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edenesth · 8 months ago

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TWTHH Spinoff: Stitched Hearts [1]

Pairing: dressmaker!Hongjoong x noblewoman!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 6.5k

Summary: Throughout his entire career, Hongjoong has received nothing but praise for his work. Never once had anyone suggested his dresses were anything short of perfection. That is, until he met the youngest daughter of the Baek household—the family's black sheep, an enigmatic spinster whom he found utterly confounding.

A/N: As stated in the title, this is a spinoff. If you have yet to check out the main story, it's probably better to read that before starting this.

Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 2

"Father, mother, we're back!" called out Haeun, your eldest sister who had been married for years now, returning home with her husband and children to celebrate the birth of your middle brother's first child.

"You're home, our dear daughter!" Your parents enthusiastically rose from their seats to greet her, showering her with praise for leading such a successful life, whatever that meant; it was a concept you still struggled to comprehend to this day.

After exchanging pleasantries with your parents, she made a beeline for your brother, completely disregarding your timid presence in the corner of the room, "Hajoon-ah, congratulations, my brother! It's high time you joined the parent club!"

Your brother-in-law, displaying a touch more consideration than his wife, offered you a warm smile before joining 'the adults' in conversation, leaving you to quietly observe your nieces and nephews playing joyfully in the courtyard. At times, you were envious of the simplicity of children's lives—so carefree, with no expectations weighing them down. Unlike them, you felt constantly burdened by the expectations placed upon you.

This had been the pattern for as long as you could recall—living in the shadows of your successful sister and brother, both excelling in nearly every aspect of life. Haeun, intelligent and outgoing, had swiftly found a suitable match upon reaching marriageable age, becoming the epitome of a perfect daughter in your parents' eyes. Hajoon wasn't far behind, securing a position in the local government and dutifully marrying the girl your parents had chosen for him.

And then there was you.

The black sheep of the Baek household, the peculiar one, always kept to yourself, showing little interest in feminine pursuits such as cooking, gardening, embroidering, or any similar activities. Your days were spent predominantly at home, frequenting your father's extensive library and immersing yourself in the countless storybooks it housed, often seeking solace in the realms of fantasy they offered. Your lack of enthusiasm for conventional interests rendered you an enigma even to your parents.

You maintained scant friendships, lacking any love interests or potential marriage prospects. Unlike other young women, you harboured no desire to adorn yourself or enhance your appearance; you appeared strangely content in your plain white hanboks and minimal hair accessories. Your demeanour led most people to forget the existence of a third daughter in the Baek family altogether. Those who did recall you were hesitant to consider you as a potential match for their sons, and the young men themselves showed no interest.

While your parents had initially held onto hope that you would eventually find your own path to settling down, their concerns began to mount as you surpassed the ideal age for marriage. Beyond mere age considerations, most young women your age were already married with children, leaving you perpetually single.

Though you concealed it well, you weren't oblivious to the whispers and rumours circulating about you already being labelled a spinster. The servants of your family estate often used you as a topic for gossip and entertainment, speculating whether you would ever find a spouse and placing bets on your marital prospects.

Finally deciding to acknowledge your presence, Haeun heaved a sigh before addressing you, "And how have you been, maknae? Will I be hearing news of you getting hitched any time soon?"

Glancing at her, you simply shrugged and shook your head, "Same old, unnie. And no, I don't think you will."

Hajoon frowned in resignation at your customary bluntness, "With that attitude, definitely not. Do you even have any intention of settling down? What are your plans for the future, hm? Are you going to keep causing our parents to worry like this?"

Your mother shook her head, silently urging him to be gentler with you, a twinge of sympathy stirring within her. In your younger years, her favouritism was evident in the way she showered attention primarily to your sister and brother, especially since your father was often away for work. While your siblings made efforts to bond with him during his brief returns, you showed little interest. Consequently, your relationship with your parents wasn't as close-knit as theirs.

It wasn't until Haeun had married and left home that your mother attempted to show you some affection, though by then, it seemed too late to truly connect with you. Despite her earnest efforts, she struggled to understand you. The rest of the family faced similar difficulties. You remained a mystery to everyone, always lost in your own world.

For once, instead of reacting with anger or responding passive-aggressively out of frustration, your sister nodded slowly, as if making a concerted effort to remain patient with you. Despite her occasional harshness towards you, she hadn't always been unkind. As your only elder sister, she had tried to foster a bond with you throughout your childhood, but your reserved nature made it difficult, and your straightforwardness often unintentionally wounded her.

Deep down, she harboured a hope that her harshness might somehow elicit some sort of response from you. But by now, she had come to realise its futility, as you consistently maintained an unbothered demeanour, regardless of what others would say or do to you. Ultimately, she grew tired of attempting to decipher your mind and heart. The same goes for your brother.

However, despite their frustrations, you were still their youngest sibling, and they sincerely hoped that you would one day settle down, have someone care for you, and perhaps start a family of your own.

"I think I know what might help," Haeun began, capturing everyone's attention before continuing, "I've heard about a renowned dressmaker in town who has worked wonders for countless women. If I'm not mistaken, his craftsmanship has even garnered recognition from the King and Queen. I was just thinking... maybe all our youngest needs is just a little makeover?"

Your father's eyes widened in astonishment, "His work is recognised even by His and Her Majesty, you say?"

Haeun nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, father! I couldn't believe it myself, but it's true. He's the mastermind behind Lady Park's stunning white and gold wedding hanbok!"

"He must be truly exceptional! Well, then, it seems worth a try. Perhaps this is just what our youngest needs to catch the eye of a potential suitor," your mother chimed in, her gaze hopeful as she turned to you, "Are you on board with the idea, dear?"

All eyes swivelled to you, and you once again felt yourself shrinking under their scrutiny—this familiar sensation of never being enough for them. The truth was evident: they were all tired of you. You had been a disappointment your entire life. If all they desired was for you to marry and depart from the household, perhaps it would be best to acquiesce to their wishes. It wouldn't hurt to entertain their request.

With another indifferent shrug, you replied, "Sure, if that's what everyone wants. After all, I don't have much to lose."

For the first time in forever, your family's faces lit up with smiles because of you, cheered by your response. As you retreated to your quarters that night, your sister eagerly taking charge of contacting the renowned dressmaker they had discussed, you pondered whether their enthusiasm stemmed from a desire to see you gone.

In truth, your parents' neglect and blatant favouritism toward your siblings over you during your childhood had moulded you into someone who wore indifference as armour, a coping mechanism to shield yourself from the constant sadness you felt. The weight of constantly letting everyone down had driven you to suppress your emotions, opting instead to feign apathy. Eventually, this façade became your reality; it felt safer to shut yourself off from feeling anything at all.

As you attempted to drift off to sleep that night, thoughts of the acclaimed dressmaker they had been praising occupied your mind. You couldn't help but entertain the idea that, like everyone else, he too would eventually grow weary of you. Surely, upon seeing you, he would deem you a lost cause.

Heh, at least he'll be paid to deal with me.

"Thanks a bunch, hyung. I promise I'll treat you to the finest meal once this is over!" Wooyoung exclaimed, hugging the disguise crafted by the dressmaker at the eleventh hour for his latest case—more like a mission to play knight in shining armour, one that might finally win him the affections of a girl, unlike the silly crush he harboured for Lady Park, leading absolutely nowhere.

With a shake of his head, Hongjoong gave the younger man's shoulder a reassuring pat, "Yeah, you better. Off you go then, you don't want to keep her waiting a moment longer now, do you?"

"Yes, sir!" The private investigator saluted playfully before setting off in pursuit of his new dream girl.

Once he was out of sight, the dressmaker returned to his shop, settling comfortably back into his seat, ready to resume work on his latest batch of orders. His fingers moved with practised ease, guided by the rough design sketch before him. A faint smile lingered on his lips as he worked, a swell of pride warming his chest at his friend's development. It wasn't just Wooyoung; everyone had left the general's estate weeks ago, returning to their own lives. While part of him missed the chaos of their shared moments, he was content to give the newlyweds their well-deserved privacy.

Still chuckling to himself, he reflected on the fact that the once-intimidating Park Seonghwa was now but a lovesick fool. He had once worried about the general's prospects for finding love, but now he realised it had been a needless concern. Who would have thought that General Park would find love before him, or even before the ever-charming Jung Yunho?

As he put the final touches on one of his dresses, he couldn't help but wonder how the couple was doing. It had been weeks since he last saw them, and he shook his head when he recalled how 'excited' his friend had been, even when he was injured. Now that they had all the time in the world together, he imagined Seonghwa would struggle to keep his hands off his wife. He pondered whether he would soon hear news of a new addition to their family.

Before he could become further engrossed in his thoughts, his sharp senses alerted him to the presence of a man and a woman entering his shop. Without hesitation, he plastered on his best business smile—a façade rarely seen by his friends, perhaps except for Lady Park. It was part of his practised persona, an outwardly amiable demeanour he employed to win over customers and potential clients, doing whatever was necessary to secure their business. This isn't to say he wasn't genuinely pleased, but his true passion lay in designing and dressmaking rather than customer service. Unfortunately, the latter was an essential aspect of his job.

Hongjoong had never been naturally a people person, but as he had previously made it clear to the general, he was reluctant to hire assistance for such a simple task. So here he was, stuck with doing his least favourite part of the job: greeting customers.

"Good day, sir and ma'am! Welcome to Kim's Dress Shop. May I inquire what you are searching for today? A hanbok for a special occasion, perhaps? That happens to be one of my specialities. However, if you're seeking an upgrade in everyday attire, I also offer a selection of simpler yet elegant designs," he recited, sticking to his customary script upon each patron's arrival.

The couple glanced around in amazement before eagerly beaming at him. The woman spoke, "Um, are you the renowned dressmaker Kim who crafted Lady Park's famous wedding gown?"

Grinning proudly, the dressmaker was pleased to once again be acknowledged for his recent accomplishments, "Indeed, that would be me," he confirmed. He couldn't deny that his orders had doubled since news of the iconic hanbok he had designed for his friend's wedding had spread. Perhaps he owed Seonghwa a debt of gratitude for hiring him. Without him, Hongjoong might not have achieved the level of success he enjoys today.

Stepping forward, the woman bowed respectfully, "It's truly an honour to meet you, Mr. Kim! You see, we are interested in engaging your services, but it's not for myself—it's for my younger sister."

"Oh? Will she be coming by soon for me to take her measurements and discuss her design preferences?" he inquired, surprised that the intended recipient of his hanboks was not present.

Shaking her head sheepishly, she clarified, "Unfortunately not. Forgive me for not starting with a self-introduction. Good day, Mr. Kim. I am the eldest daughter of the Baek household, and I'm here on behalf of our youngest."

Upon hearing this, Hongjoong immediately grasped the situation. Having worked extensively with noblewomen, he was well-versed in local gossip about nearby noble families. He had heard of the mysterious third daughter of Official Baek from the local Civilian Office, who rarely ventured outside her home—a well-known wallflower who, if he wasn't mistaken, remained unmarried despite being well past the ideal marriageable age.

With a nod, he smiled warmly, "Ah, Miss Baek! Or should I say, Mrs. Heo," the dressmaker corrected with a grin directed at the man beside her, presumably her husband, "It would be my pleasure to create hanboks for the youngest miss of such a prominent family. I assume that means I will need to visit the Baek estate to meet her."

The couple nodded with a slight grimace, "Yes, I'm sure you're aware of her reputation. Whatever rumours you may have heard are true. She remains single, and our entire family is deeply concerned for her. We've heard of the wonderful work you've done for others, and we were hopeful you could work your magic on her. My sister has always been a unique individual. I apologise for the inconvenience of asking you to leave your shop just for her. However, I assure you we will compensate you for any inconvenience."

As he listened to her plea, the dressmaker's mind raced with excitement. That was because no challenge was too daunting for him; he thrived on the opportunity to showcase his talent. The woman was right in what she said; he had indeed helped numerous single young women find matches after they had worn his designs.

This time would be no different.

What truly fueled his enthusiasm was the knowledge that the youngest Miss Baek was known to repel potential suitors, making her a particularly challenging case. If he could help her in finding a match, it would undoubtedly bolster his reputation, adding another significant achievement to his already impressive portfolio.

Moreover, the Baeks were one of the wealthiest noble families in the area. It would be foolish not to accept this job, even if it meant temporarily closing his shop more frequently to visit their estate. He was certain that the compensation he would receive for his services would more than make up for any inconvenience.

With a feigned understanding expression, he nodded, "Oh, please don't worry about it, Mrs. Heo. Nothing brings me greater joy than helping young women gain confidence and find love. Miss Baek clearly needs my assistance. If it means I can help one more woman escape singledom, any inconvenience will be worth it."

The couple cooed at his kindness, profusely thanking him for his selflessness, while he celebrated internally, eager for the opportunity to make that buck. Reassuringly, he welcomed them into his shop, offering them seats and some tea as they made the necessary arrangements for the special job: determining which days he would need to close his shop and visit the Baek estate as well as negotiating the payment. Fortunately for him, they had even provided a down payment to demonstrate their sincerity.

After a lengthy discussion that may or may not have interfered with his current orders, Hongjoong happily bid the couple goodbye. He couldn't care less about any disruptions; his pockets were full, and he was content. With the success of the business that Seonghwa had brought him, he was sure that this would be his next most satisfying endeavour. As he watched the couple leave, a sense of anticipation washed over him, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Thank you, Miss Baek, for this wonderful opportunity. I'm certain we'll get along just fine, you and I. Gosh, I just love it when rich people are gullible, and money is easy to make," he muttered to himself, brimming with excitement for what lay ahead.

Oh, I'm going to have the time of my life.

Perhaps the dressmaker might have spoken too soon, been a tad overconfident in his abilities, and underestimated the true enigmatic nature of the youngest Miss Baek. He would soon discover this the hard way during his very first visit to the family's estate, which was nearly as large as the general's, albeit slightly smaller.

He remained confident and pleased as he was warmly welcomed, not only by the couple he had met at his shop the other day, but also by Official Baek and his wife, Lady Baek, along with their middle son and his new wife—everyone except for the one he was hired to make clothes for. The youngest Miss Baek was nowhere to be seen.

Nevertheless, he refused to let it dampen his spirits. If anything, it only heightened his curiosity about you. He was eager to finally lay eyes on the girl whom so many noble families and men tried to avoid.

The more your family emphasised how hopeless you were and expressed their concern about you remaining a spinster, the more determined he became. His fingers were itching to work another miracle. No ugly duckling could remain ugly forever, especially not if he could help it.

"We're terribly sorry our youngest is not here to greet you, Mr. Kim! We specifically informed her that you would be arriving by this time. She must still be holed up in her father's library. We'll fetch her immediately!" Lady Baek exclaimed, her urgency and embarrassment evident in her tone.

Hongjoong shook his head, waving his hands to signal that it was fine, despite feeling a slight disbelief at your apparent disregard for his presence. He tried his best to play the role of a considerate man, reminding himself that it was your family who wanted him here, not you. He tried to be understanding of how you might be feeling, "It's quite alright. Perhaps I could go meet her in the library if she doesn't want to come outside."

"Oh, is that really alright? You've come all this way, Mr. Kim. The least she could do now is come to you and make your job easier," Official Baek remarked with a slight wince.

"I assure you, it's perfectly fine. My task today is simply to take Miss Baek's measurements and discuss her design preferences. For that to happen smoothly, it's important she feels comfortable. Conducting it in her own space might be the best approach for all of us," he responded.

Your brother nodded, "If you insist, Mr. Kim. We'll have the maids escort you there. Let us know if there's anything you need."

Hongjoong bowed, "Thank you, sir. I will."

"We entrust her to you, Mr. Kim," said your sister, her hands clasped together to show her gratitude and hopefulness.

"Please do not worry, Mrs. Heo. I have a feeling Miss Baek will find love in no time."

"We're counting on it."

As a few maids escorted him towards the library as instructed, the dressmaker's mind buzzed with speculative thoughts. Considering all the talk about Miss Baek's perpetual singleness, he couldn't help but imagine you to be hideous. If that were indeed the case, he surmised it might stem from low self-esteem.

Throughout his career, he has developed a knack for identifying his customers' underlying issues. Just as he had done with Seonghwa's wife, he could often discern precisely what they needed, whether it be a boost in confidence or a transformation in appearance. He was almost certain he'd be able to figure you out in an instant.

Upon arriving at the destination, one of the maids spoke up, "We're here, Mr. Kim. You should be able to find the young miss somewhere inside. Just call out to any of us if you require anything at all."

Hongjoong nodded, expressing his gratitude, "Of course, thank you," he replied before heading inside. His heart quickened for some reason as he stepped into the room, uncertain of what to expect.

