#probably won’t knock him out but it’ll get him to cry enough to escape

[bajisbabe]

[author’s note] I rewrote this post THREE times...

# DON’T KNOW WHY I STILL TRY, SHE WONDERS WHY

“I don’t trust nobody, not even her.”

they accidentally hit you | Yandere!Mikey, Ran, Wakasa

warnings: accidental violence, brief mention of actual violence, implied kidnap, yandere, Mikey kicking reader, Ran hitting reader, Wakasa kicking reader.

anon said: “Request for a Yandere ran, Mickey and Wakasa where they accidentally hit you? Like they accidentally slap or kicked u too hard for any reason”

song: trust nobody, love nobody the same by sagun (feat. shiloh dynasty)

— is probably beating tf out of someone who thought they could get between you two; maybe someone who came to rescue you or tried to help you escape.

— he is about to end them with that legendary kick of his, but his foot catches your jaw because you thought it would be a great idea to jump in front of whoever Mikey is beefing with in a pathetic attempt to save their miserable life.

— and Mikey is able to slow the kick just enough so that you don’t get the full force, but you still get hit as it was far too late for him to stop when you suddenly jump in front of him like that.

— and you go flying.

— like you’re literally knocked off of your fucking feet.

— and he watches your body crumple on the floor as you land.

— you let out a lil’ yelp as you hit the ground.

— suddenly, he forgets all about the loser he’s beaten bloody and runs over to check on you.

— he kneels over you, tugging your limp body into his lap.

— he smooths back your hair, rubbing his thumbs over your temples as he softly calls your name.

— and when you don’t respond, he gets panicked and begins calling your name louder and louder until you answer with a groggy, “what?”

— he gets so angry at himself that he has to take it out on something, or rather someone.

— so he moves as though he is going to go back to kicking ass, but you weakly tug at his wrist and beg him not to.

— and he sees how weak and vulnerable you are at the moment, and how you’re begging him so sweetly for someone else’s life.

— he hesitates, but in the end, he gives up and leaves that person alone. even though he has already given them the beating of a lifetime.

— and he does his best to help you get somewhere safe where you can be treated without alerting the authorities of course.

— he feels really guilty about it and keeps apologizing.

— and if you ask him not to go after that person again, in this moment, when the guilt is eating him alive, he won’t.

— but only if you ask him now, while he still feels like shit about how things ended up.

— he’s not as smart as people give him credit for.

— he really is quite a brute.

— he swings on kids with bricks and batons in parking lots for fun.

— he is most likely testing out his new weapon, whatever it may be.

— maybe a brand new shiny, steel bat that’s sole purpose is to beat in the faces of anyone who tries to take you away from him.

— he had it custom made to ensure that it’s got the right weight to it.

— and he is just swinging it about when you happen to pop up out of nowhere.

— maybe you had heard all the swooshing and just wanted to see what was up.

— but you happen to come too close and Ran doesn’t even see you, having way too much fun testing out his new weapon.

— and Ran is just swinging, swinging, swinging.

— and then he turns and you’re right fucking there. but it’s too late to stop it.

— luckily enough for you, he is able to lift his hand just enough so that his fist hits you rather than the bat.

— but it still hurts.

— you’re not necessarily knocked off your feet, but you get hit and become dizzy.

— your legs give out and you fall to your knees, cheek aching.

— he immediately collapses to kneel in front of you, hands hovering in front of you.

— he’s too afraid to touch you. he thinks he might hurt you again.

— “sorry.” he blurts, mouth dry.

— this means a lot because Ran never apologizes.

— but he feels so fucking sorry.

— your eyes are glossy, your lower lip pulled between your teeth as you fight back tears.

— I don’t blame you. I KNOW that shit hurt 🤕

— “I’m sorry,” he blurts again. “Can I—is it okay if I—uhm, what do you want me to…?”

— He can’t figure out what to do or how to help you.

— he feels like shit, and he thinks you’re gonna hate him even more now.

— you just sniffle, taking a deep breath as you blink back tears.

— “can I… Is it okay if I…?” His hands jolt as though he’s trying to stop himself from touching you.

— he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to see you scared, or see you flinch.

— and you don’t really have much of a choice because he might have broken something in your face and you need some kind of help, so you take him up on his unsaid offer.

— you nod softly, swallowing a sob as your cheek aches painfully.

— he slowly tugs you into his arms, soothing his large hands over your back.

— he cups your face gently in his hands and tilts your face to get a better look.

— your eyes are stinging as he asks you where exactly it hurts.

— “Sorry,” he murmurs again. “I’ll get Rindou to check on you,” he says. “He’s good with medical shit.”

— actually thinks you look rather nice when crying but won’t mention it because he can read the room.

— coddles you and calls you all kinds of nicknames.

— “baby, I’m sorry.” / “it won’t happen again, sweetheart.” / “I didn’t mean to, honey.”

— sits there while Rindou patches you up, holding your hand (if you let him) and telling you that you’re doing so good whenever you clutch his hand hard or when you squeeze your eyes shut in pain.

— promises to buy you whatever you want to fix it.

— even if you insist that you don’t want anything, he’ll still get you something.

— probably still tells you that he’s sorry under his breath.

— he is so pressed about the situation that he doesn’t even use the shiny, steel bat he bought.

— it’s expensive and custom made, and he’s not gonna use it at all solely because he almost hit you with it.

— he thought you were someone else.

— when he heard someone creeping out of the hideout, he assumed it was an outsider who stumbled across the place and was trying to escape.

— and his reflexes are fast.

— so without thinking, he clocks you upside the head from behind.

— he most likely noticed that it was you he was about to hit but by then, it was too late to stop.

— but he doesn’t even try to hold back or slow the punch at all.

— he lets you take it full force.

— you are quite literally knocked off your fucking feet.

— and when you hit the ground, you’re gasping for air because you’re winded thanks to the impact of the fall.

— and he just peers over you, watching you with that resting bitch face of his.

— he doesn’t even apologize.

— he quietly asks you where you were going, knowing damn well you can’t respond because you cannot breathe.

— and he doesn’t help either.

— he just watches you sputter for air.

— your ribs could be broken.

— and if you get upset and scream about how he could have hurt you, he’ll just shrug and say that he pulled the kick so that you wouldn’t get hurt as bad.

— liar. 😔

— if you need any kind of patching up, he will help.

— but he will probably have something backhanded to say about how if you didn’t try to escape then this wouldn’t have happened.

— is a lil’ insensitive.

— your body is probably sore and aching and he doesn’t even care.

— might purposefully run his hands over the place where he knows it’ll hurt most just to watch your pretty face contort with subtle pain.

— might even take his fingers and dig them into the sensitive skin that suffered from the impact just to see if you’ll yell or cry.

— he finds you interesting and wants to see you make as many expressions as possible.

— expressions of pain are not excluded.

— would be a lil’ hurt if you flinched away from him after the whole ordeal.

— but he isn’t stupid, he could understand why you’d fear him. he just can’t find it in himself to care.

— not that he would intentionally hurt you.

— but if it happens, if happens 🤷🏾‍♀️

— might feel guilty if you show that you’re genuinely upset.

— if you want him to stop poking and prodding at your bruises, you’re gonna have to cry.

— he might go easy on you then, but that’s a might, not a will.

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

alphabet boy

SYNOPSIS: You should feel extremely lucky that the handsome and intelligent Armin Arlert is your tutor...even when he's a little mean to you. Because that's your fault, isn't it? He wouldn't have to be mean if you weren't so damn stupid.

PAIRING: Armin x FEM!Reader

DEDICATED TO: armin fuckers. non armin fuckers, i hope i can convert you.

TW: dubcon touching, manipulative behavior, gaslighting, academia shaming,

WC: 1.8k

“Maybe you’re not cut out for this class.”

He said it so casually, a comment spoken between the flip of textbook pages. You couldn’t shake off the undeniable hurt.

“I-Uhm, uh, yeah I have to study a lot...but I like this class. It was a pain to get off the waitlist.” You keep your voice optimistic and light, hoping to mask the offense taken.

You don’t know why Armin would say that, but maybe he was just being logical...he’s seen you struggle, of course, he’d think the class was too hard for you.

The blond sighs, closing his novel that he brought with him while he waited for you to finish your practice problems.

“You can barely keep up with the weekly homework assignments. You didn’t even hand in your assignment last week, right? Better drop out now before the add and drop deadline.” His voice is soft and cold at the same time. It’s unnerving.

You tuck your hair behind your ears, eyes set low, too ashamed to meet your tutor’s. Armin had been your tutor for the past few weeks now, and you thought it was going pretty well. He was so so smart that you couldn’t help but be a little starstruck. He was handsome too, short-cropped blond hair, wide blue eyes, with a wardrobe that was composed of slacks and sweaters.

Usually, he was always overly polite and charming. You could make countless mistakes and his patience was endless. He had some off-days where he was a little withdrawn and quiet. You never held it against him though, knowing he had no obligation to make idle chatter. But sometimes, you could feel his chilly gaze watching you even though he had a book propped open.

“I emailed the professor, he was really chill about it. Last week was really rough for me, you know? I wasn’t feeling well and...”

“You know excuses don’t fly in the real world right? You’re in college now. Professor Ackerman was just being courteous. He probably thinks you’re lazy.” Even though you try not to look at him, you can feel Armin’s azure blues burn holes into you. There was this quiet intensity about him that made you worry about when the restraints would come off.

Armin can’t help but let condescension drip over his words. Any self-respecting person would defend themselves, but not you. Not when you’re already broken by your own insecurities that make it that much easier for him to trample on.

He can already see pearly-sheened tears leaking from the corner of your hopeless eyes. How cute. You part your pretty little mouth to say something, but no words come out. You close your mouth soon enough, looking every bit like a dumb little airhead.

So he continues: “You know your classmates learned all the first few chapters from high school right? You’re the only one starting fresh.” He moves closer, elbows inching closer to infiltrate your little personal-space bubble, knees knocking into yours under the desk.

More tears form under your lower lashes, and Armin mentally counts the crystal droplets. You’re recoiling into yourself like a shrinking violet which only encourages Armin to go just a little farther.

“You don’t even have your major picked out yet. This is a core class for your classmates, you know. You’re wasting your-no, everyone’s time.”

Not wanting to cry in front of your tutor, you rub your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, fully aware of how utterly pathetic you look right now.

In a small voice, you manage to utter, “I have a right...to be in this class. Even though I’m slow now, I think with some decent amount of studying...I’ll catch up. Even if I’m not-” you take a deep breath, “as quick as my classmates, I still really enjoy what I learn. And..and...I think at the end of the day, that’s what really matters!”

Armin scoffs, “Do you really like the class or are you staying for Ackerman? God knows how many fangirls he’s had to put up with.”

Even as he spoke those words, Armin knew it wasn’t entirely true. You admired the man zealously and had read all of his published papers. Honestly, your admiration had always annoyed him.

You wince at the insinuation but you could feel the anger simmering in your gut, “You have no right to imply that! Wh-why-” Your voice breaks, “are you being so mean?”

Armin thinks you’re so cute, the way you jut out your bottom lip. So cute and pathetic. The corners of his lips quirk upwards. It’s almost endearing how you say “mean” like it’s the worst thing a person can be.

“Am I being mean or am I being realistic?” The blond coos, “I’m your tutor, right? I know the best for you.”

He takes your silence as an invitation to goad you harder: “You’re only upset because I’m telling you what you don’t want to hear.”

You don’t notice the proximity until Armin lays his hand over yours, squeezing the soft flesh of your palms. His voice is gentle as he reassures you: “Hey, hey, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

He made you cry, but you don’t have it in you to pull away from the only semblance of comfort given to you. His chair scrapes the floor as he sets it right beside yours, wrapping an arm around you, encouraging you to lean your head against his shoulder.

It’s a little sad but this is probably the most physical contact you’ve gotten in a while. You’re an utter mess, and on top of all that, touch-starved.

You’re still sniffling like a crybaby, trying to sort your own emotions out. You take a few deep breaths and force yourself to face the facts:

You’re behind.

The class is too much work for you.

Armin’s right, you’re upset because he’s telling you what you don’t want to hear.

“D-do you really think I should drop the class?” Your voice is so defeated, a pinch louder than a whisper.

His long fingers play with the ends of your hair, “I know this class is really important to you and we both want you to do well...so why don’t we increase our tutoring sessions? Maybe we should meet three times a week.”

He smiles at you, and it looks so genuine. You’re immensely grateful, you are, but confusion washes over you, “Wow, Uh, that’ll be great actually but um, uni tutoring services is once a week...so-”

Armin dismisses your concerns with a gentle wave of his hands, “Don’t worry, It’ll be off the books. Think of this as private tutoring. Of course, we’ll have to start meeting in my room from now on.”

While he doesn’t elaborate on why you have to meet in his dorm, you assume Armin has a good reason and it probably involves university-sanctioned student-tutor guidelines.

You’re stammering out thank-you’s, still trying to rub the tears out of your eyes until you feel a soft handkerchief wiping them away.

“It’s okay, don’t worry.” He reassures, “Don’t use your sleeve. It’s too rough for your pretty face.”

You blush under his words, wide eyes locked into his oceanic blues, “I d-don’t know if I’ll be able to compensate you f-for the private tutoring.”

His eyebrows crease as he gives you a smile full of pearly teeth, “You don’t have to worry about that for now.” His hands graze over your knuckles, “We’ll figure something out.”

“Thank you Armin.” You say it so sincerely, trying to muster the biggest smile you can after the blond essentially trampled over your self-esteem to only nurse it back with sweet promises.

“Well, we better finish today’s work then.” He responds calmly, not bothering to detangle himself from you. You can feel his body heat radiating onto you, and how his hand moved to casually rest on your thigh. But that’s normal right? If you think about it, Armin was not exactly adverse to touch. During your past tutoring sessions, his hand would always be on the small of your back or shoulders.

“Hey, you’re not getting distracted again, are you?” His voice is playful like he isn’t sliding his hand up and down the span of skin between your skirt and tights. When you don't respond, he pinches your inner thigh, eliciting a startled gasp from you.

"Focus." It's a demand so it must be followed.

Embarrassed, you nod your head and return your focus to the problem sets even though your hands are shaky as you grip the ballpoint pen.

You don’t notice how the blond’s eyes gleam under the fluorescent lighting at your easy compliance. He’s always liked obedient girls.

Your thighs are growing warmer, and it doesn’t help to have Armin peering over you. Still, you try your best to lull yourself to focus until a ringtone breaks your concentration.

Armin breaks away from you to find his phone and you find your body subconsciously missing the warmth. He lightly curses under his breath once he sees the contact name, but answers nonetheless.

“Yeah...sorry babe. I forgot. I’ll be right over.” He sounds apologetic but he looks downright bored.

And like that, the call is over. He looks over at you with an apology falling from his lips, “Sorry about that. I forgot I had something to do today. We’ll end early.”

Your throat is dry as you ask, “Was that your girlfriend?” You regretted your words the moment they escaped. That was none of your business. It doesn’t matter if he was holding you earlier. He was doing so because you were bawling like a baby. But why did he touch your thighs?

That doesn’t have to mean anything, you rationalize. Besides, Armin would never make a move on you. He was a handsome senior with a perfect GPA and a powerful position in the student government. Stupid freshman girls like you are not worth the time he so generously gives out.

The blond smirks, seeming to notice your internal struggle, “Something like that. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure she won’t distract me from our future sessions.”

That was a puzzling comment. His girlfriend supposedly distracting from your study time wasn’t even a concern you held.

“No, no, that’s ok.” You quickly assure, “You’ve already helped me out so much.”

The blond pats the top of your head like you were a puppy, “I’d do anything for my cute little student.”

The way your face heats up with a dark blush should be criminal. All he did was pat your head, and you’re looking at him starry-eyed like he didn’t grope your thighs under the table. Honestly, all your cute little blubbering had gone straight to his cock. Annie would have to handle his big problem.

These private sessions are going to be fun.

part I ---- complete

[reidyoulikeabook]

Personal Google

4 times Spencer knows the answer, and the 1 time he doesn’t.

Summary: Spencer is your own personal Google. He always knows the answer to anything you ask him.

Warnings: Pining, slow burn-ish (?), reader and Spencer are both idiots who aren’t acknowledging their feelings for each other. Some mentions of a case and case-typical violence. No references to the gender of the reader!

Word count: 2k (this ran away from me)

A/N: Part two to this is here!

Requests: open!!

“Hey Spence?” You call, barely looking up from your phone as you scroll through Twitter, “What’s a hedgefund?”

“Are you reading about the GameStop stock?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

He clears his throat, and you look up at him, “Okay. A hedgefund is a way for accredited investors to invest in a way that minimises the risk to their own assets. Without getting too complicated, because it can get really convoluted, it’s basically just a way for rich people to get richer a lot of the time because a prerequisite for investing in the majority is having a high net income or a high net worth to begin with.”  

You smile, “So basically rich people are getting screwed?”

“Something like that.”

“Good,” You respond, putting your phone away.

You swear you hear a little laugh escape his mouth as he turns back to the computer at his desk.

***

You’re sat on the jet, in your usual seat next to him, when everything starts to go pear-shaped. It jolts a little, sending you knocking into his side. You grimace.

“It’s just a little turbulence,” Hotch says, “Probably because of the storm coming from the East. We should be landing soon.”

Rationally, you realise there’s nothing to be afraid of. But it’s easier said than done to keep rational when the plane’s rattling like a pack of smarties and your head is bashing against Spencer’s bony shoulder every five seconds.

He senses your unease, tentatively reaching across to take hold of your hand. His instinct is to supply statistics about plane crashes but something in him tells him you won’t respond too well if he tells you the odds of getting in a small plane crash are higher than a regular commercial flight but still lower than the chances of being involved in a motor vehicle accident. Instead, he chooses a different tactic.

“It’ll be alright, we’ve been in the air for two hours and,” He squints at his watch, “Forty-three minutes. This flight’s two hours fifty-eight tops.”

You nod, “Hey Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember this morning when you were telling me about the French dancing plague and we got interrupted by the call about the case?”

You don’t have to say anything more, he immediately launches into a spiel about France in 1615: the death of crops, how the people felt they were being spited by God, the whole thing. He gestures wildly with his free hand, but the hand that lies atop of yours doesn’t budge an inch. You rub small circles on it with your thumb, which goes unacknowledged. Privately, you’re a little disappointed. Privately, he’s afraid you’ll stop if he points it out.

***

It’s been a long and fruitless day. The local PD had been worse than useless, they were so reluctant to accept that anybody from their town could possibly have been responsible for what was going on that it felt like a constant battle to get anything done. You’d been out interviewing possible witnesses from the local bar. Well, trying to, you would have been a lot more successful if the Sheriff hadn’t constantly been under your feet, undermining your questions and generally resulting in making you look like an idiot.

Hotch had chewed him out in the end, relinquishing you from interview duty to help Spencer with the geographical profile back at the station. He’s scribbling away on the map while you slump in the chair, a little defeated.

“Hey Spence?”

“Hmm?” He hums in response, not taking his eyes off the section he’s just crossed out.

“How come you’re ruling out that side of town?”

He flips the whiteboard pen in his hands, returning its cap before turning around to you, “A lot of the area over there is industrial. I’ve been combing through to get a closer look, but it doesn’t look like our unsub would have the kind of privacy he needs. There are a lot of factories, granted, but they’re pretty much all occupied. He’s meticulous, I don’t think he’d take the risk of working in an environment where he couldn’t control anything and risking getting himself caught. And from what we know about him he certainly isn’t affluent enough to rent property on that side of town. Rent is almost three times as expensive there,” he gestures with his hands, tapping the lid of the pen on the area he means, “I think he’s more likely to be from the northmost part of town.”

You smile, “I don’t know how you do that.”

He opens his mouth to respond before seeing the softness in your eyes, realising you’re not asking for an explanation. You’re giving him a compliment. His chest feels a little warm.

***

You can’t sleep that night, despite how exhausting your day has been. You’d think the physical and mental exhertion would knock you out but instead you’re sat on your bed, idly flipping through TV channels. Not much is on except some old NCIS re-runs, and oddly enough you don’t feel like watching a crime show.

You could text Spencer. The thought appears in your head of its own accord, without your consent.

You could though.

10:12pm - You

You’d think after a day like today I’d be able to get some rest

10:13pm - Spencer

You can’t sleep?

10:13pm - You

No, sorry, I didn’t think you’d be asleep

10:14pm - Spencer

I can’t sleep either, don’t worry. Do you want to come over to my room? I have a documentary about Pearl Harbour I was going to watch

10:14pm - Spencer

Or we could do something else. Not sure if Pearl Harbour is more fun for you than struggling to fall asleep

10:15pm - You

A Pearl Harbour documentary sounds great

Thankfully you’d had the forethought to bring nice sleeping attire rather than your old ratty ones. You’d learnt your lesson before, when your presence had been required in the middle of the night and you’d had to scramble down to team meetings in pyjama bottoms that had a hole in the right thigh.

You take a quick look at yourself in the mirror, some anxiety fluttering in your stomach for some reason.

It’s odd. It’s hardly the first time you’ve been over to Spencer’s room for crying out loud, I mean he’s the person you’re closest to on the team and your best friend and your private yearning for him is mostly   inconsequential. Mostly. Except you fix your hair and smooth down your top a little anyway.

He’s only three doors down and it’s easy enough to slip quietly into his room. He sits on the bed, two glasses of water resting on the bedside table, his laptop resting by his knees. He’s illuminated by the bedside lamp next to him, and his hair looks fluffy as hell. No doubt from him running his own hands through it in frustration today. He smiles at you, patting the space next to him.

You pad across and join him, “Hey Spence.”

“Hi.”

His laptop isn’t particularly loud, and the screen isn’t very big, so you end up sat quite close to him. The laptop rests on his lap. You hesitate before nuzzling in against him, feeling how his breath catches in his chest as your head rests against his on the bedframe.

“Is this okay?” You ask.

“Yeah,” He answers, a small content smile playing on his lips, “Yeah this is okay.”

***

You’re not sure when or how you fell asleep but you wake up with a start to the sound of pounding on the door. And you’re not in your own bed. You briefly acknowledge the warmth next to you before it’s gone, Spencer leaping out of bed to answer the door.

“We’ve been-” Emily stands in the doorway, the bedroom lamp that you must have neglected to turn off allowing her to catch a glimpse of your dazed face, “Reid, why is ____ in your room?”

Spencer opens his mouth, flustered and unsure of what to say, floundering between looking at you both for a moment before  Emily rescues him. The digital clock obnoxiously blinks the time: 2:18am.

“Okay we’re definitely talking about this later but there’s another body, Hotch wants us all down at the station in 15.”

It occurs to you, as you rush embarassed from Spencer’s room, apologising to him at least five times on your way out, that the only thing standing between you and a million questions about your personal life is the focus on an unsub who you’ll hopefully catch today. You shrug your clothes over your head, replacing them with fresh ones and pulling on your shoes. The jet home is going to be fun.

—-

You were right to be hopeful about today. The unsub is tracked down and arrested by the time night comes around. His arrest is clean, no hostages and no shots fired. Really, in your line of work, it was the best possible outcome.

Hotch made the call that you’d spend another night here, since there was paperwork that’d need to be taken care of in the morning and some final loose ends that required wrapping up. You suspected some small part of it was because J.J wanted to ensure you made nice and left things on good terms with the local PD before you left, since there’d been a lot of headbutting throughout the case. Spencer had also been completely right about the geographical profile, the unsub had been working and killing from a rundown ramshackle house in the northmost suburb.

Speaking of Spencer, you’d barely acknowledged each other since this morning. Sure, you’d shared rooms together before, even beds when the occasion had called for it, but you’d never been so intimate before.

Maybe it was best for you both if you just ignored the whole thing entirely, carried on as normal. Yeah. Yeah that’s what you’d do.

You worried about the meaning of anything you said being lost over text so you headed to his room, knocking on his door. It brought a small smile to your face to think how you’d been on the other side of it the last time someone knocked.

He opens it, just slightly, before relaxing when he sees it’s you, “Hey.”

“Hi,” You step past him into the room, watching him close the door and take a step towards you.

He waits for you to speak.

“So. We never finished that documentary.”

He laughs, soft, “We didn’t.”

“Do you want to finish it now?”

“Uh…”  He visibly pauses and you feel a small twinge in your chest. Maybe you’d made him uncomfortable, maybe you’d misread the whole thing, maybe you’d...

He interrupts your self-deprecating runaway train of thoughts with a simple, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

As you settle down to watch the film, his laptop situated firmly in the middle of the bed this time, you feel the gulf between you. Empty space where his leg rested against yours yesterday. Still, that was what he wanted, right? His own space. Not to talk about it.

You don’t notice because you’re watching the documentary, but Spencer has to stop himself from reaching his arm out for you when he stretches. You didn’t want to talk about it, obviously. Meaning you probably wished it hadn’t happened. He tried to ignore the ache in his chest at that thought, the hollow feeling it left. Thankfully it wasn’t too long before you spoke again.

“Hey Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“Is this historically accurate?”

And explaining the nuances of Japanese-American history is much easier for him.

[whaleofatjme1920]

EJ SIMPS RISE 😤😤💪💪💪

may i please request a scenario for yandere ej x fem reader where ej is punishing the reader for escaping ? feel free to go DARK dark with this one <3

Cream Colored Ceiling

[Eyeless Jack X F!Reader]

[Warnings: NSFW - but not for sexual content, just violence, what isn't a warning in this one, mentions of cannibalism (but there is no described cannibalism, just allusions to it), EJ physically harms the reader, amputation, violence of all kinds, throw up, look this is just,,,, it's dark. I repeat, there is no sexual content in here, it's just physically violent]

[AN: yeah. This was uh, yeah.]

Hazy, your mind is hazy. You wake and open your eyes to see that same fucking cream colored ceiling with water damage leaking through the top and dangerously close to your bed, if you’d even want to call it your bed.

