re not fine. The Marines will throw us in jail if we’re lucky." Nami says. "Execute us if they don’t"

"They… they are not Marines. Before I got knocked out, I saw a Jolly Roger. We’ve been captured by pirates."

No...

Y/N stopped her attempts as Images flashed through her mind—memories of past suffocation, of being trapped in tight spaces. Panic gripped her like a vice, squeezing tighter with each passing moment.

Time lost meaning as Y/N battled against the relentless grip of fear. Minutes stretched into hours, each second dragging by with excruciating slowness. Her throat began to close, and her body started trembling with exhaustion and terror.

"That’s much better news."

"No, he’s right," Zoro said, he stepped a little closer to Y/N, and she was painfully aware and utterly horrified. "Marines have training. Pirates are easier to kill."

"Shanks used to say not every situation can be solved with violence," Luffy told them.

"Who the hell is Shanks?"

"We don’t need to fight. I can talk to them," Luffy shakes his head with a grin, "Pirate to pirate."

Y/N would have laughed at the idea of reasoning with a Pirate hadn't she been in the starters of a hysteria attack.

"That won’t work." Nami said

"Why not?"

"To start, you’re not a pirate."

" Yes, I am."

"No," Nami said looking at Luffy, "You are some stretchy guy in a tattered hat."

"I’m a different kind of pirate," Luffy stated, optimism practically oozing out of him.

"Pirates are pirates. There’s only one kind."

That is true. Pirates are all foul, soulless creatures... another wave of memories flooded her brain. Y/N closed her eyes, willing herself to find some semblance of calm amidst the chaos of her mind. But even in the darkness behind her eyelids, the walls of the box loomed large, a constant reminder of her imprisonment.

But just when she felt herself on the brink of surrender, the top of the box opened forcing Y/N to snap open. Music began to fill her ears, an odd spectacle of dancing... clowns? began to surround them once all the walls of the box were pulled apart.

Y/N, finally being able to breathe properly, watches as people in costumes do flips and tricks around them. She glances at her surroundings. This was a circus. Why were they in a circus? The people on the stats started to clap, Y/N frowned as she watched the tears of fear in some of those people. Isn't a circus supposed to be fun?

"No. No, no, no, no," A man or rather a clown with blue and a red nose, shouting prompting everyone to stop the show. "Stop clapping! No, stop! It’s all wrong!"

"The spotlight was late. You completely missed my entrance." He motions for the light to go from the four of them to him. Then he turns his attention to the man dressed in a bear costume who is terrified of the clown. "And where, oh, where was the dancing lion?"

"Hey, I know you," Luffy earned the clown's attention. "I saw your wanted poster in Shells Town. You’re the clown guy. Um, uh… Binky, right?"

"Buggy," The clown with blue hair corrected and to Y/N's surprise, he kept going. "Buggy the Clown. Buggy, the Flashy Fool. Buggy, the Genius Jester."

"Wow. You have a lot of names. I bet everyone in the East Blue knows who you are." Luffy said impressed but his words earned a gasp from the audience confusing the four of them.

"What did you just say?" Buggy deadpanned.

Luffy, none the wiser, repeats "Just that everyone knows who you are-"

"Nose?!" Buggy exclaims rushing to clasp Luffy's face in his hand, squeezing. The clown's crew step forward, holding their weapons, looking weirdly intimidating. "Are you making fun of my nose?"

Y/N, despite the dangerous situation, was baffled for a moment. She subtly regards Buggy's nose. Was that actually his real nose?? Oh, it was. Woah.

"Well… I wasn’t. But now that you mention it, is that thing for real?" Luffy lifts a hand to touch the clown's nose but he quickly slaps it away, making the audience gasp.

"What’s real is I’ve been scheming for months," The clown pushes Luffy away, and Y/N who was just behind him manages to catch him. She turns as Buggy stands in front of Nami, "To steal that map from old Axe-Hand Moron…"

"Eh?" He waits for an acknowledgement or reaction from the orange-haired girl but when he realises he is getting none he waves a dismissive hand and turns back to the others. "…only to find out that I was upstaged by four little nobodies, who stole it from right out under my no- No! It’s in my head now."

"Ah!" Buggy groans with exasperation moving away. "

"Hey, I’m not a nobody," Luffy said, once again successfully gaining the clown pirate's attention. "I’m Monkey D. Luffy. And I will be King of the Pirates."

Y/N had to give it to Luffy. His determination was so outstanding that even in such a dire situation it wouldn't break, however, she couldn't decide yet if it was stupidity or courage.

Buggy lets out a laugh, "Oh! Now that’s funny."

One of his crew members holds up a sign, forcing the audience to laugh. Well, that's depressing, can't imagine being a clown and having to force people to laugh.

Buggy motions for the laughing to halt. He moves, looking in between them as he speaks;

"My bounty poster graces the marquee of every Marine outpost for miles. And my menagerie of outcasts and freaks is the most dreaded pirate crew the East Blue has ever known. I am destined to find the One Piece. And when I do… I will be king."

"No, you won’t, ’cause I’m gonna find it first." Luffy contradicted the clown.

It's stupidity, Y/N decided.

"You?" Buggy scoffs, "Don’t make me laugh."

One crew member holds the sign again, and the audience laughs but they are soon yelled at to stop.

"I said don’t make me laugh!!!"

"All right, listen up. I’m Roronoa Zoro," Zoro spoke up, loud enough to gather everyone's attention. He turns to face Buggy and his crew. "Drop your weapons now and I may let you live."

Y/N has half a mind to yell at him asking what the fuck he was doing. Did he honestly think he could fight against all of these pirates? He doesn't even have his swords.

Buggy stares for a moment before letting out a mocking laugh. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a celebrity in our midst."Ladies and gentlemen, we have a celebrity in our midst. Too bad I hate sharing the spotlight."

The stage light went from them back to Buggy.

"Now, maybe we should skip right to the finale," The clown pulls out his weapon. A very intimidating metal sharp claws. "My freaks put quite a bit of rehearsal time into this little abduction. And if I can’t reward them with that map…" He moves to stand next to a man with sharp teeth. "I suppose I’ll have to offer them a pound of flesh instead."

Oh, shit. shit this. This is bad. Like BAD bad. Bad enough for her to manipulate her way out of it, but for that she'll need to get the clown alo-

"Wait. Wait." Nami was standing in front of them, looking to make some sort of negotiation with the clown. "What if I have something else to offer you? Something more valuable than the map?"

That seems to gather a newfound interest in the pirate, who looks at nami in expectation.

"What if I give you an entertainer, a singer, the best I've ever heard," Nami said casting a quick glance in her way. Y/N's heart plummeted. No, she couldn't be doing that to her. Her heart sank even lower when Buggy's gaze shifted towards her, his blue eyes gleaming when he caught her form.

"And a new freak for your crew?" Nami continues, forcing the clown to look away. She was slowly moving next to Luffy, "A rare talent. The most spectacular act in all of the East Blue. Besides you, of course."

"Go on."

Nami takes Luffy's hat prompting a shout from the boy, she tosses it up into the air making Luffy use his devil fruit abilities and stretch his arm up high to catch the hat. And then, Nami was gone.

"Go after her," Buggy told one of his crew members who quickly ran after the orange-haired girl. He chuckles, looking at Luffy. He pulls out an apple from his pocket and a knife. "Well, isn't this just interesting?"

Y/N felt a surge of protest rising within her, a desire to shout out against the unfolding situation. Yet, she found herself engulfed in a sense of hopelessness, a feeling all too familiar from her past experiences. She knew well the torment of being confined within the hold of a pirate.

"It's fine," she whispered to herself, trying to muster some semblance of reassurance. I'll… I'll be fine. Despite her inner turmoil, she clung to a last resort—a secret move, a tactic she had saved for dire circumstances. All she needed was to find a moment alone with Buggy.

They soon bring a struggling Nami and a part of her is happy they did another part of her is annoyed she sells them out and still fails to escape.

"What did you do? What did you do to their town? You destroyed everything!" Nami exclaimed in anger.

As he ate the apple, Buggy nonchalantly replied, "Not everything. I let ’em keep their hands."

The signs were up again and the audience clapped in command.

"Okay," The clown throws away the remains of the apple and puts the knife back into his coat. "Here end the theatrics."

Suddenly, the lights flickered and dimmed until they focused solely on Buggy's figure, casting an eerie glow around him. His voice cut through the darkness with a sharp edge.

"I know one of you has my map," he declared, his tone laced with determination. "And I'm gonna get it back. What was it you said, Rubber Boy? That it was in a safe place?"

The tension in the air heightened as everyone present awaited Buggy's next move.

"Don’t look so surprised. I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere," Buggy told the four of them with a smile, "So, please make our guests uncomfortable in the green room."

As two pirates seized Y/N from behind, she instinctively struggled against their grasp, her heart pounding in her chest. Nami too fought against her captors, but Zoro remained passive, seemingly indifferent to their plight. Just as they were about to drag Y/N away, the clown intervened.

"Not her," Buggy's voice commanded, halting the pirates in their tracks. They obediently turned Y/N to face their captain, whose blue eyes bore into her with a curious intensity. He closed the distance between them, his presence looming over her.

"Just for you, beautiful," Buggy addressed her, a smirk playing on his lips, "I'm willing to share my spotlight for a few moments and let you sing for us while my 'freaks' prepare the things for my chat with my stretchy new pal."

"Why would I?" Y/N retorted, summoning whatever semblance of courage she could muster to meet the clown's gaze. Ignoring the pirates that were dragging Luffy to sit with the audience. "I only sing when I have something to sing for…"

"Funny you think you have a choice," Buggy chuckled mischievously, his tone dripping with amusement, the sign was up so, naturally the audience laughed as well. He sauntered over to a high chair, resembling a throne, and settled into it with an air of superiority.

"Well, it's either that," he continued, gesturing towards Y/N, "or off with you. Though," he added with a smirk, "it'll be a shame to harm such a pretty girl like yourself."

His words hung in the air, a thinly veiled threat that left Y/N feeling trapped and vulnerable, caught between compliance and defiance.

Despite the overwhelming intimidation, Y/N took a moment to steady her breathing and gather her resolve. Nami was right about one thing – she was an entertainer, a performer. With that realization, a flicker of determination ignited within her.

With a deep breath, Y/N straightened her posture and let a confident smile grace her lips. She could do this. She could fake her charm, her confidence. After all, she had faced tough crowds before. This was just another performance, albeit under much more dire circumstances.

Y/N flashed a charming grin at Buggy, exuding confidence as the impromptu show began.

"Well, darling," she purred, her voice dripping with charisma, "lucky for you, I happen to have had my heart stomped a few days ago. You don't happen to have a guitar lying around, do you?"

Buggy's grin widened, and with a casual wave of his hand, a guitar was swiftly presented to her. As the rest of the crew dispersed, leaving her alone in the spotlight, Buggy's voice carried a warning tone.

"Don't make me regret giving you a share of my spotlight, sweetheart," he cautioned, his words tinged with a hint of threat.

Y/N meets Buggy's warning with a playful glint in her eye, maintaining her charismatic demeanor.

"Oh, don't you worry, Captain," she replies smoothly, her voice dripping with charm. "I'll make sure to dazzle everyone enough to ensure you shine even brighter. After all, what's a spotlight without a little sparkle, right?"

Without missing a beat, Y/N pivots gracefully, turning her attention to the assembled audience with a grin that belies the tension of the situation. With ease, she addresses them as if they were any other crowd, temporarily forgetting the dire circumstances of their gathering.

"Well, well, well. Looks like we've got ourselves a full house, don't we?" she declares with a playful sparkle in her eyes, her voice projecting warmth and enthusiasm despite the unsettling circumstances.

"Ah, the joys of a heartbreak!" Y/N's grin takes on a mischievous edge as she continues, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"As you may have heard," she begins, her tone dripping with theatrical flair, "some clueless boy managed to break this ol' heart of mine. But fear not, for in the face of heartache, what does a songbird do? Why, she writes a song, of course!"

Pausing for dramatic effect, she lets a playful wink slip before continuing, "Sadly, it seems our heartbreaker won't have the pleasure of hearing it. But don't worry, my captive audience, for you lucky souls get a front-row seat to the grand performance!"

Her words draw a ripple of shy, soft laughter from the crowd, turning this sombre moment into a somewhat of lighthearted affair. Her eyes meet Luffy's browns for a moment, he seems to pay her his all attention.

With a graceful motion, Y/N turns her attention to the guitar, her fingers deftly plucking a few strings. The sound resonates through the room, filling the air with a gentle melody that carries hints of both melancholy and resolve.

" When as a wanderer, your shore I did find,

Adrift, I found refuge in arms so kind,

We braved the tempest, each in our own fights,

You sought fortune in shadows, while I relied on my charms

I danced with the night, whispered secrets to the moon,

You chased after gold, while I sang my tune

We wanted to forget our woes and drown them in our wine

Then one day you vanished, claiming I was not divine,"

As she plays, her gaze flickers between the strings and the captivated audience, her expression a mix of concentration and subtle charisma. Each note she strikes seems to weave a tale of heartache and resilience, drawing the audience deeper into the performance with every strum.

I saw you at your lowest, in your darkest fight

I know the struggles hidden from plain sight

Too bad I'm the love you lost, the bond you breached

Now what'll you do, when I'm gone evermore?"

As Y/N finishes the song, a hush falls over the room, the echoes of her performance lingering in the air like a haunting melody. In that suspended moment, time seems to stand still, every eye in the room fixated on Buggy, waiting for his reaction, well, except for Luffy, he was the only one giving a standing ovation.

"Wooh, yeah!" Luffy claps, a smile on his face as he turns to one of the pirates holding him. "That's my musician,"

Y/N, however, ignore him and turn to Buggy.

Y/N meets his piercing blue gaze, searching for any hint of emotion within them, but finds his expression inscrutable, a mask of unreadable intent. There's a tension in the air, palpable and electric, as the weight of the silence stretches on, leaving everyone on edge.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Buggy breaks the silence with a slow, deliberate clap, his expression betraying nothing but a hint of amusement. It's a subtle gesture, but it breaks the tension in the room. The sign to clap was up but Y/N has a feeling they would've clapped regardless. It's a moment of relief for Y/N, who can't help but feel a sense of validation wash over her.

"It seems orange-hair was not lying, huh?" Buggy remarks, his tone carrying a hint of sardonic amusement. The cheers stop at his command.

Y/N lets out a forced chuckle, her lips curling into a wry smile as she meets Buggy's gaze.

"Well, what can I say?" she quips with a hint of playful sarcasm, "I did promise not to disappoint, didn't I? And trust me, darling, I always keep my promises, even when it involves serenading a bunch of pirates in a not-so-friendly setting."

Buggy's chuckle sends a shiver down Y/N's spine as he rises from his seat and advances towards her. Y/N fights to conceal the tremor of intimidation that courses through her, maintaining a facade of composure as he leans in to whisper.

"You could make a wonderful addition to my crew," he murmurs, his voice low and tinged with an air of intrigue. “Irreplaceable, even.”

While the idea of joining his crew fills her with trepidation and disgust, she knows better than to outright reject him, especially considering his unpredictable nature. Like most men.

With a steady gaze and a flicker of determination in her eyes, Y/N meets Buggy's gaze, her voice steady as she replies, "Well, Captain, it's certainly a tempting offer. But you'll have to forgive me if I take a moment to weigh my options. After all, I'm not one to jump ship without careful consideration."

Buggy regards her for a moment, then he smiles as he pulls back. His smile sends a shiver down Y/N's spine, but she maintains her facade of composure as he pulls back, granting her a temporary reprieve.

"Alright, I'll give you time to think it over…" he concedes, his tone deceptively genial.

Y/N's heart sinks as she watches him walk over to where Luffy is, a sinking feeling settling in her stomach. Before she can react, two pirates seize her again.

"Until he gives me my map, that is," Buggy adds casually, his words a stark reminder of the precarious position Y/N finds herself in.

As the pirates begin to drag her away, Y/N's heart pounds with a mixture of fear and determination. She casts a fleeting glance back at Luffy, a silent vow forming in her mind to find a way out of this predicament.

Soon, she was being tied down into a chair.

"Fuck you, Nami," Y/N spat out her frustration as soon as the pirates left them alone, her tone tinged with irritation. "Why would you do that?"

Inside her cage, Nami rolled her eyes in response. "It's survival of the fittest out here, Y/N," she retorted, her voice laced with resignation.

Y/N can't help but roll her eyes in return. She knows that in this cutthroat world, everyone looks out for themselves, but she had foolishly hoped for some semblance of a relationship with Nami only to be sorely disappointed.

"The least you could've done was actually manage to actually escape. You sold us in vain." Y/N chastised with a disapproving tsk.

"For what it's worth," Nami glanced towards the entrance of the crew's dressing rooms before skillfully picking the lock of her cage. "I am trying to get us out."

Y/N narrowed her eyes, unsure whether to trust Nami's words. Turning to Zoro, who was bound to a circular board nearby, she asked, "Do you believe her?"

"Don't have much of a choice," Zoro replies with a nonchalant shrug, just as a loud shout from outside makes them all snap their heads towards the entrance. It's Luffy's voice. "Better work faster."

As Y/N tries to free herself from the bounds, she realises that she's worried about Luffy because, despite his exasperating antics and seemingly reckless behaviour, she can't help but feel a pang of worry for him.

The bounds were tight but not enough to cut circulation just tight enough to leave burn marks when she moved them too much which she does.

Feeling the burn of the tight bounds against her skin, Y/N winced but pressed on, determined to free herself.

"That's only hurting you," Nami said sparing Y/N a glance before continuing to pick her lock.

Nami's words of caution brought a moment of pause, but Y/N couldn't afford to let fear hold her back. "I'll be fine,"

Nami rolls her eyes, then she glances at Zoro, he, too was trying to free himself.

"What?" The boy asks.

Nami continues with her work, "This is my life now."

"You want to trade places?"

"Both of you shut up," There was a rustling sound just making its way to them, "Shit. Someone’s coming."

Nami stops her work and looks at the entrance. "I need more time. Keep them talking."

"I don’t talk." Zoro said, "I hit things."

"I'll do it," Y/N announced.

Seconds later, a pirate with a striking mix of black and white hair and a blue and white square pattern scarf bursts into the room, riding his monocycle with an air of undeniable flair. He comes to a stop right in front of Zoro, his gaze fixed firmly on the bound swordsman.

Y/N, who would have found the scene comical under different circumstances, straightens up, suppressing the urge to laugh. Instead, she puts on her best flirtatious grin and clears her throat, preparing to address the newcomer.

"Hey there, handsome," Y/N begins, her voice dripping with playful charm. "I bet your captain's got you on a tight leash, but do you think you could...?"

"Shut up, whore!" The pirate said not taking his eyes off Zoro.

Y/N's jaw was on the floor. Well, that came out of nowhere.

"I'm not an expert but I'm sure you don't talk to ladies like that," Zoro, ever nonchalant, unexpectedly comes to her defense, much to Y/N's surprise.

The pirate disregards Zoro and instead questions, "Remember me?"

"No. Must be some other homicidal, unicycle-riding clown." Zoro mocks.

Y/N flinches as the pirate with black and white hair delivers a punch to Zoro's stomach.

"I've been thinking about you for years," the pirate hisses, his voice dripping with resentment. "About how you killed my brother."

"I killed a lot of pirates." Zoro deadpanned.

The pirate, named Cabaji, scowls as he begins to recount their past encounter. "My name is Cabaji, and a couple of years back, you hunted us across the Goa Kingdom," he explains, pulling out two knives. ""Followed us for weeks through the swamp lands, day and night, never relenting, like some kind of demon."

The three of them shared a look. A silent understanding between them. This was it, the distraction. Cabaji glances at the two girls as he backs away from Zoro.

"Still not ringing a bell," Zoro remarks casually, prompting Cabaji to throw a knife dangerously close to his head.

"You cut off his head and you stuffed it in a bag, all for a few Berry." Cabaji accuses, his voice heavy with accusation.

Zoro sighs, briefly closing his eyes before conceding, "Okay, that does sound like me."

The air becomes thick with tension as the two men lock gazes, the looming threat of violence hanging between them.

"Let's see if you can keep your head," Cabaji declares, moving to the side of the circular structure and spinning it, taking Zoro along for the ride.

With each knife thrown, Y/N can't help but avert her eyes, unable to witness the imminent danger befalling the swordsman. As minutes tick by and Y/N finally dares to steal a glance at Zoro, she's taken aback by his unwavering composure. Despite the imminent threat of the spinning structure and the barrage of knives, Zoro remains eerily calm, his expression betraying no hint of fear or panic.

Watching him close his eyes and maintain his stoic demeanor in the face of danger, Y/N can't help but feel a surge of admiration mingled with astonishment. It shouldn't surprise her, knowing Zoro's reputation for unshakeable resolve, but somehow it does.

Y/N shifts her gaze to Nami, and in that brief exchange of eye contact, a silent understanding passes between them. She's close to opening the lock.

"You really don’t fear death, do you?" Cabaji asks after his tenth throw.

"No," Zoro said as the structure came to a halt, "I just don’t fear you."

Cabaji throws yet another knife before approaching Zoro "You know, I’m gonna enjoy this. As soon as Captain Buggy’s finished with you, you’re mine."

"Uh, tempting as that sounds, I’m not sticking around." Zoro slowly opens his eyes and focuses on the pirate.

"Really? Got somewhere else to be?"

"Didn’t used to think so. But Luffy changed that." Zoro said.

"That simpleton in a straw hat." Cabaji scoffs, "Don’t tell me you actually believe in him?"

"I don’t need to. He believes in himself." Zoro admits and shrugs, "It rubs off."

As Nami swiftly and silently cuts Y/N's bonds, relief floods through her as she rubs her sore wrists. With newfound freedom, she wastes no time positioning herself behind Cabaji, who is too engrossed in Zoro's words to notice her approach.

"And one more thing."

Cabaji continues to laugh as Zoro warns him.

"Don’t turn around."

In a split second, Y/N seizes the opportunity, delivering a powerful punch straight to Cabaji's nose. The force of the blow sends him staggering backwards. With Cabaji momentarily stunned, Zoro takes advantage, freeing one of his arms to grab hold of the pirate's throat, applying pressure with a steely grip while Nami frees his other arm.

"And by the way, you're brother's the whore," Y/N said to the Cabaji just moments before the pirate passed out.

"What's the plan?" Asks Zoro, retreating his swords.

Y/N takes hold of her war fans. "We go for Luffy,"

"Yeah but how?" Zoro turns to Nami, "You do have a plan, right? That’s your thing, plans."

"I say we beat the hell out of every clown we see." Nami declares, her eyes flickering between them mischievously as she brandishes her fighting stick.

Y/N chuckles in agreement, elegantly fanning her fans to reveal the gleaming blades within. "Well, isn't that a delightful idea," she quips with a smirk. "I've always had a knack for cutting through the foolery."

With a wink exchanged between Y/N and Zoro, a shared understanding passing between them, Zoro chuckles before they both follow Nami out.

As they navigate through the chaos of the circus tent, the trio encounters a shower of fools intent on blocking them. With a seamless display of skill and coordination, they engage the freaks in a fight.