Taking a cautious step after gently closing the door behind him, he called out softly, as if afraid of disturbing the tranquil atmosphere of the silent and peaceful library, "Miss Baek...? Sorry for the intrusion, but this is Kim Hongjoong, the dressmaker your family hired to provide you with a new wardrobe. If you would be so kind as to come out, we could proceed with the initial stages of the dressmaking process for you."

Releasing a small sigh at the continued silence, he called out again, "Miss Baek...? If you won't respond, I'll have to enter."

While he understood your potential shyness, he struggled to contain his displeasure at what felt like disrespect towards him. After all, he had made the effort to come all this way and even prioritised your comfort. Yet here you were, still playing hard to get.

"Very well, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, he began to make his way down the aisle, scanning the spacious room from left to right in search of you. It was only when he was about to pass by a hunched figure between the rows of tall bookshelves that he halted, doing a double take before fixing his gaze squarely on your form. There you were, seated on the ground, completely absorbed in the book you held in your hands.

Whatever he had anticipated, you were none of that. The girl in front of him was nothing like what he had imagined. Bathed in the sunlight streaming through the open window, your delicate and refined features were illuminated, accentuating your natural beauty. In that moment, you appeared almost ethereal. With such looks, finding a match shouldn't be a challenge at all.

Huh, guess I was wrong about her looks.

Yet, it wasn't your appearance that posed the issue. He had expected as much, considering the attractiveness of your family members. However, he could understand why you were often overlooked. The problem lay not in your physical attributes, but rather in that god-awful attire you chose to wear – a plain, white hanbok devoid of any embellishments. Furthermore, you seemed to lack hair accessories and makeup. He dared say that even some of the maids had put more effort into their appearance than you had.

Goodness gracious, you looked like a prisoner in that outfit. In his opinion, you ought to be arrested for donning such a monstrosity. Perhaps you weren't aware yet, but today you would be encountering the fashion police, and he was not pleased with what he saw. It was evident to him that you were in dire need of his assistance.

Kim Hongjoong was here now, and he intended to effect swift change. By the end of his makeover, he was confident you would be fit to enter even a beauty pageant.

"Hello, Miss Baek," he greeted, finally drawing your attention as you glanced up to see him approaching.

"Oh, you're here. Mr. Kim, right?" you responded, acknowledging him with a nod. Folding the edge of the page as a makeshift bookmark, you carefully slid the book back into its place on the shelf before rising from your spot on the ground.

The dressmaker's grip tightened around his bag of tools, a hint of displeasure flickering behind his façade of a smile, "Yes, that's correct, my lady. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard much about you," he attempted to charm you, a tactic that typically worked wonders with his clientele, eliciting blushes and smiles. However, his heart sank as you remained unfazed.

"Did you really? I can't imagine it's anything favourable," you murmured, turning to face him squarely, "And there's no need for pretence. I highly doubt there's anything pleasurable about meeting me. I prefer unvarnished truths to false pleasantries."

What in the world.

Taken aback by your bluntness, he paused briefly to compose himself before clearing his throat, "Ah, I see... If you insist, Miss Baek, I won't sugarcoat my thoughts on your choice of attire. Your family has expressed concerns about your ability to attract suitors, and I can see why. It's pretty clear to me that you struggle with dressing in a way that appeals to others but fear not. I'm here now, and I'll help you enhance your style."

Just when he thought you couldn't possibly surprise him any further, you shrugged in disagreement, "I don't believe I'm struggling at all. I know exactly what I like, and this is it," you gestured to your hanbok, "It's not my fault nobody shares the same opinion."

Baffled by your words, he finally grasped the true extent of your problem. Yes, your fashion style was the main issue, but more crucially, it was your entire character. Throughout his life, the dressmaker had encountered his fair share of eccentric individuals, but you seemed to easily surpass them all in peculiarity.

Your blunt honesty was one thing, but it was your overall lack of emotion or ability to read social cues that truly puzzled him. Perhaps it was simply your indifference. Regardless, one thing became abundantly clear to him: he did not like you. Despite having only just met you, he eagerly anticipated the moment he could leave your presence.

Lord help me, I cannot stand her already.

Blinking rapidly, he struggled to maintain the smile on his face as he responded stiffly, "I... I understand, Miss Baek. Perhaps that's your belief for now. However, I'm confident you'll change your mind once you see my designs. They never disappoint. I've never had a dissatisfied customer, and I fully intend to keep it that way."

Not wanting to dwell on your comments, he quickly clapped his hands together and continued, "Now, without further ado, let's proceed with taking your measurements."

Forget discussing your preferences, you had made your stance clear. But Hongjoong remained determined to impress you with his work. He was eager to unveil his best design, he couldn't wait to see the look on your face when you would realise how stupid you were to prefer prison clothes over his hanboks.

Retrieving his measuring tape and notebook from his bag, he turned to you, making an effort to conceal any hint of displeasure on his face as he approached, "Stay still, my lady. This will only take a moment," he instructed, beginning with your shoulders before proceeding to measure your height, sleeve length, and neck size. His breath caught and his hands trembled as he reached the final step, assessing your waist and chest measurements.

While he typically performed these tasks with ease, it was usually in the familiar surroundings of his shop, with others present. Now, it was just the two of you in the expansive, quiet library. For some reason, the atmosphere felt almost... intimate.

Focus, Kim Hongjoong!

Suppressing the sudden spike of his heartbeat, he maintained a composed expression and directed, "Please raise your arms, my lady. I'll need to measure your chest and waist next."

Flustered, he attributed the fluttering of his heart to the persistent, unabashed curiosity in your gaze throughout the measurement process. That must be it, he reasoned. You didn't possess goddess-like beauty, nor were you sweet as an angel. There was no other reason for him to react that way than sheer embarrassment under your scrutiny.

Little did he know, you experienced similar, if not more intense, emotions than he did. But who could blame you, really? It was the first time a man had ever been in such close proximity to you. The only difference between you was your adeptness at concealing your feelings, contrasting with the subtle shifts in his demeanour and the slight tremor in his hands, which did not evade your perceptive gaze.

He was merely a man, after all. You supposed it was only natural for him to exhibit such reactions in the presence of a woman.

But that didn't mean much.

You could tell he disliked you, a sentiment you had grown used to. Like everyone else you met, it seemed no one genuinely liked you. Your family's acceptance stemmed from obligation, your servants' compliance from their employment, and Hongjoong's engagement from his professional duty. Once that was done, you were certain you would never see him again. Armed with this notion, you maintained your stoic façade.

"Very well, Miss Baek. Thank you for your cooperation. I'll return when the first batch of your hanboks is ready," the dressmaker stated, swiftly gathering his belongings and offering one final bow before hurrying out of the library, pink tinting his cheeks.

"Goodbye, Mr. Kim."

Back at his shop that evening, he struggled to focus on his work. His thoughts kept wandering back to the moment your faces were inches apart, when he had to briefly encircle his arms around your waist to take measurements. Despite the unattractive hanbok you wore, he couldn't deny that you smelled quite pleasant. At the very least, you had good hygiene, he had to give you that.

Get a grip, you fool!

Giving himself a sharp slap on the cheek, he shook off the distraction. He reminded himself of the sheer frustration of being around you. From your perplexing bluntness to your questionable taste in fashion, it was enough to raise his blood pressure. How could someone like you even exist? He realised now that he had vastly underestimated your peculiar nature. Once confident he could see through anyone, he was beginning to have second thoughts.

Nevertheless, one thing remained certain: you would surely admire the designs he had in store for you. His work had always been his stronghold, never failing to impress. If even royalty had been impressed, why wouldn't a mere noblewoman like yourself? You claimed to dislike fashion, but that was only because you hadn't seen his masterpieces, he was sure of it.

No one, no one could ever resist his work.

Determined to swiftly overcome this minor obstacle, he reassured himself that you were just a small hurdle on the path to another remarkable achievement. In the end, when you were basking in the glory of the century's most sensational makeover, all the effort would be worthwhile. He could not wait for you to shed tears of gratitude, thanking him for opening your eyes to the true essence of beauty. With that conviction, he delved into his work, flipping through his sketchbook until he reached the section reserved for his finest designs, carefully curated for an occasion like this.

Pausing at one of his personal favorites, a masterpiece he had been saving for a worthy client, he decided that now was the perfect opportunity to bring it to life.

Oh, you were sure to adore it.

You had to.

But he should have known better than to actually believe that. He was, once again, in for a surprise a few days later when he arrived at the Baek estate with the first hanbok done. Only once he had your green light would he be able to proceed with making more for you. As the maids escorted him to your quarters, they noted his bright demeanour; you had risen late today and were still having breakfast in solitude, "You seem quite cheerful today, Mr. Kim," one remarked, arching an eyebrow.

He smirked confidently, "Indeed, I am. Your young miss will be very impressed with what she is about to see today. With this makeover, she'll surely catch the eye of potential suitors in no time."

The maid hesitated, cautioning, "I'm not sure you should be so certain. The young miss isn't like any other girl you've worked with."

"Ah, I know, but my work speaks for itself," he retorted, "She'd be silly not to like it."

"If you say so, sir," the maid replied, her tone conceding defeat. She knew better than to doubt his skill, but she also understood that you were unlike any other. He would soon discover that firsthand, and she was almost certain he wouldn't leave the estate with the same confidence he arrived with.

"Well, what do you think?" inquired the dressmaker, proudly unveiling his newest masterpiece to his latest customer.

Eyeing the elegantly colourful hanbok, which was a departure from your usual plain white ones, your gaze remained impassive. After what seemed like an eternity, you responded with a slight furrow of your brows, "It uhh... it looks nice, I suppose."

As you watched Hongjoong's reaction falter momentarily, it appeared as though he was experiencing a million emotions per second before settling on a deeply offended expression. With an audible scoff, he clenched his jaw, "Nice, you say? Just... nice? You suppose? Miss Baek, that is utterly outrageous! Throughout my career, I've only ever been praised for delivering perfection."

You stayed silent as he continued to extol his successes, boasting about being the best dressmaker in all of Joseon and citing his most illustrious achievements, such as the wedding dress he crafted for Lady Park, which even impressed Their Majesties. It dawned on you that your simple response had deeply wounded him.

"I-I mean... it's not bad," you interjected, hoping to fix the damage, but your heart sank as he only glared at you, "Not bad...? I'm sorry, was that supposed to console me?" he chuckled incredulously, "You know what? Now I understand why you're still single. At this rate, you'll never find a husband."

Ouch.

The awkward silence that followed was deafening, causing the maids who were waiting in your room to quickly shuffle closer to you, noticing you had finished your meal, "Young miss, we'll just be clearing this up and excusing ourselves."

"Thank you." You nodded curtly, watching emotionlessly as they hastily picked up the table containing the empty plates and bowls and left with a deep bow. Meanwhile, the dressmaker remained in his spot, visibly heaving deep breaths as if trying to calm himself from the outburst, before carefully setting the hanbok down.

After you were left alone, he took a deep breath before apologising, "Gosh, I— I'm so sorry, Miss Baek. That was uncalled for, I—"

Shaking your head, you cut him off, "No, please don't be. You were merely telling the truth. As I've said, I prefer unvarnished truth to false pleasantries. In fact, I believe you are right about that. You are not the first to say that, and you certainly won't be the last."

As he absorbed your words, a wave of discomfort washed over Hongjoong. For some reason, he would have preferred if you had yelled at him or thrown a tantrum rather than accepting his insults like that. Surely, it couldn't feel pleasant to hear such remarks, no matter how unaffected you made yourself appear. It made him feel terrible, and he hated it — hated the guilt that filled him for uttering such words.

Clearing his throat, he sighed, "I... my lady, please don't say that. It's just that... I really need your approval before I make more of these for you. At the end of the day, you are the one who has to wear them." His voice softened, an attempt to make up for his earlier harshness.

You detected the familiar pity in his tone, and you despised it. Raising a brow, you shrugged, "Why does my approval matter? It's my family who's paying you, not me. You owe it to them to make me look perfect, whatever that means. I've made it clear what I like, and if it's not to yours or anyone's taste, so be it. I see no point in consulting me on your designs, Mr. Kim. Just do what you're hired for; it doesn't matter what I like."

It never has.

While that should have brought relief to the dressmaker, knowing he had the freedom to pursue his vision without worrying about your approval, something about your words left him feeling... melancholic. It struck a chord within him, reminding him of his own struggles when he initially embarked on his fashion career. At that time, it was met with disapproval from society, which deemed it an unfitting profession for a man. Despite the opposition, he chose to be himself.

However, seeing you succumb to societal expectations, suppressing your true self to please others, including him, stirred a sense of empathy within him. It mirrored his own past battles with conformity. Unlike him, you were forced to adhere to societal norms, sacrificing your individuality for the sake of others' expectations.

And he didn't like that.

But what he hated even more was how you managed to evoke emotions he hadn't signed up for. Despite his efforts to push thoughts of you aside and concentrate solely on his goal—to craft the finest hanboks in all of Joseon and transform you into a vision of beauty, one you did not desire—the memory of your somewhat disheartening expression, as you dismissed the importance of your preferences, lingered in his mind. It unsettled him, he hated the way it was causing an uncomfortable tightening in his chest.

« Preview of Part 2 »

"I'm telling you, Yunho, she's infuriating!"

The physician, busy tidying his clinic counter, rolled his eyes, "How could I not know, hyung? You've been talking about her since my lunch break. We're almost at closing time; are you finished?"

Hongjoong crossed his arms, scoffing, "What, do you have somewhere else to be? Don't think I haven't noticed you've been going to that apothecary more often lately."

Yunho stilled, a faint pink dusting across his cheeks as he cleared his throat, "What do you mean? I've always gone there for herbs."

"Yes, but not as frequently as you do now. Ever since you met a certain herbalist," Hongjoong teased, wiggling his brows.

"If you have nothing important to say, please leave," the physician grumbled, tired of the older man's rambling.

Uncrossing his arms, the dressmaker said, "W-wait! Look, you're the most rational one among us. I just... wanted to know your thoughts on the matter."

Sighing, Yunho softened, "You know, she's right. You're hired by her family, your job is simple, and you know what you have to do. The only reason you're so affected by this is probably because you care."

"I do not care about her—"

"Sure, if you say so. Then go on ahead and complete your job. You'll receive your payment and all the benefits that come with it anyway. So, what's really bothering you?"

Oh my gosh, thank you so much for 1.6k followers! Same as Wooyoung's spinoff, the next part will be the second and final part. I've decided to standardise the format, so all the spinoffs will be two-shots.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list (1/7): @itstheghostofmypast @huachengsbestie01 @minghaoslatina @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @the-kpop-simp @writingwieny @stayatinykatsy @skzline @green-agent @stayinhellevator @vampzity @tinyteezer @evidive @vantediary @superbbananananana @kimyeolchan @chocolate-scoups @decadentstrangernacho @vic0921 @foxinnie8 @marievllr-abg @sunnyhokyu @seungmin-in-thebuilding @heyitsmetonid @sansaurora9904 @darkestacademiamindsx12-blog @pay13 @kpop17 @professormingisglasses @newworldwritings @chicken-fifi @thunderous-wolf @shythinggiver @madnpan @yandere-stories @anxiousskylar @frobin4ever @starssongs98 @kamabokogonpachro @dollce-exe @jan-l @lovelyred2 @haven-cove @watermelon2319 @dreamingofyeo @akimkim @scuzmunkie @satsuri3su @mismatchfluffysocks @borntoshineateez @st4rhwa @ddaeing @tropicalsstuff @bts-army380 @skteezcursed @beauty143 @naps-over-degree @idfkeddieishot @sis-101 @lemon-sage17 @jcalicocatj

#edenesth #the way to his heart #stitched hearts #twthh spinoff #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #kim hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #historical au #joseon era #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #ateez fic

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yawnderu · 11 months ago

Text

>Simon's first Christmas with bimbo!reader and her parents.

“And after we go to my parent's house, we can go to yours and then come back here?” Simon's face drops for a second before he tries his best to put on a small, fake smile. You can feel how tense his body is, a complete contrast to how relaxed he was before you spoke.

“Let's just go to yours and then come back here, love.” You look up at him with furrowed eyebrows, a small frown on your lips as you hear how tense he sounds, even when he's trying to hide it. You move a little bit in his arms, wrapping your own around his neck and resting your chin on his chest.

“You don't talk to your family?” You ask softly, trying to be as careful as possible. Simon simply looks away, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he tries to think of what to say. His eyes eventually go back to you, his jaw muscles tensed up before he tries to relax.

“Somethin' like that.” How does he go about telling you his entire family got executed and he found them dead? Should he tell you he burned their bodies and has no physical memories of them after giving them a funeral pyre? Does he tell you he was on the news after being framed for the murders? He takes a deep breath, his lungs greedily taking in the air before he speaks again.