You raise one of your hands that feels heavier than stones and wipe quietly at your eyes, dusting them from the sleep. Your body feels heavy, oh so heavy.

You sit up. Nothing strange so far.

Has he really been that gracious with you?

You yawn and stretch, joints and bones popping as you look out the window. There’s that cursed forest. It looks dark, shadowy, misty. The fog is rolling in and you know with it comes the rain. You’re going to be stuck here forever, aren’t you?

The sunlight doesn’t filter through the window, but there’s light regardless. You’re deep into mid Autumn and with it will come winter. It’ll be the third winter you’ve been trapped with this monster.

Your mouth feels dry, much too dry. You smack your lips together a few times, wondering where your saiva has gone and decide to go to the kitchen. It seems like Jack isn’t home right now, which is probably for the best. Alongside him being out, so too is your natural fear of him. You swing your legs over the side of your bed, wondering why you feel so physically exhausted before attempting to stand up.

“Shit!” You cry out as your knees buckle beneath you, your body cascading like a pile of bricks to the floor. Your knees and palms blank onto the hardwood, digging into you most uncomfortably. Tears well in your eyes as you struggle to get off the floor. You continue to curse under your breath as you glance back at your ankles where large surgical wounds lay, covered in stitches and gauze. What the fuck? When did that happen?

Your heart begins to race when you slow, calculated steps padding on the floor. You’re all too familiar with the sound of those combat boots knocking on the floor, pacing back and forth and keeping you awake at all hours of the night. Panic sears itself into your heart as you attempt to get up, pathetically crawling along the floor and reaching for your bedpost.

Jack stands in your doorway, his large form casting a shadow on your throw rug. He tsks, and you can already tell he’s more than disappointed with you. “What did I tell you about getting up?” He asks, voice smooth and clinical, once again padding towards you.

You feel tears well in your eyes as you curl as tightly into a ball as you can.

Jack breathes out with slight disappointment before crouching down and seeing your sorry form. “You knew this was going to happen,” he says, half lidded eyes watching you curiously before he reaches his large, gloved hand out. “Did you pop any of your sutures?” He tilts his head to the side and looks over your swollen, still bloodied ankles. “I think you might’ve.” He reaches to pick you up and you begin to panic, blubbering your apologies.

“I’m sorry, please, don’t touch me, don’t hurt me-” you begin to babble, your remaining strength trying their hardest to push the behemoth away. Tears well in your eyes as Jack grips your calves, sending pain holting like lightning strikes up and down your lower body, making you cry out in pain.

“You deserve it,” he murmurs, his claws pinching into your skin before he lifts you. A glance of annoyance passes over his face before he yanks your grip from the bed.

You struggle against him as you pound your fists into his broad chest, tears of frustration falling down your cheeks.

The tall demon moves without budging. He doesn’t care, you barely feel like a scratch to him.

You watch your surroundings, still fighting against him and feel your heart sink when you realize he’s taking you down the hall that he’s deemed forbidden. The energy you feel from this specific hallway makes you cry out in fear.

Jack eats it up, his own heart beating just a little faster. You won’t ever do what you pulled last night again. He juggles you into one his arms and uses his free hand to unlock the door, the slight beeps of numbers being added into a keypad making your attention shift ever so slightly.

The inside of this room is like a horror scene to you. You see an operating table, and stainless steel tables, cabinets and countertops. There’s a large trash bin filled with bloody gauze and other things, such as discarded clothes, clumps of hair, things you don’t want to think of. Is this it? Is he finally going to kill you?

Fear overtakes your system again and renders you to nothing but silent sobs as Jack pulls off a turquoise colored sheet from the operating table, placing you down.

You try to get off, wiggling and clawing at him. “Let me go!” You cry out like a broken record of a mantra, your eyes wild and feral.

Jack simply shrugs you off, tying large leather brown straps over your waist and your chest, rendering you immobile. “The more you struggle, the more it’s going to hurt you,” he hums, his clawed hands moving across your chest to your wrists. He quickly ties you down there as well, your legs numbly kicking at him through the pain due to severed Achilles tendons. He flicks the wound on your left leg, grinning at your pain. “Won’t be needing these anymore,” he chuckles.

“What?” You say in shock, pupils restricting to the size of pim points.

He takes a seat on his wheeled stool and begins setting you up with an IV drip. “Gonna sedate you, and when you wake up?” He warmly smiles, pricking the vein on your right arm with the needle, making you weakly thrash once more. “Get some sleep,” he murmurs, pumping some sedatives into your bloodstream.

You feel more tears welling in your eyes as your conscience begins to wean. The world becomes more shapes and colors, merging into brightness and shadows before you finally slip into your dreams.

You haven’t been able to trick Jack like this in the history of well, ever. Almost three years with this nightmare and you’ve finally gained enough of his trust to ask him for some time out.

“Don’t stay in there for too long,” he says, large hand gripping your thigh as you swallow down the feeling of hitting him from where you remain seated in the passenger seat. “I want you back safely,” he murmurs, his other hand gently letting go of the wheel to cup your face.

You do your best to show love and admiration in your eyes as you meet his gaze. “Don’t worry. It’s just an hour or so, okay?” You hum, your hand gently holding his and burying your face deeper into his warmth.

“I don’t know why you need anyone else’s company,” he says, a slight acrid venom seeping into his tone. “You don’t need anyone else but me.” It’s almost cute how offended he sounds.

You play the part of loving him. “I know, I know,” you coo, taking his hand from your face and pressing your lips into a pucker. You raise his hand to them, planting a kiss on his palm. “I love you. I won’t be that long.”

Jack’s heart flutters. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.” He says, watching you as you unbuckle yourself, his hand reluctantly leaving your thigh.

You flash him a warm smile and lean over to press a kiss to his cheek, and then his lips. You try not to spit at the scent of blood and taste of rot before pulling away. You then open up his car, sliding from the passenger seat and to the rinky dink little bar you’d managed to convince him to let you go to. Just an hour - that’s all it was. Just an hour. You’d be in and out, get some drinks, and come straight back to his car.

Due to Jack’s appearance, he had told you he couldn’t go in. They’d know something was wrong with him immediately, and you’d gained enough of his trust for you to be away for just an hour. Come straight back to the car when it reaches 10 PM. You promised him. And he fucking believed you.

It wasn’t that hard finding some idiot down on his luck with the ladies. You cozied up next to him, getting to sit with him at the bar and start talking. He was so attentive and sweet, so receptive to the story you had made up to him.

“That sounds awful,” he says, voice low and sweet. His deep blue eyes look at you with nothing but gentleness and fondness. His hand reaches for yours across the bar and you smile, allowing him to take it.

“I just wanna get away from that brute,” you admit. “I just wanna go home.”

He squeezes you just a little tighter. “Why don’t we go back to my car and call the cops?” He offers.

“Where did you park?” You ask, hoping it’s not in the front lot where Jack remains waiting for you.

“In the back.”

What a relief.

A slight smile blooms on your face as you nod. “Yeah, let’s go,” you finally answer. You hop off the barstool and then grip his hand, letting him lead you through the bar and the sea of people. It smells like sweat, alcohol, and regret - you love it. It smells like the beginning of freedom, something better. Maybe, just maybe…

He opens the backdoor to you, allowing you out first. The crisp night air of autumn greets you with her beauty. You can smell maple leaves and pumpkins out in the distance, the atmosphere is incredible. “That one’s mine,” he says, pointing to his car a little ways down in the parking lot under one of the yellow lights. He continues holding your hand as the two of you walk through the parking lot.

You watch as he unlocks the car door, walking around the side to let you in. You accompany him and slide into the passenger seat. Putting this seat belt on feels almost liberating. You giggle when the short man closes the door before walking around the front of his car.

And then he pauses.

Fear seeps into his eyes and leans forward, his abdomen cutting into the hood of the hunk of metal that can barely be called a car before sweat beads and rolls down his forehead. He begins to cough, violently.

Your eyes widen in shock as he begins to cough up blood, and tears well in his eyes. They roll down his cheeks, fat and crystalline like the beads of sweat. He reaches out to you, mouthing for you to run before finally slumping forwards.

You see him, the behemoth that’s held you captive for three years, a sapphire colored mask boring into your soul and searing into your mind with what you can understand is pure, unadulterated rage. You scramble, panicking as you notice the large blade that’s wedged itself into the man’s back as he seizes on the car, his thick body rolling off from the hood and landing with a large ‘thump!’ as he does so. Foam and the smell of something unpleasant wafts upwards and you palm the handle of the car, attempting to release yourself.

Jack takes slow, calculated steps forwards, his shadow growing larger as he gears up to catch you and claim you as his.

Your heart pounds like a drum in your chest, the panic overtaking your system as you finally get the car open. You shoot out of the metal cage like a bat from hell and stumble onto the asphalt, hissing as the black tar digs into your knees and palms. No time for registering your pain, you need to run! Like a freshly born faun, you hobble up and begin to run, wondering if you can make it back to the bar and the safety of other people when Jack’s steps grow quicker.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! He’s going to catch you and he’s going to kill you!

“You’re such a stupid little rabbit,” he hums, watching as you sorely sprint towards the door. “Look what you’ve done,” he taunts, hand gesturing to the man. “You made me kill him and I’m not even hungry,” he hums. “Maybe I should make you eat it instead,” he muses.

The thought alone makes your stomach retch. You stumble once more, body feeling violently ill as you cave. The alcohol paired with his words has you emptying your stomach of its contents that splash to the asphalt, the sickly acrid and saccharine taste overtaking your mouth.

Jack’s giant form finally overtakes you. He stands with his hands behind his back, peering down at you with disdain. “Fucking disgusting,” he coos in a tone that reminds you of a condescending father. He grips the back of your neck and forces you down.

You screech and fight him, not wanting to touch what came out of you.

“No? No,” he grins. “Fine. Let’s go see your date.” His claws dig into your neck as he drags you back to the man’s car where he’s finally gone still. He’s left a puddle of blood. Jack laughs quietly at your struggling before forcing you to your knees. “Are you hungry?”

“No-”

“I think you mean yes.”

The taste of blood still lingers in your mouth, and it remains even in your slumber.

Of course, you passed out due to your traumatic experience, and threw up again as well. Jack took advantage of your fragile state and brought you back to your home, the place you belonged - with him. He cut your Achilles tendons, just a warm up, really.

“Time to wake up.” Jack’s voice permeates your head, rousing you from your slumber. His gloved hands are snapping in front of you.

It’s bright, much too bright. Your body feels simultaneously heavier and lighter. Where are you? You see that you’re now looking into an operating light, and it’s super uncomfortable. “What did you do to me?” You ask drowsily.

Jack ignores your question and instead picks you up. His footsteps begin to lull you into sleep.

Exhausted, you fall back in again, and this time? This time, it’s dreamless.

It’s that fucking cream colored ceiling again that you open your eyes to. The water damage is still the same, and you realize you’re still stuck. You’re about to get up when you hear your door opening.

“Nice to see you up,” Jack says, watching as you slowly come to. “Did you dream about anything?”

You narrow your eyes recoiling as he reaches his hand out to pet you.

Jack glares at you for a moment, his hand straightening before he slaps you. “Don’t get testy, I’ll take your arms next,” he murmurs.

You’re about to bite back when you take in his words. What? Your heart begins to sink, deeper and deeper as your hand shakily reaches to the edge of your bed sheets. No. No. NO. You hold your breath as you rip the sheets off. Your flesh is swollen, puffy and looks like it’s crying out in its own form of pain. Large, manila colored casts and bandages surround your thighs and what remains of your knees.

You begin to hyperventilate. Your chest begins to rise and fall faster and faster - your body feels like a prison.

Jack only coos. “Stop that,” he says lovingly, hand petting your head as you fall deeper and deeper into despair. He removes the black glove from his hand and grabs your face, his dark, eyeless sockets boring into your own eyes. He looks at you with such adoration that acts as a front for the betrayal and anger he feels for you deep down inside. He draws closer to your tear stained face, a small smile bearing shark-like teeth at you before parting his lips to speak to you. “You’re being hysterical.”

[1kook]

dreamy

—pjm x (f) reader

summary; You try to not let it get to you, but Jimin is so cool and you want him to be your boyfriend so bad. warnings; ANGST lol, fwb, reader is very :(( rating; mature (18+) bc tiny smut lol  misc; small smut scene, a happy ending <3 wc; 2.5k

notes; i have to post on #JIMIN’s bday or else i cannot live with myself anyway here’s me trying to fit an entire novella plot line in less than 5k words clap for me except maybe don't bc its not proofread anyway hbd jimin <3

Jimin is a nice guy, but you doubt he’d make a nice boyfriend. He fucks you hard and fast, just as you like, but hardly goes out of his way to sprinkle in any other requests. He’s got a one track mind, doesn’t dwell too long on what you say or how you’re feeling. Doesn’t matter because he’s just supposed to be a fuck buddy, the hot guy you met at a party, so you don’t let it phase you. But, well. Jimin is dreamy.

Sometimes he holds your hand while he eats you out and it sends your thoughts into a frenzy, makes your heart pound a little too fast to brush it off as just arousal. He’s got this gorgeous smile, plush lips framing pearly teeth, and when he flashes it your way, it makes your knees weak. Tells you you’re pretty when he picks you up from class, always holds your hand on the way to his place for your routine fuck. Cute and nice like an angel, but just like an angel, he hardly gives a shit about anyone’s feelings but his own.

He laughs when you ask him to hang out that weekend.

“What, like a date?” he snorts, bare chest glistening from his post-fuck exertion. You're pressed against his side now, circling his pretty brown nipple with your finger. “That’s corny.”

You try to not let it get to you, but Jimin is so cool and you want him to be your boyfriend so bad. “Yeah, silly right,” you murmur, ear pressed to his heart. It’s calming and soothing, a slow thrum that contrasts with your own racing heart.

He’s not one for dates or for romantic things like that. But neither is he some player, a cheater, a two-timer. You can count the number of times he’s slept with someone who wasn’t you in your weird fuck buddy relationship, and all four of those had been when you first started sleeping together and only when you had been out of town. You’re no saint either, so you try to understand. He was just horny, liked getting his dick wet, and sometimes he couldn’t wait for you. Understandable, you tell yourself, but your heart hurts a little bit when he begins snoring without really answering your question.

See the thing is, you really like Jimin. It’s been a little over a year now since you’ve met, so you’ve had plenty of time to learn all about him. He doesn’t like pancakes for breakfast, prefers them for lunch actually, and laughs when you tell him that’s weird. He’s got this really dorky laugh, something between a bell and a whistle— it depends on the situation. Sometimes, Jimin likes when you play with his hair, and other times he doesn’t. He’s a sweet boy, you know he is, so why won’t he settle down?

You hate to attribute it to some past trauma, some “my girlfriend broke my heart when I was seventeen” mess, but the more time that passes you begin to believe it’s true. Jimin was a tough nut to crack, and the longer this drags on, the longer he ignores your feelings, you begin to doubt you will ever see them fulfilled.

Maybe you should end this now before it’s too late.

You don’t stay for breakfast the next morning, simply kiss him goodbye at the door like always. He’s older than you, about two years, so he doesn’t go to school anymore, just chills at home all weekend. “I’ll see you soon?” he grins, low-lidded eyes tracking the movement of your mouth as you bid him adieu. You never give him a solid response, figure a guy like Jimin will forget about you soon enough.

Then, suddenly, it’s been two weeks and he doesn’t reach out. Yeah it hurts, but it’s better than having confessed to him and losing him all at once. You’d rather this ending than the one where he terribly rejects you, breaks your heart into a million pieces, and throws you away. Still, it hurts.

Jimin was so cool. He was smart and confident, had a snappy sort of attitude that he liked to use now and then. He could be mean in bed, lick your cunt until you cried and call you a stupid girl when he wanted to. But that same tongue had snapped at a guy who was trying to pressure you into bed with him at a party. That first night you met, where you had sillily followed him home after his dashing intervention, you had thought it would be nothing more. Just a fling, just a fuck.

But then he was in your bed and in your head, twinkling eyes and cocky grin trailing after you everyday. He was so pretty and so suave, made you feel good even when he was being mean. But you suppose most cocky men like Jimin are like that. They know they don’t disappoint, even when they’re not really trying.

Jimin doesn’t call or text. You don’t see his car pull up outside your campus anymore. He’s gone and that’s that. You cry a little (see: a lot) and pretend you’re over him. You definitely don’t think about his soft laughter or his hands on your chest. Nope.

So that ends.

Or so you think.

Your friends say you’re mopey and sad, too down for someone who wasn’t even your boyfriend. It’s true, which sucks, but they honor your admittance by taking you out to a bar that night. It’s supposed to be chill and relaxing, just some drinks with the girls to soothe your aching heart. But the name of the bar reminds you of something, of someone you can’t reach anymore, and you don’t even know why. You’ve never been here before, never even knew this place existed. But everything about it brings you back to Jimin, like you’re in his space now, and you’re unsure why.

It reminds you of his laugh, his smile, to the point you swear you can hear it, right beside you, down the bar, to your left—

He waves.

There’s this look he used to give you every time he picked you up from your last class, this mix between adoration and lust that made your skin tingle with excitement. It’s not there now, in fact, it’s replaced with the complete opposite. It’s, like, the meanest look he can muster, something akin to a scowl. He smiles, but it’s so plastic-y and fake, it makes your head hurt. He’s so obviously unimpressed with you, probably because you ghosted him before he could ghost you. Maybe his pride is hurt and looking at you grosses him out. Maybe he just hates you.

Either way, eleven pm rolls around and you’re crying in the bathroom. Your friends are out on the floor having fun and singing karaoke. They think you’ve gone inside because you got your period, because that’s what you’ve told them. You don’t know how to explain that your ex who isn’t really your ex is out there looking at you like you’re a piece of gum stuck under his shoe. They’ve never even met Jimin. Why? Because he wasn’t your boyfriend. Who meets their friend’s fuck buddy? No one.

You sniffle, press a balled up tissue against your eyes in a feeble attempt to save your makeup. The bar isn’t that small, but neither is it huge. There’s only a few bathrooms in the back, and you’ve been hogging one of them for some time now. Someone knocks on the door, and you don’t even get the chance to ward them off before the crappy knob jingles and the door bursts open.

“Come on,” he grumbles, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta piss—“

He pauses, meets your eye through the mirror in surprise. “I’m sorry,” you blubber, hurriedly washing your hands in an effort to avoid his gaze. Jimin lingers at the door, which has long since fallen shut, and watches you with the eyes of a hawk. Your hands tremble and shake, fumble over the towel dispenser three times before you’re hastily making your escape. “Sorry,” you mutter again, head downcast as you move around him for the door.

Just as it cracks open, the music from outside filtering in, he slams it shut with a flat palm. You flinch, close in on yourself as he steps behind you. “What’re you doing here, doll?” he murmurs, deep yet careful. Tentative. “You don’t like bars.”

You know you don’t like bars. You didn’t know he knew that. “I’m with some friends,” you explain, jump when a hand touches your shoulder. “I— I’ll leave soon.”

A second attempt for the door is thwarted by Jimin. “Don’t,” he startles, breath heavy against your ear. “Don’t leave again…” he sighs, forehead against your shoulder. And then, quietly, “why did you leave me?”

Your heart syncs up with the music outside, thunders in your ears as you purse your lips. You don’t want to talk about it now, don’t want to confess to these emotions that drown you. Especially not when he’ll never understand nor will he ever care. It’s best to leave it as is, you convince yourself, slowly shrugging him off.

“We don’t want the same things,” you reply, eyes burning with the need to cry like a baby. But it’ll weaken your argument, make you look like the sentimental girl you know he won’t like. “It wouldn’t work anyway.”

The hand on your shoulder jerks you around, makes a gasp catch in your throat when he crowds you against the door. He’s got that same glare on from before, the one he had sent you across the bar earlier, and it makes your lower lip tremble when it’s this close. “You never asked me what I wanted,” he hisses.

It is then that you realize it isn't anger or disgust, but frustration that paints his features. It’s pure, unadulterated confusion and distress on his pretty face, furrowed brows and narrowed eyes pointed your way. You don’t know what it means, don’t know what he wants. “I,” you choke, weakly covering your face with your hand before he can see you crumble. “I just wanted you.”

Jimin deflates, steps closer until his body is pressed against yours, hands on your shoulders. “And you have me, doll,” he murmurs, bumps his nose against yours. “Always have.”

You shake your head, choke on a sob that bubbles up your throat. “No, not like that,” you stress, losing yourself in the emotions you spent so much time bottling up. “I wanted more.”

Jimin shushes you, guides your head into the crook of his neck where you paint his skin in dark mascara tears. “Is this about the date?” he sighs, patting your head gently.

“It’s more than just the date,” you cry, fists curling into the material of his shirt until it rumples beyond repair. He doesn’t understand.

Jimin nods, let’s you cry and sob until you’re feeling better and someone else is pounding at the door, yelling at you two to get a proper room. You don’t want a room, you only want his heart. 

He takes you home again, helps you out of your shoes at the door because you’re still sensitive and quiver like a leaf when you walk. His bedroom is familiar, smells like him and his detergent. You miss it so much, want to savor it once more. Something in your gut says this is the last time, this is just Jimin getting one last fuck out of you before he really abandons you.

So you cry when he sits down on the edge of the bed. He hasn’t even said anything, hasn’t even taken his socks off yet, but you’re already a mess.

And of course he’s there to catch you, tugs you between his legs to look up at you as if you’ve hung the stars in the sky. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, reaching up to brush away your tears. But it’s not your fault that he looks like that right before he’s going to break your heart.

He’s so cool, even when you’re falling apart in his hands. “You don’t want me,” you sniffle, let him guide you onto his lap. “You just want to fuck and that’s it.”

Jimin leans his forehead against yours, warm breath washing over your skin. “I never said that,” he murmurs. “We’ve been over this.”

You huff. “Well you never said you did either,” you snap, rubbing at your eyes.

You cry and cry some more, until your sobs subside and you’re left with the hiccups afterwards. Jimin maneuvers you beside him, lets your hair spill across the sheets as he lays you down. They smell just like him, make your head spin when he kisses your cheek softly. “I want you,” he confesses. “I want this.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, you don’t,” you sniff, but you’re not so sure. It’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the longest. Hearing him say otherwise sounds weird, even if he’s saying what you want to hear. “You don’t.”

Jimin catches your hand in his, pins it to the mattress. “I want you to be mine,” he adds, swallows your cries of denial with his lips. He kisses softly, and for the first time, it feels like he’s paying attention to you. Not your body or your lust, but your heart. “Had me feeling like shit when you didn’t come back. Like I lost something big.”

You still cry when he kisses down your neck, over your chest. His hands pull your clothes off, carefully like you’re a present for him to unwrap. Those plush lips you love so much drown you in kisses, over your tummy and your mound, until they’re buried between your cunt. “You’re mine,” he husks out, hand entwined with yours.

His eyes are dark from down there, long lashes blinking up at you as he dips his tongue in the places you crave him most. It brings you to a shuddering end, has you whimpering his name into the empty air until your toes are curling and you’re coming against his mouth. Jimin has never shied away from you, and doesn’t know, sits up with a hazy look in his eyes as he wipes his face with the back of his hand.

Jimin wastes no time undressing, pushes off that sexy jacket until his lithe body is coming into view, thick thighs and lean abdomen. He slides right into you, holds your knees to your chest as he fucks you like never before. It’s slow and sensual, makes you shiver when he says your name in that low register of his. “Don’t leave again,” he whimpers, cock throbbing between your walls. He’s desperate today, ruts like you’ll slip right between his fingertips. It’s funny because you're the same way, clinging onto his shoulders until you’re practically glued together.

You come and so does Jimin. He pants against your ear, feels so warm and heavy on top of you. He doesn’t say much more that night, just plays with your hair. But he asks you on a date, mentions something about a carnival. “Yes,” you respond right away, because, well.

Jimin was dreamy. Maybe he’d be a good boyfriend.

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[lothlaer]

Proposal: Jaskier's got a fist clenched painfully hard one time when he's really really hurt and Yen has to force his palm open so she can tangle their fingers together and try to keep him from hurting his own hand. And they're both kind of like "oh" at some point idk 😳

Anon this apparently awakened something in me, so thank you for expanding on my post and giving me the inspo to write (checks notes) 1.7k. Hope you enjoy whatever this is!!! 

Pre-yennskier, description of blood and injury, 100% hurt/comfort. Read on AO3

“Stop fucking moving,” Geralt hisses, pushing down hard on the hips beneath his hands to still the man’s squirming.

A choked off, muffled whine dies in Jaskier’s throat, his lips pursed tight enough to turn them pale and thin. He’s panting through his nose, clearly in agony, and too out of it to understand that moving will only make this worse.

Yennefer spares the witcher a glance, noting the anxiety and fear that’s obvious on his face, in the tension across his brow, the frantic not-focus of his eyes that flick between the bard’s half-delirious expression and the gaping wound at his side.

She’s done all she can to heal him, sealed up the torn and leaking insides that they all know would have killed him if they hadn’t been here – that still might kill him if they can’t stem the blood loss and prevent infection. She thinks of it like this; clinical, sensible, because she has to.

Jaskier’s heartbeat is quicker than it should be, his breathing equally fast, panicked and pained and shallow. She keeps her ear trained to its frantic rhythm, notices how Geralt’s heart thumps faster than normal too, almost human, almost matching hers. She’d laugh at the symmetry of it all, if it were funny. She’s sure Jaskier would write a poem, if he knew, but she won’t ever tell him. 

He stills a little under the pressure of Geralt’s hands, though still struggles. He probably can’t help it by this point, too confused and the pain too intense to allow much rational thought. Geralt can’t work if he keeps kicking, shifting his hips to try to escape the discomfort.

“Yen,” Geralt growls, and she’d tell him off if she thought it would help.