Nami leads the charge, her fighting sticks a blur as she deflects incoming blows and delivers precise strikes. Each swing is calculated, each movement fluid and efficient as she exploits weaknesses in the clown's defences.

Beside her, Zoro moves with the grace of a great swordsman, his swords lethal as he cuts through the ranks of clowns with unmatched precision. His strikes are powerful and decisive, each blow landing with devastating force as he clears a path forward.

And Y/N adds her own flair to the fray, her fans flashing in the dim light of the tent as she gracefully dances between pirates. With a flick of her wrist, she spreads the fans, revealing the razor-sharp blades concealed within. Each movement is deliberate, and calculated, as she gracefully weaves through the chaos of the fight effortlessly dispatching any clown foolish enough to challenge her.

As they finally reach the main stage, Y/N's heart lurches at the sight before her. There, in the center of the stage, Luffy struggles against the confines of a tank filled with water. Memories flood Y/N's mind, images of a similar tank from her past flashing before her eyes with haunting clarity.

She tries to hold back a shudder as the familiar dread grips her, threatening to overwhelm her senses. The sight of Luffy, trapped and struggling, serves as a painful reminder, stirring emotions that she had long tried to bury but with a deep breath, Y/N pushes aside the memories, focusing instead on the task at hand.

With a swift and precise throw, Nami hurls her fighting stick towards the tank, the impact causing the glass to crack and splinter. Y/N watches with bated breath as the cracks spiderweb across the surface, spreading like veins of ice.

"Where are my freaks?" Buggy exclaimed looking around the circus.

Zoro appears on the other end, holding his two swords. "They're not coming,"

Finally, the tank gave way with a resounding crash. As the glass shatters, water gushes forth in a torrent, cascading to the ground in a rush of freedom letting Luffy out and soaking Buggy to the ground.

After he inhales some air, Luffy exhales the map. Ugh!

"My map!" Buggy crawls to the map.

Luffy, on the other hand, "My hat!"

Y/N turned her gaze towards the laughing clown, he took hold of the map while Luffy was hugging his hat. With careful steps, the trio approaches him.

"You want a piece of me?" The clown challenges them once he notices their approach. "Let’s see what you got."

Without hesitation, Zoro lunges forward, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. But to their astonishment, the clown doesn't fall. Instead, he splits into pieces, his laughter ringing out triumphantly as he effortlessly reassembles himself.

"Surprise, shithead!" Buggy crows with glee, his laughter echoing through the chaos.

Y/N, Zoro and Nami gather together as Buggy manically laughing starts to split himself into more pieces.

"What the hell?" Y/N yells as Buggy's body parts begin to fly around them.

Zoro's brow furrows in frustration as he watches the spectacle. "How do I slice a guy who's already in pieces?"

"This is not part of the plan," Nami grits her teeth, holding tightly to her fighting stick.

With a grunt of frustration, Y/N pushes away a stray hand that reaches for her, her mind racing as she tries to formulate a strategy amidst the chaos. "Yeah, no shit."

Despite their best efforts, the trio find themselves quickly overwhelmed by the onslaught of flying body parts. Zoro is slammed against the tank, Nami is hurled off the stage, and Y/N is sent crashing into a pile of crates, pain shooting through her side as she struggles to regain her footing amidst the chaos.

"Fuck," She hisses, placing a hand on the sore spot. She braces herself up watching as Buggy pulls out his metallic claws and slices himself again.

"Chop-Chop Cannon!!" His hands and arms start to rotate while his legs start to fly about in chaos.

Luffy does his best to dodge and punch and actually manages to reach Buggy but is soon pushed off him. The claws though, do manage to get Luffy's straw hat.

Buggy laughs and when Luffy goes to recollect his hat he is tripped and pushed to the ground.

Y/N's heart pounds with panic as she watches Buggy's hand find its way to Luffy's throat, threatening to choke the life out of him. In a desperate bid to save Luffy, she scans the area for anything that could aid them in their fight.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, inspiration strikes. With a quick glance at the crates nearby, Y/N's mind races with a plan.

"Luffy, Nami. The crates!" Y/N shouts, her voice cutting through the chaos as she rushes to one and flings it open.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Luffy manages to break free from Buggy's grasp, tearing the hand off his throat and hurling it towards Nami. Acting on instinct, Nami uses her fighting stick to send Buggy's hand hurtling towards the open crate, which Y/N swiftly closes, trapping the appendage inside.

One by one, the four of them began to trap the clown's body parts inside the boxes until only his head, hands and feet were all he had.

"What have you done to me?"

Luffy grins, "Cut you down to size."

"The One Piece will never be yours." Buggy all but growls in frustration. "You’re just a sad, lonely little boy wearing another man’s hat!"

"I know exactly who I am," Luffy puts on his straw hat and with his usual smile he turns to Buggy. "I am Monkey D. Luffy. And I’m gonna be King of the Pirates."

Y/N chuckles to herself. He really has an indomitable spirit.

Luffy stretches both his hands back, "Gum Gum…

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! No, no, no! Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait." Buggy pleads but Luffy is already spitting out.

"Bazooka!!"

And with a scream, Buggy's head is launched off the circus.

With a beaming smile, Luffy picks up the map and strides to the center of the stage, where Zoro, Y/N, and Nami are gathering. He extends the map towards the orange-haired girl, his expression filled with unwavering confidence.

"You're giving this to me?" Nami asks, her disbelief barely concealed beneath her facade of composure.

Luffy's grin widens. "You're the navigator," he replies simply, his faith in her abilities unwavering.

"Let's get out of this clown show," Zoro interjects, his tone tinged with impatience as he eagerly anticipates their departure.

Y/N nods in agreement, her hands deftly stowing away her fans back into her waistline. "Yeah, I've had my fill of this place,"

But Luffy's focus remains unwavering as he turns to address the others, his gaze sweeping over the captive audience.

"Still, there's one more thing we have to do," he declares, his eyes meeting those of his companions. "We have to set them free."

With determined hearts, they set about freeing the captive audience, their collective resolve aimed at bringing an end to the clown's tyranny.

"Are you our new captors?" an old man asks Luffy, his voice tinged with confusion.

Luffy tilts his head, a hint of bemusement in his expression. "What?"

"Well, you're a pirate, aren't you?" the old man persists, struggling to comprehend the act of kindness from someone associated with piracy.

"I'm a different kind of pirate," Luffy replies simply, his words carrying a weight of sincerity that belies his reputation.

Y/N shares a knowing glance with Luffy as she frees a child from his shackles, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Despite the odds, Luffy's unwavering determination and genuine compassion are beginning to win her over, gradually eroding her skepticism and replacing it with a newfound sense of admiration.

As they make their way through the town, the sun casts its warm rays upon the streets, a stark contrast to the wreckage left in the wake of Buggy's crew. Despite the devastation, a sense of relief fills the air as the townsfolk emerge from their hiding places, grateful to be free from the clutches of the circus from hell.

As Y/N walks alongside her companions towards their ship, she is greeted by a stream of townspeople, each one expressing their gratitude and admiration for her performance. Some approach her with heartfelt thanks, while others request the pleasure of hearing her sing again.

"We don't have much," the mayor of the town approaches them, offering a basket of food, "but please, take this as a token of our... of our gratitude."

Luffy shakes his head, a generous smile on his face. "You need it more than we do,"

Y/N wiggles her fingers in farewell as she follows Nami, Luffy, and Zoro to make their way back to their ship. As they approach, she notices Luffy darting back towards the mayor, returning for a piece of bread with a cheerful grin.

Once aboard the small ship, Y/N breathes a sigh of relief as she realizes all her belongings are still intact. With a sense of purpose, she joins Nami and Luffy in preparing the ship for their journey ahead.

Waving one last time to the shouting townsfolk, Y/N can't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over her. The warm farewells of the townsfolk echo in her ears, a reminder of the impact they've had on the lives of others.

A few minutes into their journey, Y/N sits next to Zoro with a tired sigh. The swordsman's eyes are closed and his arms are crossed, she gazes at the sundown, a pretty hue surrounding them- when was the last time she enjoyed a sunny day? Right with Cygnus, that feels like a lifetime ago...

"Hey, you need help with that?" Nami's voice cuts through the serenity, pulling Y/N's attention away from the mesmerizing sunset.

Luffy's puzzled frown prompts her to tense up momentarily as Nami reaches for his straw hat. But instead of causing harm, Nami begins to carefully repair it, her skilled hands weaving the threads with practised precision. Y/N can't help but reconsider her latest thoughts of the navigator as she watches her work.

"Why did you freak out?" Zoro's voice startles her out of her thoughts.

Y/N turns to face the boy, but his eyes are still closed. " What? When did I-"

"Back inside of the box," Zoro said, his voice ever raspy but silent as if he knew she didn't want the others to hear.

"Oh," Y/N blinks, she didn't think he'd notice that, yeah sure she was freaking out but they all were, weren't they? She clears her throat, trying to mask her discomfort as she reaches for her guitar, seeking comfort in its familiar presence. "It's nothing special, really."

"What does 'not again' mean then?" Zoro asks turning his head and opening his eyes to look at her.

Y/N fakes a grin, "I'm just not a fan of enclosed spaces, that's all, hot shot,"

Zoro stares at her for a moment and Y/N stares back. Some of the light of the day cast shadows on his face. She can't tell if he's convinced by her excuse or not. She hopes he is.

Thankfully her silent wishes are answered, Zoro closes his eyes again and turns to face forward. "You better not make any noise, I'm trying to rest,"

Y/N flashes Zoro a mischievous grin in response to his warning. "Noise? Oh, you have it all wrong, hot shot," she quips, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "I don't make noise, I compose symphonies of sound that would make even the sea itself dance to my tune but Don't worry, hot shot, I'll keep it down… unless you want to hear a little tune to lull you to sleep, I promise to find a lullaby you enjoy."

Zoro's lips twitch with amusement, and Y/N can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

"You fixed it," Y/N's head turns to see Luffy taking his hands from Nami with a smile. "Thanks."

"Well, you said it was your treasure, right?"

As Nami rises and heads towards the cabin, Y/N meets her gaze, and in that silent exchange, they share a moment of understanding. Any lingering tension between them dissipates, replaced by mutual respect and perhaps some camaraderie.

"Is every day gonna be this crazy with you?" Zoro's question breaks the silence, drawing Y/N's attention.

Luffy joins them, settling in front of them with a thoughtful expression. "Shanks always said… that if the path to what you want seems too easy… then you're on the wrong path."

Y/N nods in agreement, impressed by the insight of this mysterious Shanks character.

"Smart guy," she remarks, her curiosity piqued by the mention of someone who clearly holds significance in Luffy's life.

Zoro, ever the stoic swordsman, opens his eyes and nods in quiet contemplation. "Yeah, this Shanks guy sounds all right,"

Luffy's face breaks into a wide grin as he rises to his feet, his excitement palpable. With boundless energy, he dashes to the bow of the ship, his voice ringing out with unbridled enthusiasm.

"Next stop, the Grand Line!" he shouts, pointing a finger ahead towards the vast expanse of ocean that stretches out before them.

Shaking her head in amusement, Y/N feels a foreign surge of excitement coursing through her veins. With Luffy at the helm, she knows that her days with him, as long as they may be, will be anything but dull. The question is, will they be dangerous or not.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Lots of love, be safe.

Divider by @cafekitsune

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wyattjohnston · 18 days ago

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if you only knew - jeremy swayman

summary: abby shouldn't let her daydreaming get the best of her, but it's not that easy when sway is the one standing in front of you.

song: i can see you by taylor swift

word count: 3.2k

note: this is for The Eras Tour Fic Challenge that was all @comphy-and-cozy's idea, and i'm delighted she let me be part of the process. thank you to @laurenairay for reading this when it was getting started!

hoping to hell that this makes sense, please let me know!

The players filed off the ice at their own pace, some of them off of the ice the very second practice finished while the others hung around for a little extra ice time.

Abby didn’t mind waiting, capturing photos as they passed her that would probably never see the light of day. They were all friendly with her, despite her presence almost guaranteeing a camera being shoved in their face whether it be for a still photo or a TikTok video. Frankly, she didn’t know why they were still happy to see her.

The hulking figure of Jeremy Swayman in his goalie pads stepped towards her, his helmet tucked under his arm and his head tilting as he approached. Abby picked a spot behind him to look at so that she didn’t have to make eye contact.

“No question today?”

“I couldn’t think of one, so just the photos,” she said, smiling as she held up the DSLR to his unsuspecting face and held the trigger for a few seconds. “Logan has one for next practice that I think you’ll like.”

Jeremy didn’t look convinced, shifting from foot to foot—though he barely even seemed to register the camera or the many photos she’d just taken. He suggested, “You should ask us who our favourite social media person is.”

Abby lowered her camera completely, her shoulders sagging a littler. She refuted, “No. That’s mean and I don’t want you guys to all say Logan; I know he’s more fun.”

“Not a chance anyone says Logan over you,” he said emphatically. “Logan would agree it’s you, too, if you asked him.”

“That’s just not true. I’m not asking questions that will hurt someone’s feelings.” Her words were final, and she imagined that the hurt my feelings was implied.

“Fine,” he conceded, though the slight roll of his eyes showed he wasn’t happy about it. He added, “But you do ask better questions. You’re also way hotter than he is.”

Abby rolled her eyes back at him. The beating of her heart became louder in her ears, harder in her chest, despite her desperate attempt at nonchalance when she took the opportunity to greet Pasta as he wandered through the tunnel behind Jeremy.

“I didn’t mean that in an inappropriate way,” Jeremy said, glancing back over his shoulder to watch Pasta leave. “I just—I have eyes, you know? But like… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” Abby said, shrugging. “It’s far from the most degrading thing a hockey player has ever said about me.”

Tension suddenly overcame them, and Abby froze in place. She couldn’t work out what she’d said that could have caused the sudden shift between them and found her shoulders curling in to try and get away with it.

“Here?” Jeremy asked after a few, long painful seconds. “One of the boys?”

A loud guffaw left her mouth entirely involuntarily and she gestured back to the ice to ask incredulously, “Those boys? No, they would never. Not where I can hear anyway. Just guys in college.”

The returning question was immediate and gruff: “Where did you go to college?”

“That’s not—Sway.”

Any and all tension dissipated as quickly as it had come, Jeremy somehow standing even taller than he had been, and a broad smile overcoming over his face, “Just making friendly conversation and trying to get to know you, Abs.”

Jeremy’s winks always disarmed her. He dealt them out so freely, so regularly, that she was sure they were just an unconscious behaviour whenever he was coming to or going from a conversation. And yet, even if she didn’t think he meant them, they still rattled her to her core.

In the same way his weeks were unintentional; Abby never meant to watch him for so long as he walked away. If anyone ever caught her—and maybe they had and were too nice to say anything—she wasn’t sure she’d ever get over the embarrassment.

That didn’t stop her, though. She didn’t look away until he was out of sight.

Abby posted up in her usual spot at TD Garden, waiting for the boys to arrive for the game. They were all painfully consistent, so she knew exactly how long she had between arrivals to quickly edit photos and post them in small groups. It was such a to-the-minute routine that she could have done it on autopilot—did do it on autopilot. A lot.

They all filed in as normal, nothing disrupting her routine until Jeremy’s arrival time came. Abby knew his arrival time just as well as she knew anybody else’s, but nervous energy always took over when it came to him.

She had her phone positioned and ready for the next group to come in, filming whether they acknowledged her or pretended she didn’t exist. The younger boys were more likely to say hello, she found, mostly because they’d come into the league when social media was already a big part of it. The older the player was, the more set he was in his routine and superstitions—even if they refused to call them superstitions.

Jeremy was always good for a greeting, oblivious to the damage his smile and wink did to her, but Abby steeled herself for him to step towards her.

She couldn’t have been prepared for the casual speed at which he reached into the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out his phone, holding it up in her direction. The shutter went off and he was walking past her before she could even work out what had happened.

Abby didn’t always stay late after games. She had to stay around for media, but on a normal day she was posting the post-game interviews and promptly jumping on The Orange Line before posting some game recaps from whatever corner of the subway she was crammed into. That all changed when Logan was hanging around and she was able to convince him to drive her home.

While it saved her a sardine packed trip, it did mean she had to hang around longer than she normally would to as he packed away videography equipment. She found herself a chair to sit on in the hallway near the Bruins’ family room, trying to make herself disappear into the brickwork.

It didn’t take long for Abby to run out of things to post, and for her eyes to grow heavy. She still didn’t know exactly what she had to wait for Logan to finish, but the sudden end to her busy day was enough for her body to realise she could relax—normally that end was when she was flopping onto her bed.

The players started to file out, crossing in front of her on their way to their families and their cars. Those she made eye contact with said goodnight, although most of them were on a mission to get out and only had eyes for the exit. She couldn’t blame them.

A shadow appeared over her lap where she’d turned back to her phone to respond to some people on the socials. When Abby looked up, Jeremy was looking down at her with head slightly tilted.

“Why’re you still here?”

His towering figure would never get old. It would have a hold on Abby until the day she died, she was sure of it, especially when he was in his suit.

“Getting a ride home. Would rather sit here than jump on the subway,” she told him, keeping her words and breathing measured. “Something must have happened because Logan’s taking ages.”

“You sure he didn’t forget?” Jeremy asked. “I’ll take you home if you need.”

Multiple things were wrong with that idea—primarily that she was positive that he did not live anywhere remotely close to Roxbury, but also that being alone in space as confined as a car was sure to ruin her life.

Abby assured him, even if she didn’t totally believe it, “He wouldn’t have forgotten. Thanks, though.”

“See you at practice, then. Hope you have something good planned.”

She did, and she would have told him if his wink hadn’t left her speechless.

Jeremy’s retreating figure was still in view when a text came through, Logan telling Abby that he had forgotten he was taking her home and he was already halfway gone. He would come back and get her if needed, but it didn’t take a genius to work out that he was hoping that wasn’t the case. He would have called if it was.

“Sway!” Abby shouted, not allowing any time for another possibility to come to mind.

He stopped instantly, yet his turn back to face her was slow. He didn’t say anything, just waited for her to gather her bag and rush in his direction.

“Can I get that ride, please?”

With a simple nod, he took her camera bag without being asked and led her to the player parking lot.

Even half empty, it was clear to Abby that she didn’t belong. She didn’t even own a car let alone the six figure vehicles she was being confronted with. One of them, if sold, could probably pay off her student debt.

There were many thanks, most embarrassed, while Abby sat in the passenger’s seat and tried not to touch anything except for the chair. Even then she was worried about all the potential damage she could do to the leather.

“Why are you so tense?” Jeremy asked. “Just relax a little.”

His words were accompanied by a large hand on her thigh. In what world that was supposed to relax her, Abby did not know, because even through the denim of her jeans she could feel the warmth and size of his hand. Looking down at it made her dizzy.

There was no way he was oblivious to what he was doing to her, she knew that for certain when she caught the smirk on his face after he finished talking. She didn’t know what he was talking about—it may have been about the game, or it could have been a question about the best way to get to her house. Abby would never be able to repeat what he said because the only thing playing in her mind was the feeling of his hand moving higher and higher up her thigh.

Never before had she wished she lived further away from the arena, but Abby was desperate for it to never end because by the time she could see that they were only a few turns away, Jeremy’s hand was pressing right into the crease of her hip. Squeezing her thighs together was really the only thing she could do because Jeremy was driving, and Abby did want to make it home.

A lot of the wanting to make it home was because she was desperate to find the words to ask him inside.

She didn’t need to find those words, though, because they were stopped on the street, and Jeremy hadn’t even killed the engine before he was asking, “Are you gonna invite me in?”

“Sorry!” a voice called, accompanied by the loud squeak of sneakers on concrete. “One of the cameras was fucking up and it needed—”

“It’s fine, Logan. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Sway’s looking a bit worse than I remember?”

“What? I haven’t noticed anything different.”

“Might want to proofread what you post to Twitter.”

Abby instantly reached into her pocket, her heart racing at the thought of having posted anything to the team socials that wasn’t absolutely perfect. The notifications were more out of control than normal, only adding to the sinking feeling in her stomach.

When she finally looked at the tweets coming from the Bruins’ official account, it was clear what Logan was referencing because staring up at her was a picture of their beloved captain—with Sway being the one mentioned.

She would claim it as a way to boost engagement and vowed to herself that she’d do it a few more times with other players throughout the week. Anything to stop the replies asking if Admin had the hots for Sway.

Finding a coffee shop on the road was something Abby did every road trip; sitting in a hotel room editing photos or TikToks or thinking up (or responding to) tweets was lonely, and sitting in the practice arena of the day was normally too loud to be in for longer than strictly necessary. The coffee shops weren’t always much quieter, but there was at least natural sunlight shining through the windows and some fresh air entering when the door opened.

On a normal day, Abby was able to work uninterrupted. Logan never followed her, just as she never followed him, and she was left to read through the mind-numbing analytics without losing concentration. She could count on one hand the number of times someone she knew had found her hiding spot which is why she was not at all expecting a hotel key and pair of sunglasses to be placed right next to her mouse and for someone to ask her what it was she was drinking.

Looking back over her shoulder, she made eye contact with Jeremy Swayman.

“Do you want one?” he prompted after being met with silence, gesturing to the empty coffee mug.

She considered whether she needed another entire coffee, before conceding, “a flat white with oat milk, please.”

He sat down on the empty stool beside her, pushing his sunglasses out of the way and resting his elbows onto the table. He looked exhausted, which wasn’t a great sign for it only being the middle of the season. Abby never knew what to ask the boys when she wasn’t holding a camera to their faces—not that she was regularly put into a position where she had to make conversation. It was so rare that she was certain that most of them didn’t even know her name. Jeremy didn’t seem bothered by the silence, instead opening up his phone and opening his Messages app with a red notification showing a very high number and responding to a text seemingly at random. Abby went back to her laptop, deciding to take a break from trying to work out what type of content needed to be scrapped in favour of opening up Indeed.

“What’s that website? Is that where people look for jobs?” Jeremy asked, peering over to her screen.

“Uh, yeah, most of the time.”

Her scrolling was half-hearted; it was nothing she hadn’t already seen before, and nothing she hadn’t already compared to what she was currently doing. Or making. The jobs she had the perfect set of skills for were few and far between because people didn’t tend to be leaving sports teams, and she hasn’t quite yet worked out how to transition out of that job yet.

“You want to leave the Bruins?” Jeremy asked after a few minutes of silence, leaning in just a little closer. His presence in her space was always hard to miss, and even more so when he was actively moving closer.

“No, not really. I’m just seeing what’s out there.”

“But what’s the point if you don’t want to leave?”

“You went to college; you have to have some understanding of what it’s like in the real world.” Abby, picking up on the ever so slight shrug in his shoulders, and the hint of embarrassment, continued in a gentler tone, “I have to check the market. It’s to see if there are similar jobs paying more, or if there’s a really good opportunity out there to get into marketing or something.”

“Check the market? Like testing it in free agency?”

“Yeah,” Abby nodded. “Except I don’t have an agent. I just have to do it myself.”

“Sounds really boring.”

“Boring and exhausting,” she admitted. “But hardly anybody gets any career progression by staying in the same job. I will have to leave the Bruins at some point.”