“You still making me wear that ugly Christmas sweater you got me?” His smile turns more honest when you smack his arm, the small giggle coming out of you cutting the tension.

“They're not ugly— well... yeah, maybe a little bit, but what's the point of Christmas if you can't wear ugly sweaters with your loved ones?” You grin up at him, knowing better than to press the previous topic. He'll tell you more when he's ready, you're sure of it.

“I look like the town's idiot with it on, love.” You stifle a giggle, hiding your face on the crook of his neck as your shoulder shake in silent laughter. He does look... interesting with the colorful Christmas sweater on, a complete contrast to his stoic face and bulging muscles.

“You look cute with it!” You protest, peppering his face in kisses, not caring about the many kiss marks you're leaving all over his pretty face. He scrunches up his face in fake annoyance despite the smile on his lips, his hand running up and down your back, soothing both you and him.

He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to tell you the truth about his family or his past, but at the very least, you're never pushy about it. He knows you've seen the many scars on his body, yet you still look at him with nothing but pure devotion in your eyes.

Spending Christmas with a family for the first time in many years definitely touches something in Simon's soul. Your parents were so incredibly welcoming to him, your father calling him ''son'' and treating him like he was always part of your family, already having plenty of gifts ready for him based on what you've told him about his interests. Your mother reminds him of his own— incredibly patient and nurturing, making sure to feed him well and secretly checking up on him when she notices he's getting choked up.

Simon doesn't cry, but on the drive back home, his eyes are stinging, a small, proud smile on his lips as you tell him how your family invited you both to a bigger gathering for New Year.

Bimbo!Reader Masterlist

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idv-sunsxin3 · 6 months ago

Text

Rody, Vincent // Thoughts on S/O

Notes// I've got these random brainrots like, if reader has to play this game connected to the deadplate game in the pov of a journalist to solve some kind of case related to Manon's disappearance-- so Rody and Vincent would be having npcs with extra dialogue lines that talk about their s/o(Y/N, not manon). The other idea of us playing in the pov as the s/o(separate) would be interesting too.

Rody//

•NPC!Rody can be seen walking and catering patrons with a friendly smile. He was wearing roller skates as he often has his hands busy with dish plates during his work shift.

•If you stay long enough to shift restaurant, there is a chance he would stutter his performance a bit as his arms tremble to keep the plates from not falling in his hands.

•When talking to him, his speech is usually rush as he has to shift from one corner of the restaurant to the other, his eyes everywhere as he rambles on yet keeping a friendly aura through his firm smile.

•"Hello- welcome to La Gueule le Saturne! Allow me to guide you to the right table. "

•"Yes? Please stay seated for the mean time, I'll be right back with you soon!"

•"Would you like to order?"

•(asked about S/O) "Oh- Oh? My lover?" *sheepish smile with a goofy blush suddenly* "They're doing great." *easily goes back to work*

•Whether as a coworker or customer, one thing clear is that when you're a bit closer enough, you eventually get to know his S/O's name.

•"We can talk later!"

•"What's up? Need a hand?"

•"Uh--- can you take care of the other tables? Thanks!"

•"mmm... I wonder what kinds of flowers should I give for Y/N this time?" *dozing off in the kitchen for a moment *

•(When asked about S/O) "Y/N are at home, and they are taking care of our apartment.. If only i can convince them to not move a finger.. God, they're so wonderful-- Oh, excuse me." *catches almost getting too deep into the topic before trying to quickly go back to work*

Internal Thoughts//

I love Y/N... I must work hard for them. Without them, I'll be nothing... So I have to do more than my best to give them the love and care they need! I must please them. I must serve them... Well, even if it's too much.. I'm willing to give them everything... my everything.

I promise them a brighter future... where we don't have to worry about money and bills. I just need to earn and save more.

This journalist keeps coming over pretty often--- I wonder what they are looking for? Why are they so curious of my honey? I need to keep S/O safe from unwanted attention - I'll just try and answer briefly as possible.

___

Vincent//

•Usually you'll see NPC!Vincent in the corner watching the cooks work to check for perfection. No matter how early you are, it's already clear that he's the boss. The one who is the first person to open the restaurant

•Day 4, you can find him walking to the dumpster area to smoke in his break.

•When interacting with him. He'll show a polite, charismatic persona when talking to you as a visitor or patron.

•"Good day, what may I help you..?" *fake smile*

•"Hello, are there any problems with a dish you have ordered? We can try and fix something to recompensate it."

•"Looking for me...?"

•"Oh- may I ask what you are doing here, Monsieur/Mademoiselle? Rody should have informed me about you coming here -"

• (When asked about S/O) "Mm... About my fiancé? They're doing well, thank you for asking." *maintaing a fake smile*

•If you happened to end up working for him as a waiter or cook, his demeanor would probably be a different story.

•"..."

•"What do you need?"

•"......"

•"Why are you still here? You better not try chit-chats on me."

•"...What?"

•(When asked about s/o) "S/O? They're at work. Any business with them? I can let them know on your behalf with anything you need to inform later. Just go back to work."

Internal Thoughts//

I keep mentioning Y/N as "my fiancé " through the press and the public. In reality, We're not officially engaged, but I like the sound of it, and i do it so no one can bother to make advancements on me - I need to be seen as... royally taken.

The journalist keeps asking questions to me... even having the audacity to press on matters related to my Y/N. If they know what really happened to Manon, I must make a backup plan...

And do not fret, mon cher. I'll soon place a real ring on that pretty finger on yours... Once the evidence needs to be rid of from anyone's reach.

#dead plate fanfic #dead plate rody #dead plate #dead plate x reader #dead plate vincent #vincent charbonneau #rody lamoree #rody lamoree x reader #vincent charbonneau x reader

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yawujin · 6 months ago

Note

Hallo would you be alright with writing (you don't have to) v3 boys x blunt reader (male)

Example: *someone walks into the room wearing baggy pants and a long coat* reader:"you look like you have stubby legs"

Also side note I think it would be funny if tenko has beef with him due to him sometimes calling her out on her shit (I don't like tenko that much)

Pls&thx

request | v3 boys x a very blunt reader

type | react , non killing game, male reader

shuichi saihara ♡

shuichi definitely appreciates you being able to be unapologetically blunt and honest

sure he can be too but

sometimes it's hard for him to be completely honest with some people

he goes to you the most for constructive criticism

rantaro amami ♡

he likes that you keep people in check

when tenko tries to call rantaro a 'disgusting' male, you step in and tell her rantaro is fine just the way he is

rantaro is a pretty nice guy after all

and you just have no problem telling him that

K1B0/kiibo ♡

you can bet this man was DEVASTATED when you told him his singing is really not good, like, at all

he's really happy when you do give him praise for things he's especially skilled at though

is appreciative towards you when you step into an argument he's having with someone

you're always reminding him that not everyone is 'robophobic' and they're just joking with him

korekiyo shinguji ♡

he finds your ability to be so blunt very admirable

if someone tries to give you shit about you having no filter

korekiyo will remind you that being honest is a sign of good communication

he's happiest when engaging in conversation with you about his anthropology work because of your opinions on various topics

kaito momota ♡

"he's obviously not an idiot if he was able to pass the exams to become an astronaut" is what you said when everyone called him an idiot

"FINALLY, THANK YOU (Y/N)!!!" he exclaimed happily

"he's smart in his own way" you smiled

"hey! that's very backhanded!!" he cried

eventually kaito, got used to your comments and it made him toughen up

it was so refreshing that he found someone that talks so freely

gonta gokuhara ♡

you ward off the people that like to make jokes at gonta's expense

at times, gonta asks you not to be so harsh

sometimes you let people off easy, other times not so much

"thanks (Y/N) for protecting gonta" he gave you a tender hug

gonta often goes to you for advice on how to be more gentlemanly

ryoma hoshi ♡

likes that you can be brutally honest

doesn't mind that you don't sugarcoat your opinions on his plays during tennis, especially if he didn't give it his all at practice that day

when that happens, you joke with him by using his own catchphrase back at him "you've still got a ways to go"

he always looks forward to your compliments when he does do well though

kokichi ouma ♡

a very interesting dynamic to say the least

your truth and his lies clash most of the time

for example:

someone will walk into a room with you two inside, and ask your guys' opinion on their outfit

"it's shit" you say

"it's perfect!" kokichi remarks

you two get in a mini argument, and the poor person walks out of the room confused on how they really look

#danganronpa headcanons #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa x reader #drv3 killing harmony #shuichi saihara x reader #rantaro amami x reader #kiibo x reader #drv3 kiibo #korekiyo x reader #kaito momota x reader #gonta gokuhara x reader #ryoma hoshi x reader #kokichi ouma x reader #danganronpa fanfiction

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thechekhov · 10 months ago

Text

Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts: CH36

Time find out just how fucked up Toshiro got.

Hey Kabru. Chill.

That sure is a normal look to give your team mate. I'm sure you're a normal, well adjusted leader who understands when you step out of bounds.

Bold of you to assume they even care. They're too caught up in the plot of the second arc to even remember you...

So much to question here. The fact that Toshiro has retainers. The fact that they're all mildly bored. The fact that Marcille seems to hate it here. Marcille, hello??? Are you only interested in Falin? Do you just hate people that aren't her?

The fact that she's still wearing the frog costume makes this panel, honestly. What a legend.

This is so wholesome. Laios just decided to therapy this workaholic man all on his own, dangit. If he won't do it, who will? Senshi must be so proud.

Hang on, I just realized--.....is that.

Is that the cat girl...?!!? That I've been seeing? I thought it was just a hat at first, but those are ears, aren't they?! Is she the one that eventually joins the party?

Marcille, you're a beautiful frog woman to me.

If I didn't know that Chillchuck is a dad already, I would have known it at this point. What a thing to say. "oh no, which one of these kids grown men is going to cause more trouble if left unattended"

I'm sure that's fine.

...........

But when you put it that way, it seems a little.... simple?

Kabru is beginning to suspect he's in the wrong class.

"Ah yes, a little freak that scuttles around from paintings to reality and speaks in archaic and mysterious tones. GOTTA be a Sorcerer. And hella mad, too!"

The math checks out, your honor.

Her best, Karbohydrate. She did her best.

Oh Laios, you're a hoot.

Kabru, you literally said Laios is a terrible liar three seconds ago. Maybe be a little less obvious? 😂

...you've done this to yourself, mate.

Okay, you know what. I take it back. I still don't like Kabru but watching him suffer IS supremely entertaining.

Okay, I can see how he might jump to the wrong conclusions here. They did not, in fact, eat the orcs.....

Orcs are duty bound to slap ya upside the head.

I love how genuinely patient Senshi is, and how good he is at listening. Chillchuck was worried but he's just vibing with new friends.

I'm sure they're having a grand old time.

What do those ears do, hmmm?

I enjoy the fact that he says "they're all treated as heinous criminals" instead of passing moral judgement and saying 'they're beyond reproach' or the like. He knows the consequences, and remarks not at all on whether or not he agrees with the judgement itself.

I could also draw some parallels here about how Japan treats all drugs but. Well. That's another topic.

Oh, noooo. As opposed to that other way of dying, where your corpse is dragged about in a carnival fashion after you die, to dry up in the light of day forever after.

Oh wait.

This bitch is really only here for the drama. 😅

FALIN?!?!?!?! MY GIRL

WHY THE LONG......body...?

....................cool. Cool cool cool cool cool. Alright. Okay okay okay. Alright.

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi quick reacts #chekhov reads dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi liveblog

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yanderes-galore · 1 month ago

Note

may I request a romantic yandere concept for hitoshi shinso MHA?

He was like the first MHA character I wrote on here... so let's see if how I write him has changed at all.

Yandere! Hitoshi Shinsou Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Brainwashing, Jealousy, Stalking, Possessive/Protective behavior, Restraints, Isolation, Violence, Blood, Dubious/Forced relationship.

Hitoshi has been shown as stoic, quiet, and straightforward.

Due to his Quirk, it makes sense why he doesn't bother talking much.

Yet he could also just be introverted.

Despite this attitude, he's quite capable of holding a conversation with others.

Hitoshi, due to the nature of his Quirk, is manipulative.

He doesn't mind using underhanded topics to trick those around him into activating his Quirk.

Hitoshi is often perceived as a bad person due to his Quirk.

Which seems like another reason he's introverted.

He often states he has no interest in making friends and strives to be a hero.

Right away I can tell he's a yandere who would be quiet and distant... silently observing his obsession before making any moves.

I imagine Hitoshi is capable of being a terrifying yandere.

He just... doesn't want that as he doesn't want his obsession to view him as evil.

Just... listen to this...

Brainwash Quirk, binding cloth, The ability to fool his enemies by changing his voice with his mask...

If he wanted to force his obsession to be with him, he could.

Although, I imagine Hitoshi prefers having you love him naturally.

Many don't trust him already.

So the fact that you're so insistent on being close to him... surprises him.

You... Want to be friends?

You're looking past what he's capable of and asking to be friends?

For a long time he brushes you off.

He doesn't make friends... He's fine alone...

Although, eventually during hero exercises or normal school life, Hitoshi slowly allows you to be his friend.

His friendship with you goes right up until you graduate.

He probably has a crush on you... yet nothing gets too intense until he's a Pro Hero.

So by the time things really go downhill... you're both adults with your own lives.

Well, at least you had a life....

Hitoshi doesn't usually activate his Quirk around you.

As I said before, he doesn't want you to think poorly of him.

You're eventually not his only friend... Yet you're definitely his closest one.

Hitoshi may not act like it, but you mean a lot to him.

He really does try to be patient with you.

Hitoshi may not even realize he has feelings for you until senior year where he noticed you were... getting more attention.

It's annoying to him... But why?

You... look happy.

Shouldn't he be happy if his friend looks happy?

Part of him wishes you'd look that happy when he gave you attention.

Hitoshi is definitely someone who is in denial of his obsession or just hides it.

He hides his jealousy and yearning until even after you both graduate.

Yet he'd be lying if he didn't use his Quirk against those he didn't like around you a few times.

He just acts oblivious to it.

I imagine even as a Pro Hero, Hitoshi checks in with you.

He definitely has your number and checks in whenever he can.

Although, while he has restraint, obviously he can be a scary yandere.

Imagine if you both eventually get into an established relationship?

He starts all sweet and nice, usually still quiet yet the same friend you had in school.

But I can see him relapsing into old habits.

To you, he's always been your quiet friend (now boyfriend) who always focuses on his job and goals.

He always hid away any signs of his obsession from you.

As he was always quiet, it was relatively easy for him to stay in the background of your life and hide his tendencies.

He probably even knew of you before you were friends, yet he'd never admit to that.

Hitoshi would never admit he followed you around in school, watching your every move.

He'd never admit to using his Quirk to separate others from you.

Even if he doesn't want to admit it, he's still quite manipulative.

Even when he plays nice and stays patient... He still has toxic tendencies.

When he meets up with you again, part of him has the idea of using his Quirk on you.

He tells himself he shouldn't, you should love him on your own.

Yet he does have the idea of making you say yes to dating him with his Quirk....

When you two eventually start dating after graduating, manipulation or not, he still seems like how he was when you were younger.

He's hesitant when you give him affection at first, not used to it yet slowly begins to enjoy it.

He doesn't seem like a bad boyfriend.

Although, here's a nice twist...

Maybe you don't think he's a bad boyfriend because he's been using his Quirk on you this entire time?

The temptation gets to him, leading to him manipulating you into staying with him as a Pro Hero.

Does he feel bad? A little.

Yet he's craved your love, deceived or not, for a long while.

Hitoshi, deep down, is a lonely man even as an adult.

You're the only one he's wanted since high school.

Now as a Pro Hero... He's grown strong...

Strong enough to protect you... and also gain the attention he wants.

A big part of his obsession is manipulation, obviously.

It's due to his Quirk and while he doesn't want to do anything like that to you at first...

He will eventually.

Especially if he starts looking into his jealousy more.

While not the most physically threatening or violent... He's good with words.

He'd probably manipulate you into a relationship then use his Quirk to keep you in it.

You'd be isolated from friends with him sabotaging relationships.

Honestly, it's scary what he can do with his Quirk.

Yes, he tries not to at first, but when you're both adults the temptation becomes too great.

It isn't easy to escape either.

He was trained by Aizawa.

He's agile, fast, and still very controlling.

I can see him taking out rivals or recapturing you with his hero gear.

He has the binding cloth in his arsenal which is good for restraints.

He also has the voice changing mask that he can use to lure people in or trick them into falling for his Quirk.

Imagine realizing Hitoshi has been using you and you try to run.

Only for him to quickly track you and restrain you with the cloth, using his Quirk to trick you into staying still.

Then he'd drag you back to your shared apartment or home, just to isolate you all over again.

Even his affection is deceptive.

He acts so caring, giving you gentle kisses and hugs.

But the whole time you're wrapped in his binding cloth...

