#the last chapter is still waiting for to read which is shame and I’m sorry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starqueensthings · 7 months

Text

Pairing: pirate!Kix x Fem!reader

Summary: the final chapter of Colder Weather. This one is exceptionally long… and it didn’t need to be, but sometimes I can’t just reign it in and that’s okay. Please read the prior two parts before proceeding to this one, and please heed warnings below.

Rating/Warnings/WC: Teen+ for subject matter, TW: mentions of a complicated labour, TW: mentions of postpartum challenges. This chapter is probably 60% angst. 40% happiness, but the happy parts make up for the sad parts. 8000ish words (sorry lol)

A/N: y’all… I was so close to killing off the reader, but I’m glad I didn’t. He’s made his mistakes, but deep in his heart and soul, our favourite medic Kix deserves a happy ending. Thank you for reading. Not proof read because this has gone on long enough. If you see a typo… no you don’t.

part one | part one.five | part two

“When I close my eyes I see you, no matter where I am. I can smell your perfume through these whisperin’ pines. I’m with your ghost again, and it’s a shame about the weather but I know soon we’ll be together, and I can’t wait ‘til then.”

That intrusive hum should not have wielded enough power to yank you so unceremoniously from the embracing, semi-lucid doze you’d unintentionally fallen into. That brief reprieve of darkness was meant to be nothing more than just an extended blink; a momentary break from the throbbing headache brought on by several days without sleep, yet that whirring, artificial whine had instantly imbued you with such an unbridled panic, that a gasp near-left your lips as your eyes snapped open and darted urgently toward the front window.

Nightfall had already begun to kiss the horizon, the last of that so reclusive winter sun bathing only that of which it could reach between barren branches. The soft hush of dancing leaves, and the indignant squawks of native wildlife begrudgingly adapting to the change in season, had long since silenced; their departure triggered by the crystal blanket of frost that never failed to drape itself upon every unmoving surface during those extended hours of darkness.

The jarring return to reality had your heart hammering heavily against the walls of your chest, and attempting to reaffix your senses to that disturbing rumble proved nearly impossible over the rhythmic pounding in your ears. A moment's pause had you nearly convinced that familiar hum was nothing but the remnants of a nightmare wiped clean from your memory upon waking. Perhaps your weary mind had clutched so vainly at whatever semblance of sleep it could find, knowing reality would continue to rob your being of the repose it so desperately needed yet continued to neglect, but its stark contrast to the the cherished serenity of nature rendered it harrowingly familiar, and there could simply be no further denying that grinding vibration.

“No,” you implored to the empty room as the implications of that wretched noise forced a shiver down your spine.

You hurried to press yourself into a seated position, and that near-debilitating crest of pain radiating from the tender space between your legs had your face contorting tightly and a soft whimper issuing from behind pursed lips, but with the entirety of your waning focus attuned to that haunting roar, you could spare no attention to your body’s plea for stillness.

“No!” you repeated sternly, as if begging some divine force to halt the imminent invasion.

Snatching the ice pack from its nestle between your thighs and tossing it onto the seat of the chair by the window, you clambered to your feet as gingerly as your frantic mind could permit.

The intensity of your labour only days previously had left you “wiggly”; an inappropriately comical label for how unstable you found yourself in those handful of purgatorial moments between sitting and standing. But a trio of sluggish blinks were all you could offer to placate the stars erupting in your vision… there was simply no time for the deep breath your body craved. The sound of that sputtering engine meant you had mere seconds until it parked itself atop your gravel drive, bringing its unwelcome rider to within only feet of your front door.

“No… no… no… no, no!”

Every resounding thump of your socked feet descending the stairs had that defiant refusal pouring from your snarling lips. The adrenaline doped blood pounding in your veins kept your legs in motion; the desperate need to fortify your home by whatever means necessary quickly diminishing those electrifying jolts of pain between your thighs to nothing but an annoyance, and you utterly refused to suspend your frenzied actions until the satisfyingly audible click the deadbolt met your ears.

Breast heaving under agitated breaths, you pressed your forehead to that cool, steel barrier, reaching a trembling hand to blindly activate the lock and engage the chain across the door. That infuriating hum had ceased, replaced by the sporadic ticking of an engine entering slumber mode after a long journey and the rhythmic crunch of heavy boots treading apprehensively across compacted gravel.

A faint draft danced across your ear as you pressed it flush against the gap between door and frame, biting your lip in an effort to quiet the huffs still pouring from your lips.

How many steps until that calloused hand wreathed itself around the glimmering gold door knob perched innocently at your navel? He drew nearer with every exhale; already his steps had near-muted as they transferred his weight from gravel to pavestone. A potent remorse swelled like noxious gas in your chest, pure exhaustion and repressed sadness flooding your mind with flickering images of all the times you sprinted down that cobblestone path and threw yourself, unabashed, into his embrace..

A shiver stole down your spine as you backed away from the door, folding your arms over your chest and fitting a thumbnail between your teeth. Every moment on your feet saw your body beginning to yield further into exhaustion and the primal need for rest, yet the resolve required to yank gaze from the door and head back upstairs for a fresh ice pack and a long nap had utterly abandoned you.

The stare you affixed that dome of gold was unrelenting, and had the Maker blessed you with even a fraction of the power those old wizards known as “Jedi” once possessed, there was no doubt that gold knob would have burned red hot under the intensity of your gaze.

Your thumbnail continued to shred and fray under the anxious gnawing of your front teeth, little shards torn painfully from the tip of your finger and spat unceremoniously to the floor at your feet were offered none of the attention that you’d affixed to the sounds of his impending arrival. His boots had stalled their movements on the other side of the threshold, and the small scraping of plastoid against plastoid sounded through the door as he shifted to remove his helmet. Any second now that knob would wiggle under his touch. Any second now…

“Go away!” you shouted at the first signs of that handle failing to permit his entry, your anxiety momentarily abated by the same surging rage that sent your hands curling into fists.

“Wh— what? Did— did you say ‘go away’?” That voice. That stupid, forsaken voice.

“Sure did!” you spat back at the man who didn’t deserve even an ounce of the confusion that had stalled his advance. “Get your ass back on that bike and get out of here!”

“Mesh’la…”

Your blood boiled at the outrageous levity in which that endearing coo left his lips, and had it not been for the abandoned baby monitor in the next room, interrupting your increasing indignation with the beeping reminder of a dying battery, at least one of your shaking fists would have crashed heavily against the back of that door.

“Don’t you dare call me that,” you seethed through clamped teeth. “Now get away from my kriffing door before I grab my blaster and shoot you through the peephole!”

A brief moment's weighty silence preceded his answer. “I would deserve that,” Kix acknowledged, no doubt sensing the validity of your threat, having personally dismantled and cleaned the pistol you kept hidden in your nightstand.

“Yeah, you would. Now, goodbye!” you snarked back at him, the responding, poignant sigh that left his lips failing to soften your invective.

“Look, Mes— ”

“Didn’t I just say, don’t call me tha—”

“Okay. Okay…” Every emotional huff expelled from his lungs was a breath that only further ignited the embers of your vexation, and saw you withdrawing further and further from the door. How dare he be upset? How dare he feel exasperated? How dare he even show up here, let alone stand at the entryway to your home and attempt to belittle the agony of his betrayal with his own undeserved feelings of remorse?

“I owe you some big explanations,” he muttered slowly. “I have a lot to apologize for, and I— I want to say it all because you deserve it.”

“Oh I ‘deserve it’?” you snorted near-maniacally. “Now? And not six months ago when you hightailed it out of here, and left me in the kriffing clutches of hell?”

“Of course you did, Mesh’la,” he assuaged. “You’ve always deserved it, and I’ve been— well… I’ve struggled a lot, but you know that and it’s no excuse. Can you please unlock the door and let me in?”

“No.”

You intensified the knot of your arms across the tender swells of your chest and snarled as silence ensued. Every elongated second that ticked present into past saw your jaw begin to mutiny against the continued force of irritably grinding your molars together, the discomfort only masked by the powerful pangs of pain between your legs as your body continued to beg for your retreat. But physical agony was mere childsplay; nothing… nothing compared to the debilitating heartbreak that had rendered you emotionally distraught and struggling to keep your head above water since he last fled your embrace, the haunting image of his anguished face erupting in your mind's-eye every time you sought the respite of sleep.

“No,” you repeated weakly. “You’ve had so many chances to talk, Kix. You made your choice.”

Sorrow and grief, respawned by the reminder of a life longed-for and lost, threatened to envelop you. How many months had you begged him for the knowledge that he was now, inexplicably, offering? How many nights did you attempt to chisel away at his walls, refusing to see the efforts as futile, and doggedly convinced that he would feel the same devotion to you if he would just let himself? Now here he was, offering all the things you’d once prayed for on a silver platter at your door, and the undeniable longing that had previously seen you gazing limitlessly into his eyes, still held the maddening power to sag your shoulders and wet those tired eyes.

You hastily wiped the emotion from your face and shook the malignant thoughts from your head; too many tears had already been shed on his account, too many nights had vanished from underneath you, lost in the shadow of loneliness.

He upheld a near-suffocating silence from his unseen perch, and it lingered just long enough to make you wonder if he’d simply turned on his heel and left. Despite reminding yourself that such a departure would ultimately be for the best, the notion of another temerous abandonment at his hands wrapped itself like an iron fist around your gut, further restricting every already pained inhale.

A gentle thunk against the door exposed his presence, and your eyes darted to the area where he’d likely just rested that weary, tattooed head.

“Well,” you offered sadly, unknotting your arms and stretching the tension from your neck. “Not that this hasn’t been… enlightening… but I’m in desperate need of some sleep, so… goodbye.”

You cast one last glance toward the peephole before turning to ascend the stairs again, attempting to placate the twisting in your stomach with a deep, controlled inhale.

“Goodnight, Cyare. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Your hand froze on the railing, chilled toes ceasing their movements at his unexpected valediction, and the slow breath that had promised you some semblance of relief, now escaped your nose in a huff of indignant disbelief.

“What are you talking about?” you barked over your shoulder at the deadbolt.

“I’m not leaving,” he explained. “You deserve an apology and I’m giving it to you. I’ll sleep in the driveway if I have to.”

A scoff left your lips as you shook your head, eyes rolling extravagantly at his unprecedented impudence. “It’s freezing outside,” you snorted coolly.

“Not cold enough to stop me.”

With patience utterly diminished by both his audacious dedication, and the continued throbs of pain in your core, you turned and stomped back down the stairs, a frustrated growl leaving your lips as you unlatched the deadbolt and yanked the door open only wide enough to peer out into the increasing darkness.

There he stood. Your Kix. Those characteristically piercing, dark eyes now so soft they were nearly unrecognizable, and framed by knitted, forlorn brows. Those subtle creases across his forehead, of which typically only emerged in moments where surprise or potent emotion lifted his brow toward his hairline, had deepened and embedded themselves with the same plea swaddling the rest of those familiar features. His tall frame still hid behind that scuffed and blemished blue plastoid kit, that marred and dented helmet hung loosely at his side as it always did when not masking his face, and that bushy, unkempt beard failed to conceal the emergence of several blue, day-old bruises, their pigmentation only matched by the swollen bags beneath those brown eyes.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” you hissed at him through the door’s meager opening. “Where do you come off thinking you can just show up here and make demands? What makes you think I even want your dumb apology?”

“I’m not here to make demands, Mesh’la,” he pleaded, the perimeter of his frame disappearing behind the door as he stepped as close as the gap would permit.

“Then what do you want?” you pressed him sternly, mirroring his unintended concealment by narrowing the gap in the door. “Why are you here?”

“Because I love you,” he urged in a whisper. “And I want to explain everything. Please… just let me in.”

That pure and unfiltered expression of love nearly cleaved you in half; his admonition monetarily overpowering your composure and threatening utterly rob you of the dwindling resolve you’d somehow funnelled into continued refusals.

“No, Kix,” you argued in little more than a pathetic whine. “You’re not coming in her–”

“Why?” he challenged.

“Because! The second you're within arms reach, I’m going to want to smack you for all the bantha-shit you’ve pulled, and I’m not doing that in front of my newborn baby!”

Kriff.

It slipped from your lips… that unintended profession leaving your mouth on a wave of unbridled emotion. You hadn’t formulated exactly how or when you planned to break the news to him in those frantic seconds between learning of his imminent arrival and this moment. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected the conversation to get this far… hell, you hadn’t even expected this conversation to happen. He should have just conceded to your wishes and left when you demanded it of him, not stubbornly refused to leave your side, and revealing the birth of his child so casually and without intent had unmistakably shaken him.

You could only watch regretfully as his head snapped upward from its solemn hang, tired eyes widening and darting back and forth between yours as if peering into their depths would offer him an unfiltered truth. That cherished, sharp jaw softened with shock; lips falling open, chest heaving beneath that old distressed cuirass as you reciprocated his imploring gaze with a diffident, guilty one of your own.

“You— you had the baby?” he choked, eyes boring into yours as the aluminum threshold creaked under the weight of his step, his hand rising to grip the edge of that door as if its previously irksome existence was now the only thing stabilizing him.

Too laden with self-resentment for having so-loosely uttered the revelation, you cast his gloved fingers only a fleeting glance as they pressed the door open as wide as the chain would permit, but the mental space quickly earmarked for regret and self hatred was near-instantly usurped by an unprecedented sense of pity as your gaze fell upon his again.

“Yes,” you admitted in a whisper, nearly cowering beneath the intensity of the plea in his eyes. “Four days ago.”

His throat bobbed, eyes unfocusing as they darted to and fro between yours, and you could only watch apprehensively as those familiar lips parted and closed, continuously failing to communicate the myriad of thoughts and allegations currently ravaging his mind. “But… you weren’t due until the end of this month?” he managed to splutter out. “Weren’t you? That’s what you said: ‘The baby isn’t due until the last week of the year…’”

“Yeah, well… these things happen sometimes,” you answered apathetically, a weak shrug lifting one shoulder as you averted your eyes downward to your toes. “I was shocked too, if that makes you feel better.”

His abrupt about-face stole your attention back immediately, his boots scraping across the cold stone as he drug his feet toward the grass and stooped over. His helmet hit the lawn with a thud, dark hair disappearing entirely as his hands fell to his knees and his chin hung to his chest.

The shift in his demeanor froze your breath in your lungs, his derailment such a surprise that even attempting to locate a consoling word amongst your own tornadic thoughts was feat proven impossible. A sigh left your nose, the biting chill of the breeze turning your exasperation to cloud as your fingers drummed indecisively against the soft cotton of your sweater. The urge to barrel into the darkness and wrap your arms around those sagging shoulders was near-irrepressible, yet doing so would communicate a message you weren’t entirely certain you wanted to send in this already tense moment. You swallowed heavily, confusion sending your thumbnail back between your teeth as you maintained your position behind the door, resignedly averting your eyes from the discomfited sight of a man completely defeated.

“I missed it…” he breathed, standing upright and turning back toward you, his lips pressed tightly together in a disappointed grimace. “I can’t believe that. I— I thought I had time.”

You fought against every ounce of sympathy surging through your veins. You simply did not want to feel bad for him; that wandering pariah had dangled happiness in front of your nose only to snatch it away one too many times to warrant feeling slighted in this moment.

A shiver stole down your spine as you reached blindly for the door handle and began to close the door. Triggered by the squeak of the hinges, his gaze darted toward you, the torment behind those darkened eyes intensifying as your figure slowly disappeared behind that steel barrier again. But his crestfallen frame was hidden from you for only a moment as, against your better judgement, you disengaged the chain from the door and pulled it wide.

“We always think we have time,” you grumbled, leaning against the door frame and perching one cold foot on top of the other. “Until someone we love vanishes, and we’re left with nothing but pieces of ourselves and no desire to reassemble them.”

He took a selfish moment to breathe in your appearance, eyes shifting from your head to your toes, lingering for a fraction of a second on that soft bump still protruding underneath your clothes. You hurried to fold your arms across your chest again, the abrupt exposure to both his eyes and the cold sending another sending your shoulders ashiver again.

“I know the feeling…”

It was barely audible. Had you not been near-glaring at him as he spoke, those whispered words would have simply wafted away with the cold breeze, yet the way his jaw clenched as he trod eagerly back toward you had rendered you more immobile than the horrid implications of his passive statement, and you stood rooted to the spot as he reached to cradle your elbows with his palms.

“Mesh’la,” he beseeched. “I’m sorry about a lot of things. But kriff, it kills me that you went through that alone.”

“Almost killed me too if I’m being honest,” you groused, jerking your arms from the tenderness of his touch. “For making an early entrance, he sure put up a fight on the way out.”

“He?”

‘Maker, have mercy,’ you grumbled inwardly, instantly aware of your second monstrous mistake. As you hurried to shield your face with your hands, he intercepted your need for a moment's separation by enclosing your fingers with his and holding them tightly.

“Please, love,” Kix begged. “Please, let me in. There’s so much to sa—”

“I don’t have it in me for another one sided conversation, Kix,” you interrupted dispiritedly, attempting to snatch your hands from that devastatingly familiar grip. “I did that for years and you fled every single one of them. I’m too tired—”

“I won’t run this time,” Kix urged, letting your hands tear away from his before hastening to gently drape them around your elbows again. “I’m done running. I promise. Once I can say what I’ve been meaning to say, we can stay up for a week straight and talk. Or— or I’ll get back on the bike and leave if that’s what you really want. I’ll do anything, Mesh’la. Please.”

The glorified return of his touch to your body both wilted and unnerved you; the urge to simply fall into him and let those strong arms carry your weary self to bed was strikingly dominant despite the deep-seated resentment that you undeniably still harboured for the reticent pirate.

“Fine,” you hissed, not waiting to gauge his reaction before turning on your heel and climbing gingerly back up that handful of stairs, leaving him to cross the threshold and kick his boots off alone.

Your frigid feet took you on a direct path to the caf machine, desperate for that glorious nectar to reinvigorate your languid senses and grant you something near an open mind so Kix’s pertinent apology wasn’t just a minute wasted as it wafted through your exhausted and cautious ears. By the time you returned from the living room, tucking the baby monitor under your arm and reaching for its charging cord on the table, Kix was stepping apprehensively into the kitchen, crinkled eyes scanning the surroundings that he hadn’t seen in the better part of a year.

“Help yourself,” you muttered, gesturing sightlessly toward the gurgling caf machine.

“Thank you,” he answered politely, pulling a pair of mugs from the cabinet beside the window.

Resolute in reserving the offering of any niceties until after this allegedly imperative explanation, you ignored his every movement, plugging the baby monitor into charge as noisily as possible, clunking it down heavily onto the table in front of you and flinging the cord around while he poured two mugs of caf. You refused him even a glance as he crossed the kitchen and placed the first of the steaming cups on the table in front of you, the only offering of thanks was a quick compression of your lips.

Perhaps sensing the intentional disconnect, Kix perched himself against the counter in front of the sink across the room, bringing one ankle over the other and wreathing the green ceramic mug he’d chosen for himself in those gloved hands. He watched you silently as you snatched an ice pack from the freezer and limped back toward the table, repressing a wince as you lowered yourself onto the seat of a rickety old wooden chair, immediately wedging the icy addition into place and begging the stars that it provide you some semblance of relief.

“Why does it sound like you always had plans to come back here?” you asked him coldly, hoping the bite in your words would eradicate the worry in his eyes as he watched you struggle for comfort. “Would have been nice to be included in that secret.”

“I know,” he said, banishing his mug to the countertop so he could lean backwards on his hands. “You’re a smart woman, Mesh’la, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that I ran out of here more scared than I ever have been in my life. I… it’s been a long time since the idea of fatherhood crossed my mind. So much has happened… it— I didn’t think it would ever be on the table for me.”

Your petulant scoff captured his attention from his toes immediately, his crinkled eyes affixing on you again. “I know it means nothing now, but the second I left here, I wanted to come back. I felt sick the second I turned that bike on, and the entire drive back into the village I kept pulling over and… and telling myself to just turn around. But I’m a smart guy too, and it wasn’t lost on me what I’d just done to you. I couldn’t get the look on your face out of my head, and… and part of me knew I’d just completely broken what little trust you had left in me. So I kept going.

“Ithano could tell something was wrong, and he wouldn’t let up until I told him, but by the time I could bring myself to physically say the words, we were already at the other end of the galaxy. I’ve— I’ve seen him pissed off before, but never like that. He called me an “excuse of a man”; told me that no one in their right mind would pass up the chance for safety and a family; that you were a gift from the stars to make up for all the shit I’ve been through, and I was just throwing you away because I couldn’t see past my own volatility. And, maker, did that make me sick… because I knew it was true. By the time the suns came up the next day, I’d made my decision. I told him I needed some time to square up some old debts, and then I was done. He said he’d help me clean up every mess I’ve left on every planet, and get me ready to wash my hands of the nomad life. So… that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve been from one end of the galaxy to the other making sure my name is clear so I could come back here and…”

His voice trailed away to silence, his ashamed gaze dropping back to his toes as you fought to ruminate his words.

The confession was profoundly altering, and while taking your weight from your feet had somewhat loosened the grip of that iron fist around your gut, a large portion of your already dwindling lucidity had been abruptly stolen from you by the stunning implications of his explanation. In the wake of his last, harrowing departure, you’d found solace in utterly villainizing him; pretending that he’d laughed maniacally as he drove away, convinced yourself that he’d find another woman somewhere in the village to use as a means to forget you and the hell he’d bestowed upon you. But despite wanting, with every cell in your body, to despise the olive skinned, peripatetic man that had stolen your heart, there wasn’t even the ghost of a villain hiding behind those features.

And then there was the excuse itself… no, the explanation. Despite having never met you, Ithano had always been in your corner; Kix had expressed on countless occasions that the leader of his crew would like nothing more than for the bereft man from the lost-and-found to plant roots somewhere and leave the hand-to-mouth life behind him. Claiming that he was simply too disoriented by his past and the ghosts that haunted his every step, Kix had adamantly refused the sedentary life, yet had never quite been able or willing to let you go. If this story had validity, and there was something about the way his eyes pleaded for your understanding, was it enough to diminish the hurt he’d left you with?

“The bruises?” you asked him solemnly, gesturing with a small lift of the finger to the discolouration peeking out from the wild expanse of his beard.

“Just a… parting transaction… that didn’t go as smoothly as intended,” he admitted, reaching for his caf again and bringing it slowly to his lips. “Took a little extra effort, but it’s done.”

