#yet still able to shock everyone with what still lies under the surface

[syn0vial]

Hello how are you doing?

I was wondering if you could tell us more about Boba Mand'alor or if you had some recommendations like comics or books about that? I'm sorry if it's been asked before I didn't find it

Thank you in advance!!

i'm doing well, thank you! better, now that i've received this ask :D mand'alor!boba is one of my fave bits of the expanded universe; honestly, i wish they'd done more with him! as it stands, the story arc is only really explored in the novella boba fett: a practical man and the legacy of the force series of novels, but it's still quite rich in terms of character exploration and development. lemme give y'all a break down:

to start, boba did not become mand'alor by choice. y'see, the mand'alor before boba was a mandalorian by the name of fenn shysa. though he was mand'alor, shysa was a staunch believer that the title should instead sit with an heir of jango fett. shysa knew that as the last mand'alor of the true mandalorians and a fearsome warrior who gave even the jedi a run for their money, jango could be a potent symbol to rally for the renewal of the mandalorian people—and thus, so could his heir.

unfortunately, jango's heir is none other than boba fett who, at that moment (post-OT) was [checks notes] hunting mand'alor fenn shysa at the behest of his former kaminoan baby sitter taun we, who wanted revenge on the mandalorians for an attack they'd carried out against kamino some years before.

details are a little bit sparse about the exact order of events when boba eventually found shysa, but suffice to say that things did not go as anyone expected. for one thing, boba didn't end up collecting the bounty on shysa—instead he and shysa somehow ended up on the same side against a rival mercenary group that threatened to overrun them. during the battle, shysa was critically wounded protecting boba from said mercenaries and, knowing that boba wouldn't be able to escape while dragging him along, urged boba to grant him a quick death and take up the mantle of mand'alor in his stead. boba was, to put it mildly, less than enthused about this proposition. however, he couldn't bear to leave shysa to be captured and likely tortured to death, and so granted him a coup de grace and honored his dying request.

so now we have the absolutely delicious juxtaposition of boba fett, a man whose connection to his mandalorian heritage is fraught at best, more-or-less forced into being the commander-in-chief of the mandalorian people. and it's as awkward as one would expect. it seems that most (though not all) mandalorians accepted boba's account that he hadn't purposefully deposed shysa (likely bc shysa wasn't exactly quiet about wanting boba on the throne) but the general reaction to him seemed to be, "you're not one of us. but you're a useful symbol, so we'll let you stay where you are."

boba himself likens it to being stranded in "no-mans-land—too Mando for the outsider but not Mando enough for some of the clans"

on the flip-side of the coin, you have mandalorians who tell him shit like, "well, thank the stars you finally came to your senses; this was always your purpose, you know that, right?" which actually makes him angrier and more uncomfortable than the former reaction, for reasons he himself doesn't fully understand.

something something don't imply to the clone-who-pretends-he's-not-a-clone that he was made with a purpose other than sonhood mkay

despite this tension, boba finds himself, to his own bewilderment, developing a sense of responsibility for the mandalorians he comes into contact with. he wants to look after and protect them. he starts thinking in terms of "we" and "us." and he becomes coldly, viciously enraged when they're threatened.

...which happens pretty dang quickly when the yuuzhan vong invade.

look, the yuuzhan vong are a whole other can of worms, but i'll sum up the best i can by saying that they're an extragalactic race of bio-engineered, self-mutilating torture-slavers who think the gffa deserves to be genocided for the crime of developing combustion engines. it's like fucking hellraiser invades the gffa, idk what else to say.

ANYWAY, these dudes are preparing to invade and, after learning that the mandalorians are the galaxy's ultimate mercenary assholes, invites boba (and his friend beviin) to a meeting to discuss, oh, you know, betraying the gffa to the vong in exchange for not torture-enslaving the mandalorians.

and the vong are like "oh, btw, here's some random prisoner we'll torture-enslave in front of you :) just to give you an illustration :) of how seriously you should take our offer of mercy :)"

and boba, knowing that they're lying, and inwardly seething at their veiled threats toward the mandalorians, calmly answers, "based on [your promise], we have a deal."

translation: "we're gonna fuck you up"

(boba has a thing about sticking to his word, so by phrasing his assent like that, he can justify backstabbing the vong. basically, "i am making a promise based on your promise, but bc your promise is bullshit, mine is too")

the mandalorians then spend a good chunk of the war playing the villains, pretending to be fighting for the vong while in reality, they're siphoning key intel back to the new republic to bring about the vong's defeat.

though the mandalorians' sabotage plays a key role in turning the tide of the war against the vong, it isn't without a cost. the vong, eventually realizing the mandalorians' betrayal, wreak terrible vengeance on mandalore, indiscrimimately bombing the planet and mass-poisoning the soil. one could think of this as a parallel to the glassing of mandalore in new canon. mandalore was already in bad shape due to imperial strip mining and the vong's retribution leaves the planet barely habitable.

also, in the aftermath of the war, mandalore doesn't receive any reconstruction aid from the new republic bc fuck them i guess

things are bleak for the mandalorians. they're short on credits and, unable to grow anything from the planet's poisoned soil, they're forced to rely on importing food to sustain themselves, further draining what little communal funds they have.

after talking things over with his fellow mandalorians (see: occasionally interjecting while they yell at each other in a crowded bar) boba decides on a few key policies going forward:

1) as a group, the mandalorians stay neutral in the new republic's ongoing wars. mandos are already an endangered species at this point and they don't need to invite any of that smoke back to mandalore itself.

2) any individual mandalorian is free to sell their services to whatever side they want, as long as they don't do it in the name of mandalore itself. times are tough and people need credits. boba won't begrudge them that.

3) any mandalorians living in diaspora, consider yourselves officially invited home. you show up, you get land, but you gotta pitch in to restore it.

4) until things are stable, those mandalorians with the means (see: boba and the chief of mandalmotors) use their own funds to keep importing food for folks until enough land is restored to make the planet once again self-sufficient

these policies are well-received and morale is significantly improved when said land restoration leads to the discovery of a huge motherlode of subsurface beskar, unearthed by the vong's indiscriminate bombing.

cue mandalmotors going balls-to-the-walls insane and making beskar starfighters. boba is, for once in his fucking life, absolutely delighted by this development.

no seriously, they offer him a chance to test-fly one and it's probably the only time i can recall in his adulthood that he actually grins.

anyway, the restoration of mandalore proceeds at pace under boba's leadership. most of the next book is dedicated to fett family drama with a side of jedi cultural exchange and the book after that sucks so bad that i don't acknowledge its existence. so here ends my hopefully interesting account of the reign of mand'alor boba!

[k-s-morgan]

Hi! I've been in the Hannibal fandom for two years now. Rewatched the show many times and yet Will Graham still confuses me like no one else. Hannibal's design is complex but somewhat understandable after watching the show again again. But Will's design is like a loophole. He can empathise with the killers. That means he can understand them. If he can understand them then why does it feel good for him to kill them? How does it work for him exactly. Does he feel for the killers? If he felt for the killers then what about his violent tendencies towards them?

I've always thought that he is like a God. A God of the killers. The killers offer him their design and he takes sacrifice in return of understanding. But how does his psyche work exactly?

Hello! Oh yes, Will is a very confusing character - it’s his defining trait, and I think that’s because he lies to himself, to others, and to us as an audience. He wants one thing, wants to want another thing, does the third thing, and making sense of it is a complex process.

I think Will’s empathy is a big red herring. I agree with Freddie here: he understands killers because he’s one. He has an almost supernatural gift that helps him recreate the situations almost exactly as they happened. He understands what motivates killers, he might sympathize with them, but I think he might also envy them their freedom to be what they are. They are a reminder of what he is and what he can’t allow himself to have. But most importantly, they are a way for Will to find a compromise with himself and feel better about his true self. Killing bad people is an excuse to justify his darkness, but I don’t think it’s a part of his design per se. 

I agree with you that Will is like a God - he and Hannibal both are. That’s one of the things that separates them from others and elevates them above everyone else. Let’s make an overview of Will’s victims.

1) Hobbs. Hobbs was a monster and Will killed him. But it wasn’t about justice and righteousness, not according to him. Killing a person and feeling pleased that you saved someone versus liking the act of killing itself are drastically different things. Many police officers have to kill in their line of duty. Very few of them get off on the act of murder. Those who do are killers, and they are especially dangerous if they immediately try to follow it up with another murder. Will never once says he liked killing Hobbs because he made this world better. When asked, he says that he felt a sense of power. This is a motivation of many actual serial killers. If Will was just glad that he saved Abigail, he would know it's normal. He wouldn't have been almost on the verge of a break-down and haunted by Hobbs. So it’s not about helping others, it's about murder, even if the victim was a monster.

2) Stammets. Will had no reason to try to kill him (which he admits to doing). Based on his and Hannibal’s talk, he understands that he just wanted to feel what he felt after killing Hobbs, and this makes him panic. So again, no someone. He’s chasing the high of killing someone, and Stammets is the most appropriate victim. 

3) Ingram. On the surface, it looks like Will wanted to avenge Peter and himself by proxy, hence pulling the trigger on Ingram. However, after Hannibal manages to stop him, days later, Will complains about losing a chance to feel how he felt when killing Hobbs. Murder high is his main motivation again - everything else is background or an excuse, depending on your reading.    

4) Randall. Will threw away the gun on purpose to make the murder more intimate. This is not about justice and this is not about protecting himself because by doing this, he reduced his chances. Will also beat Randall up until he wasn't moving. There was no reason to snap his neck. Mutilation, cannibalism that followed, keeping his suit, admitting he enjoyed the murder and calling it his design - this is about murder and WIll’s love for it primarily. The design part is especially important: based on it, we can conclude that Will loves a performance just like Hannibal.  

4) Chiyoh and her prisoner who Will set up. Chiyoh was innocent and didn't deserve to die. Her prisoner might not have been guilty - in fact, Will was the one to suggest that, and yet Will still set him up. It was a game and he was an observer - he lied in waiting for Chiyoh’s scream. He then turned the body of a losing party into art. Very creepy and very like Hannibal.

5) Chilton. Will clearly explained his motivation: he wanted Chilton to pay just because he wanted to be famous and messed with Hannibal by writing his ridiculous book. Will showed no remorse and admitted he did it on purpose.

6) Police officers he set up to be killed by cooperating with Francis. The ones he stepped over without a second look. They were innocent and they were a collateral damage. Will is a cruel God who doesn’t bother with mere mortals as long as it fits his purpose. In this case, his purpose was freeing Hannibal. Everything else was still a blur in his mind. 

7) Francis. Enjoyed the murder, admired the blood, called the situation beautiful.

8) Bedelia. She's innocent in comparison to Will and his body count. If Will faced no repercussions and continued getting more and more people killed, she had every right to go free. But God doesn’t have to be fair, and Will proves it by targeting her. 

What does it all say about Will’s design and philosophy? Apart from Godlike attributes and indifference toward collateral damage, I think Will is led by his��bloodlust - he just tends to control it and direct it at specific targets. 

Will might prefer to kill “bad people” in the first two seasons, but it’s the process of murder that excites him. So I see his righteous choices as a preference that helps him justify his dark nature partly, not the core reason for his violence. Hannibal seems to be moved by his interest in human nature and his hunter instinct, but Will, I think, is a truer killer because he actually feels drunk on murder. Unlike Hannibal, he looks downright euphoric when/after he kills Randall and Francis. In TWOTL, Hannibal is more focused on the fact that his dream came true and he and Will killed someone together, but Will seems primarily caught up in the murder after-shocks themselves. Hannibal thinks about Will, Will thinks about how beautiful blood looks under the moonlight.

So, post Fall, I believe that at first, Will will stick to killing bad people like murderers, but once some times passes, his need for justifications will fade. He’ll move on to rude people, only his rude will differ from Hannibal’s. Hannibal doesn’t differentiate between genders and ages, but I think Will will. He’s interested in a feeling of power, like he himself says, in a sense of dominance, so he’ll look forward to a fight. He won’t be interested in attacking a teenager like Cassie, for instance, because the power imbalance is too prominent. But as soon as someone more equal does something Will heavily dislikes, something that wakes his bloodlust (a personal insult, physical or verbal abuse toward other people/animals, etc.), he’ll attack. He’ll be careful - he knows how to avoid being caught, but it will still be unpredictable and passionate. Will is a storm to Hannibal’s calm.

Then there is unpredictability. Hannibal tends to plan everything methodically. The only times we see him being impulsive is in Europe, where he’s descending into self-destructive mode, so it’s not a norm for him. For Will, though? Will consists of unpredictability, and Hannibal is fascinated by it.I think Will is going to kill when an impulse strikes. For example, he might go shopping, without having any dark plans, and end up murdering someone because the circumstances pushed some unfortunate soul onto his path. Will might or might not display the body depending on his mood. Today he can be in an artistic mood, but tomorrow he’ll be in a violent and impatient one, wanting to destroy the body entirely and leaving a total mess behind.

How Will would prefer to kill? In my opinion, in an intimate way. It doesn’t mean he’ll be weaponless, but something like a knife would fit his tastes well. He’d be able to feel it plunge into his victim’s body, tearing through skin and muscles, etc. - personal and intimate. Akin to what he did with Francis - his feral half-snarl, the way he paused after stabbing him before opening him up - it was dark and mesmerizing. Will might get into strangling, too, because it takes a lot of time and it is even more intimate. It might end up being his favorite. So, I can see him using his hands or small weapons to fully sense what he’s doing to a victim. This is something that he has in common with Hannibal because from what we saw, Hannibal also enjoys more intimate and prolonged murders that give him a glimpse into a person’s pain and struggle for life.

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART THIRTEEN

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: light sexual content, feelings Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place.

Notes: SURPRISE! My depressed ass is back and I missed fawning over this fic. Thank you to everyone that stuck around. I love you guys.

Big thanks to my girlfriend and beta, @lantern-inthenight​ <3

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed @myownparadise96 @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies @bigblack-catattack

MASTERPOST

When you woke the next morning, it was to the sound of a muffled melody. The room was cast in a fiery orange glow as the rising sun peeked in through the window. You sat up in bed, straining your ears to listen. 

Noticeably missing, was Josh - the side of the bed he had been sleeping on was turned down, but you placed your hand on the sheets to find them cold. 

The chill on the hardwood made your toes curl as you padded across it, first to your bedroom to pull on a pair of sweatpants, and then back to Josh’s room to slip one of his sweatshirts over your bare chest. 

Once you were no longer naked, and a little more awake, you quickly figured out that the music was coming from under the closed bathroom door, and you stopped in front of it to have a listen. 

The sound of Josh’s voice carried well into the hall, though he was keeping it quiet, probably for your benefit. 

You placed your fingers over your mouth absently as you listened to the notes rise to a lovely height and then dip down again. You couldn’t quite make out the words, but you didn’t need to. 

It shocked you enough to make you flinch when he opened the bathroom door abruptly - you had figured he was just taking a pause in the song. 

When he spotted you, he jumped back, letting a curse fall from his lips. “God, I didn’t think you’d be awake yet - you almost gave me a heart attack,” he blurted through an exasperated smile. 

“I’ve never heard you sing before,” you said, just above a whisper in the quiet space. “Your voice is so lovely.”

He looked you up and down for a second, his face turning peachy. “I haven’t wanted to for a while. Outside of school, anyway.”

You let a smile find your lips at the implication of his words, and it fell silent between you again. He was standing, posture unsure as he, undoubtedly, tried to gauge whether everything was still okay after last night. 

The temptation to touch him was too much, especially once you realized he probably needed all the reassurance you could give. His skin was warm as you reached out and ran your fingertips lightly over the pink skin on his cheek. He careened into your touch, turning his head just enough to press a kiss into the meaty part of your thumb. The gesture made your chest feel tight. 

“Come back to bed,” you suggested through a whisper and watched him suck his bottom lip into his mouth, teeth visibly pressing into the plush skin. 

“I can’t,” he replied breathily as you took his chin between your thumb and forefinger. “I don’t have the time.”

You nodded back at him with a teasing smile. “Sure you do.”

“Don’t tempt me, babe,” he pleaded from low in his chest. “I have a show at noon.”

You breathed a laugh, threading your fingers through his hair. “Call me that again,” you said against his ear. It was you dragging your teeth over his earring that made him groan. 

“Please - for the love of god - keep this energy for when I get back tonight.”

You hummed, pressing a kiss to the peak of his cheekbone. “Okay. Can I help?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure. Just wait for me here - it’ll probably help save time if you’re naked ahead of time-”

You smacked his shoulder, pulling a delighted laugh from his chest - always excited to say something stupid. “With the show.”

 “If you’d like to, I’d love to have you. But you’re going to have to hustle and get dressed,” he instructed. 

You scoffed. “Not the noon show-” You turned back towards his room and looked back over your shoulder. “No, right now I’m going back to bed.” 

+++

You hadn’t put any thought at all into what you’d wear for the other two shows you’d be attending - you knew you could recycle the dress once on Sunday if you paired it with something else, but for Saturday evening’s show, you were stuck crawling to the only other person you knew whose clothes would fit you. 

This time when you approached Kate’s house, you had come prepared with a milk-bone, which was good, because it was her huge dog that greeted you. When he stood up on his hind legs, he was able to look directly into your eyes through the glass on the door, his tail wagging. 

You watched Kate round the corner into the entrance hall, wearing a knee-length black robe, the silk shining as she moved in the sunlight. She gave you a puzzled look, cracking the door. 

“Sorry to show up unannounced,” you said with an insincere smile. “Can I give your dog a treat?”

She laughed at you, opening the door the whole way and letting you slip in. 

“I’m going to assume that you’re not just here to make Yeti fat.” Her voice sounded a bit too knowing for your taste. 

“You’re right! I’m also here to raid your closet, if you’ll let me,” you replied. “I need an outfit for the show tonight.”

She started down the hall and towards her room, ushering for you to follow. “You’re going again?” 

You nodded, though she wasn’t looking directly at you. “Yeah, of course.”

When you got into her room, you sat on her bed, and you absolutely wouldn’t have noticed Jake if Yeti hadn’t instantly trotted over to him to sit by his feet. He was sitting at a little circular cafe-style table in the corner of her room, a mug of something hot in front of him. 

You glanced over at him and were met with a cheeky little smirk. 

“You - uh. Yeah, I’m going to help with the show tonight,” you said after you decided you weren’t ready to address that situation yet. 

“Ah,” she started, and though she was facing away from you into the closet, you could hear a matching smirk through her voice. “I really only have clothes that match my style, which I would define as ‘mildly tramp’.”

You hummed contemplatively. “Let’s start with the most professional ensemble and then work our way back. Maybe something you’d wear to a wedding?”

“You don’t want something I’d wear to a wedding,” she teased but pulled out a few garments all the same.

“So, uhm. Am I interrupting something?” you finally chanced, sneaking a glance back at Jake. 

“Not at all,” Kate replied, unhelpfully. “Now go try some of these on and tell me what you think.”

In the end, the only thing she owned that you deemed acceptable - and also even remotely your style was a thigh-length, black dress - form-fitting. 

You stared at it dubiously in the mirror. 

You’d have to put a coat over it, but you thought you could make it work. 

“Are we going to talk?” Kate asked, a little smirk playing on her lips as she held her nails out to inspect them. They were unpainted but perfectly manicured.

You chanced a glance over at Jake - who was now sitting on the floor with Yeti nearly in his lap. He was working his fingers through the thick, white fur as he met your eyes. 

“Yeah, let’s talk about it,” he agreed, flashing you his teeth. 

Luckily enough, you found the moment more humorous than embarrassing, so you just scratched absentmindedly at the back of your neck. 

“Well,” you started and then paused as you tried to figure out how much was appropriate to disclose. “I’m going to his show again tonight. And tomorrow.”

Kate huffed, feigning impatience. “Yeah, okay, but that doesn’t tell me anything because you’d do that anyway.” 

You gave her a playful shrug. “That’s all I got for you right now. But I’ll tell you all about it when I’ve processed everything.”

“Ooh, shit. That sounds juicy.” Her eyes lit up as she spoke, making you chuckle. You turned your attention to Jake again then. 

“And I’m sure you’ll hear all about it,” You flicked your eyes back over to Kate in an accusatory look. “One way or another.”

+++

That night you sat in the audience alone - well, not alone, but without Kate or Jake. Most of the seats were filled again, at least partially with faces you remembered seeing the night before. 

The show was just as fun and entertaining as the last, except this time, when Josh walked out onto the stage at the end, he met your eyes for a moment, letting them linger before tugging a couple of his kids into a side hug and smiling wide for all the parents. 

As soon as most people had dissipated, he met you at your seat, but before he could even open his mouth to greet you, a parent of one of the kids was shaking his hand. The dad poured his praises, thanking Josh for working with his daughter - you guessed maybe it was Alice, but you had nothing to base that guess on. Josh handled it effortlessly, charming as ever. 

By the time the parent had left you, you and Josh were some of the last people still lingering. 

“I’ve gotta grab my stuff backstage,” he informed you, tiling his jaw up in that general direction. “Wanna come?” 

With a smile, you nodded an agreement and let him offer you a hand as you made your way out of the tight seats. 

Backstage was infinitely more chaotic than it was when you’d last seen it. Set pieces were strewn about - not unorganized, but everywhere. You had to weave through them to get to where his backpack was propped against a folding table, costume accessories spilling off the surface of it. 

“Do you want me to help clean up back here?” you asked, eyeing the messes. He hummed through a smile. 

“Nah, I’ve got a system,” he informed you, and then after you gave him a doubtful look, he added, “Seriously. And until you’re directing a cast of children in a play that you produced, I don’t want to hear your objections.”

His teasing tone made you bite back a grin. “It’s amazing - really. I’m just offering my help.”

The backpack looked heavy as he slung it over his shoulder, holding the strap across his chest with both hands. “Then take me home,” he requested playfully, flicking his eyes to the back exit. 

“Happily.”

+++

On Sunday, after the very last matinee show, you spent an hour helping him sort all the costumes - every tiny piece in a garment bag and labeled accordingly.  The rest, he insisted, he would work on during school hours the following day. 

You suddenly wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a hug, resting your temple on his shoulder and taking a moment to relish in the fact that you’d taken him by surprise.

 “I want to take you out tonight - a congratulations of sorts,” you said as you leaned back far enough to see his cheeks flush a flattering peachy color. 

“Really?” 

“Only if you want to.” You paired your sentence with a casual shrug. 

He flashed you a pleased smile. “Of course I want to. I’d love that,” he agreed. 

You let him pick the place, and in the end, he landed on a hole-in-the-wall diner that he swore was the absolute best place to get pancakes in the middle of the night. Even though it was close to nine, you both sipped on coffee as you waited for your order. 

“I can’t believe it’s over,” he said as you watched his fingers idly rub across the ceramic mug in his hands. “There was so much lead-up and drama that it feels weird for it all to be behind me.”

“It was really incredible, Josh. I honestly can’t believe that you pulled it off with all that went wrong.”

He looked up at you through his fan of lashes. He looked tired, but not uncomfortably so - just enough that you knew he worked his ass off. 

“We pulled it off. I could have never done it without you,” he stated, charmingly earnest as always. 

You huffed a humorless laugh. “That’s not true - If I hadn’t moved in, you’d never have lost your assistant in the first place.”

His expression melted away until his face was blank. “I-”

He paused, visibly trying to figure out how he wanted to word the next line out of his mouth. “That wasn’t your fault. I didn’t really know what was happening until it was too late to change it.”

“I know, I just. I’m happy that it ended up this way, I just wish it hadn’t almost derailed your whole production.” You could feel your features slip into something mournful, making him frown. 

He was quiet for a moment before speaking again. “How do you even know about that?”

You hummed. “Kate told me. Jake told her.”

He glared off into the distance, but on him, the look was completely unthreatening. It was so out of place that it made you giggle.

“I’m not sure I like how close they are,” he grumbled through a smile he couldn’t hold back. 

“Yeah, I hear you. I went to her house this morning to rummage for this dress-”

He cut you off, eyes raking over your form. “You look amazing, by the way.”

You gave him a pointed look and a little eye roll, though you had to admit you were flattered. 

“Yes, well, Jake was at her house this morning. Petting her dog.”

His eyebrows lifted, lashes blinking a few times in surprise. After a moment, he cleared his throat and spoke again. “Well. I suppose you got what you wanted then, right?” 