Jeremy’s eyebrows pulled together in the middle, but he nodded like he understood—Abby wasn’t wholly convinced that he did.

With his pre-game nap calling, Jeremy didn’t stay for much longer. He apologised for annoying her, and she hastily assured him that she was always happy to talk to him and left her with another coffee that he ordered for her on his way out.

He was long gone by the time Abby noticed a piece of paper he’d left behind where his hotel key had been. She lifted and flipped it to see it was important, expecting it to be the sleeve they were all given with their room keys, and did a double take when she saw something hastily handwritten instead of the hotel logo.

Room 914. See you soon.

A warmth that could only be brought on by Jeremy rose in Abby’s cheeks. She slammed her laptop shut, held her bag beside the table and swiped all of her belongings into it. It wasn’t anything she had expected, especially on the day of a game when she knew how specific a goalie’s routine was, but she wasn’t going to ignore such an obvious invitation.

The café was, thankfully, closer to the hotel than almost any other she’d found in other cities, so it was a short, fast-paced walk back. Her focus was so intense that she would have stepped out in front of a car if it weren’t for a woman grabbing her by the wrist to keep her on the sidewalk. It wasn’t one of Abby’s proudest moments, certainly, but she was on a mission and needed to make sure she was able to reach her destination before the rules changed.

Nobody else was in the lobby, that Abby noticed anyway, and her ride to the ninth floor was unimpeded—which was for the best because there was no way she would have been able to hold an intelligent, or intelligible, conversation had anybody tried.

Jeremy must have been waiting at the door with how fast he answered it after Abby’s first and only knock. He pulled her inside quickly, the door shutting heavily behind them as he crowded her against the door. She dropped her bag to the floor, the thud only causing a slight concern about her laptop, before his hands were curling into her hair and his mouth was drawing closer.

“Don’t leave,” he said, his breath moving over her lips. “Don’t find a new job.”

Abby wrapped her arms around his neck to stop herself from melting to the floor. She pressed her mouth to his, a silent promise that she wouldn’t go anywhere if he didn’t want her to.

His knee moved between her thighs, helping to keep her lift her further off the ground—closer to him—and added friction it gave to her jeans caused a breathy moan to leave her mouth.

“Are you done here?”

Abby looked up over the laptop screen she’d been staring at blankly, making eye contact with the aggressively raised eyebrow of the waiter and nodding sheepishly before slamming her laptop shut and leaving the café before anybody could read her mind.

#jeremy swayman fic #jeremy swayman imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #homemade fic

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evilfrogcereal29 · 3 months ago

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ANOTHER NIKTO X READER I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE I WAS GOING WITH THESE SPECIFIC SCENARIOS JUST COME TO MIND DJDHSKS

this is made with a fem!reader in mind, I try to write everything kind of GN, so sorry, but gender is kind of important for this specific piece cause reader's mistaken for a man and doesn't correct anyone to hide their identity

Tw: drinking, swearing, google translated russian, probably a bit ooc Nikto, I make him a lil softer than he probably is.

Nikto x Disguised(?)!fem!reader

- "You're pretty small for a guy"

- you were more than used to that sentence by now, and you never once saught to correct or challenge anyone on it. Who cared? There where more important things than whats in your pants, and it was better that everyone thought you you a man anways.

- You were very private about your identity, you had friends and family back home you didn't want getting wrapped up in this shit. You've seen how petty people can be for just a little bit of revenge.

- you wore a full suit of gear that masked your feminine form, including a helmet with a built in voice changer. (You sounded similar to that of a metro-cop from half-life 2, but with way more clarity)

- You didn't even push the man narrative, everyone just naturally started using he & him for you, unaware of your past or who you really were.

- You were, for the most part, one of the guys. Your file even stated you as male. A serious oversight by the higher-ups.

- So then why was Nikto currently pointing a gun amd looking at a woman in *your* armor?

- *Funny timeskip that i added here because I thought it'd be a bit confusing jumping between these two bullet points*

- You often frequented the showers late at night, it was the only time you could wash yourself uninterrupted by others prying eyes.

- You never realized how often you and Nikto barely evaded seeing eachother. You’d finish, disappear from the showers back to your room, and Nikto would come in, with the same idea of a late shower as you within a few minutes to as soon as 30 seconds after you departed.

- Tonight though, maybe by fate, you both got the idea at the same time, unfortunately for Nikto, you walked just a little faster.

- Nikto almost immediately turned around when he heard the water running, there was no point. Yet there was also frustration, and an overwhelming urge to confront whoever it was. Who the hell was showering at this hour?! He’s never had this problem before, who was deciding to give him problems tonight?

- He cracked the door open, head peeping inside, his eyes widen big at you- whoever you were- in his fellow solider's suit.

- Now it should've occured to someone as intelligent as Nikto that this *was* his fellow solider, but he had known you for a while, and had never suspected anything before, he would've known if you weren't anyone you said you are...right? Had you truely bested Nikto?

- He pulled out his gun right as you seemed to notice him, letting out a yelp. You were a confident 'man' on the battlefield, but now, you were red in the face, caught in a web of lies you didn't even mean to string.

- *Timeskip from earlier ends here :3 there will be more timeskips tho because my ADHD ass LOVES giving context*

- "ублюдок, ты кто? Where is our teammate? What did you do to him?" He growled, cocking his gun and aiming it right at the girl's head.

- Your eyes are wide, as big as half-dollars, and threw your hands up into the air.

- "Nikto its me! Its me!" You plead. Only receiving a sneer and angry grunt

- "You think I'm a stupid man, маленькая девочка?!" He yelled, stepping closer, finger twitching on the trigger, his bloodlust rising.

- The running water is the only thing breaking the terrifying tension in the room, you're mind is racing, how do you get this killer off your back. You needed to prove who you were. Think! Think!

- "Please don't shoot- let me prove it, I can prove it's me Nikto. I-..." You feel your cheeks heating up, god this was fucking embarrassing, and Mr. Emotionless here is the last person you wanted to slip up with. Even if you did prove yourself, he might kill you just because he felt a little angry that you didn't tell him personally. You gulp at that thought.

- Nikto grins under his mask, amused, truely, his gun lowers a bit.

- "Go on." He muses, "tell me something only HE would know." He smirks, thinking about how he's going to lay your body in the shower and watch the blood seep down the drain.

- *Time skip backwards again here, cause I love me some backstory :3*

- Your mind races. You and Nikto weren't 'friends' per se, but you had a past, you had met him right around when he had come out of rehabilitation after his sickening torture. He was worse back then, he would snap on teammates. He snapped on you, pinning you to the wall once, eyes dilated and filled with a primal kind of rage, he pressed down on your neck.

- "Мы сломаем твои кости, как стекло, маленький муравей."

- You had picked up some Russian from being around him and other fluent operators, knowing a decent amount, and in that moment you knew just enough to fear for your life.

- Thankfully Minotaur was in the area, and while he enjoyed watching a good scuffle bewteen two soldiers, he knew very well that this one would end with you dead, breaking up you two with very careful wording and while staying a very far away distance from the still ravenous, blood-thirsty Nikto.

- Surprisingly, you didn't completely avoid him after that, not like you could, the allegiance seemed to love put you two on the same team. Something about the variety of both your skillsets.

- It was true, you had to admit. You and Nikto worked very professionally on the field, quick and easy kills, communicating everything with head & hand gestures instead of talking. It was preferable for the both of you. And always ended with success. So maybe thats why you always ended up near eachother. Still, you always tried to give the Psychotic man the benefit of the doubt. Knowing the story of his past, as told to you by Rodion, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of empathy for the broken man.

- It eventually built up to you having a very personal moment with Nikto.

- You were on a long-term mission, you'd been deployed in Yakutsk, Russia. Yes, one of the coldest fucking places in the entire country. Reaching nearly unalivable conditions- In your opinion- but of course Nikto never complained, he liked the cold after all.

- You had shacked up in an abandoned home on the outskirts of the city for the night. You laid on the one of the dirty mattresses left there by the old tenants, whoever they were.

- You shivered and shook like a rabid animal. Unable to sleep from how cold you were. Even in your full body of armor, it wasn't doing enough. You had those crap emergency blankets but even they, and the addition of the thin poo-stained mattress beneath you, didn't help with the very persistent cold that seemed to seep in through every crack of the home possible.

- You can only assume Nikto is fast asleep, at least, until you hear a soft humming, one that turns into soft singing, its gruff, and deep, but as you continue to listen, you find it rather soothing.

- "Здравствуйте, девочки Здравствуйте, мальчики Смотрите на меня в окно...." He sang, tapping his foot to a beat in his head. It seemed there *were* moments where nikto wasn't being mentally tortured by his own mind. Instead, filled with a melody from childhood.

- You rolled over and saw Nikto sitting criss-cross on the other mattress, his mask was slightly lifted up, but it was too dark to make out anything but the outline of his chin, and there was something in his hand, a bottle of Vodka.

- Now that you found weird, Nikto usually wasn't one to live up to the stereotype, in fact, he barely drank at all. Sure, he did drink lots in his youth, and still did a few lines of coke or toked off the occasional blunt when the offer somehow came up, but he was sworn off alcohol for the most part, especially vodka or anything strong, it gave him extremely awful headaches, he was hangovers bitch.

- You finally sat up after a few minutes, alerting him to your presence, his singing ceased and he pulled his mask back down over his mouth quickly, shooting you a dangerous glare.

- you frowned through your helmet that you kept on, blinking tired, dissapointed eyes at him.

- "Don't stop, I didn't know you could sing like that Nikto... Or that you drank-"

- "Господи, заткнись, сука. ты ничего обо мне не знаешь" he said defensively, you couldn't recognize every word but you recognized every swear, flinching at his vile language, but recognizing the slight slur in his words. A sign of inebriation.

- "Nikto...? You're drunk?" You try to ask, but he follows it up with a quick and defiant 'no' and more swearing. You let him, knowing better than you argue with the bullish man. Let him stop seeing red, than you could keep talking.

- "So.. what about tonight made you finally want to drink, I thought you liked the cold?" You ask, tilting your head.

- "I'm not drinking cause I'm sad." He corrected you coldly, setting the bottle down beside him, "The opposite actually."

- Nikto was...happy drinking? You didn't think normal people did that, but than again Nikto wasn't normal so- you supposed it made sense.

- "Whats the occasion?" You ask after a moment of consideration, and now that you thought about it, it was a bit rude, let the man be happy. occasion or not.

- "Everything is... Quiet tonight. I think we're just happy to be somewhere that feels like home." he says, tapping the side of his head.

- You're happy for him. He deserves moments like these. You find yourself scooting closer, settling down beside him when he doesn't shoo you away.

- "Tell me about your home, Nikto." You ask politely, taking him by surpise, catching him in a moment of vulnerability in his nostalgia and drunk-ness. The usual softness in your real voice, even with the voice changer, was present.

- He goes on to describe his early life to you, albiet, in bit and pieces, it's obvious he's holding back, relinquishing some details while stating others blantly. He also just doesn't remember much. Everything from birth to 5 years old is a blur for him. He just remembers his older brother and mom, and a vague outline of a father figure, but he left before Nikto's 6th birthday, Nikto can't remember his face or the sound of his voice anymore.

- He pointed out the song he was singing earlier, he listened to it often when he was a younger man. It reminded him of his mother and brother, of sitting at the dinnertable eating warm meals as a family whenever they scrounged up enough money to have the luxury of doing so. The laughter and love they shared, even if things around them were lackluster.

- He details early life in the military, his becoming of a spy and his... Eventual Downfall and capture.

- "One job, I got messy... I wasn't looking where I was going I..." He trailed off. He stopped telling his story and you reached a hand out, resting a hand on his shoulder.

- "Its okay. I get it. You don't need to tell me anymore if it hurts." You reassure, seeing the way he tenses under your pitiful touches.

- "I deserved it." He tried to continue, but you interupted him

- "None of that now. Just shut up and think about the now." You scold, noticing the wide eyes stare Nikto gives you.

- No one has ever told him to shut up before. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks underneath his mask, thank god he was wearing one.

- "Sorry." He muttered, and now you both sat there a bit stunned and quiet. The moment you were experiencing together left the both of your heart's racing, wondering a million things about the other.

- You because you had never seen such a soft, apologetic side of Nikto before, a man with no regrets, no empathy. He seemed so... Human?

- And Nikto because he couldn't believed he was being so soft and apologetic with someone. He always had his walls up. His mental fortress guarded with maximum security at all times. But you caught him when the Vodka- 3/4th a bottle of it that he found stashed in a drawer somewhere in the shack- had him weak, and you didn't take advantage of him. Didn't judge or even really cast much pity towards him. He didn't like being pitied. Fucking hated it actually. But here you were, rubbing his shoulder, which wasn't exactly an *unwelcomed* gesture, and sitting in silence with him. The voices were at bay tonight. Right now. It was just him, or whatever was left of Andre.

- "I used to walk 4 miles to school every morning in the freezing cold, and almost got hit by a pickup truck and stolen by a pack of wolves doing it." He suddenly blurted out, the previously warm vibes of the room returning as Nikto casted the past out of his mind. You were right. He was being too emotional, he should focus on the now.

- And right now, the booze brought him back to fonder memories, ones of childhood mischief and near death experiences.

- You looked at him with wide eyes and couldn't help the burst of laughter that followed, something that Nikto didn't find insulting, in fact, he was smiling too, underneath that mask.

- "You think that's funny, just wait til I tell you where I got my first tattoo..." He chuckled with his thick, russian accent.

- You and Nikto shared stories all night. And never once did Nikto question it, like when you told him you took ballet, or when you ripped your prom dress, or even when you told him about your first boyfriend. He shrugged it off. He wasnt exactly as straight as a board either. And the military exposed him to people from all walks of life.

- Of course, Nikto still thought you were a *man* at this point. A very effeminate acting man, but a man none the less.

- *Time skip ends here SORRY IF U HATED THAT SJSHSK*

- But now Nikto's world was flipped on it's head, as you combed through your mind, you find yourself going back to that silly song he sang. Trying to recall the words.

- "Здравствуйте.... дев-вочки.." you started, cringing at your poor pronouncations of the words and shrilly little singing voice.

- Nikto's eyes widen in recognition, all former sneers and snickers long gone. He wasn't joking anymore, and it seemed you weren't either.

- "Здравствуйте, мальчики..." You continued, your cheeks growing impossibly red, "С-Cмотрите на меня в окно.."

- "That's enough. Stop. Stop it." Nikto demanded, aiming his gun right at you again, "how do you know that? That night?"

- "Cause it's me Nikto! I'm a girl!" You exclaimed, getting annoyed yourself. You practically just performed for the bastard, and now he was still trying to shoot you, just like you figured.

- There was a moment of silence. And Nikto stood there, as if needing to process everything that just happened.

- "Put on the helmet." He demands. And you don't defy him, placing your helmet on, the change in your voice is like night and day,

- "I didn't think it mattered this much, I'm sorry." You said genuinely. Your voice deepened to it usual state, confirming your indentity.

- There a few more moments of silence before Nikto coughs, grabbing your attention. He straightens himself. Lowering his gun and putting the safety back on. There's a sense of embarrassment in his movements, he's tense, and avoiding your eye contact.

- "It...it doesn't matter. We'll just shower tomorrow morning." He says and hurries off. Another vulnerable moment with you, what was wrong with him?! He hated himself right now. For having never realized, and for having threatened you.

- Nikto did hold you in high regards, not that he would ever tell you or another soul. He respected your dedication to the work, and after that night in the cabin, a mutual but unspoken trust was formed bewteen the two of you. You never had a moment like it afterwards. Well. Until now.

- You don't dare go after Nikto in that moment, but you want to. It's late, and if you woke everyone else up and made them aware of the situation, only god knows what would happen. So you shower and head off to bed, replaying senarios in your mind, planning what you'd say to Nikto first thing in the morning.

- Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you see it, he beat you to it.

- You were still sleeping when a heavy-handed Knock came to your door, sending you scurrying out of bed for your gear. You reach for your helmet until you hear the voice on the other side.

- "Hey... Its Nikto...let us in, please." He says, his voice gruff and demanding as usual but theres something else there....Pleading? Hoping?

- You freeze, fiddling with your helmet before deciding its not worth it. You quickly move to open the door, making sure noone else is around before ushering Nikto in.

- He takes a moment to look you up and down. You're not wearing any gear now. Just some plaid pajama pants and a white tanktop.

- He sighs, shaking any stray thoughts from his head. "We should talk. About last night." He finally states, and you agree with a simple nod, motioning for him to sit next to you on your bed.

- It feels like last time, except the cards have been flipped, this time, it was your secrets that were being spilled, and Nikto had the questions.

- "Why?" He asked flatly, "why hide your gender?"

- "Why hide your face?" You fire back, rolling your eyes at him like it was obvious, "for privacy, same reason as you, as Krueger. We don't want anyone knowing what we look like, our identities" you said, using another member of the allegiance, Sebastian Krueger, as an example.

- Nikto's eyes dart down in thought, and he nods, "I see."

- Theres more silence, it seems that was a recurring theme between you two, long bouts of silence. Never once did either of you try to force conversation. It came naturally.

- Nikto really appreciated that about you in this moment. It allowed him to get his thoughts straight, arguing with the voices for a bit before he opens his mouth again.

- "No one has to know." He says, like its that simple, and stands up. He starts for the door and you move to follow, a hand on his bicep.

- "Nikto wait- that's it?" You ask, confused, but what did you really expect? Nikto wasn't the type to gossip. If information needed to be gathered and brought back his superiors, he would. But that wasn't what he was asked to do.

- "да, that's it." He said standing the in the doorway with finality.

- He shut the door behind him with a click and you stood there dumbfounded. Did any of that really just happen, or was all of this one big dream you were about to wake from?

- You pinched yourself with a winced and cursed under your breathe. This was reality. Could you really trust Nikto with this secret? Without blackmail? Without shame?

- Apparently, yes. As you would come to find out. In fact, you soon realize that this whole incident only made you and Nikto somehow closer.

- In battles, during tight situations, he was always there. Freeing you from the enemies grasp, carrying you with a bullet wound in your back. He was your personal guard.

- He wasn't being more protective just cause he knew you're a girl, he knew you were deadly. He's seen what you're capable off. No. You come to learn Nikto does this as a display of affection. Subtlety showing his appreciation for keeping his secrets, and in return, he keeps your's, and keeps you alive as well.

- After one particularly long mission, you're walking alongside each other, covered in dirt and grime, heading to the showers as the sun set and everyone heads for bed.

- You two showered together now, of course, broken up by thin curtains. It was a bit intimate, but it was an easier agreement than an already insomnia ridden-Nikto getting up at ungodly hours of the morning to shower.

- As you're walking together you nudge him gently, "good work today. You still fight well for a guy your age." You tease. Nikto knew full well you were hiding a shit eating grin under than helmet of yours, grimacing at you.

- "Yeah, good work to you too... For a girl." He says back venomously, earning him a playful punch.

- "Bastard! Don't be so loud about that!" You scold while whisper-yelling, but Nikto can still hear the smile in your voice. And knows its in jest.

- "It would be a shame if the others knew what a pretty little woman you really were."

- "It would be a shame if the others knew about the smiley face tattoed on your buttcheek."

- Both of your faces are red and concealing mischievous grins. This was you and Nikto's relationship now. Learnings eachothers secrets, and using them to pick on eachother. Playful banter.

- Everyone around base notices what you two are doing...just FUCK already you two... Damn. The tension is killing everyone.

- You and Nikto will probably end up together after a while more of this, its inevitable. You're just unjudgemental enough to deal with his freak, while also being one of the only solider's on base willing to put up with his terrifying, intimidating aura for long periods of time!

- Nikto always kind of liked you, as a man, and even now as a woman. And sharing your secrets only solidified that attraction in his mind. You were his милый, and he would keep you and your secrets safe for as long as he lived.

AHHHH HOLY FUCKING SHIT SORRY IF THE END FEELS RUSHED I TRIED TO CONCLUDE THIS LONG ASS STORY, I DIDN'T REALIZE HOW MUCH YAP I HAD IN ME😳

The song Nikto was humming is Кино - Алюминиевые огурцы, and was inspired by a comment on my post about Russian and Austrian musc left by @weepingmagazinesandwich and once I heard that song I knew I had to use it in a writing piece its just so sweet. The two playlists were made btw I just never publicly posted them (also cause Nikto's list is chronically short, and Krueger's playlist is already almost hours long) so- idk if y'all want those posted but lmk👍 I hope you enjoyed this- whatever you'd call it. Idk what to call the reader in this. Disguised!reader sounds so silly.

I have a sfw agere krueger drabble comin out soon, and I just started writing big chunks of the hubby!gromsko x reader hcs.

#HELP IDK A BETTER NAME FOR THISSS #lexwrites #nikto #nikto x reader #nikto cod #cod

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merrinla · 10 months ago

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Halsin and Minthara weren't always mutually exclusive

Even though you can recruit both of them, in the game it looks like a funny bug. I guess this is what's left of the original idea. It was previously planned not only letting you have them at the same time, but also that they would interact in the party like other companions.

In the audio files, you can find lines of their reactions to each other's deaths. I don't know if these are triggered or not. They are both so bugged that sometimes I can hardly tell which is the cut content and which is the bug.

It's kind of funny that Halsin would be so sad.

I recently completed Halsin's quest with Mintara in my party. In the scene by the lake, when Halsin entered the portal, Minthara said "He made it. Now let's just hope he survives what's on the other side"

Actually this is exactly the same line as Tav's.

Halsin also share many lines with Tav and other origins. Most of them are unused. But in this case the line is not only voiced by Emma Gregory (Minthara's VA), it's triggered.

There is another interesting line. In Moonrise Towers, when Ketheric punishes Mintara for a failure in the grove and sends her to the dungeon, the player can choose not to interfere and leave the location without helping her. In this case one of the characters in your party will remind you that she can be saved as a potential companion. I was wondering if Halsin would say anything. And he did. "Minthara may prove useful to us, should we wish to save her…"

This isn't cut content. This isn't new content added with patches. It's in the game since the release. And this line works. Moreover, this is his personal line.

If they implement the dialogue with an ultimatum it will be nonsense. I mean, first he suggests to save her from the Absolute as a useful ally, and then in the camp he will say that it's the right choice to kick her back under the Absolute control. It's even hard to blame the character for such contradiction. Rather, it's just a stupid limit set by the script.

Next. In Act 3 if you make one of them to go up on the clown stage, the other one will approve.

There is also an unused flag for Act 3 in the game files with the description "Orin pretended to kill Halsin during the Minthara abduction campnight." Which means in Act 3 they were both in the party.

You can see what the abduction of Mintara looks like in this video. Only instead of Halsin, Jaheira is mentioned here.

youtube

Maybe there are other confirmations that I do not know about, that they were not mutually exclusive before. But that's enough for me.

They were both not originally planned as companions. Their roles were expanded much later. Most likely, Larian didn't have time to polish their content, so scissors were used. This is why their content seems so unfinished compared to others. Except for Wyll, probably. That's why they are so buggy.