Kidnapped in stuck in your now shared home.

Plus, even if you weren't, you feel as though you couldn't refuse.

He may just use his Quirk on you again if you refuse.

It makes sense why so many people distrust him.

He tried to play nice and date you properly.

Yet he's impatient... and scared to lose his closest friend...

He knows most of the relationship is built on lies and manipulation... That it's fabricated because his own selfishness got to him...

He knows you won't forgive him, he tried so hard to be patient...

But it doesn't matter now, does it?

One way or another, you're all his, and there's no going back now.

#yandere my hero academia #yandere mha #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bnha #yandere hitoshi shinsou #yandere shinsou

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arachniee · 10 months ago

Text

i. medical haywire

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ various! hazbin hotel x female seraphim! reader

જ⁀➴

summary: as the seraphim responsible for the management of heaven's medical areas, your days are mostly spent in the comfort of labs and clinics. though, those mudane days seem to shift into more interesting ones after meeting the princess of hell and her little group.

જ⁀➴

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of blood, too much caffeine intake, not proofread; there might be grammatical errors, all lowercase letters

જ⁀➴

heaven was as bright and bustling as ever, regardless of the time of day. whether it'd be the sun shining, or the moon. every corner of the city was filled with fun and joy, not a single hint of negativity. heaven was paradise, after all. a paradise that everyone wanted to get a taste of. it was the embodiment of dreams, everyone would agree. this was place that granted them a life that was worth living, even in the afterlife.

however, you wouldn't say that this was your dream. in the presence of the night, you remained unfazed as you continued with your work. eerie silence seeping into the laboratory room you were currently in, despite being all alone, this somehow bought you comfort instead of uneasiness. being surrounded by laboratory equipment and machinery, your attention shifted from the blood sample in your hands to the medical files on the metal table near you. it wasn't just any pile, almost every corner of that table was filled with piles and piles of folders almost the size of mountains.

after you received the report of an extermination angel's murder, you haven't slept in days. an angel was behead, that kept you up at night. each time you thought about it, your curiousity and thirst for knowledge were eating you up from the inside and out. you wanted to dwell deeper into the topic, but you still had medical areas to run. and with the recent news that you received about the extermination, you wanted nothing more than to just drown yourself in your own misery. every six months, really?

extermination angels return with more wounds than what others would expect. and with thousands of them returning with injuries that range from scratches to more notable wounds, the extermination is something you do not look forward to dealing with. you are definitely not surprised, these sadistic fuckers are too overconfident in their own actions, lacking in armor and more driven to attack, and because of that, you're the one who has to suffer with treating them.

and now that those demons know what they can do to angels, you're expecting more bloodshed during extermination. and that means more work. and not mention that the extermination angels should be in the best condition possible to participate, thus, you have to monitor all of them regularly. and with your more 'common' patients, the residents of the city, you haven't seen and felt daylight nor the moonlight in who knows how long now. you haven't even slept yet, only taking naps here and there that only last around half an hour or so.

as you checked your watch, you noted that the project you were currently working on would have to be continued in the next few hours instead. you followed quite a strict and busy schedule, which is not surprising for one of the highest of seraphims. you tidied up the lab a bit, rummaging through the almost endless amount of files and folders, grabbing a few before your eyes fell onto a folder that had a letter "v" in the middle. you momentarily paused your actions, frozen in place as you stared at it. you eventually pushed it aside and grabbed the files under it before you stood and made your way out, turning off the lights and locking the door.

the halls were dimly lit, casting an unsettling sense of uneasiness. though, you walked through them without a care in the world, this was heaven after all, no one would harm you here. each door you passed was dark and disturbing, expected as it was almost two o'clock in the morning. your steps echoed down the empty halls as you walked to the laboratory's cafeteria. your last caffeine intake was almost an hour ago, you need to grab another mug before you collapsed with more work piled up on your desk the next morning.

unsurprisingly, the lights were still on in the cafeteria since the cooks would usually prepare the food early in the morning. you had to commend them for their dedication though. as you entered the kitchen area, you were greeted warmly by the workers, you nodded at them in acknowledgement, greeting them as well, though with a little less energy. they understood why, and they were grateful for your dedication to your job as well. it must be hard to keep everyone in check, managing a lot of stuff all at once. before you could reach one of the coffee makers, one of the newer staff members extended a mug of steaming, hot coffee into your reach with smile. you looked at them with raised eyebrows and tired eyes, the young angel just wanted to express his admiration, and maybe this was the way that he thought you would appreciate the most at the moment. maybe he was right, so you gently took the mug from his hands, careful not to spill any onto him.

he visibly beamed at you when you expressed your gratitude by muttering a small 'thank you', hoping that he, even in the slightest way possible, was able to help your mood and tiredness. you stayed in the cafeteria for a few more minutes before you had to go back to work. the young angel's mood dampened a little bit, but he understood and bid you goodluck with a smile. after that unintentional break you had, you walked to your office, a little more energetic now, was it because of the caffeine or the interaction you had with the young man? you're not sure. he reminded you of an old friend you had, but you shook those thoughts away as your office finally came in sight.

you were slightly surprised to see someone standing at your door, their knuckles knocking onto the door. you were always told you had such light, unaudible steps, now you realized how right they were. if you hadn't spoke, this person wouldn't have heard your arrival. even in the dark hallways, you were able to make out the person's appearance, and you didn't quite expect to see her here, especially at this hour.

"emily?"

you stated, your voice was somewhat husky, you figured it was because you hadn't interacted and spoke to someone in who knows how many days due to your work. the young seraphim slightly jumped at your voice, not expecting you to appear right beside her in the dark. she let out a nervous laugh, she was jittery, you could tell with how she played with her fingers and avoided eye contact. and when she finally spoke, you knew your hunch was correct.

"h-hey! no wonder no one was answering me, i thought you fell asleep in your office again!"

her smile was strained, it was quite obvious. you didn't question her as you gestured for her to enter your office with you. you placed the files you were carrying on the table, taking another sip of the coffee in your other hand as you nodded your head to one of the chairs, emily understood and with unsure movements, she sat down on the chair in front of your table. the atmosphere was tense, you could tell. she couldn't seem to stay still in her seat, eyes darting all around the room. the silence was deafening, though you wanted to break it yourself, you didn't want to overstep boundaries and ask her directly about why she was acting so... troubled. and it didn't take long before she took a deep breath and spoke.

"i heard there's going to be a meeting with the princess of hell."

her voice was quiet, but to you, it was loud and clear. you knew about the meeting, of course. sera and the others have informed you about this meeting a few days ago. you were one of the most important figures of heaven, so your presence there was mandatory. and you weren't surprised that emily knew about this meeting, as she herself was also a seraphim. though you wondered why she spoke of the meeting in such a tone. you expected her to be happy, especially since you knew of her curiousity about hell and the demons who reside in it. as you stared at the file in your hands, you gave a brief glance to her as an acknowledgement to continue. she hesitated for a few seconds before she eventually spoke again.

"sera didn't tell me. no one did. if i hadn't passed by and accidently heard them talk about it, i wouldn't have known."

at her words, you finally lifted your gaze. she wore a sad expression, her eyebrows low and down as her lips were. she seemed visibly upset. yeah, maybe sera was going to tell her and was about to do so, but the meeting is in two days. usually, sera would speak to her about the meetings at least a week before they were held. and when she found out that the meeting is on the day after tomorrow, she had her doubts that sera would tell her. maybe it was childish, but to emily, she thought that she at least had to be informed, she wanted to help her sister, in the preparation and such. but with how sera didn't tell her, nor did anyone, she figured that they may have not wanted her to attend and join, nonetheless know, about the meeting.

"she knows how much i want to know about hell, so why didn't she tell me? am i not allowed to join the meeting?"

you knew why sera didn't want her to know about it. yet you knew that you aren't the one in the place to tell emily any of those reasons. you knew the answer to both of the young seraphim's questions, but you made no move to answer them. that was not for you to tell. you didn't want her relationship with sera to be waned by whatever may happen during that meeting, and you understood why the older seraphim made an effort to ensure that emily doesn't know about it.

you didn't want to give emily any false hope, but you wanted to do what you could to make her feel better. so instead of giving her a sure answer, your eyes fell back on the file in your hand before you spoke.

"i will speak to her about it."

your reply didn't gurantee her anything, but as soon as she heard those words from you, she immediately smiled and brightened up. you and sera are very good friends, yes, but sera held onto her duties and responsibilities with an iron grip. and if one of those involved emily's safety, you knew convincing her wasn't going to be an easy task.

if it were anyone else, emily was sure that sera would just dismiss them, claiming that she was doing the right thing, but if it were you, then there's a silver of hope. she's beyond grateful that she had a friend like you, someone she could open to about all this. though, this all felt foreign to her. the feeling of not being included.

chants that vary from 'thank you's and 'you're the best's echoed in the room, emily was practically bouncing in her seat from the excitement. you were satisfied that you were able to bring up her mood, even just a little bit. the conversation continued, mostly from emily. she told you all about the events yesterday, rambling about random things. you would nod to her statements, eyes still focused on the tasks that need to be done. as soon as she started talking a little slower and quieter, you lifted your eyes to see a half-awake seraphim, blinking in and out of sleep. your initial thought was to offer her a drink of your coffee to stay awake, though as a doctor, you knew very well not to do so, that would be ridiculous with your title and knowledge in health.

you advised her to rest, letting her know that you would inform sera of her whereabouts soon. emily couldn't really make out what you were saying anymore, so she just nodded her head along with each word that escaped you. oh, how the tables have turned. you shook your head with a small smile before you stood up from your seat, making your way around the table. gently, you scooped the young seraphim up into your arms in bridal style, adjusting your hold on her to make sure she wasn't uncomfortable, and after the softest of snores left her, you knew.

as you reached one of the couches in your office, you gently laid her limp, sleeping form. you didn't really have any blankets here, as you never really sleep here (and you never expected anyone else to). so you just took off the dark blazer you had on, leaving you in your white dress shirt. your clothes were no doubt expensive, the sublte but intricately made accents in your favorite color.

you turn away momentarily to glance at your watch, it was almost five in the morning. as hectic as your schedule is, you have more work in half an hour, so you had to get ready to go back in the lab. you wrote a small goodmorning note to emily after grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, leaving the neatly folded note on the coffee table in front of the couch, you may or may not have also put a few candies as well. after hearing a satisfying pop from your stretched limbs, you braced yourself for another day of war. war against tiredness and work. but now you also had to add the little promise you had made to emily, you'll have to converse with sera soon.

a knock came from the door, one of the nurses on shift informing you that adam requested to meet with you at 8 am today. you pinched the bridge of your nose, already feeling the in coming headache. when will you ever catch a break?

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel emily #hazbin hotel sera #hazbin hotel adam #x reader

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alwaysshallow · 1 year ago

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gorgeous, part 4

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

You decide to have some fun; you also talk to old friends. (3,3k)

READ ON AO3

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It's surprising how many times you see him, actually.

It's surprising because you thought – if you're lucky – it's gonna be after six months, on a check-up visit. Technically, he had no business to be here, especially considering how hidden he was, how he wasn't the type to chit-chat. It was okay, you didn't mind it.

And the day after he texted you, when you close clinic, you could see him right in front of the building, his hands in pockets, looking straight at you. It was a hypnotising experience though, especially when you walked in his direction, your knees like marshmellows, and he was still looking.

"Your mechanic was pretty nice." you said, tilting your head. "He said it's gonna be done in two weeks or less since he has work to do."

"Mhm." he matched your pace, walking with you side by side. "Finally doing something with it, aren't we?" he raised his eyebrow.

You laughed. "You make me look like I'm a bad car owner."

"Am I? Or that's just your thoughts?"

His comment made you open your mouth in pure disbelief at his honesty – you nudged him with before realizing how he could react at that gesture. He wasn't exactly a touchy-feely person, but there was no comment from him, so you were glad.

"Mean." you murmured, amused.

"'st speaking my mind, Addison."

"Uh-huh. That's why you're here? To speak your mind?"

He sighed, his eyes on the road in front of you. "You really like asking questions, don't you?"

"I like knowing things. Don't you?" you mimicked his low tone.

"I like knowing things. But I don't ask questions if I'm certain." he answered, straightening his back; a cracking sound that came out automatically made you shiver. "It's just walking you home. 's all, as I said, Sparkles would hate to have another vet."

"Right. Safety reasons, yeah?"

"Good girl. Learning so fast."

Motherfucker knew how to get to you – just after this comment, you had absolutely nothing to say, which made him visibly amused; his brow cocked, and he let out a low chuckle, looking away from you again. Thankful for the darkness, you just walked with him to start another topic after a while – about his cat, of course.

You had to leave 'good girl' behind, to not provoke him to say more because he could easily find out that nickname works for you perfectly. Especially if someone is British, especially if someone is just alluring as him.

And he had blonde hair. A bit curly. That's literally the recipe for a disaster.

After that interaction, he was walking you off to your apartment, day by day. It wasn't surprising after three first times – you just knew he's gonna be here, but you caught yourself looking for him, interested.

Not like you cared – at least that's what you told yourself – but it was curiosity speaking since you knew he was doing that just because of your car. Just because he somehow cared, just because he wanted to know you're safe.

Cute.

What was less cute though, you had to talk with Celia. You just had to and there was no excuse since your car already was in another mechanic's garage. And, Simon knew that you needed to talk with her, so he would ask about it eventually, so dodging the situation wasn't a plan, no. Not when he'd laugh the shit out of you, he did enough with implying you're not taking proper care of your car.

He had a point, though.

You took a few hours off in the morning, leaving Bernie on her own, just to see Celia – you even had your guilt cookies, big jar in your purse. It's not a surprise for anyone who knows you that you bake when stressed, and you certainly were stressed before this meeting. She could tell you anything; and it wouldn't be such a surprise if she'd tell you to go to hell.

A hope was there, though. Not only Simon said it, but when you thought it, it would be a real shame to ruin a friendship, running ten years, just because of a toxic guy that wasn't worth it. Not only that, your best friend had all the right to say I told you so.

You knew you kinda deserved that for being such a blind bitch.

Knock to her door came after a minute of staring dumbily at them, like it would help in something, or if she would magically open it without you knocking. It was a quiet knock though; shy one because, truthfully, you wanted to sprint from her house as far as possible. Confrontation? Not your best quality, no. Not at least in situation like these, when you know you have to apologize from the bottom of your heart.

A minute passed, and you knocked again, louder this time. You started considering walking away you thought maybe she wasn't home, but right after that, no one but Celia opened the door. Her eyebrows furrowed, arms were crossed against her chest, and you immediately knew what her attiude is.

Jesus Christ, it couldn't be easy, could it?

"Hi, Celia. Got a minute?" you asked; hesitantly. She could slam her door in your face, after all.

"Depends. You here because of the car?"

You sighed. "I'm here because I want to apologize, actually."

She seemed surprised as you said it; nonetheless, she let you in, leading you to kitchen. It was the main place of talks in her house, you could say that – not living room, not dining room, kitchen. Very big one, pretty, a table with two seats by side, so you sat there with her, clearing your throat. Wondering how to start.

How do you start conversation like that?

You had the simplest words on your mind. "I was a bitch." rolled off your tongue without even thinking. "I still am, though – but I was a bitch to you when I shouldn't have been. You wanted the best for me, and I just... well, I'm not proud of what I did. I should listen, not throw hands at you. It's not how it was supposed to be, it's not how I wanted it to be. Like, I know also that I should apologize way, way earlier, but-"

"Addie, c'mon." redhead interrupted you with a wave of her hand. "We're both bitches, we literally fought like fuckin' kids. Let me ask you one thing, you done?"

"With him?"

"Yeah, with that scumbag."

"Funny. You're the second person who talks of him this way" you mused, remembering this one situation with Simon. "Done, yeah. For five months right now."

Celia was silent for a moment, obviously analyzing the situation she found herself in; then, with a sigh, she looked again at you, her expression unreadable.

"Good to have your ass back on board, sister." she murmured, smiling a bit.

Next thing she did, was hitting your arm with such power that you let out a little 'ow', laughing with her in the same moment.

"Deserved." she pointed at you. "I apologize too, though. I could be better, I could just... well, tell you everything a bit differently. Not so harsh, you were in love with that prick." your friend muttered, rolling her eyes. "Okay, enough of apologies, though. Who said he's a douche, though? That person might be my second best friend."

So, you told her – almost everything, saving little details about his appearance or aura to yourself; Celia was a pretty fan of him, especially his snarkiness and comments. Yet, she was a bit jealous that you had the audacity to bring your car to other mechanic; mostly, she was jealous of the car, not you.

Her baby, as she liked to tell everyone. She picked it out for you from her uncle, repaired it, added some "cool shit" (it's a mystery what cool shit is, you didn't ask though).