The irritation that was evident on your features was unwarranted - you knew that in your heart, but it didn’t stop you from letting out a childish huff. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you and I would be-”

You cut yourself off just as his eyes flicked up at you over the rim of his mug. 

“You and I would be what?” he asked coyly. You took a moment to admire the fact that his cheeks and the bridge of his nose were still a bit tanned despite it now being well into winter. A little like a bronze statue. 

“I didn’t think you and I would be...a thing,” you finished simply, keeping your tone light. 

He quirked an eyebrow at you, all too suspicious for your liking. “No?”

A puzzled look flashed across your face. “No,” you agreed. “Why? What does that mean?”

He took a too-long sip of coffee, holding your eyes just to fuck with you - you were sure. He cheekily bit his bottom lip as he figured out how to word what he wanted to say. “Nothing really,” he assured, though you were unconvinced.

You were going to press the topic further, but your thought was cut short when the server showed up with a tray of your food and another carafe of hot coffee. He made light conversation with Josh as he filled both of your mugs near to the brim, and you watched the steam rise off of it as you pondered which flavored syrup you’d drown your pancakes in. 

The sound of the little metal cup of creamer being slid across the tabletop toward you got your attention, and your eyes lingered on Josh’s hand as his fingers brushed past yours. 

“Cream, babe?” he inquired, though he was well aware of exactly how you took your coffee. 

Your heart skipped a beat as you processed what he’d said. That was the second time he’d called you that in the months you’d known him, and it had the same effect on you this time that it had the last time. You met his eyes, catching his fingers with yours for just a brief second, forcing a mischievous smile to his lips. 

You poured a bit of cream into your coffee and stirred it until it was a medium brown. 

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” you asked fondly and watched him bite his bottom lip absently to try and keep his smile from stretching into a grin. 

“Help myself from what?” His tone was cheeky, informing you that he knew exactly what you were talking about. It was evident that the two of you were playing a game now - something light and coy. You paused to take a bite or two of your food, happy enough to leave him in suspense for a moment longer. 

“Calling me that.”

He hummed, low in his throat. “Is that not alright?”

“Doesn’t it seem a bit out of place?” You watched as he reached across the table to stab at a piece of your pancake, bringing it to his mouth and chewing it before giving his answer. 

“Why would it? Are we not on a date right now?” 

A look of genuine shock flashed across your features. Not caring how rude it was, you asked through a mouth full of food, “Are we?”

There was a long pause in the conversation as he ate, and you wondered for a moment if you had upset him until he looked back up at you. He was biting back a smile as he leaned back in his seat. 

“Back before the musical, you were complaining about the cold - do you remember?” 

You frowned in concentration as you searched your brain. “Which time? I pretty frequently complain about the temperature here.”

He breathed a laugh. “Yeah, you do. I thought you were going to freeze to death at first. But there was something you said that glued itself to my frontal lobe.”

You gave him a questioning look, prompting him to continue. 

“You said, ‘if we move away from here, can we move somewhere warm?’.” He just held your eyes for a moment as your heart beat suddenly inched toward erratic. “We.”

You took a deep breath, suddenly feeling a little jittery and took another bite of pancake before you could say something truly stupid. 

After a moment of silence to let you process, he spoke again. “So, I think maybe you knew we would end up being a ‘thing’, right?”

“I don’t know a whole lot, Josh,” you admitted, reaching out and placing your hand on his and lightly running your fingers over his skin. “But, I do know that since the moment I met you, I wanted to be close with you. You’re magnetic. I truly think you could have anyone you wanted if they listened to you talk - just once.”

Despite having been the one to start the whole conversation, a peachy pink tint surfaced across his cheeks and nose at the compliment.

Clearly not interested in continuing such an intimate conversation at a busy diner, he placed his palm flat on the table and asked,  “Are you ready to get out of here? I think if I drink any more coffee my heart might give out.” 

“You could just switch to decaf,” you suggested, smirking at him as he squinted back at you like you had personally insulted him. 

He stood and leaned across the table until his face was only six inches or so from yours. “I’d rather die, thank you.”

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 2-13: 时间针脚 The Patchwork of Time Translation

“Hold on tight. There’s no need to be afraid.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *CG Image used with permission from 蓝咕咕 ☆ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

Evan: Watch out!

The floor of the elevator suddenly tilts, the powerful force of the action knocking us into the wall. Evan raised a hand, bracing it against the wall while he used the other to shield me within his embrace.

The sound of screeching metal against metal rang out in the air as the elevator, which had originally stopped, continued plummeting once more!

The ear-piercing roar intensified, and all I could see were the red digits counting down with tremendous speed. Tears spilt forth from my eyes like a rushing stream.

My entire world spirals as the feeling of weightlessness crashed down upon my being, its clutches iron-clad. I closed my eyes in utter terror, my heart seemingly stopping.

Only one thought was reverberating in my mind: I don’t want to die like this!

❖☆———————————★❖

Evan: Hold on tight.

The arm around my waist tightened its grip while the palm at the back of my head patted twice in reassurance.

The elevator was freezing and dark, yet this embrace was all-consuming and so very warm. It gradually calmed my panic-stricken heartbeats.

Evan: There’s no need to be afraid.

Evan kept his gaze firmly on the rapidly changing display panel within the darkness of the lift, a deep crease between his brows. An increasingly vibrant crimson hue flashes past his eyes.

As the crimson fades into nothingness, the elevator jolts thrice more before coming to a standstill.

Ba-thump, ba-thump…

A set of calm and panicked heartbeats resonated, ringing out within the small enclosed space.

❖☆———————————★❖

Evan: Okay. Everything's fine now.

I didn’t dare to see if the elevator would continue plummeting once more. My body stiffened, tightly coiled and unwilling to relax.

Then, a beam of light shone from a phone to the elevator’s door. It shook slightly from side to side.

Evan: Does this make it a little better?

MC: Yeah…

I had yet to recover from the shock. I clung tightly onto his sleeves, nodding dazedly.

Evan: Don't be scared. We'll be able to get out soon, trust me.

He placed the phone into my hand. He then reached into his pocket, procuring two pen caps.

❖☆———————————★❖

Evan slotted both pen caps onto each of his index fingers and crossed them. The shadow of a little rabbit was cast upon the halo of light shining against the elevator door.

As if frightened, the little rabbit trembled twice. Its two floppy long ears hung close to its body as it huddled against the ground.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: This is a frightened rabbit.

Evan: Yes, well… It resembles your earlier self quite a bit.

He looked at me, a mischievous smile surfacing within his eyes.

Not wanting to lose out, I picked up the two pen caps and lifted them. The rabbit shadow cast upon the door suddenly became much more lively.

MC: As if!

Evan: Then, why do you always seem to be in such a pickle whenever I see you?

I opened and closed my mouth, unable to formulate a response against that. The last time I met him, I was frantically trying to get out of the way of danger. And this time, the elevator broke down, and I even clung onto him so hard that his clothes were all crumpled and wrinkly...

In the end, I still needed him to comfort me.

MC: I definitely won't be in one the next time we meet.

Evan: Oh?

MC: I'm actually pretty brave! Normally… I just never expected an accident like this to befall us so suddenly out of nowhere.

Evan: It doesn't matter whether or not you're brave. You've still fared splendidly earlier.

His smile was filled with firm assurance. It made me subconsciously throw all fear and panic that I’d felt right out the window.

MC: You’ve been stuck here for so long. Wouldn’t it affect your work?

MC: You’re supposed to be preparing for the succession ceremony, aren't you? Yet, you ended up disappearing for so long.

Evan nodded, seemingly troubled.

MC: I can help vouch for you that we were stuck in the elevator if the CEO gets mad at you.

Evan: Do you… know who's the CEO?

MC: Nope. Although, I’ve heard the others talk about how nice he is; about how he’s a gentleman and about how he’s very easy to approach.

MC: And about how he’s very hardworking. He arrives at the company earlier than everyone else and only leaves in the morning when everyone’s gone...

MC: But these are all rumours, so it’s bound to be a little exaggerated here and there.

The mirth in his eyes only grew.

Evan: Hmm… and?

MC: And I think he’s like Doraemon! Only in my head, of course.

MC: I hear that he can even magic out band-aids and bruises spray from his pocket in the dead of the night!

A warm smile slowly forms on his face. Looks like my words managed to amuse him well.

❖☆———————————★❖

Ding-dong!

The lights above us flashed twice before coming back to life, followed by the “ding” that denoted a floor arrival.

MC: We're saved?

❖☆———————————★❖

The elevator doors slowly slid open to reveal a well-built man. His eyes widened in surprise upon seeing us.

??: ……!

Evan: Sorry. I have some business to tend to. Can Zhou Yan send you over instead?

MC: No need. You can just go on ahead, I’ll be fine by myself.

Evan nods and doesn’t say anything more.

I waved at him before running straight to the front desk.

❖☆———————————★❖

To prevent the accident with the elevator from happening again, I reported the incident to the administration about how it had broken down earlier.

❖☆———————————★❖

Time passed quickly in the afternoon, and soon, it was almost time for the CEO’s succession ceremony to begin. The venue was already filled with people the moment I entered.

The media were all armed to the teeth with their mics and cameras at the ready as they all wanted to be the first ones to catch a glimpse of how the new CEO of the Warson Group looked like.

Hao Shuai: The back row's still empty. Let's move over. No one's gonna find out if we sleep in the back!

Li Man'man: I don't think that's a good idea…

Man With Quiff Hairstyle: When's this going to go on till? It's getting in the way of my work.

Brother Mao: See if anyone's gonna give you their time of the day here, Mr. Oh-I'm-so-serious.

Zheng Lin: We can't do that. The administration has already allocated seats for each Team. We're up front.

Brother Mao: Front seats are a win! I wanna see the true face of this mysterious CEO!

Everyone followed Zheng Lin, seating themselves in the front row.

The ceremony soon began. The announcer fixed up the mic. And after making a simple and brief introduction as an opening remark, the announcer raised his hand in a gesture for the next person to take the stage.

Announcer: Next, let us invite the new CEO of the Warson Group, Evan Lu, to speak!

Evan? I suddenly recalled the signature that had been beneath my offer from Warson.

Evan: Good afternoon, everyone. I thank you all for taking the time to attend the ceremony today despite your busy schedules.

Evan: I am Evan, and I will be taking over as the new CEO of the Warson Group.

I thought I’d misheard him. I dumbfoundedly raised my head.

It felt as if everything around me had gone out of focus. All I could see was the bright stage with all its brilliant lights and the man who stood in the centre of it.

My saviour from the Café back then; the one who comforted me back in the elevator, and the person currently standing on the stage… They were the one and the same.

I can't believe he's the CEO…

But now that I think about it; it all made sense. It was only logical for him to have been near the show venue of the competition if he was the Warson Group's new CEO. And it would make sense why he'd told me that he was preparing for the succession ceremony earlier as well.

Who would've thought that this was how everything played out to be...

Dumbfounded, I stared up at Evan. Those calm and bright eyes of his cut through the crowd and faced me, as if our minds were one.

It was alight with a warmth akin to the one that had been reflected within his eyes in the darkness of the elevator.

I was still stupefied by the time the succession ceremony came to a close and everyone left.

It was then that a cup of coffee appeared before me.

MC: … This is?

Zhou Yan: I'm Zhou Yan, Mr. Lu's assistant. We apologize for the scare you had earlier. This is from him.

He slipped the coffee into my grasp without a word before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

There was a familiar logo on the coffee cup. It was from the Café that Evan and I had met.

It was just like an inadvertent reminder that no matter what his identity, that wouldn't change the moments we'd shared before this day.

MC: Thank you, Doraemon.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 2-10) | Next Part: (Chapter 2-15)

[skellebonez]

Stop Lying To Me (Monkie Kid Cursed AU fanfic)

I was super inspired by @winterpower98 's Cursed AU and the fanart @kitkat1003 did for it soooo... I kinda wrote my own interpretation of this revelatory scene in an anon and now I am rewriting it here as a fic. I'm going off all the info in the masterpost and the hints in tags combined with my own flair so I'm probably off in places, but hey I had fun writing it and I hope you all have fun reading it and that's what counts! (also I have never posted fanfic to Tumblr before so if the formatting is off I apologize.)

Warnings: mild but vague depictions of some nasty injuries. And angst.

EDIT: I forgot to add the Read More! I fixed that!

------------

"You LIED to us."

Macaque looked up, eyes wide at the amount of venom that should not have been held in that voice. "Kid I-"

"You LIED TO US!" MK yelled, words tapering off with a disbelieving laugh as his tail swiped the air violently behind him. "You lied to Monkey King, to- to ME! You used me! Again! ... you used me again..."

Oh. He didn't realize his chest could hurt as much as it did when he heard that. That second again, soft but somehow like breaking porcelain against a hard surface. Macaque didn't realize he could hurt like that. He watched as MK slid down to sit on the ground, turning away from him to check on the still resting Monkey King. "Kid..."

"Was this your plan the whole time?" MK refused to turn, busying himself with checking on his mentor's injuries, injuries he was now fully aware were caused by his own claws thanks to Macaque's confession. "Pull a harmless 'prank', come up with an excuse to get us all away from everyone, pretend to start coming around, make me think you actually liked me this time?" He turned, teeth bared in a half smile half grimace. "Wait for me to start losing control so I could do the dirty work of getting revenge against Sun Wukong for you? What did you tell me last time? 'You are the weapon'? Is this what you wanted? A weapon!?"

There it was again, that pain in his chest. Macaque looked away, unable to keep eye contact with the kid. Not when he could see the shimmer of moisture starting at the corner of his eyes. Heaven, he was going soft! When had he started going soft? "It... I wanted..." Why were the words so hard now? Words were never hard before, he could let them flow like sweet honey at any time he pleased but now they stuck on his tongue like tar. "... yes."

A confirmation. The silence between them was thick, and from the edge of his vision he could see the tears as they finally started to roll down MK's face. "I thought you could change, Macaque."

"I am changing!" Macaque insisted, turning back to look at the younger with what he hoped with a gentle smile. "Yes, I had a plan originally, but it's changed! I don't want that anymore!" He took a step forward, not missing the flinch back and the way the kid curled into himself. When MK said nothing he took another step forward, slower this time, and another. "I'm going to stop this, WE are going to stop this, you won't be a weap-"

"Stop lying to me!" He had messed up. Gotten too close, too fast, pushed too far. When he reached for MK the kid swiped instinctively and his claws made contact, just barely, slicing into the side of Macaque's neck as he made to dodge just a bit too late in shock. Everything froze for a moment.

"I..." MK's eyes widened in horror as he looked at Mac's neck, then his hand. "No, I. I didn't. I didn't mean to. To hurt. I." His eyes flooded more red and as he looked to Macaque his breathing grew faster. He let out a sob. Then a yell. Then a scream.

"Shit!" Macaque took a quick few steps backward before stopping and going forward again, holding his hands up in front of him. "MK, MK listen to me please. You have to calm down ok? You just recovered from the last time, your body cannot handle another transformation without you being hurt!"

A step forward, a step back, scream growing strained and more red but this time from the lengthening claws digging into MK's own arms. The kid was trying to fight it, he could tell, but Macaque had messed up too much. He knew about the plan, that he had hurt Wukong, that he had been manipulated. He didn't know everything but he knew enough. And Mac knew MK wouldn't be able to stop it, even as tempered by exhaustion as it was.

So he did the only thing he could think of that wouldn't hurt him. He leapt forward and held MK. Knelt on the ground and wrapped the kid in his arms as tight as he could. The kid fought harder, both at the transformation and at the hold, grabbing Macaque's arms to pull them away and slicing his sleeves to ribbons and grabbing at his back when he failed.

Macaque did not let go. Not when those claws ripped through his clothes and drew more and more blood, not when MK smashed his forehead into his mouth and split his lip, not when the kid twisted and grabbed his arm and widened his own mouth and BIT, hard and furious and tearing into his bicep down to the bone. Not when the power radiating off the kid scared him more than he would ever admit. Macaque did not let go. 

"I'm not lying kid," he whispered. "Not anymore."

Eventually, too long for comfort, MK stopped fighting. It was like a switch was flipped. One second he was fighting and then next he just. Stopped. Had he not been breathing so hard Macaque would have sworn he has simply ceased entirely. 

They stayed like that for a moment, Macaque getting his own unsteady breathing under control before he gently maneuvered the kid to pick him up. He walked them back to where Wukong was fitfully resting, no doubt disturbed by the recent events, ignoring how his back was rapidly growing warm (but somehow cold) and wet and how one arm shook with effort it should not have needed. "You're gonna be ok Kid. You're gonna be ok. I promise."

"N.." So he wasn't completely drained. Yet. "No more... lying...?"

"Yeah. Yeah, no lying," Macaque said as he laid MK down, wincing as he turned in such a way that the worst of his injuries would be hidden away, if the kid was aware enough to see them that is. "Not about this, not anymore. I promise. Get some rest kid, you're gonna need it."

MK let out a halfhearted chuckle, nodding his head. "K. I... I won't. Give up on you yet." And with that he finally passed out.

Mac sat and watched, afraid to move lest the kid just suddenly transform. But he didn't. He rested and Macaque knew he had a lot to fix. He had gotten attached. Damn it all but he got attached to the kid.

That was the last thought he had as his body finally gave out, sending him sideways into the dirt. He thought he heard a yell, a voice more familiar to him than MK's, angry and scared sounding. Why was it scared? He was the Six Eared Macaque. He would be fine, he always was.

Even if that was potentially another lie.

[kim-miri]

HALF(have a little fun) pt. i

→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun. 

» part one / ?

» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka

» warnings: swearing, blood/violence

» a/n: helloo~ this is my first write ever, and it’ll probably be a pretty long series. I’m also balancing school and a part-time job so forgive me for slow updates! If you’re reading this, thank you so much for showing interest and please leave comments below with your inputs!

» word count: 2,726

☾ i.

Name: Sayomi Zoldyck 小夜美 | "小" is small | "夜" is night | "美" is beauty |

Hair color: White

Eye Color: Purple

Nen: Manipulator (same exact abilities as Illumi)

Abilities: Same as Illumi Zoldyck - Body Alteration, Hypnotic Spell, Corpse Control, Needle People, Katana

☾ part i: a backstory(1/2)

Deep within the Zoldyck estate, Kikyo and Silva Zoldyck celebrated the birth of their first children with rare smiles decorating their faces. They were twins, a boy and a girl, but they could not have been more opposite of each other. 

The boy whom they chose to name Illumi, had mysterious, onyx black eyes and had not cried nor struggled upon being brought into the world. This led the Zoldycks to worry whether the baby was healthy or not, but were reassured by the midwives and doctor that he was indeed completely healthy, despite the baby’s odd lack of expression. 

The girl, who was about 20 minutes older than the boy was a complete contrasting image of the former child. They named her Sayomi. Sayomi had striking violet eyes and brilliant white hair, mirroring both those of her father. Unlike her twin, she had done the whole newborn baby shenanigan with a piercing cry and thrashed about in Kikyo’s arms upon being held.

Thus, began the new generation of the Zoldyck family.

☾ i.

The twins began training at the age of 4, and it was harsh, brutal training fit for the next line of Zoldyck assassins. 

Though deep down Silva and Kikyo loved their children, on the surface, they viewed their children as the ones who would eventually replace them and carry on the Zoldyck legacy. And in order to do so, the training they put their children through was all too necessary for the sake of their futures.

Yet, however painful or exhausting the training would be, Illumi and Sayomi found ways to make it bearable with each other’s company. 

It could be their little races to the training yard each morning, stepping on each other’s feet under the dinner table, or even pranking some of the butlers. 

In a way, they were able to balance each other out, much like two halves of a whole. With Illumi’s lack of expression and Sayomi’s affectionate nature, it was a mystery to those around them of how they were able to grow to be inseparable.

As the twins’ training progressed and the years went by, it was time to awaken their Nen abilities. 

Silva and Zeno had requested that the now 7 year-olds meet in the courtyard today instead of their regular training, where they would now be categorized into the different types of Nen. 

Illumi and Sayomi sat side by side on a bench in the courtyard in wait of Silva and Zeno, playing with their needles to pass the time. 

The black-haired twin flicked his wrist faster than the eye could see, sending the needle between his fingers to go flying and hit a bird mid-flight right in the butt. 

Watching the poor bird plummet to the ground in front of them, the twin girl’s violet eyes brightened and crinkled at the edges as she laughed out loud at her brother’s ‘choice’ of aim, falling to the ground while clutching her sides. 

A slight shade of pink dusted Illumi’s cheeks as his sister teased his needle-throw, before huffing and turning the other way. He swore it had been on purpose, but was immediately shut down by his sister’s obnoxiously loud giggling.

Silva and Zeno approached from a distance and couldn’t help but smile at the view in front of them. 

Sayomi was rolling around in the grass with laughter, her melodious voice echoing throughout the courtyard, while Illumi sat cross-armed with a blush threatening to spread across his otherwise pale face. 

It was a scene that seemed to reoccur often between the twins, their starkly different personalities showing through clear as day. 

Zeno stifled a laugh at the bird which now lied dead approximately 3-feet from where they stood, one of Illumi’s needles sticking out from its rear. Regaining his composure, Zeno called out for the twins.

“Sayomi! Illumi!”

Sayomi looked up from where she laid on the grass, immediately moving to sit next to her brother once again. 

In Zeno and Silva’s hands, each was a glass of water filled exactly to the brim. It was amazing how steadily the two senior assassins could move, the water remaining still in either cup.

The time had finally come where the twins would awaken and discover their Nen. 

Setting the glasses down on a table in the middle of the courtyard, Silva gestured for the twins to take a seat across from them before beginning his explanation. 

The twins sat down with caution, curious of the sudden change in training plans, and Silva delved into the history and power of Nen along with its importance. 

Having officially bored the twins into a state of drowsiness, Silva decided to cut to the chase. “Today both of you will figure out where you belong in the spectrum of Nen users, and you will both leave here with more power than you’ve ever wielded before.”

This caught the attention of both kids, simultaneously perking up to the word “power”. 

“This is called the Water Divination Test.” Silva gestured to the glasses of water placed in front of the twins. 

A leaf was placed in both of the glasses, floating still upon the surfaces of water. 

Zeno continued the explanation, describing what would occur. “It’s a Shingen Ryu screening tool used for classifying aura. You will place your hands on either side of the glass with the utmost focus and your abilities will be revealed by what happens.” 

After a short demonstration, the twins were up to the test, eager to know which category of Nen they would belong to.

Sitting up straight in their seats, the twins raised their hands to their respective glasses and focused all their energy into the glassed of water in front of them.

Sayomi was the first to get a reaction, as the leaf floating in the water twitched and spun in circles.

She exclaimed at the sudden movement, excitedly looking up at Silva and Zeno who beamed with pride. Both adults had hidden their shock at the girl’s raw power, causing the leaf not only to twitch but spin rapidly. 

It was a short-lived moment, as everyone’s attention was brought to Illumi’s leaf doing exactly the same, spinning in the other direction within the water.

Illumi cocked his head curiously at the movement, not showing as much enthusiasm as his twin. Zeno and Silva nodded in approval and the twins shared a smile as they listened in to the capabilities of their Nen category.

The twins were manipulators, Zeno explained. “Manipulators are argumentative and logical. They advance at their own pace and tend to want to keep their families and loved ones safe. On the other hand, when it comes to pursuing their own goals, they do not listen to what others might have to say about it.”

☾ i.

Life or death situations almost every day that consisted of torture-training, sparring, and even shadowing butlers at work or senior assassins on missions for a good 3 years brought the twins to their current state. 

At the age of 10, Sayomi and Illumi were full-fledged and elite Zoldyck assassins. And to top it off, came the birth of Killua, the twins’ new younger brother, who would soon become Sayomi’s biggest weakness.

 From the moment Killua was born, the elders sensed an overwhelming aura radiating off of the newborn, that screamed killer and powerful. 

However, all Sayomi could see were the uncanny similarities between the baby and herself. 

Brilliant white hair, slanted, bright blue eyes, that looked like her own violet ones, and above all, a wide, gleeful smile. Killua’s smile, although a baby, felt more genuine than any smile she had received in her entire life, and the warm sensation that spread throughout her body made her take another look at her younger brother’s sleeping face. 