Your molars clicked as they ground together, fingers drumming thoughtlessly atop the knot in that old wood table as you absently rubbed the pad of your thumb along the spot where the varnish had worn away. “You could have told me, Kix,” you exhorted.

“I should have,” he corrected. “And it would have been lightyears better than radio silence, especially after how I left you, but I knew how upset you were… and I didn’t want to add any worry on top of everything else. And I did have every intention of being back here by the end of the year so I could be with you when the baby was born but… little guy beat me here, I guess.”

You could feel his surveying gaze from across the kitchen, seemingly uncertain if the correct thing to do would be to let you process the information, or to continue his reasoning lest you suddenly get up and extract your pistol from the nightstand. Periodic slurps were the only interruption to that suffocating silence as you aimlessly took sip after sip of caf, sighing periodically as you blindly watched the newborn sleep happily in his cozy bassinet.

“An apology will never be enough,” he continued quietly after clearing his throat. “I know that. And I could spend every second for the rest of my life uttering those words, but they’ll never mean as much as I need them to mean.”

It wasn’t until he pushed himself away from the counter and approached your seat that you offered him a glance, and when he was near enough to reach you, he pulled your hand from your mouth and swaddled it with his own, dropping to a knee in front of your chair and looking directly into your eyes.

“I am so sorry,” he repented. “I’m sorry for every time I’ve walked out on you. I’m sorry for not instantly giving you every bit of love and commitment that you’ve always deserved. You’ve been nothing but supportive, and I’ve been nothing but dismissive. I’ll tell you everything… all about my past, my family, where I’m from, what I’ve done, who I am. I promise I won’t waste another second of your time making you feel unworthy or unwanted, because Mesh’la— you are neither.”

A sob escaped your lips as your eyes clamped closed, forcing a tear to cascade down your cheek. He dropped your hand immediately and moved to delicately cup your jaw, brushing the wetness from your skin with a soft swipe from the pad of his calloused thumb. “You’ll never be able to hate me as much as I hate myself for what I’ve done to you,” he whispered. “But I’m going to work on regaining your tr—”

“I don’t hate you,” you choked thickly as another tear slipped from your overflowing lids. “But I wish I did. I’ve wanted to hate you for years but I just can’t, Kix.”

“Good,” he nearly laughed, chasing away the stray tear. “Then love me. Keep loving me like you always have because it’s making me the man I should be and I’m done fighting it. I’m ready. It’s unexpected and unbelievable and I know that, but just trust me one last time and I’ll prov—”

A shrill, choked cry echoed around the kitchen, the indicator light on the monitor flashing a series of red and orange to alert you that some sort of commotion was issuing loudly from two rooms over. You hastily swallowed the sob still perched in your throat and snatched the device off the table, watching your baby boy’s mouth spread wide in a wail that could only mean his butt was wet and his belly was empty.

“I have to get him,” you choked, pulling your face from his clutches and wiping your nose quickly on your sleeve. “I’ll be back. Just… I don’t know… take your armour off or something.”

He nodded faintly, eyes affixed on the monitor as you placed it back down on the table and stood. He took the ice pack from you blindly, placing it on the table as you strode around him and left the room.

In the dozen or so minutes required to collect the baby, change his diaper, and redress him in a warmer onesie, Kix had take your sage advice and shed his rigid exterior, the kit now stacked neatly on the chair in the living room, while his broad frame paced anxiously around the kitchen. His apprehension was immediately apparent by his incessant fidgeting; his arms swinging madly by his side, each pendulous swing of his hands triggering a snap of his fingers while his feet carried him thoughtlessly from fridge to stove, and back again.

You paused in the hallway and watched him take several deep controlled breaths, pausing in his cadence for a quiet moment before shaking his head and resuming his fervent soothing, but at the first sign of your return, his ministrations ceased entirely, fingers frozen and poised mid snap while his shoulders squared in anticipation.

“That’s— that’s him?” he asked foolishly as you entered through the open doorway, gently rocking the cooing baby swaddled loosely in your arms. “That’s my son?” The sudden surge of potent reality fractured his voice, and he hastened to cover his trembling lip with a bare hand.

“Mhmm,” you answered with a small nod. “Do— do you want to feed him?”

He held his hand in place over his mouth, wide eyes darting upwards to yours with a look of unadulterated trepidation. Your lips had barely parted to retract the offer, poised to reassure him that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, when Kix’s pallid face nodded.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, taking the remaining few steps across the kitchen until you were nearly chest to chest. “Turns out the whole ‘parent’ thing comes pretty naturally. Just be very, very gentle, and make sure you cradle his hea—”

“Cradle his head,” Kix breathed, extending his arms towards you. “I know. I mean— I remember. I learned it so long ago, but…”

His sentiments waned to silence as you placed the baby in his arms and stepped away, hesitating for only a moment to see if the unnatural hold or foreign aroma might trigger a tantrum, but the boy remained placid and observant in his father’s arms, so you turned to pull a prepared bottle from the fridge.

As if instinctively, Kix’s broad shoulders began to sway gently from side to side, guided by the gentle shifts of his hips while soft shushes issued from his lips. It wasn’t until a sniffle met your ears did you realize that the gruff pirate had been utterly robbed of his composure by the innocent boy in his arms. You lingered as long as you could manage in the fridge, hands needlessly shifting items around the shelves in an effort to offer the pair a moment of privacy. Several softly spoken “Hi little man” ’s pulled a smile to your face as you finally closed the fridge and reached to retrieve the kettle from the stove, filling it with enough water to boil.

By the time you’d filled an oversized mug with hot water and placed the bottle inside to heat, he’d begun softly humming the tune of an unfamiliar song, gazing glassy-eyed into his arms.

“Never heard that one,” you mumbled through a smirk.

He turned as if surprised to see you, as if the rest of the world had simply vanished into nothingness once his baby had entered his embrace, and you were quick to raise your eyebrows at the unintentional fracture of his stupor. And then… he smiled. The first smile you’d seen adorn that handsome face in months, and you were instantly sure that way it robbed you of breath had cast a bashful look across your face nearly identical to his.

“It’s an old Mando’a tune,” he admitted, as the lingering embarrassment of being caught mid-vulnerability flushed what was available of his bruised cheeks. “I’m surprised I remember it, honestly.”

You nodded gently and reached for the bottle, upturning it and placing a small droplet of the liquid on your wrist to gauge the temperature. “So… what exactly was your plan then?” you asked as you wiped the milk from your skin.

Kix stopped humming and glanced back at you, the first signs of anxiety reemerging behind his eyes and robbing his features of the bliss they’d welcomed upon cradling the baby. “Well…” he started after a heavy swallow. “I was hoping I could come home and… and stay. If you’ll still have me?”

You sighed and placed the bottle back in the water, immediately dropping your gaze to your thumbnail so you could continue its absentminded destruction. You, truthfully, weren’t entirely convinced of his intentions. While you deemed large parts of his story to be genuine, and while you could not deny the plea in his eyes as he cradled your face with his hands and confessed his devotion, the sting of his past mistakes, regardless of his planned atonement, was an injury that you were confident may never fully heal. You loved him with your entire heart, this had never been in question, but how much could you trust him going forward, and how patient was he willing to be while you two rebuilt the previously precarious relationship?

“Well… we’d definitely have to start things slow because I already feel like I’m pouring from an empty cup,” you admitted shamefully. “But, pending you can communicate as well as you say you’re going to, I think I’d be okay with trying.”

“I’m good with slow,” he answered instantly, dark eyes alight with that familiar, ravishing twinkle. “I’ll sleep on the couch… and— and give you whatever space you need.”

You nodded, nibbling on your bottom lip in an effort to withhold the smile attempting to dome your cheeks. “But unfortunately,” you admonished, feigning seriousness, “I no longer run this kriffing house, so… you’ll have to get Jesse’s permission too.”

You pursed your lips together as tightly as you could, funnelling every effort into suppressing the coy and exposing grin attempting to peel across your face as you waited for understanding to dawn on the love-struck pirate still swaying happily in the center of the room, yet he met your smile with nothing but a cocked brow and a grimace of confusion. “Ask Jesse,” you repeated, pointing toward the gurgling bundle in his arms.

You watched with glee as realization widened his eyes and parted his lips.

“Jesse.”

It was little more than a whisper, an exalted comprehension having nearly robbed him of his voice. Something near a strangled sob escaped his lips as he tipped his head backward and gazed listlessly at the ceiling, a pair of tears trailing from the corners of his eyes and leaking downward into that dark beard.

“Well,” you pressed, dabbing at your eyes with your sleeve. “Go on. Ask him.”

“What do you think, little man?” Kix choked to the infant, gently prodding at the wide nose that almost perfectly mirrored his own. “Want to hang out with me for life?”

A single, pudgy hand emerged from the depths of that soft knitted blanket, wrapping itself around the tip of Kix’s battle worn finger and clamping it tightly.

***

You woke with a gasp, the true horror of the situation immediately apparent through your narrowed and crusted eyelids. It was much too bright; there was simply too much sunlight pouring in from the window beside the bed for only a few hours to have passed since you put the baby in his crib and stumbled wearily across the hall into bed.

Wrenching the blankets off, you threw yourself to a standing position and dashed from the room, panic erupting in your chest as your bare feet trod frantically toward the nursery. Why was Jesse not screaming? He was surely starving, surely had a wet diaper, surely needed someone to hold him and gently pat the air that had accumulated in that tiny tummy?

But the crib was empty, the blanket you’d wrapped him in the previous night tossed haphazardly across the changing pad on the adjacent table. You sprinted from the room again and hurried down the hallway toward the living room, eyes narrowed against the near-painful onslaught of daylight beaming in through the open curtains. The couch was just as barren as the crib, Kix’s donated pillow and blanket folded neatly and perched on the sofa’s arm, the soldier nowhere to be found.

The unmistakable smell of freshly brewed caf met your nose as you stumbled into the kitchen, but the typically heavenly gurgling sound of the machine brewing a whole pot of that glorious dark liquid was smothered by the panic pounding in your ears.

“…he was that kinda guy, you know?…”

You froze in the threshold of the dining room.

“…he always knew what we needed to hear when things got really rough. He was a man of few words, but everything he said we took right to heart.”

Kix’s voice wafted in through the patio door; the shockingly warm fall breeze surging fresh air through your home and sending those white linen curtains dancing in the sunlight. You crossed the room and pressed your ear to the crack in the doorway, letting the breeze brush the hair from your shoulders.

“I know I’m biased, but I really think he was the best Captain in the whole GAR. I would have died for him. I would have died for any of th—”

The patio door squeaked in its track as you slid it open and stepped out onto the back deck, the interruption halting him mid sentence and stealing his attention immediately. But his surprise was nothing near yours. You stopped in your tracks, mouth falling open at the unexpected sight in front of you.

That surging panic and dread evaporated from your mind as Kix looked innocently at you, the lagging sweep of dark lashes over his eyes appeared in slow motion as you fought and failed to process his appearance. The beard was… gone, his smile exponentially more apparent now that it wasn’t utterly shrouded by an expanse of wiry black hair. His hair had been neatly cropped and pushed backward off his face, the clean cut of his hairline clear evidence that years without holding a trimmer had dulled none of his hidden barbering abilities.

“There’s mama,” he gasped quietly through a dazzling grin, shifting the baby in his arms to face you. “Give her one of those big gummy smiles so she isn’t mad that we let her sleep in.”

“Kix,” you whispered, still momentarily dumbfounded by the unexpected youthfulness imbued in all his features. “You— I’m not mad, but… but Jesse needs to eat every couple hours. You can’t just let me sleep through feeding—”

“I did it,” Kix answered with a shrug, thoughtlessly running a palm along his shaven chin.

“You did it?” you repeated, mouth falling open.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “He started doing the hungry tongue thing just after you went to bed, so I heated up a bottle. Then again a few hours later. Maker, can this guy ever burp.”

“You… you did both feedings?” you whispered.

“Yup,” Kix chuckled, patting the seat of the identical chair next to his. “And he went right to sleep after both. Falls into food coma’s like his dad. Though, I’ve been lucky enough to never shit myself after.”

You exhaled the panic from your lungs and took a seat next to him, tipping your head back against the headrest and letting the impossibly warm autumn sun wash the tension from your features. It wasn’t until a calloused hand came to rest gently on your knee did you reaffix him with your attention.

“I’m sorry, Mesh’la…” he lamented, squeezing your leg. “I hope I didn’t scare you. I just wanted to let you get some sleep. I imagine you probably haven’t gotten much lately.”

“You can say that again,” you answered with a forced chuckle, lifting your hands to pull the dried bits of sleep from the corners of your eyes.

“You’ve done so much on your own…” Kix continued sadly, retrieving his hand from your leg to tenderly shift the blanket away from Jesse’s chin. “Well… you’ve done everything on your own. But that’s done now.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked over at him, trying to keep the skepticism from your eyes.

“Go get yourself a caf, and then tell me if you’re ready,” he spoke, gesturing with a flick of the head back toward the kitchen while gently and rhythmically patting the baby’s bum and beginning to slowly rock his chair.

“If I’m ready?” you repeated, cocking an eyebrow and shifting your weight onto the armrest closest to him so you could watch Jesse fall back asleep. “For what?”

“To know everything.”

And the way his gaze bore into yours so deeply, had any ounce of skepticism pushed to the perimeter of your mind; the way his eyes glimmered with light as they wordlessly promised you the truth, promised that nothing would change in those fleeting seconds it would take you to pour yourself a caf.

“And if you change your mind?” you mumbled, refusing to avert your eyes from his.

“I won’t, Cyare. Those days are done. My mind isn’t changing. Go… and then I’ll tell you all about CT-6116. About Kamino… the clones… the war… my brothers… Jesse… Rex… Fives. All of them. Everything."

***

“Dadddd! Where’s Jesse?”

Kix snorted as he flicked the last of the soap suds off the tips of his fingers and dried them on the dish towel. “He’s in the orchard, picking apples with your mom,” he chuckled, placing the now cleaned and dried mug carefully on the mug tree. “Remember the fit you threw when you realized they left without you?”

“Ughhhh, no!” Rex grumbled at his fathers seemingly deliberate stupidity. “I meant uncle Jesse. Where is he?”

Kix hesitated, the smile slipping from his lips as his eyes unfocused into the depths of the sink. “You know where he is, buddy,” he answered, looking over his shoulder at his youngest. “He’s in the stars with Uncle Rex… with all of my brothers.”

“But why did they go up there?”

“Well…” Kix started slowly. “They had to go. The stars needed their help brightening the galaxy.”

“So then they was super smart?” his son asked, mouth gaping in awe.

“Definitely super smart,” Kix repeated with a grin. “And super brave, super loyal, super funny…”

“Do you ever miss ‘em?”

Kix paused again and sighed heavily, attempting to conceal the pain that furrowed his brow whenever his brothers were unexpectedly mentioned. “Everyday,” he nodded. “But I can see them at night when I look at the sky. The brightest stars are the ones powered by people we love.”

“So I could see ‘em too?!”

“Sure you can. You and I can climb up on the roof later and we’ll say hello. Jesse and ‘Soka can come too if they wan—.”

“No!” the little blonde boy argued instantly. “No, dad. Just you and me…”

“Okay,” Kix nodded with a smile. “Just you and me. But, Rex… you have to wear your coat this time or your mom will give us both timeouts. Deal?”

“Deal!” The little boy sprinted from the kitchen without another word, dashing out into the backyard where Soka was hanging by her legs from a tree. You appeared through the tree line just to the right, Jesse standing nearly as tall you were, shoulders carrying overflowing baskets of apples while you buffed one on your apron and laughed about something.

And another sigh stole from that aging pirates lips as he leaned forward onto the counter and watched you, wondering what he’d ever done to deserve such happiness.

tag list: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @starrylothcat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @dystopicjumpsuit @freesia-writes @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinedaydream @clonemedickix @drafthorsemath @jediknightjana @moonlightwarriorqueen @starstofillmydream @mooncommlink @multi-fan-dom-madness @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @clonethirstingisreal @rabbitstu99 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis

**if you are on my taglist and we’re not tagged, it’s because you’ve indicated that angst is a no for you.

#starqueenswrittenworks #pirate!Kix x Fem!reader #post stassis!Kix x Fem!reader #x reader #reader insert #clone wars fanfic #tcw fanfic #clone wars fanfiction #TW: mentions of labour #TW: mentions of pregnancy

15 notes · View notes

zombryz · 1 year

Text

♡ all my suffering ♡ chapter 4

˗ˏˋ hello ˎˊ˗

Chapter Four

Pairings: Shigaraki x f!reader x Dabi

A/N: Hello my friends! First of all, thank you for reading this far and I appreciate all the support :) Enjoy the 4th chapter! Also, FYI - I do have the ending planned out so I'm not writing the plot of the story as we go, but lets just say this is elevated porn with plot (sorry). I just enjoy writing action scenes... let me know if its not very entertaining and I can cut it back some.

Warnings: Specific to this chapter - blood, lots of blood, Sexual assault, angst, abuse (physical and emotional), possessiveness, slowburn progression, TW for Overhaul in general (Idk why I hate him lol)

Word Count: 7k

You left Dabi sleeping on the mattress as you quickly followed Shigaraki out of the garden shed, adjusting your T-shirt and smoothing out your hair. The last thing you wanted was to make him more annoyed with you. This walk of shame was going to suck. Shigaraki was standing next to his Nomu, facing the woods in the direction of the house, waiting for you as you dove beneath the same wooden panel as the previous night. Shigaraki was standing there with his arms crossed. You were embarrassed and concerned about his sudden stoicism. Your cheeks turned scarlet as you purposefully waited to speak first. Since you first saw him, months ago now, his light blue hair has gradually grown longer. Now it was almost past his shoulders and was blowing slightly in the wind. You really took in his looks under the morning sun, admiring how his arms looked in the black shirt he was wearing.

“Tch,” he begins without looking back at you, “you’re going to have to change before I hand you over.” He states this nonchalantly, his voice extremely monotone.

“I-I know. I’m sorry,” your voice cracks from using it for the first time that morning; suddenly very nervous to be in his presence, “I’ll be quick.”

“Good.” He left it at that before walking toward the house ahead of you, his nomu in tow.

Once you got back to the house, you quickly changed into your hero costume. Villain Costume? Oh, you didn’t even know anymore. There were still rips from where you were captured that night months ago. Eventually, you’ll have to consider getting a replacement or at least a patch up. You sighed heavily as you equipped your knives to your thighs. What even happened last night? You slept with Dabi; you remember now. Your face heats up thinking about his face in between your thighs. What does that mean for you? Did you like him? Did he like you? Suddenly, your brain goes back to your walk back to the house with Shigaraki. He didn’t say anything else to you. The tension was thick in the air. He didn’t even prepare you for your job with Overhaul, which seems like something he should’ve done. Or maybe you should’ve asked him. It’s too late now. You’ll just have to ask Toga.

A big, blacked-out van comes to pick you up, along with Toga and Twice. The two of them were giddy and happy about having a job that could finally contribute to the group. They spent the ride talking and playing rock, paper, scissors. You, however, were stuck in your head thinking about Dabi and how you didn’t say goodbye to him in your rush to chase after Shigaraki that morning. You hoped he would understand why you left so quickly. Heck, he’s a hot villain, so you were sure he probably slept with loads of girls in the past, and they were probably all one-night stands. He didn’t seem like the relationship type, and he definitely knew what he was doing in bed. The thought made your stomach sink—thinking about him sleeping with tons of other girls. With that, you pulled up to your destination and were pulled from your thoughts. Thank god.

As the three of you exited the van, you saw him. You didn’t even realize how much pent-up anger you still had for the man standing only a few feet in front of you now. Your brows furrowed in anger like those of an untrusting dog ready to attack. Twice felt your energy and put his arm in front of your body, prepared to hold you back if necessary. Overhaul was surrounded by his men, who were polished and wearing black suits and ties. They looked like hit men, and that's probably exactly what they did for work. “It’s okay, Y/N.” Twice whispered to try and console you. You hadn’t even noticed your knuckles whitening as you brought your hand down to one of your knives.

“Welcome, my League of Villains associates,” he started. His hands were behind his back, and he still spoke through that dumb fucking mask that he always wore. At least Shigaraki’s was scary. Overhaul’s just made him look like a tall, man bird. You truly hated him. He noticed right away that your hateful eyes were fixed on him. “Y/N, I hear you’re this group’s team leader.” He speaks directly to you now, a small smirk on his lips.

You had no clue what he was talking about considering Shigaraki didn’t really brief you that morning, but you weren’t going to let Overhaul get the upper hand here. “Yeah, I am,” you say, feeling the haste on your tongue as you suck in through your teeth.

“Good, follow me,” he turned away, signaling for you to follow him with the wave of his hand. “The other two can go with my men here.” You were suddenly worried and didn’t want to be separated from Toga and Twice. Overhaul was not someone you could see yourself ever trusting. It's a shame, but he got on your shit list the day he killed Magne. Twice pulled his arm away from you, and Toga shot you a sympathetic smile. You followed him inside, down an elevator, and through hallway after hallway. Left, right, and right again, you tried to remember your exit plan while he was leading you, but all the walls looked the same—gray, boring, and without windows since you were underground. Great.

You arrived at a room that had the appearance of a guest room. The bedsheets were done up like a hotel, and there was a small side table with a lamp next to it. A small TV sat in the corner of the room. The walls were just as gray in the room as they were in the hall. You frowned at the sight. “Is this where I’ll be staying?” You spoke up before Overhaul had the chance to even give you a tour of your home for the week.

“Yeah, it i-”

You cut him off once more: “Where are Toga and Twice going to be staying?” You interjected, crossing your arms and not giving a damn that he was still speaking.

“They’ll be in the two rooms next to yours.” He gestures to the rooms behind you with a tilt of his chin. You stay quiet this time. Not really having much else to say to him, hoping this conversation would be over soon. He pauses for a long moment, unsure if you were going to speak up again. He takes a moment to take you in. This was the closest he’s ever been to you. The girl who managed to make him bleed, he thought. What an interesting specimen you were. He thought you were pretty and had an aura that made you frightening. You were a mystery to him, and he wanted to know why Shigaraki wouldn’t exactly give you up as easily as he did the others.

“Are we done?” You interrupt his thoughts. Not sure why you’re still having this awkward conversation.

“You’re kind of feisty, aren’t you?” He chuckles softly. It was definitely not a noise you expected him to make.

“Only with people I have no interest in speaking with.” You crossed your arms this time; this action made his eyes fix on your side, and then his eyes slowly trailed down to your legs, examining your bodysuit. It was filled with holes and rips from your previous fights. He didn’t like how unkempt it was.