She tells him off anyway, growling his name back as she presses her weight onto the bard’s chest, keeping him pinned. She watches his face, stares at the lines of tears down his temples, wrung out from his scrunched eyes.

The tight seam of Jaskier’s lips splits open, a deep groan and hitching sob forcing its way out as Geralt flushes the wound. He shifts again, and it’s only then that Yennefer notices his hands. The one nearest her grips at her skirt, tugging it towards himself, the other clenched tight enough at his side that the whites of his knuckles stand out even against his bloodless skin.

She reaches for it before she can think about it, dragging his hand over his chest, looking at the way he’s digging his nails into the meat of his palm.

Yennefer doesn’t say anything as she fits her thumb under his, prying it open like the hinge on a rusted box. There’s no treasure within as she does the same with his fingers, forcing them loose enough that his reflex to clench releases, each digit unfolding only to reveal deep indents in his skin like faint purple mouths.

She slips her fingers between his, taking the pressure into her own grip, resting their joined hands over his heart.

He blinks up at her, eyes wet with tears, then lifts his head to look down at himself.

“Don’t look,” Yennefer snaps, pointedly leaning forward to block the vivid red of Geralt’s hands from view.

She knocks her knuckles against his breastbone, drawing his attention back, and he focuses in on the press of their skin together.

She thinks that if he had enough blood left in his body to do so, Jaskier would be blushing. She feels heat rise in her own cheeks in sympathy. His lips part on an inappropriately dreamy sigh, and she realises she’s stroking her thumb back and forth over his clammy skin, then swiftly stops.

Yennefer checks his expression and discovers his eyes on her again, a long moment dragging on as she finds herself unable to look away, their faces closer than she realised and his short breaths puffing against her skin. She’s horribly aware of their entwined hands, the unpleasant sensation of drying blood and mud between them, the frantic heart mere centimetres away, trapped beneath only by fragile human flesh and bone.

Between another aborted cry of pain and a feeble attempt at another kick, Jaskier lets his head fall back to the ground, gaze swimming and dizzy as he stares up at the canopy of the trees above them, his grip tightening to the point of pain as the joints in Yennefer’s hand compress.

She loses track of time for a while, her knees and back aching from being folded over for so long, the quiet and sometimes unpleasant noises coming from Geralt working opposite her the only way to gauge how long they’ve been here, alongside the warbling beat that still echoes against her eardrums. It’s not like his usual music.

She looks back to his face after some time, catches his eyelids fluttering.

“None of that,” she scolds, loud enough to jerk him back into wakefulness.

She turns her head to look at the wound, relieved to find it closed with stitches, no longer sluggishly leaking blood down Jaskier’s side. He’s still covered in it, soaked into his shirt and the trousers covering his propped-up legs, even on the blanket they’ve thrown over him.

Geralt looks up and the relief is clear on his face; they’re not out of the woods yet, but it’s a step in the right direction. His eyes flick to Jaskier’s hand in hers, looking pointedly at where he’s still gripping her dress too, then walking away with a mutter about getting bandages.

Yennefer finds herself alarmingly embarrassed, and withdraws her hand.

Jaskier doesn’t complain, his fingers falling loose and curled where she leaves them.

Geralt returns quickly, begins packing the injury. Jaskier jerks again, then they begin the agonising process of winding bandages around his waist, having to manoeuvre him upright enough to pass them under his back.

By the end he’s even sweatier and paler than he was before. His noises of pain throughout have been quieter than Yennefer was expecting, the usual volume and raucousness of his voice muffled and contained. It’s simultaneously impressive and irritating – men, she thinks.

He groans long and low nonetheless as they shift him sideways onto a bedroll and prop another bag under his knees.

“It’s done, it’s over,” Yennefer finds herself saying quietly while Geralt resituates the blanket.

She wipes a tear away from Jaskier’s cheek with the backs of her fingers, and tries not to overthink the action in the seconds afterwards as his sobs subside.

He’s trembling, either from pain or shock or the cold, and Geralt wastes no time getting him water with some herbs mixed in. He drinks greedily, water spilling out around his mouth until the witcher urges him to slow.

Geralt lays him back down, calls his name softly until his wobbly attention wanders back to them.

“All better?” Jaskier murmurs after a moment, eyelids already half-mast.

Geralt lays a wet cloth over the bard’s forehead and holds his palm on it, steady and reassuring, long enough to lean over and catch Jaskier’s gaze.

“Good enough,” he says, beginning to wipe away the sweat and dirt from Jaskier’s face in gentle strokes.

“Bastard,” Jaskier mutters, eyes falling closed. He only settles for a moment before jerking awake, his eyes wide and alarmed. “Yen?”

He looks around blearily, waving an uncoordinated hand out – seeking her presence, Yennefer realises. She reaches for him, grasping his hand in hers. His gaze snaps to her, and softens.

“Okay?” he asks.

His skin is cool, his heart still racing.

“You’ll be pissing us off with your usual obnoxious poetics within a day, I imagine.”

He frowns at her and shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

“No,” he swallows dryly, “you okay?”

Yennefer opens her mouth, ready for a witty retort to manifest, but all that emerges is the escape of a surprised breath. She thinks of the way they’d been standing side by side when the attack had happened, the way the bard had fallen against her and brought her to her knees in the grass and mud, last autumn’s shed of rotting leaves compacting beneath her hands. The drip of red blending against the dirt. Her stomach twists, then releases.

“Rest, Jaskier.”

He still stares at her.

“I’m fine, you fool.” She squeezes his hand again, thinks of the indents on his palm. “Rest.”

He does, finally, slipping easily into something deeper than sleep. She knows she and Geralt will have their senses fixed on the pump of his blood for days yet, and that it’ll be a while before his body replenishes what he’s lost.

For now, the steadiness of his pulse and his breathing will have to be enough, even if they remain unnatural and fast.

Yennefer realises she’s been staring for a while when she notices Geralt bringing a bowl over, his hands and arms already washed clean of the mess from the past hour.

“Wonderful timing,” he says dryly, shaking the red-tinged water off his fingers with a couple of quick flicks.

“For what, witcher?” Yennefer says shortly, her nerves strung thin and dangerous.

Geralt snorts. Yennefer glares.

“For a realisation.” He smirks at her, smug.

“Fuck off,” she spits, not turning away quick enough to miss the way the man’s smile widens further.

She draws her hands away from Jaskier, his grip limp now, and washes her hands too, surprised to see the ripples on the surface from where she’s shaking. Geralt comes up behind her, his hand falling to her shoulder, and they both look down at the bard. The porcelain tinge of his skin is unnerving, his eyes bruised, and dirt and leaves still cling to his hair. But he’s alive, alive, and the knots in their chests release.

She thinks about leaving now her job’s done, the unpleasant warmth blooming somewhere in her gut making her want to run away, to flee from whatever the bard’s pain and gaze and hands have triggered in her, the feeling snapping sharp like a wire under her skin.

Geralt squeezes her shoulder.

“Stay with him.”

Yennefer feels the words rumble through her, less than an order but more than a suggestion. Her heart leans into it, giving way so carelessly to harmonise with the rhythm of his.

She stays.

[disturbedbydesign]

The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter Three

If you had a home, it would be Bucharest, even though you despise the place. It was the first place you went when you got free, because you know he’s here somewhere, conducting his evil machinations from the shadows, shielded by layer after layer of vile men across the globe doing his dirty work. There are plenty of men out there deserving of your particular brand of justice, but no one more so than the Viper. Sometimes you think that, if you can just find him and take him out, you might be able to move on—try to make a normal life for yourself, whatever that looks like. You don’t allow yourself to think about what will happen if you finally achieve your life’s goal and it’s still not enough for you.

You remember everything about the day you learned of the Viper’s existence. You were just 7 years old, one of many little girls packed into a shipping container. You had no idea how long you’d been in there or how long you would be in there. It smelled rancid, and there was never a moment of quiet. Most of the girls were screaming or crying, but a few (like you) were silent, just observing. You don’t know who sold you from your orphanage and shipped you off to Dreykov and you never will. What you do know is that you had no family to miss and no one to miss you, so you didn’t understand what the others were so upset about. From the very beginning, you adjusted to life as a Widow almost effortlessly, which is its own form of tragedy.

Others, though, they were stolen away from people who loved them. This seemed a foreign concept to you when you heard about it from the tiny, sobbing girl huddled next to you in the shipping container—the girl who told you about the Viper, the girl who would become your first and only friend until Dreykov took control of all of your minds. Once you were given the serum, your memories were locked up inside your own heads—none of you could have talked about your past lives even if you’d wanted to. Your words were not your own. You didn’t know what was real and what was planted there. Sometimes you still don’t, and nothing terrifies you more than that.

You have no idea how many little girls the Viper funneled to Dreykov over the years, but it was probably a decent amount. His real bread and butter had always been sex trafficking, and he’s still doing it—on an even larger scale if your intel is correct (which, of course, it is). But he won’t be operating for much longer, not now that you’re so close you can almost taste the venom. You were barely 8 years old when you decided you would kill him, and now you have your chance. You are so close, closer than you’ve ever been, but he keeps slithering out of your grasp. And so you’re in Bucharest, again, looking for answers, again. But you have other business, too—almost as important, if not more so.

You head to the safehouse on the outskirts of the city. The building doesn’t look like much on the outside, but you’ve made sure the inside is comfortable enough for the women and children who live there. The matron greets you at the door and you hand her this month’s envelope, which contains enough cash to feed everyone for the next two months, keep the lights and the water on, and some extra to fix the plumbing issues that have been plaguing the building since you bought it.

The building can house about 40 people comfortably—it’s not nearly enough, and you’re determined to create as many safe spaces as you can, but it’ll do for now. For now, you have to select your charges according to a very strict criteria: they are all women and children (and the children of women) who have been bought and sold by the Viper. Some of them escaped on their own; some of them had assistance from you and the very few people you trust in the city. But all of them have suffered, and all of them have information that you need. Individually, it’s not much, but the more women you talk to, the more pieces of the puzzle you have to work with.

Besides for the cash drop, today you’re here to see the newest resident: Irina, a 19-year-old beauty your Bucharest contacts had managed to snatch from one of the sex clubs. Irina was delivered to the Viper at 12, and her life since then has been an endless nightmare that you can’t think about for too long without feeling physically ill. She’s sitting by the window in the living room, cupping a steaming mug of tea, when you approach her. You walk towards her slowly, and when Irina looks over at you, there is recognition in her eyes even though you’ve never met.

“You’re the Widow,” she says.

“Not anymore,” you reply. “But if that’s what you’d like to call me, go ahead. May I sit?” She gestures to the seat opposite her and you settle in for a chat. “I’d like to ask you some questions, Irina. Is that ok?”

“The others told me you’d be coming.” She speaks softly, her voice hoarse from screaming or crying or both. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’ll never catch him, you know.”

“I disagree,” you say, “but I need more information.”

“Alright,” she agrees, “if you think it will help,” and you begin the gentlest of interrogations.

Irina tells you that for the first several years after she was taken, she hadn’t heard anyone mention the Viper. She thinks that a lot of the girls probably knew about him or came directly from him, but no one would talk about it because it was too dangerous or traumatizing (or both). Things were different at her last club, though. When you ask her how many of the girls at Delirium knew about him, she tells you that several of them had passed through him somewhere along their journey. One of them—one far too young to be working there—even admitted that she’d been with him only two months earlier.

Finally, after all this time, you’ve got a clear line from point A to point B. You feel it in your bones that Delirium holds the answers, that if you can just get in and poke around a bit, you’ll be able to find him. You take Irina’s hands in yours and thank her for her help, and then you hear it: heavy footsteps coming down the hall. No woman or child in the building weighs enough to make a sound like that, and no men are allowed on the premises. You know who it is before you see him.

*****

Bucky watches you enter the building from his position on the roof across the street. His contact had told him that there were whispers of a Widow safehouse at this address, though no one would dare set foot within 10 blocks of the place to find out. Bucky doesn’t believe the rumor, though. He knows you work alone, that you pride yourself on it. He assumes this is just one of many places where your targets meet their ends, and he knows enough about Bucharest to know that there are a lot of men in this city who fit your modus operandi.

Still, something is off. It’s not an empty building. There have been women and children coming and going all morning, and nearly all the apartments seem occupied. Why would you choose to do your dirty work in a place with so much activity, with so many innocents around? That seems not only impractical but beneath even you. He’s lost in these thoughts, checking each window with his binoculars, when he settles on a beautiful young girl staring out the window, looking desperately sad. She turns to look at someone he can’t see, and then he sees you emerge from the shadows and take a seat opposite her.

There’s a softness to your face—a gentle kindness—that knocks the wind out of him. Bucky can’t take his eyes off of you, analyzing your body language and facial expressions to try to figure out what the hell is going on. This is the last thing he expected to see, and he tells himself that this woman must be hiring you for a job—except the woman is nothing but a broken child and doesn’t look like someone who would be taking out a hit on somebody (and certainly not someone who could pay for one).

It’s unnerving, watching you this way, and Bucky is no longer sure that what he’s doing is right. There’s something about your interaction with this girl that makes him feel like a voyeur, witnessing an intimate moment that he should not be seeing but that fascinates him nonetheless. Still, he’s here, you’re his mission—albeit one he took upon himself—and he needs to finish it. By this time, Natasha and Steve are almost certainly on their way, and Bucky needs to get to you before they show up. He went rogue and committed to this plan; now he just has to execute it. He’ll deal with the consequences later.

Bucky makes his way across the street and around the back, where children’s toys litter the small yard of weeds and dirt. When he gets to the back door, he notices that it isn’t the usual ancient rusted lock that one finds on the old buildings in this neighborhood; it’s brand new tech. There’s a pretty decent security camera setup around the building, too.

What the hell is this place?

Bucky has two choices: he can rip the door off the hinges, or he can scale the building and climb in the open window on the top floor. You’re going to be homicidally pissed either way, so he might as well not destroy any property—you may be a monster, but the other tenants here look like civilians, and he doesn’t want to sacrifice their security in his quest to bring you in.

Bucky makes it into the building and weaves his way through the hallways. Along the way, he runs into a few women, and each one of them freezes when they see him. They are shocked and deathly afraid—a look he knows far too well—and they scurry back to their apartments and lock the doors. With his hair cut short, baseball cap pulled down, and leather jacket and glove hiding his prosthetic, it doesn’t seem possible that all of these women would immediately recognize him as the Winter Soldier. That’s what it feels like to him, though, and it’s a gut-punch sensation he does not like at all.

When he gets to the sitting room, the girl you are with has the same look of terror, and for a moment, so do you. But you snap back to yourself quickly—having gone from soft to terrified to hostile within a span of about 15 seconds. Before he can react, you stomp towards him, grab him by the jacket, and hiss, “Not here.”

Bucky hears you speak to the girl in Romanian, “Don’t be afraid, Irina. He’s a friend,” although he knows you think him anything but.

The second you get him into the hallway, you’ve got your knife to his throat. Even with your cold blade nicking his skin, Bucky fights the impulse to disarm you. He doesn’t want to fight you. He knows that he’s intruded on something here, though he doesn’t know what, and he actually feels guilty. He could break you in half if he wanted to, but he lets you pin him to the wall—lets you feel like you’re in control.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you growl.

“You know why I’m here,” Bucky replies, but he doesn’t know—not really, not anymore. “What is this place?”

“It’s somewhere safe,” you say, “or it was until you showed up. No boys allowed, Soldat. Time to go.”

You catch him off guard when you flip him around and throw him through the nearest door, and before he can regain his balance, you kick him straight through the window and into the yard two storeys below. The fall is nothing to Bucky, and he knows that you know that, but it certainly made a statement. He looks up at the broken window he’d just crashed through and sees you peering out with a satisfied smile on your face.

Bucky calls up to you, “I just want to talk.”

“Bullshit,” you snap.

“I mean it,” he says, and he actually does. “You can pick the place.”

He watches as you consider his offer, weighing your options—you obviously don’t trust him, but it’s clear that the sanctity of this location is important to you. Now that he’s violated it, you can’t just let him wander off. You agree to meet with him that evening—in public, at a club in Old Town.

“Come alone, Soldat,” you call down to him, “and if you tell anyone about this place, I’ll throw you out a higher window.”

Bucky tries to hide his tiny smile but he knows you see it, just like he sees the little quirk of your lip just before you disappear. He hoists himself off the ground and brushes himself off. When he turns to leave, he sees a little girl holding hands with her mother. He has no idea how long they’ve been standing there, but the girl is pointing and giggling at him.

The little girl asks, “What happened to him, mama?”

“The Widow’s bite,” she replies.

*****

“He’s not going to hurt her, Natasha,” Steve says as he prepares the Quinjet for landing.

“She might not give him a choice,” she replies, strapping herself in. “What the hell was he thinking coming here alone?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “There’s something about this girl that’s really gotten under his skin.”

Natasha looks at Steve, asking the question with her eyes she wouldn’t dare say aloud, and he picks up what she’s putting out.

“He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore. All of that programming… it’s gone. You know that. He’s just Bucky now.”

Natasha nods in agreement, but a part of her still has questions—not whether the deprogramming worked, she knows that it did, and she trusts Bucky with her life. No, Natasha’s concern is what is going on inside Bucky’s head. He was doing well, he was adjusting, he was finally ok, but the existence of you seems to have triggered something in him that the words never had. The words made him cold and empty and ready to comply, but you—you make him think, and Natasha knows how dangerous it can be to dwell too much on things you’ve left in the past.

When Steve and Natasha arrive at Bucky’s old apartment, it’s empty, but there are small signs of life—the indent of a head on the pillow on the floor in the corner, an apple core just starting to brown. He’s been there, and recently. Natasha and Steve don’t know who he would still have contact with in Bucharest, so they are left with nothing to go on. Bucky knows how to cover his tracks, and he left them just enough crumbs to get them to Bucharest but not enough that they could find him when they got there.

“He wants us to trust him,” Steve says, “to wait for him to bring her back here.”

“I can’t just sit around waiting for something to happen, Steve. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Steve asks.

Natasha sighs and looks out the window. “I have no idea,” she replies, and that’s when she sees it: a piece of graffiti spraypainted on the wall of a building down the street—a coiled snake ready to strike.

The memory hits Natasha like a freight train. She knows that symbol. She knows what it means. She knows exactly who you’re looking for and it seems absurd to her now that she hadn’t thought of it before.

“Let me make a call,” she says. “I think I know why she’s here.”

[peonyneko]

Didn’t Mean It | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Request:  hello! I was wondering if you could do a Bakugou x Reader (if requests are open ofc❤️). Maybe Bakugou said something he didn’t mean to the Reader, and she like leaves the middle of class to go to the bathroom to cry- and like some of the girls go to comfort her/ask if she’s doing fine. But that doesn’t help- so Bakugou ditches class and goes to comfort her in the girls bathroom, and the other girls are like “cUtE”. Sorry if this made no sense but I thought it would be cute 😳. love your writing!

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@blveteaaa I’m really sorry for taking so long. Please do let me know if this is what you had in mind. I also appreciate any feedback. 

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Noise. The class was filled with noise, per usual. Mr. Aizawa was sleeping in the corner. Hm... Seems like he didn’t sleep well again. I wonder what night trouble popped up this time. Mina, Momo, and Uraraka were chatting away near me. The next class should start in about 30 minutes. Until then, Mr. Aizawa told us to complete the assignment and place it on his desk. Getting up from my seat, I head towards Katsuki, Eijiro, and Denki. To avoid disturbing them, I decided to wait behind them until they finished talking. 

“Yeah, I don’t get why that’s irritating,” Eijiro was facing Katsuki. His back was, currently, facing me, The other two immediately acknowledge my presence. Their eye widen and their shoulders tense up.

“Of course you don’t. She’s not with you,” he began. Was it about me?

“It’s especially when she wants to tag along on days I go out. It would’ve been better if she just stayed home. Damn it. It’s so irritating.”

Oh.. Huh. I felt my heart tighten at his words. The room got a little quieter. The light even seemed dimmer. After noticing the change in my demeanor, Denki coughs. Before the duo can say anything, I lift my finger to my lips. 

“Don’t look at me like that! You both act like you’re the ones dealing with it,” Katsuki’s ignorance of my presence did not help. With a heavy heart, I turn back around and walk back to my desk.

We were all occupied with our assignment. For this class, we were completing an in-class group assignment. Currently, I am sitting in front of Katsuki, with Mina and Tsuyu sitting on the side. I can already feel his irritation. He probably did not enjoy being forced into a group, especially with me. Normally, I’d feel chipper about it. However, after knowing how he feels, I felt that me presence was annoying. I decided to talk less to avoid agitating him. While the group talks, I write down their ideas for the work and jot down my own, as well. 

“You know this is a group effort, right?” I look up to see Katsuki’s eyes locked on me. I nodded. 

“Really? I haven’t heard any input from you for it, Becoming lazy, are we?” he words stung. MY face warmed from embarrassment. 

“Well, I... I was, uh, writing my ideas down with the groups in here,” I hesitantly lift my notebook. The room’s mood began to tense up. Slowly, the quiet room become quieter. 

“____... This is a group effort. Do you not know what that means? Share you damn ideas. God, he rolls his eyes, not noticing his voice made the class focus on our group. I could feel their eyes centering me. I attempted to tell my ideas but they went all over the place in my mind.

“Yeah, nevermind. You’re not helping with shit,” he interrupted. The warmth of my face was traveling down to my neck. My throat constricts a bit. I can feel inklings of anxiousness rising.

“That’s not nice to say,” Mina told him. He simply rolled his eye at her comment. Mina signals for Denki to come to our table. They both whisper between themselves. They eye Katsuki a bit so I assumed it was about him and I. Tsuyu looks at my nervous state and reassures that she’s there if I need to talk.

“Kaminari, since you’re here, why don’t you and _____ switch? Some braincells is better than none,” he chuckles. My mood worsens at his joke. Little tears were forming but they were unnoticeable. There class was still focused on us. Clearing up my throat, I get up from my seat. I slowly walk up to the front.

“Is it alright for me to go to the restroom?” my voice cracks when asking Cementoss. He nods in return, noticing the waviness in my voice.

As soon as I got permission, I run out the classroom. I hear a faint “ ___! You can’t run in the hallway,” which sounded like Iida. I don’t stop until the ladies restroom in in front of me. With heavy breaths I open the door and rush to one of the stalls. My eyes burned and tears began slipping down my cheeks. I tried to hold myself together but his words were playing on a loop.

Does he really think I’m irritating? What do I do that annoys him? Gosh, I need to stop it.

After a couple of minutes, I hear footsteps echo throughout the bathroom. Someone knocks on my stall’s door. Calming myself down, I open the stall to face all the girls in front of me. 

‘I swear boys can be really meaning without even trying,” Kyoka looked at me with soft eyes. Right when Ochaco step forward to hold my hand, the sting in my eyes return. I try to blind the tears away but it could not limit the amount that wanted to escape. My rigged breathing returns, which only worsens my embarrassment.

“I really...I really don’t mean to be... a bother for him,” I choked out in-between my heavy breaths. To give me space, they all gently pull me outside of the stall. Their eyebrows were slightly furrowed yet their eyes were soft.

“No. No. You are not at fault here,” Momo replies as she helps me sit down on the bench to the side.

“But I heard him say it. Gosh, I do sound irritating. I should stop tagging along too much. No wonder he returns angry.”

“You do not follow him anywhere. It isn’t all the time, either. You mostly go with him when you know you did not get to spend time together,” Tsuyu attempts to help me look at it from another perspective. Sadly, my mind overrides them to Katsuki’s complaints.

“W...What if he’s tired of me? What if he wants to break up?”

My heart hurt at the mere thought of our separation. Our relationship is relatively fresh. We started dating a year ago, yet I fell for him. Hard. I could not fathom to be with another guy.

“If I hadn’t been so dense about his irritations over my actions, I would been a much better girlfriend. I couldn’t even do that,” I was vomitting my mind out.

My breathing was still irregular, and I couldn’t see past the tears that blur my eyes. I wiped my cheeks and eyes to get a better view. The girls were trying their best to comfort me. Toru patted my back. Mina stroked my arm. Momo tried to plan out a mini recovery session from today. Tsuyu and Ochaco tried to convince me that he loves me enough to confront me about the situation. Kyoka even tried to make me revert my self-deprecating comments and thoughts. However, nothing helped. I really appreciated their kind attempts yet his words stayed printed at the front of my mind.

“I would love to battle Bakugou, right now. He needs to be held accountable for his horrible comments,” Momo exclaimed, standing tall with her right hand on her hip. 

“He does. He made a huge deal out of the group assignment. You were clearly stressed when you tried to share your ideas,” Kyoka looked disappointed when remember the incident in the classroom.

“But he doesn’t like having me around too much. I should stop. I don’t want him to be constantly annoyed,” I sniffled as I wiped my eyes. 

“I’m going to stop,” I whisper. I hear small mutters and grumbles throughout he bathroom.

“I won’t dicated you becuase it is your relationship. I do want to say that it is a part of who you are. You like spending time with him. You don’t need to stop that. I think you and him should talk about it,” Ochaco looks at me with his big, comforting eyes. The others nod in agreement. 

“I don’t know. I don’t want any more complications rising because of me. If he’s annoyed by me, I should try to fix it. I’ll need to sort this out myself,” I quietly announced.

Who gave you that right?” his rough voice echoes through the walls. All of you heads turn to the left. Katsuki, Eijiro, and Denki were standing next to each other near the entrance of the bathroom. 

“I didn’t think you overheard my conversation with those,” his points his rough finger at the duo behind him. 

I looked at him, unsure of what to say. Noticing my tense behavior, he talked as gently as he can, “ I did not mean to make you think horribly about yourself.”

“Yeah, you have traits and habits that are weird to me,” he started. A jolt spiked throughout my body. I don’t think I’m ready to hear the end of it.

 “But I like that about you,” he struggled to get the words out in public. My face flushes at the sudden confession. He looks directly at me.