She was absolutely fascinated by how similar the baby could look to herself, and decided to herself then and there that she would forever protect Killua at all costs.

☾ i.

On the other hand, the twins were already on the job, taking clients and bringing enough success to spread rumours about the new generation of Zoldycks. 

Sayomi was on her fifth client when she finally ran into a situation that caused her to hinder from the job. 

Her target was an 18 year old girl, the daughter of the CEO that had backstabbed her client. But her age wasn’t what bothered Sayomi. It was what she’d saw while hiding in the shadows of the girl’s suite room. 

From the cabinet of which she hid behind, Sayomi couldn’t help but feel a strong disdain to herself as she watched her clueless target without a sound.

The 18-year old brunette that identified as her target laughed giddily as she twirled around with a toddler in her arms. The baby let out cries of joy that seemed to pierce through Sayomi’s heart like daggers as she thought of little Killua. 

The girl almost seemed like a reflection of herself, and the innocence of the situation made Sayomi’s shoulders slump as she looked at herself in disgust. 

What was she thinking? 

There’s no way she would be able to kill a target if she began to sympathize with them. She was supposed to be impartial, cold-blooded and cold-hearted like the rest of her family. But Sayomi was ashamed of herself, to say the least, and she wouldn’t, no, couldn’t go through with the job. 

Carefully turning from her spot behind the wall, she used her stealth and speed to exit the suite back through the balcony all within a split second, before the target could notice the slight breeze left in Sayomi’s trail. 

Wasting no time, she jumped down back into the balcony of her client’s room directly below, landing with the soft patter of her boots upon cement.

Walking into her client’s room without a second glance to the expectant man, she muttered under her breath that she couldn’t take out the target and continued to leave before he could process the situation.

☾ i.

Sayomi’s client had notified Kikyo of her daughter’s inability to accomplish the hit later that day, leaving her fuming with anger and embarrassment towards her eldest child. 

Upon Sayomi’s return that night, Kikyo was already waiting, arms crossed and whip in hand. In a state of mindlessness, Sayomi feet led her to trudge quietly into one of the empty stone cells, ready to accept her punishment.

Kikyo scoffed at her daughter’s actions and followed the 10 year-old into the cell, knuckles turning white with her grip on the handle of the whip. 

With Zeno and Silva out on their own missions, no one was around to bail Sayomi out of her mother’s wrath, and the torture lasted longer than usual with Sayomi’s refusal to answer any of Kikyo’s questions. 

Kikyo was merciless, hitting Sayomi left and right until her hands bled from the grip, blinded by rage and shame.

Sayomi self-consciously endured the hits, mind blank as her body transitioned into survival mode with her lips shut tight as blood began to run down her body pooling at her feet. 

She didn’t regret her decisions, however, and only let a few stray tears slip out when she thought about Killua’s smile again and his future that would very much match her own.

Though it was betrayal to think this way, she hoped he would escape.

☾ i.

When Sayomi had woken the next day to the sound of sprinklers running in the garden, she found her wounds bandaged meticulously, along with a note next to her head. 

It read: “You were brave to stand against mother. But remember our purpose and don’t be stupid. - Illumi”.

Sayomi had grimaced both at the note’s contents and the pain that shot up her body as she moved to get out of bed. 

She made a mental note to thank Illumi later for carrying her back to her room and set out to the training yard.

Breaking out into a jog towards the yard, Sayomi rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and attempted to tie her hair back while she picked up the pace. She winced visibly just thinking about having to train with her wounds still fresh and let out a defeated sigh as the yard came into view.

Arriving at the training yard, Sayomi’s jogging came to an abrupt stop as she saw her mother was standing with Illumi instead of their regular instructor. 

Sensing the tense atmosphere, Sayomi walked briskly towards Illumi and her mother keeping her head low and eyes trained on the grass beneath her feet. 

Lifting her head the slightest bit to sneak a peek at Illumi, she faltered as his eyes were trained towards the distance behind their mother, unable to read his emotions.

Kikyo finally spoke up, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen upon the three Zoldycks. “Today’s training will be a little different. It’s become apparent that we haven’t been toughening up you kids enough, so for today’s session, the two of you will fight each other until either can no longer continue. A lesson about showing mercy.”

Sayomi’s head whipped up towards her mother and then Illumi. “But father said we should never harm each other unless a mission is at stake!” 

Kikyo slapped her daughter across the face and her voice showed no sympathy as she spoke. “Sayomi, dear. Don’t you think you’ve acted out enough by now?”

Sayomi only blinked a few times, ignoring the stinging sensation on her right cheek as she looked at Illumi once again. 

He hadn’t moved an inch, his black eyes unwavering as Sayomi’s violet ones searched his face for any signs of emotion. There was nothing.

The twins walked out to face each other in front of their mother, waiting for the other to initiate an attack. It was a battle of nerves, as much as it was the reluctance to fight one another.

From where he stood, Illumi’s needles were untouched from their spot on his waist belt, as were Sayomi’s strapped to her upper left arm and thigh. It was a silent agreement made between the twins, neither wanting to deal more damage than would already have to be done. 

Both Sayomi and Illumi knew there was no getting out of the situation, and with the meeting of their eyes, the match began.

Illumi’s right hand clenched into a fist as he swung aiming to uppercut Sayomi in the jaw, making the first move. 

Sayomi had lept back instantly, before dodging another flurry of kicks and punches sent her way. She had decided well before the match began that she wouldn’t retaliate Illumi’s attacks even it meant losing. 

She knew Illumi wouldn’t go as far as to make her suffer, so her plan was to put on a show for her mother until she deemed she would be satisfied. This way, only one of them had to get hurt.

As the gap between Illumi and Sayomi continued to close in, Sayomi found herself taking hits left and right, unable to defend against everything. 

A critical, hard kick to the side, several hits to the face, and an orbital fracture dealt to her right eye was what finally led to Sayomi’s fall. 

Bunches of brilliant white hair strayed from her once neat ponytail as Sayomi fell to her knees, incapable of continuing on with the fight. 

With the blood pounding in her ears, Sayomi barely made out her mother’s furious words of which caused her to shut her eyes in wait. “Illumi! Do it now! Use your needles to teach that disgrace a lesson!”

She waited. 1, 2, 3 seconds and opened her eyes to the scene unfolding in front of her.

For the first time in a while, Illumi’s face gave away to his emotions as he shouted back against his mother. 

His eyes were full of rage and hate as he continued to shout, and though she couldn’t make out the exact words he was using, Sayomi’s heart twinged at the sight of her normally obedient brother taking a stand against their mother.

The edges of her vision were blurry, and she found it hard to keep her head up as the scene began to spin in front of her, right before the ground lurched to the right from under her causing her to fall forward into darkness. 

☾ i.

to be continued.

[awkwardgtace]

Bad Dreams, Bad Days

Soo I've been back and forth on posting and writing for a few years figured I'd finally give it a shot.

I don't think there are any warnings needed but lemme know and I'll add them.

Mira and Corus are two characters I play with a lot in different types of worlds, not really settled on anything besides Mira tends to stand out for some unique trait.

As promised a tag for @chasing-starlights for the first time I post a story(Revealing tangled anon, still plan to use that if it's ok though since this is a side blog). Criticism is very much welcome.

Bad Dreams, Bad Days

“Do you ever wish I was different?” Mira asked. She was laying on a pillow larger than herself, on a bed that seemed impossible. The human in the chair nearby paused what he was doing and looked to his small companion. She sat up staring intensely with her pink eyes into his own blue. “Do you?”

“I don’t think I get what you mean,” he said. He smiled at her, unsure what she was really asking.

“I mean like your size maybe? Living where everything fits my size too, where you don’t have to sneak around and worry all the time for me. Corus, I just, I guess do you ever wish you didn’t have to deal with me being so small compared to, well, everything.”

Mira let herself fall back to the pillow, her lavender hair a stark contrast to the white cover. Corus moved so his chair was close enough he could reach out for her, but didn’t move to yet. It seemed she was having a bad day again, and he had to figure out what would help. She started playing with her hair and Corus just watched for a bit. He got caught up in how small she was sometimes and this was one of them.

“Never mind, I guess the question was weird,” She sighed. She rolled over, no longer able to see his face. Corus had to come up with some answer.

“No, no it’s fine I just don’t know how to answer,” he said. “I mean I guess maybe sometimes. You’re right I wouldn’t have to worry about the things you’ve told me about. Most of the animals in the area wouldn’t be dangerous anymore and getting caught anywhere would just mean getting talked to most of the time. The bad storms wouldn’t need to scare you as much either.”

“I guess that’s what I should have expected,” she mumbled. Corus strained to hear it. He moved to the other end of his bed and climbed on trying to jostle the small woman as little as possible. He placed his head on the pillow next to her, having her face him again. She just watched as he settled himself then shut her eyes.

“Mira what’s going on?” he asked. Corus slowly moved his hand up to hold her. He was always so careful, she felt like a porcelain doll to him. He never wanted to be the reason she got hurt and she knew that too. She looked at him and he thought she looked scared. She hasn’t been scared of him since the first few days they’d known each other.

“You’re so big, even the pillow I’m on is small to you. It’s just overwhelming to be surrounded by so much like this. I never thought about how small I was in the walls, or at home, now it just hits me in the face all the time. You could just use a little strength right now and I could be hurt or worse. I guess sometimes I wish I was your size. Just forget it, I just remembered things, and had some dreams last night that I can’t get out of my head.”

Corus watched as she hid her face. She never liked admitting these feelings when they came up. He pushed down on the pillow to have her fall into his hand. Her eyes were wide as he pulled her close to his face. He watched her carefully for any signs she needed him to stop. When she was close enough he touched her forehead with his own as best he could and tried to have her meet his eyes.

“Mira, do you wish I was your size?” he asked. His voice was just a whisper, but still sent a shiver through her. She refused to look into either of his eyes.

“At first I never really got the difference, you’re big who cares. Then I started thinking about everyone back home and sometimes I guess I do wish that. I wish you understood the things that happened before they brought me here. Really understood how it felt when I first went out. I mean I was shocked by all the huge things around us, and terrified when I saw humans for the first time. I still remember the dread that settled on everyone when a kid asked about the moving doll with purple hair,” Mira paused, tears coming to her eyes. Corus moved to be holding her close to his neck in the best form of a hug he could give her. He knew this was always hard to talk about for her, she never really went further in her story. He didn’t mind, he wanted her to feel safe more than anything. This time Mira felt different though pushing away from his neck.

“No you don’t get it,” she shouted. “Everything fell apart, I almost got people taken from their whole lives just by existing. We almost missed the kid asking. We almost got caught in the boxes their parent moved. We could’ve died and it would have been my fault. We could have been taken away where no one knew what happened and it would have been my fault! You don’t realize how terrible it felt to see everyone look at you like some awful thing that almost killed them. It would have destroyed so many back home. And last night was the worst nightmare I’ve had yet. We didn’t get away we got followed and-and-”

“Mira,” Corus stopped her. “Please take some deep breaths. Everyone is safe from that day. They didn’t get taken by anyone and neither did you. If anyone ever sees you I’ll keep you safe, just breathe.”

Mira shook as she tried to calm down. There was more she wanted to say, but Corus was right. She needed to at least try to get her breathing under control. She pushed off his neck again and he pulled her back. This time she stood up on the pillow walking slowly away from him on the uneven surface. She didn’t get too far before stumbling and deciding to stay where she was. She turned to face Corus again, hugging her knees to her chest. She stared daggers into the pillow, refusing to face the concerned gaze from him. She knew she needed to tell him the rest of her dream.

“It wasn’t just reliving that. It was, it was that you found us. You found my home and you took people, hurting them as you grabbed them. Throwing them carelessly in a cage. I recognized you, called out to you, but you just grabbed me and shoved me in your pocket. I was begging and pleading for you to stop, but you kept going until I woke up.”

She wouldn’t look at him. She knew how much he tried to be kind and have her trust him. This would just hurt him, but she knew she had to say it. She was terrified the dream would be real, he’d change and just wanted to know it wasn’t. Corus was quiet after she spoke and it made her start to panic. There was always a part of her that thought her kind human would change.

Corus’s hand cast a shadow over Mira as he cupped it around her. He grabbed her up again and moved to sit up straight. He opened his hand so she was on his flat palm, but she kept looking down at the hand that held her. He moved his hand to hold her up in front of his face. She couldn’t stop herself from being a little scared with how quiet he’s been, but the one that scared her was just a dream, it wasn’t her Corus. He kept looking at her and she knew he was waiting for her to meet his gaze. She looked up hesitantly, not ready to see his reaction.

“There we go, I can get a look at that wonderful shade of pink,” he said, causing her to have a small smile. “I know you’ll have nightmares and when you do I’ll just have to keep convincing you I won’t do anything. I would love to help you see your home again, but I’d never force you to lead me there. I would be happy to even put you somewhere close and wait while you made your own way.”

“I don’t get it, why are you always so nice like this?” she asked. “I just told you I watched you kidnap and terrify people in a dream and you’re still comforting me.”

“I can’t blame you for being afraid of something you were told could happen your whole life. Then of course I have the bonus that I care about you and don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Corus gave her a smirk and she couldn’t help laughing. He pulled his hand close and planted a soft kiss on her head. She let out a squeak, still shocked that a human would be so loving towards her. Corus pulled away looking down at her and she finally gave him a real smile. She hugged his closest finger tightly, so relieved she had someone now when these dreams happened. The first few years all on her own were awful when she had days like this. Corus moved his hand with her to his chest and laid down on his back. He slid Mira off of his hand over his heart and gently placed his hand over her like a blanket.

“You need some more sleep,” he told her.

“You said you have to do things on that computer or you’d get in trouble,” she said.

“I won’t. I did enough for now. Go ahead and sleep. I'll wake you up when I need to do more.”

Mira made a face, but still snuggled closer, relaxing to the heart beat below her. She didn’t like when he put things off for her, but she would let him get away with it this time. Corus kept watching her until he noticed her relax into sleep. He grabbed his phone with his free hand off his desk and sent a message that he’d be out for a while today. She wouldn’t be happy if she knew he lied, but she was only going to keep reliving that dream if he let her be. It helped that a nap wouldn’t hurt him either. Corus slid down a little to get more comfortable, curling in his fingers on the hand holding Mira, falling asleep with a smile.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Shaw’s Scorching Waves Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an S2 date, 炙浪之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Features S2 Shaw!

[ This date was released in CN on 28 Sep 2020 ]

MC: Mister, this is the place!

After paying the passenger fare, I hurriedly get off the car, but find that the entrance of Live House is already very crowded.

Sweeping my eyes across the area, I receive a shock.

Whether they are male or female, everyone here is donned in punk style: ripped shirts, leather outfits, jackets with rivets on them... A few people even have cool mohawk hairstyles.

At the side, the words “Rock ‘n’ Roll Night” are spray-painted on a wall. Below them is an eye-catching line--

"No entry if your attire doesn’t match the theme”

MC: ...

I look at my surroundings, then lower my head to look at my own officewear... Clearly, under such circumstances, I won’t be able to enter.

With uncertainty in my heart, I take out my phone and make a call.

After a few dial tones, Shaw’s languid voice drifts into my ear. 

Shaw: What’s up?

MC: I’m at the entrance of Live House now.

Shaw: You really came?

His sentence ends with an upward lilt, as though a little surprised.

MC: Yeah. Over the phone last night, didn’t you tell me to come over after my meeting? Since it’s a formal invitation from you, and you’re performing a new song, of course I couldn’t miss it.

Probably not expecting that I’d rush over in time, Shaw pauses at the other end of the line for a while.

Shaw: ...you’re pretty punctual. Are there many people outside? 

MC: Yeah. But the doors don’t seem to be open yet.

Shaw: Of course. After all, I just reached too. Who knew that Old Man would drag out the lesson...

MC: But what do the words on the wall mean? I didn’t know there was a dress code to watch the performance.

Shaw: You didn’t actually wear business attire over, did you?

Shaw’s laughter of ridicule drifts to my ear. Slightly angry, I grip the phone tightly. 

MC: If you keep laughing, I’m leaving!

Shaw: Tch, try to leave if you can. All right, wait where you are.

Shaw pauses, and the soft sound of breathing can be heard from the other end of the line. He seems to be stretching.

Shaw: I’ll pick you up.

-

Because of the way I’m dressed, a few staff members I walk past along the corridor to the break room can’t help but cast sidelong glances at me.

Entering the break room, I discover that there isn’t a single person inside.

MC: Eh, where are the other band members?

Shaw: They’re still on the way.

Shaw closes the door, then lies down on the sofa lazily. I once again check the time.

MC: But the performance is starting in half an hour. Don’t you guys need to rehearse?

Shaw: We’ve been prepared since a long time ago. Heading straight to the stage afterwards is fine. Come to think of it...

He tilts his head, looking me over.

Shaw: This is the first time I’m seeing someone wear business attire to watch a performance. 

MC: The fact that I could rush over already means a lot. Be contented.

Shaw: In that case, prepare yourself to be “saluted” by others later.

I lower my head to look at my outfit. It truly doesn’t suit the crowd.

Also, since there are so many people today, it wouldn’t be convenient to move around later on.

Just as I furrow my brows in vexation, Shaw suddenly speaks. 

Shaw: Hey, I have a suggestion.

Meeting his mischievous gaze, a bad feeling arises in my heart. 

MC: ...what are you planning to do?

Shaw: Since I didn’t notify you in advance, I thought of an idea.

He suddenly stands up and walks towards the wardrobe at the side.

After rifling through it for a while, Shaw takes out a black coloured leather jacket.

Shaw: Try it.

MC: ...is this yours?

Shaw: Why do you care about so many things? Just try it on.

I take the jacket from him. Skeptical, I bring it to my nose to give it a sniff - it has a faint peppermint scent. Looks like it’s pretty clean.

Watching my actions, Shaw gives me a subtle look, and releases a soft “hmph”.

Shaw: If you don’t want to wear it, forget it.

MC: Who says I’m not wearing it.

I snatch the jacket back. Although there are still some concerns in my heart, I can’t be picky considering the current circumstances.

The jacket is a little large, and hangs on my body loosely. However, it’s able to cover my short shirt. 

MC: How’s this?

Shaw: The way you’re dressed...

Shaw pauses, then chuckles softly.

Shaw: Looks pretty punk.

MC: I never thought watching a performance would be so troublesome... Why did you guys suddenly think of having a theme?

Shaw: Because it’s fun.

Shaw responds instantly.

Shaw: People who watch the performances range from working adults to students - all sorts of people. But after changing their outfits, no one will care about their identity. Before music, nobody’s different.

I look at Shaw, a little surprised. I originally thought this activity was just a spur of the moment for them, and didn’t expect that there’d be such a meaning behind it.

Just when I’m about to say something, the lights above my head suddenly flicker.

MC: What happened? Is there a problem with the lights? 

With a glance, Shaw answers indifferently.

Shaw: The voltage isn’t stable, that's all.

Before I can probe further, a series of knocks come at the door. A staff member opens the door, and tells Shaw--

Staff: Get ready, the performance is about to begin.

-

In Live House, there are a mass of bobbing heads as the restless crowd congregate near the stage.

After a short while, I’m pushed to the back.

MC: Do I have to squeeze through the crowd...

Looking at the crowd before me, which is so packed till there isn’t a single crevice, I'm at my wit’s end, and stand in place.

Man A: That bass player is quite interesting. My girlfriend likes him a lot.

Man B: Oh? You’re very magnanimous. Not jealous?

Man A: She just appreciates his musical abilities. He plays really well. See for yourself later.

The conversation between the two man standing in front of me drifts over to my ears. I can’t help but laugh. 

If Shaw knew how he was being commented on, I wonder what he’d think of it.

I whip out my phone, taking a few pictures of the scene.

“There are so many people here today! Seems like quite a number of them are here for you.”

After penning my text message, I send it to Shaw along with the photos.

The performance is about to begin. Despite thinking he wouldn’t reply, my phone suddenly vibrates.

A sentence flashes on the screen.

Shaw’s message: Why are you so far behind?

After a few seconds, another message appears. 

Shaw’s message: Don’t move around. I’ll look for you later.

I’m just about to reply. At this moment, the lights extinguish. The entire venue dives into pitch darkness, and the background music stops.

Without the hyping up of a host, and along with a flurry of shrieks, the band members enter the stage.

Purple light streams down slowly, shrouding the entire stage together with faint mist.

Shaw walks in last, his steps indolent. But his figure is tall, straight, and proud.

He hangs the bass over himself casually. Exchanging a glance with his bandmates, his fingertips flit across the strings lightly.

Along with the first sound from the drums, the performance officially begins.

Without unnecessary cushioning or embellishments, the music goes straight to the theme. The rapid and fierce melody propels the hearts of everyone to beat along with the rhythm and notes.

I’m standing below the stage, my eyes fixed on the people above it. 

Just like the first time I watched him perform, I almost forget to breathe in the midst of the shocking music.

Shaw’s fingers fly back and forth on the strings. He is so skilled in his techniques that even if you were to keep your eyes wide open, you wouldn’t be able to see how he moves his fingers clearly.

The lights and shadows intersperse like an illusion. He sways along with the rhythm, the light in his eyes even fiercer than the swift melody from his fingertips.

I grip the jacket on me. In the crowd - as what Shaw said - I have forgotten my own identity in this very moment.

Just like a normal rock lover, I can’t help but raise my hands in the air.

The climax gradually nears, and the entire crowd waits for the explosive point, their insuppressible shrieks surfacing one after the other.

At this point, the lights hanging on stage suddenly release a “PA” sound, and sparks appear in the air.

The audience in the front row cry out in alarm. The lights continuously flicker, and the buzzing sound of electricity can be heard.

Audience A: !! Did something happen?

Audience B: Seems like a problem with the lights. Could this be a stage malfunction...

People on and off the stage seem to notice this unforeseen event, and chaos erupts in the venue.

Suppressing the panic in my heart, I lift my head to look at Shaw.

In the middle of the flickering lights, I see a bewildered expression on his face too.

After a moment, he seems to think of something. He suddenly lifts his eyes and looks at the audience, his probing glance sweeping across them.

My heart jolts. Subconsciously, I give him a wave.

The surroundings are filled with the clamour of people. After sweeping past numerous profiles, Shaw’s eyes fall on me.

The moment our eyes meet, his frown smoothens out. Under the ever-changing lights and shadows, he reveals a flamboyant smile.

Shaw: Scared?

What’s there to be afraid of? Baffled, I shake my head.

Shaw holds back his smile for a moment, and he seems to be making a soft “tch” sound.

The crowd is still in chaos. Quite a number of them even squeeze towards the entrance, planning to leave the venue.

A staff wearing a name-tag is currently maintaining order in front. My eyes brighten, and I hurriedly squeeze myself over to him.

MC: Hello! The lights have been flickering, and I think it could be because the circuit over there has some issues. 

Staff: All right, thank you!

The clamour from the crowd seems to cover the music. I lift my eyes to look at Shaw, and discover that he’s currently staring at the flickering lights, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking about.

Suddenly, he lifts his hand, and a bright light reflects from the pick between his fingers.

Shaw: Hey, catch up!

He steps on the pedal, matching the rhythm of the flickering lights. A few band members start to react.

The drummer raises his drumsticks in the air, tapping them together a few times. The band members exchange glances, cooperating with the rhythm to commence a spontaneous performance. 

When the audience notice that the performance is continuing, they start cheering enthusiastically. Without realising it, I also start to cheer. 

Shaw pulls out the wire connected to the bass. He walks to the side of the stage, his gaze sweeping across the crowd slowly.

He stretches out his index finger, pointing at the most raucous part of his audience, his eyes burning with fiery light.

The mood of the audience is instantly ignited, and they respond to him with gestures.

Shaw takes two steps back. Then, he turns around fiercely, jumping into the air.

At this moment, the hanging coloured balls open and countless ribbons drift downwards.

The glaring lights stop flickering, and they are all focused on Shaw.

Standing at the back, I see Shaw being lifted by the crowd. Along with the surge of the crowd, he draws closer to me.

The performance on the stage continues. The turbulent music excites every single cell in one’s body in an unparalleled manner.

The performance reaches its peak, and everyone excitedly waves their hands in the air. It’s as though the earlier incident was nothing more than for performance effect.