“I’ll have my team get you a new suit.” He ignores your previous comment. His eyes move back up to yours, and suddenly you feel small. You don’t let go of your false confidence, though, as he continues to stare you down. “Before we talk about why you’re here, are you hungry?” Now that you thought about it, you were starving. Shigaraki barely kept food on the table for the league; it was usually everyone for themselves, so you don’t remember the last time you had something to eat that wasn’t stolen. You must have lost about 10 pounds since joining the league. Actually, a lot of the members were kind of scrawny. This thought made you sad. All you could do was nod and Overhaul once again lead you through the hallways of the yakuza stronghold.

When you came across a small kitchen in one of the big rooms underground, you saw a few random men seated at one of the tables, but upon seeing Overhaul, they got up and left. He grabbed a sandwich from the fridge and handed it to you before grabbing a water bottle and leading you over to one of the tables. You both take a seat, and you are skeptical for a moment but reluctantly take the two items from him anyway.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you ask while scarfing down the sandwich he gave you. Maybe you should be more worried about him possibly poisoning you, but you weren’t sure that you cared considering how good the sandwich was. Overhaul sat across from you and you shifted uncomfortably as the metal table touched your bare skin where the giant hole resided in your suit. He had taken off his mask and placed it on the table so that he could eat as well, and you still weren’t sure why he even wore the stupid thing. Maybe to keep up the scary morale? Who knows. He was kind of like Shigaraki, but they were more mirror images of each other. The opposite, if you will. It was kind of weird how you felt like you were having deja vu. Your eyebrows were still furrowed in anger. You were starting to think they would permanently be like that around him, although he was being nice for the time being. You still hated him, and before anything else, you didn’t trust him. “You should hate me like I hate you,” you added bluntly before taking another bite of your food.

“Why would I hate you?” He chuckled once more. This time you looked at him, and your brows softened ever so slightly. You could finally see his smile without his mask. Overhaul certainly wasn’t ugly. He would probably be classified as a pretty boy to other people. You feel like Toga might like him if she were here. He had dark and alluring eyes with long bottom and top eyelashes. He had a beauty mark under his eye that just added to his pretty features.

“Well, for starters, I did that to you.” You sat up a little and pointed with your sandwich at the big scar on his wrist; it had barely healed. You honestly weren’t even sure if he realized it was you who threw the knife at him. Everything happened so quickly that, for all you knew, he didn’t see who threw it.

“Yeah, you’re a pretty good shot,” he smiles lowly before looking up into your eyes through his lashes. He takes a bite of his food and doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“I don’t know about that; I was aiming for your head.” You looked away from him. A small smirk escapes your lips.

His expression was calm as he chuckled at your words again. A full-on smile was plastered on his face this time. What’s with this guy?

“I took your friend’s life and your other friend's arm,” he says casually, shifting the conversation back to a serious tone. The anger bubbles up in you once more as you remember that day. “I’m sorry.”

What? He’s apologizing? You admit that you did not see that coming. Was he just trying to get on your good side? Was he trying to recruit you? Something felt off. You still didn’t trust him.

“Don’t get it twisted. I am still going to kill you if I get the chance.” You frown. “For Magne,” you state coldly.

His expression doesn’t falter. Instead, he shifts in his seat to put his hands under his chin, resting his elbows on the table. He understands that your relationship wasn’t going to heal in a day.

“You work for me now,” he pauses. “Well, for this week at least. Unless I can convince Shigaraki to fully hand you over to me.” He starts speaking business, and your ears perk up. “I don’t know if that will ever happen, though; you’re very special to him.” You freeze at his words. Why? Special? After a moment, you realize he probably meant because of your quirk. That had to be it, right? He continues, “We received intel that it's possible that at some point this week the hero society will try to infiltrate our base,” your eyes widen.

“W-What? Is that why we’re here? Does Shigaraki know?” Your voice betraying you and coming out a bit strange as you speak through your anxiety. That meant that you might see some of your old hero friends. You were not ready for this at all.

“Hey, don’t worry. I’m not planning on having you on the battle front. Your sole responsibility is to heal my men if they are injured in the fight.” He notices the concern in your face and says, “Plus, this is a stronghold; we’ve held up down here for almost a century.” His words console you. You take a deep breath in.

“Okay,” you reply with more certainty in your voice this time. You want to ask him why they don’t relocate, but remember quickly that he said they’ve been down there for almost a century. You didn’t really think to ask what the Hassaikai did for the hero society to try to infiltrate them. You’ll come to realize that you wish you had asked. “And for the record, Shigaraki doesn’t own me. I can make my own decisions about who I work for.” Overhaul smiles at your sudden blurt.

♡

The next morning, you stirred awake with wide eyes at the realization that someone's arms were wrapped around your waist. Their face was plastered to your back, and they were snoring softly. You almost panicked before you looked down and saw Toga's delicate fingers holding on to your shirt. She was such a sweetheart; you had grown to love her like a sister these past few months. You suddenly hear more snoring coming from your floor; this time it sounded more manly. You slowly roll toward the edge of the bed and see Twice laying on the floor with a pillow and a blanket. His face was half-wrapped with a piece of silk, and his blonde hair was messily sprawled on the pillow. Cute. Overhaul’s men had given you each a set of dark gray scrubs to sleep in, so you were all matching. It almost felt like you were in jail, but you admit it felt good to eat real food and sleep in a real bed for once. It was cute that the two other members didn’t want to sleep alone. You didn’t blame them at all.

Toga had started to wake up, and you felt bad for moving around so much. You turned toward her and rubbed a small circle on her cheek and whispered, “Go back to sleep; it’s okay.” She nodded with her eyes closed and turned over in bed. The league really was like the family you never had. As you got out of bed, you quietly stepped over Twice and walked out of the room. To your surprise, one of Overhaul's men was posted just outside and turned to look at you as you jumped a little. It's good to know he didn’t trust you either.

“I have instructions to bring you to the boss once you’re awake.” You groan, already irritated. He had a mask on that was similar to Overhaul’s and carried a machine gun in his arms. Did he really think you guys were that dangerous?

“What time is it anyway?” you ask the masked stranger as he radios his replacement. Another masked man comes running down the hall to stand guard over Toga and Twice. If you had known this would be a whole thing, you would’ve just woken them up too.

“It’s almost 5 a.m.,” he answered gruffly.

“Is Overhaul even awake yet?” Your eyebrows raised; you were a little confused by all this but followed the man anyways.

“Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

You follow the man down some halls to the elevator that brought you down before. He swiped his keycard and clicked level 5. You noticed you were on level 7 currently. Damn, you suddenly remembered just how deep underground you were. The thought makes you nauseous. You walk down the hall and see a few other men wearing the same uniform as your guide. All of them have guns. It felt darker on this floor for some reason. The walls must be a darker shade of gray. Once you arrive at what you assume is where Overhaul is, you watch as your guide whispers something to the two men posted outside the door and then brings his arm up to lightly knock on the double doors. You hear something inside and then a “Come in.”

Your guide pushes you inside and closes the door behind you. Okay? Rude. You look around the room, but it's pretty dark, so you can only make out shapes that resemble a bedroom with lots of furniture. Suddenly, the room is illuminated with the sound of a clap that makes you jump a little. It was still kind of dark; only the corners of the room were lit up with a comfortable, warm light. You let your eyes adjust and looked around you. The room was massive and filled with furniture that you only saw in the homes of top heroes. There was a fireplace to the left, along with a huge shag rug. To your right was a kitchen and living room combo with marbled countertops and a massive flat screen that came out of the wall. The couch looked like a cloud and was big, white, and fluffy. On top of that, everything was pristine. The floors were marbled black and looked like they had never seen a speck of dust. You allowed your wanderlust to get the best of you, and your eyes snapped back to the center of the room, where you noticed an all-black king bed with silk sheets and a beautiful stone backwall. On the bed was Overhaul, who sat up leaning on one of his hands while the other rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He was shirtless, and the silk sheets fell to his hips. You were suddenly embarrassed and didn’t expect him to be so ripped. His night sweat was glistening in between his pecs. You diverted your eyes and placed your arms behind your back, feeling awkward. A sudden redness made its way to your cheeks; you weren’t sure how to feel in this moment. Instead of the anger that usually spreads across your face when in his presence, this time you had a look of shock and nervousness.

“I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect you to be up so early; maybe I should’ve told my men to just make you go back to sleep instead of bringing you here.” His morning voice is deep and raspy, making you squirm even more.

“I-I’m sorry, I can go,” you start towards the door. Your voice is small and far.

“No, it’s okay,” he starts, uncovering himself as he gets out of bed. “You’re already here; we can start the day.” He stands up and stretches, showing off more of his body unintentionally. His pants were dangerously low, and you couldn’t help but stare at him. Damn it. He sucks. You can’t be thinking about him like that.

“Um, okay, sure,” your voice cracks slightly.

“I actually have something for you,” he walks over to his kitchen as your eyes follow him. His back is equally toned. You have got to pull it together. “Here, I had them rush this, and we got lucky; they had one already in the warehouse." "I hope it fits.” You walk over to him and grab the piece of clothing from his hands. You backed away, nervous to be this close to him.

“A new suit?” You look at the fabric in your hands. It felt very similar to your old one but was made with better quality material. It was also… “Purple?” you ask bluntly. A dark lavender, from what you could tell, which wasn't the color of your old hero suit but you didn’t mind it. Maybe it was time to retire it anyway. You weren’t a hero anymore.

“Yeah, thats kind of my color,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I thought it’d look good on you,” he yawns. You remember his jacket that had the purple ruffles. Great. You’ll be matching with the guy you hate most. You roll your eyes internally.

“Cool,” you say as you tuck the suit under your arm.

“Do you want to head back down and wake the others?”

“Sure.”

Overhaul walks you out of his room, and the man who was your guide earlier walks you back to your room. Toga and Twice were still sleeping, so you lightly tapped on their foreheads to wake them up. Once they were awake, you were brought to the showers and got ready for the day. You sighed as you rubbed the fabric of the suit between your fingers. This felt significant somehow, like you were officially packing up your old life and starting a new one. You pull on the suit; this one zips in the front and buttons at the top of your neck, allowing you to control how much clevage you wanted to show, which was nice. You decided not to show any. Overall, it fit well; it was a little tight in the ass area, but that was okay. Lastly, you put on your black combat boots as well as your thigh holster for your throwing knives. Overhaul made sure the suit was fingerless so that you could still activate your quirk easily. He also gave you a waist pack that matched your boots. It was filled with medical equipment, and there was even a secret compartment in the back that was a holster for a butterfly knife, which he gifted you a purple one to match. You wore it on the back side so that it was out of the way and you could easily grab the butterfly knife handle if you needed it. You looked in the mirror; your hair was still dripping wet. You put a black mask around your ears to become one of the hassaikai and noticed a small hickey on your neck below your right ear that was quickly fading, and it made you think about Dabi. You wondered what he was doing right now and if he even missed you. You couldn’t decipher how you were feeling but had a twinge of guilt thinking about Overhaul. You drain the water from your hair and braid it back in pigtails. You took one last look at the new you, feeling confident and ready.

♡

The week was almost over. Tomorrow was your last day at the stronghold. Thank god. You couldn't really take any more little awkward moments with Overhaul. He was starting to grow on you, and you hated that. You, of course, still didn’t trust him, but it was nice to have someone to talk to while you were there. Toga and Twice didn’t really have much to say. Their loyalty was with Shigaraki, so they only did what they were told in front of Overhaul, and Overhaul was always next to you. You suppose your loyalty was with Shigaraki as well. Deep down, you knew you were loyal to him, but you weren’t really sure why. The week had been so slow that it was driving you mad. Overhaul manned both Toga and Twice at the front of the stronghold elevators, and there was a barrier of his men between you and them. They were on the front lines, which made you nervous, but as the week went on, your anxiety dissipated, and you felt like the attack would never come. Overhaul kept you with him in a huge room at the back end of floor five. You were sitting next to him, fidgeting with your nails, when you heard a sudden boom come from a couple levels up. It shook the entire room and made the dust shake off the walls. That can’t be good. Suddenly, Overhaul’s radio went off, and one of his men could be heard yelling on the comms, “They’re here! Everyone, the heroes are here! They—” and the room was met with radio silence. You looked over at Overhaul, who was surprisingly calm.

“What should I do?” You looked to him for orders, your face drowning in worry. He stayed quiet as he began zoning out. He stood up and placed his hands in his pockets. You were confused.

“Come with me,” he signaled you to follow him, and so you did.

As you followed him down the hallway, the rumbling of the building worsened, and you could hear screaming from the upper levels. Overhaul was walking fast, and you were trying to keep up with him.

“Hey! Stop!” You heard a man's voice from down the hall. What? Are they down here already? No way. Your eyes widened as you turned around to look at who the voice belonged to. You were closer to him, and Overhaul stood behind you. Your eyes met a blonde man who looked to be only a few years younger than you. He was built like Allmight, and his eyes were dark blue. He had on his hero costume, which was yellow and white with a red cape. Across his chest was the number 1,000,000. Your mind went blank as you started to recognize him; you couldn’t quite place his name, though. You just remembered that he was a student at U.A. High. Once his eyes locked on yours, you could tell he was also trying to piece together how he knew you.

“Lady Medela? You’re working with these people?” He finally recognizes you, and his voice comes out strained. You don’t answer, and so he continues, “You’re on the missing persons list, ya know? Are you in trouble?” He sucks in through his teeth, anger overwhelming him once more. He diverts his eyes back to Overhaul, who is just standing behind you with his hands in his pockets. You are silent, but your eyes show that you’re in pain and confused by his words. You remember your life before, but now that you were actually face to face with a hero, you were tempted to run to him and let him save you from all this. The hero in front of you drops his head and his voice cracks; he’s on the verge of tears as he says this: “Did you know he’s keeping a little girl here that he’s torturing and using as a weapon?” He looks back at you through angry eyes now. He was still holding onto the hope that you weren’t working with Overhaul.

“What? Is that true?” The heroes' words cause you to turn around and face Overhaul now. Your furious, angry face returns, along with all the hatred you’ve harbored for him. You drop every ounce of whatever it was you felt with him to resort back to anger. You slowly reach for your butterfly knife, but it all happened so fast. Overhaul quickly overpowers you and puts his hand around your neck, locking you in a chokehold. The hero, a couple of feet away, tries to run after you when a crashing noise is met with one of Overhaul's men falling through the floor, blocking you from the young hero. His men immediately start fighting with him, drowning out your need for rescue.

“C’mon, how about I take you to her?” Overhaul’s voice is suddenly sinister, and you can feel your heart beat in your temples as the blood rushes to your head, depriving you of oxygen. He turns down the hall with his arm still around your throat. He throws you up against a wall, and he pulls down your mask to rub his finger over your lips roughly. He then kisses you aggressively and bites your lip hard enough to make you bleed. You whimper in pain, and he pulls away, adding, “You can finally meet my daughter.” He lets go of your neck to shift you in front of him, and as you’re gasping for air, you see him swing back his fist to punch you in the face, knocking you out.

---

You’re not sure how long it's been, but you wake up in a dark room with a throbbing headache. There is a little girl sitting over you, shaking you awake with tears in her eyes. She’s terrified and saying something, but you can’t hear her. She looks to be about seven or eight years old and has long, blueish gray hair, red eyes, and a little horn on the side of her forehead. If you didn’t know any better, you would think she was related to Shigaraki. You put two and two together and knew she had to be Overhaul’s daughter. That son of a bitch, he punched you! You get up quickly and reach for the throbbing part of your skull.

“Don’t move so fast, you’ll hurt yourself!” The little girl warns you; her voice is small and sweet.

“It’s okay; I’m okay.” You send her a small smile. You curse yourself for not knowing she was here the whole time you were here. You take in her appearance, and shes in a hospital gown covered in bandages. Overhaul is going to pay for this. “Now, how about you and I get out of here, huh?” She looks at you with barely any hope in her eyes but nods to your statement. Poor girl. “My name is Y/N. What’s yours?” you ask, trying to get her to talk again.

“Eri,” she responds in a soft voice that breaks your heart.

“Okay, Eri, I’m going to heal my headache enough to have the energy to get us out of here.” She nods, and you activate your quirk just enough to make the throbbing go away. You then pick her up and carry her on your back. She snuggles into your shoulder blades, and you start walking towards the door. The medical room was dark, and the only light was coming from a small window in the steel door. You try kicking the door, but have no luck. You then step back and take a deep breath before cracking your knuckles. “Cover your eyes and ears if you can.” You warn her before slamming your fist into the window. Nothing happens at first, so you put more force into the second punch, causing it to shatter. Your fist is immediately covered in blood and glass. You pull a large shard out of your knuckle, hissing at the pain. Once you’re clear, you reach through the window and unlock the door, cutting up your forearm in the process. There is blood everywhere, and you think you might pass out, but you stay strong for Eri. On the other side of the door, you activate your quirk for a second time, which is enough to stop the bleeding in both places, but because of your head injury, you’re unable to heal fully. You look around both halls and don’t see anyone. It’s quiet. You decide to head toward the emergency stairwell, and you take off, shifting Eri into a more comfortable position. “Okay, up we go. You ready?” You communicate with her so shes not scared. She just nods into your shoulder blades, and you take off running down the hall.

You and Eri make your way up five flights of stairs, and you’re in pain and out of breath. You try to hold yourself together and remind yourself that there are only two more flights of stairs left. The building was still shaking from all the fighting, so you held on to the rails for dear life. Once you made it to stairwell level-two, you started quickening your pace. You were almost out when suddenly the stairs from level-one started collapsing, and your eyes widened in fear of being crushed. You spun around and dove through the level-two door that brought you back into the halls. Eri asked if you were okay while you were on your hands and knees struggling to breathe. You just patted her leg in response and tried to get up and stand. You struggled for a moment and finally got back up on your feet. You had no choice but to walk the halls now, and you had no clue if you would run into heroes or Hassaikai members. You took it with a grain of salt and continued on, hoping for the best. After walking for a few minutes, you heard loud rumbling once more, and it sounded very close to you. There was a room up ahead that had been blown up, and a lot of the load-bearing walls were about to give. As you got closer, you noticed it was a small warehouse, and there were people fighting inside. You kept your distance, approached the area quietly, and stayed low to the ground, hoping the people fighting wouldn’t notice you. There he was: Overhaul. He was fighting someone. You ran to a closer wall that could give you a better glimpse of the battle. He was fighting the blonde hero from earlier along with another familiar hero, a small man who had on a green hero suit paired with red shoes. Suddenly, Overhaul sent concrete spikes up from the ground to try and hit both of the heroes. You froze for a second in shock when you felt something impale your leg. After a moment, you felt cold, and when you looked down, you saw one of the spikes sticking out of your calf. You dropped to your knees once he released the spikes, sending them back into the ground. A bloodcurdling scream came from your lungs, and then it felt like the fighting halted when all three men looked over at you. Instead of looking at them, you kept your focus on your leg. Your face was contorted in pain, and you immediately broke out in a sweat. The spike had ripped your muscles to shreds. The two heroes noticed Eri on your back and decided to fall back to where you were. Overhaul noticed you and his daughter, and that both heroes were trying to make their way to you. He wasn’t going to have that. He shot off more concrete blasts, but the smaller hero was faster; he noticed this, and his fist met Overhaul’s face. He kept hitting him over and over, not allowing him access to you. The blonde hero used the distracted Overhaul to fall through the floor and appear again next to you. He took Eri from your back and attempted to help you.

“Can you stand?” He reaches his hand out to you and tries to help you up.

“I-I need-d to fix my leg first,” you struggle to reply through your broken sobs, the pain causing you to go in and out of consciousness. You weren’t even sure if you could activate your quirk in this state or if you had the energy to heal yourself. Your hair began to float slightly, and your pupils flickered into white glowing orbs. When you grabbed your calf, the hole in your leg slowly began repairing the muscle, stitching itself back together again. You’ve lost too much blood at this point, and your head injury was bad, so you were only able to heal it enough to fix the muscle. The wound was still big and bloody, but you couldn’t keep going, you had no more energy left. The room began to spin, and you knew you were about to pass out. Before you did, you looked over at the blonde hero and grabbed his hand.

“M-Make sure you get Eri somewhere safe.” He nodded and started saying something about how he was going to make sure you got out of here too, but his words fell on deaf ears. You were already out of it; you fell backwards, and the hero made sure to catch you enough before laying you down softly on the concrete floor. He escaped with Eri, leaving the fight to the other hero. Once the battle ended, Overhaul was arrested, and the search crew began going floor by floor, recovering bodies and the injured. You were unconscious when someone picked you up off the floor, bridal style.

---

“She’s still feverish, but I think she’s finally waking up,” You hear a familiar voice in your vicinity. A hand comes to rest on your forehead to feel your fever. There were muffled voices in the background, but you couldn’t quite make them out. “Hey, Y/N, it’s us; you’re okay.” Her voice was calm and eased you. It was Toga’s voice; you’d recognize it anywhere.

“W-What happened?” You finally go to sit up and once again grab your aching skull. You look down at your body and see that you were still in your bodysuit, which is ripped at your leg. It looked like someone cut the fabric to be able to apply bandages to your wound. You remember what happened now. “Where is Overhaul?” You grumbled angrily, more angry than the League has ever seen you.

“He was arrested.” Twice replied. You follow his voice with your eyes and see the rest of the league gathered around you. They had stationed you on the kitchen table and used towels, blankets, and anything else they could find as padding for a makeshift hospital bed. You were in the hideout, and by the looks of it, it was evening. There were candles all over the kitchen, and everyone's faces looked warm under the candlelight.

“How did I get out?” You asked, not remembering anything.

“Toga and I found you covered in ruble, and we snuck you out.” Twice answered once more. You looked around the kitchen again and saw both Shigaraki and Dabi on the other side of the room, standing in the shadows. Shigaraki was maskless and emotionless. Dabi, on the other hand, looked angry and upset. They were both not looking in your direction. Toga, Twice, Spinner, and Mr. Compress were surrounding you, making sure you were okay.

“Y/N, what happened with Overhaul?” Spinner chimed in.