I suppose the reason they are both mutually exclusive is because it is the easiest solution when you have a deadline on the horizon. Just easiest as "it's fine for a companion to just hang out at the camp". Otherwise, you need dialogs, animations, scripts, etc. And you also need to make sure that it will work with everything else. This is time and resources. But this doesn't mean that it's impossible to fix anything later.

I faintly hope that the defenetive edition will have the option to recruit them both.

And I really hope that in the future Larian will look at the games of their colleagues from BioWare (who made the original BG). I mean games from better times than now. The companions below will show you how much they "loved" each other. Not all of them became friends in the end. But nevertheless, we saved the world. Together.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #bg3 spoilers #bg3 datamine #halsin #minthara

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mister-qi · 8 months ago

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Mr. Qi Friendship and Romance Mod Devlog 5/9/2024

Previous update

For those curious about the mod progress, read on!

Since the previous update, most of my efforts have been spent on Art and Implementation. While I've made some progress on Writing, that hasn't been my main focus.

Writing

Heart Events: no major progress, besides a bit of writing/blocking for the 4 heart cutscene.

Daily Dialogues: Generic dailies are 64% done. Unique dailies are currently on the back-burner. Marriage dailies are also on the back-burner, but I have quite a few written regardless.

Misc dialogues: A new section! This includes so many little details, which even get as hyper-specific as what happens if you divorce him and then attempt to invite him to a movie. What does he say if you give him a bouquet at low hearts? What does he say if you're married to him and there are slimes in the house? Stuff like that! There are 49 of these written so far, and it's hard to estimate my progress because as I continue looking through both the documentation and existing files I get more and more ideas.

Gift Dialogues: Not a ton of progress since the previous update, though I've written his birthday gift reactions.

Art

Portraits: 2 new portraits finished: blush and shocked.

Sprites: You may have seen me posting about this, but Mr. Qi does not have a walk cycle in the vanilla game, so I had to make custom animations for him. I've also changed his color scheme to better match his sprites.

Besides that, I've also made a walk cycle for the Bouncer, who will show up in at least one cutscene, maybe two.

look at him go!

Maps: I'm really excited to announce that I've recruited someone to help with maps! Their name is wovensong, and they're currently working on the Casino VIP Room, which features in the 10 heart cutscene. They're helping with both the sprites and .tmx files, which is a huge help.

Misc sprites: none yet

Implementation

I have a functional version of Mr. Qi that can be befriended in my files now. He doesn't have a ton of dialogue in game yet, but you can give him stuff, raise his friendship, and trigger some placeholder heart events. But getting to that point has been kind of a hassle, in ways that the average modder doesn't have to deal with!

You see... the vanilla "Mister Qi" has a space in his internal name. If you know anything about coding, this should be setting off alarm bells.

Here's an example of where that's an issue: say you want to trigger a cutscene at two hearts with an NPC. You'd write something like:

f Jodi 500

which the game reads as "trigger this cutscene when you have 500 amount of friendship with the NPC named Jodi"

But if you were to write:

f Mister Qi 500

the game would go "you want me to trigger this cutscene when you have Qi amount of friendship with the NPC named Mister?? WTF?" and then SMAPI throws you a big red error and the cutscene would never trigger. Yippee!

It took me... a while to figure out how to get around this. Luckily the 1.6 update now allows for parsing for quotes in certain scenarios, so what actually works is:

f \"Mister Qi\" 500

So I'm glad that I started this mod now instead of pre-1.6!

However, it's definitely possible that the space in the internal name will cause issues down the line, so I have some (rough) code for what to do in that scenario. This involves hiding the vanilla Mister Qi, and adding a new, identical NPC with an internal name that doesn't have a space. Other mods, such as Morris Redeemed and some NPCs like Marlon and Gunther in SVE, do this as well.

And, if you're thinking that I could just change the internal name itself: maybe?? But probably not. There's some hardcoded stuff surrounding Mister Qi, and I worry about breaking it. Additionally, if any future official Stardew updates added new content revolving around Mister Qi, there's a risk that the mod would break in more serious ways.

Final Notes

Overall, I feel like I'm making pretty good progress! There's still a lot to get done, but I'm proud of the work I've done so far. Thanks for reading!

#MrQiFAR #mr. qi #mr qi #mister qi #stardew valley modding #rambles

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farawayisms · 2 years ago

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Evergreen – Can I get lost in your mind if I let you get lost inside mine?

part 1 ↣ part 2

izuku midoriya x reader

cw: aged up characters, pro-hero au, lots and lots of angst, some canon-typical violence and deaths, Izuku experiences triggers, panic attacks, and nightmares, Reader has a dream-altering quirk, adult language, Reader is referred to as she/her. i see a lot of myself in midoriya so i gave him the therapy that i need

14k words

Hi all! This is part 1 of my Izuku Midoriya fanfic, Evergreen. This has been so long in the making. I am posting this first chapter to see what people think! Please, like and reblog if you enjoyed! Izuku is a very interesting character study, and I hope I can make you feel something. xoxo, Jean

Something's different today.

Izuku could sense it when he woke before the shrill cry of his alarm rang out–the first one, not the second–and groaned as he rolled over to turn it off before it got the chance to sound. He somehow felt lighter, more awake than usual, with the customary deep aching in his body feeling less like a roar and more like the soft grumble of a stomach gone a couple of hours unfed. No nightmares, he realized. No painful flashes of memory, prophecies of horrors to come, bloodshed he couldn't prevent. In fact, he'd had a dream, a flashback to his days at UA that didn't involve terror or loss. He and his friends were gathered around a fireplace eating a pumpkin pie, courtesy of Sato. Dreaming like that was so uncommon, he had almost started to believe it was altogether impossible.

He sighed deeply at the thought, and couldn't help when the edges of his lips turned up into a sleepy grin when his large exhale didn't rattle in his chest like it usually would. In the soft glow of the dawn, Izuku felt almost peaceful, safe enough to be ignorant and ignorant enough to experience bliss. He rarely, if ever, got the opportunity to feel such a thing, opting instead to dwell—to improve, he would say. He had always believed that one can never stop trying to be better, but somewhere along the way, that sentiment shifted into "One can never stop." Deku, of all people, could never stop. So Izuku couldn't either, but he was trying to reprogram. He needed to slow down.

When he finally roused himself awake enough to sit up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes before unceremoniously tossing the blanket from his body. His legs swung out over the edge of the bed and he rose to stand, more eager than usual to start his day. What usually felt like going through the motions somehow felt like ceremony, like a ritual for the betterment of the self. He found himself delighted at the smallest of things: the perfect amount of toothpaste on his toothbrush, the toast that didn't tear apart when he added butter, the song that came on shuffle as he began his morning workout. When was the last time the monotony of life felt like a gift instead of a curse? Izuku couldn't say.

It was a rare day off, which meant he would get a chance to run a few errands, maybe even watch that movie Mina had been pestering him about. He vaguely remembered something about it being "so good, holy shit." He chuckled at the memory, filing the idea away for later. First, he would have to run to the store for a couple things, some needs and some wants.

His therapist had expressed that he needed to be more in tune with his wants, even if he had to start small. He needed to unlearn the guilt and resist the urge to neglect his desires altogether if he ever hoped to get back to feeling whole again.

"Invite joy into your life," she'd advised, but Izuku still struggled with the idea of doing things for the sake of himself.

Even things he enjoyed had become twisted into things that felt like necessities: exercise, eating right, helping people. As a hero, those things were integral to his success, which was integral to the stability of the community he served. It was easier to keep putting water into an empty stomach; he didn't want to unpack all of the things that made it growl.

Izuku could however, at the very least, watch a movie his friend suggested, or maybe even try that new bakery people at the agency kept recommending. Ever the early riser, he liked places that opened for breakfast, and as much as he hated to admit it, he also had quite the sweet tooth.

Before heading out, he needed to shower, which was undoubtedly his favorite part of any day. It was grounding; it made him feel real. He could feel and remember how the water had cascaded over his head, down his back, across his fingertips. His eyes liked to trace the water down the drain, wondering how small he needed to shrink to follow it. He wondered what everything was for, needed to drown himself in reality, in reverence of memories. Count the shower tiles, count sheep, count blessings, even when it felt impossible. It often did. There was so much loss in the world. He'd seen it, felt it, been powerless to stop it. No wonder he couldn't dream properly, only remember and regret.

Izuku knew what his problem was, he'd talked extensively about it in therapy after his mom noticed that her son was fading away right in front of her eyes. He even tried to study it like he would any villain, but that was exactly it: he always wanted to rehabilitate. He settled himself among the outcasts, the villains, those who needed him the most because they got the least. He convinced himself they just needed to be sat with and shown love. Be it a villain or a slew of bad feelings, he needed to take them all in. He made himself responsible for them, and in return they devoured him. He needed to slow down.

Letting the warmth of the water rush over him, Izuku began to wash his body, hoping to scrub away any lingering sadness that had mixed with his sweat. Once finished, he retrieved his towel and patted himself dry, feeling better now that he was clean on the outside and centered within. He threw on the clothes he had laid out, a grey hoodie and some sweats, staring straight into the mirror as he steeled himself to face the public. He pulled a hat on over his still wet hair, hoping that hiding his signature green head of curls would be enough to keep people at bay.

It wasn't like he didn't appreciate the support he was given; in fact, it was quite the opposite. He just wished to move silently through his business like anyone else, eternally nervous about causing a commotion. Even after years of hero work, it was hard for him to come to terms with the fact that people genuinely wanted to know him. His therapist often had to remind him that it's partially because he had the pleasure of knowing himself as Izuku first, before Deku, before being any sort of figure at all. Not that he felt like Deku was someone else entirely, he just accepted that his hero persona was more aptly described as an amplification of himself, an exaggeration of all of his best parts. That side of him wouldn't function in any other context, and Izuku often found himself floundering when the lines blurred.

However, it was time to face the masses. He rolled his shoulders back a couple times in a last ditch effort to calm himself before grabbing a few reusable shopping bags from the shelf beside his door, turning the handle, and leaving the sanctity of his apartment. The fortress of solitude. Not quite the glimmering, crystal palace people might expect from a pro-hero, but he preferred that. Izuku liked his snug little hole in the wall apartment, with its peeling wallpaper, broken baseboards, and squeaky floors that helped him to feel safe. He couldn't remember the last time he wasn't on high alert, constantly on guard from an impending doom he couldn't place or name. He just knew that he preferred being tucked away in the heart of the city, contrary to the insistence of agency executives who would constantly try to tell him he'd be happier elsewhere, "That new penthouse on 6th Street, maybe."

And maybe he would; he's nothing if not adaptable, but high-rise life wasn't really his style. The last time some big wig handed him the keys to some fancy new apartment, he passed them right along to his secretary. Izuku figured she needed it much more than he did and unbeknownst to her, he'd been paying for it ever since. He didn't spend money on much besides necessities: food, rent, utilities. Dropping a couple thousand a month on someone who genuinely deserved it also felt like a necessity, or maybe just like the obvious choice. So he did.

Now, as he set out for the market, he made a mental note of what he needed. Hoping he could get in and out as quickly as possible, he mulled over his list while turning to lock his front door, subconsciously nodding as each item crossed his mind.

He jiggled the door handle to make sure it was locked, once and then twice, then startled at a sudden voice from beside him.

"Song in your head?"

Izuku turned quickly, coming face to face with you, his next door neighbor, who seemed to be leaving in a rush. At least, if the hurried locking of your door was anything to go by.

"Oh, no," he managed to mumble, "Just thinking."

He hadn't officially met you yet; you had only moved in about a month prior. The elderly woman who previously lived next to him had been moved into a care home by her family. She was a nice woman, but he could tell that her mental faculties had been wearing down for some time. Izuku was sad to see her go, as he had regularly helped her carry groceries from the parking lot up to her apartment, when he caught her. She was a compassionate lady, always thanking him with tea or a story about her cat, Larry. He wondered what would become of the old cat.

He'd hoped his new neighbor would be kind like the last tenant, or at the very least, considerate. He already appreciated that you seemed to live quietly, like him. Mostly, he was just surprised to see someone awake as early as he was, wondering what kind of business could've had you up so early in the morning. You had a pretty face, but he could see you looked tired. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but it seemed like your eyes hid the same exhaustion he often saw in his own.

You hummed, offering a small smile as you spoke, "You're a full-body thinker."

He didn't really know what to say to that, so he just returned your grin with a tight-lipped smile of his own and a small nod. You wished him a good day and swiftly disappeared down the hallway, and he reciprocated before checking his lock one last time– for good measure.

As he left his apartment building, Izuku found himself over-analyzing the interaction he'd had with you. He wished he was a better conversationalist, but that was nothing new. You were right; he is definitely a full-body thinker, which unfortunately meant his time processing words, thoughts, and actions was often prolonged. It also took a lot out of him. No one would believe it by looking at him, but pro-hero Deku had actually become quite the introvert. However, Izuku wasn't sure if that was a natural reaction to his spending long periods of time alone, or just the fatigue and mellowing that came with age. He figured the slow processing thing was a symptom of all his hero work, a reset after constantly moving and thinking so quickly.

Regardless, you had taken the time to speak to him so early in the morning, despite being so obviously exhausted and in a hurry. Maybe you were just being polite, but in a way it felt nice to be noticed for something other than being a hero. It felt nice to have something noticed about him, about Izuku, that had nothing to do with his status. If he saw you again, he would try his best to return that same courtesy.

His walk to the supermarket was short, which was yet another thing he loved about where his home was situated. He felt like he was right in the middle of a community that was always bustling with life. Despite his reservations about being among them, it was well-known that Izuku had always taken an interest in the lives of the people around him. Not only was it his job to care for them, but an intrinsic part of him that had been present since his birth. He didn't know any different.

After his short journey, Izuku found himself meandering through the aisles of the market with a shopping cart, loading it up with as much as he could. He wasn't really sure when he would have the time or energy to make it back out for groceries. A lot of times, his sweet mother would bring him care packages with food and anything she thought he might need, but he enjoyed the act of shopping for himself when he could. He considered himself lucky to have such a doting mother, but always wanted her to know that he was fine on his own as well. He assumed he got his anxious nature from her, but he knew better than anyone that there is a lot to be anxious about in the world. Big bad wolves.

He ended up with quite the haul, fresh fruit and vegetables as well as various proteins and carbohydrates. He also made sure to grab some non-perishables that could stand the test of time, just in case. He even threw in their most expensive bottle of wine, thinking of no better way to invite joy into his life than a nice glass with dinner. His therapist would be proud.

Izuku finished up in the store and realized he would have to awkwardly pack mule everything he had bought back to his house, but once it was all situated inside the bags he had brought with him, it wasn't really a problem. Obviously, he received a few odd glances, but he wasn't sure if it was out of recognition or awe at the amount of stuff he was carrying at once. Maybe both. He walked a bit faster on his way back, not because the groceries were heavy, just because they were so unwieldy and hard to get a good grip on. He felt like the circulation to his fingers was being lessened by the second.

When he finally reached his door, he set everything down beside him while he unlocked it, planning to put everything away and then head right back out. That new bakery he wanted to try was only a ten or fifteen minute walk in the other direction, and he was eager to get going. In hindsight, he could have just gone there first, but he wanted to get the more tedious task out of the way first. He often found that made the interesting tasks easier to enjoy.

Once inside, he set about putting everything where it belonged, and soon enough, he had restocked his kitchen. He sent his mother a quick text to let her know he had managed to get to the store, snapping a picture of the wine he had purchased and promising to let her know how it was later. She responded almost immediately, like always, with a string of smiling emojis. He chuckled as he shoved his phone back into his pocket and grabbed his keys to set out once again. Moms and emojis.

The journey to the bakery was more of the same. Izuku enjoyed the chill, morning air as he walked past the few people who were out so early in the day. Hands in his pockets, head down, eyes up and wandering, he made his way down the sidewalk until coming upon the storefront he had been looking for. He'd already eaten breakfast, but he had been waiting all morning to get his hands on some sort of warm pastry. Hopefully something with pumpkin, since his sweet dream had basically left his mouth watering at the thought.

A small bell jingled from above as he swung open the door to the cozy shop. He immediately moved to rub his hands together in an attempt to warm them up as he fell in line behind the only other person in the store. In his haste to scan both the menu and the case of baked goods in front of him, he almost missed it. Well, he almost missed you.

There you stood, working at the register, and it suddenly made sense why you were up so early in the morning. He felt nervous, not wanting to repeat the awkwardness from before, but settled down once your eyes landed on him. You gave him a warm smile that could only be described as genuine, and seemed almost excited that he was there. Once the other customer stepped out of line, Izuku took his place to order.

"Hey, thinker," you quipped, causing him to chuckle softly, putting his hands up in mock defeat.

"Hello again," he said, "still no song in my head, but I've been dreaming about eating something with pumpkin."

You laughed sincerely at that, moving from your spot at the register to direct his attention to some of the options in the bakery case.

"You're in luck," you began. "Pumpkin is in season right now. We have some pumpkin scones, pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins, and even some pumpkin croissants, courtesy of yours truly."

Izuku nodded along as you rattled off the options, meeting your eye in time for you to mutter, "Pumpkin doesn't sound like a real word anymore."

He laughed openly at that and ordered one of the pumpkin croissants, just to see what they were like. You complimented his selection as you carefully grabbed it from the case and placed it into a small paper bag.

"Alright," you said, "One pumpkin croissant will be $2.50,"–you opened the register before immediately slamming it shut again–"but for you it costs nothing."

He felt his brow furrow in confusion as you held the bag out expectantly, waiting for him to take it.

"T-that's kind, but won't be necessary," he sputtered. "I have $2.50 right here," Izuku added, removing the correct amount of money from his wallet and offering it to you.

"No can do; this one is on the house," you said with some finality. "Consider it a neighborly gift."

He swallowed thickly, but smiled, shoving the cash back into his wallet. Your fingers brushed his own as he accepted the bag with a small bow of thanks.

"At least tell me your name for when I return the favor somehow," he pleaded.

You grinned, smacking your head lightly as you said, "Oh, duh! I'm Y/N."

"Y/N," he replied, trying out the name. "It's nice to properly meet you. I'm–"

You cut him off, "I know." You then paled slightly as you continued with some embarrassment. "Not in a weird way! It's honestly a long story. I just want to do what I can for people who deserve it, I guess. God, I am rambling, but I really and truly don't expect anything from you."

He watched as you laughed nervously and awkwardly scratched the back of your neck. Once again, he'd been left at a loss for words, only managing a soft, "Oh," before processing all that you had said.

"Well, thank you," Izuku said finally. "I appreciate this."

You waved him off with a comical salute before turning your attention to welcoming a new customer into the store, once the soft dinging of the door bell signaled her entrance.

As he left the shop, Izuku felt lighter once again, moved by the kindness of a now not-so-stranger.

"Y/N," he mumbled, shaking his head slightly with a small smile. "Pumpkin..." he tried the word for himself, "yeah, no. Not real," he laughed.

Izuku ate as he walked, and tried not to let himself think too hard about what you had said. It was easy to gather how you'd known who he was, but for how long? When did you realize? He supposed he should just be grateful that you seemed sincere in your desire to simply do something nice; he'd met his fair share of stalkers, well-meaning but slightly unhinged fans, and straight up villains posing as devotees in order to get at him. If you were any sort of villain, you had to be the worst at it. All time worst, in fact, so he knew that wasn't the case. Stalker? Maybe, considering you knew where he lived, but in the month or so you had lived next-door you hadn't even made an attempt to introduce yourself. Once again, all time worst, if that was the case. He hated how conditioned he was to think about those things, but it came with the job.

Regardless, nothing about you made Izuku feel like he needed to be on his guard. If anything, he just wanted to be...better. Something about you made him want to be better. At the very least, he regretted not taking more time getting dressed in the morning, but you didn't seem like the type to care.

He hummed at the taste of the pastry you had made and basked in the thought that you might just be a person he should get to know. He wanted to prove all the good things he imagined about you, to search your being and find a friendly soul that was as pleasant as your face, or to discover aspects of your nature that were even better than what he could imagine. How long had it been since he met someone new, someone who had nothing to do with work? He convinced himself that a new friend would be good for him. It was either that or accepting that he was starved of a womanly presence in his life that wasn't his mother. Definitely a possibility.

Once he returned to the sanctity of his apartment, Izuku rid himself of his shoes and collapsed onto the couch. He let the quiet stillness of his living room overtake him, slowly willing himself to relax as the familiarity of his surroundings worked to cleanse his mind of any lasting, outside-world anxiety. He focused on what he could see: beige wall, black couch, white pillows, sage rug. Beige wall, black couch, white pillows, sage rug. Beige wall, black couch, white pillows...

Izuku breathed deeply and allowed himself to sink further into his couch, slipping his phone from his pocket to send a text to his mother about the new bakery. He decided against mentioning the nice cashier who gave him a free pastry, lest mommy dearest get any ideas, but encouraged her to go there herself.

"Pumpkin is in season right now," she messaged back, and he grinned, his mind instantly conjuring an image of you saying the same thing.

He replied with a pumpkin emoji that he knew would bring a smile to her face and delighted when she messaged back with her own string of emojis. Izuku really did love his mother, even when he could barely understand what she was trying to say through her odd combinations of tiny emoticons. When he bought her a new phone, that was the feature she was most excited about.

"They're cute! Now, I can type with little pictures instead of words," he recalled her saying, and the rest was history.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and sighed, wondering where to even begin with the rest of his day. Funnily enough, once he decided, it seemed like it was over in a flash. One minute he's making lunch, and the next it's ten o'clock at night and he's sobbing over that damn movie Mina had suggested, two (heaping) glasses of wine deep and thinking that really was so good, holy shit. He should've known he wouldn't make it through without crying; there was a dog on the cover.

Nevertheless, Izuku gathered himself up, wiped his eyes a few more times, and washed his glass before tucking it snugly back into the cabinet. He wasn't necessarily tired, but he knew he needed sleep. It was back to work tomorrow, a new week full of new challenges. And opportunities, he tried to remind himself. Always opportunities.

He double checked that his door was locked before padding to the bathroom, washing his face and brushing his teeth. His eyes met his own as he gazed into his reflection, and he bit his lip as he tried not to worry about his nearing sleep. He didn't consider himself lucky–or perhaps deserving–enough to expect two restful nights in a row, but prayed to whatever or whoever that maybe he could swing it. One more night without nightmares. One more night full of dreams. Please.

Izuku opened his phone one last time before bed, sending a simple "wine was good" text to his mother despite knowing she was probably asleep already. He liked to let her know he was thinking of her. As his eyes closed, he let his mind wander back to the bakery. It was a trick he'd picked up from his therapist: focus on the good, focus on the senses. Give them space, give them a name. It helped him fall asleep, so he began. He could taste the saccharine fluff of the pastry. He could hear the jingling of the door bell, smell the sweetness in the air, and feel the brush of your fingers against his own. On the backs of his eyelids, he could almost make out your face...

——

You heard it before you saw it.

With your eyes closed and body long settled into your own slumber, your ears caught the soft but unmistakable jingle of the bell above the bakery's door. And suddenly, you were transported from your bedroom and back into the cozy shop where you worked. However, you didn't stir, only opened your eyes to your dreaming in this threshold consciousness to which you'd become accustomed, and you watched the scene unfold from a new perspective. Izuku Midoriya's perspective. You were in his dreams once again.