Shaw and I exchange glances. Even though we’re separated by the crowd, he looks at me with an unbridled smile.

My heartbeat speeds up in my chest along with the sound of the drums.

The thin coat of sweat on his collarbones, his intense gaze, and that hand reaching towards me--

All of them render me unable to avert my gaze.

-

In the break room, I shut the door, cutting myself off from the merriment outside.

With twenty minutes left for the performance, Shaw suddenly handed his bass to me, and asked me to wait for him in the break room.

I look around my surroundings, but don’t see Shaw.

MC: Why is he always like this - deciding things for himself...

I sigh softly, looking at the bass in my arms. My mind flashes back to images of him performing.

I can't help but raise my hand. Based on the melody in my recollection, I try plucking on the strings, humming the tune softly.

??: Hey, you’re out of tune.

I jolt. Turning around, I meet Shaw’s sly gaze.

MC: ...didn’t you manage to recognise what I was playing? It shows that I’m not lacking in talent.

Lowering my head, I continue strumming the strings in indignation. But my wrist is suddenly grabbed from behind.

Shaw: You can use one finger to pluck the strings. That way, the timbre will be more even.

Before realising it, Shaw is already standing behind me. I feel his breath on my ear, and it carries the same fresh peppermint scent as the jacket on me.

I pause, then follow his advice on how to play the bass, realising that there’s indeed an evident change in the timbre.

Shaw: How is it? Isn’t it much better?

Before I can respond, footsteps are heard at the door.

In the next second, the door is pushed open. A band member enters, teasing him good-naturedly.

??: Shaw, are you able to rush your assignment before the deadline...

His voice suddenly halts. The moment he sees me, a few band members freeze.

When they notice the jacket on me, their expressions abruptly change, looking as though they’ve seen a ghost.

Adam: Isn’t that...

Jensen: All right, let’s not disturb their interaction and studies.

Jensen’s voice is genial. A few of them who tacitly understand his words start laughing.

Jensen: Shaw, catch!

A silver coloured object flies in an arc through the air, and a set of keys fall squarely in Shaw’s hand.

Jensen: We’re off. Remember to lock the doors.

In the blink of an eye, they’re all gone. 

MC: Is there something about this jacket?

Shaw rolls his eyes, walking over to the side to tidy up.

Shaw: Don’t bother about them. Let’s go.

-

There’s nobody in the main hall of Live House - a complete opposite of the lively atmosphere just now.

The loudspeakers and musical instruments on the stage have yet to be kept. A sole spotlight is turned on, and messy electrical cables are on the floor.

Thinking about the nice yet interrupted new song just now, a faint sense of regret surfaces in my heart.

MC: Shaw, could you play the bass again?

Shaw pauses in his footsteps. He turns his head to look at me, his expression baffled.

MC: That new song today - you only played it halfway before having to stop. I want to hear you play the full song.

Shaw: Right now? You really know how to order people around. Forget it, I'm in a good mood today. Wait here.

Shaw: Wait here.

He tosses his bag at me, then takes large strides to the front, hopping up onto the stage. 

He picks up the bass casually. Plugging the wire in, he lowers his eyes and sweeps a glance at me.

Shaw: This time, you’ve got to listen carefully.

With this, a melody gradually flows from his fingertips.

Although it’s the same song, it’s different from his performance earlier. He plays every beat unhurriedly, his posture casual and relaxed. 

I’m sitting on the floor, quietly listening to the low sounds of the bass, humming along with the music.

The timbre of the bass beneath his fingers is low and unruly. The occasional pauses and increases in speed are reminiscent of himself and how he does things as he pleases.

There’s a strange tugging of my emotions as memories of the past echo--

A very long time ago, underneath similar dim lights, I had watched Shaw’s performance for the first time.

I tug on the jacket over me, immersing myself in my thoughts, not noticing that Shaw has furrowed his brows above the stage, slightly upset.

Shaw places the bass to the side, then suddenly jumps off the stage.

MC: !

The thud of his feet making contact with the ground pulls me back to the present.

Amid the blurry lights and shadows, the image of him hopping off the stage and the image before me overlap.

In the quiet evening without a restless crowd, Shaw walks towards me, every step especially clear. 

He stops before me. I lift my head to look at him, but am caught off guard when he flicks my forehead. 

MC: Ah!

Shaw: You couldn’t keep your eyes off me when there were many people around. Why do you start losing focus when there are fewer people?

Shaw: Tch, you don’t know how to cherish this.

His face is within reach. My heart beats erratically in my chest once again, just like it did when he was surfing the crowd towards me.

MC: When was I unable to keep my eyes off you...

Shaw arches his brows, his expression reading: “Don’t even think of denying it”.

MC: I was just wondering why you thought of hopping off the stage earlier.

Shaw: What? 

MC: Just now, during the performance. If you had waited for the staff to fix the lights, you wouldn’t have needed to go through such trouble, right?

MC: Also, do you like getting off the stage like that? Isn’t it good to use the stairs?

Shaw: But it’s cooler like this.

Shaw’s tone is confident, and the corners of my lips tug upwards involuntarily.

Shaw: Also, this time is different from before.

MC: How so?

Shaw: It isn’t an accident this time.

He takes the bag in my hands, then walks towards the entrance. 

Shaw: Why are you still standing there? Let’s go.

-

The streets in the wee hours of the morning are tranquil and empty. The streetlights outside Live House cast small, round halos.

Shaw doesn’t speak. A lively melody drifts from his earpieces, and he’s humming a certain song from his band softly.

Shaw: Hey, your car’s here.

I nod, my eyes falling on the skateboard beneath his arm.

MC: You don’t plan to ride the skateboard home today?

Shaw: The board needs waxing. Oh yes, remember to share your location with me when you’re in the car.

We bid each other goodbye with a wave, and I enter the car. With the clinking sound of metal buttons, I realise that I’m still wearing that black coloured jacket.

I roll down the window, and exclaim at him.

MC: Shaw, thanks for your jacket!

Shaw appears to pause in his steps. After a while, he lifts his hand and waves it in the air casually. He doesn’t turn around, carrying the bass.

Shaw: Remember to wash it before returning it to me next time. 

Moonlight falls on the ends of his hair, coating it with a tender halo. Shaw steps into the tranquil night, and it seems like his footsteps have become slightly lighter.

-

🎸 MOMENTS 🎸

Shaw’s Post: The first time seeing someone wearing business attire to watch a performance. 

MC: You’ve already said it once!

Shaw: Saying it twice isn’t enough to express my surprise.

-

Shaw’s Post: The first time seeing someone wearing business attire to watch a performance

MC: And with high-heels. My feet were close to giving up when I reached home...

Shaw: You should have mentioned it earlier. I have a pair of shoes in the break room.

-

Shaw’s Post: The first time seeing someone wearing business attire to watch a performance

MC: Are you touched? To watch your performance, I didn’t even have the time to change my clothes.

Shaw: A little. Hope you can continue in your efforts the next time.

-

Phone call: here

[inkyhorror]

The Royal Guard

Chapter 2

“Like I said, no need to be tense. Relax, I’m not here to hurt you.” He seems relaxed enough. Though you suppose it is easy to relax around someone when you know for a fact you are leagues stronger than them. You on the other hand, find yourself at the mercy of one of the most powerful entities in the universe. Even so you make an effort to release the tension in your body. It would be unwise to offend the Demon King even if accidentally. You clear your throat and speak in a much stronger voice.

“Then why are you here?”

The long awaited second installment of the collaborative fanfiction project I am working on with the wonderfully talented @asmosmainhoe. Please let us know what you think of it!

First     Previous     Masterlist

“You’re... Lord Diavolos father?” The world seems to spin as the realization hits you all at once. Of course, that is who he reminds you of. The resemblance is uncanny. Everything from the curve of his jaw to the warm golden color of his eyes. Even the delicate grace with which he brings the mug to his lips reminds you of Diavolo. In your momentary shock you forget about the vase in your hands until it starts to slip from your grip. You manage to catch it just before it hits the ground. With a sigh of relief you gently place it on the table next to you. The Demon King chuckles and your attention is once more drawn to him. You lock eyes with him for just a moment but it is enough to make you feel uncomfortable. You look away, finding it difficult to make eye contact when he is watching you so intently.

“There is really no need to be so tense.” The Demon King takes another sip of his tea and sets the mug down on the table. He takes a moment to admire the design on the side of it, an elegant and colorful lion dashing across the ceramic surface.

“Why are you here?” You manage to ask. Your voice is much quieter than you would have liked, every shred of courage lost while under his gaze. The Demon king frowns and quirks an eyebrow. “I mean,” you stammer, “to what do I owe this visit?” Your body tenses as you wait for his reaction. To your surprise he lets out a hearty chuckle.

“Like I said, no need to be tense. Relax, I’m not here to hurt you.” He seems relaxed enough. Though you suppose it is easy to relax around someone when you know for a fact you are leagues stronger than them. You on the other hand, find yourself at the mercy of one of the most powerful entities in the universe. Even so you make an effort to release the tension in your body. It would be unwise to offend the Demon King even if accidentally. You clear your throat and speak in a much stronger voice.

“Then why are you here?”

“To talk. Please, drink your tea. I made it special for you and that is not something I do very often.” He gestures to the mug in front of you. It is the one that Barbatos had gotten for you as a gift back in the Devildom, the one shaped like a cute little sheep painted in pastel tones. You pick it up and take a tentative sip. It tastes normal. Delicious even. Probably not poisoned. Not that you would know what poison tastes like anyways. Throwing caution to the wind you take a few big gulps.

“Thank you. It’s really good.” You hold the cup in both hands, allowing the warmth seep into your palms.

“Mmm. Tea from the human world can be quite delicious. Personally, I prefer Devildom tea. What do you think?”

“About the tea?”

“About the Devildom.” The Demon King leans forward. “What do you think of it?” It feels like his eyes are boring into your very soul. All things considered it is actually a very real probability. You were never really sure how Diavolo was able to tell when someone was lying. Maybe it was small changes in their heartbeat or temperature, like how they do in TV dramas. Maybe he could see it in their very soul. Either way if that ability is hereditary, if the Demon King could also see through lies, then it would be useless to say anything but the truth. Actually, it might even be detrimental to your safety to be deemed untrustworthy.

“I... I really like it there.” You stare into your mug, unable to maintain eye contact. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t really sure at first. I mean, I was basically kidnapped when they brought me there for the exchange program. But after a while I really grew to like it there. It’s like a second home to me. I feel like everyone I met there is family.” You feel your face heat up. It was all true of course. Saying it out loud however made you feel rather embarrassed. This must be how Mammon feels every time he tries to talk about his feelings. How awful.

“And Diavolo?” The question is not unexpected but it still causes your heart to leap.

“That seems like a loaded question coming from you.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat. Out of the corner of your eye you see the Demon King shrug his shoulders.

“Well, that depends on your answer now doesn’t it?” He has a point. Not that it makes you feel any better. This whole conversation makes you uncomfortable but this question in particular puts you on edge. Nothing about this situation seems right. This man breaks into your home and demands that you entertain his questions. Rather strange questions at that. Why does he care so much about your relationship with the Devildom? With the demons? Still, despite your apprehension you thought it best to play along for just a little longer. Hopefully if you cooperate you might be able to learn something about his intentions.

“I owe Diavolo a lot. He was the one who brought me into the Devildom. It’s because of him that I got to meet everyone.” Your answer is curt but you hope it will suffice.

“Is that all?” The Demon King leans back into his seat. He crosses one leg over and settles in, clearly expecting more. Damn. It looks like you are going to have to give a little more if you want anything in return. You sigh and take a moment to organize your thoughts before speaking. 

“No. Diavolo is...” You swirl your mug, absentmindedly watching the tea sediment swirl and disperse back into the liquid. “He is one of my dearest friends. We became really close during my time in the exchange program. I trust him. Like I said before, he’s like family to me.” Silence stretches on for what feels like an eternity while you wait for the Demon King to respond. Finally he nods his head almost imperceptibly.

“Good. That’s good. You know I was worried about the kind of people my son kept in his company while I was away. He’s a kind soul. Much too kind for a demon I think. But it is reassuring to know he is a good judge of character at least.”  He seems to be telling the truth, much to your surprise. The stories Diavolo had told you about his father painted the picture of a man that did not care much about his son. Yet the look of relief on his face suggests otherwise. “I have one last question for you.” You huff loudly. Another one? This interrogation has gone on long enough. Anger flares in your stomach and gives you the courage to speak up in protest.

“Hang on, what about me? I have a couple questions of my own you know! Aren’t you supposed to be-” He raises a hand to cut you off.

“Ah ah ah! Just one more. Then I will give you all of the answers you want. I promise.” You grumble but settle down. He takes your silence as permission to continue. “What would you do if Diavolo was in danger?” Your heart skips. Danger? What does he mean by that? Is this a threat? Is that what this whole visit is about? The thought that Diavolo might be in danger sends a jolt of fear through you that sends you jumping out of your chair with enough force that it almost topples to the floor.

“What? What do you mean danger? Is something going on? Is Diavolo in trouble?” Your voice is high and frantic. The Demon King simply stares, his expression giving nothing away. Answer his question and he will answer yours. “Anything, If Diavolo was in trouble I would do anything to keep him safe. I know I’m not strong, not even by human standards, much less compared to demons. But I know some magic! I’m not entirely useless in a fight.” Your whole body shakes a little as you speak. With every word you see the smile on the Demon King's face widen.

“Excellent. In that case I would like to ask for your help saving my son's life.”

[violetnotez]

Izuku x reader

⤷ Genre: Fluff, Mafia Boss AU!

⤷ Word Count: 3600+

⤷ Warnings: i think cursing? I think?

⤷ Synopsis: Working in a rundown bar kinda sucks, especially when the owner is you ex best friend, your crush, and now a mafia boss.

This is for the Izuku Month! Pls check out the awesome writers participating for this month!

You wiped down the grimy surface of the bar, your shoulders sagging from fatigue.

God you hated this job.

It seemed like such a long day, such a long time since you’ve been able to truly be completely calm. You felt how rigid your shoulders were, always seemingly expecting a fight or confrontation. 

Working and managing a bar under the control of the mafia wasn’t the most calming job in the world, you had to admit that, but you had to get money somewhere. You would be on the streets, scrounging for anything that resembled a meal if you didn’t have this job. 

As much as you hated it and all of its requirements, from the drunken brawls you had to pick apart to the back room deals in the dark, you at least were able to eat, to live in a somewhat decent apartment, to pay your bills. 

You constantly had to remind yourself of this, every time you had a man cat call you or a fight happened on the sickly white porcelain tiles. You would bawl you fists into balls, your lip quivering to finally let loose the pain and frustration being caged in your chest.

If you allowed yourself to be truthful to yourself, you'd admit just stuck, trapped, and powerless you felt in this moment. You felt like a little ant scrambling in a hug hive, under control of one leader who wouldn’t ever let you stop working. 

You wiped a brow of sweat off your forehead, your makeup long gone from the strenuous workday as you glanced a look at the corner of the room.

Each table was clean and pristine, (all thanks to you), the wooden surface glistening under the hazy yellow lights, the crystal vases holding a single rose bloom, the petals dark like blood. 

Some tables were occupied, men having late night conversation with a beer in hand, their tones surprisingly quiet and calm, as if  the alcohol had somehow changed their rambunctious demeanor from 2 hours ago. 

Everything around you was a typical late night on a Saturday, the clock reading 12:45 am as it ticked like a bomb ready to explode, the men oblivious to the ominous countdown as they chit chatted away on their tables. 

The only thing strange, the only thing that had thrown you off since he had arrived…..was the man in the corner, casually drinking at an empty table.

He was sitting in the VIP lounge, his shoulders hunched like yours as he surveyed the scene like a slinking cat, his scarred hands swirling an amber liquid. 

You had been watching him all night, after your boss had been thrown into an uncharacteristic frenzy when he first saw the man: it was him. Izuku Midoriya. The owner of this bar and the mentee of Toshinori Yagi, the late Mafia Boss.

Midoriya's rise to fame was infamous, it seemed-Yagi had plucked the poor boy off the streets, declaring him as his protege that very same day. All the mafia bosses in the city couldn’t understand why Toshinori had picked the boy at the time-he was barely 16, his short height and timid voice practically making all the others bosses double over in laughter.

He would never survive this hardened lifestyle, and the talk was they would slowly pick apart the Yagi legacy, taking over all of his territory once the boy became the new leader.

You were barely 16 yourself at the time, a poor girl who had watched her best friend get thrown into a world that wasn’t his. You had been friends with Midoriya since you were a child, playing with him in the streets after school and protecting him from all the bullies that would try to take advantage of his shy personality.

It was strange to see him now after all those years of silence, his change shocking you.

He was older, in age and in spirit. He looked so burdened with knowledge, his eyes coated underneath with a purple hue and his brow fixed in a tired expression.

 But he still had a youthful look, his eyes wide and doe-like and his freckles like stars in a clear night, his curly green hair as unruly as it was in his youth.

You couldn’t fathom why he was at this bar so late at night, or why he was even here in the first place. He was well known now-everyone knew who he was, whether they respected him or not. There was no need for him to be in a shady bar at 1 in the morning, drinking his alcohol as if he was bored by the whole scene in front of him.

But there he was, looking as placid as ever as his two bodyguards stood at the ready, surveying the spotless room for any intrusions or enemies that could hurt Izuku.

You looked down at the bar, the white rag turning brown with the dirt that had collected on the surface.  

You wiped a strip of sweat from your eyebrow again, the humid heat feeling suffocating as  your hand returned to the rag, swirling it in lazy circles on the shiny surface.

“Another whiskey please,” you heard a young voice ask, his voice sounding hesitant and slightly worried.

You looked up with exhausted eyes, only to feel all the air leave your lungs.

Izuku was looking at you with wide, apologetic eyes, his face expecting your response. He was wearing an expensive suit, the gold embellishments on the sleeves gleaming in the warm lighting.

You gulped as you willed your heart to slow at the sudden movement, moving a fallen piece of hair back behind your ear.

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” you asked dryly, your voice free of any emotion as you continued to clean the counter, your cheeks blossoming with red as you tried to contain your shock.

Even though you knew Midoriya for many years, it was embarrassing for you, seeing your once best friend becoming such a high and mighty figure in the underworld, so full of power and luxury, while you were stuck in a grimy job that gave you just enough to survive.

It also didn’t help that you used to have a crush on Izuku since grade school-you had thought you had gotten over those feelings, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Your heart still swelled at hearing his voice, it’s pace quickening like you were running a race just from the sweet sound.

He chuckled, a soft chime rumbling out of his chest. He sat himself at the counter, not minding the dampness as he rested his shoulders on the dark surface.

“Still always out to protect me,huh, y/n?” he asked, his voice sounding bitter sweet, “You were always looking out for me.”

You looked up, your eyes blown wide with shock. 

He still remembered you? It was strange to see  him after all these years, those pink cheeks bright against his brown freckles, as if he was cursed to always be blushing so adorably.

“More like I don’t feel like dealing with another drunk this late at night.”

He smiled yet again, his face lighting up at your sarcasm.

How the hell was he still so him, so innocent and sweet after all he must have seen, must haven been through?

Was he really still the same boy from your past?

You sighed, your heart feeling heavy with emotions. No, he wasn’t the same-he was a mafia boss. He was the boss above your own boss, the CEO of your whole damn life. You couldn't fall for his sweet antics, no matter how much they pulled on your heartstrings. 

You sighed, your hand slowly stopping the rag.

“What is it you want Izuku,” you quickly asked, your face stony and harsh. “Somebody like you doesn’t just come to a bar like this just for some whisky-at 12 in the morning might I add.”

He chuckled again, this time the sound more nervous as he scratched the back of his head. 

Izuku had to admit it, you were right-there was no reason why he should be here. No reason why he should be here at 12 in the morning, looking like a pompous rich brat with his two bodyguards as he peered at you from his lounge, watching you work.

When he had heard you were working at this bar, one that he owned on his part of the city, he felt like bricks had been dumped into his stomach. How did he not know you were here? 

After getting recruited by Toshinori, he had somehow lost all contact with you, his life becoming so hectic and terrifying that he has decided he didn’t want to see you. He was fearful of bringing you into this terrible life-you were his best friend and his crush after all, he didn’t want to see you get hurt because of him.

But you had somehow already gotten twisted into this lifestyle, this swirling mish mash of legal and illegal, family and foes, loyalty and lies. Now you were apart if it, being a manager of a mob bar. If you were apart of it, he felt like he could actually approach you now, because the fear of getting you hurt was far less. 

But he was scared for you still-you were around many shifty characters daily, dealing with your fair share of criminals. With his high status, he could help you now-he could keep you safe.

“I just want to know how you are,” he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looked at you with concern, “it’s been so long I-I-didn't realize you were here.”

He grimaced slightly, weighing his words out slowly and carefully. “You don’t seem to like working here much.”

You grinned slightly, your eyebrows cocked up in an amusement and exhaustion. You set the rag down, your hands spread against the counter.

“You’re still very observant-did you catch that from talking to me or watching me for the last 2 hours?”

Izuku chuckled nervously, his cheecks on fire as he hands swirled the gold watch in his wrist like a worn out habit. Your eyes widened slightly at the expensive accessory-another reminder of how different this Izuku was from you. He had power, he had freedom, control, and everything in life- and you didnt. You were a bird caged inside, unable to spread your wings and free yourself of the troubles that followed you each and every day. 

Your smile lessened as the lump of misery in your stomach grew, his eyes catching the small gesture. He leaned against the counter, his green eyes searching your face. 

He felt so close, those tufts of green hair cascading against his forehead as his eyebrows scrunched in worry.

“Are you okay y/n? I’m worried for you,” he said quietly, as if he was revealing a secret to you.

Your cheeks blushed in red-how did he still seem so-him? He was so kind and caring like he was as a child, always making sure you were okay, taking care of you when you had scraps on your knees or tears on your face. His heart was made of gold, and you honestly couldn’t fathom why Izuku had turned to the life of a hardened, merciless mob boss.

You noticed his hands twisting again, wringing in worry as he waited for your response. Your eyes trailed down to those digits and the plethora of scars on his fingers, wrapping around his skin and trailing under his tailored suit, turning his smooth skin into a rippled, pink pattern.

Your heart broke at the sight, just imagining the terrible things he must have been through to attain those marks. 

Your fingers wrapped around his hand, your nurturing nature kicking in once seeing those pink tiger marks decorating his skin. Your finger trailed against the skin, following the pink river lines rising against his skin.

“You don’t look so good yourself Izuku,” you said, your digits touching and caressing the scars lightly as you examined each one.

Izuku gulped, his brain going into overdrive-you were touching him. 

No matter how much time had passed, he couldn’t forget how much he had fallen for you as a kid, and it was following him into his adult life. He missed your sweet smile, your laugh, your bright personality that could light up his whole day and week.

But now his sun was so bleak, your face cracked with fatigue as you stared at his scars with such intent it was as if your eyes were burning a hole into his skin. 

He sucked in air harshly, trying to figure out how to breathe again.

“How do you get these ‘Zuku?” You asked quietly, looking up at him, his wide, green eyes staring back at you.

He shimmied his hand away from yours, his cheeks a rosy red as he averted your gaze. It was sweet to see him so vulnerable, the hint of nervousness gracing his complexion, but you missed the feeling of his skin on yours.

“I-It’s not that important-“ he stuttered slightly, “I’m hear you see you, not talk about me-“

You gave him a thin smile, your lips curling inward from exhaustion as your head tilted onto your shoulder.

“So, what did you want to ask me?” you asked. You watched as he exhaled a small sigh, his body willing him to speak his next few words. You held your breath watching him look so nervous, like watching a dam slowly crumble and release the flood of water it had been holding back for so long.

“Are you happy-doing this?” he looked you square in the eye, those forest green eyes expansive and sucking you in whole. 

 “And you have to answer, no going around the question,”

He quickly pointed his finger  at you, his body manner stern yet his face betraying his thoughts. His face was still so soft, still so innocent looking and concerned as he leaned closer to you on the countertop.

You squinted your eyes at him-you honestly didn't want to sound mean, or well, bitchy, but-what was he playing at? Over the years you had learned that trust isn't something easily won over, even if you had known the person for years. You and Izuku had been friends since you could remember, that was true-but it had been so long, and you weren't quite ready to be rubbing shoulders so closely with the mob boss yet.