“I’m going to kill him,” you hissed while wiping your mouth, remembering how he kissed you and violated you. Your hatred for the man was spewing all over your words. The league looked at you in surprise. Shigaraki’s ears perked up at this and he finally looked over at you. It was odd for him to see you, nothing but a little hero, threaten to kill someone. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it, but he knew that whatever Overhaul did to you must’ve been bad for you to want to kill him. Shigaraki suddenly felt angry at Overhaul, his thoughts immediately going to the worst possibility. If he hurt you, he’d kill him for you. You wouldn’t even have to lift a finger. You went on to explain everything to the league. Most of them had the same reaction—disgust written all over their faces. When you finished explaining, you looked up at Shigaraki, and he was already looking at you. His face showed no emotion—no anger, no sympathy. You wanted to know what he was thinking. After all, this was his whole gig. You were there because of him. Before you could say anything to him, he called out to Dabi, Spinner, and Mr. Compress, telling them to come with him.

“Toga, Twice, stay here and hold things down; we’ll be back,” Shigaraki hissed out. You laid your head back on the table; you were still exhausted and needed to rest.

“We’re going to fuck him up, aren’t we?” Dabi turned to walk next to Shigaraki with his hands in his pockets. He smiled evilly, hoping thats what they were going to do for your sake. Dabi wanted to stay back with you, but an order is an order.

“He’ll never be able to touch her again.” Shigaraki growls while walking ahead of the men; his face was calm, but there was a storm inside him. Your anger toward Overhaul has transferred itself to Shigaraki.

---

It was becoming daylight, and Spinner, Dabi, Mr. Compress, and Shigaraki were all in a truck traveling along the highway in route to Tartarus from the hospital that Overhaul was rumored to be at. They had circled back around a few times before they saw their target. A black van with red lights drove onto the ramp of the highway, and Shigaraki signaled to Spinner to get in front of them. Spinner obliged and drove the truck to line up with the van behind them. The back doors of the truck opened, and Dabi released a giant blue flame toward the van. It was as if they had anticipated an attack. Dabi’s flames were met with a sand cloud, and a separate police vehicle drove in front of the black van to protect it. Shigaraki had climbed to the top of the truck and waited for the heroes to show themselves. He jumped off the back of the truck and toward the police car. The sand hero put up a wall of sand that Shigaraki struggled against. Mr. Compass then released a marble that made the police car flip over. Dabi then jumped out of the back of the truck and stopped the sand hero freeing Shigaraki. The van itself was then stopped by Shigaraki’s decay; he broke the windshield of the car and caused the driver to drive the van into a wall. Shigaraki walked to the back of the van and ripped Overhaul out. He was strapped to a foam pad, handcuffed, and wearing a straight jacket. Overhaul caught a glimpse of Shigaraki standing over him, and his eyes widened in fear. Shigaraki was covered in his usual villain attire and had his hands in his pockets while his foot rested on Overhaul’s chest.

“Are you here to kill me?” Overhaul whimpers.

“No, I wouldn’t take that away from Y/N,” Shigaraki chuckles. “She wants you dead,” He leans closer to Overhaul to whisper, “I’m just here to make you pay for what you did.” Shigaraki grabs one of Overhaul’s arms and dusts it. Before it can spread to the rest of his body, Shigaraki takes a knife and cuts it off. Overhaul wails in pain, and Shigaraki calmly says, “This one is for Magne and Compress.” He then shifts his body to Overhaul’s other arm and does the same. Overhaul screams once more, and Shigaraki replies to this with, “And this arm, this arm, if for laying your hands on Y/N. I told you she was mine.” Feeling content with his actions, Shigaraki walks back to the truck with his hands in his pockets.

Dabi listened to his boss's words to Overhaul and got slightly worried when he heard Shigaraki’s possessiveness toward you. Shigaraki knows that you and Dabi slept together, so why hasn’t he removed Dabi’s arms if he truly felt that way?

One thing was for certain: Dabi didn’t want to find out.

44 notes · View notes

symmetricalkazekage · 1 year

Text

Story time!! I had joined Tumblr years ago after a friend showed it to me, but I never really used it. But then my lovely friend @m1dnyt3-w0lf sent me a tmnt fic and I was swept up (I had fallen in love with tmnt again at this point).

We are currently in the middle of writing our own chaptered stories, beta-reading off each other, but I wrote her this last year for new years, and I just wanted to share it. She gave me her self insert character to use, so I present to you my Leo x OC fic (the first fanfic I've written since 2016 👀).

Feel free to change the name as you read, and please leave me critique.

Also tagging @turtle-babe83 and @thelaundrybitch because I really like your writing and you kinda got me back into writing 😖🙏🏽

The holiday season, Christmas. Just like all the previous years it had come and gone all too quickly. Eventually to a point where you didn’t even feel the holiday cheer anymore, all the while people around you were all festive. Your Christmas was spent working overtime, extra shifts, over 2 jobs. You didn’t really have anyone to spend the holidays with anyway, so you kept your self busy by working, sometimes pulling all-nighters. Everyone, coworkers and customers alike always asked the same question, “Why are you working, it’s Christmas!”; your answer always being that you could use the extra money coming into the new year. You always received pitiful looks, but you were numb to them now.

You were mopping the floors of the diner at your second job, finally closing after the late evening rush. Your mind flooded back to 6 years ago, to when you were kicked out of your home and your family. You were always the odd duckling in the family, but when you started bringing up that you wanted to pursue full time work instead of college, you were immediately thrown out. Everything you owned tossed into the snow, which wasn’t much. A “Good luck” was all you got from them. You had couch surfed for the few months left of high school before you graduated. A month later you landed a job in a warehouse that paid it employees’ good money. 2 years later everyone who helped you was repaid and you had moved into a small apartment somewhere in lower Manhattan in New York. You got a transfer to a closer warehouse and managed to picked up a night job at a diner 2 blocks away from home. It was a struggle at first, but now, everything was so natural to you. You smiled wryly to yourself in bitter triumph.

‘See, I can succeed without college,’ you muttered into the space.

‘Well, you’ve definitely proven that.’

Fight mode kicked in; you spun around swinging the mop with you ready to beat a bitch down! You relaxed when you saw your manager Jenny standing there with a grin and a bag.

‘Oh crap, sorry Jenny!’ you yelled frantically dropping the mop and fumbling with the handle.

‘At ease Ashley, I came to tell you that you can go home now. You’re already here 3 hours passed your finish time,’ she smiled taking the mop from you, ‘and I am more than capable to finish up here.’

‘It’s okay I’m nearly done anyway,’ you said reaching for the mop, only to have it pulled form your grasp.

‘I’m serious, missy. You worked through Thanksgiving and Christmas; its New Year’s Eve and you’re still working!’

‘It’s not a bother honestly!’ You tried to protest, but she just shook her head. You watched her walk behind the counter with the mop, only to trade it with your bag and winter jacket.

‘But it bothers me, do you really not have anyone waiting for you tonight?’ Your phone pinged answering her question. ‘Ah, so there is a someone is there?’ she winked.

You pulled out your phone. ‘Nope, just the phone company letting me know my bill is due next week.’

‘Aw, that’s a shame. You’re such a pretty girl, you really need a boyfriend.’

You just laughed as you pulled your coat on and headed for the door, wishing your boss a happy new year. The cold New York wind hit you as you headed home. Its not like you wanted to be alone, you just kept everyone at a distance for safety. Well, almost everyone. You looked up to the sky, watching the snow begin to fall again. You weren’t surprised when you saw a giant figure bound from roof to roof under the cover of darkness, it also didn’t surprise you when you saw the figure stop on the corner of your apartment building. So, he’s here again, is he?

You walked into your apartment, placing your bag on the couch. You stood there for five minutes before thinking “what the hell” and headed to your window, climbing back out into the frigid air and up the fire escape. You were puffing and heaving by the time you reached the roof, why am I doing this again?

‘Need a hand?’ That’s why.

You looked up to the face of the smooth voice. Of course, he would be here, it had become religious at this point.

‘Thank you, Leonardo,’ you said breathless reaching for his hand. It always astounded you just by the sheer size different. You knew you were short, but standing next to him, definitely made you feel it. And it made you mad. ‘Do you have to be that fucking tall?'

‘Do you have to ask that same question every time we meet?’ he laughed.

‘Yes. I. Do!’

He laughed again, and you melted inside. It was like music, and you felt blessed every time you heard it. And that smile, made your knees weak on sight. He followed behind you to the other side of the building where a table and chairs sat, mainly for those that hung their washing during the hot days. You set your still hot food down on the table top before you turned and leant against it. Looking up, you jumped a little to see Leonardo standing close to you. His brilliant blue eyes glowing in the low light of the night.

‘Why are you here again Leonardo, I’m sure you have better things to do.’ You didn’t mean it to sound so dejected, but that’s how you were feeling.

‘Crime’s been slow since it’s New Years. And how many times have I told you to call me “Leo”?’ he shifted closer ever so slightly.

‘I’ve lost count at this point.’ You turned your head to the side, he wasn’t even that close, but you could still feel the heat radiating off his body. ‘Also how are you not cold, aren’t you a reptile?’

‘Donnie says its because of the mutagen, Raph says its because the stress keeps me running, and Mikey says and I quote “It’s because you’re too hot to handle dude!” so I really don’t know.’ He laughed again, but from the corner of your eye you watched his shoulders slump.

‘What’s up?’ you asked walking around the table.

‘It doesn’t bother you that I’m a mutant?’ he asked.

Not this again. ‘No, it doesn’t.’

‘I don’t scare you?’ his head dropped; he was no longer looking at you.

‘No, you don’t. why are we doing this again?’ food forgotten, your face scowled. You could never understand his self-sabotage. It was completely on accident that you had seen him and his brothers, you were just chilling on the roof when they dropped in. You were surprised at first, but you simply tossed them some chocolate and wished them a good evening before disappearing back into your building. Since then, Leonardo had made it his goal to annoy you, visiting almost every night. Originally, he said it was to make sure you wouldn’t say anything to anyone. But now, he had probably listed every excuse in the book to be where he is now. At first it bothered you, but then, you began to warm up to him. And eventually, you heart had decided that he was the one it wanted.

“…do you really not have anyone waiting for you tonight?” echoed through your mind as you stared at the giant turtle in front of you. The longer you stared, the harder it was for you to hide the blush that was forming; even harder to resist the smile that was forming at the corner of your lips. I actually do this time. You didn’t wait for his answer, you just scooped up the snow into a ball and threw it at his face.

‘If I was scared of you, I wouldn’t have done that…’ you said triumphantly at his stunned face, ‘or… THIS!!’ you threw another snowball at his face, your smile full of sass and devious planning; your heart flipping with glee. New Year’s resolution: be happy for me for once. ‘So, what are you gonna do about it, Le-o-nar-do?’

He blinked before he wiped the snow off his snout, wiping away any self-doubt; replacing it with the most evil grin you’d seen on his face. It made you shiver with delight. He didn’t say anything, he just charged for you at full speed. You dodged him, skidding under the water tank. You quickly made another snow ball ducking out and pegging it at the back of his head. It hit him square, and you watched him shiver; snow must’ve gone down his shell. He turned on you again, giving you no chance to make more ammo. You ducked back under the tank backing out the other end with more snow in your hand. You ran out into the open with the new ball and turned ready to throw; but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Your eyes scanned every inch of the roof, stepping as quietly as you could with your guard up.

‘Boo.’

You spun and went to throw your weapon, but he was much faster, catching your arm like it was nothing. You dropped the winter ball; time seeming to stop around you as you stood mere inches from each other. The height difference meant you had to crane your neck to see him, but it didn’t seem to bother you this time. He lowered your arm, but his grip didn’t leave you; instead he began to gently massage small circles into your wrist. Those small motions made your heart race as you instinctively moved closer, as did he. You both began breathing heavily, creating smalls could between you from your hot breath. You both just stood there staring, in silence, as the world around you began the countdown into the new year.

‘What’s your resolution?’ you asked.

He smiled, pulling you in with his free hand and slowly dipping down. ‘To make you mine,’ your heart skipped, ‘what’s yours?’

‘To be happy,’ you whispered.

He chuckled softly, ‘Sounds good.’

‘And to kiss you finally.’

Before he could say anything, you reached up on your toes and planted a kiss against his warm lips. He froze for a moment, clearly shocked. You starting to thinking it was a bad idea, but you felt him lean in closer, pulling you flush with him. The world around you was full of cheers and “happy new year’s” as you kissed on the rooftop, feeling the happiest you had ever felt in many years.

When you finally parted, you were both dazed and breathless. He smiled down at you as you shied away into his chest, embarrassed that you had to be the one to initiate. He just laughed at you, resting his chin on your head as he wrapped you in his arms.

‘Happy New Year, Ashley,’ he whispered.

‘Happy New Year, Leo,’ you whispered back.

#leonardo #leo x oc #tmnt #tmnt leonardo #tmnt bayverse #tmnt fic #tmnt fluff #new year

45 notes · View notes

dadsbongos · 2 years

Text

“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?”

Chapter 7 / Series Masterlist / Previous Chapter

5.6K words

FRIDAY. 2:50 PM.

Eddie was waiting for you outside of your seventh hour, leaning against the opposite wall in the corridor as you strolled out. You rushed to him as soon as you’d noticed him.

A few kids stare when you wrap him tightly in a hug but, to be quite frank, fuck them.

Eddie returns the embrace, hands still glued to your sides when the two of you pull away, “I’m gonna go puke up my pride and beg for an extension. If I can’t make it, just wait for me afterwards - good luck.”

“Okay,” before you could regret it, you press a quick kiss to his cheek, “I have to go run and get into character. Good luck begging, Eds.”

3:05 PM.

Leslie Johnson had to fulfill the minor role of the prologue reader since the original one dropped out last week after catching the flu. Leslie Johnson was the theater president and while not in the play outside of reading the prologue, was deeply invested in this production going off without a hitch.

Which would explain why she’s so pissed at you. Incensed, even. Borderline pugnacious with the others.

“I can’t put it off anymore,” she shakes her head and peeks through the curtains to the audience.

You also peek through the curtains, though your eyes instantly dart to the two seats in the first row that you took care to specifically reserve. Neither one has a body in it.

Once again, if you were to have a bird’s eye view, then perhaps you would realize how bizarre it is that Mr. Harvey even allowed a delay when you said it was for Eddie.

“Hey,” Leslie suddenly claps a hand to your shoulder and squeezes through the material of your red Capulet dress, “I’m sorry your boyfriend couldn’t make it, but we have to go on.”

You reluctantly move backstage for Leslie to take her place at the center of the stage.

“Stop pulling at your dress,” Mikey Port, your stage beau playing as Romeo, takes your hands away from where they’re subconsciously tugging the corset of your dress, “You’ll ruin the material.”

“Eddie isn’t here,” you mumble quietly as Leslie begins her performance.

It’s in moments like these where you’re being a nuisance that you’re glad the theater program can’t afford body mics. But tomorrow, when your voice is shot from being so loud and when you’re remembering how much Hawkins spends on the sports department - you’ll be mad again.

“Munson?” Mikey leans down with wide eyes, when you glare at him he stands upright and shakes his head, “Sorry. I’m sure he’s great.”

“He is,” you lightly punch his shoulder, “Listen for your cue, dick.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes again, laying a gentle hand on your shoulder, “You look nice, by the way.”

All you manage is a fragile smile before backing away so as to not distract Mikey.

It’s true. The dress you’d been fitted in for the role of Juliet was simply stunning. Her signature ruby red bathing with yellow accents in the Italian Renaissance gown. White square neckline with, the fittingly named, juliet sleeves.

You felt pretty. It was a shame Eddie couldn’t see it.

You shake your head and smooth the skirt of your gown as Mikey Port exits the stage swiftly.

Amaya Smith and Lola Jones - playing Lady Capulet and the Nurse, respectively - move to the center of the stage.

Amaya stands with her chin high, her dress just a little more regal than yours for the role of your mother. She turns to Lola and says sternly, “Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to me.”

Lola slouches forward just a little and shakes her head disappointedly, “Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! What, ladybird! God forbid! Where's this girl?” she moves her head as if searching for you, you pick up the tail of your dress and prepare to charge out on stage for your introduction, “What, Juliet!”

You hurry out to join the girls, brows pinched as though annoyed. Your eyes just barely skim the audience when you’re turned to them, “Hey, now! Who calls?”

The audience is sparse, not even your sweet neighbor, Dustin is there.

But more importantly - and what you really care about - Eddie is not in that seat.

You feel bad, though, for thinking such a thing. Because you can clearly see Robin and Steve in the lacking crowd. Steve’s got two bouquets tucked into his lap, one of them undoubtedly Robin’s that she made him hold onto.

Lola turns to you, “Your mother!”

“Madam, I am here,” you huff at Amaya, “What is your will?”

The gaze of the audience is electric but it’s like sparklers when you desire a fireworks show. A gentle rock when you need a throttle. A pond when you wanted to sink beneath the ocean.

And you hate to think it’s all because Eddie isn’t here.

You hate to think that Eddie is the reason you feel alive, but you suppose that’s the problem with growing so attached to somebody. The thrill of life most certainly doesn’t die, but now it feels dulled.

But then again, Eddie would cheer the loudest by the time the play is done. So it’s only natural to miss him.

3:57 PM.

Your knees are starting to ache as you kneel on the balcony set created by the theater kids more interested in the behind the scenes work. Something you can deeply respect and be thankful for; the balcony may hurt, but it’s certainly better than no balcony at all.

You can hear Mikey call from the floor of the stage, “He jests at scars that never felt a wound!”

You take a deep breath and come to a stand at the railing of the phony balcony.

Mikey’s blond hair bounces as he shifts with his monologue. It’s nothing like the way Eddie’s long hair moves and your eyes, yet again, scan the crowd.

Both seats remain empty.

You’ve been dreading this monologue since you screwed it up during the audition. This time there wasn’t just kindly Mr. Harvey to let you start over. Yes, these people were expecting you to do poorly because hey, it’s just high school theater, but you’d be lying if you said that flubbing a line wouldn’t affect you.

You’re valedictorian, dammit, you should be able to nail a couple lines.

Or is that just your parents talking? The parents that aren’t here, might you add.

“It is my lady, O, it is my love!” Mikey commands attention and you’ll have to remind yourself to congratulate him later on for a great performance, he holds his hand out to you and you feel foolish leaning over the banister with wide, awestruck eyes (even though you’re sure you’ve looked at Eddie like that more than once) and have to pretend you don’t see him, “O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?”

You always found Romeo & Juliet so idiotic. You only auditioned because it seemed like a good chance of adrenaline and Mikey Port asked you to in second period culinary. Two people falling so in love they’d rather die than be apart - all within four days?

As if.

“The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars! As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven!”

Now, though, you’re questioning yourself.

Last week you would barely wave at Eddie in the halls and now you were spending your free minutes between appearances on stage playing scenarios in your head about how he could kiss you in his van before school. How you still have his leather jacket. How his thrifted and gifted rings are more alluring than The One Ring in Tolkien’s novels. Like wildfire, it seemed.

So quick.

So unexpected.

But unlike with wildfire, you weren’t complaining.

“O, that I were a glove upon that hand,” Mikey sighs and clutches his chest and it can only remind you of the man who’s not here, “That I might touch that cheek!”

“Ay, me!” you shake your head, apparently in despair.

“She speaks,” Romeo was a douche though, that was something Eddie definitely had over him.

He also had the fact that he’d never creep on a thirteen-year-old.

You wish he was here to make fun of the impossibility that Juliet wouldn’t see Romeo standing below her balcony at this moment.

“When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,” your nails bite at the fake railing, hoping to channel your bubbling nerves in a way that isn’t fucking up your lines, “And sails upon the bosom of the air.”

Your hands come up to your chest, blinking doe-eyed at the high ceiling and holding your heart, “O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?”

Before you can dreamily sigh the next lines, there’s a bang at the back of the theater. Even Mikey whips around on his heels to face the source of the sound.

In the doorway are two heaving, breathless bodies. Each holding one side of the double doors.

Through the darkness of the seating area, you can still make out that silhouette. Eddie and Dustin stand up straight and see that they’ve captured attention.

Eddie’s eyes dart up to the stage and you can just make out the sight of his broad smile. He waves excitedly and you give a minor nod in acknowledgement. In fear of breaking character and smiling so wide the audience actually notices - your eyes shoot to the stage floor.

Your eyes pop back up to see Eddie clumsily planting himself in one of the reserved seats at the front row - Dustin trailing after him. Eddie puts his hands up as if to say ‘don’t mind us’ and then gestures to the stage. You can see Robin cupping a hand over her mouth to hide her laughter while Steve shakes his head.

“Deny thy father and refuse thy name,” you bring the attention back to yourself, returning to the role of a lovestruck Juliet, “Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

Not that you think it’ll really be acting now that you can comfortably see the way Eddie is flashing a toothy grin at you from the audience.

Mikey leans away as if he’s preparing to dart off stage, “Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

Eddie’s gaze feels like the fireworks beneath your skin. The throttle. The ocean.

“‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague,” you look out at the audience, and you can’t deny the fact that your eyes sweep to Eddie, “What’s Montague?”

You wonder if through your studying, Eddie has learned the meaning of Juliet’s monologue. You wonder if he knows what you’re saying when you look at him with such affection.

Does he know that Juliet is asking why it matters what his name is? Does he know that you feel the same?

That you’ve never been embarrassed of him, not once. You’d parade him around Hawkins like the eighth world wonder that he is if he would let you. You would take every comment and remark about how you should’ve ended up with Steve like Nancy did and you’d tell whoever said that to fuck off because they had no idea what they were talking about. To hell with the staring and the whispers, you only want him to lay his heart with you.

“It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name?”

People call him a freak for being himself when they’re all too terrified to so much as stumble out of line. Eddie never looked more angelic to you than when he was making his obnoxious speeches in the cafeteria.

What’s in the name Eddie Munson?

Fear and scorn. Kindness and endearing.

You’re glad you were thrown over the lifeboat when you were because it all led to right now.

“That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Eddie is enthralled as he watches you perform. His body feels at ease for once. No spinning his rings. No bouncing leg. His attention has been captured by you wholly and he hopes you can somehow sense that up on stage.

He’s astounded by how much he’s enjoying the play because he’s always hated them until now. He’s further astounded by the fact that it’s Romeo & Juliet that he’s enjoying.

He feels ridiculous now. He used to bandwagon on jests and jabs about how quickly Romeo and Juliet fell in love but here he is. Yes, he feels absolutely ridiculous, but he can’t say he would have it any other way.

“Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, and for that name which is no part of thee take all myself!”

6:22 PM.

The crimson of your fake blood pack, hidden just under the white square neckline of your dress, is going to stain. You know that as soon as it bursts under the pressure of the toy dagger.

Mikey Port doesn’t make a sound as you fall atop his body and play dead.