“Never take issues, like this, on your own. I know how hard it can be but it’ll help us,” noticing that our conversation was getting private, the others began to hed back to class. It was almost the end of the school day, as well. Everyone waving and blurted a quick “bye” before heading out of the bathroom. 

Katsuki turns around to shut the door. He locks it to make sure no one walks in on our conversation.

“Come. Let’s sit there,” he tilts his head to the bench I sat at earlier. 

As soon as we sit, Katsuki exhales a loud sigh. Alarms went off in my mind. He’s irritated. I immediately began panicking.

“H..Hey, Katsuki. I really don’t mind leaving you on your own when you need it,” I started. I turn to face him but was suddenly embraced my his arms. He sets his chin on my neck and gently tightens his hug.

“Don’t... Don’t stop doing what you do,” he whispers near my ear. Warmth engulfed me. I felt safe in his embrace. His voice held no anger or irritation.

“But it’s irritating, isn’t it?” my hands wrap around his back, as well.

“No no no. It’s not. At least not the way you think. I complained to Kirishima and Kaminari about the perverts and jerks who stare at your and bother you when you come with me. That’s why I felt irritated,” he reveals. Then, it clicked. He must’ve noticed all the times I felt uncomfortable because of comments from boys and their stares. I never complained but... He noticed.

“I would rather have you stay back instead of dealing with those situations. I know you’re strong enough to take care of yourself. It’s still annoying when they don’t know their limits. I can’t even fight them properly,” he pulls back to look at me. I avoided his eyes but he lifted my chin up with his hand.

“Don’t stop doing what you do. Don’t stop being yourself. Having you with me makes my day better. I know I can be gnarly and cruel with my comments. Just don’t hesitate to tell me I’m hurting you. It’s not my intention to make you doubt yourself,” he rambles on.

“Even the cruel jokes I made back there are not meant from a serious place,” he reassures me as much as he can. His breathes were rigid and fast. His eyes were dilated, as well.

“Just... let me know, alright? I want you to feel safe and loved not hurt,” he whispered. With every sentence, my previous worries were fading away.

“Talk to me about anything that bothers you. Talk to me about any issues that come up.”

I couldn’t stop my heart from melting. He really is the best, huh?

“I know...I’ll try. You know me. It can be hard to confront people with anything I think is wrong,” I replied while taking his hand into mine. 

“Mhm. Let’s work on that then,” he firmly stated. It shocked me for a bit.

“If I say anything that hurts you, hold me accountable. Tell me right away,” he looks at me for an answer.

“Okay, ____?” I nodded in return. I noticed his stance was relaxed. He seemed less tense about the situation. It must’ve been a huge baggage to get off his back.

“I will. I’m sorry for worrying-” he cut me off before I could end my apology.

“Hey! Don’t feel sorry for it. You’re not at fault for feeling the way you did after the classroom incident. I was an absolute asshole for that. There may have been a small misunderstanding but I still shouldn’t have embarrassed you with my comments,” his hands cup my cheeks.

“I’m really... I’m really sorry,” my throat tightened. Why does he have to be this... great?

“I understand. Thank you for apologizing,” I smile at him. My emotions were all over the place today. It went from neutral to extremely low to extremely relieved. Still, I am glad he and I were able to sort this out before it got worse.

“Don’t go crying on me now. I don’t want to see anymore tears today. Come on let’s head back,” he spoke softly. 

Right after, stood up and held out his hand. His face held his usual daily expression, except there was a glow to it. I gladly laced my hands with his and we carefully exited the girls bathroom.

“Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble,” he said looking around to make sure no one saw our actions.

Today, Katsuki and I were able to have dinner together. It’s been a while since it was just the two of us eating dinner. Upon returning to the dorm, the atmosphere felt normal. The ones who were worried earlier looked glad when Katsuki and I entered the dorm happily. Mr. Aizawa did ask us about the situation. We informed him that everything was sorted so he let it go. Cementoss must’ve told him about the the classroom occurrence. 

While I made my way to my room, I noticed all of the girls in front of my room. Their eyes held excitement and the look of ‘hurry up’.

“You don’t need to tell us everything,” Mina grabbed me so I can quickly open my room. 

“Okay okay let me just,” after I heard the click, they all ran inside of my room. 

They all chose the spot they felt most comfortable in. I climbs into my bed and chuckled with embarrassment.

“Do I have to tell you what he said? Because...” 

“Well...” Momo began.

“I may or may not have bee made to create a device the let us hear what was going on,” my eyes widen at her confession.

“Don’t worry we promised to turn it off if anything... else... happened. We wanted to make sure he didn’t say anything horrible,” Kyoka spoke. The others nodded in agreement.

“His comforting action were too cute,” Mina chuckled.

“Exactly! I was shocked. Did you hear what he said?! ‘ Having you with me makes my day better.’ Aaahh! That- Just wow,” Uraraka gushed while quoting Katsuki. All of the girls flailed around or squished the pillow in their lap.

“Wait! Remember the...What was it? Right! ‘I want you to feel safe and loved not hurt’ That was so adorable, too, ” Momo immediately brought up another. Once again, the girls let out ‘awe’s and small chuckles. They did tease me about his words. However, they still appreciated that he was able to relive me of my doubts.

“I’m glad Bakugou cleared things up. That was very mature of him. You two are cute together. I really did not want the incident to separate you,” Tsuyu looked happy at my recovered state. 

“Me too,” Hagakure agreed. Next to her, I noticed Mina had a tiny bit of mischeif in her eyes. 

“How about we listen to the audio again?!” she suggested. A series of ‘yes’ echoed throughout the room.

“W-what?” my eyes widened.

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” Mina continued.

“I have the a player for it, if we want to,” Kyoka held up the device to play the audio.

“And you can have it after we analyze and listen to it,” Momo added while exaggerating ��analyze’ with air quotes. 

“Gosh... alright. I hope I don’t sound weird,” I agreed to their request.

As soon as Katsuki said, “Don’t... Don’t stop doing what you do,” Uraraka paused it.

“You can’t tell me he does not want to marry her,” she commented. Immediately afterward, the others made their own comments and agreements.

This process continued throughout the playing of the audio. With every pause, the were analyses and comments. Amongst all the chat about Katsuki’s soft side, I had the urge to check my phone. What I read immediately made the night better than it already was.

Katsuki: Let’s go out tomorrow. Wear whatever you feel comfortable in. 

Katsuki: Don’t worry about people staring. I’ll take care of it.

Katsuki: Unless you want to, of course.

Katsuki: The girls are making you tell them about what happened in the bathroom, aren’t they?

Katsuki: Anyways, make sure you get proper rest 

Katsuki: Goodnight

My hands quickly responded so I am able to reply before he sleeps. All those messages made me my stomach bubble with excitement. 

Me: I’m glad we’re going to hang out. See you in the morning

Me: Goodnight

Me: I love you

...

Katsuki: I love you too

The heat on my cheeks that gradually grew with every text grew tenfold. My heart fluttered intensely as I gazed at those four words. I can hear the girls speaking about the audiotape of Katsuki in the background, but my phone had my attention. Katsuki always proved to be a great boyfriend. He never did it for show. Ever since the start of our relationship he’s been honest about how he felt. Both of us expected stumbles, but we made sure to work it out. Today was one of those day.

I’m just glad he never let go of me. I know him well enough to know that he will always listen to me. He will always want to fix things so we don’t end.

[dienamights]

Ellipsism | K.Bakugou

Ellipsism: A sadness that you’ll never be able to know how history will turn out.

» Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

» Word count: 1.9K

» Genre: Angst 

» Summary: In a world where everyone is born with a unique tattoo on their ankle, and every time they fall in love with someone, their tattoo appears somewhere else on the body of the person they love. You come to the realization that it might not be as simple as that, and all your childhood dreams would come and bite you in the ass.

» Warning(s): ANGST, mentions of self-harm.

» Author’s notes: Listen, I don’t particularly like angst, but I love the way it hurts, y’know? Not sure if I want this to have a happy ending or not (in a second part) and honestly I’m leaning towards the latter, I love pain and I have no idea what would happen. Also, peep the “tattoo” in the header its relevant to the story ahaha

Thank you everyone for the support and love, it means the world to me that people enjoyed my Kacchan representation! Lemme give you smooches.

Big smooches to @tteokdoroki and @sightoru for making me feel good about hurting them🤧���️

» Masterlist | Requests

The sun had awakened and was promptly emerging through the hazy sky. The cloudy layer created a gloomy blanket from the sun. You jolted awake, your neck aching from your sleeping position and you twisted your head side to side to relieve some of the pain, before reaching for your phone and holding the bright screen to your face to check the time. Alas, the screen was turned off without registering the time nor how long were you asleep for.

You lifted your eyes to see the grey out the window in front of you. With that fog, the trees and buildings never ended, they floated upwards, seemingly as endless as beanstalks. Reaching your head back, it met the wooden counter. You were in the kitchen, fell asleep on the floor and slumped against the counters, the empty bottle laying across from you a reminder of the event that transpired the previous night - maybe morning? You didn't really know.

You lazily extended your legs in front of you, eyeing your sock-clad feet and the tattoo that peaked from the clothing. Blooming lilacs that danced and branched out, the stem wrapping around your ankle oh so loosely, almost teasingly. Lilacs that represented happiness and tranquility, which you have never felt more far from. 

Remembering the old days, the better days, you with your poofy dress, so blindingly pink it demanded everyone's attention, giggling with your friends that adorned similar attire to yours, showing each other the tattoos that hugged your ankles, in endless shapes and sizes, dreaming about who the lucky person you’ll share your tattoo with would be, who was lucky enough to capture your heart and claim it as their own, and offering theirs in return.

Bedtime stories were your favorite quality time with your mother, where you’d both forget about the story cradled in her hands and you’d spend your night tracing the few tattoos that scattered across her arms. Asking her how could she love so many people and have them love her in return before loving her husband - your father - the only person she was meant to be with, only to wait with bated breath for an answer you already heard so many times you probably memorized it by now. You’d be entranced at the way her eyes always softened, a light gleaming in them as she would explain to you, again and again, with no sign of ever getting bored, how she have never and would never regret the people she loved, because in some twisted way of the universe, it led her to the father of her beautiful child, that snuggled her in her princess bed. 

Alas, asking her how you came to the world received a totally different reaction, and you refrained from asking her that again until later on in life.

Whenever your grandma visited, you’d run to hug her old and withered body, apologizing when she would howl about her aching back and dragging her to sit with the excuse to help her rest, but you both knew you wanted to hear stories, your teenage self was so ready to fall in love, so excited to have a piece of someone you adored with all your heart decorating your skin, inking it in the most beautiful forms of promise.

She always made her past lovers sound like prince charmings right out of a novel, the kind of guys with the power and confidence that seemed perfect in every way. The kind of guys schoolgirls woke up and went to school for in the morning. The kind of guys that hit women of all ages right between the eyes every time they were seen and stirred up their fantasies.

And by God, did you not realize that your grandmother wasn't spewing bullshit after all these years, because there he was, a storm in each step he took, fire in his knuckles erupting and seething with fierceness. He was an explosion of bare, raw, real mystery. A soft caress of the wind, warm sand, and pure silence. He was colors and textures and shapes and designs, all combined together in an artistic canvas that thrived for attention but wouldn't stoop to admitting it. 

You remembered the day your lilacs embellished his shoulder, shyly peeking through his hero suit, claiming everyone’s attention on their petals as they swayed on his skin, the attention of the media as the shoulder of the hero, Dynamight, was showcased on social media, people envying whoever was able to capture the exploding hero’s heart.

As if he wasn’t capable of love, they didn't see what you saw, they will never have the privilege, because when he dropped the façade of the hero, he’d come home to you, knock on your apartment door and you’d flee to open it to him to lay your eyes on him, a tired laugh, sore muscles, a teasing glint in crimson eyes, golden hair tasseled after a sleepless night. He was secure embraces oozing with warmth. He was toughness and hardness, perfectly mixed in with trust and care.

It was at that day it happened, in the middle of the living room while the newsman was talking nonsense about the hero, the warmth wrapped around your wrist, gripping it like a vice with no intention of letting go; yes it burned, you remembered the sting, it just paled in comparison to the warmth in your chest, the warmth of the tears escaping your eyes as you held your wrist close to your chest, happily whispering about how this was what love felt like. You also recalled that it was at that exact moment the hero, your hero, walked into your apartment, dropping everything and running the small distance to your hunched body to grab at your wrist to inspect the damage he thought was done to it.

Only for his eyes to meet that one wretched inking he loathed all his life, the - meaningless doodles, he’d call them - that blemished his skin, he remembered the remarks, how no one would be able to share that blotch of his with him because who could ever love him? Who could ever endure him, with all of that ego and all of that anger? And as time passed, he believed it, he believed them, that he wasn’t worthy to be loved, that he was only meant to save, not be saved as well, not even from himself.

But there you were, there you fucking were, crying and laughing and struggling to breath as you repeated the words you’ve been dying to confess, 

“I love you, Katsuki.”

Suddenly, that speckle that was always hidden under his socks brought him happiness, brought him love, and damn did he deserve it, because he fought for it, he endured hell for it, and there you were, wrapped around his arm and repeating those three words against his lips between heated kisses.

He was pleasure and lust. Rough groans and mutual needs. A burning touch. Your name hanging by his lips, breathless kisses and hair-tugging and hot flesh against hot flesh.

He was an illusion you thought it'll never materialize, and yet here he was. 

Here he was, all highs and lows, smiles and frowns, softness and roughness, carefulness and danger. Here he was, a tiny spark of thunder, sparkling with passion, loyalty and dedication, protection, satisfaction, confidence and love.

Here he was…

Where was he?

The inking you used to spend hours admiring now haunts you, the design that used to whirl and twirl across your wrist as you hummed while tracing it now felt like shackles, squeezing so tight against you as you tried to break free. The black almost shrouded by the coats of metallic red that spilled from your attempts of escape. The dark crimson that matches his eyes, the eyes you know you won't forget, you know you don't want to forget, no matter how you’ll feel better if you do.

The girl staring right at you through the distorted reflection created by the dishwasher judged you, all mangled and blurry, yet the tear stains and numb eyes are hard to ignore, easily cutting through the deformed reflection.

You and the girl in front of you envied your friend, the aromantic that was never interested to fall in love, only possessing their own tattoo that graced their ankle, with no one else's accompanying it, sure it looked lonely on some days, but who were you to judge?

You remembered what they always told you, that it wasn't always the fairy tales your family fed you. They told you about their mother, who had an affair and fell in love, spending almost a year hiding the tattoo of her fling from her husband before being caught, they told you how their father was broken beyond repair, he who also was so drunk on the idea of falling in love and being loved in return, just like you were for all those years. They told you of the heart break that you might have to face when your partner’s inking is embedded into you, but not the other way around, how you had to decide whether to wait for your own personal design to mark its location onto them or leave, always being haunted by the part of them that you can't get rid of, no matter what you do.

They never told you about this kind of heartbreak though, the one where you’re both so in love, so happy, destined to be together forever, because what could possibly go wrong?

You never got the answer to that, you remembered asking him as he dragged his suitcase out of the apartment, the tears cascading down his face never answered you as he apologized again and again, mumbled how you deserved to be loved by someone that wasn’t him, babbled about him not deserving you. About how he won’t ever love someone besides you when he caught your eye scanning whatever was visible of his arms, in fear of finding out a piece of someone that wasn't yourself.

You finally got up, legs numb and steps wobbly from sitting on the floor for so long, you eyed the door, still unlocked after his leave a couple of hours ago - maybe more it's still unclear - no urge of yours strong enough to get you up to lock it again. You moved slowly, as if the shuffle of your feet is causing you pain, and in a way, it did, because you know when you reach the living room couch, there won't be the warm arms that engulfed you, because what else did you have other than the warmth you surrounded yourself with when you told him to hold you close to him?

That's right, nothing. 

As you laid down on the couch and allowed yourself to be suffocated by the scent of caramel, you cursed at all the fantasies and dreams that clouded your mind day and night, you frowned and scrunched your nose at the scent that used to mean love and warmth, but now only burnt your nose and teared up your eyes.

A constant reminder, just like the defaced wrist you brought closer to inspect and hissing when the cold air bit at it. You recalled the lilacs and swore at them, the same lilacs that symbolized love and passion, but looking more withered and torn the more you looked at them.

Good, guess they know how I feel.

Borrowers (taglist):

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

[static-fanatic-1]

Chrollo +PT Part 2 is finally out! I also figured it a name for the son, Akura. Enjoy! 7.7k words and it almost didn’t fit in the post RIP.

| Part 1 | 

~~~

"Eat lead Uvo."

"Already checked off the bucket list (y/n/n)."

God, you hated that nickname. "Don't test me." You growled, glaring back at your little boy with a silent message; 'You're in such deep shit once this is over'. You could see him physically gulp, and it only cemented the fact that despite being a pissy teenager, he was still the same, scared little boy you had taken in after the massacre. You almost teared up.

"Kurapika! Watch the road!" The woman yelped.

The blond swerved off the road, almost knocking you off and onto the dusty path beneath the car. "Kurapika," you began, "watch the road, I'll take care of anyone following us."

You could tell Uvogin wanted to say something, so you quickly dipped out of the passenger window and climbed onto the top of the car. The people in the second car stared at you through the windshield with pure fear in their eyes. You laughed to yourself, they must think you are a Phantom Troupe member. If only they knew.

You stood tall on top of the car roof, spine straight, shoulders back, chin up, you were ready for them to attack. You were ready to fight your old friends. You launched yourself off the roof and onto the second car, landing with your heavy boots and denting the car just as you did before, a little less damage though.

They were chasing you, you could see their forms driving a car with a new found vigor they lacked before. Machi was in front, her pink hair you used to love seemingly a bit darker, like it was drenched in so much blood it stained it darker. You locked eyes with her, and you could see the micro expression of her face. Brows lifting, eyes widening, she couldn't believe it was you. But it was, and you were preparing to take them down.

You flexed your fingers and soaked in the feeling of your terracotta gauntlets, preparing to tear down the entire canyon, but you stopped. A large blanket wrapping around the car they were packed in, though it did little to stop them. You saw them leave before it covered them, it seemed Nobunaga didn't make it in time. You chuckled at that.

Owl, the beast who worked for Jason's father, stood snuggly in front of the Troupe. He and the rest were as good as dead, this you knew, so you took the opportunity and shot out the lion heads on your gauntlets. They snapped as they flew through the crisp night sky and latched onto the sides of the canyon walls. With strength many didn't posses, you pulled harshly onto the chains and pulled down the stone walls. Stone, pieces larger than the car you stood on top of, came crumbling down to the floor, dust flying in the air. Your path was blocked, and hopefully the beasts would distract them long enough for Kurapika and his gang to gain enough distance.

You took a moment to look up, the beautiful night sky full of stars and constellations you couldn't find in the city. The shinning stars reminded you of a time where sitting around a trash fire with the pre-Troupe was normal. It used to be kind, open, and free. Nothing but a blanket of stars above you to lull you to sleep.

And your village, oh how you missed being able to see the night sky as clear as day, untainted by ash and blazing fires. The children playing in the fields and catching fireflies as they tripped on rocks they failed to see. Laughter, warmth, and a sense of homeliness you haven't had in years. You missed it, you craved it, you wanted nothing more than to go back and change something that could have prevented the Kurta massacre.

Your (e/c) orbs soaked in the light of the stars while your hair whipped against your face. As much as you wanted to sit down and cry, letting all the pent up frustration and hatred out, you couldn't show weakness. Not even to the all seeing stars above, or the gentle wind, and especially not to the enemies that will tear you apart.

A ringing knocked you out of your memories, taking you back into a cruel reality you didn't want to partake in. "Yes?" You answered, phone close to your ear as you took one last look at the shinning stars.

It was Jason, his sweet voice filled with worry. "We sent Owl and the rest of the Beasts. What happened?"

You hummed in thought. "A few men caught one of the Troupe members, the most physically powerful. We are on our way back to York New, I would prepare a safe place to store him, if the poison from his body is taken, we are screwed."

"Is he one of the ones you could take down?"

"No, we got lucky. We have to be cautious about this one." You turned back to York New, the shinning city moving closer and closer. "About the Beasts... they are probably all dead by now. The man we are bringing in killed four of them I think, the rest are slowing down about five other members, they don't stand a chance."

"Shit," he breathed through the phone, distant mumbling being heard but nothing being deciphered, "what do you think will happen now?"

"I'm not sure, but the Troupe won't let one of their own be taken like this. They'll be back I'm sure."

"Okay, I trust your judgement. Take care." Jason hung up before you could say anything more.

You hoped nothing bad would happen to him. He was a nice guy.

Soon enough you finally decided to sit down on the roof of the car, the city skyscrapers finally looming above and warning you of the upcoming confrontation you will have to partake in. Uvogin would be a difficult one to deal with, he tended to boast with his headstrong attitude and you were worried about him escaping. And Kurapika... what were you going to do with the boy?

You sighed, the car quickly coming to a stop. Finally, the people under your butt, rushed from inside the car and stared you down. "Who-Who are you?!" Questioned one panicked man, his skin a sun kissed brown and eyes as rich as chocolate.

"A friend." You hopped off the car and in front of the small group. "I am a friend of Kurapika, don't worry, I'm not a Troupe member."

They all seemed to relax a bit, but stayed wary of your strength. Being next to you they could tell you were way beyond their league.

Kurapika emerged from the car and readied himself to contain the one-man-army. One man, with gray hair and markings along his cheeks, scurried over and held the blond back. "Wait, we need to get a room."

"A friend of mine already has one for us, you are to contact your boss and inform him of the situation at hand." You mentioned. "This, surprisingly enough, is the place."

"How can we trust you?" He exclaimed, turning and leaning forward in your face. "You could be one of them! Waiting to kill us!"

"Everybody, please calm down-" began the woman standing beside Kurapika.

"My employer is the son of one of the Ten Dons, Jason Nargal. I contacted him about the situation and I've been staying in touch. Frankly I'm not in the mood to argue with someone of the likes of you, so please, shut your damn mouth before I loose what's left of my temper." You snapped, moving closer to size the man in front of you.

He shrunk back, eyes wide with a fear he has never felt before. "Very well." He turned his attention to Kurapika and the other girl with heavy breathing. "Let's hurry."

~~~

You sat down, your eyes staring at the wall as your mind drifted off. You were worried, pissed, scared, and so much more. Footsteps brought you back to reality, your (e/c) eyes taking in the grey haired man from before. He glanced back before quickly looking away. "You aren't going to interrogate the Troupe member?" He asked.

"No, I have no reason to talk to him, at least not in front of any of you."

He hummed and moved to the desk, taking the phone into his hand and making a call. Time passed before Kurapika and the others emerged from the vaulted room, and your fury returned.

Kurapika could feel it.

"Kurapika, I would like to talk to you. Privately."

He glared at you, his dark eyes gleaming slightly under his contacts, like charcoal in a slow-roasting flame. Was he challenging you? Silently threatening you to let him finish the war he began?

Maybe, but that didn't matter to you. All you wanted was to talk to him about the situation. And the newfound plan you guys would have to make.

Maybe he sensed the lack of hostility you bore. It must have been as he nodded slowly and followed you out into the white hallways. "(Y/n)," he began with caution, "I won't stop. I'm going to finish what I started and you can't do anything about it."

You bit your lip and whipped around, smacking him across his face. "I know that! But warn me next time! I had to leave Akura all alone in a hotel room because you were the only person I could trust! You were reckless when engaging close to so many Troupe members! You could have died if they caught you!" You paused for some breath. "You could have killed everyone!"

Tears began streaming down your cheeks, you hands rubbing your face to help relieve the stress. It didn't help as much as you would have liked it to. "You left Akura alone." You repeated with defeat in your voice. "If they find out where he is... they'll take him from me. I-I can't let-let them take both of you from me."

Finally all the pent up feelings burst through your eyes, fat tears streaming silently down your cheeks. "I ju-just can't. I wouldn't be able-able to live with myself if...."

Kurapika stood frozen, all this new information hitting him at the same time as your cries for help made it all the more confusing. "(Y/n)... it'll be okay." He held you up by your shoulders, leaning down to stare into your tears eyes. "Akura will be okay, you'll be okay, I'll be okay. You and I will take down the Phantom Troupe and we won't have to worry about them anymore."

He stopped for a moment to think about your words. They seemed exact, different than just someone hunting for their eyes. What did you mean by your son would be taken away from you if they knew where he was? Wait, how did you know the name of the Troupe member? And how did he know an old nickname you used to have? "(Y/n). What are you not telling me?"

There was a deafening silence between the two bodies, but enough was said. "Kurapika-"

"Don't lie to me. You know something I don't." A pregnant pause was apparent. "Answer me (y/n), I don't have time to watch you cry."

You looked up, staring into violent eyes gleaming a beautiful blood red. "I'm sorry." You wailed, pulling yourself back into the wall with your hands covering your face. "I'm sorry I never wanted this to happen. I wanted you to run away from this, to have a family, to be happy! I never wanted you to fight my mistakes. I never meant for this to happen.

"I promised myself I would take care of them, I promised myself I would give you the best life you could hope for. I-I promised myself... and-and I failed." You shook your head with your hands hiding your shame, your voice cracking with messy sobs. "I'm sorry for bringing you into this, Kurapika. This wasn't meant to happen...."

He took a step back, you were crying—no—sobbing. Hiccups and sniffles wracked from your hidden face. This has never happened before. You never cried, not even once. He only saw one tear and that was when you found him at the burnt down village.

You were not sad, you were beyond devastated.

"(Y-y/n)... d-don't cry. Just tell me what you know. How did you know his name? How did he know you?"

"I knew them, I met them when I left the village. I would visit. I-I taught them nen because they were struggling out there. I didn't mean for them to attack us, but they did and I tried to stop them, but I was pregnant and-and I killed one. I ran because there was too many. I was selfish, I-I should have fought. I was scared and...." Your strained voice trailed off into a distant whimper.