“I work at a bar where I get paid enough to survive and have to deal with drunk idiots who catcall me every 5 minutes,” you chided slightly, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “ So, no, not that much,”

“Do you want to change that?”

“Of course I want to but-“

“But what?”

You stared at him again, not knowing what to say. He was a puzzle to figure out- there were so many questions and clues surrounding Izuku’s nature and motives and personality. Once you found a piece to the ever growing puzzle it felt like 3 other pieces were missing, making the picture of who Izuku was full of gaps and holes. You couldn't understand him, why he was here, if he was truly the Midoriya you knew or if he was just a memory-but the way he looked at you with his doe eyes and his lips parted with concern made your heart pace and your hands squirm.

Maybe this was still the kind, nurturing boy you knew from your childhood-just maybe.

You sighed, willing your heart to stop beating so quickly and  to say your truth. “It-it’s scary. This is a mob bar after all, who knows what would happen if I left,”

“But what if you didn’t leave?” he interjected, his face still laced with concern but his voice quickening from anticipation,  What if you just-got promoted,”

You chin tilted up, your eyes scanning the boy with suspicion.

“What are you implying Izuku?” You asked him slowly, hesitantly, watching as he squirmed with uncomfort in his seat. A breath collected in his lungs, being held for barely a second as he slowly let it escape his body.

“Y/n, we’ve known each other forever- we were best friends and, well, you were the one who ever believed in me. I-I never forgot about you, and always wondered how you were. Once I found out you were working here, I had to come. To see how you were. I just wanted to know you were okay-and now I know your not.”

He leaned into the bar yet again, his hands folded, his green tresses bouncing against his skin.

“Please y/n, I want to make you my personal assistant. You’ll be safe, I’ll make sure of it-all you have to do is help me with my daily tasks and events and-“

“No, I won’t do it.” you interjected, your voice having a desperate quality, as if you were anxious for him to stop talking

Izuku gazed at you with confusion, blinking a few times with shock- you didn't want this job? He watched your face turn into a grimace, as if the mere idea was painful for you to imagine.

“You-what?” he asked quietly, unable to understand your words.

“Izuku, I cant just get a free card from you,” you revealed, your eyes looking down from guilt, “I’m not going to just be your desk girl so I can be a little bit better off.”

“But-but your not, I want you to be my assistant-You know me better than anybody else!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide as he tried to convince you, “ You’ll be the best person for the job because you’ll be able to make the best decision for me-“

“I’m not taking your pity Izuku. People pity me enough, I don’t need you to add to the list.”

Izuku gave you a good, hard look, his big green eyes searching your face. He could tell you were hurting inside- the way your shoulders sagged like you were carrying a heavy burden, your tired eyes signaling you hadn't had a good night’s sleep, the way your voice broke and your face cracked when you allowed yourself to be vulnerable. You felt scared. You felt trapped, and alone. Powerfless. He had never wanted to comfort anyone more in his entire life, to hug them and tell them that it would all be okay.

He took a breath, letting the air escape through his nose as he gazed with you with empathy.

“You want to know how I got my scars?”

He watched you blink from confusion, to then give him a numb nod in response. He smiled nervously, settling in his chair as he opened his mouth to speak.

“A lot of people didn’t believe in Toshinori when he said he had gotten a 15 year old kid from the streets to be his successor-many people laughed at him, laughed at me, even talked down to me. I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t strong enough. I’d never be able to take over his empire.

“But I trained. I fought. I learned everything I could so I would never feel inferior ever again. Toshinori gave me leverage in life, yes-but I took advantage of it. I have some blood on my hands, I can’t say I don’t- but I proved my worth. I proved I deserved everything life had to offer and more-all I needed was a boost.”

“And that’s what I’m trying to give you-“ he gave you a reassuring smile, his eyes soft and his cheeks rosy, “a chance at a better life. A chance to prove your worth.”

“What do ya say?” His smile turned into a bright grin, his scarred hand outstretched and welcoming as he waited for your answer.

You stared at him, your lips parted and your eyes wide with conflict-where you going to do this? To just throw away everything in your life right now in the hopes it would be a little better? You were putting all your trust in Midoriya-would it all end up okay?

You looked down at your hands, the fingers sticky with grime and spilled alcohol, making your spine crawl with disgust. 

Fuck it-never again did you want to be underestimated, to be barely surviving and another ant in the hill. No-you were going to make a name of yourself.

“Fine-,” you placed your hand in his, your heart pacing. His skin was surprising soft on the inside, the pads of his digits coarse against your own flesh. “But if my uniform is a tiny ass skirt I’m going to kill you.”

A bright laugh tumbled out of his chest, his curly tresses bouncing with the motions.

“I promise I won’t,” he smiled at you, his cheeks as red as ever.

He loved the feeling of your skin on his, and the way your eyes light up like lightbulbs on a dark night. A glimpse of your previous self seemed to surface, for barely a moment, but he drank up the rare moment and locked it in his memories. 

You sighed, your hand leaving his reluctantly as you looked up at the clock, the ticking entering your mind and banging against your head like a headache. 

“I gotta lock up the bar…” you grumbled, your hand reaching out for your rag, “thank god Ill be out of this place-“

Izuku smiled, his green eyes trailing up to the clock. His eyes widened as he noticed the placement of the hands, the irises glistening with stars as he recognized something in those numbers.

“It’s 1:11,” he stated, his pointer figure drawing your attention as he nodded his head at the clock, your eyes trailing to the device. “You know what that means?”

You cocked your tired head, a small smile gracing your lips: Izuku was always the bookworm, his brain soaking up information like a sponge and giving it out at the strangest times. It was quite endearing, and you surprisingly missed it.

You leaned against the counter, your face closer to his.

“What’s it mean?”

He grinned at your face, his cheeks bright and on fire- 

“New beginnings.”

Taggings:

@weebartistinc​ @orokayagi​ @leeeah-loooser​ @bakarinnie​

[kitkat1003]

Oh it would be so Sweet, if I could be Cruel

Being King isn’t easy.  Being kind to those who’ve hurt you when you’re King is much, much harder.

Or: After the Wishing Star, and after Yakko is made King,-with co-rulers Wakko and Dot-he is put in charge of weeding out Salazar’s supporters from the kingdom.  That means confronting people he’d rather not.

Warnings: Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Dark thoughts and themes.

@asilcorner :)

From rags to riches, one might say.  Yakko remembers, after the wishing star, when they were told that they were of royal blood.  He knew it already, knew that they were special, because he remembers the castle walls.  Remembers the crack just beneath one brick that he’d feel when he ran down the hallway and let his fingers skid across its surface.  Remembers the royal colors.  Remembers his parents’ smiling faces that mirror the portrait that is all that is left of them.

Remembers fire, and screaming, and his parents finding a secure closet and locking them in there, shushing Dot as she cried, placing a kiss on each of their heads, faces smiling and yet looking so sad.

Take care of your little siblings, they’d said.  They need you.  We love you.

And Yakko had only remembered that last part, for a long time, and had stuck to it.  

He sometimes remembers Salazar’s guards, ripping him and his siblings from the closet, the blood on stone as they were dragged, screaming, to the throne room.  How he’d clutched Wakko and Dot close, curling his body around them like a shield as they wailed, shushing them and trembling as Salazar looked down upon them as if they were less than nothing, dried blood caked under his fingernails, with familiar black fur, before throwing them in a carriage and having them taken far, far away from Home.

He had kept his siblings away from danger at the orphanage, from unruly orphans or cruel adoptees, and then he did odd jobs to pay for food when the orphanage shut down.  No one would adopt them, no one wanted to take in three children at once, and they all refused to be separated.

Yakko had, once, entertained the idea of letting a couple who only wanted two children take Wakko and Dot, because then at least they would have a home.  He decided against it when he realized that would mean he wouldn’t be able to be sure that they were okay.

And the orphanage had closed down, and Yakko had dealt with it.  He’d let Dot and Wakko play and be kids-though they never did, not really, too busy making the house clean and making sure Yakko came home to a warm meal and bed after work-while he did the work.

And then Dot got sick.  And then the economy dried up, as the tax collector took more and more from the people, and Yakko couldn’t get a penny.  They saved, he sold what meager things he had.  Cut off the extra fabric and turned his overalls into pants-they were the last thing he had from Mom and Dad, but they told him to take care of his siblings, and dammit he’s doing his best-, used the extra pieces to fix Wakko’s hat when it tore and he cried, and sold the rest for scarves, because it’s getting cold.  His glove tears, and he desperately wants to buy a new one, because it’s a cardinal sin to have a glove like his, but there’s no room in the budget.  So he deals.  Dot is sick, Wakko can’t handle not having food for too long-he nearly died not eating enough, and it wasn’t just starvation, so Yakko makes sure Wakko gets bigger portions and deals with the hunger pangs in the dead of night when they’re asleep and can’t hear him groan-Yakko can deal with a ripped glove.  It’s fine.

And Dot gets worse, and Wakko leaves.  Goes off on an adventure to get money.  Works for a year to get a penny, a hay penny that is just enough to make Dot well, and Plotz, the tax payer, makes up taxes and takes it to add to his pile, and Dot suffers more.

And Yakko had nearly broke, when Wakko left.  Because he couldn’t be sure, couldn’t know Wakko was safe, could only make promises that felt like lies to Dot and hope, and hope, that Wakko was fine and happy and healthy.  They don’t have enough money for postage, can’t send letter, so Yakko doesn’t hear from his brother for a year, and it’s all for naught in the end, because of cruelty he should have known to expect.

And Wakko blames himself, too.  Yakko has to hear his younger brother apologize for not working more, for not bringing more money home after a year’s worth of work, and Yakko’s heart aches.  The cheer he tries to impart in his younger sibling then doesn’t stick, and the despair clings as he comes home and sees Wakko playing on the strings of a makeshift harp.

And then the wishing star happens.  His siblings almost die more than once, he thinks he’s lost them both too many times, and it is a miracle that everything goes right, that Dot gets better and they have money and food and soon a castle and kingdom.

Yakko asks, one day, what exactly Wakko wished for.  Because despite the fact that Wakko showed off the two hay pennies, they never actually heard what it was that Wakko wished for.

“I wished that everyone would get what they deserved.  What they needed,” Wakko had told him.  “Figured that was vague enough to give me plenty, and the townsfolk deserved something too.  They were hurting just like us, that’s why they tried to beat us there.”

Yakko marvels at the empathy within a single child, but he loves his brother more than life itself, and the truth only cements that fact further.

But now he’s King, and now, while Dot and Wakko decide what paintings and random knickknacks to get rid of from Salazar’s time, he has to go through all of the people who enforced Salazar’s laws and make sure they won’t start an uprising.  Brain is an advisor, and he’s quite harsh.  He says that Yakko should lock them up, Yakko wants to the let them try and take the new home from him, see what happens, now that he has a taste of something better than abandoned orphanages and stale meals.  

They settle on making the guard and any who worked for Salazar to swear loyalty to the Warners-however awkward the process is-and have more trusted people put in battalions with those less trustworthy to try and stymie an uprising.

His authority is shaky, and he and his co-rulers are young and inexperienced.  But they have lived through enough to have knowledge of what the people need, and with the true rulers on the throne the other countries are opening up trade routes, so prosperity is returning to the Kingdom.

So long as their people are happy, and everyone is taken care of, Yakko can almost believe they’ll be okay.

But now he sees Plotz, kneeling in front of him as the next person to be judged by him, and he wants, so, so terribly, to be a cruel King.  He can feel the distaste, not just from him, but from Brain, of the cruel tax collector hanging in the air, and he can see Plotz sweat.

He thinks, good.  Let him sweat, let him feel fear when he looks at the kid who he was all than happy to take money from, now as his King.

“Thaddeus Plotz,” He says.  “Plotzy,” He amends, grinning.  It feels strained.  The bored and relaxed air in the throne room vanishes into something still and tense, and his grip on the throne’s armrest tightens-he has fixed gloves now, but he still expects to see a flash of black when he looks down at his hands.  Nothing here feels real, yet.  He expects to wake up in a shack, to the sound of Dot’s worsening cough, and this man is part of the reason for it.

“Y-Your majesty,” Plotz says.  Not repentant, but nervous.  Flattering.  The fact that he thinks he can say sweet things and get away with what he’s done makes Yakko’s blood boil.

“I know you will swear your loyalty to the crown,” Yakko starts.  “Because you will follow anyone you know is more powerful than you to make sure you stay safe and comfortable.  That isn’t the issue here,” Brain raises a brow, and he looks as if he wants to speak, but he takes one look at Yakko’s face and decides against it.

“Do you know what you did, to our town?” he asks, because he wants to know what Plotz would have to say.  “When you bled us dry to feed yourself?  That’s almost forgivable,” Plotz opens his mouth to say something, but Yakko raises a hand.  “You had to take taxes, it’s the law, and Salazar was not a kind King.  Whether or not you took joy out of it is irrelevant.  I could forgive you, even, for trying to kill us, because it was under Salazar’s orders, and I saw how he would punish you.  See, the only thing that makes me reticent to let you off scott free is...a hay penny.”

Plotz looks pale.  Good.

“Wakko worked for a year to get that penny.  A year.  While you sat and ate good food in a warm house, as my sister slowly got worse and worse, Wakko worked for a single hay penny.  He came back with it to pay for the operation that would save Dot’s life.  And, the moment you heard of it, you made up taxes to take it from him,” And Yakko remembers the despair, how the whole town deflated.  Remembers hearing Dot cough and wondering if he should try for a heist, to steal it back, because she wouldn’t make it otherwise.

“Tell me, Plotzy, did you know what that hay penny was for?” he asks.  Plotz shakes his head.  “Would you have cared?  Hardly.  Would you have cared when I laid my sister to rest?  When I buried her, because she never got better?  Because you took the money we needed to make her better?  Would you have cared then?”

He gets no reply, for a moment.

“I-um-your Majesty-I,” Plotz stammers out, but the fury that Yakko has felt for years comes to a head then and there.

“I could have you executed in the town square, and no one would feel bad for you.  You’re a cruel person, you only care for yourself, and you would have let the whole town die if it meant you had a warm house and plenty of money to hoard,” He spits the words with vitriol.  

Plotz flinches.  

He can see the guards are shocked, as is the Brain.  Before now, Yakko had just sort of waved off the people who had been tasked with enforcing the laws of the old King.  And, well, before now, Yakko hadn’t felt anything because no one who’d entered had been personally cruel to them.  To his family.

He wrestles with the desire to make Plotz suffer.  He’s the King, he could.  No one would blame him, either.  It might even discourage dissenters of his rule to try anything, to see what Yakko will do to those who are bad to his people, his family.  And yet, he can’t find it in himself to.

“But, hey, the past is the past, huh?  That’s what this whole shindig is about,” The abrupt change of tone is startling to everyone, but Yakko moves on as if it’s nothing.  “You’re fired from your position, obviously.  You will be stripped of all of the riches you took from the townspeople,” He continues, and then winks.  “Save for a single hay penny.  Seem fair?”

“Y-yes-of course, your majesty.  Thank you for your ever gracious mercy,” Plotz bows low enough that his nose brushes the floor, trembling, and Yakko rolls his eyes.

Plotz is escorted out.

“That’s enough for today.  I’m done,” He gets up, and the crown feels heavy on his head somehow, heavier than normal, and he walks to his room, face planting onto the bed with a sigh.

He needs a nap.

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He wakes up when he feels the bed dip with the weight of his two siblings.  Flipping himself over, he puts on his best smile and sets his hands behind his head.

“Hey sibs, how was your day?” he asks, and they grin at him.

“We got to blow up a bunch of stuff,” Wakko says.

“All worthless.  Not stuff that could be sold.  Just Salazar’s royal portraits and other nonsense,” Dot assures him, as if she could already tell his train of thought.  “I’m surprised you didn’t hear the explosion.”

“Guess talking to all those guards really knocked me off of my feet,” Yakko replies with a shrug, and Dot gives him a look.

“Was it the guards or was it Plotz?” She sees straight through him, and the question stings.

“Brain mentioned it,” Wakko says.  “I don’t get why you were that mad.”

“He stole the hay penny,” Yakko says, through gritted teeth.  “He took the money you worked a year for, the money we were gonna use for Dot’s operation,” Just saying it brings back the fury, and his expression goes dark.

“Well, yeah, but I shouldn’t have let everyone know about it, or at least brought more than one back.  My bad,” Wakko shrugs, a little self conscious

“And that’s the issue!  You blame yourself!  Wakko, you went out at the age of 12 and worked for a year, you have no reason to be guilty,” Yakko sits up and stares right into Wakko’s eyes, dead serious as he points to Wakko.

“Exactly.  Plotz was clearly just looking for another bit of money to take from us,” Dot agrees.  Yakko turns away, looking down at his hands, clenching them into fists so they won’t shake.

“I wanted him to die,” Yakko admits.  “I wanted him to be as terrified as I was, when I thought you were going to die, and there would be nothing I could do to stop it,” Because it wasn’t fair, and it still isn’t, because even though he’s got everything he could ever want it doesn’t erase the years shivering in the cold because the wind would tear through the old planks of wood, the years of small serving sizes and pinching pennies and then pinching those pinches, for the most he could get from near nothing.  And Plotz made that worse, without a care in the world.

“But you’re better than that,” Dot leans against him, smiling up at him, and Yakko sighs, wrapping arm around hers and Wakko’s shoulders .

“Yes, unfortunately,” Yakko says with a dramatic sigh, hugging them close.  It’s easier to forget they were hurt when they’re like this, happy and loved and safe.

“You’re gonna be the best King ever,” Wakko’s as sincere as one can be, and when he looks up Yakko looks shocked.

“Don’t be so surprised!  If you can deal with that type of anger at 14, just imagine how good you’ll be at making decisions ten years from now!” Dot adds.

“And we’ll be here the whole time,” Wakko continues.  “Helping you out the whole way,” Yakko feels like his heart could burst, and he laughs.

“How’d I get so lucky with you two?” he asks, and Dot scoffs.

“Hey, you raised us!” She shoots back.  “This is all on you!”

And it is, Yakko knows.  The kingdom, the happiness of his people, it’s all on him, even as a 14 year old.  He doesn’t know how to handle it, all the responsibility.  He barely handled raising two kids.

He wonders if Mom and Dad would be proud.  When Dot was dying, he dreamed of their glares and disappointment, and no matter how many times he apologized, he was always a failure, and the dream would turn to blood and fire and he’d wake up with a silent scream on his lips, shaking.  But now, he thinks they might be proud, and it makes him smile more sincere than he has in years.

And his siblings are still here, beside him, and for once he can be sure they aren’t going anywhere, because they’re happy and healthy and safe.  And they’re only like that because Yakko did his best, and made it work, and had them helping him, too, just like they will be until the end of time.

And suddenly the weight doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.  Now, if only the crown would fit.

It’s fine, though.  He’s got plenty of time to grow into it.

[that-good-trash]

I’m Not Okay- Chapter Two Midoriya x Reader/Bakugou x Reader

Izuku Midoriya x reader/ Katsuki Bakugou x reader

Summary: You have struggled with mental health your whole life so why can’t you seem to get it under control. Will you be able to keep the same mask even though two of your classmates have seen under it?

Warnings: Depression, Angst, Anxiety.

Word Count: 4,247

Comment: Thank you all for reading the first chapter! I tried to get the second chapter written as fast as possible. I’m so happy that the first chapter was well liked. Enjoy part two, I’ll try to get part three done as soon as possible. 

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Morning wasn’t the worst part of the day it just was never better than okay. You didn’t experience the same euphoria as some of your morning classmates like Tenya Iida, Yuga Aoyama, and Koji Koda. Iida gets up early to set an example, to make sure everyone gets to class, and to better sell himself as the proper class representative he is. Aoyama needs time to get ready for the day since he had a routine to look as gorgeous as he does. You remember one time that you had gotten up early to turn in an assignment that was late before class and Aoyama was doing his lashes in the large mirror in the living area. There was a silent understanding before you had left the flamboyant male alone. Koda got up with the birds speaking gently with them, saying little good mornings to them as the sun rose. You almost wish that you had the same kind of drive they had. Maybe if you got up early you could face your problems then and feel better later. It seemed like it would work but you knew all to well that you couldn’t sleep your problems away and you couldn’t wake up before them.

“Maybe if I just didn’t wake up.” You spoke to the girl in the mirror. She stared back with dark circles that would need to be hidden before going to class. She was losing color to her cheeks and her hair was unruly. The worst part about this girl wasn’t her physical appearance. It was the raw emotion in her eyes, the exhaustion that urged some other worldly being to come end all this suffering. The girl in the mirror was crying causing your hand to reach up and catch the tears off your cheeks before they could fall. You and the girl in the mirror had everything in common except when she wasn’t visible, when you weren’t in your room or near a reflective surface she didn’t exist, she didn’t feel pain or sadness, yet you did. You felt every painful breath, every break in your facade.

You had wondered before had it always been this hard to breathe, to exist, to wake up. You were finding that the answer was inconclusive. It was hard before; it’s just getting worse.

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“Y/N!” Mina’s voice loudly cut through any thoughts swarming you as you pushed your breakfast around on your plate. You weren’t going to make yourself food but when you came downstairs there was a plate already waiting for you and you knew exactly who made it, Midoriya.

“What’s up?” You could never fake a smile at the alien featured girl. She was all the pep and excitement that you wish you could show, that you wish you had in you. Instead you relish in her cheerful disposition happy that you are able to at least do that. Your smile makes her own stretch wider and shine brighter. A squeal leaves her before you are enveloped into a hug. Shock isn’t exactly how you feel. More like slightly puzzled at the abruptness of her physical contact. You lean into the hug cherishing the skin to skin contact and you are almost disappointed when she pulls away. You hear Kaminari wolf whistle at the two of you causing you both to roll your eyes.

“I missed you girl! I barely survived yesterday with you gone. I tried asking what happened but just got told that you weren’t feeling good and then you didn’t even come down for dinner last night. You didn’t answer my texts either. I was so worried but you just smiled at me and.” A squeal leaves her lips again before she’s squishing your face between her hands.

“And your just so cute and it made everything better. You are okay right.” She’s still got your face between her hands when she asks the taboo question. The one that seems to always get the same response from you. How easy would it be to just say you weren’t okay? She would understand, right? But what if she didn’t. what if she found you gross or hated you for being broken? Children don’t like broken toys so you weren’t very liked as a kid but does that same feeling extend into teenagers. Would she still hug you and love you as a sobbing mess? The answer was simple and obvious but you couldn’t risk the minuscule chance of losing your best friend so you lied.

“I’m good.” I’m okay, I’m fine, I’m alright. It was all the same thing just a different word each time. A smile helped serve the words with false honesty.

“Well if you say so. If you need me, I am here for you.” Your teeth bite down on the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from crying. You searched her expression but found nothing but love and admiration for you. She kissed your cheek before running off to bother Kaminari and Sero as they left on their journey to class. Your fingers brushed across the warm spot she kissed and a genuine smile appeared. Your heart felt like it was pumping normal and you could breathe. It was a temporary state but you’d take anything at this point.

“Time to get to class everyone.” The class rep’s voice cut through the remaining chatter and like a sheep dog started herding them all out. You stood up sliding the cold food into the trash. You felt bad for wasting it but you had never asked for it to begin with. As you moved to join the stragglers a hand grabbed your wrist pulling you back into the seat you had previously been occupying. You could feel the heat from his skin before you saw his face. Bakugou was squatting in front of you with your leg in his hands.

“Um, Bakugou. What are you do-?”

“Shut up. You never came by my room so I assumed you got raccoon eyes to bandage your leg. You tried to do it yourself and it looks like shit.” You would have been sarcastic but you once again lacked your usual spirit. Bakugou looked up waiting for the old you to resurface. He sighed while unwrapping the bandaging. You went to say something, anything at this point to break the weird tension and silence but instead a hiss escaped at his rough pull of the bandage as he finished wrapping your knee. You couldn’t help smacking him.

“The hell Bakugou, that hurt!” Bakugou rubbed the spot you had just hit him snarling before looking at you with intense yet playful eyes.

“You gonna whine like a bitch or you gonna go to class.” He was fast to dodge your second attack and you huffed before grabbing your bag and storming off ahead of him. He followed you with a smirk on his face. It wasn’t much but he got you to react. To show some kind of emotion that wasn’t sorrow or emptiness.  