In the very back, a baby starts crying and you have to hold yourself from sighing - who takes their baby to Romeo & Juliet? Scratch that, who brings their baby to a play in general? Although, if they were just doing it to hopefully get out early, you almost commend them.

It’s a struggle to restrain your breathing to a minimum as the play crawls to its end. You nearly pinch Mikey’s side when he breathes too deeply and shifts both of you.

Finally, finally - you hear Jacob Linsky’s posh voice in the role of Paris pipe up,

“A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

The audience breaks into applause and the curtains draw closed.

You push yourself up and off of Mikey to inspect the fake blood splatter, it’s already beginning to dry on your costume and skin. You sigh at the future clean up you’ll have to perform.

Leslie rushes out while a few of your peers sweep the props off stage. She stands in the middle of the cast and takes your hand to whisper, “Your boy came.”

You can’t even defend Eddie against the title of yours, instead grinning and squeezing her hand, “I noticed.”

“You two are gross,” she whispers as the curtains peel open.

Each actor and stage hand is lined up to take the final bow, but you just want to rush off this stage and ask Eddie what he thought.

Good God, you really hoped he liked it.

…

You manage to catch up to Eddie outside the auditorium just as Dustin is approaching his mother’s honking car. He’s waving though, and you can just make out the sound of him saying he’ll talk to you tomorrow.

“You look bloody pretty,” Eddie mocks an English accent, pointing at the crimson blotch on your dress and sick.

“Thanks,” you curtsy, “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “when you get called a moron by Mike Wheeler, it’s time to change something. Also, O’Donnell said that since I’m going to see you perform, she’ll cut the questions in half as long as I write a paragraph about what I thought about your performance. Favoritism works.”

“Hey!” before you can turn, you feel Robin’s lithe arms wrap around your neck and she squeezes, “You were so good!”

Steve nods, handing you both the bouquets, “Best part of the whole damn thing.”

“Aw, shucks,” you’re half-joking as you shyly hold the flowers - you’re half-serious in that you’re not used to this sort of praise, “I’m glad you guys came.”

“‘Course, we did,” Robin lands a fake punch to your shoulder, “Didn’t make Keith solo the store for nothin’!”

“Yeah, and I’m not kidding - you rocked up there, nerd,” Steve turns to Eddie and nods with what passes as a respectful smile, “Good to see you could make it, Munson.”

Robin’s eyes widen and she cuts a look to you, you mirror her expression because wow - Steve said Eddie’s name and it didn’t even sound like he was being strangled to do it.

“Just had to be here, you know?” Eddie holds out his hands, “Let me carry one a’ those, pretty girl.”

“No, they’re mine,” you turn so he can’t grab at them.

“Provolone,” Robin sniffs the air, “and brie.”

“Alright, we get it,” you roll your eyes.

“I gotta get this one home before her curfew,” Steve lays a hand to Robin’s head despite her protests, then he looks between you and Eddie, “You good with a ride?”

Before you can reply, Eddie nods, “Yeah, I got her.”

Steve gives a thumbs up and pats your shoulder as he passes you. It’s a rare sign of genuine affection that few people receive from Steve Harrington, so in a show of how dearly you treasure him, you call out as he walks to his car, “Don’t crash!”

He flips you off.

“I know I give Harrington shit but maybe he’s kind of okay,” at your playful gasp, he repeats, “Kind of.”

You shuffle the bouquets carefully into the crook of one arm and take one of his hands, running the pad of your thumb over his closest ring, “I’m glad you could make it. Hope you liked the show.”

“It was great,” he turns his hand so now it's palm-up and takes the initiative to weave his fingers with yours, “Didn’t know that Shakespeare spoils the whole thing right in the beginning.”

“Yeah, he was the original dickhead,” you watch as kids take pictures with each other and their families and you find it strangely easy to ignore the fact that your parents decided to not come tonight, “The cast ‘n’ crew are gonna go to Enzo’s, if you wanna see the wild side of my life, for once.”

“My dear lady,” he places a hand over his chest, “I’d be honored.”

You retract your hand from his and put up a finger to say ‘one moment’ before hurrying over to a girl he thinks he’s only sold to once. Amaya Smith - honor roll student and next in line to take over Hawkins High journalism once Nancy graduates.

Her eyes widen at whatever you’re telling her and her gaze bounce from you to where Eddie stands. He waves eagerly.

Eddie follows Mikey Port’s car to Enzo’s and for once he actually doesn’t want the radio loud. It’s on, but you can only tell when there’s silence. Your flowers are resting in the backseat of his van and you hope you forget them when he drops you off so he has more reason to come see you tomorrow.

You’re holding hands with Eddie over the center console.

Your mouth is running nearly a mile a minute as you explain the trials and tribulations of the dreaded blood packet.

“Is that still in there?”

“Huh?”

“The fake blood pack. Did you ever throw it away?”

“Oh, shit,” you laugh and pull back your neckline to tug out a misleadingly small plastic pouch - split open with dried fake blood clinging at the cleavage. You hold up the pouch for Eddie to see in his peripheral, “Want my blood pack? It was in my bra.”

He dramatically gasps and drops his jaw, letting go of your hand to hold his out - palm up as if accepting the gift, “Well, in that case…”

You place the pack in your lap, “When we park, I promise.”

“Damn,” he huffs but continues to hold his hand up, “Hold my hand again, it’s getting cold.”

Naturally, you comply.

Eddie can only huddle next to you in the corner of the booth when you’re both finally sat in Enzo’s. The blood pack now in his pocket and he knows he’ll probably forget to throw it away and then will get emotionally attached when he remembers that you gave it to him.

“I knew theater kids were loud, I didn’t know they were this loud,” he mutters to you.

You give Eddie narrowed eyes as you eat, then shake your head, “I know you’re not complaining about other people being loud.”

“Not complaining,” Eddie being Eddie has already eaten half of his pasta, now planning to take the other half home for a warrior’s breakfast tomorrow, “just pointing it out.”

You can’t even argue with him, though. The more musical inclined kids are belting lyrics to various Annie songs while the comedy kids are being generally obnoxious and the tragedy kids are fighting over different plotlines for an original play that the school won’t approve of.

“Yeah,” you turn back to Eddie, leaning into his side as he throws his arm over the backrest of the boothe, “thanks for coming to dinner. And the play.”

He leans down to press a kiss to the crown of your head, “Wouldn’t miss it. Except for the whole first act, I definitely missed that.”

“It’s fine, I wasn’t even introduced until scene three,” your head falls to rest on his shoulder, food forgotten and likely going into a box, “Did you pass your final?”

“She was grading it when I left, so I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

“I bet you passed.”

Comfortable quiet settles before Eddie breaks it.

“You wanna know something?”

“Huh?”

“You wanted to start hanging out with me to feel more alive, but what you don’t notice is that when I’m with you it feels like I’m alive. Skipping through a meadow in the sunshine,” when you giggle, he tacks on, “Naked and free, baby.”

“Is that so?” you lean forward to the table, cheek resting in the palm of your hand, and he misses your body against his already, “No music, though?”

“Oh, how could I forget the music? It’s the greatest minds of our time just on a loop.”

You nod and tap your point-toed 1400s-adjacent boot against Eddie’s mud-caked sneakers, “And that would be…?”

He hums and looks at the ceiling to think, “You. Singing Whole Lotta Love by Led Zeppelin.”

“Isn’t that about sex?” you glare at him, though you’re still smiling, “Like, aggressively obviously about sex.”

The waitress that brings two boxes for you can’t withhold the wide-eyed stare she gives you. You two can’t be bothered to pay much attention as you pack away your leftover food.

“Oh my God, is it?” he acts as though he had no idea, “That’s crazy.”

“Dork,” you tease the toe of your boots against his shoes again, “Absolute dork.”

“And you,” he leans forward and mirrors the way you’re supporting yourself with your hand, “are beautiful. Hauntingly beautiful. Like, that fucking Dracula nerd would write so many poems about you.”

“But would you?”

“Sweetheart, if I knew how to write a poem, you’d be my muse. Always.”

“You can write songs, though,” you point out.

“One day, princess,” he leans over to peck your forehead, “Let’s get out of here. I wanna kiss you in my trailer, now.”

“Oh my God,” your tone is rich with disbelief, but you move out of the booth anyway, “How romantic.”

Eddie grabs both of your boxes while you tell Leslie that you’re leaving. She shoved and gasped as if anything was going to happen.

You and Eddie end up at the counter of Family Video, a copy of Friday the 13th slid over to Keith as Eddie clings to your waist.

“How was the play?” Keith doesn’t actually care, but you’re a good employee and got his two other workers to call off so he might as well ask. Besides, when the local weirdo that people hate is hanging off you - he can’t deny that his curiosity was piqued.

“She’s a natural,” Eddie leans forward, his chin resting on your shoulder, “Next top actress of our time.”

“It was fun,” you take the video when Keith slides it back, “See ya tomorrow, Keith.”

He merely waves before returning to the movie he had playing on the counter’s television - not believing either of your statements.

Upon stepping into Eddie’s trailer, you ask to use his phone once again. You notice that the more often you’re in his trailer, the more you come to miss it when you have to leave.

“Yeah, go ahead,” he gestures loosely to his room while readying the video player in his living room, “You can borrow some clothes, too. If you wanna change out of your costume.”

You nod and begin dialing your home phone number. Just so your mother doesn’t give another guilt trip at the door.

To your surprise, however, it’s your father’s voice that comes alive.

“When will you be home?”

Your body seizes and you grab the cord of the phone, standing up to your mother was one thing but your father was an entirely new beast. From early childhood you can recall him yelling, throwing things - you even have a memory of him lifting you by the collar of your dress and shaking you, but your mother swears it was a dream. You don’t know how you could remember it so clearly if it was a dream.

“I don’t know, Dad…”

“Don’t know or won’t say?”

“Don’t know,” you insist.

“I don’t know what’s with this rebellious streak of yours, but it has to stop.”

“I read somewhere that if your child doesn’t rise against you, then something’s wrong. Kids naturally go against their parents when they’re comfortable and if they don’t then they’re not comfortable with their home lives,” you mutter.

“You know who’s home? I can see her car in the driveway of the house right now - Nancy Wheeler. What a nice girl,” he seems to hear you sigh and snaps, “Who are you with right now? Because my girl wouldn’t do this - something’s gotten into you and it has to be one of those bad influences you hang around,” you can imagine the way his eyes go cold and you’ve always thought he looked like a demon when he did that, “Like that Steve and Robin. Harrington has been nothing but trouble since he and Nancy split and you know what I hear about that Robin?”

Your breathing spikes and you grip the phone tighter, “What?”

“No, you say it.”

“Say what?” your skin buzzes in fear and you can’t believe where he’s going.

There’s no way he knows. There’s no chance. Robin has been so fucking careful, you won’t let your dad fuck it up now.

“I hear she’s a pothead,” he spits and you’re earnestly relieved, “Are you turning into that?” you’re quiet and he’s on the verge of yelling, “You’re my girl and I won’t let anybody infect you. Come home and be our sweet girl again.”

His words make your skin crawl, overly affectionate and yet they’re all empty. Too comfortable but he doesn’t mean a word.

Your fingers wind tighter around the phone.

Your father speaks again, “Who are you with?”

You could lie. Say that you and Nancy are friends again. Say that Steve and Robin invited you to a movie night after the play.

But then you’re doing exactly what he wants. If he can’t have you home, he’ll have you lying and afraid and you’re right back to square one.

Then the past week means nothing.

You don’t want the small acts before rolling over anymore. You can’t live like that.

You deserve to be happy, don’t you? And you’ve wasted your entire life until now being what your parents wanted. You don’t want to fall into step - Nancy can have your parents’ affection, you decide. She never liked them in the first place - they gave her the creeps, she said.

Stouthearted - feeling or displaying no fear by temperament. It was always at the bottom of your vocabulary bucket, and you never imagined you’d be on the giving end of this feeling. Much less so with your parents on the receiving end.

“I’m with Eddie Munson.”

“With?”

“Yeah. I’ll be home before ten.”

Before you can apologize or cringe or regret, you slam the phone down. You wonder if your dad did what he does best and assumed it meant romantically - and while he wouldn’t be wrong in this context, it doesn’t get less annoying.

8:17 PM.

“Stardenburdenhardenbart!” you blurt out upon entering the living room.

“Huh?” Eddie, leaning into the corner of his couch with an arm thrown over the backrest, snaps his attention to you and you can’t help but giggle, “That’s not fucking real. Did your heart just seize in my living room?”

“It’s a German word,” you grin, already knowing what kind of reaction you’ll get at the explanation, “it means many things. Ranging from ‘look at me’ to ‘come here’. It’s used for animals.”

“Wow,” he tosses his head back, “Cannot believe you. Using your smarts against me like that is so cruel.”

“Yeah, well…” you trail off before holding up the dress you’d just changed out of, “I’m definitely stealing this. I did not sweat under those hellish stage lights just to give it up.”

“I will wait with bated breath until getting graced with the sight again.”

You hang the dress over the end of the couch that isn’t going to be used and climb onto the cushions, leaning against Eddie’s side.

Eddie can barely pay enough attention to the slasher to make fun of it with you while you’re swimming in one of his old Hellfire shirts and plaid pajama pants. He can hardly believe you’re really still here, but he wouldn’t dare to object. He almost expected you to vanish at his fingertips once the play was over. He doesn’t wanna lose you.

And while he doubts there’s any way you don’t like him based on your actions, he’s tired of the undetermined nature of your relationship.

“Thanks for being interested in my life,” Eddie turns to look at you, you turn as well and lock eyes with him, “I hope it was everything you wished for.”

You beam at him, “It was. I’ll even thank you in my valedictorian speech.”

“For what?”

“Showing me a good time,” when he waggles his brows, you gently smack his chest, “Not like that, pervert.”

“So,” his eyes just dart away for a split second.

“So?” you take his chin and tilt his head so he has to look at you.

“I was wondering- would you want to go on a date? With me, just so we’re clear.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to go on a date with anybody else.”

And finally, Eddie leans down and does what led to him dragging you back to his trailer in the first place. He kisses you softly, testing the waters. Diving in deeper only when you lean in, too.

9:59 PM.

You and Eddie are stuck outside of your door. Your flowers are still in his backseat and you’re excited to call him tomorrow so he can come deliver them (and subsequently deliver you from being stuck in your house). Neither one of you wants to break the join of your hands. Eddie knows he’ll see you tomorrow but he doesn’t want to have to stop seeing you now.

To drive home alone. Go to bed alone. Wake up alone.

Now that he has you and you have him, he doesn’t like the taste of loneliness on his tongue.

God, when did he get so needy?

“I still have your jacket,” you squeeze his hands.

Eddie bumps his forehead with yours, “Hang onto it for me. Keep it safe with your dress.”

You sigh, “I have to get the stain out of that dress.”

“Soak it in cold water and scrub with lemon juice, if that doesn’t work, bring it with you tomorrow.”

“Wow, my knight in shining armor,” you grin, “Excited to know my boyfriend can clean up blood.”

Boyfriend.

Your heart seizes momentarily in panic, worried you’re rushing things. Then Eddie nods against your head, “I’m excited to clean up fake blood from my girlfriend’s fancy dress.”

Girlfriend.

Eddie Munson’s girlfriend.

“I’ve gotta get going, cowboy,” you take a step towards the door and go to release Eddie’s hands.

Before you can, though, he brings you in to peck your cheek and then stands back.

You couldn’t help the smile on your face if you tried, your hand drapes over the doorknob but there’s no motivation to turn it, “I’ll see you tomorrow, pretty boy.”

“I’ll be waiting tirelessly until then, princess.”

10:01 PM.

You watch him stumble back into his van before entering your home. You leave the dress hanging by the washing machine and wander to the phone, not bothering with a hello to either of your parents as they sit in the living room. You know they’re watching and you can feel the heated glares.

You simply don’t care.

Your fingers dance around the numbers until you hear the sweet drawl of Chrissy, “You’ll never guess what I just did.”

“Well,” you twirl the phone cord around your finger as she speaks, “you’ll never guess what I just did.”

“What’d you do?”

“I broke up with Jason.”

“Oh, shit!” you cheer, ignoring the way your parents are staring at you with shock rather than indignation, “Good for you!”

“I know, I know,” she’s giggling and you wish she was here so you could hug her in celebration, “but now you share - what’d you do?”

“Well, I’m officially Eddie Munson’s girlfriend…” you trail off and sigh dreamily, “He said I remind him of sunshine and meadows and being naked and I just knew that he was the only guy for me.”

Taglist @homiesexual-or-homosexual @chainsaw-man-inserts @juggernort @efvyqrs 4 u <3

#within six days #wsd fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader

53 notes · View notes

wrecking-man · 2 years

Text

Komi-san Can’t Adventure Chapter 44 - Ill, Intents, and Purposes

Chapter summary: On their expedition to the ruins in Vonozia, with the help of Sara, Nakanaka had recovered a certain book. The secrets contained within that book set off a chain of events that would change her life, and the life of Yamai, forever.

(This is 'the YamaNaka chapter', in other words.)

I finally had to change the fic’s age rating because of this chapter, as it gets into light M territory towards the end of the chapter. 😳

Click here to read the full chapter on AO3.

Click here to see all of my works.

It did not take Nakanaka very long to brew the potion once she had forced herself out of bed and back into her study.

In fact, she had just enough for a second dose, so she ended up making another... Bi had thought it better to be safe than sorry. There were few things worse for an alchemist than accidentally ruining a potion and not having enough materials for another attempt, after all.

Yamai had called at some point, Nakanaka learned, after finally looking at the notifications on her phone.

Nakanaka clicked her tongue in annoyance. She already knew what it was about: their first shrine visit with Komi (and the others) the next morning. “As if I’m going to forget something so important,” she grumbled to herself as she stored away her phone into her adventurer’s ring.

She appreciated it though, to an extent... before immediately shaking her head again to dismiss the thought.

She stared down the potion in her other hand. She had something far more important to think about: the product of all her hard work from the last few days.

...Well, it wasn’t completely due to her own efforts... but never mind that!

There it was! She had never seen a potion so pitch black in color... It was ominous... She swallowed hard in anticipation. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to drinking it, to be completely honest.

Frankly, the taste of potions was often quite vile, though there were a number of high grade potions that addressed this flaw.

The book she had been restoring even mentioned something about an ‘alchemy furnace’ to transform potions into the form of pills. Now that was an interesting idea... She would have to look into that some other time, however. She was lacking the necessary equipment... and Bi was already out enjoying himself.

Nakanaka cringed a little.

She held the concoction at eye level so she could stare it down one more time, and after a moment’s hesitation, she finally made herself down the bottle in one long series of gulps... Todd was it bitter.

“Ughhhhh!!” She couldn’t help but gag and stick out her tongue for a while. Her whole body involuntarily shivered. Thankfully she would only ever have to do that once...!

She waited for about 20 minutes for a reaction. For something... Anything!

But it didn’t seem to have any effect at all...

That being the case, as one might expect... She forced the other portion down as well.

...But even that failed to produce any results...

She wanted to cry. All that work for seemingly no payoff... Worst of all, she had subjected herself to that horrific taste twice!

Her disappointment was immeasurable, and her day was ruined.

All there was to do now was finally go back to bed while hoping that maybe it was just a potion with a super delayed reaction.

She left her study, which was located at the top floor of her castle’s tower, and took the long walk of shame down the spiraling stairs. She couldn’t stop thinking about how much of a waste of time all that was... That, and the ghastly taste of the potion that still lingered in her mouth.

What ‘Dragonheart Essence’!? She felt scammed!

She got sick to her stomach just thinking about it. The taste was so bad that she almost wanted to throw up... but that would just be the cherry on top of everything else, wouldn’t it?

She had already wasted so much time, and so many resources to make those potions. She wasn’t about to hurl everything down the toilet... Or onto the floor...

Even her nose was affected by it now... She sniffled, and there was an unpleasant burning sensation that followed soon after.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and her vision began to blur as a result. Great. She was crying now. She hated this. She had to wonder if even one thing was going to go right for her today.

...

As she continued downward, she could not help but feel as though the tower was taller than she remembered. Her legs were tired already, but she was still not yet on the ground floor.

At some point, she found herself leaning against the wall for support...

Something was wrong...

Her breathing was becoming... strange. Or at least that was her impression. Her head wasn’t right, all of a sudden. She was getting confused.

She focused intently on her breathing as she forced herself to continue down the stairs, but she wasn’t sure if she was even getting any oxygen. Her head was spinning. At this rate, she was likely to pass out.

This was all her fault, obviously. She knew that quite well. She had gotten impatient, and now she was paying the price for it... She felt like death.

The last thing she wanted was to fall down the stairs and hurt herself even further, so she sat down hoping to just ride out the consequences of her mistake. The floor was never so inviting as it was now...

The next thing she knew, she was laying on her side.

How long she laid there for, she didn’t know. Did any time pass at all?

...Her stomach hurt more than ever now, so she curled up a little to find some semblance of relief.

The floor was cool, and oddly comforting, at least...

Just a short nap... That’s all she needed...

A short time later.

“I know you saw I called,” Yamai huffed to herself as she unlocked the front door of Nakanaka’s castle and went inside. “I know you saw!” she said again―louder this time.

It was not quite a yell, by Yamai standards, but still it echoed a good distance.

...No response.

She glanced around a moment before heading straight for Nakanaka’s room.

This ‘castle’ was always an eyesore to her. It was right across the road from her own home... They were neighbors, fortunately or not.

She would never understand why Nakanaka chose this place of all places. Why couldn’t she live in a massive mansion like a normal person?

Heck, she would have probably funded the project herself if Nakanaka was willing to have the castle at least rebuilt into something less unsightly.

...

Nakanaka wasn’t in her room.

“She’s gotta be here somewhere,” Yamai said under her breath. Nakanaka hardly ever left her castle except when she was on some quest or another. And if she was on a quest, she normally would rope her in... as well as the rest of her adventuring party. It’s what King Daiou was paying them a hefty salary for, at any rate.

No, Nakanaka was definitely there... She could smell her.

...

“What is that smell?” Yamai wondered aloud as she decided to follow the unfamiliar, yet pleasant scent that was hanging in the air. It was different, but it reminded her of someone... “Komi-san? Komi-san, are you here???”

She lifted up the bottom of her thick, pink frilly dress with both hands so she could pick up the pace.

Yamai did not have to run for long before finally locating the source of the wonderful aroma she had been chasing after.

It was-

“Nakanaka-san...?” Yamai called out to her in a low, uncertain voice.