Nonetheless, she was more than glad that you managed to find someone who's gonna help you with that, and you came to her purely to fix something between you two.

A friendship that – you promised yourself – would live through everything, no matter what would happen, no matter of circumstances. She was your person, just like Rosalie.

Who, speaking of, left million voice messages on your phone on your way back to clinic, so you considered it the perfect ocassion to listen to them all.

Apart from her excitement on your car situation, she invited you to her local bar for... a party. You didn't exactly know what party was about, or if it was just a casual hangout, but you agreed to go. It's been a while since you took a break from clinic and actually spent your night out, not under some blanket, watching movies with a bowl of chips or icecream.

Not like it was bad. Not at all. Sometimes you just needed a... change in your routine.

Rosalie promised to pick you up since your car was still at mechanic's – so, your only task was to look good, but not too good. Bar was something else than club; more casual, but you really wanted to at least flirt a little or to catch an eye on someone, even if your mind was... pretty occupied with certain someone.

Maybe your best friend would bring someone worth your time, yeah? She usually had some ideas and wanted to play as your little matchmaker, so you never knew what was coming.

That being said, you opened your closet.

It was almost embarrasing how many clothes you had that you didn't even wear more than one time; mostly, cocktail dresses for fancy ocassions since your parents insisted on buying something new. People of business, someone would say – always having a whim about their galas and shit like this, it was hard not to hate it, considering that business comes before family, mostly.

Maybe that's why you limited contacts with them, sending them a text or two of what you're doing, how's the clinic going. And, of course, Christmas with them or Thanksgiving was a must if they weren't on some fancy vacations abroad.

With a thought in your mind that you have to go through those dressed, you decided to pick something simple to bar. Black tank-top, a simple baby blue shirt on it (unbuttoned, of course) and a pair of simple jeans worked in your mind, as well as in reality, so you found yourself quickly putting on a pair of sneakers.

Your make up took a little longer; you paid attention to your skin, the perfect eyeliner, a delicate lipgloss bringing out the shape of your lips. Everything had to look effortless, even if it wasn't; your motto, basically.

As promised, Rosalie picked you up; and you've talked with her the whole road, almost two hours to be exact. You haven't seen her for two months straight and even if you were updating her as much as you could in a day, it wasn't even close to your sincere talks. She asked a whole palette of questions; how's your car, how's that Simon who rescued you from jerky ex; she looked a bit amused when topic was on him, but you had no idea why.

"Man that has good ideas is rare" she summed up, chuckling, when you catched her up with Celia situation and told her your car is going to be fine, you just have to pick it up in the next week. "Don't tell him that by any means. His ego wouldn't take it."

"Oh, you have no idea."

Soon enough, you arrived. Bar was cute; not too large, but with big-ass bar table and glass shelves behind it with amount of alcohol that you couldn't count, even if you wanted to. Dim, orange lights just added to the view, and you smiled under your nose instincitvely, happy that you've decided to go there.

Tables weren't occupied as you thought they would be; Rosalie mentioned earlier it's gonna be a private party, but you didn't think that private, considering that you could count like... maybe ten, eleven people. Military men with their significant others, as you saw when you walked up to the barman, ordering a drink for you and your best friend.

You couldn't obviously ignore that someone was discussing with MacTavish near you; seemed like a heated discussion, until they looked right at you.

Guy with a skull mask. Full-ass skull mask like Simon had this one day when you two...

Fuck, could it be him? Maybe he was in unit that wore masks like these, you thought. It would be a strange coincidence, wouldn't it? And, Rosalie for sure would tell you that her comrade is the guy you are talking about sometimes since he adopted a cat, Sparkles, yeah?

Rosa had her significant smirk when she looked at you, and it was all you needed to know, especially when men approached you both.

Trouble in a person, that would be on your best friend.

"He gets a bit shy around strangers. Ain't your fault" Johnny joked, nudging you with his shit-eating grin, as he gave his friend a look.

"Mm, I bet. Good to see you, MacTavish." you murmured, which made "stranger" roll his eyes and grumble something under his nose. "And what's your friends name?" you raised an eyebrow, making eye-contact with those brown eyes you wouldn't forget ever.

"His name-"

"-you know my name, doc." Simon said, interrupting Soap. He took off his mask with one, swift movement, to reveal to you his scarred face and disheveled, blonde hair that you wanted to dip your fingers in so desperately.

To say that Johnny was shocked, was the understatement; he looked at his comrade in shock, opening and closing his lips, like he wasn't exactly sure what to say, considering that he took off his scary mask.

"Didn't know you have friends in military."

"Apparently, we're both full of surprises" you sipped a bit of your margharita, shrugging, like you two meeting here was the most normal situation that could happen.

"You two know each other, no?" Soap meddled in conversation, observing you two. It was obvious that he doesn't really know how you two could met, and honestly, no one could blame him. He was in military, barely going out, and you were a simple vet.

You nodded. "We met, yeah."

"Oh, I'd really want to hear it."

"Simple help. Nothin' too fancy, MacTavish" he pointed out, taking a sip of his alcohol.

Soap's look was piercing in you, though. "Helped him with a cat. Simple, like he said." "Fuckin' cat? Ghost is a cat mom now, eh?" he chuckled, which made Simon roll his eyes.

You wondered if Ghost was something they named them in the field, and if yes, why? After all, everything always was supposed to fit. As Rosalie said to you, even if she couldn't tell you everything (classified, of course) every nickname had a meaning behind it.

Ghost... seemed ambigious. You couldn't put it anywhere.

"Better than you'd be, John. Let's drink, shall we?" you raised your eyebrow, trying to lead the conversation elsewhere; looked like your companion thought the same way.

Rosalie introduced you to rest of the team – they all told you their names, but you were sure as hell that you're not gonna remember that, considering your memory was shit, especially to people that you don't see often. Either way, they were nice; very nice, after a few drinks with them you were pretty sure that your platonic soulmate is Kyle Garrick, who was the best partner in karaoke. And, he was also such a gossiper, finding every ocassion that he could to talk to you about something.

Not military related, though; only "things for civilians" as he giggled to you after fifth shot of tequila, telling you something about a girl that he had eye on. Curiosity piqued in the moment he confessed that she was 'out of reach' for him, and it was no chance that he could get together with her.

Hell, for you "no chance" before even trying was non-existent. You loved to prove people wrong, to make them watch you accomplishing various of things just to rile them up, or to reach your goal.

"Don't say that" you pointed at him. "There's always a chance for something. You won't try, you won't know. That's it."

"It's the same chance, as the chance that Ghost will get any of us to that fancy gala. Non-existent." he groaned, burying dramatically his head in his hands. "And like his driving skills."

"Garrick" he murmured; low, rumbling voice made sergeant straighten a little. "'s enough talkin' of it, yes?"

You chuckled. "What gala? And what, your driving skills are that bad?"

"I have rather..." Simon played with glass filled with alcohol "...complicated relationship with cars, I'd say. I prefer walking."

You raised your eyebrow a little, amused; what does it mean his relationship with cars is complicated? You couldn't help but think, as you nodded your head with faked understanding. It was hard to believe that his ass in military didn't have a driving license, so it only meant that his ability to drive was...

Different, maybe. And for his own safety, as well as yours and anyone on the road, he picked out walking instead of driving. Smart, though.

"That's why you've walked me home."

"Affirmative."

"Walked you home?" Kyle looked at both of you in shock, laughing to himself. "Oh, fuck, man. So many things are happening on leave, ain't it?"

"Gaz." Price shot him a look.

"I can't even-"

"Gaz."

"Fuck, okay" he rolled his eyes, shaking his head to himself. "Just so you know, if Johnny wouldn't be so caught up in Ros, he'd back me up."

Your gaze automatically went to Rosalie, who talked with her bartender friend. Johnny, right next to you, was looking at her with slightly darker eyes, leaning his head against palm of his hand. It was... a view, honestly; friends, but not admitting to something more, even if everyone else saw their bond is beyond simple "best friends".

Something that you considered as cute.

You couldn't help but wish that they will be together soon enough; the way they cared for each other... Hell, probably everyone wanted something like this for themselves, as well as you; something so pure with longing glances that would make you weak in your knees.

A sigh of annoyance came out of you – where the hell you were supposed to find something like this when you spent most of the days in the clinic? Tinder or any portal like this wasn't even an option.

Mostly because you met your crazy ass ex here, but also you wanted to... hell, get past that online dating stage.

Was it too much to ask?

"Another round?" Kyle's voice brought you back to earth; you nodded immediately, standing up from your seat. "Captain, Ghost, you comin'?"

"Mm, no. 'm gonna make a call." Price shook his head. "You go. Another one will be on me."

You looked at Simon.

"I'll pass too." he murmured, coughing. "

"Oh, come on! You have to do one shot with me. Please."

"Addison-"

"Please?" you pleaded, extending an arm to him, so he could grab his hand. "Just one."

Simon sighed. "You're not gonna let it go, eh?"

"No, not really. I owe you for that mechanic, don't I?" you tilted your head, smiling a bit. "Come on. Please. Just one shot. Or one drink, anything, really."

He didn't say anything; just followed you to the bar with boys, while you babbled about your work, when Gaz asked what does exactly vet do, besides controls and all.

And it felt really good to feel Simon's eyes on you the whole time. How he keeps his rich, brown eyes at you, while you tried desperately to keep yourself together, just in case - because after alcohol, you were the touchy-feely version of yourself.

He had some time to learn it.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fanfic #simon riley fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x you #call of duty fanfic #call of duty ghost

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mintymarabell · 2 years ago

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could you write more yandere elder or tsundere elder pls 👉👈 ty ty

Yandere elder yautja part two

A/n: I make these too long and they get so off topic sometimes. Hard warning they aren’t really in order but then again they kind of are…

He takes you hunting and makes you watch him kill whatever it was he was killing. He rarely goes, you might as well go with him and see that he is a worthy mate.

If he’s a bad blood there’s a good chance he’s killed a good amount of people who’ve looked at you.

He sleeps on top of you so you can’t get up in the middle of the night.

If something were to ever happen to him he has it set to where you’re passed down to his children, they’ll ‘keep you safe’ until you eventually die.

Once again if he were bad blood instead of passing you down he’d just kill you himself, only if he knew he was certain of dying of course.

He leaves marks on your neck, they can range from bite marks or just pinches from his mandibles.

He makes you wear his jewelry, if they're heavy he’ll hold them up while you wear them.

If you let him dress you, he takes his time. He sets your foot on his knee while he ties your shoe, when he puts your pants or shorts on he likes to sit on the ground and sit back with your waist in his hands admiring what’s his. When he puts a shirt or tank top on he likes to nip at your shoulder blades or give your shoulders a little squeeze.

He will braid your hair if it’s long enough.

He takes you to meetings with him, sitting you on his lap and rubbing up and down your spine.

If he has to leave to go supervise a chiva or host an event, he’ll lock you up in his big house till he gets back. He has you wear a necklace that tracks your location so if you were to leave or be taken he’d know and boy would he be racing to get back to see what the deal is.

If you miss your family he’ll take you to see his family.

You’ve most likely met his very old mom.

If you do escape he will catch you, you can’t run far. He’ll pick you up by the ankle when he catches you, then he’ll just carry you on his shoulders back to his house.

Kind of a what if but, what if human hearts beat faster than yautja hearts? Kinda like a young person and an older person's heart.

When they first lay their head on your chest and hear your heart beating fast, they almost got their heart broken. They had thought you were scared of them or feared them hence the fast beating heart, but in reality yours just goes faster.

He will get it checked though just in case.

In the mornings he stays on top of you until he thinks you’ve gotten enough sleep.

You will catch him rolling in your dirty laundry, he’s so obsessed with the smell of you.

He walks around naked a lot and encourages you to do it too.

If you're out with him and see a bigger/stronger yautja he practically shoves you in his coat and speed walks away.

If the yautja approaches he will put on the most fakest persona as he interacts with him, he notices the way the other male looks at you, he’s not stupid.

The next day he smothers you with love, he makes you breakfast, brings it to your shared bedroom, he feeds you. He does everything in his power to make you forget about the other yautja, it doesn’t matter if you don’t have an interest in the other male, he will still make you forget about them.

If something really bad happened to you, he would become a bad blood in order to kill the threat. You're more important to him than some ranking or title, he doesn’t care if it’s a pregnant female , he will rip the infant from her womb and make her watch him kill it. No one messes with his ooman.

Being an elder he most likely doesn’t hunt as much, so instead he might have taken up a hobby like golfing or crafting. He’d make you things if you wanted something.

He’s got bank, he’s got quite the money to blow and he’s willing to blow it all on you. You have this man wrapped around you little pinky.

If he had lips it would be over for you, he would kiss you throughout the day. Kissing your knuckles, your hands, your lips, shoot he’d probably kiss your feet if you asked him too.

He does like your feet. They are soft and small compared to his grippers. You might wake up to him at the foot of the bed feeling your foot.

He smells your hair throughout the day. It’s subtle but it’s there; it could be a passing by or if he’s hugging you he’ll rest his forehead on the back of your head. To others it looks sweet but in reality he’s getting a good ole wiff.

Buy him a wedding band or just any band. It’ll be with his money but who cares, as long as he doesn’t see. Maybe get down on one knee and present it to him, he’ll probably be fangirling on the inside. He’ll let you put the ring on.

He has a collar for you. He doesn’t use it but it’s there. The only time he used it was when he first brought you to prime, he had you on a leash so you didn’t run off in public.

He’s a little delusional, you can sometimes use this to your own advantage if your careful enough.

#yautja x reader #yautja #writing #yandere yautja #monster boyfriend #monster #elder yautja #yautja yes #yautja boyfriend #yautja stuff #yautepec #predator #he’s a little coco for the coco puffs

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crimsonhydrangeavn · 9 months ago

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How would the cast react if MC had any visible scars? And how would they respond if MC goes out of their way to keep those scars hidden due to insecurities surrounding it?

(TW: Self Harm and Toxic Relationships) I think this is a pretty interesting question that can play out in several ways. Of course, depending on when and how the scars came about the characters would have different reactions, but i tried to give a general idea of how I think the characters would react generally. That being said, I just want to reiterate that I don't agree with all of the characters reactions below, but considering this is an erotic horror visual novel, there will be heavy and triggering topics discussed in and out of the game.

Just to make it clear, this is a work of fiction and I do not personally support or condone abuse, self harm, or toxic relationships when it comes to real people in the real world.

---

Garret would be incredibly understanding and empathic. (Spoiler: He has a few of his own that he purposely hides away from view.) He'd understand why you'd want to hide it from the world, but he would make sure that you knew he didn't think any less of you or viewed them as ugly since they were apart of the person he adored so passionately. Of course he'd ask where/how you got them. Depending on the answer, he'd offer to "take care of" the people who inflicted them on you, or the people who indirectly caused you to inflict them upon yourself. He'd also want to coddle you press loving kisses upon your scars if you allowed him.

Marcelo would be a little taken aback at the scars, not knowing how to react at first before quickly collecting himself and hesitantly asking you about them. He's not exactly well versed in how to handle these kinds of things, but he would do his best to try and understand what happened and support you through it. Of course he would express concern and constantly reassure you that the scars don't matter to him and he still loves you no matter what. Overall he would just be a little hesitant about the subject because he doesn't want to say or do the wrong thing to make you feel worse about yourself or indirectly hurt you. He loves you and he's trying his best to be there for you.

Camilla would understand where you're coming from and become fiercely protective over you. If anyone ever said anything about them, or asked why you were covering up, she would immediately step in and tell them to mind their own business before roasting the person, taking the attention and heat off of you. After the fact they would check in on you and make sure you were alright and talk shit about that person until you would eventually have to tell them to stop. She would, but she would hold a grudge against them until the end of time.

Much like Marcelo, Rita wouldn't quite know how to handle the situation. She'd carefully ask how you got them and ask what she could do to help you. Of course she'd reassure you that she loves you just the same and that the scars don't detract from who you are as a person. She'd honestly take your lead regarding how you wanted to move forward, whether it'd be keeping them hidden or trying to become more confident about showing them off. She'd support you either way and, just like Camilla, would defend you and harbor grudges against anyone who made your insecurities flair up.

As for Teagan, it would depend on when you got the scars, if was before/during your relationship they wouldn't really have a reaction since they were aware of them and their origin stories. However if they appeared after your break up BECAUSE of your breakup, it would... Well, cause them to experience some very toxic and incredibly mixed feelings. On one hand they feel incredibly guilty that they hurt you so badily that you felt the need to hurt yourself in such an extreme way... and on the other hand they're almost happy that they had such a strong effect on you. Obviously they don't want it to continue and would never voice that any part of them was happy you hurt yourself... but every time they would see the scars, it would make their heart beat a little faster and their love for you grow even stronger. Internally they know how messed up that would be, however ultimately they wouldn't care since they would simply make sure that they never gave you a reason to hurt yourself again.