“What the hell were you eating this morning. I was going to tell you to stop playing with it but I got closer and thought something died on your plate.” You had to cover you face when you snorted at the sheer abruptness of his comedic insult to Midoriya’s cooking. You knew that he had to know that Midoriya had made it since Bakugou was the king of waking up early. You had reached over to shove him but never made contact, he moved away from you. “Tomorrow you will eat breakfast. I always have extra so you can have it.”

“Bakugou. I can’t just take your food.” Your voice is small. One minute you had been stifling laughter and now you felt ashamed that he even felt obligated to feed you. You were starting to feel like a charity case. A gasp erupted when Bakugou blasted part of a metal beam you passed. He didn’t face you but you could tell he was irritated.

“Listen up extra, I don’t do hand outs or fucking charity. I offered you the damn food and your gonna take it. You insult me taking that shitty nerd’s food but turning your nose before you even get to try mine. I’ll force the damn crap down your throat.” You couldn’t figure him out, he was mean one second then trying to be considerate? Nice? He was trying to be something other than his over the top aggressive self even if his kindness still was yelled with profanities.

“So. You admit your food is crap.” Of all the things you could have responded with. You could have cried because he was trying to care or cried because he was overbearing. You could have not responded. Yet you felt the flicker, the embers of your former attitude were still burning just low. They needed fuel and fanning and Bakugou was giving you kerosene. His red eyes were wide at the smirk across your still dry lips. The way that he could slightly see your teeth as if you were ready to cackle like an idiot at your own retort. He raised his hand to spark another blast but both of you were stopped by a too familiar voice.

“Both of you are late to class.” The words were laced with exhaustion and you could see the dark bags under his eyes before you even looked at him, Mr. Aizawa. You nodded and Bakugou scoffed before the two of you followed the hero into the classroom.

You hated being the center of attention, which is why you typically walk into places under the cover of your friends. Right now, everyone was staring at you, there eyes shifting between you and the class asshole. Bakugou paid them no attention and sat down. You felt like you couldn’t move. There were questions and speculations about why you were late, why you came in late with Bakugou. Midoriya made concerned eye contact with you before you shifted your gaze back to the floor and sat at your desk. Your hands fumbled with taking out the necessary supplies and a slight yelp accidently escaped when a hand placed itself on your shoulder.

“Um, you dropped this.” Todoroki handed you back your eraser that had escaped your bag without your knowledge. Your cheeks flushed at the state you were in. The frantic and anxious behavior you showed him made you feel like a maniac.

“Thank you.” His fingers were cold against yours as he pushed the eraser into your hand. You pulled your hand back and hoped he didn’t think rude of you for doing so. He just blinked before turning his attention back to the board. To anyone watching they’d have thought you had a crush on him with how your cheeks were pink and how fast you were to avoid contact. You didn’t though. Your avoidance was a precaution. You already had two students that were getting close to your issues. You didn’t need Todoroki involved as well. Your pencil moves across the paper in front of you while two pair of eyes watch you with different emotions. Red eyes with a glint of anger at Todoroki touching your hand. He was already irritated that Midoriya was getting close to you, there was no way in hell he wanted ‘icy hot’ involved with you. Green eyes watched you waiting for another sign of pain. He was waiting for even the slightest glossiness and he would be there at your side offering you a handkerchief and his shoulder. After you ran away, he wanted so badly to show you that he was sorry and that he cared.

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If there was a class you could skip today it would be lunch. While every other student seemed to be enjoying this breaktime between learning and training, you felt that pressure again. Your legs had stopped moving and this time you had to grab the wall for support. There were so many people going in and out of the cafeteria. A few of them gave you strange looks but you didn’t care. You closed your eyes trying to figure out how to stop the rush of dizziness that came over you. You wanted to be able to breathe but found yourself holding back doing so. You were literally causing yourself pain and were beginning to feel faint. Mina was already inside the cafeteria sitting with a group of classmates. You didn’t know who it was today but probably Kaminari and Sero, or maybe it was Jirou and Yaoyorozu. Regardless of who she was sitting with today you couldn’t be one of them. You couldn’t sit there and listen absentmindedly to conversations you had no interest in. It wasn’t that you were a bitch who didn’t care, even though it sometimes came off like that. You just couldn’t fake it today. You wanted to go to Mr. Aizawa and be dismissed for the day but he would just send you to Recovery Girl and you didn’t want to do that all over again.  

“You don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to.” You hadn’t even noticed Midoriya walk up to you until his voice drown out the ones inside you head.

“I was gonna go in. I was just waiting and.” You couldn’t figure out a good enough lie but realized you didn’t need to lie. Midoriya was staring at you with his big kind eyes that spoke. His eyes told you that it was okay to be upset. “I actually don’t want to eat in the cafeteria. I really don’t feel like eating at all.”

You rubbed your arm the same way you had when he had first caught you the day prior. No eye contact because you knew that the second sentence you had said was concerning, especially since he was assigned to be your personal nutritionist. You waited for him to speak or attempt to comfort you but no words were spoken. Instead your wrist was gripped and your legs were once again moving along with his. Panic began to settle into your chest and head. Was he going to take you to Recovery Girl? Was he going to take you to Mr. Aizawa? Neither of those options came true. Instead you found yourself outside a staff room that, once the door was open, you found was empty.

“Um Midoriya. I don’t think we are allowed in here.” You cautiously followed him into the room waiting for a teacher to catch you both. Though you’d be lying if you said this wasn’t cool to be in a room that students couldn’t just barge into.

“I have permission from All Might to eat lunch in here. Usually I eat with him but he has a meeting and I’d rather eat with you.” To anyone the words I’d rather eat with you would be some lame pick up line, however with Midoriya they meant something different. The romantic/deep part of his sentence was that he chose you over his idol. Your chest tightened in a way that you were unfamiliar with. There was no pain or feeling of panic. Just a sense of mattering. You had felt something almost similar when you were bickering playfully with Bakugou that morning.

“Also, um you can call me Izuku or deku.” You look up and realize you are standing awkwardly in the doorway still. You move allowing the door to close before sitting on the couch across from Midoriya.

“Okay, Izuku.” Even though he had told you to call him by his first name it didn’t prepare him for how it would sound coming from your mouth. He covered his face trying to hide the flushing of his cheeks. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just wasn’t expecting you to use it so soon.” A smile spread across your face at his shy behavior. “Are you really not gonna eat?”

“I don’t feel like eating.” You sounded like you had some kind of eating disorder but you didn’t. You just felt like you wasted energy that you already lacked on something minor. Your stomach did groan against your hand that you had placed against it in order to muffle the sound. After your failed attempt at silencing your hunger the sound of something being pushed across the table toward you caught your attention. It was a prepackaged sandwich, simple and plain yet so enticing.

“I’m not going to pry but I think you should eat. We have training later and I don’t want you getting hurt. You don’t have to worry about the taste either. I didn’t make it.” Midoriya laughed after mentioning his inability to cook. You almost felt bad since you had thrown away the breakfast he made.

“I’ll eat it, but because you asked me too and I can’t say no to my personal nurse.” The first part of your sentence got him blushing again but by the end he was flushed from embarrassment. Midoriya eats his lunch while you unwrap the sandwich and take a bite. It is dry and doesn’t have much flavor and yet you have to hold back not devouring it. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were till now. A few crumbs fall onto your lap so you brush them off as you push the last bite into your mouth. You look up while chewing and see Midoriya staring at you. He doesn’t look away and you both make silent eye contact.

“Why do you look so sad?” His voice is barely above a whisper and you almost didn’t hear him, almost.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. Yesterday you were crying, you looked so tired, you still look tired and like you’re ready to cry. You seemed scared when Recovery Girl questioned you. I don’t know what you are going through but you don’t have to do it al-”

“Don’t. Please don’t say it. I’ve heard it so many times that I just might lose it if I have to hear it from you.” You don’t mean to sound rude and you probably don’t. You just didn’t need this right now. Lunch was finally going well, you had eaten and got to enjoy the silence. Midoriya meant well but you couldn’t let him in now. He was already in deeper than he should be. However, despite wanting him to stop you were once again contemplating what could happen if you told him. Just like you had wondered about Mina you wondered what he would do. He wasn’t judging you and yet you couldn’t help feeling like he was. The demons whispered their tormenting words invoking your insecurities. This was no longer a lunch between friends. You felt trapped, a cornered animal afraid of capture even if it meant a better life.

“Y/n. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you again. That isn’t my intention. I want you to trust and rely on me. I want you to be able to tell me what’s wrong. It might help.” The way your head swung upward made him regret pushing you. You stood up on shaking legs and slammed your hands down on the table.

“I DIDN’T ASK FOR YOUR HELP! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M GOING THROUGH SO STOP TRYING TO ‘FIX ME’!” The words aren’t necessarily yelled but are spoken in a harsh booming voice that has cracks in it. The words lash against Midoriya as if you had physically hit him. He doesn’t flinch but does back into the couch to avoid some saliva that flies out with your words. He knows that once again he has messed up but he also knows that you didn’t want to push him away. In spite of all that was yelled he could see in your eyes, the regret and agony you felt. He didn’t pursue you as you fled the room knowing that you needed time. He would see you in class later hopefully.

Running away has become a regular occurrence. If only you got graded on running away, then you wouldn’t have to worry about grades ever again. The weird thing about this new hobby of yours was that you didn’t do it before. It was new and strange. You never liked facing issues before but you never really had to. Before you just lived in harmony with your anxiety and depression. You could cry and then go and hang out with classmates like it was a casual routine. Now you were afraid to be around people with how unstable you had become. You knew you could only run for so long before you had to return and play hero with the rest of the class.

------------------------------------------

“Where were you during lunch?” Mina had asked seeing as no one else seemed comfortable with asking. You were MIA during lunch and completely checked out during the last few classes. Now you were changing into your gym uniform with the rest of the girls.

“I was with Midoriya.” It was a mistake to mention Midoriya because the girls weren’t actually listening to you and Mina before and yet now all eyes and ears were on you. Jirou lifted an ear jack in your direction while Yaoyorozu stared at you with a curious smirk. You could have sworn Uraraka looked at you with slight pain, or maybe jealousy?

“OoOoooOh, what were you doing with Midoriya?” Mina meant well with her waggling eyebrows and kissy faces. You push her face away. Even though you had a mental breakdown earlier Mina still found a way to make you smile.

“I was eating lunch. He thought I could use some alone time since I’ve been kind of tired and being around you guys is draining.” Mina gasps at your comment about her being draining and feigns offence. “I am not draining.”

“So, you were alone with Midoriya during lunch?” You don’t catch who asks the question jut that it was asked. You sigh wishing that humans weren’t naturally curious and that teens weren’t always looking for gossip. You don’t reply, which looks even more suspicious, as you leave the locker room.

Everyone is paired up with someone to spar with. You see Mina wave from her spot across from Tokoyami beyond her you can see Midoriya with Kirishima across from him. He doesn’t look this way and you wonder if what you said hurt him. You wonder if he will begin to hate you. You look around to see of you can spot Bakugou, your hand reaching down and rubbing your bandage through your pants. You turn when your name leaves your sparing partners lips.

“Sorry Todoroki. I’m ready whenever you are.” You get into a fighting stance and wave him forward beckoning him to attack. His expression never changes as ice dances across his skin and slowly spreads around him. You shouldn’t have underestimated his abilities nor should you have let yourself fight while dehydrated.

You wouldn’t say that you were hurt enough to go to Recovery Girls office however you did find yourself stumbling into the locker room shower. Once you shed your uniform the bruises on your body become visible to you. You whimper as your fingers press into the tender wounds. You let the shame and sweat rinse off you before you slowly sink.  Sob escapes as you curl up on the floor. The locker room is empty and has been for a while. You had laid on the floor of the gym defeated for longer than you had meant to. Todoroki had originally tried to help you up but you wouldn’t move. Just lying there pathetically wallowing in your own failures. It was a simple match and yet you never landed a single hit and your dodging was useless. Your failure to match Todoroki’s strength lead to you sobbing on the dirty shower floor naked and bruised not just physically but your ego as well. You had assumed everyone had left back to the dorms or to go about their day like normal but you were wrong. Someone had noticed your absence, actually that person had witnessed your distracted fight and wanted to beat the living hell out of Todoroki for going so hard on you and not noticing you weren’t in a good state to fight. This person also watched you drag yourself to the locker room. He waited to make sure no one else was around before following the sounds of your sobbing. The steam covered every mirror blurring his image as he passed them to get to the stall you were breaking down in. He leaned against the wet tile wall. He let himself slide down until he was squatting, his knees jutted outward and his arms laying inward against his thighs between his legs. He moves his left hand toward the curtain making himself known.

“You’re not alone dumbass… It’s okay to not win every battle. It’s okay to not be okay.” These words coming from the most prideful guy you’ve met made your chest tighten. He was the last person you’d expect to be outside your shower while you broke down. He was the last person you’d expect to tell you that you didn’t need to win. Yet here he was saying this and being here for you. You try to hold back another sob but fail. Your hand reaches under the curtain and your fingers entangle themselves with his as you continue to weep against the cold tile.

[the-final-sif]

Okay, y’all asked so here’s my first take on Nomu!Jeanist and Katsuki having to handle it;

It starts with Katsuki getting kidnapped by the new and improved LOV, who now have much longer term plans for him. They bring him out to their new hideout which is located in the middle of the woods, and he's put into a cell while stuff gets sorted out. They've also got some sort of quirk canceling/dampening tech on him.

Only, Katsuki manages to get free. He gets out of his chains and cell (and he does it fucking fast), although for whatever reason he can't safely remove the quirk restraint tech. Still though, he's now loose in their base, and he managed to do it without alerting them, meaning he's got about 12 hours to get the fuck out before they realize he's gone.

Being Katsuki, and being sleep deprived and probably a bit drugged up still, he decides it's not good enough to just escape though. He wants information. Or at least something to fuck the league over. So he gets himself down to the labs where he finds the doctor's main computer. It's password protected, but he can tell that it's got master files for all the nomu experiments.

He doesn't have the time or skill to figure out the password, so he does the logical next thing and just steals the whole damn hard drive.

Great! And he also finds out in the process that there's an exit in the labs, one that's currently unguarded and has minimal/no cameras around it.

The only problem is it's through the area where in-progress Nomu are stored.

Still, it's his best chance, so Katsuki takes it, sneaking through the facilities. Just his luck, because all the Nomu seem to be put away or asleep for the moment. He's feet away from the door, when he accidentally bumps something, making a small noise.

And he was totally ready to just run for it.

And then a hauntingly familiar voice calls out curiously, asking if someone's there, and Katsuki finds himself frozen, his blood running cold.

The exit is right there. He knows he should take it. He knows he shouldn't turn back. But he can't bring himself to move forward again. Not when he knows exactly who that voice belongs to.

Taking a deep breath, he does the stupid thing and turns back. It only takes him a minute or two to reach a door with a clipboard out front that tells him everything he needs to know.

Subject: Best Jeanist / Tsunagu Hakamata

New name not assigned.

Progress: Intelligence retained, quirk mastery retained, physical modifications complete, obedience mostly complete, some recurring memories.

Needs training on purpose and first assignments one memories abate completely.

It's so fucking dumb of him, but Katsuki reads through all the info he can and then opens the door to Jeanist's 'room'. To his surprise, isn’t locked, and it's not really much of a room either. It's just got a table and a chair, with a single light and some papers on the table. They appear to be assessments that Nomu!Jeanist was filling out.

The worst part is probably how human he still looks

Jeanist is meant to be a nomu similar to Kurogiri. They wanted to keep his mastery of his quirk, but it's a quirk that requires high levels of thought and planning. So he couldn't be warped too far. He's not the man Katsuki knew though.

Now his hair is dark and long, it seems to be made of some thread like material. His skin is sickly with a purple tinge to it, and he has some newly acquired scars and stitching, but his body is mostly the same. His eyes are the same. Hell, even his outfit hasn't changed that much. It's just dark colored now.

Katsuki is left in a state of shock at the sight, and he just stares for several long seconds before Nomu!Jeanist asks politely if everything's okay, or if he's supposed to do something. In that moment, Katsuki realizes he has a choice to make.

The smart thing to do is to leave Jeanist here. He's not human anymore, and Katsuki has no idea how to get him back. But Katsuki isn't a fucking quitter and he's not a coward either, so he says fuck that and decides to try if nothing else.

He's not dumb about it though. He knows he's got no hope of appealing to Jeanist or magically turning him back to normal, so he goes another route entirely; He lies through his teeth.

See, Jeanist is still in the in-progress phase as indicated by his charts. He hasn't yet been given any singular commander or mission. He also has some vague memories of Katsuki left, making Katsuki feel familiar. It's enough for his programing to assume that Katsuki is someone he's supposed to obey, and Katsuki uses that.

It takes some fast thinking, but Katsuki says that Jeanist has been deemed ready for his mission, and Katsuki is assigned to him. They're leaving right now. His story is that the two of them are meant to go under cover as heroes to get information, and he has a hard drive full of fake information to mislead the heroes.

Only a few high level members know about their mission though, so it doesn't leak out. As such, all of the other league members have been told that they're 'traitors' and to try to capture them so it looks realistic. Jeanist isn't supposed to listen to anyone, even Tomura, unless he's given the codeword. Katsuki is able to play off Jeanist's faint recollections of being a hero, and his memories of Katsuki being one too, and it's enough that's he's convinced and on board with the plan.

Excellent! So he and Katsuki escape together, still currently undetected after Katsuki ensures Jeanist doesn't have a tracker implanted into him or anything.

Only, they're still in the middle of the woods.

It's a 4-5 day trip before they're going to reach civilization again, and thank fuck Katsuki was able to find a map before this to figure that out and where they need to go. Katsuki has a lot of hiking experience and he's good at it, so with Nomu!Jeanist's help, they're making good progress and nearly untrackable. Which is good because once the league finds out they're gone, the hunt for them is on.

What's not so good, is Katsuki is now stuck with Nomu!Jeanist, the shadow of his former mentor, trying to stay alive while his emotions are already pretty fucked up, and he has to pretend everything about the situation is fine. Katsuki is left struggling to hold himself together under the weight of it all.

It's so hard to not break down seeing his former mentor like this and having to nod and smile and agree about the league being so great. During this trip, Jeanist is still kind/polite and his memories are still very faintly there, but he has a lot of big gaps, so he tends to ask questions to try to fill them. Like asking why Katsuki ended up becoming a villain and stuff like that.

Katsuki has to lie and create a fake but believable backstory, and in the process he ends up accidentally putting a lot of truth into it.

When he talks about how traumatizing the sports festival was, about how everyone's always seen him as a villain anyways, about all the negative media attention, the awful messages people send him on social media, how he hears people at school saying he can't be trusted, etc. All of it is true. The only lie is when he says that he gave in to all of it. And at some point he knows he's saying more then he should, but there's all this shit he's never talked to anyone about before. All his fears, pain, trauma, it all just has been sent bubbling to the surface by this fucked up situation.

But of course, it's so easy to talk to Jeanist about all of this because Jeanist isn't a person. He's a Nomu. Katsuki has to remind himself of that constantly. It makes it all feel not real. Like he can say anything and it won't matter, because Jeanist isn't a human anymore. On the flip side though, this Nomu!Jeanist looks and acts so much like the old one, that if Katsuki loses focus or when he's waking up from sleeping, it's so easy to imagine that it's his old mentor there. A few times, Katsuki almost tells him the hero name he chose, but he cuts himself off each time.

Refusing to until Jeanist is really back with him.

It doesn't help that throughout this Katsuki is plagued by nightmares. Or that he told Jeanist his name/alias was "Best Jeanist" so he can't even use a separate name for them to separate the person and the nomu in his mind.

The only separation left for him outside of looking at Jeanist is that Nomu!Jeanist only ever calls him 'Bakugou', and while human!jeanist would also call him 'Bakugou', he'd also taken to teasingly calling him 'Brat', and Nomu!Jeanist never does.

All in all, it's a fucked up situation for Katsuki, but somehow they make it through. They manage to avoid the league and get safely back to civilization. By this point, Katsuki isn't sure who he can trust, and he doesn't trust the league to have not paid off local police departments/heroes, so the two of them put on disguises and take a set of trains until they get all the way back to UA.

Let me tell you, Aizawa by this point has been having one of the worst weeks of his life.

His class was attacked again with several injuries. One of his students was kidnapped again, and this time they didn't have any leads. It's been a week and they have nothing to tell them where Katsuki is or if he's still alive. Worse, he now knows first hand just what the league can do to someone to force them to be on their side. He's pretty much assuming the worst about Katsuki at this point and it's killing him.

Then Katsuki just fucking shows up at UA after a week, having escaped entirely on his own, looking somewhat disheveled, with some weird cuffs on him and clearly having had a very bad week took, but pretty much healthy physically, and he's got the fucking Nomu of Best Jeanist following him.

Ideally, like, Denki or Mina or something is the one to actually spot Katsuki and they're so fucking psyched but then they notice the LARGE probably evil version of what looks like Best Jeanist behind him and they just have a moment of "what the FUCK." before Katsuki is able to indicate to them to go get Aizawa.

Aizawa's in a staff meeting, but they rush in like "Katsuki's back!" and he's not even sure he heard them right, and he can't believe his ears but he races out, and yep, Katsuki somehow found his way back but now he's just got a Nomu following him.

It takes a bit of passing notes and stuff, but Katsuki manages to relay what's going on and convince the teachers/other heroes to at least somewhat play along to keep Nomu!Jeanist under control non-violently. He gives them the hard drive, and they set to decoding it which is going to take time. In the meantime, Katsuki's now stuck basically playing handler for Nomu!Jeanist, getting him to cooperate and trying to see if they can get him back to normal.

It takes them a few weeks to get anywhere with the drive. Every single day Katsuki is working with Jeanist without making much progress and he's left feeling more and more hopeless as the days go by. It doesn't help that Katsuki is the only one Jeanist will listen to, which means everyone's relying on this poor fucking 16 year old to keep this possibly very dangerous creature under control, and Katsuki knows if he stops or fucks up, they might need to kill Nomu!Jeanist since he's nearly impossible to restrain.

Aizawa's super fucking torn because he's trying to be there for Katsuki and support him, and he understands that there's no way in hell that he can convince Katsuki to let Jeanist go when he's right there, not with how hard it is for him to let go of Kurogiri, but he can also see how it's driving Katsuki mad. And it's completely unfair to put a child through that, but at the same time there's no other options and Katsuki refuses to give up. He's come so fucking far, but it's building up, bit by bit.

It's all weighing on Katsuki, and dragging him towards an emotional breakdown he might not come back from this time, but he's made of more stubbornness then there is water in the ocean, so he just keeps slogging his way forward against all odds. Even as he's cracking under the pressure and pain of it all, he's fighting to hold on with tooth and nail because he refuses to fail now. And by some miracle, despite all the responsibility pushed onto his shoulders, Katsuki is not what breaks first.

They get the hard drive decrypted, and thank fucking god they do, because the answers are all on there. It takes a few days, and does require Eri's rewind, but they're able to bring Jeanist back with relative ease because he was a high functioning Nomu and he was a new one. The physical transformations are done within a day, and it takes two more for them to be confident that after his last treatment, his memories should be back and he should be completely free of the Nomu programing, with very minimal side effects expected.

That means Jeanist, who now remembers everything, both from his time as a Nomu and before it, wakes up for the very first time. He's greeted by Aziawa, who fills him in on everything that's happened since he was killed, and he gives Aizawa all the info on the LOV that his Nomu self didn't. That's the easy part. There's silence between them for a few moments before Jeanist finally manages to get out one word that's a question, a statement and a plea all in one.

"Katsuki?"

Aizawa gives a long suffered sigh and lets him know that Katsuki is okay physically and waiting to see him if he feels up to it. They just had to be sure that he was really himself again, since Aizawa refused to crush Katsuki with a false positive. Jeanist of course says he wants to see Katsuki as soon as possible, and after a few more checks from doctors to ensure there isn't any lingering traces of his Nomu self, Katsuki is allowed in with Aizawa escorting him.