Kurapika stared at your shriveled form, a look of betrayal etched onto his brows. "You won't stop me. I'm going to kill every single one of them for what they've done and you are going to watch." He stopped his retreat, turning his head to give you one last glance. "I'll take care of everything."

"Kurapika, it's not worth it. Please just leave this to me, let me fix my mistakes! Take Akura and go somewhere safe! Please!"

"Why should I?! You've kept so much from me! You knew them?! You trained them!?! Why should I listen to you— do what you want me to?!"

"They want me! They'll take Akura and kill you! If you're in their way you'll die! I don't want that to happen! Please! Take Akura and get out of here! Let me take care of this so you guys can be safe and happy!

"Let me fix my mistakes... please!"

Kurapika whipped around. "Why would they be after you? Akura?"

You dropped your head in shame, but straightened your back. It was time to regain your lost composure, you couldn't let anyone else see you like this. "The spider is flexible. They-they have a head and legs. Each one can be easily replaced, that is how they work. Their current leader, the spider's head, is-is Akura's father. We-we got along, and-and one thing lead to another and... well, Akura was brought into the world. I tried to hide him, but with him being alone it wouldn't be difficult for them to find him. God, I don't know what I would do if they got their hands on him."

You pathetically gave an airy laugh at your memories. When you gave birth it was loud, like static in your ears, painful, though you barely remember it. Then you heard the beautiful sound of a babies cries. You were beyond happy when you heard his first cries, and it seemed as if all of your problems drifted away for a moment.

But like everything in your life it was short lived, and when you stared up at Kurapika you forced yourself to gather the remaining pieces of your strength and move forward. That is what you had to do, again and again.

"I'm sorry Kurapika, I've failed everyone."

The blond stared at you with bloody eyes, it was your fault? Everything that happened was your fault?! You were supposed to be a guardian, someone to protect the clan, yet you killed everyone?!

"Yeah, you did." He spat, his back now facing you.

"Wait! Kurapika! I-I don't care what happens me! Just please—please take care of Akura!" Your voice was demanding, the first time it had been since you broke down. "He doesn't deserve the life he has, neither do you, please, if anything happens to me, take care of him."

He didn't answer, instead he turned away and marched back to Uvogin's cell.

You prepared yourself for being in front of the wolves, but a ringing from your phone stopped you. "Hello?"

"(Y/n), father wants you to come back, be a body guard since the beasts—are you okay? You seem to be breathing heavily?"

"Don't worry, I'm fine. Just a bit frustrated." You have a long sigh and straightened your back. "Everything seems to be on lockdown over here, they have men coming over in a few minutes. Where do you want me to meet you?"

"Is the Blue Sapphire Hotel good? I can have someone pick you up?"

"No, no, that's not necessary. I'll be there soon."

"Alright, I'll wait in the lobby for you. See you soon."

He hung up and left you to your own devices. You finished fixing yourself up and sauntered over to the last person here, the man with markings under his eyes. "I'm leaving," you started, "my employer wants me to guard them now that the beasts are dead. You'll be fine here right?"

He looked up and nodded. "I'm waiting for another call."

"Alright, call me when they take him and what they look like... just in case." You made sure he understood with another nod before you made your way out of the hotel.

Your dress was slightly dirty, and your feet still bare. You probably looked strange, a woman with disheveled hair, missing shoes, and a dirty formal dress. You received many stares, some because of your intimidating stature, or your exposed cleavage, and some because of your appearance. So you ignored them and kept your head high.

But if you didn't ignore the stares you would have noticed the small group staring at you longer than most. Their suits and wigs might have hidden them from most people, but you would have noticed them right away. Phinks and Nobunaga turned to confront you, but Machi held them back. "Now's not the time, we'll get her after Uvo."

"Tch, fine. Isn't Shal looking into her employer?"

"Mhm." Machi hummed, continuing to their mission at hand; saving Uvogin's reckless ass.

~~~

Uvogin waited for what seemed like a god awful amount of time. Sooner or later they would get him out of this stupid prison. Hopefully sooner rather than later, his ass was beginning to hurt.

As if on que he heard movement, blood splatter, and the creaking of the heavy metal door. "Took you long enough, I'd thought you'd never make it."

Phinks entered with a grin. "Yeah, yeah, had to stop by the vending machine on our way up here."

Uvogin's grin stretched across his face as the rest of them entered and tossed away their disguises. "You wouldn't believe who I met." He chuckled.

Shizuku, with her doe like eyes wondered over to his wound, summoning her Blinky and preparing to take out the venom from his veins. But it was Nobu who spoke up. "(Y/n)." He exclaimed immediately, almost excitedly.

Uvo's grin turned into a playful pout. "Way to ruin it Nobu." 

She simply shrugged and began to remove the poison, as Nubonaga laughed.

Machi 'tsk'ed and moved over to the table's side. "You should hurry up and get out of those cuffs. We're going back to the chapel to figure out a new plan."

Uvo huffed and tore his hands from their bindings. "Fiiiiiine." He groaned, pausing when realizing her words. "A new plan?"

"Yup, Feitan tortured that Owl guy so we already have some of the treasure. Besides, (y/n) could be a problem." Phinks chimed in with a mischievous grin. "You now she's much stronger than before right? You can tell just by passing her."

"Maybe she made a new condition with her nen gauntlets?" Nobunaga chimed in. "Do you think she would do that?"

Phinks hummed. "She never liked the thought of making conditions. She probably just trained to get more powerful, that's more her style."

"Anyway, we should hurry and head out, Chrollo is waiting."

~~~

You marched into the lobby, the crystal chandelier above drenching your body in a warm, ethereal glow. The pearl earrings you wore gleamed like small balls of Fire against the light, it complemented your (h/c) hair.

Jason saw your confident form, his thin lips stretching across his face into a gentle smile. "(Y/n)! I'm glad to see you're alright!" His long legs helped him scale the lobby floor to face you. "We are on the top floor, follow me."

"Who is up there?"

"Everyone from the dinner, they have a lot of questions for you, so be prepared." He lightly chuckled, though it seemed a bit strained.

The both of you entered an elevator with a large mirror on one of the walls. You took out your phone and frowned, still nothing from that grey haired man from earlier, were the people really late? Your mind drifted back to Kurapika, your brows furrowing at his resolution about killing the Troupe.

"You look distracted." Jason commented, his voice heavy with concern.

"Sorry, I just have to make a few calls."

"Oh, with who?"

You glanced over at him with a sly grin. He blushed at it, realizing how nosy he must sound. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"It's fine, I just need to check up on a few people. My son for sure, I need to make sure he's okay."

"Y-you have a son?" His words were confused and surprised. "I-uh-I didn't know you-you had a son. Um, how old is he?" His smile was lopsided, and nervous. He hoped you didn't think he judged you off of your past relationships.

"He's six, going seven later this month. The twenty-third."

"He sounds like a nice kid, huh?"

You lightly chuckled at the thought of his intellectual nature. "Yeah, he really is a sweet kid. He's so smart too, loves puzzles more than anything. Words searches, sudoko, picture puzzles, he loves any and all of them. Loves reading too, his favorite is Father and I...."

"The father?" Jason inquired.

"Oh, he's out of the picture. He's—he wasn't a nice man."

Jason turned back to the mirror, his eyes tracing over your relaxed features. "I'm sorry to hear that. How is, uh, your son fairing?"

"Akura's his name. He never knew his father, it's just been me and a friend I see as a little brother." The elevator stopped, and it's shiny doors opened to a brightly lit hallway. "I guess we're here."

"Yup, there's plenty of rooms to make a call, but you should probably answer some of my dad's questions first. You might not believe it, but he can be quite impatient." His tone shifted to something brighter, a reflection of the whites of his eyes.

You entered the warm hallway and to the door. Before you could even touch the door knob, it swung open to reveal a cheeky grin from a familiar green eyed man. "Hey there sexy," His cheshire grin shifted to one of disgust when he glanced at his brother. "Jason."

"Jackson! Leave them alone." Exclaimed someone from behind the door. If the deep voice was an indicator, it was defiantly the dad.

"Sure thing." Jackson groaned and ran off into the giant hotel room. Well, more like a house, the place was huge!

"(Y/n), sweetheart, come in!"

Sweetheart? Did Jason's dad just call you sweetheart? You peeked behind the door and yes, it must've been the father as his smile was barely covered by his beard. He was sitting next to Manchile, in which looked extremely entertained with your expression.

"Well, come on in." The broad man giggled as he threw his arms over the back of the couch.

You glanced over to Jason, a deep blush spread across his tanned cheeks. "Sorry about that." He whispered and further apologized through his hazel eyes. "He might be going crazy."

"Well, (y/n), we have a few questions to ask if you don't mind." Manchile began. "Like what the hell happened out there?"

You fully entered the room and sat on one of the plush chairs off to the side. "There isn't much to say, by the time I got there most of the men deployed her already dead."

"How many Troupe members? You said seven right? Or was it five?"

You crossed your legs as Jason sat across from you, his green eyes shinning with curiosity. You paused and counted, there was Franklin, Uvo, Machi, Shizuku, Nobu, Phinks, and Feitan. "There were seven, one was caught, and five chased after us. After that the group I was with got away because of the beasts... and now we are here."

"Did the Troupe member say anything?"

"No, he was admit on keeping his mouth shut." You glanced down at your hands, the phone you bought earlier this week blank. Where was that call? "May I make a call?" You blurted. "It has to do with the captured Troupe member."

Jason's dad shrugged and waved his hand. "Go ahead, put it on speaker so we can listen in." You nodded and made the call. It rang. And rang. And rang. And stopped.

You looked at the number you typed, it was correct so why didn't he answer? The entire room was dead silent, so you tried again.And again. And again.

Each missed call brought a disgusting taste to your tongue. Everyone must have been able to taste it, there was a collective shaky breath between everyone in the room.

"So, what do you think happened?" Jared, Jason's younger brother, asked. "Why aren't they calling?"

You stayed silent for a moment, doing your damndest to make up an excuse, but that wouldn't do any good. "He-He's probably dead. They probably found Uvogin and saved him."

"Uvogin?"

"The Phantom Troupe member we caught." You quickly said.

Manchile sighed and fiddled with his shiny watch. "All the beasts are dead, the treasure was taken, and we lost one of our leads. This night has truly gone to shit."

The father hummed and leaned back in his chair. "We can't leave, it would make us look like cowards."

You glanced over at the two and closed your eyes for a moment to breathe. "I need to make some other calls, is there a room I can step into?"

Jason stood up this time with a nod, and motioned to a room off to the right.

"Thank you." You stepped in, shut the door, and locked it. You let out a shaky sigh, your mind running a mile a minute at the thought of Uvogin being saved. "Akura first, I need to check up of him."

The phone rang a deathly chime, but it was picked up unlike before. "Momma?"

"Hey sweetheart, how are you?"

There was a displeased hum on the other side. "I was asleep, it's almost two a.m Momma. You should be asleep too!" Your little boy seemed too excited to have been sleeping, but knowing him he followed your rules.

"I know, I know. I've just been busy with work that's all...."

Jackson listened through the white door, his head pressed firmly against the wood so he could get a good angle. He chuckled to himself, his youngest brother, Jared, leaning in with a scowl. "We shouldn't be doing this."

Jason scoffed. "We have nothing else better to do, besides we are just helping Jason get his lady. Nothing too bad."

They listened harder through the door, and through the muffled speech they could clearly hear the word sweetheart again. Jared glanced up at his older brother whose face was confronted into a suppressed laugh. Quietly they moved away, and back to the seats before Jason came back with bottles of champagnes and wines.

He almost knew by the look on their faces that his younger brothers were up to something. "What are you doing?" He whisper yelled to them, eyes sharp with suspicion.

"Your girl has a boyfriend." He said, point to the door with an evil grin. "You have never had a chance."

Jason glared at his brothers, glanced at his father, and back to his brothers. "It's rude to listen in on other people's calls!" He snapped again, pouting his lips.

"Just saying."

"It was Jason's idea." Jared quickly commented.

"Hey! You didn't stop me, you're at fault here!"

"No!"

"Boys." The dad stated, bringing them to a stop. "Calm down, it was just useless fun."

"Why am I the only responsible one here?" Jason exclaimed, grabbing a small glass and pouring himself some red wine. "I remember when you used to control these rats, dad, now you've become one of them."

"Dirty old rat to you, squirt." He snapped, petting his beard with his free hand. "Dirty old rat king is more accurate, though."

"King?" Jackson yelped. "Yeah right, you're more like a squabbling peasant, dad."

"And you're a filthy stable worker, shoveling manure and getting the shit kicked out of you by my horses!" The father straightened his back, earning an eye roll from his eldest son. "And I'm no peasant! I'm a king!"

"Then at the very least I'm a knight." Chimed Jason, finally loosing up and getting into the skit. "Fighting the mighty dragon and saving the princess."

Jackson snickered. "But the princess is already betrothed off to another it seems."

Jason stopped and glared at his brother's antics. "She doesn't-she never said she had a boyfriend. She's just talking to her son probably." He huffed and pouted, sitting on one of the love seats and crossing his right leg over the other. "She said she had a friend too, but she thinks of him as a little brother."

"She has a son?" Manchile asked, he was listening in on the conversation the entire time for shits and giggles, if he was a rat he would defiantly be an emperor, he thought.

Jason nodded and took a small sip of his blood red wine. "Yup, sounds sweet too. She really care about him. I think his name is Akura if I'm not mistaken."

"That's a cute name." Butted in the Dad, pouring himself some sparkling champagne. "Sounds almost Kurtish, don't you think Manchile?"

He hummed. "Almost? Not quiet sure, there's a lot of strange names out there."

"Guess so."

All eyes stared at the opening door, your figure drenched in the warm lighting of the room and your sleek black dress hugging your curves like a glove. You still haven't gotten your shoes back on, and instead wondered around without any protection. Maybe you just forgot about it? Maybe you simply didn't care, either way when you walked into the room it quieted down.

"Welcome back." Jackson teased. "You have a son huh? Who's the lucky guy?"

You visibly stiffened and eyed the men in the room. Did they know? No, they couldn't know. There's no way they know, right? "There-"

"Behave yourself Jackson, prying into other people's lives is rude." The father scolded. "Don't pay any mind to him, sweetheart, he never knows when to shut his trap."

"No, it's-its fine. There is no lucky guy, he's long gone by now."

The dad gave a gentle smile. "My wife died a long time ago, I know how it feels." He lightly laughed, though a deep sorrow hung heavy in the air. "I had to take care of these brats on my own for what? Fifteen years maybe?"

"I'm sorry for your loss." You empathized with him, a single parent taking care of their kids is something you knew all too well. Loosing someone you loved, was also something you understood. The difference is you hated the person you loved, and you wanted to move on after you served judgement. You doubted he wanted the same thing. "It's hard taking care of a kid on your own, but three? And one of them being Jackson, I'd go insane."

He laughed, Jackson giving a playful glare. "Damn straight. He's the worst."

Jackson moved closer with a hurt expression. "Seriously? Throwing me under the bus in front of a pretty girl?"

"You're not her type!" Argued Manchile with a booming laugh. "There's no way!"

"Oh come on, I'm everyone's type!" He shuffled to your side and threw his arm over your shoulders. "More so than lover boy over there, eh?"

You couldn't help but smile, oddly enough this group of mafia men felt like family. This was always your problem, you always wanted to trust and care for people, but it always ended poorly. If you started to care for these people, you would loos them just like your past family.

But you couldn't help your nature, so you gave a small chuckle and shook your head. "No way. Defiantly not my type."

He whined and put his weight on you, surprised when you held him up like the child he was acting like. "Come on! I'm lonely and I need a girlfriend!"

Jared scoffed. "You're the one who sleeps with so many women you could be the next Genghis Kahn!"

Jackson blushed and let you go. "That sounds horrible."

"Yeah, it is." Jared finalized, sitting down and propping his gin up with his hand. "Besides, I think Jason called dibs."

Jason's face flushed a deep red when you glanced at him and his eyes flashed with embarrassment. He opened his mouth and quickly shut it.

His family laughed at him. "He's embarrassed! Poor boy has fallen hard if he can't admit it!" Cackled the father. "Interested?"

You rolled your eyes with a sly grin. "That wouldn't be wise, I have a lot of enemies you wouldn't want to deal with."

"Enemies? We're part of the mafia, the top of the mafia at that! We can make sure no one will touch you or your son." The dad mentioned, seems he's taken a real liking to you, and when you glanced at Jason, you could see a glint in his eyes. "Seriously, nothing could hurt you."

"You'd be surprised, money and guns are useless against some people."

Manchile decided to speak up. "Like that Uvogin guy? I sent out a lot of my men to take him down, and even more guns, but now they are dead. Are your enemies like him?"

The dad cocked his head to the side, his smile sinking into a slight frown. "Is the Troupe your enemies?"

You tended up, and their eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry?"

"You mentioned before that our best is nothing compared to them, and every time you talk about them there seems to be familiarity in your voice." He leaned forward on his chair, discarding his now empty glass to the side table. "You said you were hunting them down, and your son's name, sounds Kurtish to me. By any chance, are you a Kurta?"

You stayed silent, there was no way you gave him that many hints... right? Did you get so comfortable that they figured it out? Will they kill you? Use you as bait? Your son? "That doesn't matter."

"It does, it means you are probably being hunted. It means you are extremely valuable, your son too if he has your genetics. Besides, if you have information about the Troupe that no one else knows about, your value just increased immensely." He stood up and straightened his open suit jacket. "It's a hobby of mine to research and figure out the value of things, an appraiser if you will. Kurta eyes are an interesting story no doubt, gouged out by the Troupe and resold around the world." He sauntered closer, his bulky form and commanding tone making you feel so small. "What do you want me to with this information?"

"Leave it six feet under where it belongs." You gritted your teeth and took in a deep breath.

"I can arrange that for a price." He paused and you nodded for him to continue. "I want you to tell me what happened, I'm more curious than I am greedy."

You gave a small laugh and crossed your arms against your chest. Your focus shifted to another as you recounted things you wished to forget. "You wouldn't want to hear it."

The dad stared down at you and placed a heavy hand on your shoulder. When you looked into his eyes you saw a stern, yet sympathetic expression. His beard shifted, and his lips curled into a small smile. "Humor me."

You shouldn't trust them as much as you do, but you missed having friends. You missed people... so you spoke forbidden memories. "The Kurta lived on an island away from others, we are usually feared because of our eyes, so we isolated ourselves." You sat down beside Jason and leaned onto your knees. "My father was the leader of the village, and when I took my exam I passed with flying colors."

"Exam?" Jared interrupted.

"Yes, it's something us Kurta's do to get ready for the outside world. I mentioned how people fear our eyes, so the exam is a written test about other places, and a physical type exam. We would leave the village and do a simple task, if we feel strong emotions our eyes would turn red, if it happened once you would fail and have to take it again. It is for safety."

You watched him nod and continued. "I was always good at keeping myself together so when I took the position of guardian, it seemed appropriate that I could leave the village and explore the world. I trained and learned from many people before finding the Troupe... I took pity on them."

You leaned back and sighed. "I taught them nen and befriended them. Years and years of jumping around from my village and the outside world and I found myself falling for one of them."

"Wait," Manchile stopped you. "are you implying your son, Akura, is one of theirs?"

"Their leader... we got close." You let the new information sink in. "They didn't know, I was barely seven weeks pregnant at the time of the attack. My village, my family, slaughtered like lambs. I killed one and ran away. I was terrified and didn't know what else to do.

"I don't know why they did it, but it happened and I've been on the run since. Akura doesn't know, I'm lucky he's never questioned it, but I'm running out of time. If I don't start taking them down I'm worried Akura won't be safe anymore."

"Are they searching for him?" Manchile asked.

"They don't know he exists, but they are crafty."

"Where is he?" The Dad now asked, his brows furrowed in thought.

"A friend was supposed to watch him, he's one of the only people I can trust... but he left to fight the Troupe. Akura is alone in a hotel room not too far from here."

"What do you think we should do?"

"I don't know, whatever you do be careful. I'm not going to stop now either. I'm not quiet sure if you can, but assassins might be your only bet."

Jason worriedly glanced at you, looking for your gaze to share a thought. "Are you okay?" He whispered, you nodded without looking at him.

The dad stepped closer. "What kind of assassins?"

You hummed, Meteor City assassins might be the best. They have similar upbringings so maybe they can garner sympathy? Probably not, but maybe they'll stand a chance. "Assassins from Meteor City are probably your best bet but.... you might need the best of the best if you can afford it."

"You don't mean—?"

You interrupted him with a nod. "They might be strong enough to take some of them out."

Jared yelped and stood up. "Might?! They're the fucking Zoldycks! They can kill anyone!"

"Just to be safe, I genuinely think they are the only ones who stands a chance."

Jason turned back to you with a questioning look. "And you? You can't go out there and fight them! You have a son to take care of!"

Now it was your time to stand, back straight, gaze stern, a look you've dressed yourself in on the regular. "More reason for me to go. I'll meet up with my friend and join you for the next auction. I suggest you stay away from the other mafia dons, if you hire the Zoldycks you can never be too careful."

"Are you sure?"