#tw self h4rm #tw toxic #crimson hydrangea vn #visual novel #crimson hydrangea #yanderes #original character #yandere #yandere visual novel #yandere vn #male yandere #ask #garret belmont #marcelo aguilar #teagan conners #rita miller #camilla bello

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onyxrosess · 5 months ago

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Pain is My Hometown

vergil x reader [multi-chapter series]

Chapter III: Only Fools Follow Their Heart

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III [you're here!] | Chapter IV | Table of Contents

・warnings/tags: some mature topics.

( cross-posted on ao3 )

A few days have passed since going out with Dante and the girls, after your conversation with Nero— well it was an argument. You apologized to him the morning after, still feeling a little guilty for your delivery of your concern. Nero of course did not hold a grudge, just brushed it off and resumed life as normal. Later that day Kyrie shouted at you, someone was calling asking for you. Secretly, not really a secret at all, you hoped it was Kane. It had been radio silence since two nights prior.

And as luck was in your favor, Kane’s voice spoke through the landline. It was different hearing his voice so clearly instead of being suppressed by blaring music and shouting. The conversation went well, giving him Devil May Cry’s number. Since the city had far more job opportunities than Fortuna, you had already started looking at job listings passively, not having to rely on Kyrie’s endless support would be nice for a change. Relying on Dante felt more morally correct, two negatives make a positive right?

Currently, you sorted through a package Kyrie received as a gift for her help in the orphanage. Most of it was household items, as Kyrie never accepted money, she barely even let you help around the house. Selfless woman, but it’s admirable to give without guarantee of something in return. Making a pile of unopened letters addressed to Kyrie for her to read, some of the return addresses had names you recognized, there were a few kids in Fortuna who came to Kyrie for help after a small hell gate had opened. Luckily it had happened when Nero and Nico were in town. It was nowhere near the scale of the artificial hell gates that had opened in Fortuna when The Order was around. But enough to leave kids without parents, or parents to grieve their children’s lives.

Ringing filled the room as the landline was the clear source. You walked over and held it to your ear as your other hand still had an envelope in it. “Hello?” “Hey party animal.” You rolled your eyes, you had one drunken night in the past 6 months and now you’re the party animal. “Shut it, what did you call for?” “You said you were looking for jobs right?” Your interest was now piqued, instead of just being playfully annoyed with Dante. “Yeah, I am.” “Well, your dearest friend has an offer for you.” Why does this sound like it’s not gonna end well? Back to being annoyed with him. You reluctantly hummed a response. “How about you come help with some of the shop's legal papers. I’ll pay ya.” “I thought you were short on work, where the hell are you gonna get money to pay me?” “I have my ways.” Last time you checked this man was far deeper into debt than you could even imagine. “It won’t be all the time, the stack of papers does end eventually. Plus Trish and Lady will be there sometimes. I’m not a very strict boss.” A sigh left your lips, it wasn’t a bad deal. Filing papers and calling companies didn’t seem that bad. “Fine.” “You’re amazing, I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Yeah yeah, whatever old man.” Dante shouted at you through the phone but just as quickly as that started you hung the phone back up with a satisfying click and a smile on your face.

The sun peaked above the horizon, filling your bedroom with a warm glow, unfortunately waking you up from your slumber. Stretching your muscles in an attempt to also wake them up. Very uncoordinated this morning you swing your legs over the edge of your bed, bashing your ankle into the metal box spring. A prolonged curse left your gritted teeth, at this point, you needed a padded room. You’d probably still manage to nick yourself.

Putting on something simple, but still comfortable— it’s not like your job for Dante was anywhere near professional, he’s the opposite of professional. Walking down the hallway, passing Nero and Kyrie's bedroom, Nero’s snores seeped through the walls. Into the living room, Kyrie was already up, her hands wrapped around a coffee mug. She was always a morning person. She sat on the couch, the kids must still be asleep too. “Morning, Kyrie.” You addressed her, she turned around somewhat surprised, “What are you doing up so early?” Admittedly, it was pretty abnormal for you to be up at the ass crack of dawn. “Dante offered me to work for him. Just temporarily I think anyway.” Kyrie smiled, “Well, I won’t keep you then.” “It’s not a worry, he didn’t give me a time to be there.”

Getting a quick bite to eat and snagging some of Kyrie’s coffee, you asked about the kids with Kyrie, and she talked about some returning faces. Chatting back and forth you bid her farewell, leaving into the garage. Pulling your arms through your jacket, you zipped it up before putting your helmet on. It wasn’t too early that your motorcycle would wake everyone up, it wasn’t that loud—or maybe you just are losing your hearing.

The drive over to Red Grave was peaceful, besides the few drivers who you questioned how the hell they got their license. Driving through the gravel alley, you kicked your stand up, like many times before. Turning the backdoor handle, you stepped into the shop, your eyes on the ground while you took off your helmet. As your eyes scanned for life, they landed on Dante. With a towel around his waist and another making a feudal attempt to dry his hair. A little surprised, you hopped up on the bar stool. “You know Dante, this is your business office too, not just your house.” “You’re the one who decided to show up at 7 in the morning.” Dante’s voice was still groggy, but that never stopped him from bickering. Rolling your eyes, accepting your defeat, this time. You set your jacket and helmet down on the counter making your way to Dante’s desk, trying not to trip over random objects and trash that littered the floor. How does he live like this? You sigh as you pick up the piles of paper that were not so neatly set on the ground. Dante better pay you well for having to put up with this level of disorganization.

The first couple hours of your day consisted of organizing which papers were what. You’d assume they would end up sent to collections, after all, the charges were just sitting here for god knows how long. Then again, that never stopped Dante. A pair of footsteps descended the stairs. Almost in perfect timing, Lady barged in the door. “Why didn’t you tell me (Name) was gonna be here?” Lady took great offense, after all, you maybe saw her once a week or every other week. Dante shrugged, “Dunno, forgot I guess.” “Jerk.” Lady leaned against the desk, looking over at all the papers you had scattered about on the wooden surface. Her head tilted trying to read the papers, the text was upside down to her. “You got her to do your paperwork? Did he blackmail you?” Lady leaned over to observe you, no amount of money could get her to do his paperwork either. But you aren’t like her, not nearly as badass. “No, I willingly accepted this offer. I need to start looking for jobs anyway.” A sigh left your mouth, it became a habit whenever you admitted you were broke as shit. Lady stood back up with a hand on her hip. Still skeptical, her eyes scanned your face. As if Dante stuck a device to you that controlled your every move, like in the cheesy sci-fi movies. “I’m not forcing her, though blackmail’s not a bad idea.” Dante scratched his scruff on his face, a smile lightly tugged on his lips. “Dante.” You warned him, staring at him, solidifying your warning. “You know I wouldn’t do that.” Dante crossed his arms over his chest. “Let's go, Dante, I gotta make our score even.” Lady tugged her weapon’s leather strap over her shoulder. A smile spread across her face, you suppose they always had the competition. Hearing about young Dante was always interesting when Lady graced you with stories. “Bye!” Lady waved at you, running out of the door before Dante, as he quickly followed suit. Not without a nod and a smile in your direction. A silent goodbye.

Another few hours drag by. Going through a section of papers, looking at the clock in between. What felt like 45 minutes in reality was only 10 minutes. Now was when you took your unpaid break. You walked over to the white fridge, the jukebox adjacent to it lightly illuminated the surrounding area. The fridge was surprisingly clean, maybe just because there was barely anything in it. A pizza box of course was put into the fridge, classic Dante. There was a carton of milk and a few random take-out boxes. Before completely abandoning ship, you moved things around a little to find a box of strawberries. Picking it up, you eyed it suspiciously, checking for mold. At first glance, they seemed okay. Washing them in the sink, you were still cautious of them, after all, they were in Dante’s fridge.

Back at the desk, you snagged a recent newspaper, unfolding it in your lap, you took a bite of a strawberry. Better start looking for job ads. Idly eating the strawberries that luckily were still edible, you bounced your leg. Most of the job listings seemed pretty boring, or simply too much work for what they were likely offering to pay. Plus it’s far too late in your life to pick up devil hunting like Lady, so a boring salary job it is. Flipping the yellowing paper, you scanned the other side. The shop was quiet, besides the muffled sounds of people walking by outside or an especially loud car. You filled the silence by humming the rhythm of a song.

“Dante did not tell me he hired someone.” A voice from around the corner spoke, nearly making you jump out of your seat. You had completely assumed you were there alone when Dante and Lady left. You looked over your shoulder to see Vergil standing there. Vergil. The conversation you had with Nero did not leave your mind so easily, you are sure your expression had turned a bit sour.

“Apparently not.” You turned back around in the chair, resuming what you were doing. You would rather not discuss your utter hatred for him and what he did to Nero. You try not to completely despise him, it is difficult not to, having the experiences you do. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him sit on the red couch against the wall, pulling out a book. Your eyes returned to your paper. A few silent minutes passed, no longer feeling like you were allowed to make a peep in his presence. What was it? You suppose Dante was quite strange like that when you first met him. Though oppositely, brimming with strength but rather using it to make himself look flashy. This was more of a suppressive strength. Anyone in his presence should think lower of themselves just to lift him higher.

The rotary phone on the desk rang as it lightly vibrated the desk. You picked up the phone, putting it to your ear. “Devil May Cry.” You tried to imitate Dante’s voice when he said it. Your words did not come out as effortlessly as his does. “Hey, office girl,” Kane spoke through the phone. A smile tugged at your lips, a little giddy from the compliment. “Not for long.” Letting out a small laugh through an exhale. “Oh really?” “It’s just temporary, I’m looking for other jobs right now.” You glanced at the newspaper, your pen marks littered the paper. “Maybe I’ll still get to call you office girl. Maybe a secretary.” You could hear his smile through the phone, silly man. You chuckled at his comment, “Whatever your sick fantasies desire.” “I was calling to formally ask you out on a date, I would’ve called sooner but you know how life gets.” Your finger twirled around the phone wire while you listened to him. “So you are a gentleman after all.” Kane’s laughter seeped through the phone, as you couldn’t help but smile a little. “What about tonight then? When do you get off?” Kane asked, and you thought, when the hell do I get off? “I’m not sure actually, probably 5 at the latest.” “What about 6 then, it’s not formal, so don’t worry about that.” Kane soothed your worries before it even crossed your mind. “That works for me, I’ll give you the shop's address.”

The conversation ended after you handed over the information. Now you sat at Dante’s desk with a giddy smile. But, you have to get back to work, or… you could slack a little. A sharp snap of a book being closed pulled your attention to where Vergil sat. He stood, still with the thin book in his grasp. He is such an odd man, but you still see his blackened heart through his exterior. His steps were almost eerily silent as he made his way to the front door, his head turned to look at you from the corner of his eye. “Do not trust that man.” His words were sharp, but what confused you more was… why? And before you could even defend Kane or yourself that you’re a grown woman and you can make your own decisions, he left. The bad taste that the encounter left in your mouth refused to go away for the rest of your shift.

The roads were lit with a warm glow of the streetlights, the architecture of Red Grave was always so beautiful. Not nearly as impressive as Fortuna, especially the building the Order once resided in was a sight to be seen. The faded white lines on the pavement passed by you with each dash mark. You hadn’t spoken a word to Kane since you both got into the car. The silence was not suffocating, it was pleasant. It’s been a while since you’ve been able to relax, the radio played quietly, some music you didn’t know but it coaxed you into closing your eyes. Your date with Kane went very well, thinking about it made you smile. His easygoing personality was nice, though unfortunately, Vergil’s warning made you think about what details you shared with Kane. You have no history with Vergil, and you have no idea if his judgment is sound, but it still affected you. And that irked you more. However you started to get lost in your thoughts, and eventually, you did fall asleep, hand holding up your cheek as your elbow rested on the car door.

“Hey, we're here.” Your body jolted awake as you surveyed your surroundings, you were still in Kane’s car. You turned to look at him, and he looked a bit surprised that you were woken so easily. Your body once tense, relaxed. You leaned back against the leather seats of his car, whispering an apology under your breath. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to take you back to Fortuna, but even then I didn’t know where you were staying so-” “It’s okay, thank you.” You interrupted his rambling, and a slight red color rose to his cheeks. His dark blue shirt matched his tan skin, his collarbone peaked out of the neckline. A few strands of his dark hair fell out of the bun he had put it in. You silently wondered what his hair would look like down, the thought made your body pull itself closer to him. His breath fanned over your face as he remained motionless, his eyes were half-lidded, analyzing the curves of your face. You caught yourself doing the same. Leaning over the center console of his car, which was an awkward position for your body, it was all worth it when his lips clashed with yours. It was slow, your hand held onto his forearm as your other played with the baby hairs on the back of his neck. You slowly opened your eyes to take a peek at his face, you wondered if his eyes were squeezed shut or if he had color on his cheeks once again. Instead, you were met by brown eyes looking at your own, his eyelashes cast a shadow over his irises, though this close you could see a ring of orange within the deep brown. Trying to summon your ‘nothing phases me’ facade, was a miserable failure. Your cheeks heat up like a pouring lighter fluid on a raging bonfire, you break away from his lips, trying to hide your face but you are only met with a laugh from Kane. “Shut it.” Once again your tough guy act was not very convincing as you tried to look at him with a stern face but he was met with a different expression. Trying to fight a war with your smile that you didn’t actually want to win, though you would appreciate it if your entire face didn’t feel like it was gonna explode. This only caused Kane to laugh more.

And you were left with no other option but to tug on the collar of his shirt, clashing your lips together in an embarrassing attempt to free yourself from your current position. And your solution did work, as his hands managed to find purchase on your back. The kiss was not as soft as earlier, but you did not dare open your eyes. Instead, through your closed eyelids, the dark lighting inside his car was lit up like the sun suddenly appeared right next to you. Both you and Kane froze, as you struggled to look out the windshield. As your eyes adjusted, you recognized the front of the vehicle that rudely interrupted your activities with Kane. But then annoyance morphed into horror as you realized who was in the driver's seat of that van, Nico. And who was next to her in the passenger seat? Nero. And once again, you fear your face showed your embarrassment. Kane's hands still clung to you as you slowly slipped out of his grip. And even worse, a figure stood outside of the van, Dante. This embarrassment has you praying to whatever god exists. Kane only recognized Dante, he was not so sure why you were so embarrassed, but he relaxed back into his seat as he watched Nico unfold into laughter, which could be heard through the closed windows of Kane’s car.

You quickly got out of Kane's car, almost stomping over to Nico’s van door. You opened the door with such vigor you could care less if it flew off the hinges. “You shut up!” You pointed a finger at her, through laughs she could barely even speak. “You two love birds!” Then she kept hysterically laughing, but behind her in the passenger seat, Nero just awkwardly smiled. God, this was awful. Kane snuck up behind you as he tapped your waist with his hand, and he looked like he was about to burst out laughing too when he looked at your reddened face. “You gonna have to apologize to Nero for traumatizing him like that-” “He’s 26!” Yes, Nero was very close to a younger brother to you, but he was an adult! He had a girlfriend and practically kids too, but it just made you boil with unbridled embarrassment. Kane stood next to you, he pulled you close by your forearm. Which surprised you but Nico got out of her car, fanning her face like she was the one who had just been making out with a guy, with an unexpected audience.

You threatened Nico about 20 more times within the span of a couple of minutes, Nero had since joined the four of you on the sidewalk. Kane had to hold you in place or else you’d run away and hibernate for years. Finally, Nico stopped laughing like a hyena, you were able to ask her what they were doing out here. “We have an overnight job,” Nero answered. You nodded, Kane had since abandoned you to talk to Dante. You pray Dante isn’t sharing embarrassing stories about you, but you immediately knew he probably did just by looking at the stupid smirk that was plastered on his face. Silence came over the two of you before Nero spoke up again, “Is that the guy from the other night?” His words came out awkwardly, being able to stomach conversation about Kane you replied, “Yeah, his name is Kane.” “Right right.” Nero just fiddled with the hem of his worn-out shirt. “I’ll be careful Nero.” You told him, but you knew in that moment Vergil was somewhat right, you need to be careful. As much as you want to believe that Kane is a good guy, morally at least, he’s showed no signs of being anyone crazy. But, neither did you expect your previous boyfriends to be utterly insane.