When Katsuki comes in, very nervous and unsure after all this time, he pauses and there's quiet for a second before Jeanist breaks down and (very affectionately) calls him a brat which is how Katsuki knows for sure it's really him again.

He ends up getting hugged by Jeanist who absolutely does not want to let go of him after all of this shit that they've both been through. Katsuki is finally able to cry for the first time since this mess started, just full on sobbing because all of this has been crushing him and he's just so fucking happy that for once things kind of worked out.

And there's a whole lot of shit left to get worked out, but Katsuki has had a damn plan in his mind since he heard Jeanist's voice for the first time in the hideout, and he is going to see it the fuck through, so now that he has his mentor back properly he tells Jeanist the hero name he chose & at long last gets his approval. There's still a lot of shit to fix, but for right now that's more than enough for Katsuki.

[wkemeup]

Guiding Light (4)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.8k warnings: torture, angst™ 🖤series masterlist

T W O  W E E K S  E A R L I E R

You couldn’t hear Bucky when he called your name or when he had begged you leave without him. His voice was muffled and muted by the barrier between you and you would have given just about anything to hear his voice once last time, to hold him, to touch him and brush his hair from his eyes, to remind him that he was so incredibly adored and that none of this was his fault, but you wouldn’t get the chance.

Harsh hands gripped at your arms until bruises formed under the thin layer of your suit as Hydra agents dragged you down the hallway. You watched helplessly as Bucky struggled to break through the impenetrable wall, fist colliding to the glass only for it to remain unmarked.

You tried to fight the men, digging your heels to the concrete and flailing in their arms, but there were too many of them. From the distance, you could still make out the desolation in the blue of Bucky’s eyes, the pain and guilt you had helped him work so hard to let out go of rushing back to the surface; the unbridled shock on his face when you said the one thing you had been trying to tell him for years, when you told him you loved him.

On some level you were sure that he knew, but watching the genuine surprise on his face mixed with the devastation of what was about to happen was something else entirely; knowing he had you and lost you all at once.

The agents dragged you around the corner, Bucky disappearing from view, and with one sharp hit to the side of your head, you were pulled to the darkness.

When you woke again, it was to ice cold water and a hard burning in your lungs. Shocked back to consciousness, you struggled to find your breath amongst the pour of the water on your face. When it finally let up, your chest was heaving in throbbing pants, hands curling into the arm rests of the chair you had been bound to, as beads of water ran down your back, your face, and dripped from the ends of your hair.

In front of you stood three men, all dressed in military style uniforms. The two in the back held automatic assault weapons aimed in your direction, safety released, despite the fact that you were currently cuffed in place.

The man at the center stood with his arms crossed; dark hair, scruff along his jaw line, and a jagged scar running from his left temple to the bridge of his nose, crossing over his eye and leaving a clouded, damaged orb in its place he didn’t bother to cover. He wasn’t one you recognized. None of them were.

He nodded to the man standing on your right who held the now empty bucket in his hands. Then, Scarface dismissed the three men, leaving you alone with him. 

He began to circle you, studying you from every angle and you did your best to keep your breathing steady despite the rage boiling in your chest. When he came back around to your front, a slow smirk drew up the right corner of his lips.

“Agent Y/l/n, it is such a pleasure to have you in our company,” he drawled, voice thick, deep, and with an American accent. “My name is Alex Cainning. But you can call me Cain.”

You narrowed your eyes on him, unwilling to provide even an ounce of reaction. Cain shrugged, unbothered.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we went through the trouble of setting up false intel just to lure you to our base and provide us with the prime opportunity to take hostage one of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.” He chuckled, unable to even get the term passed his lips before he started laughing. “That title always irked me. Sure, I get the science experiments and egotistical billionaire with the super suit and the literal God of Thunder, but you? What do you possibly have to offer to a team like that? You're human. Weak. Just like the arrow guy and the soviet whore.”

You gritted your teeth. “So why take me? Why bother if I’m so... uninteresting?”

“Even despite your failings, your arrogance is astounding.” Cain smiled, running his tongue over the white of his teeth. “You make the mistake in thinking this is even about you.”

A flash of surprised grazed your features and before you could restrain it. Cain had clearly noticed. A satisfaction curved up his lips as he turned towards the door. He paused, knocked several times and the locks began to unclick. You counted eight.

“We’ll be seeing a lot of each other, Agent Y/l/n,” Cain said as he stepped through the door, the dim lighting behind him making it impossible to make out the layout beyond the four walls to the cell they had dropped you in. “Make yourself comfortable. You won’t be leaving.”

The door slammed shut and the metal clasps binding your wrists to the chair snapped open. Sprinting up, you raced to the door, shoving your shoulder against it though you knew it would do no use. You pounded your fists to the metal frame, shouting for them to let you go, to face you like the grimy cowards they were, and you only stepped away when your arms had grown sore and an ache throbbed in your hands.

You panted, turning back to look around the room. Concrete walls by concrete floor with a single twin mattress sitting upon the ground in the left corner. It was stained and warped with use, springs puncturing the surface and a dark red discoloring on the ground beside it.

Head pulsing, you brought your hand to the source to find a sticky substance on your head. A heavy sigh as you lowered your hand to examine it further to find blood coating your fingertips. You must have sustained the injury when they knocked you out.

Feeling dizzy, you slowly made your way to the mattress, grabbing a hold of the corner and dragged it to the right side of the room, away from the blood stain on the floor. You flipped the mattress over, somewhat relieved to find the underside minimally less repulsive, and collapsed down onto it. Staring up at the ceiling, you tried not to think about what Cain had meant, about why they chose to take you of everyone who had stormed that base.

Bucky was just as trapped on the other side of that wall, if not more so because he didn’t have access to the exit the way you did. But they left him alone, didn’t even attempt to injure or subdue him. They just left him to watch. It didn’t make any sense.

Why bother taking you if it wasn’t you they wanted?

***

Five days later and you learned their routine.

With no windows in your room, it was impossible to keep track of time, but these men, these soldiers, had schedules, and they came barreling into your cell with the smell of coffee on their breath and crumbs in their beards enough to tell you that morning broke. They’d strap you into the chair, ask you some questions about the security at the compound to which you’d give them jack-shit, and they’d return the favor with a few cuts to your arms, a punch to the gut, or a damp washcloth pressed over your nose and mouth until you couldn’t breathe.

You’d been trained by the best, which meant you could withstand torture on par with Navy Seals. It frustrated Cain to no end, though he still had yet to explicitly tell you what they had captured you for. You assumed part of it was to obtain information on the Avenger’s compound, on the Avenger’s habits and schedules, perhaps on SHIELD’s strike strategies or their weapon’s base, but that was information he’d be able to get from any agent, even a rookie. It didn’t explain why they needed you.

After a few bruises to your ribs, reopening the split in your lip, and coming up empty handed again, they’d leave you alone for a few hours.

Then, they’d return a second time and once you overheard one of them grumbling about the choices of food in the dining hall, which lead you to believe their second visit took place around dinner time. It was around then that they’d bring you a tray of three slices of bread, a wrinkling apple with brown spots on the sides, and a cup of water that had flecks in it and a bitter aftertaste. You didn’t touch it for the first three days, but caved on the fourth from the awful pangs in your stomach.

So, for five days, you knew what to expect. Torture and interrogation on the first visit in the morning. Food on the second visit. Aimless silence and solitude in between.

That was, until you were no longer alone.

Halfway through your fifth day in captivity, mid-way between the waterboarding you endured earlier that morning over your refusal to provide information on the layout of the compound and your only meal of the day, you heard a muffled groan through the wall beside you.

Propping yourself up on your elbows on the lumpy mattress, you narrowed your eyes on the wall next to you. A sharp crack in the foundation of the concrete ran along the surface, ending in an impossibly small opening by the corner of the walls. A shuffling came through, this time followed by the sharp close of a door.

You leaned closer to the hole in the wall in an attempt to catch a glimpse of what lied beyond it, but then the twist in your stomach sent a stabbing pain through you ribs and you let out a yelp, collapsing back down onto the mattress that provided no relief. You grumbled under your breath, frustrated with the state of your weakened body.

“Hello?” a voice called through the wall, male, American. Midwestern, maybe. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Yeah, hi, I’m here,” you huffed, pressing your hand to your side to help alleviate the pain from where Cain had given a rather rough beating to your ribs the day before.

“Where-- Where are we?” the voice asked, trembling almost, and it surprised you.

“Not sure,” you replied truthfully, staring up at the ceiling. “Hydra base for sure. Location... Don’t have a clue. Nationalities of the soldiers seem to be all over the place so getting a sense of the country has been difficult. My best guess is western Asia, maybe Middle East. Couldn’t have been more than a few hours plane from where they took me in Russia.”

There was a long pause before the voice spoke.

“Sounds like you, uh, you know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

You shrugged, hulling yourself up to sit on the mattress with your back pressed to the wall. The crack wasn’t wide enough to get a good look at him but you could make out the blur of him sitting just a foot away from the shared wall, knees tucked to his chest.

“Yeah, well, it’s kind of my job to know that kind of stuff,” you said, surprised when a breath of a laugh passed through you. When he didn’t reply, you took a deep breath. “So, what got you landed in this dump, anyway?”

“Oh-- I um, I was stationed in Iran with my unit and... it was so stupid, I wandered off base to help this guy whose car broke down,” he replied and you could hear him tap his head against the wall in frustration.

“Army?”

“First tour, actually,” he confirmed with a heavy sigh. “Didn’t even make it three weeks.”

He sounded young. Too young to be signing his life over to a military that would offer him no favors and leave him defenseless and traumatized when and if he eventually returned back to the states. He couldn’t be more than twenty years old.

“Listen kid,” you started, pressing your hand to the wall as if he could see you. “I’m with SHIELD and I guarantee there’s some pretty pissed off people looking for me. We’ll get you out of here, okay?”

“SHIELD? Shit, you must be pretty important,” he chuckled softly and it was nice to hear the fear slipping out of his voice.

“I don’t know about that,” you replied, though the smile fell from your face rather quickly. An image of Bucky on the other side of the glass barrier flashed behind your eyes, the panic, the desperation, the last words you saw on his lips as you were dragged away from him, kicking and screaming. “My team, they’re like my family. They’ll find me.”

“Sounds nice. My unit just rags on each other all day and I’m pretty sure my Sergeant straight up hates me.”

You laughed, listening to his stories from the base. Once he started talking, it was difficult to get him to stop, not that you much wanted to. It was a nice alternative to being alone with your thoughts, getting caught up in wondering what Bucky was doing or if he was losing himself again to the guilt and shame he worked so hard to overcome.

Over the next few hours, you learned the kid’s name was Danny and he grew up in some town in Indiana with a total of two gas stations and a single grocery store. He told you he thought joining the army was his shot to make something of himself when he dropped out of community college a year in and couldn’t find a decent paying job to make it work back home.

Danny was a sweet kid. Young. Naïve. The kind of person that would disobey orders to help a stranger start their car a mile off base, only to find out it was a trap set by Hydra agents.

The hours seemed to go by faster now that you had Danny. He only put the pieces together about who you really were when you gave him your first name.

“Y/n? Wait--” Danny paused, a soft shuffling as he repositioned himself on the other side of the wall. “As in Agent Y/n Y/L/n of the Avengers?”

You chuckled at that, a slight nod before you realized he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Holy shit! How did you not lead with that!?” Danny shouted excitedly, though a muffled breath alerted you that he had clapped his hand to his mouth to keep his voice down. “You were all over the news before I got taken...”

“Oh--”

“So, the team you were talking about? Your family... is the Avengers?” Danny asked, seeking confirmation he didn’t quite need as he started to answer it all on his own. “That’s nuts! What’s it like working for Captain America? Or, or Iron Man? Is Tony Stark as cool as he seems?”

“Well first off, I don’t work for Rogers. I work with him,” you laughed, enjoying his amusement, “and Stark is a massive dork. Don’t believe the garbage in the papers about him. He’s a good guy and definitely way cooler than he seems.”

Danny asked you about a hundred different questions about what it was like working with the Avengers, about your friends, and how you came to be part of the team.

You wondered if he had chosen a different path, if maybe there were more opportunities presented to him, he would have done well as an Agent, or a technical analyst, or even doing crew work because he had the kind of excitement so many of the rookies were lacking these days.

Hours later, your stomach was starting growl, more so than it usually did, and it was getting close to your second visit of the day. You were laying down on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling, hand propped under your head as you did your best to get comfortable.

You told Danny of the schedule you had come to learn and warned him that they might try and hurt him for information he won’t know the answers to. That scared him a bit, but you promised you’d be here for him, that if he could just hold on a little while longer, you were certain Buc-- your team would get the two of you out of here soon.

***

You started keeping track of the days in scratched lines under the top right corner of the mattress. Nine marks in the concrete. Nine days you’d been held in captivity.

You kept your eyes closed long after you woke from your restless sleep, muscles aching from the lumps in the hard mattress and goosebumps littering your skin from the chill in the room. The dream you had had been a decent one, one absent of nightmares and horrors from your past or the fear of your impending future. No, this dream was about the first time you got Bucky to leave the compound and venture out into Brooklyn.

You decided to borrow one of Tony’s cars after some serious convincing and a few concessions to opt for his team over Steve’s in the next full team mission and to bring him back a cold pizza from a specific shop in Queens. Tony was always a bit of a negotiator and he took a quick liking to you after you joined the team a few years back. He had a hard time saying no to you.

Bucky was apprehensive the entire walk down the garage. Hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, navy blue bomber hiding the reflection of his left arm, and a baseball cap to shield his eyes. He was still in covert mode and you were determined to shake him of that. He didn’t need to be so guarded. He was an Avenger now, not a criminal, and he had every right to enjoy a day in the city as the next guy.

You told him so and he just waved you off with a shrug. He didn’t believe it just yet. 

He stared at the red paint on Stark’s convertible as you jumped into the driver’s seat for a solid three minutes before he eventually opened the door and slumped into the seat next to you. 

“There’s no turning back now, Barnes,” you grinned over at him as you roared the engine to life. It was an older model, vintage, and the engine had that kind of purr that reminded Bucky of cars from his youth. He let a smile slip before he could suppress it.

He had only been living at the compound for a few months and while he had started coming on those early runs with you and would only occasionally mumble a few things under his breath, he had still agreed to go with you into the city. It surprised you when he said yes right away. You thought you would have needed to threaten his coffee supply before he caved, though you didn’t complain.

You parked Tony’s car outside of the city limits at a train station that was largely unoccupied and purchased tickets to the heart of Brooklyn from the woman at the counter. Bucky stood a careful distance behind you, silently observing the few commuters standing by the platform from under the bridge of his cap.

“Hey,” you said softly, noticing the way he was suspiciously eyeing a man reading a newspaper on a bench by the tracks, taking a step further away, “you’re safe, Bucky. No one here is a threat.”

Without thinking, you ran your hand up his arm in hopes to ease his tension, but in that shiver that traces up his spine, he flinched away instantly, almost repulsively and he gritted his teeth, embarrassed at his own reaction. He hadn’t meant to, but he wasn’t used to touch like that. Soft. Gentle. Without cruel intent. 

You quickly muttered an apology and stepped away from him, giving him a few feet of space. You didn’t notice the way he glanced back over at you, sad blue eyes wishing for you to try again, knowing if he had just been prepared for it, if he’d known it was coming from you, he'd lean into it. It would be welcomed, maybe. He hoped. 

When the train rolled up at the platform, you ushered for Bucky to follow you inside. At the rear of the car, you spotted two open seats far away from the crowd, though you did warn him it would fill up before you made it to Brooklyn. Bucky nodded at that, though he still insisted on sitting in the aisle seat. Quickest escape. Easiest to protect you.

He did better on the train than you expected, even with the crowds and with the unpleasant memories of the fall, though you did have to stare daggers into a teenager who had set his sights on Bucky. Some cocky little prick who recognized the former winter soldier and was snickering something to his snide little friends. It was the last thing Bucky needed. So, you scooted just an inch closer to him and didn’t take your eyes off the kid the entire way to Brooklyn. If Bucky noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Once you got to your stop, Bucky had exhaled a heavy sigh of relief the moment he stepped out of the train. The sun was warm on your skin, even in shorts and a t-shirt, so you couldn’t imagine how Bucky was feeling under all those layers. 

You tried to convince him to take the jacket off, but he just pressed out a thin smile and said, “I’m good, doll.”

It was the first time he called you one of those names, those terms of endearment he never seemed to give to anyone else, and it made your stomach twist. He said it so casually, just rolling off his tongue, and you wondered if he realized the effect it had.

You had your sights on bringing him to a bookstore that claimed to be around since the ‘20s, but the architecture seemed too recent and if you were honest, you wanted to prove to those gentrifying hipsters that you saw right through their round framed glasses, ankle pants, and expertly groomed facial hair. Regardless, you needed to get Bucky caught up on the literary masterpieces he missed in the last few decades.

Bucky kept a careful stride by your side, though you noticed he swerved out of the way of on-comers despite being much larger of anyone he encountered. It was endearing almost, and though you knew he was nervous, he still came with you anyway. It made you smile.

“Oh! Bucky, there it is!” you yelped, pointing to the bookshop across the street. You grabbed his left hand from his jacket pocket without thinking much of it and dragged him across the street. 

He jogged behind you, trying to keep up as you pushed through a sea of pedestrians, and you didn’t let go of his hand even as you stepped into the cool air conditioning of the bookshop.

“This wasn’t here in the forties, was it?” you prodded from Bucky, eyes catching on the hipster you often found yourself feuding with. The owner, characteristically wearing suspenders he clearly didn’t need, rolled his eyes.

Bucky cleared his throat and you narrowed your eyes on him, confused, until he glanced down between you to your hands, still wrapped together with yours clutching solid metal. Your eyes widened and you stepped away from him, dropping his hand in an instant. 

“Shit, I’m-- I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you apologized nervously, scratching at the back of your neck. “I don’t always think when I get excited and-- I’m sorry I should have paid more attention. I know you don’t like it when people touch--”

“It’s okay,” Bucky replied sincerely, cutting you off with the sweet, kind smile you couldn’t seem to get out of your head. 

He glanced around the bookshop, stepping further inside, and to your surprise, he removed his hat. The hairs at the nape of his neck were damp with sweat and while you knew there wasn’t a chance he’d go as far to remove his jacket, it was a step. He raked his fingers through his hair to put shape back to it.

“I don’t know for sure, but I definitely don’t recognize this place,” Bucky offered and before he could tell you that he almost swore there used to be a tailor in this spot, you had already started gloating to the thirty-something-year-old owner. 

By the time you turned around again, Bucky was chuckling under his breath and it made something swell behind your chest. 

Now, lying in the cold, dimly lit cell at a Hydra facility, you kept that image of Bucky as long as you could. Not daring to open your eyes in fear of losing the picture of the crinkles up by his eyes, the incredibly kind blue of his irises, the freckles under the thin layer of scruff on his cheeks and the wonder with which he carried as you explored the rest of Brooklyn together.

You clenched your jaw, trying to hold back the well of tears when suddenly, the sharp clicks of your door began to unlock.

“Y/n...?” Danny’s voice called for you nervously, recognizing the sound himself.

“Don’t let them know you can hear what goes on, okay?” you said quickly, watching the door for when it opens. “No matter what happens, I’ll be fine, you hear me? Just don’t let them know. They’ll move one of us if they do.”

Danny didn’t have time to reply before the door to your room slammed open with a sharp bang! and Cain strolled inside, pushing his sleeves up his arms. His eyes settled on you as two of his men rushed towards you, grabbing a tight hold of your arms and yanking you to your feet. They shoved you into the chair deadbolted to the center of the room and locked your wrists into the metal cuffs.

“It’s going to be a good day, Y/n,” Cain smirked, leaning over you and running his fingers down the side of your face. You stretched your neck away from him, revolted by his touch. Cain only snickered, unbothered, as he straightened his back.

“Yeah?” you grumbled. “Why’s that?”

“Because today is the day you’re going to tell me about what our... mutual friend,” Cain sneered and the men behind him started to laugh. You narrowed your eyes, a dread forming in your stomach, as Cain cracked his knuckles. “How’s the asset adjusting to the ivory tower? He still twitchy if he hears a certain set of words?”

You clenched your jaw tight enough to draw blood from the bite of your cheek. Face as stoic as you could manage, you didn’t dare meet Cain’s eye. Even hearing Bucky referred to as ‘the asset’ set a rage firing in your stomach.

“Touchy subject?” Cain taunted and he threw a nauseating smirk at the soldiers behind him, all too amused by your attempts to ignore him. “Tell me, what exactly is your relationship to the soldier? Can’t imagine he actually has feelings under all that mush in his brain. I do have to be honest, though. I am exceptionally curious... can he even get it up?”

You let a heavy breath exhale through your nose as you kept you stare at the door. You jaw ached from how tight to was clamped down. He snickered with the guards behind him and your nails dug into the wood of the chair.

“Listen princess,” Cain started, pacing back and forth along the small room, “we can go through this day by day and I can keep torturing you, but when is it going to end? Huh? It ends with you telling me what I want to know. And I want to know about that insufferable, botched experiment of a traitor!”

Cain’s fist hit the side of your face before you could quite prepare for it. It stung, burned, and you met his eye as you spat blood onto the floor.

He groaned, shaking his head in disgust. “Did that... teenager in Wakanda get the trigger words out of the asset's head or not?”

“His name is Bucky, you piece of shit,” you growled and a flash of shock flash over Cain’s face, only to be replaced by an unsettling rage as his upper lip began to twitch, a heat in his face built entirely from fury.

He held his hand out behind him and one of the soldiers placed a brass ring in the center of his palm. You took in a steady breath, heart pounding, and in a fruitless attempt to prepare yourself. Cain slipped the ring onto his fingers, admiring it as it reflected in the dim lighting.

“One last time before this gets ugly. Have your docs cleared the trigger words from the asset’s head? Answer me, bitch, or you’ll regret it.”

“Fuck. You,” you spat, your hands curling into the arm rests, ready for what came next. He was a fool if he thought you’d turn on Bucky before you turned on SHIELD. You’d give up everything before you gave up Bucky.

It didn’t matter why they needed to know if Shuri had been successful in clearing the trigger words from his mind. You weren’t telling them shit, even if the words had been removed years ago. Bucky was free from these assholes and it wasn’t information they should even had the privilege of knowing.

Then, in one swift movement, Cain’s hand curled into a fist and he let out a ragged shout as the brass metal of the ring came in contact with the side of your face. A sharp crack! sounded through the room and your vision began to double. Cain swayed in front of you, two of him, four of the men behind him, and he shook the blood from his knuckles.

You struggled to keep your head up, eyes falling heavy as the menacing sound of his laugh echoed through the room. The last thing you saw was his hand raising up again, ready to strike, before darkness consumed you.

***

“Y/n?”

You groaned, rolling over onto your back and your cheek stung as your skin pealed from the concrete. Dried blood caked against the ground as you struggled to push yourself up. You didn’t know how you ended up on the floor or when they had released you from the chair, but the splitting ache in your head was enough to know you’d been knocked out cold.

“Come on, Y/n, wake up... you better still be alive over there...”

“M’alive,” you muttered out, using most of your energy to do so. Your arms collapsed beneath you and the concrete was cool on your skin.

“You sure?” Danny called nervously. “It didn’t sound good over there... What do they want with the Winter Soldier anyway?”

“Bucky,” you choked out as you crawled to the mattress in the corner of the room.

“What?”

“His name is Bucky,” you repeated, determined for at least one other person in this hell hole to know Bucky as the man you did, not just as the weapon Hydra designed him to be.

Danny paused and you could vaguely hear him scratching at his head. “Right, of course. Sorry. Do you think they’ll go after Bucky, too?”

You sighed, a slight swell of relief as you curled up onto the mattress, resting your head against the thin layer of cushion, thought it was stiff and prodded you with metal springs.

“I don’t... I don’t know,” you admitted, eyes falling heavy again. “If they want to know about the trigger words, they’re probably looking to activate the soldier again or... I don’t know...” your eyes closed, head starting to feel dizzy again and you struggled to talk, “...make new ones or... restart... restart the program with someone else... make it so they can’t take the words out of... of...”

Danny cursed under his breath and you didn’t hear him call your name again, lost again to the cold embrace of your mind.