You looked down at your large hands–much larger than your own–as you pulled them from your hoodie and rubbed them together to create some heat. On them you saw scars healing at various stages, callouses, burns even, from work that wasn't your own. You felt chilled from being outside, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you stared at a menu you knew you had memorized, but now you saw it with new eyes. And then, you saw yourself.

It was strange, but inside this body you inhabited you didn't sense any aversion. Izuku felt almost...giddy as the past you opened your mouth to speak to him. You felt for yourself exactly when his heart began to beat just a bit faster, heard his thinking as his mind analyzed and reanalyzed his every word. He was dreaming of you, replaying your meeting and wishing he had been different. It made you–the real you, let's call it your soul–sad to experience. Over and over, he replayed the memory, but slightly differently each time, and you could feel it: the loneliness, the yearning. And suddenly, you were dying of thirst in a desert wasteland, freezing to death in a place without heat, a flame being smothered, Izuku, crying in his apartment, alone. You were him, and you were alone. And it was unbearable.

You knew that his heart wasn't specifically calling to you, but damn if it wasn't calling out to somebody, anybody. So you answered. You did what you could. Instead of a desert, you showed him an oasis. You gave him fire where he once was freezing, and oxygen where his flame had been dying out. He was no longer crying alone, just alone. Alone but content was the best you could do for the night. You remembered how he joked that he'd been dreaming about pumpkin, and how you had known it wasn't really a joke because you had sent him that vision. He had dreamt about that moment because you didn't want him to see the alternative. But you saw it, heard the rattled gasps of last breaths, felt the tears that had streamed from Izuku's eyes. Everything.

Eventually, your face returned to his eyes without your doing, and the jingling of the bell at the bakery returned, only to grow louder and louder until it pierced reality and you woke with a start. You breathed heavily as you found yourself in your own body, your own apartment, listening to your own alarm.

"Izuku," you whispered, furrowing your brow as you prayed desperately that you had done enough to let him rest, to bring him some semblance of peace.

——

The next day saw Izuku pleasantly surprised; he had dreamt again, and he had dreamt of you. His cheeks heated slightly at the thought, but he reasoned that he had little to no control over his unconscious mind. That was abundantly clear. Thankfully, after his second night of relative peace in a row, he felt relieved and reenergized.

Work went relatively smooth like always. He never really dreaded the paperwork like some of the other heroes at his agency, and often found himself easily absorbed in the filings. In fact, he probably took on more work than was necessary, but he liked to make sure everything was accurate on his end. Keeping track of accounts from patrols, civil disturbances, arrests, and policies wasn't exactly glamorous, but they were part of the job. Although most pros simply paid people to do it for them, Izuku could never justify making his colleagues do work that he wouldn't do himself. If they were his findings, he knew them best anyway. Why bother with a middle man?

By the time he was done with his stacks, it was about time to prepare for his shift on patrol. He stood from his desk and stretched, rolling out his neck and pulling his arms over and behind his head. He cracked his fingers one by one, trying to rid them of writing cramps. He thought he remembered someone telling him that popping his fingers would give him early arthritis, but it was a habit that was far too ingrained in him to give up now. Besides, hadn't that been disproven? Izuku yawned, getting up and moving was just what he needed.

A soft knock at his office door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Come in," he rasped, realizing how little he'd spoken that day; his voice sounded dry.

The door opened slightly, and his secretary poked her head through the slot, "Sorry to disturb you, sir–" she refused to call him by his name, despite how many times he insisted it was okay– "You are wanted in Conference Room B."

He thanked her, and she nodded appreciatively before ducking out of the room. Izuku gathered his things in his arms and locked his desk.

"Conference," He wondered aloud. "Got it."

Surprise conferences were never a good thing. Usually, they were a way for Dynamight to announce or transfer cases that required assistance without expending the time or effort of going through the proper channels. Dynamight doesn't make appointments. However, such cases were rare, so for one to arise would be cause for concern.

When Izuku entered the conference room, his suspicions seemed to be correct, as there stood Dynamight at the head of the table. Beside him was Shouto, which caused a surge of even more anxiety to rush through him. What could be so bad that three agencies were necessary?

He cleared his throat to get their attention, and Shouto turned to greet him, "Ah, Deku. Thank you for taking the time."

"Well," Izuku began, and approached the man to shake his hand, "when you come to me, how could I refuse? Making it too easy on me."

Shouto smiled softly, "I do wish that was the case. Please, if both of you would sit."

Izuku sat immediately, intrigued by what could have called them all together. Dynamight huffed at the order but abided anyway, taking his seat beside him.

Shouto began to speak, "Again, Midoriya, my apologies about circumventing your regular appointment policies, but we have an ongoing case that seems too urgent to waste any time on formalities." He bowed apologetically before straightening to deliver the details.

"Yesterday, it came to my attention that a large network of criminals we have been keeping our eye on have begun to act in ways we didn't anticipate, and it seems that their reach extends far beyond where we thought they might be localized. I arranged to meet with you both specifically, because their activity now seems to be popping up in areas that are under your patrol," he explained, and Dynamight scoffed.

"You sayin' we're missing stuff?" he accused. "I don't know how you run the show over there, but we work hard as hell to monitor all the areas under our supervision," he bit, and Shouto nodded understandingly.

"I did not mean to cause offense, and I don't doubt the capability of your agencies," he clarified. "However, I wanted to bring this to your attention, because the activities of this network may have looked like stand-alone events, maybe even insignificant at first. We need your help to connect them. I would advise you to have your best case workers go over filings from the past couple of months to look for reports that meet the following criteria: armed robberies carried out by two people, threatening letters to news and television stations, and any attempted break-ins at power facilities. I will of course forward this information to pass on to your colleagues."

Izuku nodded, "Thank you for the heads up. What exactly do you think their end game might be? Those crimes seem unrelated."

Dynamight made a sound of agreement, so Shouto continued, "We can't be completely sure based on what we have now, but it seems they have been actively trying to accumulate wealth and power equipment. In our division, a company reported losing over one hundred solar panels. The threatening messages haven't been confirmed to be linked to this network, but always refer to themselves as a group and state that they are planning something that will 'solidify their rightful place in charge.'"

Dynamight stood, "Got it. This could have been an email. In fact, it will be an email. I will look for shit, pinky fuckin' promise," he barked.

"Let me finish," Shouto ordered, causing Dynamight to grumble as he returned to his seat. "This network sounds harmless, I understand, but the robberies in our area have been...particularly violent."

Izuku felt his eyes widen as Shouto elaborated, "They always send two people, in broad daylight, to lower populated areas with banks or businesses. They work quickly, too quickly for anyone to act. Someone is always hurt, or killed. We have had 3 fatal robberies that we can link to them in the past 2 months. They are dangerous, and this proves that they don't have any qualms about violence or murder. This means that they are capable and willing to do anything to accomplish their goals. They are expanding their reach, and growing in ranks. That, Dynamight, is why you should be worried. Expand your patrols, examine old reports, and try not to let the death toll rise any further, if you would be so kind."

"Christ," Dynamight said, "maybe lead with that next time."

Shouto nodded, "We are taking this very seriously. What we need from you is surveillance of the areas we can't cover, but we also wanted to offer you the warning that more violence is possible and very likely."

Izuku's features hardened in determination as he stood, "We will be on the lookout. I'll let you know if we find anything in our paperwork, but for now, I will personally see to it that our patrols are extended," he assured. Turning to Dynamight, he spoke again, "It may be a good idea to overlap."

Dynamight followed him in standing and agreed to push into each other's domains. He headed out quickly after, citing "Shit to do."

As Izuku showed Shouto to the exit, the hero turned to him and spoke graciously, "On behalf of myself and my colleagues, thank you. We truly appreciate the help."

Offering a smile, Izuku responded, "No thanks necessary. If you would fax over any reports that you've confirmed to be linked to this network, we will start comparing immediately."

Shouto nodded with a short, "Of course," before heading out of the agency.

For the duration of his patrol, Izuku had to hide the twinge of disappointment he felt that his shifts would now be extended. Obviously, he wanted to do everything in his power to protect the people in his city, but expanding patrol meant more hours and more distance. Longer days. He had to push the thought from his mind, trying to focus on the onslaught of tasks at hand.

A frantic woman at the park couldn't find her son, who Izuku almost immediately discovered hiding in the swirly slide. He helped not one, but two elderly women cross the street, and had to wipe the lipstick off his face after they expressed gratitude with deep magenta kisses to his freckled cheeks.

"What a handsome young man," one had said, for which he thanked her kindly.

"If I were a couple decades younger..." winked the other, and Izuku had to hide his embarrassment at her implication.

After that, he settled a dispute in a coffee shop that had arisen over the last blueberry muffin, and somehow, he ended up with the muffin. Once everything was handled there, he ate his newly received baked treat as he continued down the road. When he came to the lemonade stand of a small girl and her mother, he gave them a hefty tip and exaggerated the deliciousness of the drink as he sipped it before them. It was mostly just water, but he wanted to build the girl's confidence. She beamed up at him, excited to see a hero in real life. He parted from her and her mom with a couple of lines about hard work, and a compliment to the child's go-getting attitude.

The rest of patrol was more of the same. There were some small disturbances, animal rescue missions, and a few heartfelt moments with his younger crowd of fans. Izuku always liked to see them. They all looked so happy, and he longed for the days when his smile was full of that same spark, when unadulterated joy spread across his heart and face without remorse. He missed when excitement could bloom in his heart without a second thought, without guilt, without the sinking feeling like the other shoe was about to drop.

Shouto's case was at the forefront of his mind as he walked his route, and he tried to be extra vigilant. The hardest part of dealing with criminals on a daily basis is understanding the reality that they are people too. It's a burden to acknowledge that at times. It makes it harder to know what to look for, and it hurt his soul to realize just how often he had to make snap judgments about people he didn't even know. He knew it was for the safety of his city, but it meant that he was constantly on edge.

It was like he'd forgotten how to breathe normally. Breathing used to be so easy; he couldn't even remember when that changed, when he started filling his days too full to afford himself a breath. He had started to use up all the oxygen in any room for other things, anything other than himself, and his flame started to die because he stopped feeding it. It was like he was constantly wandering aimlessly through a desert wasteland, with his lips cracking and his throat cracking more. At other times, he felt like he was freezing to death, and no amount of responsibilities, achievements, or successes could help to warm the chill in his bones. Even his deepest breaths came out shaky; they tasted like sulfur.

He wondered if other people struggled to breathe the way he did. Maybe they tasted copper, their mouths filling with blood the way his filled with words. How many people are choking something down? How many flames have died out? He couldn't tell. Therein lies the problem: you never know what someone is experiencing. He could never know for sure when someone was on the verge of snapping or at the brink of having their desperation slip into something darker, more sinister. He could only react.

By the time Izuku had made his usual loop–widened a bit to account for the alarming conversation he'd had with Shouto–he was absolutely drained. He arrived back at the agency and changed from his uniform as quickly as he could, opting to shower at home instead of at work. His social battery was spent, and he just wanted to retreat into the comfort of solitude. As he packed up for the night, he noted the new piles of reports on his desk for him to go over first thing the next morning. If they were the ones relating to Shouto's case, he would need as much rest as possible in order to view them with fresh eyes.

The sun had already set when he finally returned to his apartment building, and he raced up the stairs to get to his door, only adding to the sweat accumulating on his body from his long day. He was surprised to find you there as well, unlocking your door just as he approached his.

"Long day?" You asked, looking him up and down.

Izuku was sure he couldn't look good, standing there drenched in sweat, in his disheveled suit. He hadn't even taken the time to readjust his tie, instead throwing it loosely over his head and letting it dangle around his neck. Great.

"Could ask the same to you," he retorted, and you smiled and nodded in surrender.

"Worked a double," you explained, "and sleep hasn't been coming to me as easily lately."

Ah, so that's why he could sense your exhaustion at times. You wore the tired well, at least. Much better than him, he couldn't help but think. You had some kind of glow about you that transcended the need for sleep. It felt contagious.

"You and me both," he joked, opening his door in time with you.

Izuku bid you a goodnight and watched as you slinked inside your apartment. As he entered his own, he made a silent wish that your night would go better, wondering if you would do the same for him.

Once inside, he made a beeline for the bathroom, ready to rinse off all evidence of the day's efforts. He started the shower, willing it to heat up quickly as he peeled his clothes from his skin and tossed them into the hamper. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and frowned as he got lost in thought. His hair was ruffled in his haste to disrobe, but keeping his hair in place was a struggle he'd long given up on.

Izuku moved closer to the mirror to examine his face, tilting his head back and forth to see if the bags under his eyes were really there. As he got closer in proximity to the glass, a puff of his breath fogged his reflection. He pulled back, trying out a smile. It wasn't right. It was...uncanny. Too tired to be real, it was a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He stood up straight as he took in his nude form, lifting his chest and broadening his shoulders, then immediately shrunk back down, letting his posture fall as it may. He felt small. No matter how big he grew, he just felt small.

"Where did I go?" he whispered, solemnly looking himself up and down until he could no longer bear to, then pulled back his shower curtain and hopped in.

It was hot by then, almost too hot as he scrubbed away all traces of his day. He liked his body wash; it smelled like a forest. Izuku made a mental note to go hiking again the next time he got the chance. It's one thing to walk around a big city, but spending time out in the wilderness was different. It was something he cherished, but didn't get to do often. Walking under trees doesn't feel as claustrophobic as walking under skyscrapers. Trees don't make you feel small the way skyscrapers do; even the biggest ones just make you wonder at their beauty rather than apologize for your lacking. Trees also smell a lot better.

Most of all, Izuku was tiring of the mechanical. He himself was starting to feel mechanical, like a do-good machine. Do good, and shrink. Disappear when you're not needed, but always arrive just in time when you are. Be perfect. Trees didn't need to be perfect. Why couldn't he be a tree instead?

He huffed a laugh at that, washing his hair as quickly as he could before turning off the shower and stepping out.

Izuku grabbed his towel from the rack, muttering, "Cold, cold, cold..." and patting himself dry as fast as he could. He realized he forgot to turn on the vent when he looked to his reflection and only saw the foggy residue of steam layered over the mirror. He took his hand and wiped it over the glass to create a space for his face to reflect, wondering if anything had changed. It hadn't. But he was still there; he hadn't shrunk any more.

When he finally got to bed, he tried to picture you again. Even after a long day of work, you had smelled vaguely of sweets. He supposed that was one perk of your job; he always left his smelling like butt. He snorted to himself, his eyes fluttering closed as he tried to slow his breathing. He felt the slow rising and falling of his chest as he laid on his back, imagining the growing and shrinking of his lungs inflating and returning to rest. Eventually, he fell asleep.

——

That night, you woke to a dream of Izuku breathing frantically. You felt your eyes widening, as they darted from place to place, realizing you were...nowhere. It was like a void...bright white nothingness. You could feel Izuku's fear like it was your own, because in that moment, it was.

You turned in a circle, eyes searching for anything. You realized he was looking for an explanation or a sign of some kind.

Then your lips parted, and you spoke with his voice, uttering a small and shaky, "Where did I go?"

Your breathing became even more erratic as you felt yourself take off running. There was no aim, no direction. How could there be? He was nowhere; he disappeared.

"I didn't want this," you felt yourself scream, and suddenly it was like the ground was pulled from beneath your feet.

You managed a tiny, shell-shocked gasp as you felt yourself start to fall. Above you, you saw his arms grabbing for anything to stop him from plummeting to whatever waited below. You couldn't bear to know what it would be, so you focused as hard as you could on saving Izuku from his nightmare.

Before his body could hit the ground, he slowed. He found himself delicately placed on a bed of grass. Above him was no longer nothingness, but the shade of a large tree, the sun barely peeking through its leaves. He laid there with his hand on his chest, feeling his own heart beat as he admired the beauty of his surroundings.

And then he heard your voice, a whisper on the wind, until you were suddenly beside him, "Long day?" You smiled, propped up on your elbow as you laid on your side next to him.

He rolled over to face you, "No...just right."

Through his eyes, you saw yourself smile and say, "I'm glad you're here."

And then you woke for real, bolting upright like you had really been falling. All of the anxiety that you had just experienced caught up with you all at once, and you hugged your knees to your chest as you cried.

——

Once again, you were the first thing on Izuku's mind as he woke. In fact, that would be the case for the next couple weeks, which he attributed to seeing you in person more and more.

He had been trying to frequent the bakery more often. At first, he could use his coworkers as an excuse, saying that he thought it might be nice to buy them breakfast. He would buy a couple dozen pastries to take to work, but eventually, people stopped taking them. Once you caught him coming home with an entire box full of leftovers, he could no longer use work as an excuse.

For a few days, he stopped by while he was on patrol, citing a need to secure the area. He made that up, but you didn't need to know that. After more and more days of beating around the bush–visits where you seemed genuinely happy to see him–he decided to drop the act. No more excuses. He had to accept that at the end of the day, he was there to see you. He just didn't have to say that out loud.

"I'm glad you're here..." he told you one day, blinking himself out of it after realizing what he had said, but you just laughed and continued to arrange cookies onto a tray. He liked your laugh a lot.

"Well, I work here..." you reminded him, and he chuckled nervously. "I'm glad you're here though too, I guess. I need your energy to rub off on me."

He laughed a long with you at that, "I've been sleeping better. You haven't?"

His smile faltered when you shook your head, "Bad dreams?" he guessed.

He noticed you go slightly stiff at his question, and hoped he hadn't brought up anything that would make you uncomfortable, but you quickly returned to your task.

You sighed, "You could say that."

"I used to get those a lot," he tried to sympathize. "I am actually surprised that I haven't been lately. Usually when I have a lot on my mind, that's the first way it affects me."

You looked up from the cookie display, brows knitting together as you made eye contact with him, "Do you?" you started, "Have a lot on your mind, I mean."

Izuku shifted on his feet, feeling awkward. He wasn't sure how much you actually wanted to know. He also didn't want to seem like someone who complains.

So he shrugged it off, "Kind of. A big case has been taking up a lot of space in my brain, lately."

You hummed, going back to your organizing as you spoke again, "Is it serious?" you asked, looking up at him again to wiggle your eyebrows.

He could tell you were trying to get rid of any tension, and he couldn't lie and say it wasn't working.

He smiled at that, "Nothing you gotta worry about."

You mumbled out a soft, "Well," as you set the newly filled cookie tray in its rightful place. "If it's worrying you, I worry."

He swallowed thickly at that, feeling it tugging at some long untouched emotion within him.

"You don't have to worry about me," he tried to assure you, but he sounded unconvincing even to himself. He cringed at the twinge of sadness in his voice, hoping you hadn't noticed.

You returned to your place in front of him, only a counter between the two of you as you spoke again, "I know I don't have to, but I'm going to."

Izuku felt his face warm at that, but even more-so, his heart. You were now fully engrossed in him as the two of you conversed, and he almost felt too seen. His lips turned down into a small frown at the thought of you fretting over him; he didn't want to burden you with his anxiety. Especially not after finding out you were dealing with your own bout of insomnia, which was a feeling and predicament he had become overwhelmingly familiar with.

"Well," he considered for a moment before decidedly informing you, "I won't let you."

You giggled at that, leaning over the counter as you gloated, "You can't stop me. It's already in motion."

He playfully rolled his eyes at you as you stuck your tongue out at him."You're a child," he teased.

"Hey, sometimes it feels good to be a child again," you argued. "Life moves too fast these days. I miss when the stakes weren't so high," you sighed, unaware of just how much your words rang true.

"Exactly!" He exclaimed, and you laughed at his enthusiasm as he sheepishly continued. "The stakes, I guess. I miss when they were small, like falling off a bike," he stammered, avoiding eye contact.

You stilled, mouth opening slightly before you decided against whatever you were going to say.

"Sorry," you shook your head, "I shouldn't complain to you. That's not right."

"No, it's okay," he tried to assure you. "We all just do the best we can, right?"

You nodded, thinking for a moment before saying, "And all we can do is all we can do."

Izuku pressed his lips together tightly before replying, unsure of how honest he could be in that moment, "I agree."

When he left, he felt like a liar. Sometimes all we can do isn't good enough. He knew that. It was a privilege not to know that, and he knew he couldn't fault you for your positive outlook, but he felt himself being launched right back into that spiteful place he had been trying to overcome. The feeling that had prodded at his brain until he landed in therapy.

That resentment was hard to uproot, and he knew he couldn't necessarily blame himself for it either. It was just difficult to come to terms with the fact that the very people he wanted to serve seemed to be worlds away from him in every regard. They would never understand; you wouldn't get it. He never wanted you to, though. He wanted to shield you from the truth that sometimes he fails, doesn't get to the scene in time, loses. The weight of knowing that was heavy, heavier than anything. It only added to the isolation he had sentenced himself to for so long.

Izuku wanted to be able to see things your way, but he couldn't. If he weren't a hero, someone else would have to be. He couldn't justify passing the load onto anyone else, so he would carry it until his knees buckled, adjust his stance, and then carry it again. And he'd do it forever, because he was good at it, even when it hurt. As unbearable as the responsibility often seemed, he found a strange comfort in knowing it was his. Nevertheless, the bitterness he'd worked through time and time again began to settle in his gut once more, a poison that his organs couldn't filter out. A sourness he felt too guilty to name. It weighed him down, made his brain feel too apparent in his head, his tongue heavy in his mouth, and his movements sluggish. He could feel the fabric of his costume on his skin, imagining it growing tighter and tighter until he couldn't breathe.

In this state, he walked back toward the agency while his head kept swimming. He was distracted, eyes down, brows knit in thought. He was too distracted. Distracted with the way his mouth felt dry, his hands felt shaky, his shoes suddenly felt too tight. The sun outside was too bright in his eyes, the normal city sounds around him felt loud, as if he could hear everyone's conversations despite wanting nothing but silence. Izuku was overwhelmed and overstimulated as he blinked harshly, trying to get a grip on himself.

He stopped in his tracks, pushed his palms to his eye sockets, and pressed hard in circular motions in an attempt to rub out the discomfort. He wished he could scratch his brain, anything to get the feeling to dull. Everything felt too tight, too loud, too fast.

"Grey street," he mumbled, eyes shut tight. "Yellow lines...fuck," he gasped for a breath, "green grass...over there..." he trailed off.

The smallness was creeping back in. The out of body, the fear, the disappearing. He needed to slow down. And that's when the first scream broke out.

His eyes shot open, hair standing on end as his head whirled towards the source. Izuku, feeling both completely out of his mind and wholly responsible, felt his feet moving on instinct. And he rushed in, scared and unsure like he had been that very first time. Before training, before a quirk, before anything, and he felt that same itch like he had no idea what he was getting himself into. The panic of not knowing if he would help, make it worse, or die. For the first time in a long while, he felt unprepared.

More screams pierced the air, and Izuku followed the sound until he made it to a small convenience store down the road. From there it was a blur. He saw a body laying behind one of the aisles, only the legs visible. He didn't know if they were alive.

He felt himself yelling for everyone to get out, shaking with fear and with rage. A rage he hadn't let himself have access to in years. A rage that served no purpose and did him no good.