You nodded with conviction. "Yes... and I'm joining the hunt."

~~~

Chrollo sat down on a large pile of rubble in a broken down church. The moonlight sleeping through the crumbled down ceiling illuminated his pale features and framed his coal black eyes. In his calloused and used hands laid a book that stole his undivided attention, and to his side a small candle with a flickering light.

His ears picked up distant voices, though he didn't care enough to look up. Instead he listened in as the voices neared the building.

"Uvo!" Chimed Shalnark, waving as he covered his playing cards. "How was prison?"

The large man grumbled under his breath and placed his hands on his hips, the few beer cans he had falling to the floor. "Shut it, besides I need you help finding someone."

The blond hummed in question. "Sure."

Pakunoda stopped messing with her nails and stood up. "What happened?" She asked, glancing at the group.

Phinks spoke up before the others could. "(Y/n)'s here. She must be working alongside the mafia."

Shizuku sighed loudly and sat down on a rock. "Who is (y/n) anyway?"

Nobunaga clicked his tongue with a defeated sigh. "We told you on the way here!"

"No you didn't."

"Yes, we did!"

"No you didn't!"

Franklin butted in. "It's not worth it."

Feitan explained. "(Y/n) is Chrollo's old girlfriend."

"Huh?" Exclaimed Shizuku, her doe like eyes gleaming. "You have a girlfriend Boss?"

Chrollo finally decided it was time to look up from the word filled pages of his book. He gave her a smile. "I had one, she ran after the Kurta massacre."

Phinks returned to the conversation. "If she's working with the mafia, she might be a hunter. Shal, you are a hunter right?"

"Yup!" He happily chirped, pulling out his phone and typing away. Uvogin moved over to him and mumbled a few words. Some time passed before Shal exclaimed loudly.

Chrollo glanced at his expectingly, and everyone seemed to hold their breath. "Oh! She's a hunter, and her employer is one of the sons of a don. I was curious so I decided to look into her call history, you know for science, and you wouldn't believe what I found." He paused for dramatic effect. "She made a call to someone in a hotel, not an employer, but a kid!"

"A kid?" Nobu wondered, scathing his mustache with his index finger. He paused, finally realizing what a kid would be doing with a hunter. "Boss, did you and (y/n) ever... uh... you know?"

Chrollo smiled at the thought of you, and he finally closed his book and stood from the rubble. He sauntered over to the entrance of the church, the moonlight bathing him in an ethereal glow. A few minutes passed as he stared at the moon, waiting for Shalnark to give him the location. His other plans could wait, he wanted to meet the kid on the other side of the phone. If that kid is your own, which it seemed likely, he could use it to get you back and keep you with his permanently.

"Found it! Somewhere in the Marina Hotel... the call was sent to room 443 on the fifth floor, west wing."

"Shal, Machi, Paku, I want you to come with me. We are going to collect what is mine." His dark eyes held conviction, and nothing would stop him from getting what is his.

[sockablock]

(TW for panic attacks and discussions about trauma)

— — —

The thing is, Beau's friends are shit fighters.

To be clear—she's not saying that they're bad at fighting, gods know Veth's a force of nature with her crossbow and all of the spell-slingers can kill with a word—it's just that when it comes to fighting, actual fighting, that down-and-dirty fist-on-flesh shit, her friends suck. Most of 'em just run, or they’d sweet-talk a surrender, or go back to slinging spells.

Beau would never admit she misses the Soul, but at least those people knew how to block. At least Dairon would make her work for it, wouldn't tell her to please, gods, Beau, stop punching me, I give!

Fjord's better these days, but not good enough.

Which is why, on their third morning back in Nicodranas, when Beau opens the door to see Yasha looking restless, she knows exactly what's up.

"Should I get my staff?"

Yasha shrugs. She usually does.

"I'll grab it. Down in five."

Beau considers grabbing some toast too, but she remembers how antsy Yasha seemed and figures she should try to avoid puking in Marion’s yard.

Yasha is stretching when she gets there. The gate swings behind her with a gentle clunk, and she kicks her shoes off, curls her toes in the grass. The sun is barely broken above rooftops and towers, and the first chime of church bells ring out overhead.

Beau yawns a little, but it’s just for flavor. Mind games. She’s not actually sleepy.

“We do not have to—” 

She quickly waves her hand. “It’ll wake me up. You know, get the blood pumping.”

Yasha smiles a little at that. It’s always such a small one, but it’s getting to be familiar.

“I got up early. I couldn’t sleep. Er...sorry.”

Beau doubles her effort to be dismissive. “Don’t apologize to me, Yasha. C’mon. You think I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to?”

This seems to be a winning argument. Yasha nods, like she can’t imagine Beau doing anything she doesn’t want.

Maybe it’s the crisp ocean breeze, maybe it’s the way they circle each other in the yard. Maybe it’s the fresh brush of gauze on her fists.

Beau wants to win.

She dives in, pulls low, uses her quick movement to catch Yasha off-guard and get in as closely as she can. Yasha’s tall, broad, strong as an ox, and even holding back, she could wind Beau with a punch. She presses even closer, limiting Yasha’s motions, sweeps out a leg and cuts up when Yasha moves. The two of them duck and weave and push, neither allowing the other an inch, fists flying, blows being blocked and sweat beginning to pour down their backs. Beau lands a hit that leaves Yasha grunting, then stumbles when a wild haymaker knocks her back. It’s clear that Yasha was never taught any form, just scraped it all together by surviving on the moors and her chaotic movement, high endurance, and reckless confidence just make her deadlier.

Beau tries to close in again, but a lucky kick forces her a pace too far. Her knuckles are bruising in that numb, seething way, and so she darts to the side, grabs her staff, vaults up and then arcs her foot to Yasha’s face—

The dance starts again, this time hardwood hitting forearms and on anyone else, Beau might even feel guilty about it. But Yasha barely seems to register the thwack, her teeth bared in a sideways grin, her eyes hard and excited and alive. Beau’s probably wearing the same expression. She hears herself laughing, and knows that she is. Up-swing, down-swing, slide left, throw a punch, block one, dart back, duck and then—

Yasha’s fist catches her right in the gut, sends Beau lurching flat into the dirt. She chokes her own breath, coughs up dust, barely gets an elbow up with Yasha leaning over her, blotting out the sun, raising Beau’s staff for a finishing strike—

Halts.

It’s like watching a tower fall. Yasha staggers back. She drops the staff. She lifts her hands and stares at her palms and Beau hears a mangled breath. Her knees give. She collapses on herself.

Beau scrambles up, aching limbs forgotten.

“Yasha?” she says. “Yasha? Are you—is—what’s wrong?”

Yasha sucks in more air, but that just seems to make things worse. Her shoulders tremble and her lungs sound ragged.

“Aw, shit,” says Beau, “I mean—fuck—uh—”

She half-runs, half-crawls, ‘til she’s at Yasha’s side. She wants to put her hand on Yasha’s arm, thinks better of it, panics a little more. She wishes she were Jester. She wishes she were Cad. They’d know what to do, they’d be better at this than her, anyone, hell, Marius would be better at this than her—

But it’s her, and everyone’s still in the house, so she shakes her head and stamps the fear down. 

“Yasha, I...aw, fuck, I’m—I’m here, it’s okay, nothing’s wrong—” clearly something is wrong, idiot, “—I mean, um, you’re safe here, okay? It’ll be alright. I’m here, and I’ll stay if that’s what you want, okay? I won’t go anywhere, if you don’t want. Uh...can you shake your head if you want me to go? Is that...possible, can you—”

A frantic shake.

“Oh good, okay, thank fuck, then I’m here. I’m right here, Yash. I’m not going anywhere.” She tries to pitch her voice calm, takes deep, long breaths, and continues to murmur as reassuringly as she can until after...seconds? Minutes? Yasha’s trembling slows. 

There’s a pause. Yasha inhales and lets it go. It’s shaky, but apparently good enough because finally, eventually, she turns and looks back at Beau.

“I’m...okay. I am okay.”

Beau sinks back into the grass. Then she lies down. “Oh, cool. I’m, uh, glad.”

“I’m so—”

She holds up a hand. “Nope. C’mon.” She pats the ground beside her.

“Er...what?”

She pats it again, emphatic. “Lie down. C’mon. I think we’ve earned a break.”

She stares up at the sky while Yasha shifts around, and eventually there’s a gentle thud as she lies down. Seagulls cry in the distance and clouds drift slowly past their heads.

Beau swears, but mentally. A private thing.

“So, uh...do we...want to talk about it, or...?”

Yasha is quiet for a moment. That’s not surprising. Then:

“It...reminded me of when I killed you.”

“What? Oh—” 

“Almost killed you,” Yasha amended. “Both times.”

“Right,” says Beau. “That’s...right.”

She thinks about saying—almost. You only almost killed me, so really it’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. And you kill people all the time anyway, right?

She blinks. “Wait, you kill people all the time, Yasha. Is it always that bad? Shit, does it always...does it always make you feel like this? Only...I don’t think I’ve ever seen you...break like that...”

She regrets the words immediately. Stupid, Beau, that’s a stupid thing to say. 

But Yasha answers the question earnestly. “It’s usually different,” she says to the sky. “It usually...doesn’t matter. Er...no, not that it doesn’t matter, it just...”

“Doesn’t matter,” Beau sighs. “No, I...sort of get it. Man, that might be fucked up. Of us.”

Yasha shrugs, which rustles the grass. “It’s how it has always been for me. That is just what life is like.”

“I’m sure Jester would disagree.”

“Jester is...nice. I am not. I...have hurt a lot of people. And not just people who were fighting me, or trying to hurt me, but people who were innocent, who did not need not to be hurt, people who care about me, and, and people who I...”

She trails off. Beau can’t see her face, but right now, selfishly, she is glad for it. She feels anger bubbling up in her stomach.

“You were being controlled,” she says fiercely. “You didn’t do it. Someone made you do it.”

“But...part of that...part of it was still me. Since...since you all freed me, I...I remember parts of it. I remember doing it. Those were my hands.” 

Beau can practically hear Yasha’s fist tighten. She definitely feels it when Yasha hits the ground.

“If I was better, or if I was stronger, if I had broken free faster, none of that would have happened, I could have stopped him sooner—”

This time, Beau doesn’t hold back. They’re lying down, so it’s incredibly awkward, but the first thing she can think of is to grab Yasha’s hand.

She sits up, and waves it over Yasha’s face.

“But you didn’t,” she says, then falters, then wants to smack herself. “Fuck, no, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is...” Then she stops. “No, you know what? Fuck it. You didn’t break out faster. And that’s because it was a miracle you managed it in the first place. Yasha, you were being controlled by a devil. You were being controlled by the Chained Oblivion. The fact that you were even a person the first time we met—and you were a person, you were funny, you charged me money to, to, well, you charged me five gold, remember that?”

Yasha blinks. Her wrist is slack in Beau’s grip.

“I...do, yes, I remember that.”

“Right. The fact that you were a person then meant that they couldn’t keep their claws in you. Because you were strong. You were better. Better than everything they tried to make you. You kept breaking free.”

Yasha does not try to squirm away, only stays there.

“But...I needed help every time that I did escape. I never managed it on my own. First it was...it was Kord, and then you all—”

“Of course!” Beau throws her other arm into the air. “Who the fuck could do it on their own?! All that means is that when you had a chance, the second you had a chance, you were outta there. In your heart, you knew what was right. You knew it, and held onto it, even when I’m sure it would’ve been so easy to stay there, to stay in that hell and just go through the motions and lose yourself in...in grief, and loss and...and all that. But you didn’t. And now look at you.”

She cracks a goofy smile, all desperation to make what she’s trying to say heard.

“You’re an angel, Yasha. Remember?”

Yasha slowly sits up too. Her hair cascades down her shoulders, black turning white, with little blades of grass.

Beau is made painfully aware of the fact that she’s still holding Yasha’s hand. She lets go. Then she swears again, and hopes that Yasha doesn’t think it’s because of anything s—

“I am, aren’t I?”

Her gaze shoots up and Yasha's wearing a goofy smile too. Small, a bit nervous, but real and warm.

It’s getting to be familiar.

Beau snorts. She snorts so loud that it might dislodge something in her chest. She hits Yasha gently on the arm.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t, uh, don’t let it go to your head.”

She can see Yasha nodding in the corner of her eye.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Then, after a brief battle over whether or not to bring it up, “I don’t...I don’t...for the record, I’m not mad about you stabbing me. Or whatever.”

Yasha looks stricken, and Beau regrets it instantly. “Shit, should I not have reminded you of—”

“No,” Yasha sighs, and her face softens. “No. I am...glad that you are not mad at me.”

“Should we, like...go to a cleric about this?” Beau asks. “Is this going to be something that happens in, like...fights? Because if it does, it might put you in danger. Also, it’s...it probably sucks for you. Right?”

Fjord would probably have something to say about the way she’s handling this conversation. He’s not here now.

“I...don’t know,” Yasha says eventually. “It hasn’t happened before. It was only...just now. And...just with you. It...hurting you reminded me of being controlled. It...brought me back to all the times that my mind was not my own.”

“I’m sorry,” Beau says, because she’s not sure what else to say.

“No,” says Yasha. Beau looks up, surprised by the weight in her words. “If I am not allowed to be sorry to you, you cannot be sorry to me.”

“Ah,” says Beau. She feels a grin pulling. “In that case...I’m not sorry.”

Yasha nods, like this is sacred, and Beau can’t help but snort again. 

“C’mon,” she says. “We can...work this shit out later. Or start to. With a cleric if you want, or not, if you don’t. But I just got my ass kicked, and I’m thirsty. What do you say to some drinks? I think there’s juice. Do you like juice?”

She stands up, and sticks out a hand. 

Yasha takes it.

“Okay. I like juice.”

— — — 

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

[sumsebien]

by design pt.2 // Prince Friedrich

series masterlist

summary: one room and two very confused individuals.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: none

a/n: don’t ask me how. i don’t know either :) (edited: i added another scene yall)

Friedrich stood awkwardly next to the coffee table, looking out the window while you sat on the couch all the way across the room from him. A queen-sized bed splitting the space into his side and yours that none of you were willing to cross.

“The weather-“ Friedrich began, taking a quick peek outside, “-is lovely, don’t you think?”

“It really is.” You were just going to say that.

It had been 15 minutes and that was the first thing you had said to each other after the doors were closed. Both of you were longing for lunch time to arrive for an escape, any escape from this tragic situation you felt developing.

“I-“

“I-“

“Oh, you were saying?” he asked.

“No, nothing. You?”

“I was just-I think I’ll head out for a minute. Check on where the rest of the luggage is.”

It was confirmed. He absolutely despised your guts. That was not his job. A Prince never had to check on anything. If he wanted to stay, there was nothing that could stop him. Not even some stupid luggage. He must be leaving because he didn’t want to stay in your company any longer.

“Oh, of course.”

Friedrich gave you a small smile, walking towards the door with the least amount of elegance anyone had ever seen. His legs didn’t even feel like they were even his. There went all of his posture and diplomatic training.

As the Prince, he was forced to sit in numerous lessons on the art of making conversation and had to put it into practice almost immediately at dinner with his father. At Cambridge, he spent three years studying international relations, different societies and their interactions.

But somehow, the weather was the first thing he talked about. It was such a poor attempt that he was absolutely certain you found him dull. Even he thought it was dull.

And the walk? He could not explain where that came from. He was a giraffe who suffered an identity crisis and had no awareness of its legs.

There was no way in hell he was going to make you suffer through this the entire day. He thought as he asked his guards to find Heinrich. He was going to fix this.

Lunch had passed and soon came time for dinner.

You sat and watched the plate of beans, stale bread and soup go cold. It wasn’t because you were a picky eater by any means or that you held some sort of contempt for people less fortunate than yourself. It was none of that. It was the voice inside your head, feeding you paranoia every second that passed.

He would probably walk than sit on the same train as you. Remember his face? And the small talk that he kept having to make? Probably did not think you were worth any real conversation.

You stood up abruptly and then sat down again, the skirt of your dress rustling with your movement. You huffed, staring out the window with no intention of admiring the landscape. You just needed something else to think about. But there was simply nothing other than this.

Just as you were about to call your maids in to clear away the food, you heard a knock on the door. Careful this time, you stood up and told whoever on the other side to come in.

It was Friedrich. You scanned his expression with caution, hesitantly. He wore a gleeful grin on his face, his eyes gleaming. The happiest you had seen him. But it was fleeting, quickly wiped off when he saw your face. Were you that terrible?

He took a glance at the neglected tray and then back up at you. “Was the food not good?”

“Oh, I just wasn’t hungry.”

“Your lady’s maids are just outside. Would you like anything? Fruits?”

You shook your head. Through the gap he left, you could see Lea and Ilse’s figures. You walked past him to the doors, calling them in.

Once they saw your face, they immediately rushed into the room, curtsied to the both of you and took the tray away. You just stood next to the door and gazed aimlessly at the floors. Friedrich who was impressed turned to you with a remark that completely missed you.

“Yes?” you asked again.

“Nevermind that,” he smiled, “I have found a solution!”

“What?”

“A solution to our problem,” he gestured between the two of you. A glimmer of hope flashed in front of your eyes, so close that if you had reached out your hand you would have caught it. Your heartbeat hastened, your fingers clenching around themselves.

“I have rented out a compartment for myself. It should work perfectly well! You can have this room!”

Whatever else he said blew away. You heard none of it.

You could still see perfectly clearly though. A smile plastered on his face, his lips moving so fast you could not make out what he was saying even if you tried. He seemed so cheerful, so satisfied with himself that he had dealt with this, with you.

You blinked at him, your arms going limp at your side. Were you so despisable? That he had to leave the entire day just to figure out how to get away from you?

But where is the surprise? Even your own parents struggled to love you. All your life you had to live everyday knowing you were undeserving. Undeserving of your father’s pride from the moment you came into the world a girl. Undeserving of your mother’s affection for not being foolish enough. And undeserving of your betrothal’s tolerance. Not likable enough. Not pretty enough. Not Daphne or even Cressida.

“Y/N?”

His voice brought you back. You quickly ducked your head, rubbing away the tears that were gathering at the rim of your eyes. “Yes. Thank you.”

He paused, tilting his head to try and match your faze. “Is something wrong? Did I offend you?”

You waved him off, turning the corners of your lips upward in a show of pretend. “Not at all.”

“You’re crying.”

You sniffed. “Allergies. I apologize.”

You opened the door, “I believe your compartment awaits you. I will be completely fine, I promise.”

He walked over to the door, prompting you to take a step back and clicked it shut before you. “No,” he said, “there is something wrong. It’s my fault, isn’t it? You can tell me. I won’t be offended.”

You walked away from him, your back to him. “There is nothing wrong. There is nothing else I can say.”

“Y/N. I know you don’t trust me. But we are to be husband and wife-“

You spun around, all of your control gone. “Then why won’t you treat me so?”

Friedrich stared at you, unblinking.

“I know I am not who you expected. I am not who anyone expected,” you laughed bitterly, flicking your eyes up towards the ceiling to blink back the tears. “That much I know very well.”

“Y/N-“

You stopped him with the shake of your head. “But you must know that it is not my choice either. You don’t want to be in the same room as me yet you won’t let me leave.” Your fingers had been gripping on the fabric of your skirt. So tightly that it hurt when you yanked them away, throwing them in the air. “What must I do then? Disappear?”

“Y/N. Why do you think I did that?”

You sighed in exasperation. “You despise me!”

When your lungs were gasping for breath was when you knew you were done. Your breaths became deeper, easing the burning in your lungs but not the burning you felt in your heart. You took your time to watch him, really observe. His lips were pressed into a line as he watched you with pained eyes. Your words had slashed him but you did not know that. You did not think he would care.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely louder than a summer breeze and calmer than a pond on a windless day. “I don’t despise you.”

“Y-you don’t...?”

He shook his head. “I got us separate rooms and I am giving you your space and your freedom because you clearly did not have in England.”

“I-“

“I didn’t have any freedom growing up either. People have a lot of input in my life. I know what it feels like to be an outsider in my own body, to want to run away and be myself. I may not have had it as bad as you but I still understand. And I am trying to give you your freedom.”

You stumbled onto the chair behind you and sat down. Friedrich sat across from you. The rounded coffee table was the only thing between you. He leaned against the arm, looking at you like he always did. But only now that you realized what exactly it was that he held in his gaze.

Sympathy.

“I am sorry if I made you feel like I despised you. Because that is not what I am trying to do.”

“No. I am sorry. I shouldn’t have lost control of myself like that. I obviously don’t know you enough to assume.”

An idea flashed in his eyes, he sat up, that excitement filling his blue eyes again. “How about we change that? I want to get to know you. And I will tell you whatever you want to know about me. Does that sound fair?”

“Fair.”

...

You were both painfully aware that there was only one bed. The both of you eyed it, wondering what you were supposed to do. It wasn’t as if any of you had any intention of doing anything other than talk. Right?

Well, you’d be lying if you said your mind wasn’t going somewhere else.

You didn’t know about him but you had been preparing yourself mentally for your wedding night ever since your mother gave you the talk. You just never thought that the first time you would share a bed with a man, your husband for that matter was to talk.

It was not that you were disappointed. You just did not know what to do. Somehow, this was more awkward than the ballet performance your father made you perform for his siblings and their children at Christmas. If there was ever a competition amongst the most humiliating instances in your life, that one would win, well, would have won.

“I will sit in the chair, you take the bed,” Friedrich decided.

It didn’t take a genius to see that the little wooden armchair was not going to be comfortable for him. Hell, you yourself had difficulty relaxing against the bumpy wooden backrest. He was essentially twice its height and had much more muscles than you. He simply would not fit.

“No, if anything, I’ll sit. It’ll be more comfortable for me.”

He quickly shut that idea down with the shake of the head. “No, I simply cannot allow that.”

“Why not?”

“Well for a start, I started this mess. You shouldn’t have to suffer the consequences-“

“I started it too!”

“You weren’t the one who placed a bet with my father, were you?”

“Bet?” What bet? He never told you about any bet?

Friedrich could see panic slowly rising in your eyes. He hadn’t meant to say it like that. It sounded as though this was all a game to him. You were probably thinking it was at that very moment.

“I,” he began, searching for the right words for a moment before he continued, “my father always wanted me to marry someone of his choice. It wasn’t ideal for me, I had had my freedom. I wasn’t going to give it all up. So I made a deal with him. If I ended up married at the end of the season, he would not be able to intervene.”

“But you weren’t married.”

He nodded.

Quietly gazing at the ground, you said nothing else and just sat down on the edge of the bed. Friedrich couldn’t see your eyes but he began to worry he had offended you.

Of course, he did. What was he thinking? He basically said marrying you was akin to being in a cell. He might as well have said that. What was the difference really?

Then, out of the blue, you apologized. An apology which felt wholly unnecessary. It sent him into a daze. “W-whatever are you apologizing for?” It was you who deserved an apology.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, looking up, “about Daphne and about your father. I’m not sure I could have pulled myself together as well as you did at our wedding if I were you.”

Wordlessly, he sat down next to you, the both of you staring straight ahead. He didn’t think he handled it well at all. He just showed up. But then he decided against saying anything lest he ruined the conversation again.

After a little while, you turned to him with a question. “You loved her, did you?”

If you had asked him that question a couple of days ago, before he met you, he would have said yes immediately. He was very certain that he loved Daphne Bridgerton. But now that you were in the mix, he had other feelings to compare whatever he felt with Daphne to.

With Daphne, there was attraction. A lot of it. Perhaps so much that it had temporarily blinded him. There was also the pressure of the bet. Once he found someone he felt like he could love, he made the leap.

But something was amiss. There was always a concern that they wouldn’t quite connect on a deeper level. He knew that if he were to be having this conversation with Daphne instead of you, he wouldn’t have shared so much about his relationship with his father.

Yet, with you, he just knew you would understand.

“Did you love Simon?”

You shook your head, your eyes on your hands. “No, I didn’t. Not in the way I wanted to. I barely knew him. My parents did though. They were pushing me towards him when you and Daphne began to court.”

“And if they had asked you to marry him, would you have?”

The corners of your lips curled up ever so slightly. “I don’t have any other choice.”

Ever since that day at the abbey, he had suspected that this arrangement was forced upon you as well. Having it confirmed by you, however, saddened him. For you, it was never a question of this or that. It was either you did as you were told or you suffered. At least, he had a shot. You never did.

“I have no say in anything. Not even with my own performance at family gatherings,” you added, swinging your legs back and forth gently. The small smile on your lips lightened the mood. It made him smile as well.

“Me neither. It was quite the embarrassment.”

“I once fell flat on my face at Christmas trying to perform a ballet.”

“You did?”

You nodded. “And then I laid there. Like a log of wood.”

“That is still not as embarrassing as the time I got an awful grade in arithmetic. And came lunch time, it was splattered all over the papers: ‘Prince Friedrich does not know how to count.’“

You tried to hold back a laugh. But you couldn’t, your entire body was shaking with laughter. As a last attempt to save some grace, your hand flew to cover your mouth. A habit you had formed over the years living with a strict mother. Well, you weren’t sure if there was any grace left but it certainly sounded less like a hyena and more like a hyena with a rope around its mouth.

Friedrich couldn’t care less though. Very quickly, he joined you, leaning forward with a chuckle.

You found yourself looking at him and thinking how nice his laugh sounded. It wasn’t obnoxiously loud like the ones that echoed all across the estate during one of your father’s dinner parties. It wasn’t too perfectly staged either. It was simply a delightful sound. A laugh anyone would be jealous of.

When the room returned to its familiar silence, his arms accidentally brushed yours. The unexpected graze was so brief that you didn’t think he even noticed. You, on the other hand, were very aware.

To mask your increasingly reddening cheeks and clammy hands, you opted to carry on with the conversation. “I guess gossip papers truly are everywhere.”

“For an appetite so voracious, it is only fair. At Buckingham, everyone reads Lady Whistledown.”

You paused, shaking your head to yourself. “You read Lady Whistledown?”

“I must admit it is quite entertaining when it is not your name on the front page. You read it too, right?”

“Of course!” you grinned,” I am not allowed to but I find my ways. Who could dare dream of missing out on London’s latest?”

“So what are you allowed to read?”

“Nothing. Which is why I read everything I can get my hands on.”

You then continued to recount your late night adventures sneaking into the library. You seemed so proud that he couldn’t help but smile and nod along.

There was also that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he learned more and more about your upbringing. You seemed to know that the nonsensical rules your parents imposed on you were unusual too. But somehow, you had learned to accept it as nothing more than a fact of life. You never spoke of them or referred to them with spite. Certainly not had the same sour taste that Friedrich had on his tongue everytime he spoke about his father.

The Duke and Duchess of Clarence were damn lucky to have you as their daughter. They certainly did not deserve it though. He thought bitterly.

...

You and Friedrich ended up in bed, talking all night.

By the time dawn was on the horizon, you had both finished recounting your childhood tales, leaving nothing behind. In the end, the two of you found in this complicated arrangement so much more than either of you could bargain for. A confidant.

“Who is to say the betrothed can't be good friends?” Friedrich said, leaning against the headboard as he looked up at the ceiling.

You laughed. “Not us apparently.”

“Would you be able to promise me something?” He turned his head to look at you.

If there was one thing Friedrich learned after hours of conversation, it was that you were the best friend he had never had. And he was not going to let that go. Not even for his own feelings.

“Yes?”

“That we will remain friends even if we can’t love each other like we should.”

You grinned, sticking out your pinky. “Promise.”

...

Dear sister,

Everything is in order. All that is left to be done is for my ‘Diamond of the season’ to produce a male heir....

Bernadine closed the letter and stuffed it in her trunk of clothes at the faintest sounds of footsteps echoing in the hallway outside. Putting on the sweetest smile, Bernadine made sure she was the first thing he saw coming into the room.