***

Fourteen marks hidden under your mattress and it had been two weeks since you’d been taken hostage. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t questioning whether the team would ever find you. You held onto that image of Bucky, the one of him from your day in Brooklyn with the smile that etched up into his eyes, because it was the only thing keeping you from giving in to the hopelessness Cain worked so hard to instill in you.

“You doing okay, kid?” you asked through the wall after Danny groaned for the third time in as many minutes.

Turned out, Hydra had a use for the young soldier because they started to take him from his cell mid-way between the two visits they paid to your room. Danny was quiet about what they did when he was taken away. All he’d tell you was that they beat him and asked a few questions he didn’t know the answers to. You left it alone.

“Yeah,” Danny sighed, mattress squeaking as he turned over. “Better than you seem to be.”

Cain had grown increasingly frustrated with you and your refusal to give him any information on the team or on Bucky. He broke your nose the day prior and had yet to allow the doctor on site to attend to the infected open wound on your cheekbone from the brass ring. It oozed and smelled and ached like nothing else, like it had a pulse all its own.

Not only that, but Cain had decided to withhold your meals for the last three days as punishment for when you spat on his face after he taunted you about Bucky’s history as the soldier, how they had conditioned him and broke him. Despite the three punches to your gut that followed, it had been worth it. At least, until you started to feel so weak you could hardly hold your head up.

“I told you, Danny, I’m a survivor. It’s what I’m trained for,” you replied, leaning against the wall to get some relief from the fever flushing your skin.

“Yeah, but--”

The clicks echoed through your room and Danny silenced immediately. You closed your eyes, a heavy exhale in your lungs as you prepared for the devil to walk through. Cain stepped in through the frame with two lackies behind him. Only bothering to watch from the corner of your eye as you kept yourself slumped against the wall, too tired and too feverish to even produce the effort to glare at him.

“Come on, princess, we’ve got a show to do,” Cain sneered, his hand snaking around your forearm painfully tight and he yanked you to your feet. Your knees buckled under you and Cain let out a frustrated groan and tossed you into the arms of one of his men. “Get her to the holding room.”

“Yes, sir,” the man replied in a thick Australian accent. His grip was no kinder as he hulled you through the door.

As they dragged you through the hallways, you tried to memorize the layout of the building, but were met with too much stimulation, blinding white lights, chatter of the agents, and an influx of various sounds you hadn’t been exposed to in weeks and it was all too much. You clamped your eyes shut and the dizziness in your head kept you from following his pattern through the halls.

Then, you were thrown to the ground, cold concrete under your body and a sigh of relief was only short lived before you were yanked up again, shoved into a chair and wrists locked to the arm rests.

You licked at the split on your lip, seeking moisture to alleviate the dryness there, only for it to burn. You winced, trying to find your strength as you watched Cain pace around the room. It was then you noticed the camera standing upon a tripod just a few feet from you. You swallowed back the bile in your throat at the steady realization of what they were going to attempt.

A woman walked into the room; someone Cain must have been waiting for because he stopped pacing the moment she stepped through the frame. Blonde hair tied up away from her face and dressed in jeans and a black, long sleeve t-shirt; she made her way to the camera, standing behind it and adjusting the specs.

“Listen up, princess,” Cain growled, grabbing a tight hold of your chin and forcing you to look in his direction. “You’re going to read from the cue cards and that’s it, do you hear me? No cute little quips or secret messages, because we’ll just start over and you won’t like what happens when we do.”

Cain’s grip grew tighter and you couldn’t stop the whimper the came out. Cain smirked at that, releasing you and your jaw ached even as he stepped away. He moved to stand behind the blonde woman he addressed as ‘Moira’ and nodded for one of his henchmen to hold the card up.

The red light appeared on the side of the camera, blinking. You stared at it for a moment, the thought occurring to you that your friends would see this, Bucky would see this, and you didn’t want to imagine the look on their faces when they did. If anything, it gave them proof you were still alive. You knew the SHIELD protocol was to presume an agent dead after ten days missing behind enemy lines. It was an efficient system, a largely accurate one. Hydra didn’t usually keep their prisoners alive for this long.

“Read,” Cain seethed from behind the camera and you thought of Bucky, of Nat, of Steve, Tony, Sam, everyone back at the compound and you wondered what they would do, if they would give in to these demands so easily.

So, with a defiance, you looked straight into the camera and spat, “Fuck Hydra.”

It was a mistake.

Cain rushed at you, unclipped your restraints and slammed you so hard against the wall, you were certain your head cracked. Vision blurring as his hand wrapped around your neck, spitting words into your ear you couldn’t quite hear as his fingers dug into your jugular. You scratched at him, nails too frail to make any bit of difference, and you struggled to breathe.

Gasping for breaths, kicking the air beneath you and Cain pushed you higher up the wall, and an immeasurable pressure built in your lungs, in your head, and you were teetering on the edge of consciousness.

“Enough, Cain! I need her to actually be able to speak for this to be effective,” Moira groaned and Cain released his grip on you. You slumped down to the floor, barely able to catch your breath. “I’ll just keep rolling. Get her in the chair and we’ll go again.”

This time, it was Cain’s men that strapped you down to the chair, masks covering their faces for the sake of the camera. You stared at the blinking red light, then to the center of the lens, knowing that Bucky, your Bucky, would be on the other side watching this soon enough. You didn’t dare wonder how he’d react.

For a brief moment, unsure, your eyes flicked to Cain. Without much of a warning, his fist barreled against your jaw, just for the hesitation, and you spit a glob of blood off the side of the chair.

It took every ounce of energy you had to glare in his direction, though when Cain’s hand curled back into a fist and his upper lip twitched at you, you dropped your gaze.

Then, looking back to the cue cards placed just under the camera’s lens, you read, “My name is Special Agent Y/n Y/L/n. I am an Agent of SHIELD, an Avenger, and I was abducted by Hydra two weeks ago from their base in Western Russia.”

Your voice was raspy, broken, from Cain’s grip on your neck.

Moira grabbed a newspaper from the floor and put it in front of the camera, focusing on the date. Then, she tossed it aside. You swallowed back the excess blood in your throat. You glanced down at the cue cards, narrowing your eyes upon the words. Your heart dropped.

Shaking your head, clenching your jaw as you turned to Cain. “I’m not reading that.”

Another hit to your jaw and blood splattered from your lips. A heavy pant in your lungs and a blinding pulse in your head, you turned back to the camera. There was no fighting this. Your body couldn’t take any more. You straightened your back, hardening your features so it was clear, without a doubt, that these words were not your own.

“This is a warning to the people of New York,” you read, your voice flat and defiant. “The Avengers cannot protect you. They...” you took a deep breath, eye flashing at Cain before your turned back to the camera and thought of Bucky. You knew he’d take your words to heart, that he’d latch onto any excuse to blame himself for this, and you spoke the words anyway, even if you hated yourself for it. “They can’t even protect their own.”

The cue cards fell to the ground and Cain nodded, pleased as you bit down on your tongue to deprive him of the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

“You will hear from us again,” Cain announced off camera and you couldn’t stop the look of blatant detest as you glared at him.

Moira moved to turn off the camera and your breath hitched. It was your last connection to Bucky, to your family. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the lens, imagining that it was Bucky you were staring at; deep blue ocean eyes and a kind smile that warmed a sense of relief in your chest.

Then, the red dot vanished and he was lost to you.

--

ok fam if you thought this was tough... just you wait 

feedback is always appreciated 💖

tags 🎥 @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes​ / @mywinterwolf​ / @breatheeagainnnn​ / @jewelofwinter​ / @panic-naran​ / @fairislesheets​ / @kaliforniacoastalteens​ / @captain-hammer-of-asgard​ / @daydreamsquad​ / @deanssweetheart​ / @maybesomedaytho​ / @montypythonsholysnail​ / @saharzek​ / @jillybeaner13​ / @chubby-dumplin​ / @searchingforbucky​ / @alohafromhell1​ / @tabalugax​ / @shesalatesh​ / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp​ / @aliensbecameourstyle​ / @bucksgoat​ / @serpensortiaaa​ / @trash-rats-unite​ / @hungry-pasta​ / @nervosaa​ / @lbuck121​/ @get0verit​ / @obama-mia​ / @imsoft-barnes​ / @this-broken-band-girl​ / @michelehansel​ / @itz-kira​ / @forever157​ / @grey-water-colors​ / @sebastianstan-posts​ / @sarcastic-and-cool​ / @sweetheartbarnes

[sailorbellewrites]

Fools Rush In... VIII

characters — yoongi x reader (ft. members of bts and other original characters)

summary — min yoongi, music executive and perpetual bachelor, marries a las vegas stripper he’s only known for six months. chaos ensues.

inspiration —  fools rush in (1997 rom-com starring salma hayek and matthew perry)

information — a drabble series loosely based on the 1997 movie fools rush in. drabbles not posted in any linear order and written as a creative writing outlet. 

warnings — mentions of sex work; age-difference; light sugar daddy themes; smut; light angst (specifically in parts V & VI).

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI

VIII — latte (ft. various original characters)

You fucked up.

Or at least, you had made a very big mistake in coming to Kim Hana’s Sunday brunch. It was your first time at her biweekly event and you already wanted to go home. All of the women there were older, faces tight with botox and fillers as they ooh-ed and ahh-ed at one woman’s jewelry and another’s purse. They made surface level comments about politics and fashion and so-and-so’s son who was seen walking around Apgujeong with you-know-who’s daughter. It was mind numbing, but Hana ate it up in a way you didn’t fully understand. Yet, you couldn’t let yourself text Yoongi, couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on his face at you wanting to ditch. He had been doing so much for you recently, so adamant that he had to be sure he didn’t make a mistake in convincing you to marry him. There was nothing you could say to make him believe that you would follow him into an active volcano if he wanted. So you had to at least try.

Still, it’s hard to keep up the facade of a dutiful wife when Kim Hana yells out, “Oh, you’re finally here! I was thinking you’d never arrive! Please, come over. I have someone I want you to meet,” into your ear. The woman who just walked into the private area, lithe and pale with long dark hair, freezes briefly, seemingly unaccustomed to being spoken to so directly. She recovers quickly though, throwing on a blinding white smile as she saunters over to where you and Hana sit at the head of the table.

“Hello, Kim Hana. It’s nice to see you again,” the woman offers, bowing deeply to Hana as though they were worlds apart in the hierarchy that was this brunch.

“A pleasure to see you too. Choi Mina, might I introduce you to our friend Min Yoongi’s new wife? She’s such a doll,” Hana says, tone light despite the suggestiveness of her words. She would have been a great stripper in another life, with her ability to placate people even as she was readying for attack. 

“Oh,” Mina responds quietly, eyes trained on your seated form in a way that you were more than used to. Every woman Hana introduced to you had looked at you in the same exact way. She was sizing you up. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you say, bowing your head to her slightly.

“I know this can be a bit strange, seeing as you two have been with the same man. But I actually think you guys have a lot in common and would be great friends,” Hana explains, eyes bright with an excitement that you suspect is rooted in her innate desire to make everyone else feel inferior. You end up glaring at Hana due to her words—of course, she’d find a way to bring you around one of Yoongi’s exes. With this new information, the weight of Mina’s stare increases. You hate it. “Ah, you should sit near us. There is so much to discuss.”

As it turns out, there isn’t much to discuss. You didn’t have a lot in common with Yoongi’s ex outside of you both being “dancers”. In fact, it’s hard to see what he would have seen in a professional ballerina who spent half of the year performing in Europe. She speaks in a soft voice, laughter ringing out like windchimes at every joke that was not so secretly told at your expense and she moves so gracefully that even the act of her chewing makes you feel like a slob. She has the type of polish Yoongi often said made him uncomfortable. But, as the conversation progresses, you find it hard to see what Yoongi has seen in you. It is made all too clear that women like Choi Mina and Kim Hana were the expectation for men with money and influence. You weren’t even good enough to qualify as an exception to the rule.

Your resolve weakens. You text Yoongi. Right as you put your phone down, Mina asks, “Your marriage to our Yoongi must have been recent right? I wasn’t even aware that he was dating someone.” A few women murmur in agreement at her observation.

You roll your eyes when she refers to him as “our Yoongi” and shrug. Hana answers for you, “He wasn’t dating someone last year! They rushed right to the altar. It’s incredible. They didn’t even have a wedding here. They got married in America!”

“Oh?” Mina says, a perfect act of curiosity. “Well, how long did you two date?”

Your phone lets out a long vibration as Yoongi’s picture flashes across the screen. Hana again answers for you, excitedly saying, “Only six months! Can you believe it? Namjoon and I didn’t even know he was dating anyone. He must have felt like he had something to hide, though I don’t know why.”

You pick up the phone, only to be greeted by his exasperated tone asking, “Which ex is there exactly?” 

The women continue talking about your relationship as though you aren’t there, but Kim Hana’s continued glances towards you lets you know that she is listening. Instead of answering his question outright, you say, “Hi honey,” in a voice far too sweet to be subtle. 

Yoongi sighs on the end of the line.“Is it the politician's daughter?” 

“Oh no, I’m having a great time! You don’t have to worry,” you respond, hoping he picks up on what you’re trying to say. You can hear a womea say how happy she is that Yoongi is finally sharing you with the world the way he used to in his other relationships.

“Okay… or is the ballerina?”

“Yes, that’s alright,” you answer, patience wearing thin.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he responds, sounding sad. You feel sad too. You fucked up again.

The ten minutes pass by slowly and in that time, you learn several things. Yoongi and Choi Mina had been considering marriage before they broke up. They dated on and off for three years. It had been a rough breakup. Jimin did not like her. Namjoon did. Mina is now engaged to a professor in Nice. She will always have love Yoongi and hopes that he is happy with you. That last part sounds like a lie. 

The ‘I’m outside’ text you receive feels like someone just handed you a tank of oxygen. You take a deep breath, keeping calm as you explain to the women that your husband had to pick you up early due to another appointment. The excuse seems to appease most of them, though Mina insists that she walk you outside so she can say hello to her “dear old Yoongi.”

Your husband sits behind the wheel of his car, paying no attention to his surroundings as he taps away on his cell phone. You feel tension melt from your shoulders as you open the passenger door, sliding inside even though he doesn’t acknowledge your presence. Mina helps you close your door, sticking her face in the open window to say, “Hello Min Yoongi!”

“Hi Choi Mina,” he murmurs, not looking up from his phone. 

She is undeterred. “It’s been quite a while since we have seen each other.”

“It has,” he answers, before cussing softly under his breath and angrily throwing the phone in the empty cup. Mina’s eyes widen at his actions, making you giggle. You knew Yoongi wasn’t really angry, just irritated—nothing that would cause the concern the ballerina was showing.

“I just wanted to tell you that your wife is lovely. Truly, we all couldn’t take our eyes off her. You really picked a winner,” she states diplomatically, playing her part well. 

Yoongi finally looks up at her, eyes bored as he moves to rest a hand on your thigh. “You really think so? I think she’s kind of awful,” he says darkly, though the pads of his fingers rub small circles onto the skin of your thigh. You try to scoff at his words, but it transforms into a quiet laugh. “She’s cute enough I guess, but I wouldn’t call her lovely. I mean she’s not a ballet dancer or anything. Just a stripper. And she spends all my money, too. I don’t even think we would be together if I was broke.” The ballerina’s mouth drops open in shock at his words and you press your lips together hard to stop from laughing. After three years of dating and so much supposed love between them, she should have been able to tell when Yoongi was joking; but it was clear she had no idea. 

“Min Yoongi, that’s no way to talk about the woman you married! If you are having a bad day, you do not take it out on others,” she chides, turning her head to you finally. “I’m so sorry he is being this way with you. I hope his actions don’t stop you from coming to the next brunch and that he cleans up this act!” Mina bows her head to you slightly before turning swiftly and heading back inside the restaurant.

You let out a deep sigh and Yoongi squeezes your thigh gently. “Thanks for playing along,” he tells you sincerely. You shrug, but he continues, “Not just with Mina, you know. I mean with this whole… thing.”

“It was just brunch. No need to thank me.”

“It was a brunch with my ex present. That’s just… not right.”

“Yoongi, it’s okay. You wanted me to go, so I went. I’m just sorry that I made you pick me up early.” 

He clicks his tongue at you in disbelief, removing his hand from your thigh to put the car in drive and pull away from the curb. He is silent for a few minutes, leading you to believe that he has accepted your lies until he says, “I didn’t want you to go. Namjoon suggested it. I knew you wouldn’t have a good time, but he insisted that you might make some friends.” 

You hum quietly at his words, wondering if that’s who he was texting when you first got in the car. “So you’re not mad that I left early?”

He shakes his head. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask to leave earlier. I was waiting for you to call for hours.”

Your heart swells at his admission. He knows you well. “Yoongi?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.” He nods in acknowledgement of your words, but says nothing. You try again. “You make me happy.” He reaches a hand over the center console to grab your own, a small smirk resting on his lips as he continues to stare ahead. “I’m happy I’m here with you.” 

“I love you, too,” he finally responds. You know he believes you. 

[chrissyutimagines]

Oh! These are neat! How about number 17 (one tattooed name is the soulmate and the other name is the greatest enemy) with UF Papyrus/Edge and a takes-no-bs female soulmate? Good luck figuring out which of them he is first time meeting :D

Ok! Some smol background info here. This is from Boss's POV. The setting is on the surface. He is called Papyrus, but is more often called Boss instead. Y'all is can choose the POV ya want, but if not specified, it's in 2nd person's POV from the Reader's angle.

It's another ordinary Sunday. The refrigerator is empty again. Boss sighs, his lazy brother wouldn't be bothered to go to get groceries, so that means he's gotta go.

He changes his house clothes to a casual outfit, it's been a while since they got out from the hell hole he once called home, and life was... Still terrible. Though most humans accepted them, some don't, and unfortunately, he has seen quite a couple of them.

Sighing again, he ponders what would happen this time he went to get groceries... But his thoughts were cut short when he saw the names tattooed on his wrists.

'(Y/N)' 'Maria'

It was said that the names tattooed on your wrists are either the name of your soulmate, or the name of your greatest enemy. He hasn't met anyone with those names yet, but he's confident that he will be able to tell when he meets them. Whichever he meets.

He grabs his bag and wallet, and leaves his house, locking the door behind him. Walking on the streets, he can't seem to focus on the road, his mind filled with questions about the names on his wrists.

Not looking at where he's going made him bump right into someone.

"Watch It!"

"You're the one who should 'Watch it'!" A voice, not coming from the person who he bumped into, scolded.

"Who Do You Think You Are?!" He said as he looked towards the girl who scolded him.

"Someone who you need to listen to! Take my advice and focus on the road, not your head, and say sorry if you run into someone!" She scolds him then left, leaving him standing.

Another hater, he thinks. Whoever he bumped into didn't 'focus on the road' as well. Why did he get scolded? Whatever, he has stuff to do.

The day went pretty well afterward, and he didn't think much of the girl who scolded him.

That is, until he meets them again.

This time, he's going to Chillby's bar to fetch Sans, since he's drunk, again.

He arrived at the bar and saw him at the bar table, a girl was there as well, she seems to be helping his drunkass brother. He approached the two.

"Oh, hey there. Are you his brother?"

"Yes. Is He Drunk Again?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I told him to stop drinking, but he wouldn't listen."

"Typical Sans."

"Oh, his name is Sans? Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, my name is Maria. What's yours?"

One of the names on his wrists, he thought. Seeing as she seems like a good person, he thinks that she might be his soulmate, while the other is his greatest enemy.

"Papyrus, but everyone calls me Boss."

"Well, it was nice meeting you Boss."

"Likewise."

"Paaaap? Iiiisss thaaat yoooou?"

"Yes, Sans, You Lazy Bones. Excuse Me, Maria. I Must Leave."

"No worries. Do you want any help?"

Before he can even open his mouth, a voice cuts him off.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?! Get out of here!"

It's the girl who scolded him on the streets. Maria gave her a glare and left.

"She Just Wanted To Help! What Is Wrong With You?!"

"You don't know anything about that girl. I saved you from her. You should be thankful."

"Who The Hell Are You Anyway?! Why Do You Think That I Should Listen To You?!"

To his surprise, the girl wasn't intimidated by him. And spoke calmly.

"My name is (Y/N), Chillby's new bartender. And you should if you don't want trouble. But if you do, be my guest."

The other name, just his luck. Boss grumbles and hauls his brother back home.

Days passed, and he keeps bumping into both of the girls. Often pleasantly talking to Maria, but then being broken apart by (Y/N). Sometimes he gets scolded at by (Y/N) as well. The words 'Be nicer' 'Don't do that' was often spoken by the girl. He grows to believe that Maria is his soulmate, while (Y/N) is his enemy.

But that all changed on one faithful day when he saw the news.

"Breaking news, a woman was arrested for robbing his boyfriend.

Multiple men have been robbed by this same woman before, saying that she has lied to them, misleading them into thinking she is a nice person and that she loves them. Then taking all of their money and expensive items and leaving.

Hearing the news about the woman's arrest, many of her victims said that they could finally rest easy, knowing that the woman won't be able to fool another man.

Police have also found out that the woman, named Maria, was a monster racist, and often tries to seduce monsters and kill them. She has succeeded multiple times and was now sued for murder and robbery."

Boss was shocked. He never thought that Maria is actually a criminal.

He suddenly recalled what (Y/N) has told him. "You don't know anything about that girl. I saved you from her. You should be thankful." She was telling the truth, he realized. Maria was not what she seems to be. How could did he not see that?

Something clicked in his mind. That means that Maria must be his greatest enemy, and (Y/N) must be... Oh Asgore, he has to apologize to her!

He rushed to Chillby's bar and slammed the door open.

"Whoa! Hey! Don't slam the door!"

Chillby is nowhere to be seen. As the surprised girl watched Boss angrily stomp towards her.

"Hey! Calm down! What is going on?"

"I'm Sorry."

"What...?"

"I'm Sorry, I Was Wrong To Yell At You When You Were Just Trying To Help."

He thought you would scold him again, but to his utter surprise, you just gave him a soft smile.

"You finally found out. I'm glad you didn't become a victim of hers like one of my friends."

"You're Not Going To Scold Me?"

"Why would I? You admitted your mistakes, and I believe you finally realized we're soulmates, judging by the blush you have right now."

"Wait. You Knew?"

"I've known the second I learned your name." She pulled up both her sleeves and showed him the names tattooed on them 'Peter' 'Papyrus'.

"I've already met Peter before, he had made my high school life hell, so I knew that you're my soulmate"

"Then Why Do You Scold Me So Much?"

"Someone needs to tell you what you did wrong. I thought I should do it so that you could change. Your ego is already large enough."

"What About The First Time? You Haven't Learned My Name Then." (Y/N) giggles.

"You really need to check your eyes. The person you bumped into was blind! They have a guide dog and a stick as well!"

Boss feels his face heat up, and awkwardly scratches the back of his skull.

"Whoops."

"Hehe, no worries. But anyway, do you want to y'know, hang out?"

"YES! Um, I Mean, Of Course." (Y/N) giggles cutely. Wait, cutely? He's getting attached to her... Not that he minded though...

"Well, here's my number. We can hang out sometime, hopefully not under the circumstances of me needing to scold you."

"Yes. I Hope So Too."

Silence fell between the two as they stare at each other.

"For the love of Asgore, go to the parlor in the back. It's vacant." A voice, who he recognized as Chillby's, said.

"O-oh! U-um, sure. Thanks, Chill'."

Boss awkwardly follows the red-faced girl to the parlor.

Closing the door behind him, he awkwardly stared at her.

"I'm sorry, but I-"

Her words were cut off as Boss got a sudden boost of confidence and pressed a kiss against her lips. He quickly realized his mistake and was about to pull away before she grabs his cheekbones and kissed back.

The kiss lasted a while before they finally pulled away.

"W-well, that was, something..."

"Indeed. Shall I Take You Out Sometime?"

"Sure."

"Is This Weekend Alright For You?"

"Mhm."

"Alright Then. I'll Pick You Up At Seven."

"Ok."

They stared at each other for a while, then pulled back in for another long kiss. When they finally pulled back, they both said their farewells and left.

When Boss arrived home, Red, seeing his brother's red face, smirked and spoke.

"Good day?"

"Shut Up Sans."

Though in his mind, he knew that this is the start of something truly special.

Ok! Done! Long ass one shot. Hope you like it!