He didn't see the gunman until he felt the whizzing of a bullet pass next to his shoulder, his head turning in time to see it land in the stomach of the man working the till. They locked eyes, and he felt his own widen in shock as the man stared back with confusion and fear, clutching his stomach. Tears of frustration, of guilt, and of hatred began to pool all at once as Izuku saw the man finally collapse behind the counter.

His body moved faster than his brain, tackling the perpetrator to the ground with such a force that he felt ribs cracking underneath his weight. He couldn't make himself care.

Baring his teeth, at once angry and bewildered, he roared, "Why would you do that?"

And Izuku felt the hate pulsing through his veins, vision going red when the shooter just smirked at him and said, "Because I could."

——

The next time you saw Izuku Midoriya was on the news. You were at work, wiping down the counter when your eyes landed on the little television in the corner of the shop, ears perking up once you heard his name. When you realized the circumstance, your eyes widened, a hand coming up to your mouth in shock and heartache. You watched as others in the bakery had the same reaction, all eyes locked on the screen.

There had been an attack not too far from where you were, and three people died, including the suspect. The police were currently searching for a second suspect, who was said to be seen conversing with the other just moments before the shooting started. He fled the scene, and by then Izuku had arrived too late, managing to evacuate most of the citizens in the area, but he was unable to stop the two civilian casualties. They were pronounced dead at the scene along with the shooter, which was a fact the reporter was a little too smug in stating.

There were few accounts of what happened, mainly coming from witness statements and one shaky video taken on a cell-phone that was deemed too graphic to share on live television. It began to circulate anyway. More and more, you saw Deku's name being dragged through the mud. Some people said he was too reckless, others said he should have done more. It was announced that he would take a temporary leave to process all that had happened, which only added fuel to the fire, resurrecting old rumors about the state of his mental health. So you worried. Of course you did.

When it finally came out that the attack had been a robbery gone wrong, connected to a series of activity from a growing crime network, you began to wonder if that was the case Izuku had been telling you about just moments before the incident. It made you worry even more, knowing he would blame himself, knowing the scene would replay in his mind at night like a horror film stuck on repeat. And then, guilty as it made you, you feared for yourself. As you walked home that evening you wondered: what would you see?

When you made it back to your apartment, you were surprised to see the hulking figure of Dynamight, hunched over and banging on Izuku's front door. You recognized him from the few television interviews you had seen, not that there were many to begin with.

"It's our fault too," you heard him arguing, "so you better not do this shit again."

You froze when he turned to find you staring, his gruff voice snarling at you to "Move along."

"Sorry," you stammered, "I live next door."

He just huffed as you slid past him, putting your key into your lock and twisting. Before you turned the knob, you steeled your nerves and quietly asked, "He's okay, right?"

Dynamight just looked you up and down with an unreadable expression, turning away from Izuku's door and leaving without giving you an answer. You just nodded to yourself, taking his non-answer as a bad sign.

At least he was home, you told yourself. He needed a break. Not just because of the incident, either. If his dreams were anything to go by, Izuku had been dealing with a lot of pain behind the scenes. It felt invasive to be doing what you did each night, but you couldn't justify letting him suffer. He did that enough every day; that was even more evident now. He didn't need the added trauma of reliving it all each night.

It started small. You told yourself you were only doing it because his dreams were too loud, keeping you awake. It was for your sake, not his, the small changes to his dreamscape. Changes that would keep him asleep longer, quiet the thundering terror and debilitating sadness that kept him from rest. It was because you had to if you wanted any rest for yourself. Until it wasn't.

You didn't know who he was at first, completely unaware that you were moving in next door to a hero when you took over the lease. You never saw him, assuming that whoever lived next to you just had a schedule that didn't align with your own. When you took a job at the new bakery down the road, you started to see him more, but didn't officially meet until you spoke to him that day–on a whim.

You weren't sure why you did it, but supposed you just wanted to put a face and name to all the dreams you had been seeing. You assumed he was some kind of first responder, maybe a hero, just based on the kinds of nightmares you had been privy to. Once you found out his actual identity, your thoughts started to linger on him more and more.

Every time you had seen Deku on the television, you thought he looked kind. Kind and humble. He looked like he didn't know how he ended up carrying such a burden, and would never admit that it was a burden in the first place. And people loved him. You had to admit, you weren't a hero fangirl by any means, usually too busy to keep up with them, but something about him made you want to keep up. You thought it was because his smile didn't reach his eyes, and you could guess why.

When you finally did meet, everything you thought about him was confirmed. He was kind and humble, but also more than that. The more dreams you were exposed to, the more you felt like you knew him. But it felt wrong. In fact, you knew it was wrong. You were invading his privacy, bearing witness to the worst his mind could possibly dredge up. But you couldn't stop. You wanted to see him smile for real. You wanted to see Izuku be okay.

So when you started to appear in his dreams without your doing, you were happy. You were happy to be noticed, happy you could be of help. And when he came around, you made it your mission to make him smile as much as you could. And that's what you would dream about. The way his eyes and nose would crinkle up when he laughed, the way he completely zoned out when he focused on something, and the way his eyes held more emotion than you thought any one person could hold. Even a second of eye contact with Izuku Midoriya was a gift; you could see entire worlds being built and torn apart within the greens of his irises. You could see adoration for life, for people, and while you were not presumptuous enough to think there would be any room for you, you prayed there was anyway.

But now, he was hurting. It radiated through the air in waves. The walls that separated you were thin; you could hear him flip mindlessly through TV channels, unable to settle on one. You heard when he turned on the shower, shutting your eyes tightly and trying to pretend you couldn't hear his agony mixing with the beating of the water. Trying to pretend you couldn't hear his sobs as they racked his ribcage.

And when he finally slept, you were faced with the unimaginable horror of his nightmares. You saw Izuku panicking, cursing himself. You saw people die. Worst of all, you saw him kill. You felt the rage for yourself, but worse than that was the guilt. And as you felt ribs cracking beneath you again and again, you heard the explosion of gunshots, Izuku's choked scream of disbelief, and the taunting echo of a voice whispering, "Because I could."

So you changed it. Over and over. Night after night. You changed it.

——

"You got shot?"

Izuku just nodded, head moving ever so slightly to glance at the bandage wrapped around his bicep.

"When I tackled him," he started. "Before..." he trailed off. "He got a shot off on me, I guess. I didn't realize until after. It's fine."

Izuku watched through his computer screen as his therapist shuffled in her seat. His mom had been refusing to talk to him until he visited his therapist, which he knew was probably for the best. Tough love. He couldn't force himself to leave his home though, so online session it was.

"Adrenaline, I'm sure..." she said, and he just shrugged, feeling apathetic.

Truth be told, he didn't really want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk at all. His days on leave were spent sleeping when possible, eating when he could. He just felt sick to his stomach.

"And I'm sure you know they didn't report on that fact. That you got hurt," she sighed.

He just shrugged again, "Never do. It doesn't matter what happens to me anyway. They're just gonna say I'm a waste of resources," he said bitterly.

"Well, you help to pay my bills, so I guess I'm not a fair judge of your uselessness," she joked, and he just gave her a playful glare. "But Izuku, I have to say, if you're not actively wanting to feel better right now, that's okay. Just tell me, because there are people who are. You can be bitter and mad if you want, and I wouldn't blame you, but as much as you hate to admit it sometimes, talking might help."

Izuku looked away from the screen, focusing on his hands as he fidgeted in his spot, knowing she was right.

"I talked to that girl a bit before it happened...my neighbor," he began, and his therapist looked on hopefully as if urging him to continue. "It helped until it didn't, I guess. I just forget that there are things people who aren't in the hero field will never be able to understand, or hear about. I freaked out after; I dwelled and felt like I was undoing all my progress," he explained, feeling tears of frustration building up again. He'd spent too long crying already, he wasn't sure how he had any tears left.

His therapist hummed before asking, "Sounds like a panic attack–probably triggered by some words or phrases that reminded you of the trauma and difficult thought processes you've dealt with in the past. It's been a while since you've last experienced something like this, hasn't it, and how do you know she won't understand?"

He stilled, eyebrows furrowing like it was the dumbest question ever, "I guess, but what do you mean? Of course she can't understand. She doesn't do this for a living. She wouldn't get the toll and the sacrifice and the anxiety," he asserted.

"Have you explained it to her?"

"I-" Izuku stammered, "well, I couldn't. That's not fair to her," he explained.

"Oh? Who decided that?" she urged, and he felt himself slowly starting to understand her point.

"I did," he sighed, putting his head in his hands.

"You did," she repeated, "and you did so because you're self sacrificing and anxious and understand the toll. But I'm also sure that you'd want her to tell you when something is on her mind."

"Of course," he affirmed.

"So you have to let it go both ways," his therapist elucidated. "Let her tell you if it's too much, and if you can't stand to hear about her struggles for a moment because they're hurting you or crossing your boundaries, you tell her that too. If she's your friend, and mature, she will understand."

"I just don't want to overwhelm her..." Izuku confessed quietly. "I don't want to be overwhelming."

"That's a valid fear, but one that will keep you lonely if you give it power for too long. Start small, when in doubt, just ask," his therapist encouraged. "Ask where she's at, if she's okay to listen to some potentially troubling things, if she has advice. Even if she doesn't understand the hero side of things, she knows what it is to be human."

Izuku knew she was right, and she hit the nail on the head. His problem was never that you didn't understand what it was to be a hero, rather that he had forgotten what it was like to allow himself to be human. Everything he had been feeling the past few days, and before that, were just human emotions. The anxiety, the perfectionism, the yearning; on some level, everyone could relate.

"So you're saying I should just go knock on her door and ask to talk?" he questioned, still unsure of where to start.

"Why not?" she shrugged. "The worst she will do is say no, or that she's busy. At the very least, it will get you out of your apartment for a few minutes."

And he couldn't argue with that. He exchanged a few more words with therapist before beginning to sign off.

"One more thing," she said quickly before he hung up, and Izuku nodded for her to continue. "Call your mother today, she keeps texting me."

With that, she hung up, and Izuku smiled, shaking his head. That was just like his mom to do, and he would definitely be chewing her out over it later. With love, of course. But first, he had to talk to you before he lost all of his courage. He was thankful he showered that morning.

Before he could think too long on it, he slammed his laptop closed, and quickly walked over his door. He threw it open more harshly than intended, then swung outside to face your door. He knocked loudly, leaving no room for himself to back out. He rocked back and forth on his feet with his hands on his pockets, trying to ignore how fast his heart was beating as he waited for you to come to your door. Honestly, he wasn't even sure if you would be home, but froze when he heard shuffling from inside your apartment.

Then, your door was opening, just a crack. And you peered outside at him, only a portion of your face visible through the slit you had made. Your eyes were red, under-eyes swollen like you had been crying. More than that, you looked like you hadn't slept in days.

When you realized who it was at the door, he watched your eyes widen slightly, and you opened it all the way.

He held his breath as you spoke, confusion and exhaustion evident in your voice, "Izuku? Are you okay?"

You sounded so quiet, voice so frail and faraway, like your mind was somewhere else completely. He watched as you yawned and gestured for him to come inside. He shut the door behind him, noting how you swayed on your feet, slightly unstable. He felt his hands itching at the ready, waiting to catch you if you were to fall.

"I'm fine. Are you?" he asked genuinely, voice thick with concern as you yawned once more.

You nodded, your head bobbing up and down on your neck like it weighed a ton, only serving to make you more unstable on your feet. You stumbled forward, and he caught you by your forearms. He supported your weight as your head fell onto his chest.

"Tired," you said simply, words muffled by his shirt. "Was trying to help you."

Izuku felt slightly embarrassed by your sudden proximity, then pulled back to look at your face, "What do you mean?"

But you were asleep, head just falling limp now that it wasn't being supported by his body. Shit. Unsure what to do, Izuku just scooped you up in his arms and carried you to your couch. He laid you there as gently as he could, grabbing a blanket from nearby and laying it over your unconscious form.

"I'm gonna leave now," he whispered awkwardly, and you didn't respond–didn't even stir.

“Okay, be okay…” he whispered again, feeling like an idiot because he knew you were out. "Bye."

He returned to his apartment with more questions than answers. Safe to say, that did not go to plan. 'The worst she can do is say no or that she's busy' his ass. His therapist had evidently failed to consider the possibility that you might fall unconscious into his arms due to obvious sleep deprivation.

And what did you mean by 'trying to help' him? He hadn't even seen you since before the incident. That was days ago. He supposed he would just have to ask you whenever you eventually woke up. Whenever that might be.

He would have to find out later, because as soon as Izuku stepped into his kitchen, he realized that his place was in dire need of cleaning. Now that he had finally noticed, he knew he wouldn't be able to function in any other regard until his space was clear. He sighed, turning on the sink and getting work scrubbing the dishes that had accumulated there.

Izuku spent the rest of his day cleaning, hoping that an organized space would be a good influence on the state of his life. If all the dishes were in place, no laundry on the floor, maybe the jagged edges of his situation would come together in way that would afford him some peace. As much as he knew that it didn’t work like that, he couldn’t help but out hold some hope anyway. Hope for himself, hope for you.

And that was the truth of it. He had to keep himself busy or else his overthinking would drive him closer to the edge of insanity. He worried about you, and for you. Not that he was a doctor, but in his opinion, it looked as if you hadn’t slept in days. In fact, the last time he had seen you was the day of the incident. Could it be that you were losing sleep because of him? Had you really not slept since then?

Izuku’s nails were bitten to the point of bleeding at the thought of you suffering that much over his situation. And then made worse when he considered that he was the biggest asshole on the planet for assuming your troubles had anything to do with him. That he could be worthy of any of your attention, let alone attention at such a degree that it would be to your detriment.

You were like a flower that had taken root in his mind and spread to his heart. You’d blossomed into this shining fixture in his life that he hoped he could make permanent, hoped he could lean on for just a while longer, if not forever. He needed your blooming to rub off on him, the color you brought to your days and now his. You weren’t fragile; he would never say that, but God, if he didn’t want to cradle you like you were. To uproot you and plant you into his earth, his ground. All he ever did was uproot. He felt like a hail storm. You were wilting already from his ‘too much.’ Too heavy, too much rain, too much force, too much feeling. He didn’t want to destroy you. He couldn’t bear another loss. Should your smile fall, he would never forgive himself.

Izuku was finally freed from his thoughts by the sound of a knock at his door. He rushed over immediately, flinging it open with eyes wide, assuming you would be waiting there.

“Y/N—” He started, only to be disappointed when he was met with a very confused-looking delivery man holding an edible arrangement.

“Uh, no,” the man said, handing him the gift.

“Your friend Denki says ‘Happy birthday,’ but then he told me to say ‘I know it’s not your birthday, but the ‘feel better’ bouquets were more expensive’ and ‘It’s the thought that counts.’”

——

When you woke up, it was dark out. You sat up slowly, dazed and yawning, tired mind trying to put all the pieces together.

“Couch?” You wondered aloud, yawning again and moving your hands to rub the sleep out of your eyes.

The digital clock you kept in the kitchen blinked at you, signing ‘9:45pm.’ You had slept all day. That wasn’t the weirdest part though; you’d had the strangest dreams. For once, they were your own—not Izuku’s—but he was still there.

You vaguely recalled answering your door, falling into his arms, soft whispers back and forth to each other. He had looked concerned, which made you want to fix it. Fix, fix, fix; ever the fixer you were. You tried to tell him that someone was in his corner, that you were trying to help, but he only looked more confused.

But then, there was the issue of the couch, which is exactly where you landed in your dream. He carried you there, said something soft to you that you couldn’t hear and then presumably left.

You groaned, sleepy mind finally rearing to life with some embarrassment. “Not a dream,” you decided. “Real.”

You pulled your knees to your chest, curling up and weighing your options. You could go over and knock on his door, apologize for your odd behavior, and swear you are okay. You’re sure he would appreciate knowing that you hadn’t completely decayed yet. But then, the questions. He would ask questions, and you’re a terrible liar. You would sell yourself out immediately, and he would know all about what you had been up to every night. He would feel violated, betrayed; he might even hate you.

You sighed, holding up your left hand, “He deserves to know the truth. He is mature enough to know that I was only trying to help. He is kind and compassionate. I would want to know.”

Then, you held up your right hand, “What does the truth matter, anyway? He won’t find out if I don’t tell him, and it’s not like I am some creep trying to perv on him. He would do the same thing for me if the roles reversed. He would…invade my privacy…and—ugh!” You relented, throwing your hands up.

“He has to know,” you resolved.

You stood up quickly, ready to rush next door. You stumbled as you rose to your feet, grabbing at the couch when the sudden change made you dizzy.

“Tomorrow,” you decided. “Tomorrow is fine.”

But tomorrow never came. You had called in sick to work already, so that wasn’t an issue, but apparently Izuku didn’t get the memo. When you had gone to knock on his door, you got no answer, and when you flicked on your television, you figured out why.

There was live coverage of him going back to work. You saw Izuku—Deku, really—walking into his agency, his head down. He looked determined, despite all of the hustle and bustle of cameras flashing and questions being thrown every which way. Salacious and mean spirited questions that felt more like traps intermixed with random gossip. He said, she said; Izuku paid them no mind. Once he passed through the doors, the cameras lost sight of him, and you watched as the disappointed reporter gave her two cents, sounding bitter.

“With Deku back to work after seemingly no repercussions for the tragedy that occurred just days ago, people are once again wondering what these heroes really stand for. Remember people: we pay them! And what do we get? Not justice,” she said, “not this time.”

You shook your head, about to change the channel, unable to stand whatever bullshit she was spewing. No justice? He was ready to lay down his life for justice. That reporter wouldn’t know justice if it bit her on the ass, like you knew karma would soon.

"The other suspect involved in the recent and violent robbery-gone-wrong is still at large, so if you or anyone you know has information, please, do not hesitate to call in. It's time we step up and be heroes, since the ones we pay aren't cutting it–"

You made a sound of disgust as you slammed the off button on your remote, refusing to sit and listen to anymore. You couldn't understand how someone could be so far from having a clue. It almost hurt. You knew it would hurt Izuku to hear people talk like that. Deku could handle it for the cameras, but Izuku...it would cut deep. You needed to see him, and soon.

However, as much as you wanted to be the one to comfort him, you knew that letting him in on your secret was going to do the opposite. That didn't make the truth any less necessary, though. You really needed to see him.

#anime #my hero academia #mha #izuku midoriya #deku #mha deku #izuku angst #mha fic #bnha #bnha fic #izuku x reader #deku x reader #pro hero au #pro hero deku #my hero fanfic #farawaywrites

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v3nusxsky · 2 years ago

Note

Hello✨

Can I request a fic where Larissa and f!reader are in relationship and one night are talking about what turns them on and would maybe wanted to try in bed and R mentions that somnophillia sounds interesting and Larissa agrees. So one night L can’t fall asleep while R is already sleeping she remembers what R said and decided to give somnophillia a go? (Hope everything makes sense, it’s my first time requesting)

Hello my lovely, I hope this is okay my darling and I’m honoured to be the person to receive your first request.

Experimenting 18+

*Authors note~ I have to admit I was a little anxious about how to approach it and where I could take it. But I think I'm finally happy with the outcome now*

Trigger warnings~ somnophillia oral (r receiving) thigh riding (l ) fingering (r )

Prompt~ see the ask^^^

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

When you joined the Nevermore staff, you had never imagined that it would lead you to the love of your life. Or that she would be a shape shifting headmistress who doted on your every move. This was clearly a slice of heaven and you'd be lying to say if you weren't addicted to the angel that was clearly Larissa Weems. The fact someone so uniquely beautiful, inside and out, was interested in little you was absolutely mind blowing for you. Yet you couldn't be happier with your life.

It's only natural as your relationship progressed you and Larissa had conversations about what you like and dislike. It became clear quickly to you both that Larissa thrived off of dominating you and you adored submitting to the women. That fact caused more questions to be asked and more limits and boundaries to be discussed. As efficient as she always is, Larissa complied all the information into a document and you'd regularly review it to see if it was all correct. That list is what caused the best morning of your life.

During these conversations consent had been acquired for any possible situation that could occur. The thought of doing something you were not happy with actually made the taller women feel physically I'll. There was multiple ways she could incorporate your desires which allowed her to still leave you guessing. The element of surprise is what added to the game. You had safe words and the colour system as ways of reassurance. Your safe word being "Ocean" and "Red" while amber allowed a conversation to take place.

Recently you had been having a rough time, your students seemed to want to challenge your authority which had resulted in you being extremely stressed and agitated. You constantly seconded guessed everything you did and were unable to fully relax and unwind outside of the classroom. It was truly heartbreaking for Larissa to see, you hadn't even tried to be your usual bratty self the past few days. That's when the idea hit her, you were to focused on what was happening around you that you weren't able to fully let go, all she wanted to do was help you with that. Which is why she consulted the file and found one thing you wanted to try, something Larissa had been on the fence with initially. After talking about Larissa agreed to try it with you but truthfully you had accepted that it was just going to remain a fantasy. Oh but your girlfriend was full of surprises.

Larissa would always wake up first. It was a routine really, normally she would spend time in bed with you enjoying the intimate moments. You were always so beautiful but there was something about how you looked asleep. Your mind free of worry, your brows relaxed and your lips curled up in a little smile every time you felt her lips against your skin. That's what really gave her the confidence to do this for you. You needed to relax and if this was going to help then Larissa would happily oblige. Not only were you a submissive but you were her love and she only wanted you happy in life.

Thankfully, you always preferred to sleep without clothing, you'd argue it was much too warm for that, that made Larissa's plan ten times easier. Ever so carefully she moved her body below the covers and shifted to settle between your legs. She let her lips press a few gentle kisses to your thighs and her fingers trailing over the skin there. Every now and then she would peak her head up through the cover to see what your facial expression was doing. Seeing the happy smile on your lips encouraged her to give your centre a tentative lick. You instantly responded on your sleep by your breath hitching. Much to Larissa's relief she could see you were enjoying yourself despite being asleep. And that's what spurred her on. Her licks becoming more sure of themselves.

You felt yourself coming round to the land of the living with an undeniable feeling of pleasure between the apex of your thighs. A moan tore through you as your sleepy brain registered your girlfriends diligently working her tongue against your now dripping core. Moans were spilling out from you uncontrollably and you brought your hands to her hair in a tale that you wanted her to continue. You could feel her smirk against your cunt before she plunged her tongue inside of you and moaned at the taste. "Oh fuck me larissa Jesus" you moaned the sleep still evident in your voice. This was ten times hotter than you had ever imagined.

Sensing you were close she moved the covers so she could see you before whispering "my little slut, you enjoy mommy using you while you sleep then huh?" You couldn't help but moan at her words, they were cut off by a cry as she took your aching clit between her lips to suck. That's what threw you over the edge. She helped you come back from your high before crawling up to kiss you good morning. You could taste yourself on her tongue before you mumbled "good morning to you too my love"

One kiss lead to multiple kisses and a quick check in which you readily replied "green god green" had resulted in Larissa perched on your thigh, her fingers finding your soaked centre. You brought yourself up to try and kiss every inch of her exposed chest, her hips rocking in time with her thrusting fingers. The room filled with the sounds of your arousal and the combined moans and pants of you both as you chased the high together. That morning you both fell over the edge together before collapsing in the bed together catching your breath.