Nakanaka was still on the floor... Still out cold...

Yamai couldn’t believe her eyes. It took a few seconds for her mind to register that Nakanaka really was in fact just laying there motionlessly on the stairs... She thought for sure she must have made some kind of mistake.

...Or was Nakanaka playing a prank on her!?

No... Yamai knew before even completing the thought that Nakanaka wouldn’t do something like that. She knew her far better than that...

Her breath caught in her throat as she realized the gravity of the situation.

“H-hey!” she yelled as she rushed up the stairs.

She didn’t have time to be disappointed that there was no sign of Komi anywhere... Nor could she spare a thought as to why Nakanaka suddenly ‘smelled’ so good. Everything else was secondary... All she could focus on was Nakanaka laying unconscious at her feet.

Her heart was racing. What happened? Who could have done this? To Nakanaka, of all people...

Yamai slowly knelt down. She did so with the utmost care to ensure that she did not trip over her own dress and fall on top of Nakanaka. Was Nakanaka still breathing? Was she even still alive? Yamai could not tell at a glance...

Yamai hesitated, uncertain what exactly she should do in a situation like this...

For all of their bickering, Nakanaka was still someone she thought of as a good friend... She was irreplaceable, in fact. The thought of losing her so suddenly like this terrified her more than she would ever dare to admit.

...She shook her head. She shouldn’t be thinking about something like that right now, she decided. If Nakanaka was alive―which she prayed to Todd that she was―she had to hurry and do something in case she needed immediate medical attention.

If Nakanaka had internal injuries, Yamai could not just thoughtlessly move her. She knew that much, after having overheard it from other adventurers some time ago... but she still needed to check whether or not she was in fact still breathing.

She slowly, gently rolled Nakanaka onto her back, and placed her ear to Nakanaka’s chest. She blushed, and tried to ignore the faint ripples of energy coming from her body that only seemed to get stronger the more time went on...

It was Nakanaka’s aura that led her here, she realized. It sent a chill down her spine... She had thought it was perhaps some kind of new perfume. How or why Nakanaka’s aura was suddenly undergoing such a drastic change was beyond her. She tried her best to ignore it... at least for now. Nakanaka’s life was more important.

Nakanaka was breathing normally, much to Yamai’s relief... Or at least it seemed normal enough to her. And her heart rate was... okay, so Yamai did not have any sort of medical knowledge at all... Nakanaka was alive though! That’s what mattered in the end.

“...What are you doing?” Nakanaka asked groggily as she finally opened her eyes. She wondered how long she was out for, for Yamai of all people to be making a fuss over her... Her head was really spinning now, and her stomach somehow hurt even more than it did before.

She would sooner die than admit it, but Yamai’s head on her chest was not entirely unpleasant.

Yamai jolted and sat up straight in an instant. Her fists were now firmly planted on top of her thighs. “Geez! You scared the crap out of me...” she said just above a whisper before loosening back up. “What the hell happened to you...? I was worried I would have to perform CPR or something...”

Nakanaka chuckled darkly at the notion. “Why? Did you forget to brush your teeth?” She could hardly picture that scenario... Yamai giving her CPR... Did Yamai even know how to do that? She was in an obscene amount of pain, so she really needed that laugh.

Yamai scowled. Why was Nakanaka being like this? Now, of all times... She found it frustrating. “I’m being serious...” she insisted. They were almost always at odds with each other, so she couldn’t say it was unexpected that Nakanaka was starting shit, but Yamai was trying to help her right now. She would have appreciated some level of gratitude...

Rather than argue, she let it go... It was whatever. She sighed.

Yamai was wearing a pair of long white gloves made of silk, but she knew something wasn’t right, so she decided to check Nakanaka’s temperature. She bit one of her gloves right at the tip of her middle finger, and pulled it off by yanking her arm away in one swift motion.

“...You’re freezing!” she said after placing the back of her bare hand on Nakanaka’s forehead. Come to think of it, Nakanaka looked even more pale than usual. It was like she was a zombie or something.

Nakanaka let out a sigh. It wasn’t by that much, but she felt a little better all of a sudden. Maybe seeing Yamai of all people worried about her-

Nakanaka grimaced. “I’m fine...!” she insisted in a low voice, and weakly nudged Yamai’s hand away, “I just need some sleep...”

She tried to push herself up off the floor, but she couldn’t muster nearly enough strength to do so... so she gave up in shame. It was either that or keep trying and humiliate herself even further.

Yamai couldn’t help but get angry at her. This was often the case, but this time was different... How could Nakanaka just brush this off as simply needing some sleep!? Nakanaka was clearly not fine in the slightest.

Yamai gritted her teeth. “What did you do...?” she asked quietly.

Nakanaka’s condition had to be self-inflicted... That’s the conclusion Yamai came to. It was the only thing that made any sense. If she had been attacked, Nakanaka would have warned her by now in case the attacker(s) were still nearby. And there was simply no way she got sick by natural means... She had to have done this to herself somehow...

Nakanaka rolled her eyes, and suppressed her growing urge to groan. She really didn’t want to admit to doing something so reckless as what she did... Yamai would definitely lord this over her and call her an idiot. And worst of all... she would unconditionally deserve it.

Yamai couldn’t help but notice the tears on Nakanaka’s face that had not yet fully dried. It made her ‘uncomfortable’ seeing Nakanaka like this. And in the first place, was it even worth it to play the blame game right now? “...Fine, forget it...” she breathed.

It was especially difficult for someone like her, but she had been making an effort not to argue―at least for right now. It was more important to get Nakanaka off the cold floor to somewhere warm... But bringing that up was even more difficult.

Nakanaka dreaded every second of this moment. She avoided eye contact like her life depended on it. She was completely at Yamai’s mercy, and saw no way out. It would have been easier for her to bear if Yamai was at least being her usual self, but she was being surprisingly... tender... Nakanaka winced at the thought. She didn’t know how to feel about that... How dreadful must she look for Yamai of all people to be showing her genuine concern?

“...You can’t just stay on the floor like this...” Yamai said under her breath at last, “I don’t know what’s happened to you... but if I help you up, do you think you would be able to walk?”

She was almost too afraid to ask. She worded and reworded the question in her head several times in an attempt to make it as palatable for Nakanaka as possible. She had never seen Nakanaka so vulnerable. What if she couldn’t walk? What should she do then?

She wanted to tack on, after the fact, that she would help her further if necessary... But wouldn’t that be saying too much? And obviously she would do so anyways, even if Nakanaka dared to refuse her help. What was she going to do, just leave Nakanaka there and go about her business...!? She could die!

But the fact of the matter was that Nakanaka absolutely hated being helped―it was one of the few things they had in common. That was the issue at hand.

Nakanaka cursed inwardly at her own powerlessness. She couldn’t even push herself up off the floor when she tried! So she seriously doubted that she would be able to walk right now.

...But she still had to try. It’s not as if she had any alternatives.

Nakanaka clenched her teeth in frustration. “...Just get me up, already,” she said. She tried to make it sound like a demand, but Yamai could tell she was pleading with her. She just didn’t want to admit how weak she had gotten.

Nakanaka could no longer afford to be bothered by how Yamai was treating her. The damage to her reputation was already done. It was becoming painfully obvious that the way things were going, unless something was done soon... she was in fact, going to die there.

She was in an unbelievable amount of pain. It was taking everything she had to not start crying again.

Yamai fidgeted and shifted her weight as she calculated how exactly she should pull Nakanaka up to her feet... She was starting to get weird ideas.

She of course thought from the beginning that Nakanaka was beautiful... But it was frankly irrelevant. She was never tempted by Nakanaka in the slightest. She was never interested, period...

At least not until now...

From the very moment Yamai first saw Komi, she was the only person Yamai truly desired. There was just something... mesmerizing about her that extended beyond mere beauty...

And now, she was getting a similar feeling from Nakanaka, of all people.

Against Yamai’s better judgment, her eyes went over Nakanaka’s figure, just once. Under Nakanaka’s over-sized gray shirt, she noticed, was a black bra strap peeking over her shoulder.

Yamai huffed in annoyance at herself, and reached down to help Nakanaka up.

“W-where do you think you’re grabbing?” Nakanaka asked in annoyance, “...My hands?”

“R-right, right. Yes ma’am,” Yamai grumbled as she took Nakanaka by the hands and looked away as she pulled her up along with herself. She wasn’t at all pleased by what had suddenly gotten into her. This was Nakanaka we’re talking about...! Not Komi...

After quickly letting go of each other’s hands, despite Nakanaka’s best efforts, her knees buckled at their earliest opportunity―sending her straight into Yamai’s chest.

Yamai stared at the ceiling with great intent as she loosely held Nakanaka in place with an arm around her lower back. As uncomfortable and awkward as it made her feel, she couldn’t just let Nakanaka fall back to the floor... If she didn’t know any better, she would accuse Nakanaka of doing this on purpose. But if she did that, she would be betraying her own muddled thoughts she was having, wouldn’t she? “...You can’t blame this on me,” she said under her breath.

A small part of her wished that Nakanaka was doing it on purpose... before she immediately shot the thought down. Sure, it felt nice―extraordinarily nice, in fact―but she was not Komi, her ‘one true love’...! She had to remind herself again.

“My knees are like jello, okay...?” Nakanaka complained as she held onto some of the frills of Yamai’s dress to steady herself... They were much softer than they looked―it almost felt like she was in bed again...

She dropped her guard for just a second to breathe in what little comfort she could, and a fresh, searing wave of pain immediately shot through her stomach making her involuntarily groan. This was a different kind of pain... A new kind of pain she had never felt before. It was like her insides were being shredded.

Nakanaka lost her grip, and was headed straight down until Yamai caught her and pulled her closer.

“I’ve got you,” Yamai said as she hugged Nakanaka tightly with both arms. Nakanaka could use a hug about now anyways, she figured, but really she was doing so simply because she wanted to. She inhaled deeply, nearly intoxicating herself on Nakanaka’s aura as it continued to carelessly leak out.

How was Nakanaka producing such an amazing aura? That’s what Yamai wanted to know... It was too much. Too... ‘alluring’... Was she going to be like this forever? If so...

Yamai shook her head to clear her mind. She was determined not to lose to that impulse of hers. Especially not when it was Nakanaka of all people―double especially because Nakanaka seemed as though she could die any moment with how submissive she was being. That was also important to note...

“...W-we’ve got to get you to a hospital. Like, right now,” she insisted. Partially due to how much pain Nakanaka was in―she wouldn’t know where to begin treating something like that―but also before she ended up doing something she couldn’t take back... something she would surely regret.

Nakanaka could hardly manage a protest as Yamai lifted her feet up off the ground, and hugged her even more tightly so she couldn’t drop her.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Yamai apologized into her ear in barely a whisper while fighting the urge to nuzzle her neck, “...You’re just going to have to put up with it for now.”

Yamai was alarmed at just how... ‘seductive’ Nakanaka was all of a sudden... It obviously wasn’t Nakanaka’s intention, as she was focusing on not dying at the moment... but the effect her condition had on Yamai was hard to ignore.

Without thinking, Yamai ran her fingers through Nakanaka’s hair. She didn’t even notice her hand had moved until after the act was done. She needed to hurry, before she put Nakanaka in more danger than she was already in.

With that decided, she quickly started down the stairs.

Nakanaka rested her head on Yamai’s shoulder and breathed heavily into her neck. This didn’t exactly help Yamai keep her composure, but she couldn’t very well help it either. For reasons she couldn’t readily explain, the more points of contact she made with Yamai, the more the pain eating her alive seemed to lessen.

Whatever the reasoning behind it was... Nakanaka was convinced that remaining close to Yamai like this was the key to her immediate survival.

...But she couldn’t just say that. She would almost rather just die than say that...

Still, with a solution now in sight, Nakanaka was able to summon a little more strength. “Wait...” she pleaded, “J-just bring me to my room...” She hugged herself closer to Yamai’s body.

“What!?” Yamai asked, taken aback by Nakanaka’s absurd request. She almost had to ask her to repeat herself.

In addition to whatever was ailing Nakanaka right now, Yamai was also trying to save Nakanaka from her... but here Nakanaka was, asking her to bring her to the one place they absolutely shouldn’t be alone together.

“I-I mean... Just call someone, and have them come here...” Nakanaka lied, “I don’t want anyone else to see me like this...”

Yamai paused...

Her heart broke a little as she thought about it.

If it was her in Nakanaka’s place, she would be asking the same thing of her... The thought of people gawking at her being carried to the hospital... She wouldn’t wish that humiliation on anyone―least of all Nakanaka, whom she saw as a rival.

Yamai lowered her head onto Nakanaka’s shoulder in thought. Nakanaka had said nothing about minding any of... this... Not that Nakanaka was in any position to be complaining... but did she really not mind that she was seeing her in such a vulnerable moment? What was going on in Nakanaka’s mind right now? She really wanted to know...

“Please...?”

Yamai took a deep breath and closed her eyes... Whatever... It was a supremely bad idea. She knew that all too well... But at the same time, she wanted to make Nakanaka as comfortable as possible.

“Alright... Fine...”

Read the full chapter on AO3. (Seriously!)

#komi san wa komyushou desu #komi san can't communicate #komi can't communicate #komi san #fanfiction #komi #kca #kca 44 #ill intents and purposes #nakanaka omoharu #yamai ren #yamanaka #drama #feels #fluff #progress #sukida lily would be proud #seriously read the full chapter #kek

8 notes · View notes

oriorchids · 2 years

Note

Hello! Sorry to comment this here and not on ao3 but i dont have an account there 😅

i just wanted to say i just read the first chapter of your twst x pmmm crossover and i am so excited!! i love pmmm and always thought it was such a shame there wasn’t more crossover works considering just how many parallels and shared elements are in both, so i was so thrilled when i saw Connection.

Also i love that your working in elements of magia record, the dopple system compared with the phantoms of overblots has always been so cool to me so when in the fic you mentioned magia record elements too i just was like !!! i cant wait to see what you do with all these cool elements

ok ok enough raving about the concept lets get into the wonderful things in the fic itself. i love the way youve characterized yuu and their siblings so far! They seem like a fun trio and i hope we get to see their dynamic more in like flashbacks since yuu is currently isekai’ed 😔 speaking of that 👀 loving the transition of yuu fighting that witch and getting caught of guard, and then being taken by the carriage, was yuu taken out in the fight or maybe they were like summoned 🤔 either way I’m sure their siblings are absolutely freaking out, i wonder if they’ll be able to do anything on their end to investigate, maybe tracking down someone with a wish specific enough to help.

I cant wait to see more of this yuu in twisted wonderland, how their past will shape their interactions with the characters, gonna be giving azul such side eye when he mentions contracts like 😑 ‘kyubey is this your humansona??’ or somethin haha. i wonder if they’ll try and keep it secret, if they can, you mentioned the issue of them not really having a way to recharge their magic in the summary which has me nervous but excited because who doesn’t love the looming threat of angst.

ok that was a lot of words but im so excited to see where you take this, your writings so good and i look forward to more of your work! Great job and have a good day!! :D

aaaaaaaaa thank you so much!! yeah when i was scrolling through the fandom tag i kept looking for works that were related to pmmm in some way or have it as a crossover. i got like. one fic. and it was just tagged “pmmm references” and i didn’t really want to read it because it was both ongoing and long.

magia record holds a special place to my heart and i miss the days the en server was still there. i know nothing of what happens after the first arc but that will not stop me from making references to it. doppels are just very fun to me.

funnily enough, both hotaru and kohaku are older ocs than yuu, who was made for the fic. i think i actually stole yuu’s abilities as a healer from hotaru, and changed hotaru’s ability to something else. kohaku was never fleshed out before writing this, though. i think she originally had more protective shield-based abilities, but i gave her super-strength here due to the differing circumstances. i tried to make them a pretty decent trio, and i’m glad you like their dynamic! and on that last part, possibly. they’re not going to be standing around and waiting, that’s for sure.

yuu’s interactions with the twst crew will be interesting, i think. azul’s contracts are probably a little less extreme than kyubey’s, just because they can be broken and don’t lead to an eventual death by monsters or turning into a monster. then again that seems pretty innate for twst mages. and the grief seed issue is certainly an issue. hopefully they can figure out how to fix that.

i’m glad you enjoyed the first chapter!! and tbh lots of words are always welcomed i like being talked to about my writing. hope you have a good day as well!

#ori answers #twst #i should probably post connection to tumblr huh #eh maybe later

1 note · View note

thewritetofreespeech · 3 years

Note

Could I request the Obey Me guys as well as the Now Dateables?

Perhaps M/C crawling into bed with them wanting to be held and to be touched.

Perhaps a little nsfw added in 🤤😉

note: this is the only imagine/scenario I will do for all 11 boys. cuz I’m a thirsty bitch. the rest of the time we will stick to the rules of HCs only.

Additionally, the plot has been changed slightly to ‘coming to their room at night’. Sorry. If you want NSFW stuff for a specific boy, based on the provided content, I’ll do it but 11 boys is too much even for my thirsty trappy ass.

Obey Me Boys + MC Crawling into Bed with Them

Lucifer

Lucifer sighed over his paper work. Would his turmoil never cease?

Sometimes he felt like he had fallen into a lower level of the Devildom. Like the 13th circle of hell where the preferred torture method for lost souls was endless paperwork. A modern day Sisyphus, only instead of a boulder it was forms.

He heard the door to his room quietly click open & then close. He doesn’t look up from his paper work as he knew who it was. There was only one person, ok maybe two, who would come into his room this late at night without knocking. “What is it [Y/N]?”

“I was um...wait, you wear reading glasses?”

Lucifer frowned and looked up from his paper work now. “Magical reading glasses. For reading magical text.” They were required to read some of the magical scripts he was combing over. “What is it [Y/N]?”

The human squirmed a little when he asked again. Seeming to think over the answer, or more precisely how to explain it. “I couldn’t sleep.” They finally confess. “I was wondering if I could stay in here with you, but....you’re busy.”

Lucifer arched a brow slightly, but then moved some of the papers he had completed to make space for them. “Come on. I won’t be much longer.”

[Y/N] smiled at him and scampered over. Crawling in under the silk sheets, and as close as possible to him with him on top of them as they could. “Thank you Lucifer.”

“Of course, my dearest one.” He replied with a soft smile, leaning down to kiss the top of their head before returning to his work. Renewed in his commitment to get this done so he could spend the night with [Y/N].

Mammon

It was late. It was almost 3:00 in the morning by the time he got home, and it had been a shitty night.

Mammon had been at the casino. Gambling, drinking, dancing, the usual. His luck turned sour around 11:00 and, stupid Mammon, had spent the remaining four hours trying to turn it around. That of course didn’t work so now he was even more broke, defeated, and feeling like crap for his failure; regretting Lucifer finding out and making him feel worse. Fuck it had been the worst night.

He rounded the corner to his room and looked up in surprise to see [Y/N] at his door. “What are you doing here?” His voice seemed to surprise them too as they jumped a little before turning to him.

“Oh I was…coming to see if you wanted to hang out?”

“Hang out?” Mammon repeated with an arched brow. “Ya know it’s like 3:00 in the morning, right?”

“O-Oh…is it? I guess I miss read the time.” [Y/N] began to fidget, then muttered some apology about going back to their room.

The demon reached out and caught their hand before they could get far. “Hey, what’s wrong? Nobody comes out here in the middle of the night without a reason.” Or they were out super late like him.

[Y/N] looked down, then decided to tell the truth. “I couldn’t sleep. So I wanted to see you.”

Mammon blinked behind his shades. He hadn’t been expecting that. Now it was his turn to fidget as he realized out of all the people in the world, [Y/N] had chosen to come see him.

“Yeah well…of course ya’d come to the Great Mammon for help. I uh…guess you can stay in here with me tonight.”

He showered to get the smoke & stink of shame off before crawling into bed with [Y/N]. His little human already drifting off just being in his covers. Mammon wrapped his arms around them and held them close. Maybe it wasn’t the worst night after all.

Levi

Of course he was awake when [Y/N] came to his room. The latest install of Kenji Momotaro: Demon Slayer Warrior Prince had just been released that day, and Levi he been playing it since he had gotten his hands on it. He wouldn’t be sleeping for a while.

When he heard the knock on his door, initially missing it over the sound of his game and tunnel vision, Levi paused for the first time in hours to go see who it was. “[Y/N]-chan?”

“Can…I stay in here with you?” They asked. Catching Levi by surprise. “I can’t sleep in my room.”

The blunette blushed violently, and covered his face. “Y-Y-You….You want to sleep in here with me??”

“Is…that ok?” They asked cautiously. Seeming let down by his reaction.

“No. I mean! Yes! W-What I mean is, I’m not going to bed right now. I’m grinding through my new game so….you might not be happy in here.” Plus, his bed was a bathtub. Which was only comfortable to him.

“Oh. Well…I don’t want to mess up your game. If that’s more important to you.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Levi outburst. Then quickly covered his mouth in embarrassment. “I…I just don’t think you’ll get a lot of sleep in here. I only like my room after all.”

“I like your room.” If Levi turned any redder, he was going to get a nose bleed. “It’s dark, which is nice. Plus the aquariums are really soothing. And…you’re there. I just wanted to be around you since I couldn’t sleep, but I guess that’s silly.”

The demon had to cover his mouth again. This time over threat of nose bleed. He was so red from embarrassment, but also incredibly moved by [Y/N]’s words, that he quickly responded, “you can stay with me.”

He moved aside and let [Y/N] in. Leading them over to his game area where he laid out some plushies as a bed, and pulled out a blanket to cover them. “I-I-I…I’m gonna keep playing since I’m not tired. But I’ll put my headphones on so I don’t disturb you. Y-Y-You can lay down here and i-i-if you fall asleep I won’t mind.”

“Thanks Levi.” He had to gulp at the cute sleepy way they said his name, before they tucked in and he went back to his game.

He couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the game, with [Y/N] so close. Choosing to use his leg as a pillow. Eventually he gave up and leaned back against the edge of his tub, not daring to disturb them and actually getting a good night sleep as well.

Asmo

There were few things that Asmo considered sacred. Love. Vitality. The Louis Vuitton spring collection.

But the one thing he considered sacred most of all, was his beauty sleep regiment.

The Avatar of Lust had a strict sleep schedule to give his body the best rejuvenation possible, and amplify his beauty. Everyone knew about it, and choose to leave Asmo alone; per his wishes.

Which was why it was so frustrating when his rest was disturbed by a knock at the door.