“Good evening, your Majesty. How was hunting?”

The King entered the room swiftly, slamming the doors behind it. She did not jump, immediately following him and helping him with his cloak.

“Didn’t catch anything,” he said, shaking off his muddy boots onto the floors. “The weather. Too gloomy and rainy. Scared off the deers.”

Bernadine hung the fur cloak up. While the King disappeared into the bathroom, she quickly closed the blinds, of course not missing the bright blue sky and the royal garden bathing in sunlight.

“Yes, the weather has been absolutely terrible these past few days.”

When he came out of the bathroom, she made sure to cling onto his side, steering him towards the desk. “Are you feeling better, my love?”

“Much. Made sure the train stayed right here before I left. Good luck travelling with the lower-class, son.”

The King began to cackle uncontrollably at that, even had to sit down at one point. And Bernadine made sure that he sat right before the stack of paperwork sent for him this morning.

“That is a genius idea!”

“I know it was. What is this?”

“This is everything that needed to be signed while you were gone.”

The King cleared his voice, taking his quill and began to scribble his name on every page. Even the one that had nothing to do there along with the more important national matters.

A contract.

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[much-obliged-timothy]

Got the urge to write some Devil May Cry tonight, so have a family dinner that goes about as well as you’d expect

*

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Nero said, for probably the millionth time that day.

Kyrie continued to hum and ignore him, checking on dinner to make sure it wasn’t burning. Nero followed her around the kitchen, silently fuming.

“Kyrie, let’s call it off,” Nero said. “Hell, it’s not like I owe the bastard a timely warning. He can find his own dinner.”

“He’s your father, Nero,” Kyrie said, which had him wincing. She gently pushed a stack of plates into his hands, folding hers over them and squeezing. “Set the table, please.”

“Kyrie-”

“It can’t hurt to try,” she said. “I wouldn’t do this if I thought you really didn’t want to. But you agreed, Nero. We can call it off if that’s what you want, but I know you. You’ve found the family you always wondered about.” She gave a small smile. “And you’ve always been too curious for your own good.”

“He cut my arm off,” Nero said, flexing the fingers of his regrown hand. “Not much of a start to the whole parenting thing. Definitely not the dad I used to dream of having. No, you and Cre-” He bit down on his lip, then pressed on, because it wasn’t right to deny Credo’s memory just because it still hurt. “You and Credo are my family.”

“And we still are,” she said, squeezing his hands again. 

Nero looked into her eyes for a long moment, then let out a quiet string of curse words. He let her squeeze his hands once more before pulling them away to go set the table.

She’d suggested they have the twins over for dinner, wanting to get to know Nero’s family. She’d met Dante before, but now that she knew he was Nero’s uncle, she was even more eager to spend time with him.

And Vergil.

Nero set a plate down with too much force, relieved when it didn’t break. This whole dinner was going to be a disaster. He wished he’d never agreed to it.

But he had agreed to it. He didn’t want to think too hard on what that meant.

And Vergil had agreed to come. He definitely didn’t want to think too hard on what that meant.

So rather than think, he busied himself helping Kyrie. She’d been working hard on the meal since this afternoon, wanting everything to be perfect. His mouth dried up every time he tried to tell her how much the effort meant.

She knew what this meant to him. Or, at least, what it could mean, if things would just go right. Nero didn’t want to dash her hopes alongside his own, so he stopped pointing out how awful this was likely to turn out. At least the food would be good. Maybe he’d even make Dante a to-go dish if he helped kick Vergil out when shit hit the fan.

All too soon, there was a knock on the door. Nero went to answer it, leaving Kyrie to put the final touches on dinner.

“Smells good,” Dante said, poking his head in and sniffing as soon as the door was open enough for his head to fit through.

Nero pushed his face back. “You can’t eat it all, you mooch.”

“Who’s going to stop me?” Dante scoffed.

“Kyrie,” Nero said simply.

Dante sighed. “Yea, alright. That’ll do it.”

He stepped into the house, the movement revealing Vergil behind him. Nero couldn’t help but glare a little, though he did step aside to let Vergil in.

He couldn’t untangle his own feelings. He’d longed for a family as a child, and now here they were. But of course the crazy, power-hungry asshole that cut Nero’s arm off also had to be his damn father.

Vergil’s gaze traveled around the room, his expression revealing nothing but his usual judgment. Nero gestured to the couch.

“Have a seat. I’ll get drinks,” he said. He doubted even alcohol would lighten Vergil up, but it was worth a shot.

He fetched three beers, tossing one to Dante, one to Vergil, and popping the last for himself. He wished he’d gotten something stronger.

“Where is Kyrie?” Dante asked, lounging on the couch. Vergil was trying to shove Dante’s feet away from himself, but Dante was persistent in his role as annoying brother. 

“Finishing up dinner. It’ll only be a few minutes,” Nero said. He was too anxious to sit, so he leaned against the wall, lightly drumming his fingers on his beer. 

That few minutes turned out to be Dante carrying on a full conversation almost by himself. Nero jumped in a few times, but Vergil never spoke.

“It’s ready!” Kyrie called, saving them from the whole thing carrying over into awkward territory.

Dante hopped off the couch, making sure to kick Vergil in the leg as he did so. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Nero said. 

“Even more reason to pick up the pace, kid,” Dante said, shooing him in the direction Kyrie’s voice had come from.

Nero led them to the table, where delicious looking food was laid out for them. Kyrie smiled, kind and welcoming as always. Only the way she twisted her hands together gave away that she was feeling any of the anxiety Nero did. 

He couldn’t meet her eyes. If this failed...Shit. He didn’t want it to, but he knew it would hurt him. And Kyrie knew that, too. 

“Take a seat wherever,” Nero said, claiming his usual seat. Kyrie sat next to him, pressing her leg to his. He’d survive, even if this whole dinner went to hell; he could make it through any hell with her support. But that irritating flicker of hope was hard to douse. 

“Looks delicious,” Dante informed Kyrie as he began to pile his plate. “I’m coming here more often.”

“You’re welcome any time, Dante,” Kyrie said.

“Please don’t tell him that,” Nero said. “She didn’t mean it. You’re not welcome any time.”

Kyrie ignored him. “As are you, Vergil. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Kyrie.”

Vergil was eyeing her with the same judgmental expression he’d had when he came into the house. Nero wondered if he’d been born with that expression on his face. 

Finally, Vergil spoke. As soon as the words left his mouth, Nero wished the asshole had just stayed quiet the whole night.

“You don’t look like you can fight,” he said.

“I can’t,” Kyrie said, patient, unbothered. “I don’t want to.”

Vergil scoffed quietly. “Then you don’t belong in Nero’s world.”

“You couldn’t even let me eat before you go getting us kicked out?” Dante said in exasperation.

“If Nero plans to continue fighting, then she doesn’t belong with him,” Vergil said, as if it was the most obvious statement in the world. “She becomes a liability.”

“I’m sorry you think that,” Kyrie said.

“You don’t owe him an apology for his own shitty thoughts,” Nero said, temper lashing to the surface.

But Kyrie rested a hand on his thigh, shaking her head. “No, Nero. I mean it. I am sorry he thinks that. I feel bad for him.” She met Vergil’s eyes, unflinching under his cool gaze. “Who loves you, Vergil? Who grounds you? Who worries for you when you go running into all your fights?”

His eyes narrowed further. He didn’t answer. Nero doubted he could.

Kyrie nodded, like she’d expected the silent hostility. “Nero has that. When the world comes apart under his feet, I’m there to grab his hand and hold him up until he can find steady ground again. When he goes into battle, I pray for his safe return. If he comes home injured, I tend to him. When he can’t love himself, I love him. Maybe he didn’t have parents growing up. But he never went a day unloved since I met him.”

“And when an enemy captures you and he has to risk himself to save you? Will your love and support be enough then?” Vergil mocked.

“It was enough before,” Nero said, resting his hand over hers. “You fight for power. I fight for the people I love. And I’m the one who kicked your ass.”

Dante let out a sharp whistle. “He’s got you there, Verg.”

“It’s foolish human sappiness,” Vergil said, shaking his head. “She puts him at risk. It’s as simple as that. Someone who doesn’t want to learn how to fight is a weak point for a warrior like Nero.”

“It’s a damn shame Kyrie worked so hard on this meal just for me to punch you in the face and throw your ass out of my house before you try any of it,” Nero said, slamming his hands on the table and standing up. “You don’t-”

Kyrie tugged him back into his chair. “What he was going to say, is that you don’t get to come in here and decide anything about our relationship. Establish your own with Nero before you go judging the two of us. Part of me hates you, Vergil. The part of me that found Nero bleeding to death with his arm ripped off? I don’t know if it can ever forgive you for that. But I’m trying, for his sake. Maybe I can’t run around stabbing demons all day. But don’t you come into my home and tell me I’m weak. You should be grateful I have the strength to bite my tongue and try to give you a fresh start.”

They stared each other down for a tense moment. Finally, Vergil reached out and scooped food onto his plate.

“I will not waste my time arguing this. Nero can live with the consequences when they inevitably catch up to him,” he said.

He fell silent again for dinner as Kyrie carried on a conversation with Dante, trying to urge Nero and Vergil into it. Vergil resisted expertly, but Nero allowed himself to be part of it.

When they were done eating, Vergil stacked the dirty dishes and pushed them off to Dante, who found himself being sweetly pressured by Kyrie to help wash them. No doubt hoping to be invited back for another meal, he complied.

But it left Nero and Vergil alone at the table. Nero considered getting up to go help just to escape Vergil, but then decided there was no use in being cowardly now. He’d never been afraid to piss people off before. Might as well not start with his father.

“You ever come in my house and talk badly about her again, you better take a damn good look around on your way out, because you won’t ever step foot in here again,” Nero warned. 

“She’s as stubborn as you, that’s for sure,” he grumbled.

Nero opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. Some part of him thought that it might have even been a compliment.

His anger dissipated just enough for him to think over the argument. Had Vergil been...concerned?

Nero leaned back in his chair. “Some things are worth the risk. I’d give my life for hers.”

Vergil was silent for a long moment before saying, “Then you take after your grandmother.”

Nero opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He just closed it and nodded, too stunned to know how to reply to that.

His grandmother. A woman who died to protect those she loved. Whose death set Vergil on the path for the search for power, because he’d been too helpless to protect his family when they were under attack.

When Kyrie and Dante returned, they seemed to expect tension or an outright fight between father and son. Instead, Nero and Vergil sat in an almost companionable silence, their drinks almost finished.

Nero got up to see the twins to the door, Kyrie following him. He took her hand in his, their fingers sliding together with a familiar ease. He allowed his thumb to trace a pattern over her smooth skin, her hand soft against his rough, calloused one. 

“Thanks for the meal, kid,” Dante said. “Ah, guess I should be thanking Kyrie, actually. I doubt Nero cooked.”

“He helped,” Kyrie said, smiling. “Thank you for coming. We’ll have to do this again sometime.”

“Hey, I never say no to free food,” Dante assured. 

“Next time, I’ll buy something stronger than beer,” Nero said.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Vergil said, turning his back on them and leaving out the door.

Dante clapped Nero on the shoulder. “Think you’re winning your old man over. And if you’re not, Kyrie sure is. Catch you later.”

Nero shut the door once he was out. “He’ll...come again. That was his way of saying he would.”

“Is that a good thing?” Kyrie asked, voice soft.

“I think it could be.” Vergil had suffered the loss of his mother. Maybe he was an asshole about it, but Nero thought that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to see his son suffer a similar fate. “He’s a dick. But there might actually be something like a heart in that chest.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know if a man like that remembers what it means to love someone. But I think he remembers what it’s like to care.”

Nero held her close. She looked up at him, her smile easing the anxiety he’d felt all night.

“Maybe he just needs a reminder,” she said.

He kissed her head. “I’ll help cook next time. I think I’m actually gettin’ the hang of it now.”

They stood there together, holding each other in the aftermath of a night that had turned out better than Nero could’ve hoped for. He’d try with Vergil. Vergil might suck at it, but he was trying in his own way. Nero could try to.

And even if he failed, he’d always have Kyrie.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Unfinished Business ~ Part Eight

WORD COUNT: 4.9K

WARNINGS: Mentions of mafia, strong language, murder, blood, torture

PAIRING: Bang Chan X Reader

DESCRIPTION: Part eight of nine of my new Bang Chan series. 

You’re taken hostage but one of Seoul’s leading mafia families Bang Chan but he doesn’t take you because he wants to fake a marriage or make you fall for him in 365 days no…He wants to use you for his own personal gain. To take over another family but when you try to escape things take a turn for the worst and you learn Chan isn’t one to be messed with.(Please I suck at describing stuff)

THEMES: Chan x Fem!Reader, Self insert

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

"I asked you a question, it's very rude not to respond to me." Namjoon snarled at you, you stared up at him through your lashes and licked your lips to remove some of the blood. The taste of blood ran through your tongue and you spat down onto the floor beside his foot, which he didn't like. Blood was dripping from your busted lip and some from a cut near your back that would need some form of stitches, if you ever got out of the warehouse he was keeping you in.

"I won't tell you anything about him." Your voice was laced with poison, and you got another slap across your cheek for speaking to him like that. No one was allowed to speak to him that way, it had been this way from the moment he got you back here. He'd slap, kick, punch and even threaten you with weapons unless you gave him what he wanted from you.

"You know," You spat blood by his feet once more. He stared at you with a raised eyebrow, wanting to know what you had to say to him,

"At least when Chan kept me tied up I was warm." He growled, grabbing onto your face by each cheek he forced you to look at him in the eyes as he spoke to you. You could practically smell what he'd eaten all day and you groaned at him.

"At least have a breath mint if you're going to get this close to me." He gripped onto you tightly and sneered at you. He was pissed that you were trying to act like someone you weren't.

"If you're going to pretend to be tough you better be ready, doll face." He smirked at you, looking over his shoulder at something. There was the sound of a blow torch turning on and your face was forced to look in the direction he'd been looking in.

"A nice red hot poker for the pretty skin of yours, I'm sure Chan will love you all marked up." You tried to kick your legs at him, but you were tied down to the chair, so it wasn't as if you could go anywhere or do anything to him.

"Talk or I start burning." You stared at him, holding your ground. He'd done nothing but ask you questions about Chan since the moment he got you there, he wanted you alive so you knew you were safe for now. You hadn't slept or eaten anything for god knows how long and you didn't even know if Chan was going to come looking for you. Your mind just kept going back to the night before when he left you there, alone, and abandoned without protection. He'd promised to look after you.

"I can give you whatever he was giving you, money, power, anything. Name it and it'll all be yours...He's not going to come back for you sweetie." His voice was strapped with a condescending tone, so you spat more blood on the floor beside his foot. Sharp pain rushed across your cheek as he slapped you across the face with the back of his hand, cutting it with a ring he had on.

"He's not going to come back," Your face was once again in his hands as he forced you to look at him,

"He left you there," Another slap across your face, knocking your head limply from side to side,

"He let me find you," Another slap on the other side of your cheek, you coughed up some blood you'd swallowed and he grabbed your cheeks once again. A sharp pain ran through you as he gripped each cheek where he had been slapping with his ring covered fingers,

"One last chance before I go hard on you, where is he?" You stared into his eyes before looking down at the floor, not wanting to give up anything on Chan. He'd already been through so much with Namjoon killing his wife, you weren't about to make him lose everything he'd worked towards.

"Oh I get it," Namjoon started laughing loudly and he dropped your face as he knelt down in front of you. You avoided his eyes as he started laughing even harder,

"You've fallen in love with the monster. Oh little dove," He kept laughing and sniggering as he stared at you, all of his men laughing along with him as they stared at you,

"Can you believe it guys? The little one has Stockholm syndrome." You hissed at him as he ran his thumb along your bottom lip where he'd busted it open,

"He's a monster darling-"

"HE IS NOT!" You screamed at him, lunging so hard that the chair fell forward catching Namjoon in the leg.

"Bitch!" He cried out, slapping you across the face once again only this time everything snapped into black.

"I said find her and I meant it," Chan growled as he stared down at his desk, he had countless photographs of you and him together. All of them taken from the night before when you had been on your date. Including some when he was making love to you in the gardens.

"We're trying but it's hard, she tried to get back here last night but from the tracks on the road it looks like someone-"

"Not someone! Namjoon! Namjoon got her and I want her found now!" His fist slammed against the desk so hard it knocked over the drink he had on his desk, he didn't care that it was spilling onto the floor. He didn't care that he hadn't slept in a day all he cared about was trying to find you before something bad happened.

Why did he have to leave you there?! He should have just stayed there with you and let you say what you wanted to say instead of running away scared, he should have stuck to the plan with Changbin. The plan to take you out and show you off, make sure to grab the attention of Namjoon and have a public date right? He was just supposed to leave you there for an hour or so and come back to Namjoon being there with you, but after the words left your mouth he just ran.

"I think I have it," Changbin said as he walked into the room, Chan came out of his daydream to look at Changbin. His hair was pushed back and he hadn't changed from the suit he'd worn the night before, he'd be working harder than anyone else - besides Chan -  since it had been his plan in the first place.

"Show me," He laid out floor plans of an old building Namjoon had bought under a fake name, and he'd been there that morning to get thermal images of the inside of the building.

"It's got to be her, look." He circled where a bunch of people seemed to be hiding in one spot, but it was far too obvious for it not to be some kind of trap set up by Namjoon. But right now all Chan cared about was getting you out of there before something could happen to you.

"Get your guns and get extra ammo if you want it, let's go."

"Chan I think we should-" Jisung tried to talk to him about coming up with some kind of plan,

"I said let's go! I'm not letting her go!" Jisung nodded, he knew that and he wasn't suggesting that he was suggesting going in with a plan instead of just running in without some kind of plan.

"You're going to tell me everything I need to know." Your hands were chained above your head on a hook as you were being knelt on the floor. Your knees were cut up as they dragged along the harsh flooring that was inside there.

"I'm not going to tell you anything," You repeated, looking at Namjoon who groaned, rolling his eyes at you. He wiggled the chains to make sure they were secure and that you couldn't get out of them.

"You're going to have to talk at some point, he's not going to come back so you might as well talk to me now." You stayed silent and he sighed, dropping to his knees and squatting onto the floor in front of you,

"I'm going to tell you what I did to his pretty little wife, all of those beautiful details he probably left out," He said as he picked out his gun and cocked it back - you'd seen him loading it less than 20 minutes ago so you knew it was real,

"You're going to be a good little girl and listen to me," He placed the gun on your temple to make sure you knew he was serious about this. You looked at him, giving away no sign that you were terrified of him even though on the inside you were crying and screaming to get away from him.

"He went away on some trip and she was home alone, we broke in and we took her just like I took you last night." You swallowed the lump that was starting to form and you nodded along to what he was saying, not wanting him to shoot you, he was clearly unstable.

"We took her to my place where I chained her up just like this." He uncocked the gun and put it down out of your reach, before he took out a blade from his jeans.

"Then, when she didn't give me what I wanted we tortured her for a week until he came home and then we left her on the floor for him to find," He started laughing loudly, you felt your eyes well up at the thought of Chan walking in and finding his wife on the floor like that,

"Gutted her like a fish and left her on the carpet, you should have seen the look on his face when he found her. That was before he moved of course, so we're going to have to find somewhere to put you where he can find you." You threw yourself at him, but the hook of the crane you were being held on yanked you backwards, scraping your legs across the floor creating burns on your knees and shins from the dress.

"Ooo angry, I love it. You must really love him huh? To get angry at me for something I did to his wife?" The blade was being held against your neck with the blade just touching your skin, barely cutting it but just enough to draw some blood.

"Don't think for one second that I wouldn't do this to you, because I will darling, I just want a little something from you first." He threw you forwards onto your knees again, before one of his men came up and tried to play a gag into your mouth. You were making it difficult by moving your head and biting them whenever they got to close.

"They're on their way sir," Your eyes widen as you realised that Chan was on his way, and this was all some kind plan to get him in here so Namjoon could kill him.

"I'll give you whatever it is you want just don't hurt him, please." You begged, looking at Namjoon willing to do anything to save Chan from any harm. But it was too late, the gag was placed into your mouth to stop you from talking and you whimpered, watching him get into his car and tell everyone to leave except for one of the men, Jungkook. The boy nodded, looking at you as Namjoon got into his car and pulled out of the warehouse. Jungkook pulled out his gun getting it ready for any kind of fight Chan might put up.

"He doesn't mean it, he's just-" You stared at Jungkook to stop him from speaking bullshit about his boss. Namjoon and his men had all driven off an hour ago, your arms were numb from the restraints. All you wanted to do was go home to Chan and sleep everything away like it was some kind of bad dream.

"You're sure she's here? We've been here for an hour!"  Chan's voice yelled out as he walked through the halls of the giant warehouse to find you. The place had been like a maze to get into but there was one clear exit at the back. You looked at the door as you heard hushed tones. Jungkook's hand was on his gun and you started screaming under the gag to try and make sure they could hear you, trying to warn them that you weren't alone. None of this made any sense though since your voice was muffled. Namjoon knew that Chan would bring all seven of his men, so why would he then leave only one behind? It had to be some kind of trap set up to get Chan.

"Y/N!" Chan breathed seeing you knelt there. There was a quick shot and Jungkook was down on the floor bleeding from his shoulder, while Seungmin and Felix went to chain him up. You began crying heavily as Chan rushed over to you and lowered you down from the hook, your chained hands fell around his neck as you cried into him.

"They left an hour ago, you have to get out of here it's a trap." You sobbed to him and he started chuckling as he picked you up from the floor.

"A trap is what we were hoping for, get him in the car." You frowned as he began hurrying you out of the building and towards the cars that they'd come in,

"Y/n you're driving, I need to get some answers out of this one." All of the cars were identical with identical number plates, which meant he was trying to confuse Namjoon and the other boys.

"Changbin, you head east, Jisung and Minho I want you in the North, boys just drive around where they can see you but in opposite directions." They all got into their cars and Chan undid the ropes from around your wrist before handing you the keys.

You'd been driving for an hour in a circle, you had no idea where you were going, you just kept driving as Chan told you to. By the time you'd circled around again Jungkook had a bloody nose - you were pretty sure it was broken and his lip was burst in several places making it look like one big bloody mess just like your face.

"C-Chan maybe that's enough-"

"Enough?! They took you! Where did Namjoon go?!" He snapped punching Jungkook in the gut, he wasn't angry with you, he was mad at himself for going along with the plan. You flinched looking up at the road again, instead of in the mirror at Chan in the back of the car. You knew why he was doing this but it didn't make it any easier for you to watch it happen.

"C-Chan?" You stuttered, seeing headlights coming straight towards you. They were driving on your side of the road at a fast pace, so whoever it was clearly wasn't planning on moving any time soon.

"Seatbelt." You warned him, as you shifted into sixth gear and pushed your foot down onto the floor. He scrambled to put his seatbelt on, watching through the window in horror as you headed straight for the headlights before swerving at the last second drifting slightly. Your backend clipping into their car, spinning them out to the side of the road and so you began turning the car around to face them again. You slammed on the handbrake and brakes to stop yourselves from rolling into the ditch at the side of the road and Jungkook was out cold in the back from hitting his head so much.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Chan asked, watching as you slipped it back into gear and started revving the engine.

"I like the fast and furious movies," Never in a million years did you think it would ever work but everything was worth a shot. Looking at the car you realised it began to head towards you again so you panicked telling Chan who it was,

"It's Namjoon, or one of his men we have to get out of here Chan." The car in front of you began revving so much that exhaust was pouring out of the back of the car.

"Drive back to the warehouse, I'll text the guys." You slammed the car into reverse and began driving backwards instead of heading right up to their car. Having no idea what Chan's plan was, you followed his orders getting back onto the main road and driving normally.

"Give it up." Jungkook mumbled drooling blood down onto the floor behind your seat. He'd woken up about twenty minutes into your drive and began telling you how dumb this plan was, that you wouldn't get away from Namjoon. You pushed the brakes when you saw Namjoon standing in the doorway to the warehouse from before, the four cars that had begun tailing you blocked you at every exit point. You shut off the engine, throwing the keys onto the floor to give yourself an easy give up to him.

"Y/n-" You didn't let Chan finish talking, you just got out of the car and put your hands up.

"What do you want Chan so badly for?"

"I just want everything that he's got, the money, the house, the girl, he doesn't deserve it." You walked closer to Namjoon with your hands behind your head. What had Chan ever done to this guy to make him hate him so much? You only knew about property takings and drug deals but nothing warranted killing his wife.

"If you get it will you leave him alone?" He shrugged his shoulders,

"Possibly." You needed a definite answer before you gave yourself away to save Chan. You needed him to be safe. Even if he didn't love you back, you still loved him and you do what you can to protect the ones you love.

"I want your word." You demanded and Namjoon held his hand on his heart while holding up the other in the air.

"I promise I won't harm a single hair on his head if you come with me." You looked down at the ground before over your shoulder at Chan. Who was begging you not to leave him as he got out of the car, several guns being aimed at him as soon as he did.

"Then let him leave." Namjoon nodded his head, all six of his men stood down and Chan rushed to your side holding onto your hand. He was begging you not to do it in silence, looking into your eyes, he'd only just gotten you back he couldn't lose you now.

"It saves you, just leave okay? I'm out of your hair now, I'm gone. You don't have to worry about last night or anything, I'll be fine." He cupped your face in his hands, looking deep into your eyes trying to search for any sign that you wanted him to rescue you, but your eyes were dead. It was like someone had shut off the light behind them and you weren't you anymore, not the one he'd fallen for anyway, but you had to be this way. You had to come across as cold to be able to let him go so he could be safe.

"Y/n, come on now dear." Namjoon purred, and you sniffled looking into Chan's eyes and mouthing goodbye as you walked over to Namjoon.

Everything happened far too quickly, you and Namjoon had been walking towards the warehouse where his car was waiting. When gunshots began to sound, being fired in every direction, Namjoon was on the floor next to you bleeding out from his leg as whoever got him shot him close to one of the main arteries. He began whimpering and coughing up blood onto the floor beside him so you moved away,

"Y/N GET DOWN!" You dropped to the floor upon hearing Chan's voice in a panic, he was freaking out after he heard the shots being fired. Changbin and the rest of the boys all came to find you once they never got a call from Chan to signal an all clear, you scrambled to hide behind something that was in the warehouse and Chan lost you in the fight. Guns were firing too quickly for you to even hear anything that was being yelled.