"Baby? Was that okay? I just you said" Larissa stumbled over her words, the nerves now showing. "Ris, it was perfect, I loved it thank you darling" you reassured adding kisses to punctuate each word. For the first time in days you fully relaxed. Here in her arms after that amazing morning all the stress had melted away.

Word count ~ 1157

*Authors note~ I'm not sure if I like this or not but it was an attempt at least*

#fanfic #larissa weems #wednesday netflix #gwendoline christie #larissa x reader #larissa weems x reader #principleweemsxreader #principal larissa weems x reader #anon request #anon aks #fan fic smut

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annellspethraven · 9 months ago

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It all started here. I woke up and looked at 'my' Discord server for the bloated tic of a fanfic (hey that rhymes, neurospicy two seconds!) I write with my partner SonaBeanSidhe, Aran Thranduil's Dining Hall. There hadn't been enough tea yet so the natural response was 'wth is this?' Well, THIS was going to Hoover my next two days and counting. Just visit the post, dear friends of the writing persuasion and you would see (I'll save you time because I'm nice this way) that there are many screenshots supporting just what the meme says: This Instagram OP knows a writer who found herself in a steaming pile of mess with the Google Docs TOS (which is really also the Google Drive TOS, making it somewhat difficult to locate said TOS. I'll save you more time. Here:

This information comes from https://support.google.com/docs/answer/148505#zippy=%2Csexually-explicit-material So, it was the act of sharing the files, not having created or stored them that triggered what had happened. Okay, still not reassuring. In the meantime, I was concerned enough to post what had happened to r/FanFiction. Within minutes, my post had been frozen by the mods there. I can see their concern. I believe they had only seen the meme-like first screen of the Instagram post, and it does come off like a bad Snopes Fail. They asked me for more proof. The first thing I did was a search for previous instances of Google having frozen Drive accounts previously. They are limited, but they exist. The concern here had to do with the current lack of information as to why the action happened, and whether we who collectively authored and had shared Docs with explicit content were about to have our Drive accounts fall before the scythe of an overzealous AI rollout on the part of Google. Which led to the second part of this. My first response to the mods was as follows:

A little while after I sent this, an update appeared on the Instagram OP's account (easy to find) so I added this:

The salient point of the update was that the author had received restored access to her Drive, but NOT the Doc that had started the entire difficulty. I waited for a response. And waited, and waited. In the meantime, I had no means to add to, respond to, anything to my original post or defend myself against some fairly sharp initial criticisms leveled against me by individuals who clearly hadn't read anything beyond the initial meme. Special. While I understand a sub this large likely has a lot of messages to field, I also felt that given they managed to freeze my post in a matter of minutes, they were really taking their time responding. So I weighed in on Instagram with a message of support. If nothing else is taken away, please take this: Back up your files. It's easy to create an alt Google account; this other account will have its own Drive storage. Share your folders and files with yourself. If you don't already realize, in Docs under the File dropdown menu the third option is Make A Copy. If you have shared the original document 75 times, you won't have shared that copy at all. Consider backing up your works to Indie platforms like Get Hermit, Ellipsus and The Quill. There may be others. Your own external hard drive is also a very good idea. But wait, you ask. What about just using MS Word, or having copies as a PDF file in the Adobe cloud? Not so fast, my friend. Look at Microsoft and Adobe's TOS regarding sexually explicit content...you'll get an unpleasant surprise. I did. In the meantime, a third update came from the OP on Instagram shedding far more light as to what had likely gone wrong. She had shared the Doc with she guessed 18-20 people as beta readers. The belief is now that one of these persons actually turned her in to Google via their abuse form. To quote one of the commenters on that update: "I heard from an agent that Google will only do this to your account if someone reports it. Google isn’t scanning docs for explicit content (except maybe images), but yeah, for this to happen, someone had to report her document to Google." This felt like a relief...and yet is still packaged inside a cautionary tale. How many of us have shared by 'whoever has this link'? I have, or rather, I had. I revoked all such permissions to all large stories and folders in favor of my few trusted long-time friends and beta readers. The works are on AO3. I don't need those Docs links to be free floating all over the place, not after seeing what can happen. I was on vacation in England some years prior when I realized I had lost the ability to send out all outgoing Gmail. It took me several days to figure out what had gone wrong and nearly lost me my ability to receive Covid test results at a time when that was a travel necessity...almost disastrous. Fortunately I had multiple email accounts and could work around the problem. Which brings me to the last of this.

While including the subreddit mod's responses here may seem retaliatory/petulant on my part...I'm at best miffed at their shortsightedness, maybe mildly insulted, mostly shaking my head at the fact that there is something to have been learned here that could have affected any one of us. No one was spreading misinformation. Something had indeed happened. The source of it had been unknown at the time of posting. Had they left my post alone I would have gladly redacted as it unfolded; the reason for placing it on that sub was not to create a giant stir but to let others know of the risk of this happening at all and to encourage backing up that which most writers invest a considerable amount of their emotional well-being; the safety of their written works. Yes, I'm neurodivergent. No, I don't always see the world as others do. No, I still don't think this difference allows the response to be interpreted as much other than a slight and working against the interests of authors (I'm on their side and last I checked, readers need the authors to have the things that are written in order to have the things to read. Just saying). Whatever, what really matters is, if you feel this is worth sharing, share, take away the important bits, and if someone out there just wants to write it up in 3 sentences so it isn't a tl;dr, do that too.

Have a Googly day, to all near and far, in these times in which we live...>.>

#google docs #google drive #terms of service #writing #fanfic #slash fanfiction #smut fanfiction #service provider #beta reader #Instagram

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zombeebunnie · 1 year ago

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Game development Trembling Essence update:

Hello guys and welcome new followers, hope you're all having a great spooky month so far! :] Updates about the game might be shorter and/or a bit scattered around this month so I can't guarantee they'll be weekly. :]

As far as routing goes I can confidently say one of them is about 95% done as it transitions into Day 4! I had to go through and redo one section that's a fairly strong pivotal point within the game that can branch differently.

In the old version there was only one way it could go with varying dialog. When my play tester went through this section, the writing came off kind of wonky when I herd it being read back to me.

I remade the situation again and now you'll have three varying responses for it into Day 4! There were a few fixes towards CG transitions and glitches I just happen to come across, for some reason a certain trigger kept making the player go to a decision that wasn't chosen. It took a while to finally fix but I have no idea what was causing this issue. :,]

Also in mini happy news, I found one of the files I had been looking for! It was the backdoor CG that I couldn't find for months. It was used as a temporary placeholder until I redrew it but now that I have it again I touched up a few things with it and added different day/night settings to it. Now I just have to go through everything and place it around. Here's a before and after! :]

Also one of the CG's I did came out nicely and I didn't need a reference for it, I am very happy that I've been improving my art over time! Yay! :]

Lastly, I went through some of the choices within the beginning of the cabin part and added his sprite around a bit more as a quality of life change! At first I was kind of going for "off-screen" realism but sometimes you were left just looking at a empty room for a while so I went and adjusted him to continue being on screen unless he'd realistically wouldn't be (For example, the wording explaining that he went into another room, etc.).

I think that just about covers everything so far! Thank you guys for all your continued support and thoughtful messages. Hope you all continue having a good happy spooky month! >:]

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strangeygirl · 8 months ago

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Alright so I got this idea like two days ago and I got creative fever so the least I can do is post about it.

I don't know if I want to make it into a story, RP material, animated series (If I learn how to animate I think I'll do it in MMD-like style), video game or whatever, but anyway, the setting has more of a Cyberpunk vibe with very advanced technology, and the plot revolves around a facility that trains and sends soldiers on various missions.

So here's the protagonist :

This is Rookie, she's 17 and very girly. I took inspiration from those stories where outfits are stylized so much it looks unpractical. She's a prodigy among the newbies but isn't an official soldier yet, so she can't go on true missions (Instead having to train with a simulation) or access certain parts of the facility. I think her character development would go something like her starting off as superficial, ruthless and kind of a bootlicker with her superiors to a rebel who is set on justice and helping people.

Also she is registered as "Soldier 35580, Rookie" in the facility files.

And her nickname is Cookie.

She will get a mentor and parent figure to help her, the eldest soldier still in service :

(The Gacha one isn't so great, it's mostly for the colors and the hair)

This is F-N-1205, codename Funny, (A self-insert but edgier, I'm proud of her ⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣) who enlisted very long ago when she was around 30. I really want to insist on the fact that when she signed in, it was like the military, it was way more dark and strict, now it's all funny (Heh) cutesy and stylish, the soldiers take it so lightheartedly, it scares her and she tries to open the others' eyes, only to end up looking like the creepy oldie who says ominous shit. People now avoid her.

When she was young, she went on a routine mission with her team until an unexpected enemy trap triggered an explosion. Everyone died, and she would have too if the facility didn't save her. Somehow, they managed to gather what was remaining of her and attached it to robotic parts, making her a cyborg. Also I couldn't find a Picrew to show it but her stomach and spine were blown up under the ribs but the facility couldn't keep her in a stable state long enough to build her the equivalent of a new stomach, so she only has a robotic spine (...If you see what I mean ?). Becoming a cyborg came with "upgrades", she has a lot more brute strength, and where humans would need special gadgets or access cards, it is directly added in her palm.

Her name is F-N-1205 (Codename Funny) because when she joined, it was required to give up everything, their name, their family, etc, in the idea of the facility giving the soldiers a new one.

Also, she more or less stopped aging, due to experiments the facility executed on her right after she was saved while she was still unconscious, so when I say she enlisted very long ago, I say very, very long ago, so long ago she barely remembers what it was like before.

And I think I'll make her long for death. Not actively looking for it to the point of suicide, but she would happily welcome it if it happened to her.

And that's all I can think of right now, I'm kinda throwing everything that's on my mind about it and I don't know if it makes sense (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ

Also I have no idea for a name, so if you get an idea I'll seriously consider it ! :D

Picrew used :

And I got the idea and creative fever from this animation :

youtube

It's so good (⁠￣ω￣⁠)

#wip #cyberpunk wip #cyberpunk aesthetic #my ocs #ocs #writing ideas #artists on tumblr #art #gacha life 2 #gacha oc #picrew #character design #Youtube #cyberpunk #self-insert #cyborg character

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monsta-x-jagi · 4 months ago

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Legal Affairs - Chapter 4

Synopsis: you sleep with someone(s). Also, you crack the case.

Word count: 3.8k

Triggers: slightly public sex, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), drinking alcohol

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You hadn’t set an alarm the night before, but you stirred awake around 6am, your body having remembered the early start you had the day before. Hoseok still had an arm draped over you, which you tried to push off. At first, he nuzzled into your neck and his breath caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. When you did finally escape his grasp, you felt cold and lonely, and hugged yourself soothingly.

The idea of placing a small kiss on his cheek or temple crossed your mind but you decided against it. You still had several hours before work, so you cleaned the bowls from last night which were still on the dinner table. You briefly thought about leaving some ramen made for Hoseok’s breakfast, but had to mentally rebuke yourself for it. You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t even his hookup. You were just a lawyer who slept (and only slept) with their absolutely gorgeous idol client. Plus, you didn’t even know what diet Hoseok had, and you didn’t want to waste ramen on a breakfast he wouldn’t be able to eat. Sure, keep telling yourself that.

You hoisted your box of things and left the apartment, gently closing the door behind you.

“Do you want some help, Miss y/n?” A voice asked.

Oh no. You grimaced. Nothing good could come out of you leaving an idol’s dorm in yesterday’s clothes. You turned around slowly to find Changkyun with a gym towel around his neck.

You didn’t meet his gaze as you spoke. “Um, no, I’ll be okay. I just worked really late, that’s all.”

Changkyun’s face showed no teasing or mocking expression. Instead, he reached over and took your box from you. “Let me walk you to your car, that looks heavy.”

“Are you excited for the party this weekend?” Changkyun asked to fill the silence with while he followed you behind you to the staircase.

“I don’t know. I think I am nervous actually. I still haven’t even bought something to wear.” You had completely forgotten about that after dinner with Hoseok.

“I’m sure somebody here has a spare onesie for you.” Changkyun’s pace slowed as he started descending the stairs with you.

“Thanks, but I doubt I’d fit into anything you owned. Kind of the same reason I didn’t borrow Hoseok’s clothes.” Oh fuck, not you revealing things again.

“Even if you wore nothing, Hoseok wouldn’t mind,” Changkyun said quietly, more to himself than you.

“What???” You suddenly stopped on the stairs and faced him. This caused Changkyun to miss a step and hit you with the box. It hurt, but not enough to knock you off balance.

“Maybe I should take that box,” you said once Changkyun straightened up.

He gave it to you embarrassedly. “Sorry, Miss y/n. Please don’t tell hyung about that.”

“Don’t worry about it. There’s no bruise yet.” You placed the box in your car when you exited the building. “Anyways thank you for helping me. Now go inside, eat, take a shower. I’ll see you tonight.”

You drove back home to shower and put on some fresh clothes, before heading to Useungja. At work, you added the findings on Rohypnol to Hoseok’s case file, together with the footage showing he didn’t talk to anyone already known to be suspicious, and forwarded it to the prosecutor’s office.

You were gone when he woke up. No text, no call, not even a note. Hoseok didn’t know what he was expecting. You had work in the morning, while he had no schedule that day. Not to mention, how could he be stupid enough to treat his lawyer, the one person singlehandedly saving him from this mess, like that? You cut deals to keep the press away and you were even hunting down whoever drugged him. He meant it when he said you weren’t like lawyers in movies, because you were better and so much cooler than them, only he wasn’t sure how to tell you that.

“Minhyuk, I need the address for the party,” you said into your phone. You had picked a dress with a deep burgundy bustier and tulle that flared out to become more and more sheer. You also stopped by a craft store to pick up a carnival mask, hoping to conceal your face a little bit.

“Do you want to share my Uber? Did I mention I love Uber?” Minhyuk replied.

“What? No, I just need the address, I’ll drive.” You weren’t planning on drinking much, or staying late.

“Then, can you pick me up? You probably can’t get in without me anyways.” That pricked your ears. You had just assumed you could walk through the door, but hadn’t stopped to think it might be a controlled guest list.

And that was how you ended up with Minhyuk and Hyungwon in your car.

“You didn’t tell me he was coming,” you said, jabbing a thumb towards the back seat.

“I forgot he was home. He had fallen asleep,” Minhyuk said while fixing his hair.

“I thought Monsta X went to any and all events together?”

“We do. We are all very close to each other, but this isn’t part of our schedule, and most us, Minhyuk, are trying to get some rest before comeback week,” Hyungwon said sternly, wth his ire obviously being directed at Minhyuk.

To his credit, Minhyuk didn’t care, even if Hyungwon was sending him a million curses through his eyes.

After Minhyuk and Hyungwon ushered you into the party, which did in fact have a semi-closed guest list (guests can bring an undisclosed plus one), you assured them you would be fine, and to just enjoy their night. Your heart pounded, seeing so many celebrities in such close quarters to each other. If only I could offer my services to them, then I’d have some of the most coveted clientele in all of Seoul.

But right now, Hoseok was your only client, and therefore your only concern. The bar seemed like an appropriate place to start your hunt for the drink spiker so you ordered the first cocktail on the menu and sipped it for 45 minutes. When your position at the bar began to be unfruitful, you decided to walk around a bit.

You saw Kihyun engaged in some close conversation with a couple people in a corner across the room. Approaching them could possibly help you integrate yourself into the conversations happening within the room.

The party venue was actually within the TV station - a conference room was remodelled to look like an exclusive nightclub. As you walked through the sea of people, you began to realise you were truly out of your depth here. You turned up at a party hoping to find illegal activity, when you didn’t even know how to seek them out in real life.

As you walked, a man grabbed your arm. “Hey, come talk with us.” He gestured to two other men lounging on couch nearby.

“Oh no, I can’t I have to meet someone.” You said, pulling your arm away.

“Well don’t you want to meet us? C’mon, we’ll cover you next drink.” When you refused once more, he dropped your arm and walked away, so you kept moving.

When you finally reached Kihyun, the group he was talking to had left. Kihyun recognised you before you had a chance to lower your mask and show your face.

“No, don’t.” Kihyun held a hand in front of your face when you started reaching up to remove it. “How are you feeling?”

You felt like a load had been lifted off your shoulders. “Terrible. I don’t think this was helpful at all.”

Kihyun was quiet for a minute. “Why don’t you go find Hoseok and stay around him?”

That hadn’t occurred to you, but you didn’t even know how to find him, so you stared blankly at Kihyun.

“Just look for groups of trainees, male or female. You’ll find him, he’s kind of popular,” Kihyun advised.

“Kihyun, I can’t tell who is and is not a trainee. I also jostled so many people coming from the other side of the room that I don’t think I can go back.” You sighed at your poor planning. “Maybe I should just leave. If I do that, will you take Minhyuk and Hyungwon home?”

Kihyun looked at you surprised. “Those idiots asked you to drive them?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that. And if I see anything here, I’ll let you know. Get home safe, yeah?” Kihyun gave your arm a friendly squeeze, probably because he’d drunk a little more than usual, and left you standing in the corner.

You finished your drink and watched the room. Technically you were just a normal guest now that you had given up on investigating.

“Taking a break from the party?” A man sided up to you and asked. He was wearing a onesie just like the Monsta X members, but since he didn’t know you, it was safe to assume he wasn’t from the group. Aside from his onesie, he had some sort of hat with a a neck warmer that he pulled up towards his mouth. His body was definitely that of a gym rat, much like your client.

You studied the man’s face, or rather his eyes and nose. There was something familiar about him. “Something like that,” you finally said in response to his earlier question.

“I’ve been wondering who you were. I’ve been especially wondering when you’ll let that mask slip.” You could feel him getting closer as the warmth from his skin hit your own.

“I guarantee you this mask is the one thing you will never be able to take off,” you replied.

The man studied your face. “So then what can I take off?”

“I don’t know, would you like to find out?” You returned.

“I’ve been curious about you this whole night,” the man said.

“So you want to get to know me better… how about we go somewhere we can be alone?” You raised your eyebrows at him under your mask.

The man got your hint. “I know a place.”

He led you through the crowd in the room, moving smoothly. Now, getting laid wasn’t exactly on your mind when you came here, but law school didn’t exactly leave time for dating, so why not? A small part of you suddenly thought about Hoseok - could something more happen between you and the man who held you while you slept last night?

You shook Hoseok out of your mind and focused on your new man. He had led you to an empty but dark hallway, and turned to face you, pulling down the neck warmer. You knew he was giving you the option to back out, but you pulled him towards you until your back was against the wall and his lips were touching yours. Your lips moved together as you matched his pace, and your hands slowly moved up his arms to his shoulders. His lips were soft and you could taste some alcohol on his tongue. His perfume emanated a woody scent with hints of vanilla that you loved.

The man’s hand began tightening on your waist and dropped to your hips to pull your heat in closer. The ensuing contact caused you to moan into his mouth, and allowed him to insert his tongue inside. He ran it along the inside of your lips, searching for your own, but the minute he found it, he pulled back, surprising you. You were just getting familiar with his tongue.

But then his lips moved to your jaw, then to your neck and collarbone. Your fingers tangled into his hair, holding his head in place as he started sucking gently on your collarbone. Your deepening breaths made your chest rise higher, brushing his jaw. His hands moved from your waist to your back, searching for the zipper on your dress.

“Wait.” You steadied yourself against his forearms. “This doesn’t feel private enough.” You looked around the empty hallway, mostly dark except for the light drifting out of the door to the reimagined conference room.

“Relax, darling. There’s nobody around.” He smiled down at you and resumed kissing your neck and shoulders. Briefly, his soothing voice reminded you of Hoseok last night and the way he got you to relax.

But then, your new man dropped a hand from your waist to squeeze your ass, bringing you back to the present. Why am I thinking of my client right now anyways? The man began reaching lower to find the hem of your dress, and you willed your fingers to begin searching for any buttons or zipper on his onesie.

He huffed impatiently when he couldn’t figure out how to unclasp the bustier, so you moved your hands behind you and loosened it yourself. One of the man’s hands reached inside the bustier, his thumb caressing your nipple while he returned to kiss your mouth. It made you dizzy, and you pulled back to start kissing his neck, and the little nips you made along the sensitive skin made him groan.

The man harshly pulled your bustier down, enough to extricate one of your breasts and place it in his mouth. His tongue swirled around it while his hand squeezed. Your fingers immediately went to his hair, soft and blonde.

The cameras! You tensed, and your hands stilled in the man’s hair. “The cameras in the hallway are live.” You didn’t exactly have the same concerns as idols when it came to sex, but you’d still prefer to not be watched at a later date. “The green rooms don’t have CCTV,” you said in between gasps when the man flicked your nipple.

The man raised his head. “You’re the second person I’ve met who seems to know that.”

“And who��s the first?” You asked as you pulled your bustier up a little.

“Just a friend. Cmon, let’s go to the green rooms.” The man took your hand and quickly took you to an elevator. You had to almost jog to match his pace while holding up your bustier with one hand.

The elevator opened in a matter of seconds. There was some light inside, so you finally focused on the buttons of the onesie. The man’s cheeks were flushed pink now, and despite the lust hanging between you two, his expression was gentle and loving. His face also looked strangely familiar, probably because he was an idol you had seen somewhere once.

You finally pushed the onesie off his torso, and left it hanging at his hips. He had a tight t-shirt underneath which he swiftly pulled off. His body was marvellous for lack of a better word. You didn’t even bother to hide your delight at seeing his body, running your fingers all over every ridge, bump and muscle while you kissed him.

There was a railing on the side of the elevator, which the man hoisted you onto, though you wondered how much of your weight that was really supporting. With how built he was, maybe you weighed nothing to him. You hooked a leg around his waist, and when the elevator dinged open, he placed his hands under your ass to lift you up. You tightly wrapped your legs around his waist, relishing in how much closer it brought your needy core to him.

He placed you down to open a green room, before shutting the door and pushing you up against it. One of his hands returned to your breast while the other searched for the hem and pushed your dress up. His fingers finally reached your underwear and slipped inside. He didn’t tease. One finger immediately pushed on your clit, causing you to cry out and sink your fingers into his arms.

“That’s it, make all the noise you want, nobody will hear us,” he almost cooed into your ear as your breathing intensified. As his thumb started circling your clit, his other fingers probed your folds. Up and down; up and down.

You were getting desperate for him to finally insert a finger. “Please...” you found yourself saying, as quiet as a whisper. The man obliged, though not immediately, letting you whimper for a few seconds before he inserted one, then two, fingers. His strokes were slow, to the point where you felt your breathing slow down, but then he curled his fingers, searching for that spot on your walls. He didn’t seem to be finding it, so his pace increased, until the force from his hands alone was making it hard to remain steady against the door.

You tried recollecting your thoughts. All this time you had gotten lost in his touch, but you hadn’t done enough for your partner. Your partner seemed to be enjoying the rough way he fingered you, but you weren’t quite getting there yet. You reached down to still his hand, then pulled his fingers out of you to taste yourself. The man grew more aroused watching the way your tongue danced longer than necessary along his fingers.