Nero seemed less tense after that, but the mood suddenly shifted when Vergil appeared from around the corner, you were the first to notice him. You couldn’t stand to look at him, especially with Nero right next to you. Kane had departed from the conversation with Dante and stood next to you, which you leaned on the side of the DMC van. Nico reappeared from the inside of the van, with somehow more grease on her, yet it had only been 10 minutes. And now it was a standstill, Vergil stood a few feet away from Nero, who was standing on the sidewalk. The air was thick, or at least just seeing Vergil next to Nero made you want to punch Vergil. Maybe it was because you couldn’t deny that Vergil was his father anymore when you looked at the two of them side by side and how similar they looked. Dante exchanged words with Vergil, which you didn’t catch as your focus was swayed to Kane. He squeezed your hand, “I’m gonna go, you have somewhere to stay here right? I don’t want you driving to Fortuna this late.” You smiled, how sweet of him. “No, I’m okay.” You softly spoke as you could hear the conversation behind you between Dante and Vergil. Kane hummed as he quickly kissed your cheek, which just reminded you of your embarrassment from less than 15 minutes ago, but not nearly as bad. His hand gave your hand one last squeeze before getting in his car.

Luckily after you watched Kane drive off into the horizon till his car became a little blip in your vision, it wasn’t silent. You had enough of awkward encounters today, and probably for the next year too. “We’re gonna leave, (Name),” Nero mentioned as he was about to climb back into the van, you nodded, giving him a quick hug, and you spoke over his shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Nero only nodded before Nico stuck her head out the driver’s window, “Him? Stupid? That's all he knows.” Nico spoke while chewing a stick of gum, Nero glared at her, which spurred her on even more. You only let out a breathy laugh, watching Nero get into the van. Dante and Vergil stood closer to the shop, Vergil’s body was straight, and well thought out like his doctor told him he needed to watch his posture. Though you presume he doesn’t even have a doctor– do half-devils have a doctor…? You pushed your curiosity aside, maybe after a shot, you’ll ask Dante sometime. “Practice caution, Nero.” Vergil’s voice had less of a demanding tone, though his words were similar to the warning he gave you earlier today. Nero nodded, you stared at Nero for a little too long trying to analyze his expression, searching for a reason to smack Vergil. For good measure of course.

Waving off Nico and Nero as she drove maybe a little too fast for that beat-up van. You turned back around to Dante and Vergil, which Vergil quickly retired to inside the doors below the ‘Devil May Cry’ neon sign. You stood in front of Dante, whose shadow covered you. “Soooo, that was entertaining wasn’t it?” Dante’s stupid smile, again. “Oh please, I already heard it from Nico.” You turned away from him, trying not to relive the sheer amount of embarrassment that memory would likely hold for a while. Dante chuckled as he put his hands on his hips, so sassy. “Can I stay the night or are you gonna kick me to the curb to go drive an hour back to Fortuna.” Dante let out a dramatic sigh, scratching his white stubble with one gloved hand. “Kicking you to the curb would add to tonight’s entertainment.” You only smacked his shoulder before walking towards the front door. Dante stopped you, pulling your arm as you stumbled closer to him. “Vergil didn’t say anything weird to you, right? Before me and Lady left.” You bit your tongue, debating if you tell him or not, and you began questioning why you were holding back. To save Vergil from a lecture? You turned your head, “He just overheard me talking to Kane on the phone and said something like, ‘Be careful’. It wasn’t anything.” You tried to play it off the best you could, because frankly, you didn’t want to start doubting Kane, you would not listen or even consider Vergil’s words. Only your own, and you’ve had plenty enough experiences to guide you to the right decision. You had a hard time looking at Dante right now, his face was oddly serious, his skin lit up by the neon sign. “Just… Let me know if anything happens.” “I will.”

You vowed as you both walked in the door in silence. Your piles of organized paper still sat on top of Dante’s desk, the lamp illuminated the otherwise dark room. You sat down on the couch, stretching your arms over your head, letting out a silent yawn. Dante sat down in his chair, moving papers so he could put his feet up on his desk. Thankfully he did not disturb your organization too much. “You can take my room,” Dante spoke as he found another magazine to flip through, how does he not get tired of those? “You sure? I’m scared I’ll get devil coodies if I sleep up there.” You stood up from the couch. “I can still kick you to the curb, you know.” Dante looked up from his magazine, you knew he was joking, thankfully. “Fine, you don’t have devil coodies.” Dante let out a chuckle, his eyes quickly going back to the contents of the paper in front of him. “Goodnight.” You spoke as you went up the stairs, which creaked under your weight. “Night.”

As always, thank you for reading! -onyxroses

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cyberstudious · 3 months ago

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Tips for Studying Cybersecurity

I created this post for the Studyblr Masterpost Jam, check out the tag for more cool masterposts from folks in the studyblr community!

Getting started in cybersecurity involves learning a lot of concepts and techniques from all across tech, from networking to operating systems. After that, there's a lot of security-specific tools and knowledge to absorb as well. This post focuses on some of the big things that helped me as I've studied for certifications over the past few years.

Memorizing Acronyms

There are a ton of acronyms used in cybersecurity - if you're studying for the Security+ certification, there are about 300 acronyms that you're expected to understand, and a lot get thrown around while you're on the job. It can sound overwhelming, but my two main strategies are 1) make and use flashcards (I use Anki) and 2) take the time to learn what the thing behind the acronym actually is. The ones that confused me most were always the acronyms for a protocol or something where I didn't actually know what the protocol did.

Memorizing Tool Usage & Command Line Options

How do you specify the target architecture in msfvenom? Which nmap option starts a TCP connect scan? If you're on the tech side of security and not governance, or if you're just studying for certifications, a lot of them will ask you to use command line tools and therefore memorize some of the most common options. The best way to learn these is to just practice using the tool! Anki can be helpful if there's a lot that you have to memorize to pass an exam, but practicing with the tool is a more interesting and memorable experience.

Also, it's not the end of the world if you can't remember everything - manpages exist for a reason! Memorizing common flags and options just lets you work faster, and eventually you'll memorize the most important ones just by using the tool.

Memorizing Common Protocols & Port Numbers

More foundational knowledge here - this is important for entry-level certifications and just being able to interpret things on the job. This is just memorization again, so 1) create a flashcard deck and 2) make sure you know what the protocol actually does. It's harder to remember that IMAP over TLS is on port 993 if you don't know what IMAP or TLS is - build up those connections in your brain!

Understanding Complex Protocols, Processes, and Attacks

When you're trying to learn about network protocols (TCP, HTTPS, etc.), encryption algorithms (Diffie-Hellman, etc.), or the process of a specific attack, sketch a diagram! Draw it out and get as specific as you need. Keep trying until you can break the process down into tiny steps and explain it from memory.

When studying attack chains, you can make use of Mitre ATT&CK to note the different techniques used at different stages. Professional write-ups do this too, so it's a great way to practice.

Organizing your Notes

If you're studying for a GIAC certification, the tried-and-true strategy for passing the exam is to organize your notes and make an index - essentially a giant table of contents for all of the course material that you can search through very easily. GIAC exams are open-note, but there's an enormous amount of material in each course and you don't have time during the exam to search through the book for every question.

Lesley Carhart has a great write-up on their process that's worth a read - this is one of the resources that SANS.edu advisors point students to!

If you're studying for an exam that isn't open-note, making an index can still be helpful, especially if you keep your notes around for later reference. It's also a good way to review and find topics that you need to put a bit more time into.

The tl;dr here is:

Make flashcards for anything that you need to memorize. Use a spaced repetition tool like Anki that will let you study in short bursts over a long period of time, because cramming won't help in the long run.

Get your hands dirty! Practice the labs or sample problems, play with the tools, and experiment.

Keep good notes. It's very easy to feel a sense of information overload in cybersecurity, so having a system that lets you store information outside of your brain but still access it quickly is key.

If you have any questions about how I handle a specific topic or studied something, feel free to send me an ask!

#studyblrmasterpostjam #studyblr #cybersecurity #tips #study tips

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trigun-manga-overhaul · 1 year ago

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TRIGUN ULTIMATE OVERHAUL AUGUST UPDATE

OVERHAUL UPDATE 08/04/23 - The Japanese Scans, again.

Hey there, everyone, and welcome back to another monthly Overhaul update!

We firstly want to say that we've noticed an increase in people asking about the technicalities of our translation, and how it appears in the Japanese version.

I, as in the project lead and translator, have absolutely been enjoying these asks. It's hard to just write a big post about all the little things that we've written, decided upon or localized. So, for people to ask about specific lines that interests them, it really helps us show some of the work and consideration going into our translation, and helping us perhaps make a people feel more trusting of our translation.

We always encourage people to take all translation with a grain of salt, as you never know what the person behind translations might've gotten wrong, missed or even changed for some selfish goal. It doesn't mean you should treat all translators with distrust, but a healthy bit of reminding yourself that you'll never truly know the Japanese text's words and intentions without reading it yourself is good.

That's why we take what we're doing very seriously and hope that we can earn, or keep, your trust as a reader, and not break that trust. We love having the chance to make you feel more comfortable by explaining our process and our choices, so never hesitate to ask if there's anything you're interested in hearing about.

We also fully embrace legitimate peer review, no matter how humbling, as there will always be mistakes and oversights. It helps us constantly improve and ensure that we give all of you the best translation, and scans, that we can muster.

Anyway, to today's main topic.

As the topic title says, we'll be talking about the Japanese scans again, however there are also other good news in connection with that. Work energy has returned for me, the project lead, and I'm cleaning pages at a quick pace again. As mentioned in this post, we changed some of the tasks each member were doing, so I picked up cleaning Trigun Vol 1 and 2.

It also seems that the result of the poll on the previously mentioned poll will be to post a chapter a week later this year. We decided to leave the choice up to everyone, and so the conclusion is that we'll eventually be running a two posts a week schedule whenever the English release is ready. The entire Japanese version posting run will take about two years and three months with a chapter a week, so will the English release posting run as well.

We'll also be making entirely new chapter upload banners with the new 2.0 scans, all in the same size and format, as to keep them clean and consistent. We'll likely be using the same banner for both Japanese and English release. We'll share more info on the exact dates for releases in the future when we feasibly can make a posting plan.

Trigun Vol 1 is already fully cleaned, and work has already begun on Vol 2. I am typesetting Vol 1 as we speak, and it will be done soon. That means that I have new scans from the early manga to show everyone.

Check below for cool new scans and a few details!

Removing the middle seam and paper damage is always a lot of work, but getting a seamless two-page spread is always worth it. Vulpana did an amazing job on this chapter, however, after this chapter they were struck was a lot of life's bullshit and was forced to a complete halt.

This chapter page is also an example of our new combo font usage, the old font for chapter number and the new font for Japanese lettering.

And here it is with the classic font, as some titles are entirely in English.

The only typesetting we've done for the Japanese versions are the chapter pages, chapter ends, and page indicator. As mentioned in the post about the Japanese scans earlier this week, we've done so to have the chapter and page numbering match with single volume releases, as the scans are from the Japanese Omnibuses.

We're still moving the chapter titles to new spots to try and disturb the art as little as possible, but sometimes there's no way to avoid it.

Other times we completely remove the chapter title from the original page, like above, and move it to another page where it fits. Like always, this includes redrawing whatever was behind the text.

The same cleaned scans will be used for the English version, where we remove all the Japanese text from the scans as well. In the end, we'll have four different versions of the 2.0 scans in storage: Japanese version in original and resized scale, and the English version in original and resized, as well.

Sometimes removing the middle seam can be really difficult, especially when it includes a lot of straight lines that are just slightly not lining up. In the above example I spent three hours just lining every straight line up, as to not ruin the effect.

And sometimes the middle seam is very easy, only needing a few lines to be complete. One thing we can never truly hide is the change in the gradient, as all scans are different and the lighting can really change how dark or light the gradients are. We're still looking into a good way to minimize that effect, but I have some theories.

If there are any topics that you want to see for future updates, don't hesitate to let us know!

SEE YOU GUYS NEXT MONTH!

#trigun #trigun maximum #trimax #trigun manga #manga #fan project #trigun overhaul #trigun ultimate #trigun ultimate overhaul #infodump #overhaul monthly update

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astxrwar · 10 months ago

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blunt force trauma [3/x]

SYNOPSIS: traumatized!Bucky x Brainwashed!supersoldier!reader.

Rating: M

Word Count: 5k

Content Warnings: Brief mention of a suicide joke made in passing. Bucky has issues, so MH/trauma topics will feature heavily in this work; I will CW for them every time. Canon-typical violence.

Check out the tag "fic; blunt force trauma" for Content (there's a playlist!!) + Ao3 chapter notes for extras if you're interested. <3

Read on AO3

[1] [2] [ 3 ]

That Wednesday, Yori has a cold.

Bucky spends a few minutes just going back and forth with him through the cracked-open door of the guy’s apartment, asking if he needs tissues or aspirin or fucking— soup, or something, because he’s old, right, properly old, and he’s kind of worried about him. Yori insists it’s just a regular cold and that he’s fine and that Bucky is under no circumstances to buy him anything because he’s fine, and that he’s not going to be going out with him tonight or so much as opening the door all the way.

“Might get you sick,” is what he says. “Bad manners.”

That’s not physically possible, Bucky wants to tell him, but doesn’t, can’t, for a lot of reasons, most of them— pretty fucking awful.

He tries not to think about it.

“Okay,” Bucky says eventually. “Okay, fine, but we’re still on for next week, right?”

Yori is silent for a beat. “Yes,” he says, from behind the door, and then, gruff and vaguely scolding, “You need to make friends that are-- younger. I am getting too old for this.”

Bucky scoffs. Yori tells him this a lot. “I’m working on it,” he says, which is what he says back every time.

It’s bullshit.

He thinks about that piece of paper, folded up and pressed between the pages of Steve’s notebook, heavy in the chest pocket of his jacket like it’s burning a hole right through it.

Mostly. It’s mostly bullshit.

Yori goes and— sleeps, or something, or whatever people do when they get sick, and he goes back to his apartment.

Bucky realizes a lot of things really quickly, after shutting the door and locking it and flipping the lights; things like the fact that he’s not usually here, at this time, that he generally wouldn’t be back for another hour, sometimes more. That she’s probably been watching him, and that she’s probably learned his schedule by now, because it’s exactly what he would have done. That if she were to pick a time to go through his apartment and try to find answers without having to talk to anybody–which is also exactly what he would have done– she’d either be doing it now, or when he’s at therapy.

He realizes after shutting the door– kind of embarrassingly late, all things considered– that he’s not alone.

And then he remembers that being taken by surprise used to be a pretty significant trigger for him, in the early days.

This time, when she tries to hit him, he doesn’t move out of the way— she’s not putting a fucking hole through his door, that’d be such a pain in the ass, there’d be no way to get out of explaining it to the landlord— and what he does instead of moving is step in past her arm and close the distance and shoulder-check her dead in the sternum. The force of it sends her sliding back across the living room, her foot twisting against the hardwood floor to find purchase and friction enough to counteract it, slow to a stop, and then she lifts her chin and she locks eyes with him and whatever he was going to say—hey, relax, it’s just me, it’s okay— it dies somewhere in the back of his throat.

She’s not there. There wouldn’t be any point.

Instead, he sets his jaw and jerks his head to one side and then the other, cracking his neck and loosening his shoulders and waiting.

Part of him— it’s not that he enjoys this, he doesn’t think, just that it feels satisfying, like drawing poison out of a wound. That very first time, he kind of expected looking at her when she’s like this to make him uncomfortable, the way that it reminds him of all of that shit he tries not to think about for a lot of different reasons, but it’s kind of the opposite.

It’s familiar. It’s comforting. Bucky understands this, which is saying something, because it feels like there’s not a whole lot in his life these days that he really understands that much at all. The way she’s looking at him right now— he knows exactly what this is. It doesn’t take him over like it used to, not anymore, but it’s not like it’s completely gone from him, this instinct.

He still feels it too, sometimes. Or— maybe he just wants to. A little of both, probably.

“Yeah, nice to see you, too,” he mutters, mostly to himself, his vision sharpening to a knifepoint and his heart rate solid, steady, ticking like a metronome. The seconds that always kind of feel like they slip from him before he can register them at all— they’re drawn out, now, bleeding into each other, stretching endlessly, and he’s there , inside his own body as the moments pass, present, not floating somewhere outside of it or trapped in his head. He breathes. He listens to the sound of his own blood rushing in his skull. He listens for hers. He can’t hear it, but he thinks if she gets close again, he might be able to.

“What are you waiting for,” he says, not really a question. Kind of a challenge.

She lunges for him.

He meets her halfway.

On purpose. By choice.

One thing he’d noticed the last time is that she’s real fucking fast– faster than him, and probably younger, by what he would guess must be a not-significant amount. The serum is about achieving peak human performance, or something like that; it doesn't reverse the effects of time or the reality of age, and it doesn't change how that peak just starts to gradually decline in terms of speed and reaction time at some point in your early-mid-twenties and then never really stops. Bucky doesn’t know how old he is, not concretely, but it’s old enough that the difference between them in terms of that is apparent. But reflexes are one thing, and experience is another, and he has a fucking lot of experience— more than she does, and that, too, is a stark and obvious fact. He’s better than her, and just a little bit stronger, and what she has on him in speed he more than compensates for just in skill and brute force.