"Changbin?" You questioned, as he came over to you to make sure you were okay. He shot off directly behind you, causing a body landing next to your feet, you tried not to scream as you saw Jungkook on the floor dead. Changbin looked at you and smiled sadly as he realised you were scared.

"Sorry for leaving you there-" He shot off again and you screamed holding your hands over your ears, the guns being too loud for you.

"Y/n?!" Chan sounded panicked, but you stood up once the shooting stopped. The only thing filling the air was the sound of whimpering, he smiled at you rushing to your side. Everyone that had been working for Namjoon was on the floor either dead or in serious need of some medical attention,

"You okay? I heard you scream." His hands were turning your head from side to side to look at the marks Namjoon had left you with earlier. You shook your head promising him that you were fine and that Changbin had just scared you by shooting someone from behind you.

"Are you okay?!" You asked, looking at him as he cupped your face in his hands, he bent down to kiss you when another shot rang out through the air. The room seemed to fall into a deathly silence as Chan sank down to the floor knees first as he dropped his gun,

"C-Chan?!" You panicked, kneeling down beside him his white shirt was covered in blood as the bullet had ripped through his body and came out of the other side. It had hit his kidney and something else causing him to bleed out profusely.

"CHANGBIN!!" You shrieked at him to come over to you, you had no idea what to do but he was the closest one to you and he had just shot the person who had shot Chan. Your hands were pressing down on the bullet wound Chan had, Jisung rushed over to you, pushing your hands down on him as well. Applying pressure to a wound was the best option, but blood was sputtering out between your fingers.

"I know it hurts but we have to keep-" You tried to tell him it would be fine as long as you kept the pressure on it.

"It's not hurting Y/n." Even as he was dying he wasn't whimpering or crying, he just accepted that this was happening.

"J-Jisung what's happening?" You whimpered when the blood kept pouring out, it must have hit the main artery for it to be bleeding this badly and this quickly just like Namjoon on the floor.

"Get an ambulance!" You screamed at Jeongin, who was now hovering above his leader who was struggling to breathe now. Jisung kept the pressure on Chan as Chan weakly took your hands into his and stared at you.

"It's okay to love me you know, please love me." Your eyes teared up as he begged you to love him, as if you weren't already madly in love with him.

"I do love you Chan, which is why you have to stay with me, come on. CHANGBIN! AMBULANCE!" You screamed, but Chan's hand on yours tightened as he tried to get your attention back on him/ He wanted you to focus on just him, he stared into your eyes as you began to sob heavily.

"Don't cry, hey. You're way too pretty to be crying." You sniffled as he reached his hand up shakily and ran his thumb under your eye.

"I'm madly in love with you Chan okay, so you're not allowed to die on me." He choked on some of the blood that was coming up into his mouth as he tried to laugh about it, and blow it off as if this was nothing.

"I love you too." His eyes travelled off behind you and you saw the light leave his eyes. You shook your head trying to shake him to bring him back, Jisung moved his hands away so he wasn't applying pressure anymore.

"You have to keep the pressure on!" You yelled, holding down onto the wound as you tried to keep Chan alive. But Jisung pulled you away from his body, as you kicked your legs trying to get closer to him again, he struggled to keep you back.

"He's gone Y/n, he's gone." He whispered, moving you away as you screamed, wiggling around as you tried to run over to him. You were covered in his blood and watched in horror as Changbin covered his body up with a blazer, looking at Jisung shaking his head to declare that Chan was gone.

"Get her back to the house, get her cleaned up we'll take care of this." Minho walked over to Jisung and helped him to get you into the car, since you were still screaming with tears gushing down your cheeks. It was a struggle as you continued to try and free yourself out of their hands, yelling and crying about wanting to be with Chan instead of back at the house alone, you didn't want to go home without him.

"There's a problem," Changbin said as you sat in the office, you were staring down at the photographs of Chan as they all spoke about that night. You were still sitting there in the dress that was covered in his and your blood, they'd tried to get you to shower but you wouldn't move.

"Namjoon can't be found, we think he got away when Chan got shot." You frowned looking at him, you could remember Namjoon on the floor clear in your head. He was right next to you when he went down, he had to be dead or Chan would have died for nothing.

"I saw him on the floor." You whispered, looking up at Changbin who just shook his head.

"Not dead." He whispered, you let out a sob as you looked over at the door to see Minho and Jeongin walking into the room. You'd wanted it to be Chan but it wasn't, it was clear they'd both been crying though as they wiped their eyes.

"Everything will be ready for the funeral, just like he'd ordered." You looked at them and swallowed the lump in your throat.

"He had all of this stuff planned?" They nodded and you wiped your eyes on your hands when you saw the blood, it was starting to sink in now that he was gone.

"You should get some sleep," Changbin stated, coming over to you and helping you stand up from the giant chair. He walked you towards your room but you shook your head not wanting to be in there tonight or any night ever again.

"I want to sleep in his bed." You whimpered, walking to the door and opening it. The room was freezing and dark, so you flicked the switch on lightening up the room as you looked inside; everything was just how he'd left it that morning as if he was coming home any minute.

"I'll leave you to it." The door shut and you walked further inside going over to his en-suite to have a shower, you had to get out of the dress that was covered in his blood and wash everything off from that night. You stripped down, throwing it into a basket and stepped into the hot water. The floor of the shower turned red and you swallowed the lump that formed in your throat, as you realised it was Chan's blood more than your own.

You climbed into the bed after your shower, wearing one of his white work shirts and stared around the room, it felt empty without him being there next to you. The night before had been so peaceful even if it was when you rushed into the room scared of the storm, he was there which was what made it better than the cold dark room you were in now. You arranged the pillows so it would be as if he was there and you snuggled down into them and cried softly as you could smell him still on the sheets, at least you still had his smell for now. 

Tagline: @taestannie​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @moonprincessdiviniation​ (my wonderful editor who wants me dead) @calling-dips-on-j-hope​ @hugs4chan​ @ncitythoughts @inseonqt​ @cloudsgathering​ @atletino​ @mischiefmakerliesmith5​ @freckledquokka​ @happygirl327​ @seraplantery​ @km-98​

[dearest-kibble]

yan kenma who has you locked up in his apartment- it’s been some time and you’ve given up escaping but you know he live-streams so you kind of start living small clues that you’re there in hope someone will figure it out? but instead of a viewer kenma finds out; and instead of stopping you he just decides to taunt you and play along to the point his viewers make it an inside joke- the emotional rollercoaster that would be? he wouldn’t have to punish you- the crushing despair is enough alone

This is so deliciously fucked up I love it,,, thank you anon, Kenma hits so different. I love him thank you so so so much. i am working on so much,,, thank you for being patient with all my uhhh lateness? this kinda became something a little different than the prompt but hopefully thats good?

Kenma Kozume x Fem reader

tw: Typical yandere-ness, humiliation? Sexism? Mentioned stalking, (If im missing anything please let me know my brain isn’t functioning rn)

You’re sitting on his lap, camera angled so that no one’s view is obstructed by your body, but so that all his views can clearly see you. You’ve been here so long, any hope of leaving, ironically, has left you. But, the thought crept slowly, surely, deeply into your brain and hasn’t left. You turn around on Kenma’s lap, straddling him and you’re sure the live chat is going a little crazy at the thought of Kodzuken having someone in his lap while he streams and he’s probably going to tell you to get off soon, but you’ve got the chat’s attention, and you are going to work with it. You tap Kenma’s cheeks, slight squish on them and you know he hates that it’s on camera all the same, you drum three fingers on his cheek, smiling at him for the camera as your fingertips meet his clammy skin. He doesn’t tell you to stop so across his cheek you swipe your thumb three times as tenderly as possible. As you stand from his lap, you pat his cheeks, three times delicately. You look into his eyes, still as calculating as when you met him, a deceptively warm amber with the tiniest hint of frustration (and somewhere inside, you know it’s probably with you but you can’t care.)

“I’m gonna sit on the couch, ‘kay?” You call softly, hoping you were subtle enough with your plea.

“Oh, okay,” And you think you’re free before he calls a “Wait! Come back for a little.” You’re even halfway to the couch before the words rope you back in. He beckons you to lean down, and whispers into your ear. “I noticed you trying to sign to get out. Morse code isn’t as subtle as you think, you might as well just ask them to get you out,” You chance a quick look towards chat.

“Was that morse code?”

“Holy shit! Yeah, I think that was SOS.”

“You think they actually need to get out or it’s one of those ‘my bfs terrible’ jokes?”

“You see the way they were straddling? Def not a hate my bf sorta thing.”

“See?” He’s still whispering into your ear, game forgotten in lieu of what might be called humiliation.  “They won’t believe you because you want to be here. Regardless of what you say, you would’ve left already if you didn’t.” He smiles at you and affectionately pats your head. Like he’d pet a cat. The idea is still in your mind, though perhaps a little shallower. You glance at the chat once more, someone is still talking about it, but Kenma pushes you away with a “I’ll get you when I’m done, okay?” You end your night on the couch with Kenma. He smiles at you and puts your legs on his lap.

The next livestream is two days after the last one. You have something planned once more, hopefully more effective.

“I’m playing minecraft today, I could set up your computer, and we could play together?” His small smile is back. And though a kind gesture, all you can think about is how easily you could make a point.

“Okay!” The earlier plan is immediately forgotten, and thoughts of what you could do in a game, fills your mind. “Will I have a mic?”

“No, I can’t have you telling them can I?” And it clicks, because of course he’d taunt you. But it’s like your brain grew claws that cannot lose their hold.

“Will I have a camera?” And you know the answer, but Kenma might still surprise you. You’ve already had one shock tonight, maybe you’ll get another.

“No. Sorry. You have chat though.” He pats your head again, ruffling your hair. “I’ve already got you set up, c’mon.” He tugs at your hand, pulling gently.

“Thanks Kenma.” He’s put another computer across from his desk on a much smaller table made for playing cards.

“You’re all set up.”

“Yeah.” He clicks the mouse a few times, waves at the camera to his right. “Can everybody hear me?” He waits a few seconds for chat’s response. “Chat is saying yes, so let’s get right in?” He smiles sheepishly to his camera.

“Hi everyone, I’ m Kodzuken and today we are,” He pauses to look at you with honeyed amber eyes. “Playing Minecraft with my partner.” He nods in your direction. You just open the minecraft tab, the only shortcut that seems to be on the computer.

“It’s a LAN server, click that, okay?” So you click it and say nothing. You start to go through the motions of chopping a tree, making sticks, making a crafting table. Kennma is narrating what he does, and you’re not even sure where he is in game until you're knocked back and turn your mouse to look at him.

“Yeah, I know - she should be relying on me.” He’s responding to something in chat, he’s gotta be. You type a quick,

“What’re they saying?”

“Oh, that my girlfriend shouldn’t be so independent, you rely on me - I'm your boyfriend.” Kenma says it so casually, so acerbically that you immediately take off sprinting from the forest in game.  

“She has these bouts - you saw them last stream - where she likes to try and ‘get away’.” Kenma laughs softly; little glockenspiel notes falling from his mouth. “It’s a really cute joke honestly! Anyway, I’ll put my minecraft bed next to hers later, right now...” You stop paying attention and start planning how you’d try to get your point across more clearly. You could make signs, say “Get me out!” Like Kenma suggested.

“Hey! He looks over the screen at you, piercing eyes staring right through you. “Don’t go off on your own, we’re staying together alright?”

“No.” He’ll have to deal with chatting, possibly hearing you by himself. And you continue through the coded forest. It goes pretty smoothly, though you’re sure Kenma is trying to find you, you’ve already created a mine for yourself, and made a little sign with instructions that reads: “Get me out!”

“Her voice is quite cute, isn’t it? I’ll get to hear it for the rest of my life.” He continues humming out yes’s and no’s to his audience that sit captivated in a land of blocks and pixels.

“Hey, I’m going to use the restroom, is it alright if my girlfriend takes over for me?” He stands, and waves you over into his chair that’s been made for gaming and padded with red accents. He watches you with his cat-like eyes as you sit down and pats your head. “I’ll be right back Kitty, behave.” And you hear his soft footsteps get farther away and the creak of the door twice before you finally look at chat.

Woa, Kudzu got lucky huh?

“Please,” You don’t sound nearly as someone might think you would. You’ve been here too long. “Get me out of here?”

Sure sweetheart, just come over to my place first.

“Just - get me away from him please!”

Girls are so whiny huh?

Hey man, its funny at least amiright?

“It’s not a joke -”

She’s really committed to this bit huh

Damn iim staartin to feel bad for ken

Me to :(

“I’ve been here for year and I don’t want to-”

Wow. what an ungrateful bitch.

Ikr? She’s got a bf and everything and she wants to get out?

“No- it’s not like that - he stalked me for months I-” And the familiar desperation you thought hoped beyond all hope that you had lost bleeds back into your voice all repression surfaces like the tide in your eyes.

Oh fuxxx we made her cry.

relax bet she’s just on her period or smth

“I am not!” A bubble of snot pops from your nose and mucus drips uncomfortably to your lips. “I just-”

What could you want that you don’t have.

“My house! My job! My friends!” And your voice breaks

She wants to go back to a job?

Crazy lady huh.

She wants friends when all she really needs is a man? smh.

“Kitten, what-”

“Leave me the fuck alone!” It’s an outburst that you’ll regret later, for one reason or another. But for now it’s a small comfort to speak your mind. With your voice wavering and congested, you choke out a “Let me go home.” Kenma’s eyebrows furrow but his eyes are still the calculating, cold amber they always are.

���Shh shh, it’s okay.” Instead of the quick pats he’s so fond of, he strokes your hair and massages the nape of your neck like he’s picking up a kitten who's gotten into a fight. “I’m going to cut the stream, okay?”

Who’d want to leave Ken, he’s cutting the stream short to help his gf.

…….yeah

I feel bad.

“You should. Please don’t make her cry.” A few clicks later and the stream cuts. “Do you want me to upload that one?” To get your message out? You’d do anything.

“Yes please…” Someone will have to see it. How miserable you are.

“Then it’ll go up, okay?” He pats your back twice, and he stands again to sit at the computer. Out of the blue he speaks again. “They’re right.” No no no no no. “I’m lucky, i’m so glad you're here with me and that you won’t leave.”

“I will get out!” The proof of your white hot anger is breaking the dam built in your throat.

“Where will you go? Your friends don’t know where you’ve gone, they won’t be happy with you coming back unannounced.”

“My parents-”

“You can rely on me, you don’t need anyone else.”

“But I-”

“Shhh kitty, you’re overreacting let’s get you to bed, you’ve had a stressful day.” And so he walks you back to the room you share that's covered in pictures, and he tucks you under the covers and dries your tears with a blanket. He whispers words to you, faint little nothings about games he’s going to play that you’ll enjoy watching and little bits of trivia about what “Kuroo” is up to. Eventually you fall asleep, with his hand in your hair and a chair pulled up close so he can stare. You both know it but no one will admit, some part of him will always enjoy how you lose hope so quickly.

--

once again! This should not’ve taken so long,,,, and it kinda deviates from request but! there we are! also,,,, you can’t tell me that like,,,,,,, kenma hasn’t been at least exposed to incels and or like,,,, really sexist guys he streams on twitch or youtube or something so- also thank you anon,,, i really like this one

[kueruzu]

Guess who finally has the confidence to share the drabble they made based on the jumbled up Soul Eater divergence au they made up.

Me!

I do!

So this is a Soul Eater Canon Divergence drabble I did based on an au I randomly conjured up around Maka and Soul doing some “evil” shit.

Please note of something like this exists I had no idea of it!

Trigger/Content Warning:

This includes, Emotional Manipulation, Aggression, Chaining up/Imprisonment depicted (probably/assumably) incorrectly

There was no proof-reading either— Have f u n—

Here we go!

The cell floor hurt. Her legs hurt, again. The dripping water grated her nerves. The lack of things to pull her attention made her unfocused.

But she couldn't complain. She put herself there. She chose to do bad and for that long? It's a miracle Shinigami showed her mercy, even if she had been the one to outsmart his rules and get off without dying.

Was death that bad though? Compared to living in this dirty cell with her meals brought to her and someone coming in to make sure she exercised each day, death seemed like a nice release.

She looked up as the slider at the top of the door in front of her moved. Green eyes peered at her with pity before the door opened. She saw her chance immediately.

Were they dumb enough to send him of all people?

“Maka...”

Apparently so.

She began to struggle back as he approached, crocodile tears welling up.

“Go away! Go away!”

“Maka there’s no need fo-”

“You might as well have gagged me too! I never want to see you again! Go away!”

He kneeled in front of her, still a ways away for her comfort. Still ever the ‘caring’ father.

“You watched them... You let them lock me up...”

“Maka there was nothing I-”

No words or proper syllables came out, just a guttural scream in his face as the tears poured. He kept calm though, his expression was still soft. But she knew he’d crack. She just needed to hurt him more. Just a tad bit more.

“You watched them do it... You helped! You..! You..! You threw me away! You never lo-”

“Maka you know I love you-”

“LIAR!”

His composition began to crumble and internally she smirked. So close. So, so, so close.

“Maka, please...”

“No! You! Mama! Sid! All of you! You all loved it when I went off the deep end huh?! You were all waiting for it! You were so thrilled to get the waste of talent out the academ-”

“MAKA!”

Silence befell them again. Maka’s tears streamed down her cheek. Spirit watched her as tears welled in his eyes. Her head tilted down in shame as Spirit placed down the food he had brought. His hands lifted to cup soft cheeks as his thumbs brushed away the excess tears.

“Maka. I couldn't do anything. You... You did something unspeakable. You... It’s a miracle you weaseled your way out of being on his list... I know it doesn't seem like it but really, I do lo-”

“My arms hurt... Papa my arms hurt...”

In seconds he was leaning over, peppering soft kisses on her cheeks and atop her tears. She hiccuped and sobbed as he did, beginning to struggle in the restraints.

“Papa, Papa my arms hurt. Please, please they hurt a lot. Papa-”

Soon he was shushing her, trying to soothe her to the best of his ability without crossing lines. But she kept crying and struggling and she knew he was right at the edge of his rope. Soon he’d give in. But for now, she accepted the fake affections.

Mama, Sid, Stein, Him, even Shinigami-sama. She hadn’t been lying in her accusations. She knew they were true. She knew they all saw her as weak. She was nothing more than a burden for her team. They must have celebrated when she was gone. Kid, Star, those two must have been elated. She knew it. Deep down she could hear their voices so clearly, each hiding behind those fake words of praise. They either pitied her for being so unbelievably weak or wished she’d simply die in battle so they never had to see her again. All of them did, all of them still do.

Except him. Lord Death bless him, he never thought of her as weak. He saw her as a partner, an equal, his friend, his most prized and treasured person.

And soon she’ll find him again.

“I know it hurts. I know Maka... But soon you’ll get council with Lord Death or I. Then we can discuss the proper punishment. You just... Just need to stop trying to escape...”

She whined and he sighed.

“Just behave..? Please? It hurts. I know it hurts. But if you behave, your council won’t keep getting pushed back..!”

No response came from her. She could almost hear how he fell off the ledge.

“Maka? Maka? Sweetie? Please. Talk to me... I’m sorry..”

And just like that, she wrapped him around her little finger. Just a few more words and she’d be free from these chains.

“Papa...” she watched his face light up as she gently nuzzled against his warm palm, “Papa can you take them off? Can you take them off? The arm and leg cuffs. Please..?”

“Maka you-”

“Daddy please..?”

Like that, he was uncuffing her.

People are so easy with the right words.

Her arms fell to her sides and she shifted her legs. She smiled shakily, looking up at him and sniffling. Seconds after she was engulfed in a hug. Slowly, she hugged back, her arms snaking around his neck and returning the hug. Her head rested on his shoulder as she blabbered her apologies.

Not yet.

She pushed him away gently, trying to stand after the long hours of sitting with little movement. Shakily, she got to her feet, stretching and holding his hands for support. Giggles erupted from her and she looked up at him with a beaming smile.

A bit more.

He let her walk around him, fixing her balance all on her own. Soon enough she was hugging him again, burying her face in his chest. A solemn smile curled on his face when she looked up. He closed his eyes and hugged her against him.

Now.

She pulled away, Spirit still relaxed with their moment. She grabbed his wrists firmly, a quiet hum and escaping him in confusion before she pulled and kneed him in the crotch. With a yelp, he fell forward, the girl taking the opportunity to grab him in an unrelenting chokehold.

It took only a mere 50 seconds to knock him down, what with all his struggling and confusion. Plus, he wouldn’t dare hurt his ‘pride and joy’ of a daughter. She existed in his heart as his little ray of sunshine behind the clouds.

People are so easy with the right tricks.

His body was dropped to the ground with a decisive hum. She grabbed his ID card, the keys for her restraints, two pieces of gum to chew on, and snuck off, hoping to be able to use it in her endeavors.

She crept her way towards the door, peeking out to look through the hallways. Once deducting that the coast was clear she let herself out, silently finding her way to his cell. She popped a piece gum in her mouth as she did, much too happy to enjoy the treat.

They thought putting him far away would affect her soul perception? She could find him in a sea of doppelganger easier than an addict can find their next buzz. Soul was almost like her drug anyway.

After a few minutes of careful walking and dodging other faculty members, she found his cell. After looking through the slider to double-check that it indeed was him, she began to fiddle with the lock.

A few quiet curses slipped before she got it. Why was this whole place so easy?! It’ll like Shinigami-sama made it to cater for children!

The door opened and she hummed.

“Eat shit.”

“That’s no way to talk to me.”

His eyes shot up, widening with understandable confusion. Soon he couldn't deny who stood before him. Just as he realized it wasn’t some sick joke, she lunged.

She hugged him close, a hiss of pain the only response before he nuzzled his face against her hair. She took a deep breath in, enjoying the soft embrace.

When they pulled apart, reluctantly, of course, she began to uncuff him as well.

Soon enough, he was wrapping his arms around her and she was burying her face into his chest once more. Slender pianist fingers carded through blonde strands. Small and calloused hands gripped onto his sides like a lifeline.

“It’s only been like 18 days.”

“Three weeks.”

He nodded at her stern tone. She kept track of each day. Surely she wanted to escape right? Surely she wanted to get out right? Surely she wasn’t going to simply stay here till time ran out right?

“I missed you… Your hugs are warm.”

He chuckled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Hmm? Then I’ll have to give you more.”

A simple nod, “yes please.”

They both giggled, sighing and laying against each other before Maka stood, trying to get him to stand as well.

Footsteps came before she could.

The door slammed open and she yelped, falling against him instinctively. His arms wrapped around her, holding her to his chest protectively.

“Maka Albarn!”

Sid.

“Wait no!”

Papa?

“She’s good I swear!”

Sod stood in the doorway, managing a menacing glare at the two. While Soul glared back just as angrily, Maka held him like a vice. Actual tears welled up this time. She was so close to some sort of escape! Yet she ruined it with her sentimentality for him. She should have just took off the restraints and had him transform. It wouldn’t have taken so long and she’d probably cover more ground with a big fuckin scythe opposed to just sitting there like a dumbass.

“Sid stop it! She’s not all bad I swear!”

“She knocked you out!”

“We made a deal!”

Sid begrudgingly dropped his glare and stepped back. Spirit walked ahead of him, stopping in front of Maka.

“He-”

“I-I’m sorry. Don’t lock me away again. Please don't lock me away again.”

He sighed, crouching down in front of her. Vague memories of five-year-old her looking up at her cool Papa came to mind before she squashed them.

“I can’t say we won’t. But-”

“You hate me! You really hate me! You want to throw me away into a cell so you never have to see me again!”

“Maka no! I-”

“You’re gonna let him lock me away again! You’re gonna let him lock Soul away again! I bet you told Kid and BlackStar we would be fine! You lied to them too huh?! I-”

“Let him speak!” roared through the cell, abruptly shutting up Maka’s cries and Spirit’s sputters. After Sid’s demand, Spirit fixed his tie and opened his arms for her.

“We can sort this out, Maka. I know you wouldn't have done something like that. You’re your mother’s daughter. You grew up in Death City. You understand why Shibusen is so important. Please, let me help you.”

The room was quiet save for the dripping of water that wasn’t too far off due to a faulty pipe.

Maka glanced at Soul who only motioned with his head for her to move. She tentatively squeezed Soul’s hand before moving away to wrap her arms around Spirit’s neck again. He closed his arms around her torso, hugging her close and standing up straight. He turned to face Sid, smiling and humming as she latched to him. A smug look was thrown at the zombie and Sid sighed.

Spirit’s pained yelp pulled Sod from his relaxation. Maka jumped out his hands as Spirit crumbled. Soul, fixing himself back into position as Maka landed, shot a glare at Sid. Maka darted for the door, hoping to squeeze past him in his momentary shock but she should have known getting past an assassin would be no easy task on her own.

Her arms were grabbed and she was pinned before she could get ahold of what was happening. She squirmed and kicked, screeching about him putting too much pressure and hurting her. He retorted that the only reason she hurt was her own resistance. It didn't stop completely but she calmed.

Soul stood, about to attack Sid when Maka shot him a glare from against the wall. His body stiffened and he bit back the angered insult he was about to throw.

“Spirit this is the fifth time! If she’s so good, why is she so annoying! I wasn't the type of guy to give up but really! Don’t you think this is eno-”

With a hiss, Spirit got to his feet. But he fell over just as quickly. He shook his head, “She’s just-”

“Rebelling? Angry? A teenager? Misguided? Trust me I've heard them all. I've said them all. Spirit I'm taking her to the tighter cells. She already had the same treatment Medusa had but clearly-”

Her scream came out broken and shaken. Granted, that's exactly what she wanted, “Papa!”

Sid pitied the poor man. His daughter could manipulate him easier than Medusa did Crona and he couldn't see it. Love is blind and that doesn't stop when it’s familial.

Spirit ripped his pant leg, tying it around his wound. Soon he began to protest, began to sputter out some retort to make it so Maka wouldn’t be hurt. But both knew how this ended. All four knew despite two struggling against it and two keeping their tongues tied.

“A-Arachne had that moral manipulator, right? Sh-she must have done something to Maka to make her act like this..! Maka... Maka would never!”

Soul rolled his eyes in the background and Sid sighed.

“Spirit. You can’t prove that. Besides. Even if she did, Maka still did those things...”

Spirit sighed dejectedly, sitting down and nodded.

“Ain’t she your daughter? You’re really gonna abandon her like that. You are one messed up geezer-“

“Mr. Eater.”

The shark-toothed weapon looked up with disdain upon hearing his name but his words ceased.

“You’re to be dealt with ne-“

“Soul didn’t do anything!”

And like that, the room was silent for a moment. At least, till she began sputtering just like her father had earlier.

“I-I used the machine on him! H-he didn’t want to follow along with my plans! S-so I manipulated his morals to-“

Soul stepped forward, only stopped by Spirit’s outstretched hand. Maka kept going, looking at her father with some sort of appreciation even if it was small.

“I manipulated his morals to align with mine! A-along with his loyalty and trust! I did it! Please don’t-“

“The hell is wrong with you? Stop lying!”

She twisted and struggled to try and lock eyes with Sid. To an extent she was successful but now the cold stone pressed against her cheek. She whined, her eyes pleading as she continued.

“S-see! With the manipulation his loyalty only amplified! I did everything! I did it all of my own accord and dragged him along!”

“Maka shut up!”

“I take responsibility as the Meister!”

And yet again, silence fell upon them. Spirit hung his head and Sid nodded. Soul gawked. He was the first to break the silence.

“Y-you don’t believe her right..?! I-I’d follow her to the ends of the earth to keep her safe! I did that before! Come on,” he stepped forward, grabbing at Spirit’s suit sleeve, tugging it harshly, “You gotta believe me. If she’s getting put in some sort of solitary confinement then-”

Sid began to lead her out. Spirit kept his head low. Soul tried running after him but Spirit’s hand wrapped around his wrist was firm.

The last thing she heard before being taken away was Soul’s screams. They weren't painful. At least, not in the absolute physical sense. But they were pained. Both knew this was the end of their partnership. Neither accepted it easily. Yet everyone seemed to think it was for the best.