You met his smouldering gaze, smiling coyly, before dropping to your knees. You could feel his stomach tense as his breath hitched when your fingertips dipped into the waistband of his boxers to pull them down. You wrapped one hand around his thigh, and let each finger tap down on to the skin individually to prolong his anticipation. You then placed your other hand at the base of his dick, aligning it with your mouth to lick off the precum that was already spouting from it. You swirled your tongue first around the tip, then around the glans, before dragging it along the shaft. This made the man’s knees tremble and elicited a deep moan from him, making you smile to yourself.

Having teased him enough, you finally engulfed him with your lips, gradually putting more and more of him in your mouth. The man let you set the pace, throwing his head back as you probed areas along his shaft with your tongue, looking for anywhere particularly sensitive. You didn’t identify any at first, so you almost fully removed him to play with the head again, before taking him back in, as far as you could.

The man took this as a sign to start plying with your hair, experimenting with how much force he could use. The man’s hand finally started pushing your head harder, pushing his length in deeper. You gripped his thigh tighter for more balance and loosened your lips a little so that he could enter and exit more smoothly. His pace started growing frantic and sloppy. He was close.

He tried to pull out as he came, and his cum spread all over your neck and chest. With nothing to clean up with, you had no choice but to let it drip down your body, and soak into the tulle (not that tulle could soak up much).

You remained on your knees to catch your breath. The man dropped to the floor beside you, panting.

“Lie down,” he said in between breaths. “Let me return the favour.”

You obliged, pulling off your underwear before doing so. The man placed his hands under your knees and pulled in you closer. The cold in the unheated green room hit your thighs and crawled upwards as your dress was pushed to your waist. This sensation was soon replaced by the man’s hot breath as he placed a kiss on your mound before probing your lips with his tongue. He gently padded at your clitoris, making you whimper, before pushing in further in to your folds, and running his tongue over your entrance. Then he returned to your clit, applying more pressure than previously, and repeated that pattern.

He was teasing you, just like you did to him. You groaned and reached down for his head, holding him in place. Your legs writhed, and his grip on your tights tightened. Your cries started to become more frequent, and louder, so the man stopped his probing and sucked your clit more resolutely. He removed one hand from your thighs to pump his fingers in to you. His other hand started reaching up, exploring its way up your torso to squeeze your breast. You placed your hand over his and squeezed harder for every sound you made.

Eventually, your hands were both continuously squeezing either your breast or the man’s head. Your back arched as you let out one final wail and finally reached that sweet release you had been after. You remained lying down on the floor while the man wiped his face with the back of your hand. You didn’t say anything while you heard him fully shake off his onesie to the ground and kneeled in between your legs again.

You tensed and waited for the moment when he would stretch you out and fill you completely. But that moment didn’t come. Instead, the door beside you cracked open, and a flashlight shone on to your face and chest. You smashed a hand over your chest to cover yourself and scrunched your eyes, trying to see what was behind the light source.

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s after hours,” a female voice said. She moved the light from your face towards your partner who was kneeling between your legs. You gazed up at the intruder. She was wearing a TV station issued uniform but wasn’t a security guard. She looked familiar somehow too. You sat up to quickly pull your bustier back together. You glanced at your partner to see him buttoning up his own costume. The flashlight wielding woman waited until you were both dressed before walking away.

It didn’t take much to understand that you getting caught infiltrating the party and hooking up with an idol couldn’t be covered under the guise of helping a client. Though impolite, you left the green room without looking at your mystery man, who was still putting his onesie together. It’s not like he would bump into you again anyways.

You ran out of the green room to search for the woman with the flashlight. You knew you’d seen her before, and it was odd that someone like her was here after hours. You saw her flashlight disappearing towards a door marked as the stairwell. You waited until she had probably started moving on the stairwell, then cracked the door open. The flashlight was moving downward, so you began following it.

Until you heard two voices.

“Do you have something? A name? A photo?”

“I thought I caught one but she had a mask.”

“Ugh, they’re getting good these days. What about the money? Did you hand it over?”

“I told you I did it last week. I don’t know why it’s not out yet.”

“It can’t be this hard finding stories, surely. I really thought the drugs would work. Do you know what I had to do to get them?”

“I did what you said, but the man is completely fine.”

“Were all of them here tonight? Did they say or do anything?”

Drugs? Money? Last week? Could that be about the black market dealings? And potentially Hoseok?

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ticklishshenanigansau · 2 years ago

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Day 19. Pedicure Sans was running completely on autopilot as he pushed open the bathroom door, resulting in a startled grunt as he nearly stumbled over Frisk. The girl squeaked from her position on the floor, bent over a small assortment of objects next to a wide open drawer. "O-oh! Hi, Sans...!" Sans took a moment to get his skull back into working order, processing the scene before him, grin stretching slow and casual. "woah, kiddo. i know you've always been kinda nosy, but raiding tori's bathroom supplies is kinda scandalous, don'cha think?" He grabbed his toothbrush and a tube of minty paste. Without missing a beat, he added, "so, what did'ja find?" Recovering with an embarrassed giggle, Frisk started cleaning up the small mess of toiletries. "Not too much, but, I did find this cool rock. I'm not sure why it was in there." She held it up. "Do you?" "le's'see." Starting to scrub his teeth with one hand, Sans took the rock in the other. It was lightweight and incredibly porous; a bit rough — much like his own fingers. Humming, he rinsed off his toothbrush and grabbed a towel to wipe his face before declaring, "no idea. but you can have it back for five g." "Saaaaans!" Frisk whined at him in playful annoyance. "No fair!" "pay up, kiddo." "Give it back!" "nuh-uh." "Give it!" "Give what, may I ask?" Toriel's amused voice rang out from the other side of the door, the boss monster peeking inside. Frisk and Sans both jumped, sheepishly turning to Toriel as she came inside. "uh ... jus' this," Sans admitted after a moment's hesitation, extending his hand to show her the rock. "...found it in your drawer, so, uh, i'll just put it back." "Oh, did you now," Toriel replied dubiously, swiping the object from his hand. "This is my pumice stone." "What's that?" Frisk asked curiously. "What's it for?" "Well, I would give you a little demonstration, but it is not good practice to share pumice stones for hygiene precautions." Turning on the faucet, she began soaking the stone. "However, as Sans is physiologically resistant to those very precautions, I will instead demonstrate on him." "h-hey! when did i sign up for this?..." Sans asked with a hint of a flustered pout, taking a step back. "When you lied, trying to cover for Frisk just now," Toriel answered with a giggle. Picking up the apprehensive skeleton, she placed him on the counter, pleased to see his feet were already bare. Kneeling down on the floor, she gripped one of his ankles and very gently placed the wet stone against his foot, starting to rub in slow circles. "A pumice stone is a tool used to exfoliate and soften skin. Since Sans is lacking in skin, I am being extra careful with him, hmhm." The skeleton huffed and started to squirm, the texture strangely triggering his reflexes. "no way...." It was a bit reminiscent of a scratchy tongue, or perhaps his brother's bony knuckles — but still, "you are not t-tickling me with a rock rih-rihight now...!" "Oh, I am not? I suppose you will not mind if I continue then." Frisk giggled at Toriel's playful smirk and Sans's exasperated eyeroll. "You see, sometimes, when we perform repetitive tasks or otherwise repeatedly irritate the skin, our bodies will adapt and start to thicken and harden, so, if you prefer your skin to stay soft, you must use a method such as this to maintain it the way that you like. It is also important not to exfoliate too much at once, or you may end up hurting yourself. Balance is key." "ghh~hk—! nnnmh...!" Sans couldn't sit still, hands creeping up his arms until he was outright hugging himself. "In Sans's case, however, it looks like it's just stirring up his magical nerves to the surface." She smiled jovially, setting the pumice stone aside and gingerly scrabbled her filed claws against his now-glowing sole. "Which I am certain he finds just as beneficial...."

Arching with a squeal, Sans yanked on his ankle until Toriel mercifully released him. "ohokay, okay! show's over! nhnn—!" He quickly scooted down off the counter, wincing and whining when his sensitized foot met the threads of the rug. Trying to avoid putting too much pressure in his steps, he hobbled his way out of the bathroom to the couch to calm down, cheeks bright and blue. "Thanks for the demonstration, hehe!" Frisk called after him, sharing a bubbly giggle fit with the boss monster.

#Tickletober #Tickletober2022 #Undertale #Sans #Toriel

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traumadumpwriter · 1 year ago

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Heavy trigger warning! This story includes heavy themes of ab*se, r*pe, self h*rm, mental illness and violence.

Check out every part by going on the tag Freedom on my page cx

Freedom: A John Shelby mini fic

Chapter Two: 3303 words

A few days later and Alice was discharged; most of her injuries being minor and easily healed by a little care and nutrition. Once Alice was finally left alone, she crumbled onto the wooden floor and cried harder than she ever had before. Ada hadn't wanted to leave her alone, extremely worried for her welfare. She'd overheard the nurses discussing the injuries, how many there were and what seemingly caused them. Alice had yet to offer any kind of explanation, meaning her and Polly could only make assumptions.

Polly had moved around the furniture in what was apparently a filing office, making a temporary sleeping space; a sofa, some blankets and a cabinet for a nightstand. Despite the room being small and bland, Alice was grateful to have it, shuddering at the thought of being inside that cramped caravan again. She was grateful to be alive too and that Polly had saved some of her Mother's mementos for her, treating the girl with nothing but kindness from the moment they reunited.

However, she also remembered Polly being there when the men took her away and knew that she'd given her mother the idea. That was something that she could not forgive the woman for.

An intense mix of emotions overtook her mind and body; fear, rage, freedom, grief, relief, restlessness, sickness, despair. She darted over to the cabinet and rummaged through the drawers for something sharp, desperate for any feeling of control. Quickly, she found a letter opener and immediately brought it to her thigh, slashing at the already scarred skin.

Even after all the years of physical pain at the hands of others - something she obviously didn't enjoy - pain from her own hands still gave her a sense of comfort.

She hadn't been able to truly hurt herself in a long time, that was reserved only for her husband and whoever he saw fit. He even took extra measures to make sure she couldn't purposely harm herself, practically baby proofing the caravan. It took away the last sense of control she had.

Now though, looking down at her bloody thighs, she felt a huge head rush, her body filling with relief and relaxing slightly. She didn't realise how much she was shaking until she looked down at her hands, dropping the letter opener as she focused on the blood.

A couple moments passed before she grabbed her already stained dress and started to wipe up the blood. Ada had left a pile of her clothes in the corner, another thing Alice was immensely grateful for. As she got changed, she thought about how much she'd actually missed Ada.. and how lucky she was that her defiant brothers happened to be the ones in the automobile that night.

It took her a while to get to sleep, her body nauseous and her brain overloaded, but when she did finally get to sleep she found herself having a dream - something that hadn't happened in a long time - and the starring role was taken by none other than John Shelby.

Meanwhile, he too had been dealing with unwanted emotions, finding his mind drifting on an hourly basis. As soon as he got the chance, he interrogated Ada for the details from the hospital, his gut clenching as each injury sounded worse than the last.

But still, he struggled to picture the Alice that he knew growing up taking a beating from anyone - let alone to that degree.

"And you're sure that a man done all this stuff to her?" He asked, struggling to hide his anger.

"I mean she didn't say. I don't know for sure but it certainly looks like it." Ada answered, her tone also bitter. She saw the rage bubbling behind his eyes and quickly added "But don't do anything brash, please. She really doesn't need that right now."

John knew his sister was right, shooting her a small nod before heading to his room. As he passed the door of the filing office, he fought the urge to push the door open and ask the girl inside a million questions. Instead he carried on going down the hall and keeping the questions inside his head.

——————

The next morning, John was surprised to see Alice and Ada sat up at the kitchen table eating breakfast and happily chatting. The smile on her face was authentic, her eyes and cheeks glowing despite the bruises.

"You're looking better." He awkwardly chuckled in her direction, wandering through the kitchen.

Instantly upon hearing his voice, Alice thought about the dream she'd had and suddenly felt much more interest in John than she ever had before. When they were kids, she never saw him as anything other than a friend, but now seeing him as the handsome man he'd become, something changed.

"Thanks." She awkwardly chuckled back, locking eyes for just a moment before returning to her food. Her stomach was growling quite ferociously, not having had free reign over how much she ate for a long time. Every piece of bacon felt like heaven.

"Any reason why you're awake so early?" Ada looked up from her newspaper and sent John a playful glare.

He shot her a quick glare back before coughing and sitting down opposite the girls. Alice's eyes flicked back to him, partially cautious but more curious than anything.

"Fueling myself before a hard days work. Something you women wouldn't know about." He smirked, earning a scoff from his sister whilst Alice stayed silent.

"Alice Shepherd quiet before a sexist remark? She really has changed." He thought to himself, piling food onto his plate.

In truth, he didn't know why he was down there so early. The night had been relatively sleepless, his mind ravaged by war memories and now questions about Alice, so when he heard their voices downstairs it just felt right to join them.

And now, he could feel Alice's eyes on him and for the first time since their reunion he felt intimidated by her. Somehow her silence felt more judgmental than any comment or insult she'd ever made, her powerful aura clearly remaining intact. He couldn't let himself go weak and lose her again, he had to at least try this time.

So despite the nerves building up in his gut, he gazed back at the brunette with a smile, ready to ask her if she was free that evening. I But just as he opened his mouth, Tommy strolled into the room and he felt all the words leave him.

—————

They didn't speak much again for the next couple of days, John being very busy and Alice generally being with Ada or cooped up in recovery by herself when her friend was busy.

She'd struggled slightly to adjust to everything; her freedom, the slight opium withdrawal, the way things were now so different from the war, her mother and brothers passing, the trauma from her abuse. Every night, she'd cut her thighs, cry her heart out and then sleep like a log, completely exhausted despite not really doing much with her day.

The sleep felt really good too, not having to be alert and ready to wake up at any moment was something she'd dearly missed.

So as she sat down in front of the filing cabinet and reached in to find the letter opener that night, she was shocked to see that it wasn't there.

Suddenly, she felt frantic, searching around the room for it or anything else that could suffice but nothing appeared.

"Someone must have taken it." She thought to herself, quickly becoming more agitated by the second. She'd finally gotten back her favourite form of control and she needed it instantaneously.

The house had been empty for the last couple hours besides John and a light bulb instantly went off in her head.

"He must've used it and forgot to put it back. I'll just go get it from him now, it's not that late." She thought manically.

Wide eyed, she paced down the hallway and knocked on his door, hearing a cough and a sigh from inside before John's voice murmured "Come in." Once she did, their eyes immediately locked and it made her stomach flip, suddenly feeling the ridiculousness of her question.

"You alright?" He asked, staring at her intensely.

"Y-yeah... I was just gonna ask do you have a letter opener?" She stammered awkwardly, her eyes darting between his and the floor.

A small tut came from his lips and he looked to the ground for a second before pulling something out of his pocket. When he opened his palm, Alice saw the letter opener from the filing cabinet and instantly reached out to grab it, but he quickly closed his fist and scoffed.

"Why do you want it, Alice?" He pursed his lips as he spoke bluntly "And don't lie to me, I'm not gonna fall for it, I ain't a kid no more."

It's not like her self harm was ever much of a secret, but now that they were adults and their bond had faded, she felt ashamed and embarrassed.

"Why do you care, John?"

He on the other hand, felt guilty and upset and even slightly angry, standing up from his position on the bed and running his fingers through his hair.

"Why wouldn't I?" He turned to her with a sigh, stepping closer. "I've known you my whole life... and I've never understood you."

"No one understands and I don't expect them to ." Alice replied bluntly, becoming defensive as his words made her feel vulnerable. "Can I just have it please?"

John scoffed, feeling dumbfounded from just being in her presence, which made him annoyed.

"Are you fucking serious? Why are you cutting yourself up? It doesn't make any sense. You reappear out of nowhere with the shit kicked out of you and then you choose to add extra pain to yourself? Why would you do that?" His voice stayed low as he was relatively calm, but his frustration was clear through his tone.

Alice was shocked by how much the man actually seemed to care, not really knowing how to respond to him. Her mind flipped between listening to his words to how good he looked speaking them, causing a small smile to creep onto her lips.

"Now why are you smiling? Are you even more fucking nuts now? I'm being serious Alice." John's face was only straight for a minute before a smile started to form on his too, easily weakened by Alice's big, glossy eyes and delicate lips.

"I just think you're a good man, maybe that does make me nuts." She said quietly, creating a moment of silence afterwards as John soaked in the compliment.

"Anyway, I should probably leave you to it." She added, her mind darting to the knives in the kitchen.

Maybe it was the whiskey; John quickly put his hand on her shoulder before she could turn around and leave.

"Stay." He felt embarrassed but nonetheless made his request. "Let's catch up properly."

In his eyes, Alice saw a flicker of vulnerability that made her even more intrigued by the handsome man. The Shelby brothers never showed weakness. She'd realised just how powerful they'd become when walking around with Ada and imagined that it was rare for John to request the company of anyone, let alone so meekly.

"Okay." She smiled, stepping slowly towards him. Her mind wasn't even focused on the sharp objects anymore, instead focusing on the man in front of her and how he made her stomach feel twisted up in the good way she hadn't experienced in years. "So tell me, what have you been up to?"

It was clear that he was relieved by her answer, sitting down on the bed and patting the spot next to him with a relaxed grin. He reached over to his side, grabbing a box of cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey as Alice sat beside him, leaning against the wall and crossing her legs.

"Where do I even start?" He huffed, taking a swig from the bottle before handing it to Alice. "Well Tommy runs the family now as I'm sure you've heard. I'm in the shop most days but every now and then he sends me or Arthur on these missions."

"Were you on a mission the night I stopped you?"Alice teased before taking a swig from the whiskey.

"Coming back from one actually. And I wasn't even meant to be on it, some prick fucked up last minute. Funny how life works out sometimes."

"What do you do on these missions Tommy gives you?"

"That is peaky blinder business and peaky blinder business only darling. Next question." He chuckled slightly, earning a giggle from her.

"Okay let me think..." She grinned. "Did anything interesting happen before you got into the business? Like what was going on in Small Heath just after I left? Did anyone ever end up scrapping Big Lee? That's the last bit of drama I remember!"

John scoffed and chuckled in amusement before thinking of his answer.

"Well it was just after you left that the war began weren't it, so I couldn't tell you what was happening in Small Heath then... lots of babies been born and lots of people have died. Big Lee's fucking dead, done in the Somme. I was a machine gunner in the Warwickshire Yeomanry, a bloody good one too, although I'm not sure what that says about me... Didn't get me anywhere anyway, still came home to this shit hole with nothing to show for all those years away."

As Alice watched him speak about the war, she could see him getting more withdrawn; his eyes looking distant and his body tensing up. She'd taken a few swigs from the bottle before she stopped his spiralling.

"I suppose I feel a similar kind of way." She interrupted, prompting him to shoot her a confused look.

"What? About killing hundreds of men?"

"No. Not about that. About spending years away, just to come back to this shit hole with nothing to show for it... It just feels like painfully wasted time."

A moment of silence passed between them, John lighting a cigarette and Alice taking another swig, savouring the relaxed feeling it gave her.

"Well, what did you spend all those years away doing? Maybe it wasn't a waste of time." He knew he was playing dumb slightly here, thinking of the injuries she'd arrived to them with and her general change of attitude. To him it was clear that she'd been through some kind of abuse, but he wanted to hear her admit it. Then maybe he could do something about it.

The brown haired girl sighed, looking down at her legs as she thought about the marks hidden by her clothing. The ones left by Jones made her feel unwell and tainted, but the ones left by herself made her feel a sick sense of comfort. She was sure that to the outside world they all looked the same.

Now her mind was focused on Jones though, what he did to her and how unwell it made her. Even now that she'd escaped him, she could feel his poison in her bloodstream, seemingly strengthened by her refusing to ever talk about him.

"Maybe talking will help." The girl thought.

A heavy sigh left her lips before she spoke.

"Well I didn't spend much time with my father, which I suppose was the original plan. He sold me to be married only a few weeks into my stay with him. Obviously his plan had been different all along and my mother stupidly fell for it. I sometimes wonder how much he was paid for me. It probably wasn't even that much; that stupid old bastard."

John took swigs of whiskey between the puffs on his cigarette but remained listening intently. His face straight and emotionless despite the fact that he was clinging onto every word, deeply curious for her truth. Alice's face also remained straight, dissociating while she recalled the traumatic events.

"And my husband.. he's the devil. Never met a man like him, if you can even call him that. There was never a break from it. I'd rather die than ever be in his hands again... he did such evil things to me, things I'm scared to say out loud." Her voice started to shake slightly and she pulled the bottle from John's hand, taking a big swig.

"Why are you scared to say it? No one can hurt you now, you're protected by us."

His words brought a small smile to her lips and she turned to him to make eye contact, instantly feeling her stomach flip as she did.

"Because... it would make you view me differently." She stammered, struggling to keep her cool composure. There was a lot more to it than that, a lot more deep, ugly feelings, but those words were all she could bare to admit.

"What? You think I'd judge you because your husband beat you up? I wouldn't judge no woman for that, that's on that bastard, not you!" He answered back with a level of enthusiasm that surprised her.

It became clear he really did care, but even that didn't give her the strength to say what had truly happened, in all it's gruesome detail.

"He didn't just beat me up. It was so much more than that." She stammered, shrinking under John's gaze. "It.. it was a lot more than that."

He could sense that she was beginning to shut down again, her body becoming rigid and her eyes holding that distant look. Clearly, talking about what had happened was too much for her and so in a split second decision, John leaned across the bed and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug, her body instantly loosening as she sunk into it.

"It's okay. You don't have to talk about it." He whispered, also finding comfort in her hugging him back. He could see his struggles with trauma mirrored through her, as could she with him and for a moment, they both felt their brains stop shouting as they held each other.

—————

For the next couple hours, they spoke and drank; laughing at each other's jokes and reminiscing on their childhoods. After the hug, they made no more physical contact - much to the hidden dismay of both of them - instead staying a foot apart on the bed, passing the bottle or a lighter across it every few minutes.

John found himself completely captivated by the woman. By her wit and intelligence, the humour that would effortlessly fall from her mouth and how beautiful she looked as it fell. Despite the amount of time she spent suffering, her face had not aged as some soldiers did at war. Instead, she'd grown even more gorgeous, "perhaps because she's more mysterious than ever before" thought John, but he couldn't place it exactly.

Alice's mind also ran wild with thoughts of the man beside her. His tough exterior was easily crumbled, instead revealing that inside he was kind, emotionally intelligent and funny. Even with a considerable amount of liquor in his system, he remained charming and cool, two words she never thought she'd use to describe John Shelby.

"He was such a weird kid, always trailing behind me or his brothers. I never expected him to turn out like this." She thought to herself, becoming more impressed by his presence by the minute.

She could sense a deep sadness in him, maybe one that matched her own, and much like his curiosity for her, she decided that she wanted to sniff out that sadness and maybe help fix it. It was the least she could do after he kind of saved her.

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