Asmo grumbled under his sleep mask at the light rapping that wouldn’t go away. Irritated by the noise, and now the worry lines whoever it was was putting into his forehead. He pushed his mask up to his hair line and got up out of bed towards the door. “What?!” He said in a not cute, very moody outburst when he opened it. Seeing [Y/N] standing there, startled by his ugly display. “Oh, [Y/N]-kun. It’s you.”

“Y-Yeah. Yeah it’s me. Sorry to wake you, I’ll just…go.”

“Wait [Y/N]! I’m sorry. If I had known it was you paying me a late night visit, I would have been much nicer and answered the door sooner.”

“Well I….couldn’t sleep so…-“Ahhhh~! You couldn’t sleep so you decided to come to me?? How naughty!”

[Y/N] frowned and turned to leave, but Asmo apologized quickly for being cheeky. “Did you want to stay with me tonight? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” He could tell he was right, but the human was second guessing themselves on coming here. “I promise I’ll behave. Really.”

[Y/N] seemed to trust them, and came into the room & into bed with Asmo. He was practically giddy with them being so close, but was true to his word and supplied no funny stuff for the evening. Just rest and cuddles.

In the morning, he couldn’t wait to tell his brothers how he slept with [Y/N] last night. Causing quite the intentional misunderstanding and ruckus over breakfast that day.

Satan

Satan was getting ready for bed. Pjs on, teeth brushed, uniform set out for tomorrow, and on his bed reading one last chapter of his latest book, when he heard the knock at the door.

At first he thought it was a branch hitting the glass of his window. But when he heard it again, he knew it was at his door, and had a very The Raven moment before he went to answer it.

“[Y/N]? What are you doing here? It’s so late.”

“I know, I know,” the replied, scratching the back of their head. “I just…I couldn’t sleep. I tried but I just couldn’t get to sleep, and wanted to see you.” They look up at him with big doe eyes and ask, “can I stay with you tonight?”

Of course, he couldn’t say no. Not with a look like that. Or more importantly, he’d never say no to [Y/N]. Satan offered them a soft smile and nodded before letting them in.

“What were you reading?” They asked, as the climbed into bed first. Watching Satan put his book away for them.

“Oh, just a new fiction series I found. Simeon recommended it to me.” He said as he climbed into bed as well.

“What’s it about?”

He told them the premise of the story, and eventually read aloud the first few chapters to them as they curled up beside him. Falling asleep soon after.

Satan smiled again, and put the book back away, before leaning down to kiss their forehead and curl in beside them. Ready for bed now.

Beel

It was pretty late when he heard the knock on the door. And a miracle he heard it at all.

Belphie was the sleeper out of the two of them, but Beel wasn’t exactly a light sleeper either. Between his workouts, large meals, and having to get up early for his morning workouts, the red head was usually dead to the world when his head hit the pillow. But, still, when he heard the quite knock on the door he woke up.

If he were a thinker like Satan or the others, he would have thought that it was maybe their bond that woke him. Instead he just trudged half asleep towards the door to open it. “[Y/N]?”

“S-Sorry....” They apologize and look towards the ground as Beel looked at them curiously. “I knew you were asleep, but I still woke you up. I’m sorry.”

“Is something wrong?” Beel asked. A bit more awake now that he knew it was them and they seemed distressed. [Y/N] shrugged. “Did you have a bad dream?”

They pause for a while, but then shrug again. He might not be a thinker like the others, but he was smart enough to know what that meant. He reached out to take their hand and pulled them into his room. Leading them over to his bed and pulling them onto it.

“Don’t worry. You can stay here.” Beel said, holding [Y/N] to his chest in a horizonal hug. “I’ll keep you safe. You don’t have to worry while I’m here. Go back to sleep.”

His words seem to do the trick, and [Y/N] feel back asleep. Beel stayed awake a little while longer. Combing his fingers through their hair, before he too fell back asleep.

Belphie

He heard the conversation from the door, but didn’t bother getting up.

The only thing that could break through when he was asleep was Beel and [Y/N]’s voice. So hearing them both woke him up pretty quickly, although it seemed to be handled.

He tried to go back to sleep after hearing you settle in, but it didn’t work. The usually lazy demon kept fidgeting in his sleep, trying to get comfortable, and even counting sheep to try and go back to dream land. Nothing worked. And he knew why.

Belphie got up out of bed, hugging his pillow to his chest, and walked over to the over bed across the room and kicked it. When Beel and [Y/N] looked up at him half asleep he demanded, “move over.” He couldn’t sleep know that [Y/N] was cuddling up with someone else and not him. Especially in the same room.

[Y/N] huffed in their sleep and laid back down, scooching closer to Beel to try and make space. Beel, on the other hand, smile sleepily up as his twin and properly moved over; back pressed against the wall with [Y/N] at his chest to give him as much space as possible.

Belphie smiled back at him, then dropped his pillow to climb in. Instantly falling asleep. Holding on to his twin and beloved [Y/N] for the rest of the night.

Simeon

Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. Those were the words that Simeon tried to live by

He was just about to slip under the covers happily, when he heard a small knock at the door. It was so faint & small, that he assumed it was Luke needing something. So he quickly went over to answer it without putting his robe on.

“Oh…[Y/N]….” The angel said, feeling his cheeks heat up and clinching for his imaginary robe to cover his pjs, when he realized it was you. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t mean in the Hall. You were stay in the other dorm for a while as an infestation of some icky, demon creepy crawly, that just loved to nibble on humans was dealt with in the House of Lamentation. Luke of course had been thrilled you were staying with them, insisting that the change be made permanent to keep you away from those rowdy demons. Simeon couldn’t really agree on the demon part, but he wouldn’t be disappointed if you stayed here more.

“I…couldn’t sleep,” you tell him. “New surroundings and all. I was…wondering if I could stay in your room?”

The angel seemed to bristle in surprise at your words. Taken aback, but also in the warm feeling that was spreading through his chest. God have mercy…..

“I don’t know if that would be appropriate.”

“Please?” [Y/N] beckoned. He had to gulp down the lump, and instantaneous urge to say yes, building in his throat. “I just don’t want to sleep alone. I keep thinking about those things in my room back at the dorm. And being around you is so comforting. Just for tonight? I’ll sleep on the couch and everything if that’s a problem.”

“I wouldn’t let you do that.” Simeon insisted. He would never let them sleep on the couch like some vagabond. “Well….alright. But just for tonight. And just because you’re feeling unsettled.” He doesn’t know who he was trying to convince more: them or himself.

He didn’t get much sleep that night. Tense, and trying to remain appropriate even is they slept next to him. But, in a way, it was the best night he had ever had.

Solomon

He always stayed up late. The late to early morning hours were the best time for magic. The witching hour. He was knee deep into his research & spell casting when he heard the knock at the door.

“I..saw the light on…” [Y/N] said when he opened the door. “Are you…going to bed soon?”

Solomon blinked for a moment, then looked down at his pocket watch. Oh, it was rather late. But….“No. I still have quite a bit of work to do.”

The other human sighed, then turned to leave from his door just as suddenly as they came. “Wait. What is it?” He asked, stopping them.

They turn, and seem to debate about answering before, “I couldn’t sleep and was thinking it might be nice to cuddle with you.” Solomon blinked again. In surprise this time. “Stupid, right?”

No, not stupid, he thought. It was just no on had ever asked to cuddle with him before. His body and cool demeanor might be misleading, but he was a very fierce sorcerer. Powerful, and awe inspiring. He had made cities tremble in his young days, and was powerful enough to independently bind one of the strongest demons in hell. Cuddles were not something that one usually thought of when it came to him.

He opened the door to let them in and said, “if you can’t sleep, I can make you a potion.” When that didn’t seem to go over well he corrected with, “or…I could lay down with you for a moment.”

The ‘moment’ turned into the whole evening, because the second his head hit the pillow, he instantly fell asleep. Lulled to dream land by his many late nights, and the warm embrace of [Y/N]. Perhaps there were better things than just getting research done.

Diavolo

He groaned in his sleep. Then rolled over on his side, immediately pulling [Y/N] in when he was in close proximity of them. It was a reflex at this point.

At first, he had tried to keep his distance from the human exchange student. No good would come from it, and it was inappropriate that the future King & patron of the program would be involved with one of the terrestrial candidates. But he couldn’t help it.

Their brightness. Their smile. Their hope for the program and just life won him over and now he couldn’t stand to be further apart from them than a second.

“It’s morning....”

Divaolo groaned and buried his head into the back of their neck. “Five more minutes...”

“We can’t. It’s morning.” [Y/N] insisted. Jutting their hips back against his front; which had the opposite effect of trying to get him out of bed. “If you don’t go, Barbatos will start looking for you. And if he teleports into my room it will be a whole thing.”

That certainly was a metaphoric splash of cold water.

The prince groaned again, and buried himself deeper for a second, before he compliantly agreed and got up. The little full bed in the student dorms joyful of his departure, as it squeaked happily as he tried to leave it.

“Can I come again tonight?” Diavolo asked, as he adjusted his ornate bed clothes. He never slept in them. Like most things in his life, they were all for show.

[Y/N] smiled at him from under their covers and said, “of course.”

His heart swelled at their smile and the promise of later. Surging forward he gave them an impassioned good morning kiss, and told them, “wait up for me.” Before he disappeared in a whirl of black smoke to his own bedroom.

It felt terribly cold now. But he only had to wait until tonight. That he could live for.

Barbatos

The work of a butler is never really done.

There were always things to do. More chores to complete. More tasks to do. Particularly in the life of the royal butler. But Barbatos never complained about his job. He was literally born for it, and took great pride in his work. No matter how small the task.

When he heard the small bell, harking a summons from on of the guest rooms, Barbatos stopped polishing the silver and immediately went upstairs to see what was needed. “You called, [Y/N]?” He asked upon arrival. Calm as ever, and ready to help. “How may I be of assistance?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you up here.” They apologized. “I just….couldn’t sleep.”

Barbatos chuckled a little with a soft smile. “No need to apologize, [Y/N]. You’re a guest here, and a friend of the young master.” As well as a dear person to him. “I’m happy to help with anything you need. Might I make you some soothing nightshade tea? That seems to do the trick for most people.”

“N-No. No I…I was wondering….if you’d just sit with me for a while.” The human looked down at the ornate bed spread. Picking at the embroidery in a nervous manner. “Til I fall back asleep?”

The demon smiled again, and came over to sit on the edge of the bed. Holding them in the most comfortable manner possible with him on top of the covers, and them under them. “That is a simple thing.” He told them softly. “Close your eyes. I shall stay with you until you are asleep, and make sure you are taken care of.”

“Thank you.” [Y/N] said lazily. Already closing their eyes and falling back asleep with him close.

The work of a butler was never really done. But this was a task he was happy to do.

1K notes · View notes

alpacaparkaseok · 2 years

Text

How to Sell Sunshine |13|

Chapter 13. The Web

→ Pairing: mafia!BTS x reader (not poly)

→ word count: 11.8k :))

→ warnings/tags: injuries, car crash, blood, eMoTiOnAl dAmAgE, general fighting and yelling, I honestly can’t even remember if we see the Lambo at this point, I tried my best to get a lil bit of stuff with everyone, but if your fav didn’t get all the time you were hoping for then I’m sorry and we’ll definitely see a whole lot with everyone all together next chapter!!

→ a/n: I don’t even know what to say at this point, just enjoy! There’s a LOT of info here as we’re moving toward the final chapter, so if you have questions please feel free to ask!! thank you guys SO MUCH for loving this series, thank you for your patience, and please let me know your thoughts because I live for them! happy reading!

Series Masterlist

Present

Russo’s birthday happens to fall on the same day as his granddaughter, Lucille’s.

He tells you this with a deceivingly warm smile, pouring a glass of chardonnay. You wonder for a moment if he’s going to down it in its entirety before he passes it to you. “She turned twelve,” he needlessly explains, pouring another glass for himself. “It’s hard to believe. If she’s already twelve, how old does that make me?”

That makes him sixty-seven. You’ve seen the files that Yoongi keeps in the study; heaven knows the two of you have spent plenty of time pouring over them over the course of several late nights. Russo’s file is extensive – if you didn’t know any better, you’d think Yoongi held a bit of a grudge against the old man.

You do know better; he most definitely holds a grudge.

“It was nice to leave all this behind for a weekend,” he sighs wistfully. “Have you ever been to the countryside?”

By countryside, he means France, of course. That’s where Lucille lives; far from the grime and filth of Queen’s Wharf that sticks to the bottom of your shoes everywhere you go. It’s easy to picture the rolling green fields and storm clouds rolling in with rain to wash everything away.

No amount of storm clouds could wash away the filth in Queen’s Wharf. It’s settled into the nooks and crannies of one’s own soul. You can’t scrape it out, no matter how hard you claw at it.

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

You can’t help but wonder for a moment if Russo is about to pull out a fork and knife from the way he’s observing you. An insatiable hunger pulses behind his pale blue eyes, kept at bay by what can only be years of restraint. Only, it wasn’t Russo that kept himself on such a tight leash.

Word on the street is that The Father never did learn to pull his punches.

“Shame.”

He leaves the word hanging in the air, waiting until it practically seeps into your skin. You let it. At your back, you can feel the way Namjoon struggles to stay uninterested. He’s done a wonderful job up to this point; you’d nearly forgotten he was there. Guarding your back, he’d called it.

Witnessing my madness unfold, is what you call it in your head.

“I hope to visit it soon,” you finally respond, as airily as possible. Something razor sharp glints in Russo’s eyes, immediately picking up on the veiled threat. “I have a few old friends that live out there, it’s been too long since I last saw them.”

Russo sets his clasped hands on the desk. “I didn’t realize you had friends in France. Do I know any of them?”

He’s trying to call your bluff. For now, it’s easiest to keep him guessing. “I don’t think you do, no. But who knows? It’s a small world.” You reach for your chardonnay, which has remained untouched. “I’m not here to talk about possible acquaintances, though.”

Russo’s eyes follow your drink as you pass it up to Namjoon. He takes it readily, chancing a sip and humming in approval. Lip curling, Russo doesn’t bother hiding his distaste.

��I see you’ve still got your harem on a leash,” he sneers. Namjoon appears deaf, continuing to drink as Russo stares up at him. “Keep in mind boy, the collar starts to chafe after a while.”

“Look how the little dog yaps when his master is away,” you quietly observe. Russo’s eyes swivel to yours as red creeps up his neck.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve considering the fact that you’re the reason your father was just slaughtered like a Christmas pig.”

The image of Ortega this morning is difficult to shake as you wonder if your father looked the same when his body was found. Pushing past the thought, you manage a shrug. “You think too highly of me. Shylock wasn’t a scorned lover come back for revenge – he’s always been a murderer.”

“And you expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with this?”

“I’m nothing more than a pawn that’s since been removed from the board. Besides, I would’ve preferred a more hands-on approach if that’s what you’re thinking,” you reply. “So no, I didn’t hire Shylock. To be completely honest, I’m not sure we would even have the funds to hire him.”

Russo’s eyes sharpen with interest at your confession. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I believe that we can kill two birds with one stone.”

He’s picking at some skin on his arm, flashing his ring all the more. “Let me guess: you want my stone to take out your own birds.”

“Great guess. No.” Your voice comes out somehow sharper yet disinterested. “It involves keeping us both safe, by resolving a little problem I have. That problem will lead us to Shylock.”

“What’s the nature of this problem?” Russo asks, sitting back. “Are there going to be any other little birds popping up that need taking care of along the way?”

You open your mouth to reassure him that no, this is the only thing, but stop as an idea strikes you. Slowly, a smile carves its way onto your lips.

“Just one more thing.”

It feels like it’s been hours. Maybe it has been – there’s no clock in Russo’s office. Another tactic of his, you’re sure. It’s disorienting, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of checking your phone for the time.

“Shylock killed off your father in one fell swoop,” Russo says. He’s on his second glass of chardonnay, showing a surprising amount of discipline when it comes to the drink. Last you’d checked, spirits were his vice.

Maybe that’s why Yoongi hates him so much. He reminds him of what he could become.

“True.”

“As lax as he’d gotten in recent years, your father’s security had more than doubled since your supposed death. I can’t help but wonder at the capability of Shylock and his team. That was no simple task, yet he made it seem like he simply strolled in, knife in hand.”

Your chair is far too cushiony. It’s starting to make your back ache, with all the effort it takes to stay sitting completely still and upright rather than sink down into the endless depths of the seat.

“He was familiar with the layout, as well as most of my father’s men. I suspect it wasn’t too difficult for him to infiltrate the house.”

“Was he familiar with you, too?”

The question isn’t one you were hoping to have to answer, but it’s unavoidable. “Yes.”

The hunger in Russo’s eyes borders on starvation as his lips twitch. A ruby encrusted ring adorns his pointer finger, catching on the light and drawing your attention. “I’m assuming he’s fallen from your good graces, then.”

“He was never in them to begin with.”

“Then explain to me the nature of your relationship with him,” Russo pushes, almost gently. His eyes follow to where you’re caught on his ring again. Feeling his gaze, you meet his eyes with a jolt.

“Shylock was a mentor of sorts.”

“What did he teach you?”

“How to kill.”

Russo clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “What a poor teacher, then.”

You arch your brows, taking the bait. “You would’ve taught something different?”

Smiling his wicked smile, Russo leans back in his chair, easing the ring off of his finger. He holds it up to eye-level, allowing the light to bounce off of it. It’s absolutely dazzling, leaving you to watch on in silence. At your back, Namjoon remains tense as he waits for the other shoe to drop.

“Here, we teach how to get away with it.”

“And you don’t think he’s gotten away with it?” Holding out your hand, you blink in surprise when Russo only hesitates for a moment before dropping the ring into your palm. “Last I checked, he’s clean.”

The ring is heavy in your hand. There, in one oblong ruby, you see your face staring back at you. Your expression is unbothered, so at odds with the turmoil stirring inside you at the thought of recent events.

Little scratches and knicks adorn the silver band. You run a finger over the grooves, wondering how many times the prongs that hold the ruby in must have broken the skin of a lug that managed to piss Russo off. Has Yoongi ever been on the receiving end of this bloodred ruby?

Is Yoongi the one that kills you in the end?

The thought feels like you’re in the driver’s seat, but someone else has control of the wheel. Gritting your teeth, you struggle to regain control. The ring suddenly feels like a living entity in your palm, carrying too much history for a such a pretty gem.

Oblivious to your inner struggle, Russo shrugs his shoulders. “That remains to be seen. Isn’t that why you’re here today? To ask for help to catch him?”

Reaching across the desk, you drop the ring in front of Russo. He doesn’t flinch as it clatters atop the desk, sounding too loud in your ears. Something anxious nips at your stomach, sounding an alarm that it’s time to go.

Time to return to the web of lies.

Swallowing any remaining pride, you nod. “Yes.”

You can feel Yoongi’s ire from miles away. He would sooner have you murdered than have you here, asking from help from the very people he deserted. Judging from the look in Russo’s eye, he’s thinking the same thing.

That’s why, when a dark smile forms on his face, you’re ready. “I won’t ask for much in return, as Shylock appears to be a mutual problem,” Russo begins. His voice has changes, ever so slightly. A little airier, as if trying to downplay everything. “However, we will require compensation.”

“Anything,” you answer immediately. You can practically hear Namjoon gritting his teeth behind you, struggling to stay silent.

Don’t worry, you want to tell him. I’ve got everything under control.

Russo’s smile has warped into barely contained glee. “Min Yoongi.” Picking up the ring and sliding it back onto his finger, Russo looks at you with the slightest tinge of respect. “You’ve taken him from us, and we want him back.”

You try to look contemplative even though you made up your mind on the drive over here earlier. “What, do you miss him that much?”

There’s nothing but murderous threats in Russo’s eyes as he fakes a frown. “Terribly.”

You thought that once you left Russo’s office in one piece, your heart would stop pounding. Now, blocks away from the Genovese estate and still sweating, you wonder if you’ll die of a cardiac arrest before you can even get home.

Namjoon has remained eerily silent throughout the drive, staring out the window of the nondescript car while periodically glancing your way. His eyebrows appear permanently knit together in intense thought. When you catch him looking the third time, you finally decide to break the silence.

“What.”

You’ve never heard Namjoon scoff before, at least, not at you, but he does so now. It’s not a pretty noise, and it immediately reminds you of how you’re beginning to feel dizzy.

“What? Did you seriously just ask me what?” He shakes his head in a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Are you going to explain to me what just happened back there or is this another one of your games where you leave the rest of us in the dark until you’ve had your fun?”

“Oh, and I suppose you have the corner on who we can and can’t trust?”

“You can trust me!” Namjoon cries out, dropping his head in his hands. He’s tugging at his hair, the dark brown roots overtaking the blond. “Why else would you have brought me along for this?”

Funny. It’s daytime, but you’re seeing stars. “You’re right, Namjoon,” you push the words out, but it’s a struggle to muster up enough air to match his booming voice. “I brought you because you seemed like the least likely to kill me at the time. Congratulations, would you like a pat on the back?”

“I would like to know what’s going on.”

You croak out a laugh, blinking hard in an effort to get the encroaching darkness out of your vision. “That makes two of us.”

“Don’t play coy with me. Why would you ever offer up Yoongi as a freaking sacrifice when we both know – look out!”

Fancy that, looks like the road curves. Your heart can’t beat any faster than it already is, so you’re decidedly apathetic about the entire situation. It’s as if Namjoon’s hand moves in slow motion, yanking the steering wheel to the right and sending your entire world spinning.

And you’re there, in the middle of it all.

Spinning and twirling and leaping through the air like a ballerina making her grand debut. You notice your hands clenched around the wheel, which seems a silly thought. It can’t save you now – you’re not sure anything can.

There’s nothing left to save you.

In another world, another time, you’re peering out the window as the car spins and spins. There’s nothing but trees and rocks on this road, completely unbothered by your predicament.

There’s nothing left to save you.

In your mind’s eye, you’re back in your room talking to Hoseok. He looks at you so warmly, so openly, like you could never hurt him and he could never hurt you. And he’s telling you something, something important. You strain to listen, but the wind whips the words away before they can settle in.

The car hits the ground, shattering your window as it rolls onto its side. Your hands are unwillingly ripped from the steering wheel upon impact, and it seems to be a miracle that you’re still in your seat.

It does a complete turn, reminding you of the ballerina jumping through the air and landing perfectly on her tippy toes. The crowd would applaud that – it’s no simple feat. Yet, listen as you might, there’s no applause here. Just an incessant ringing in your ears as somebody says your name over and over again.