They’re not evenly matched, is what he’s saying, and he’d gotten the feel for that last time, too; had known, kind of, that this wouldn’t be a fair fight.

The edge she has, though, the one he doesn’t, is that she’s trying to hit him— trying to harm him, trying to physically incapacitate him— and he’s not. He’s countering closed-fist blows open-handed, going for her shoulders and the insides of her arms to redirect and keep the damage to the apartment at a minimum, and that puts him at a massive fucking disadvantage. It means her target is the whole of his body, six-foot and something like a buck-eighty, and not only is she fucking smaller than him already, but the places he can hit and not hurt her are these little slivers of windows only a few inches wide, if that, and–

She clocks him in the jaw.

It’s not that bad, it’d been her non-dominant hand and he’d moved back, he’d just been a little too slow– but it’s still hard enough to make his teeth fucking rattle in his mouth and his chest reflexively tighten up and the air force out of his lungs in this short, sharp hiss.

“Okay, ow,” he says, putting space between them and feeling the first prickle of irritation start to worry at his patience and trying real fucking hard not to let it as he moves back and away and grimaces, opens his jaw and shifts it to either side and hears it pop, sore and starting to smart and definitely going to be bruised tomorrow.

When he looks at her again she looks a little bit more human. There’s this furrow, just the shadow of it, tightening up between her eyebrows, but the line of her shoulders is tensed and her hands are still up and something in her eyes is trembling, like it’s tearing at itself, guilt, maybe, but also this kind of powerlessness, too.

Wanting to stop. Not being able to.

Bucky thinks about the dream.

“It’s alright,” he says, “I know. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

He exhales, shaky, his heart beating harder and faster from the exertion, sweat starting to prickle at the nape of his neck, the air burning a little, like it’s sinking into somewhere in his lungs that he doesn’t usually breathe deep enough for it to reach.

“I don’t mind,” he says, and he’s not even really surprised by how much he actually means it. “Come on. Just- get it out of your system. It’s okay.”

Her expression doesn’t relax, but it— slackens, and something flashes in her eyes that looks a lot like relief, but it’s gone before he has time to be sure or think much about it.

When she comes to him a second time, the edge is missing and she’s not trying to hurt him— not trying to hurt him as much, he corrects, grunting when her elbow slams into the soft part of his stomach— and it doesn’t take long for him to get her off-balance and on the defensive. She mistimes a punch, finally, gives him the opportunity to reach for her and doesn’t react quick enough to the hand on her arm, and he gets the other flat on her shoulder blade and slams her against the wall.

She doesn’t do anything for a long moment; her chest is heaving, violently and with enough force that he can feel the muscles around her ribs straining up against the pressure of his forearm where it’s braced against the small of her back, and he has one hand— his hand— on her right wrist, and in the absence of any immediate threat Bucky realizes a bunch of things in quick succession.

He realizes she’s wearing a short-sleeve t-shirt, which is new, and not technically surprising; it’s May and it’s started to get warmer again. He realizes he’s touching her, though, really touching her, without any kind of barrier at all, and that’s new, too, and it’s weird , because her skin is soft and warm and it feels almost fucking– delicate, makes him aware of the callouses on his palm and his fingers and the roughness of them, and contradicts so violently with everything else about her that it’s like his brain just can’t integrate the information at all. He realizes she’s come back— all of her is so human now, even her eyes, the corner of one that he can see with how her face is pressed to the wall, darting back to look at him and then looking away just as fast, fraught and expressive, all of that emptiness just– gone.

And then he makes a mistake. He keeps fucking doing that. It’s getting annoying.

Bucky calls her by her name, and she freaks the fuck out again.

He hadn’t grabbed her other hand, because she’d been calm or at the very least not-murderous for all of ten seconds, so she slides it up under herself and pushes and gets the leverage to slip out from where he’s holding her and she elbows him in the fucking diaphragm, hard enough to knock the air out of him and wrench her arm out from his grip.

And then she fucking runs away, again, and he’s left there trying to catch his breath, with a handful of fresh bruises and absolutely no fucking answers at all.

No holes in the apartment this time, though.

That night, he can't fall asleep.

The nightmares haven’t come back yet— yet, they’d been gone before, the times that Steve had needed him, and then for a while in the aftermath of the final battle, they always come back, though, it’s only ever a matter of time— but he still has trouble with it, just in general. Sleep. It flips, back and forth like a switch, between extremes; sometimes he has the control to just will himself into unconsciousness, and sometimes it’s like his brain fights back, his thoughts accelerate, defiant, no matter how hard he tries to focus on counting his breathing or relaxing each muscle or picturing the inside of his mind like this sprawling, snow-covered field, white and uniform and empty.

He’s long since stopped trying all that, just has his eyes open, lying there staring up into the dark. His mind drifts, directionless, and he thinks about a bunch of things, random details connected by some nonsensical thread of logic that's somewhere beyond his conscious awareness. In Romania, he used to wander when he couldn't sleep, and then also when the thought of sleeping terrified him; he'd walk, sometimes for hours, until his body burned and the soles of his shoes wore out and sometimes until the sun came up again. There'd been one night-- multiple nights, multiple days, six or seven, at least-- that he'd gotten so exhausted he'd collapsed outside, leaned against the crumbled plaster facade of a building. One thing about the serum; he does still need sleep. It'd been raining, and he was soaked and shaking and delirious from lack of sleep. The old woman who'd found him when she'd gone out for a cigarette brought him an umbrella and made him a tea and sat there on the stoop nearby for a while, told him stories about her son. He'd moved to Sibiu, had a wife, three kids, called twice a week, but didn't visit enough. They'd just gotten a cat, he'd let the youngest name it; Șosetă. Sock.

"Prost," she'd said; stupid. Made this soft tch sound, ashed her cigarette against the railing. It'd been such a meaningless thing to complain about. It was the most human he'd felt in months.

Bucky thinks about the girl. Her expression, when he'd let her go that first time, again when he'd pinned her to the wall in his living room. It's still weird to think about, wondering if that's what he'd looked like, a long time ago-- wide-eyed and terrified and hopelessly lost.

He fumbles for his jacket at the foot of the bed, takes Steve’s notebook out and unfolds the slip of paper tucked inside and stares at it. There’s splotches where the lines had gone fuzzy, the paper had gotten wet and the ink had spread out; it’d been kind of damp, the morning he found it, dew condensed on the mesh screen and against the glass, so it could be from that. Or it could be that she’d been crying.

He hasn’t seen her cry, or even really look like she's come close to it. He wonders if she’s there yet. In the beginning, it was like his body wouldn’t let him, no matter how tight his chest would get or how much his eyes would burn— it just wouldn’t come. It’d frightened him too much, the thought of succumbing to something as intangible as an emotion. A loss of control that he just couldn’t submit to. Not when control was all he really had left.

In Wakanda, it felt like— relief. He’d been afraid. But they’d helped him.

He thinks about the way that she’d looked at him. Come on, just— get it out of your system. It’s okay. Maybe he should have said something else— that’s probably not what he’s supposed to have said. He was probably supposed to have said stop, or don’t, or something like that, but he’d tried those a bunch already, and he’d kind of known the whole time that it doesn’t really work like that.

Bucky folds the slip of paper, tucks it back in the notebook, and the notebook under his pillow.

If she could just stop any of this, he thinks, she would have done it by now.

“Is there another day we can do, next week?”

Doc had been tapping the end of her pen against the edge of the notebook, the edges of the pages starting to curl, and there’s a millisecond of hesitation that disrupts the rhythm. Close to imperceptible, but not quite.

“Why,” she says, blunt.

Somebody keeps breaking into my apartment when I’m gone. So I’m going to– not be gone.

“That– veteran,” Bucky says. The lie is growing, which can be tricky; he’ll have to keep track of more moving parts, work harder not to contradict himself, but the game of it, he thinks, kind of makes this whole thing suck less. Now that is definitely something he should tell his therapist. “They’re in town, but usually just on Friday, and I wanted to– I was going to ask if they wanted to grab a bite to eat. Or– something.”

Doc raises her eyebrow at him. “In town?”

“She doesn’t live around here,” he says, shrugging. “Just a– friend of somebody in the building, I’m pretty sure. I only see her ‘cause we both– y’know.” He mimes a cigarette. It’d taken him a long fucking time to figure out how he was going to spin this; it’d hit him this morning, during his run, the pieces arranging themselves all real fucking neatly. It’s great when that happens.

Doc’s eyebrow raises further, and she does that lean-in, just a little bit; she thinks it’s a slip, which is what he’d meant for it to seem like. Best to get this over with now, have control of the information, before he actually does let it slip by accident. “She?”

“Yes,” he says, letting the beginnings of an edge sharpen in his voice, like he’s annoyed.

He’d double-checked, actually figured out how to use Google, just to make sure it wouldn’t be impossible for a woman to have served in armed ground combat. 2013, it turns out. That’s kind of insane, because he’s worked with women– girls, honestly– from the Red Room since he first became active all the way back in the fucking 50s. It took over sixty years; not that there’s been any wars worth fighting in then, but still. That’s a long fucking time.

Doc stares at him for a while, not saying anything. Just– looking.

“Are you asking her on a date, James?”

It’s just ridiculous enough that he can’t help the laugh that escapes him, curt and sharp and entirely genuine– because it is laughable, Jesus Christ, it’s not a date, if things work out how he thinks they will it’s going to be a lot more like a fucking ambush than anything else. Bucky laughs, which is fine, good, even, because it makes this more believable, supports the act– but it also blindsides him so thoroughly that what he says next isn’t preplanned.

“No,” he says, pointed and a little bit mean, like it’s a stupid question– and it is, it’s an extremely stupid question– and then because his mouth moves faster than his brain does, he continues, “No, she’s– she’s having a hard time, you know, adjusting, and I– I’ve been there. I want to-- I thought I could-- help.”

Doc stares at him.

He clenches his teeth. The bruise is gone, and he’s mostly healed up, but his jaw still twinges a little. Another thing the serum doesn’t do; keep his body from getting worse at handling this shit, the older he gets.

A date, he thinks, not sure if he’s amused or irritated by the thought. Jesus Christ, she’d punched him in the face, and she’s likely to try again if this goes according to plan. That’s about as far from a date as you can get.

“I don’t think you’re prepared for a relationship,” Doc says, and then before he can open his mouth to inform her thanks, that’s great, I’m really not fucking interested, she tells him, “I don’t think that’s what this is, but I wanted to make my opinion clear. As your therapist.”

“Gee, thanks, Doc,” he says, his teeth bared too tight in some deeply irritated caricature of a smile, “Really appreciate the input. Can we do a day besides Friday, or not?”

She studies him for a moment longer, and writes something in the notebook. Sometimes he tries to sit forwards or crane his head to read it, and other times he doesn’t; this time he makes sure not to, because he’s on his best behavior. He wants answers, and he wants that a lot more than he wants to know what she’s putting in that stupid fucking notebook.

“Yes,” she says, when she finishes, snapping the book shut. “How does Thursday sound?”

“Thursday sounds great,” he replies, with as much blatant sarcasm as he can physically inject into the words.

He doesn’t even have to wait that long.

It’s Tuesday-- six days since the last time. He’s aware of it now, not on purpose, it’s just one of those details his brain keeps track of without ever really consciously deciding to do so, like loud noises and things moving in his peripheral vision.

He has groceries, a plastic bag half-full bumping against the side of his leg, the handles held loose with two fingers; there’s nothing immediately perishable, fresh vegetables, mostly, and she’s between him and the fridge. He sets it down by his feet, against the wall where hopefully it won’t be collateral damage if this devolves. Again. Bucky’s never really been a betting kind of guy— never seen the point— but from the way she’s standing, he’d put money on this going south pretty quickly.

“Y’know, you should probably stop breaking into my apartment,” he says, without looking at her directly, in a tone that’s probably way too mild for the circumstances.

There’s a long beat of silence interrupted only by the sound of the door as he presses it closed behind him.

“I thought it was a trap, the first time,” she says back, and he almost startles. She’d been sitting in the one armchair he has in his living room, but she’d gotten up as soon as he’d crossed the threshold. He can feel her, now, standing closer to the kitchen, even with his back turned as he pulls his keys from the door. “I thought— it doesn’t look like you live here.”

“Okay, well,” he says, kind of surprised by the tone of his voice, the degree of familiarity in it. “I did the last time I checked."

It’s strange, because he feels like he knows her, even though he also knows, separately, rationally, that he doesn’t; maybe it’s because he thinks about her a lot, or maybe it’s because they’re the same in a lot of ways, but whatever the reason he knows it’s not really true. The reality is that it’s been months, right, and this— right now, that was the most she’s ever spoken to him.

It was pretty warm today; he’d started to sweat as soon as he’d shrugged on his leather jacket when he’d left earlier, and he busies himself with taking it off now that he doesn’t have to be concerned with hiding anything.

She seems to relax when his focus isn’t on her, and—

Yeah, he gets that.

“Sorry,” she says abruptly, strangled, “Sorry, about before, I— I hurt you, I didn’t mean to.“

Bucky scoffs, hanging his jacket on a coat hook by the door; he fumbles with the chest pocket, slips that red notebook out and into the front one of his jeans. “You got me once,” he says dismissively. “Don’t worry about it."

He thinks maybe he sees her jaw set, something in her eyes flash; a human something. A stubborn human something. “Twice,” she replies, curt and a little bit testy, like there’s a part of her deeper than the need to apologize that’s maybe a little bit irritated at how easily he shrugged it off.

Bucky laughs at that, just this short, sharp bark of a sound. And maybe he shouldn’t do that, either; maybe he shouldn’t feel so comfortable at the idea that she kinda seems to have a sort of competitive streak with regards to actual physical violence, and maybe the fact that he is comfortable with it should be— a concern.

It isn’t.

No, that little show of defiance, or whatever it was; it was actually kind of endearing.

“Yeah, all right,” he admits, “Twice. You want to maybe just— talk, this time?”

She swallows and shifts her weight from foot to foot, clenches her hands into fists at her sides and then releases them, slowly, a little at a time in these jagged, abrupt bursts of movement, like she’s making herself do it.

“Yeah,” she says, after a while, her voice strangely small. Her hands are forced out flat, now, open as far as they can go, her arms locked, and he watches her fingers twitch, all random and erratic like it’s unintentional, the only part of her body still moving. He wonders if she even knows she’s doing it. “Yeah, I— I want to, I keep trying, but I— “

“But then you keep trying to beat the shit out of me,” he says dryly, mouth pressed into a small, frank line; not really a smile, but not negative. Still entirely too familiar, because he doesn’t know, really, if that kind of gentle jabbing is going to set her off, but he’s decided he doesn’t really care one way or another.

When Bucky looks at her again she’s clenching her jaw so hard he can see a muscle twitching below her ear even from across the room. “I’m sorry,” she says again, through gritted teeth, the words bitten out and sharp-sounding, like she’s forcing them. “I can’t— I’m not doing it on purpose.”

Bucky swallows reflexively, and that not-smile twists into a grimace. “Yeah,” he replies. “Yeah, I know.”

The silence stretches; he studies her for a while, until he’s pretty sure she’s not going to speak again without a push, before he says, “Think you can tell me something about who you are?”

She flinches, and it’s visceral and immediate and probably out of her control; she screws her eyes shut so hard that her face contorts from the effort, lurches back a step, and when she breathes, it’s so unsteady that he can see that, too, the shuddering rise-and-fall of her chest.

Bucky takes a step forwards while her eyes are closed, and the stupid traitorous floorboards creak in a spot that he’s never fucking heard them creak in before.

She goes rigid and her eyes snap open wide, the whites stretch out so far it makes her irises look like they’ve physically shrunk, and he knows, he knows he’s fucked it, he knows she’s going to fucking run away again, but--

The thing is– he just doesn’t have a lot of fucking patience.

When Bucky was him, he’d had an overabundance of patience. He had an alarmingly inhuman excess of it– something that allowed him to do things like watch the same mark for hours on end from the grimy window of a building or the crumbling edge of a rooftop or a branch-covered hole in the ground, not moving or eating or sleeping or even thinking at all. There’d been times when he’d waited for over a day straight for a target to come within firing range, and then for hours after until the search parties had dispersed empty-handed and it was safe for him to move again.

If somebody had him try any of that shit now, he thinks he’d probably blow his own brains out. He has trouble just dealing with the train being a few minutes late.

I‘s been almost three months, and what he has to show for it is a first name, a patched-up hole in the wall, a lot of really annoying bruises, and fucking nothing else.

When she makes like she’s going to run again, Bucky moves to stop her.

That goes exactly as well as he thought it would.

#bucky barnes x reader #fic; blunt force trauma

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