Darkness rises up to meet you, embracing you like an old friend. It whispers soothing words as you fall into it, holding you tightly. You wonder if it’s somebody you might know because they sound awfully familiar. Concentrating with all your might, you hear the voice one last time.

It’s your mother’s voice, so soothing and decayed as she eases you into that endless dark.

There’s nobody left to save you.

Past - 13 Years Old

You did not attend your mother’s funeral.

Not in the traditional way, at least.

There’s a large church in Queen’s Wharf that has spires that could reach heaven itself. It doesn’t look particularly welcoming. In fact, it’s terrifying. The doors open wide like the maw of some hellish beast preying on the penitent.

Clinging to one amazingly filthy spire, you watched your father stride through those doors, into the belly of the beast itself. Perhaps the church would spit him out – you waited a moment just in case, but no luck. For today, your father had camouflaged himself as a mourning man, and not even the church could contend with that.

Traipsing your way along the roof, you spotted the entrance that you’d stuck a wooden plank under the night before. It was heavy to lift, and the ache in your ribs nearly gave way before you had it heaved to the side. The wooden plank nearly feel in, but you caught it just in time.

“Rookie mistake,” you panted out, lowering yourself down the ladder installed for cleaner’s access to the roof. That wooden plank nearly cost you your cover, but you’d learn how to become better.

You’d learn, even if it killed you.

From the ceiling, you watched your mother’s funeral. The casket was open, revealing her beauty that remained perfect even in death. Her long brown hair framed her face and it almost looked like there was a soft smile on her lips, as if she were only resting for a while.

But she did not get up.

Your father sat on the front row, of course. He didn’t cry or create much fanfare. He just…sat there.

You hardly recognized him.

At the end, you watched as people approached your father with sorrowful stances and empty words. You couldn’t hear them from your perch, only making out the quiet sounds of their condolences. Even then, you knew well enough what they would be saying.

“We’re so sorry Mr. Bianchi. It must be hard to be left all on your own.”

“You can always turn to us, it’s not good to be alone during a time like this.”

Alone. They all thought he was alone.

A widower, left desolate. Childless.

Because in the world he’s created for himself, you don’t exist. You’re nothing but a stain on the world that he’s hidden beneath a well-placed rug. For too long, you waited for someone to lift you up and out of the dark. Now, you welcome the dark with open arms and a promise: your father will not get away with this. Like the shadow on his back, you’re going to stick to him. A constant threat and a never-ending reminder of what he did to you.

As he turns to leave, you finally recognize him. With his back turned to you, it’s easy to recall that this, this is the father you know.

Always walking away.

So when you shoulder the pain in your ribs and climb back up the ladder onto the roof, you chant the promise you made to your mother as she lay strewn over the steering wheel, bleeding out yet still looking at you as if you shaped the world.

“I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him,” each word comes out more venomous than the last as you scramble atop the roof. Your young legs are riddled in bruises from climbing up here the night before, aching with each step. This is the most exercise you’ve attempted since the crash.

Bruised ribs are what you walked away with. Your mother didn’t walk away at all.

Then again, the truck did aim for the driver’s side. Aimed like a sniper for the only light left in your life. And as your car somersaulted into the tree line, you caught a glimpse of your mother’s face.

She didn’t look shocked or confused. No, she looked determined. As she rested against the steering wheel as if it were a fine pillow, she smiled warmly at you despite the anger radiating off of you.

“Don’t kill him,” she whispered. Headlights shone on your car as the truck idled by the trees. Whoever your father had sent to exterminate his wife and child would be coming by to make sure you were good and dead. “Not yet.”

“We need to go,” you cried out, tugging at her seatbelt. She grimaced, shaking her head as she laid her bloodied hand atop your own. “Hurry, before they come!”

“Run.”

“Mom-”

With all the force she could muster in her broken body, she pushed you toward the passenger side door. “Run. Away from him.”

You can hear whoever your murderer is, tramping through the underbrush. There’s no time left. Reaching out, you press your cheek against your mother’s hair, feeling hot tears begin to rush down your cheeks.

“I’m afraid.”

There. The two words you’d carried around the entirety of your short life. Uttered in the cool night air as your mother lay dying. She sharply inhales, and you wonder if it’s her last one as she pushes the words out.

“You won’t always be.”

The footsteps are nearer now, slowing as they come to inspect the vehicle. It’s now or never.

You run for your life with an “I love you” hanging off your lips.

Present

A sharp pain in your side is what brings you back from that endless dark.

Namjoon’s hands rest lightly on your back, and he’s calling your name like he’s afraid you’re dead. You respond with a groan, feeling that pain begin to throb. It’s all too familiar, that ache. You can only hope that you haven’t managed to crack a rib this time around.

“Are you ok?”

There’s glass everywhere. A few cuts and scrapes litter your arms, and when you lift up a finger to your cheek, you pull it away to find a smear of blood. “Crap.”

Namjoon also sports some cuts, but it’s the way he clutches his right shoulder that has you worrying. “Crap? Yeah. Big crap. What just happened?”

“I lost control,” you murmur, shakily taking off your seatbelt. On the bright side, the car landed upright. It’s fairly easy to pop the door open and come around to Namjoon’s side. He looks up at you sheepishly when you circle around, as he still hasn’t opened his door. “Your shoulder?”

He frowns, hiding a painful grimace. “Dislocated.”

“Ouch.”

Wiping your bloody hands off on your jeans, you grit your teeth and brace yourself as you open the passenger side. Namjoon remains silent, trying his best to relax despite the pain. Positioning yourself beside his shoulder, you feel around to assess it as best you can.

Namjoon lets out a low hiss. “Just get it over with.”

“Trying.” It appears neither of you can manage a happy smile when in pain. For some reason, that makes you like him more; it makes him more human. “Ready? On the count of three.” You both take a deep breath. “One!”

Namjoon’s shoulder pops back into place while he shouts, more out of surprise than pain, “What was that for? You said to the count of three!”

Wheezing a little as sharp pain shoots through your chest, you straighten and admire your handiwork. “Did I?” Namjoon steps out of the car, gingerly massaging his shoulder with a scowl. It doesn’t look like he’s limping, so you let out a sigh of relief. “We need a new car.”

“Astute observation, Doc.”

Normally you would at least allow a pity laugh, but for now all you can manage is a strained smile. It’s hard to breath, let alone move in this condition. Still, the last thing you want is for everyone else to learn about your slip up. Chances are it will act as more ammo for whoever was trying to backstab you in the first place.

Walking a little too slowly, you push past the pain and pop open the console in the car. Grabbing your bag, a bottle of pain killers, and some napkins, you slap a couple in Namjoon’s hand. “Clean up. We’re going shopping.”

It’s not a terribly long walk to Queen’s Wharf, yet each step feels like an eternity. Your cuts have long stopped bleeding by the time you turn onto a familiar street, Namjoon constantly looking every which way like an underpaid guard dog.

“Would you calm down for five minutes?” You finally grind out. “It’s fine. Nobody’s gonna jump two bloody losers wandering around at midday.”

“Right. We look like we’ve already been mugged. All the good stuff’s gone,” he turns out his pockets mockingly, growing ever snarkier.

“You’ve always been the bright one.”

Each breath is steadily growing more labored, but you’re close now. Close enough that you can see the dark green door, looking even more shaky than how you remembered it.

“Oh yeah? If I’m the bright one, then what’s everyone else?”

You huff a laugh, the sound more a gasp for air than anything. “That’s a loaded question.” Namjoon waits expectantly, so you comply with a roll of your eyes. “You’re the bright one…Seokjin is the…” you pause, unable to catch your breath. Namjoon looks concerned, but you brush it off and keep walking. “He’s the misunderstood mad scientist type. Have you ever noticed how he acts strangely normal sometimes? It makes me wanna dig until I find the real Seokjin, you know?”

Namjoon barks a laugh. “I’m sure he’ll be flattered to hear that.”

“You tell him and you’re dead.” You’ve made it now, standing in front of the green door. The paint is chipping, as if revealing the layers of history hidden within. Fiddling with the bricks around the doorframe, you look for the right one. “Jimin is the infuriating one. Although I think…” your fingers scrape against the rough bricks, and something clicks in your brain. “If we’d met under different circumstances, we’d be closer.”

A strained chuckle comes from the peanut section.

“Yoongi is the bossy-pants. Which makes Hoseok the light at the end of the tunnel on most days. Both are reliable, and too good to be in this business.”

The brick to the far left buckles, and you wince at you yank it out. Mortar and dust tumble to the sidewalk, making you hold your breath as you turn the brick in your hands. Something small and golden glints up at you, winking like a secret long kept.

“It’s a key,” Namjoon observes. “…I don’t know why that was surprising to me.”

Grabbing it, you twist it between your fingers and allow the familiar grooves to take you back. “C’mon.” Grabbing the rusted door handle, you slide the key into place and a moment later, the door creaks open like a crypt. Bracing yourself for the dust and abandoned state of the condemned apartment, you step inside.

“What is this place?”

There is dust, but not nearly as much as you expected. Perhaps the classic cobwebs and creaky floorboards are more Hollywood than you thought. Or maybe…

“Home.” You turn to face Namjoon now, who stands silhouetted against the doorway. “Well, not anymore. But a place doesn’t stop being home just because you’ve left it, does it?” You run a fingertip along the wall that opens up into the kitchen, feeling the way it thrums with memories.

It’s quiet as a church in here. Perhaps that’s why you and Namjoon only converse in low voices. He watches you more than the apartment, like he’s trying to understand what you mean when you tell him that this place is where everything began.

“That’s Taehyung’s old room,” you gesture at the door, left open as if waiting for its resident to return after an afternoon out. “And this one’s mine.”

Your door is open as well, allowing you to look inside the room that’s just as you left it. The sleeping bag is still there in the corner, probably host to plenty of dead insects and webs now. A few pictures are pinned to the wall, most of them stock photos that you thought livened up the place. Now you can see just how tacky they made the room look.

“And Jungkook’s room?” Namjoon’s voice is full with an emotion that you choose not to register as you shrug.

“He was more of a drifter. Sometimes he’d crash out on the couch, but for a little while he still lived with his family.”

Namjoon looks surprised to hear that. “And they knew their son was a street rat?”

It’s a sensitive subject, so much so that you have to remind you that Jungkook isn’t here. Although, you can’t fight the image of Jungkook, young and red-faced as he showed up at your apartment after his father kicked him out once he caught wind of what his son was doing to take care of his family.

“No.”

And that’s that.

“So,” Namjoon ventures a couple of minutes later. You’ve made it back into the kitchen now, leaning against the counter and taking slow breaths. “What is it that we’re doing here?”

“Grabbing a couple of things, and showering. Don’t wanna show up covered in blood back home, it’s not a good look for me.”

Namjoon looks skeptical. “Is there running water here?”

Turning, you flip on the faucet in the kitchen sink. It takes a few staggered seconds, but a moment later water begins to run. With a satisfied smile, you glance over your shoulder to Namjoon. The movement sends paralyzing pain through your chest again, and you freeze.

“What’s wrong?” He lurches forward as if he could fight an invisible enemy on your behalf, but his hands come up empty. You wave him off, feigning a longsuffering smile.

“Go. Shower. There should be a towel in the bathroom, still.”

Reluctant but obedient, Namjoon looks like he has more question brimming under the surface but decides that now isn’t the time to push it. Padding off to the bathroom, you settle gingerly onto the only chair in the kitchen. While the couch is calling your name, you’re afraid that once you sink into it, you won’t be able to get up from it on your own.

Your ribs must be bruised. Again. It triggers a surge of self-pity that washes over you as you survey the lonely kitchen. There’s too many memories here. They threaten to drown you, one by one. Yet you’re caught under the lingering pride that this place was yours, once. Still is. Your first real home. Perhaps that’s why you keep it, even know.

Leaning back until your head rests against the wall, you let your eyes close and give in to the past.

Past

Blackmailing your father into a certain amount of money was easier than you expected.

A part of you thought he’d kill you. That certainly seemed easier than paying you off. Perhaps his conscience finally decided to wake up, or maybe he saw too much of himself in your young self. The way your chin jutted out even as it wobbled in fear, the way your eyes followed his every move when you showed up late that evening, slipping through his window like some sort of rogue Peter Pan.

He’d sat up straight in bed, a book in hand that he’d fallen asleep reading. It seemed too normal, too domestic, until you realized that it was a binder filled with reports. Client information, projections, sensitive information that should have been stored somewhere safer than an end table.

Then again, that had certainly come in handy for you once you calmy explained that you’d copied each and every page of the binder and were prepared to leak the information if you didn’t get what you wanted.

“And what would that be?” Your father spat, as venomous as ever. He got like that when he was uncomfortable. Embarrassed, to see his teenage daughter had outsmarted him.

“I want what everybody does,” you drawled, leaning against the wall. You never moved very far from the window, needing a quick escape plan. “Money.”

He scoffed, but you both knew that he would give in. The only thing you weren’t betting on was making it out of there alive once he’d made his sweet promise. True, he was rarely the one to get his hands dirty. However, you doubted that he’d stay like that forever. His back was up against the wall, and he was one wrong move away from biting your head clean off.

“For what? New clothes?”

True, your clothes were raggedy. Hiding the hurt, you shrugged. “Among other things, yes.”

Then, his eyes were set alight as if finally allowing himself to hope for something he’d scarcely thought of before. “You’re running away?”

“You can’t run away when you didn’t have a home to run from in the first place, Dad.”

He doesn’t even blink at the title, as if it never happened. The denial that you were his, that you were here, ran so deep that it pulsed through his veins. “How much?”

“What?”

“How much do you need?” He reiterates, sitting up a little straighter to reach his phone from off his nightstand. “I can do private transfers to your bank account on a yearly basis, for upkeep. Until you’re eighteen, of course. After that, I expect you to be completely independent.”

Blood boiling, you spit out the number you’d carefully calculated. “$500,000.”

He blanches, then scoffs. “C’mon. Be reasonable. You could live the high life on half of that-”

“Therapy isn’t cheap,” you interrupt, crossing your arms. “Dad.”

He brushes that statement aside at lightning speed. “You know I could just get rid of you another way, right?”

“Yes.”

“And still you demand all that money?”

“Yes.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “You’re not worth the trouble.” He brings his cell phone up to his ear, waiting for only a few seconds before mumbling, “Come here.”

Despite knowing how this will play out, you can’t help the zip of fear that courses through your body. You’ve rarely been on the direct side of your father’s ire – your mother typically acting as a human shield between the two of you. Now, however…

The bedroom door swings open without warning, and a single person strides through with more confidence than you could ever hope to muster in your short life. He’s young – perhaps no older than thirty, and still dressed in a silk black shirt despite the late hour.

“Shylock,” you father addresses the newcomer, who stands at the foot of his bed awaiting instruction. “Meet my daughter. She’s posing to be more of a nuisance than I’d hoped. Would you mind?”

Yadiel’s eyes meet your own as unspoken understanding passes between the two of you. One slender, inked hand slides into his back pocket to pull out a familiar handgun. “I don’t kill children.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”

Your eyes widen, turning to your father in shock. He doesn’t spare you a second glance, only glaring grumpily at Yadiel as though he were a child not getting his way.

“I don’t kill children,” he repeats, enunciating the words. “Pay her off or something.”

“What is with you people and-” your father stops midsentence, dead silent as Yadiel brandishes his weapon and points it directly at him.

“You really want all of this to get out? How you can’t even deal with your own kid?” Yadiel speaks quietly, calmly. As if he’s done this a million times before. You straighten, walking over to him. “Transfer the money. Keep your mouth shut. And we won’t have any problems.”

If only you’d brought a camera for this moment. Gaping like a fish and fumbling for his phone, you watch as your father types in the amount. As you walk around the room, observing the little trinkets, you notice something on the other nightstand.

The one that used to belong to your mother.

Yadiel, watching you despite holding your father at gunpoint, makes an interested noise. “Come here,” he gently commands, nodding at you when you turn to look at him. “Hold this.”

Confused, you walk back over to him and bite back a groan when he places the gun in your hands. Standing at your back, he adjusts your posture until you’re holding it perfectly.

“You move and she shoots,” Yadiel states before walking over to the nightstand and swiping up the small box.

“Don’t touch those!” Your father shouts, agitated.

“What, these?” Yadiel holds aloft the pearl earrings. “They’re very beautiful. Belonged to your late wife, I presume?” When your father remains silent, Yadiel snaps the box shut, causing you to jump. “I think I like them. Mind if I borrow them for a bit?”

“They’re not yours to take!”

Yadiel chuckles darkly, the sound filling the entire room as he stalks toward you with a devilish smirk. “Last I checked, they’re not yours to keep, Bianchi.” He takes the gun back, any sign of a smile erased as he returns his full attention to your father. “A yearly sum of $500,000, to be transferred at the beginning of each year. Does that sound correct?”

You nod, hiding your hands behind your back as your fists shake. “Yes, that’s what we agreed upon.”

“You know I’m the one paying you, not her-”

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Yadiel says, turning on his heel. “Mention this exchange to anyone and I’ll be the last face you ever see.”

Striding out of the room, you stumble after him, pausing for a brief moment in the doorway. Your father remains in bed, staring after you completely dumbfounded.

Yet there’s something else you spot in his expression, simmering beneath his fury. A sliver of pride, perhaps.

Pride, because Bianchi realizes that his daughter is just as backstabbing as he is.

Yadiel takes your hand, pulling you down the hallway. It’s eerily quiet as you near the room you once called your own. The door is already open, an open duffel bag sitting on your bed and packed to the brim with clothes.

“I took the liberty to start packing while you were in there having your chat,” Yadiel says breezily. It’s in moment like these that you can spot the hint of an accent that he tries so hard to hide. “He took longer to call than I thought. What’d you do?”

You shrug, looking around the room for any valuables you want to keep. The options are rather scarce; you never were allowed to keep too many things. Grabbing a small photo from off your dresser, you toss it on the top of the clothes and zip up the bag.

“Ready?” You ask, hitching the bag over your shoulder. Yadiel leans against the doorway, watching you with an amused expression. “What?”

He shakes his head, dark eyes sparkling. You’ve thought it once before, but the thought comes again: he’s unnecessarily handsome. All tanned skin and muscles; it’s almost laughable. He’s capable of getting anything he wants, whether through charm or brutal force, and yet he’s here with you. Packing up your bags and sending you on your way.

Then you remember what he wants from you: a way to the top. You’re his ticket to ride, and he needs you alive. It’s nothing more than that, of that much you’re sure.

“You’re sure you want to stay on your own?” He asks too softly. It induces the illusion of him caring about you.

It reminds you of a snake wrapping its prey in a loving embrace, tightening its hold until its sucked the air out of their lifeless body.

You shoulder past him, heading for the nearest exit. “I’ll be fine.”

“Ah, that’s right. I forgot all about your little friend.”

Hair standing up on end, your heart races as you wonder how he knows about Taehyung. The Italian boy had come to stay with you less two weeks prior, holing up in the dingy apartment you used your savings to rent.

“What was his name again?” Yadiel catches up to you, a finger tracing a line from your shoulder to your wrist before he takes it in an iron-clad grip. “Jungkook, wasn’t it?”

Jungkook.

Your Jungkook.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. Leave him alone.” You pull your wrist in vain, and Yadiel steps closer, looming over you with a dazzling smile that leaves your bones cold. “He isn’t involved in this life.”

Eyebrows arching, Yadiel’s smile grows as he realizes that he knows something you don’t. “Don’t tell me – you actually bought his lies? How did he explain his injuries? He tripped down a flight of stairs or something?”

Jungkook was a sweet boy. Too sweet – too good for this world that only offered pain. He offered an escape from the pain, one that was too enticing to pass up. “He’s a boxer,” you reply, although unconvincingly.

Throwing his head back, Yadiel laughs. The sound is jarring, making you flinch as you automatically search the hallway for curious lackeys come to investigate. Nobody comes, and Yadiel uses his other hand to trace the line of your nose before gently bumping the tip. Your eyes squeeze shut, freezing.

“You’re an adorable little fool, you know that?” He whispers lovingly. “He’s a street rat for the Dragon Clan. Oddly enough, he had no idea who you were when I asked him.”

“Leave him alone!” You grind out, pushing and pulling, trying to break free. Your duffel bag has begun to dig into your shoulder, leaving a dull pain in its wake.

“You know what, I don’t think I will. So – settle down, darling.” He pushes your back against the wall. “Two options: first, I dispose of him. I’d rather not have an outsider polluting you.” He’s too close, dipping down until his face is level with yours. Yadiel’s eyes take their time, languidly looking over your form. “Or, you could recruit him. Word on the street is that he’s formidable, but underpaid. It should be fairly easy to take him.”

He suddenly straightens, and you gasp for air as if you’d been drowning. Yadiel’s smile is back, entirely serene as he fixes the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

“Oh, and before you go,” he continues, slipping something out of his pocket. You tense, expecting to see a gun but instead spotting the box from earlier. “Here. For you.”

You stare up at him then back down at the box containing your mother’s pearl earrings. She wore them nearly every day, insisting that she didn’t need any others. She was like that – minimalistic. You thought she was simply frugal, but after she showed you the savings account she’d set up for you, you realized that she’d been funneling everything dollar she could get into that account for years.

There was nothing left for herself. Almost as if she’d always known that you’d be the only one to make it out alive.

Yadiel grows impatient, grabbing your hand and placing the box into your palm. “Think of it as a gift.”

The earrings sear your palm as if they were a living entity, but you pop open the box anyway to gaze at the familiar pearls. Gaze filling with tears, you look up to offer a strangled thank you, but Yadiel is already gone.

“Not gonna lie, I was totally expecting cold water.”

You open one eye a bit reluctantly as Namjoon walks into the kitchen, hair dripping onto a plain white t-shirt. It must have been one of Taehyung’s that he left behind, one of his oversized ones that fits a little more snugly on Namjoon.

“Did you use up all the hot water?” You ask accusingly, stretching before curling in on yourself again as the pain returns tenfold. Namjoon lurches forward, crouching down in front of you before you can wave him off.

He sets the towel on the table, hands lighting on your sides where you’ve wrapped your arms around yourself. “Where does it hurt?”

You can hardly bring yourself to speak, but when you do, it’s nothing more than a strained whisper. “Ribs.”

Namjoon leaps to his feet, swinging open the freezer. He lets out a triumphant holler when he produces an ice tray. “You want to ice it now or later?”

“Give me ten minutes,” you pant, clambering to your feet and waddling toward the bathroom. It’s still steamy in there, and you pray that you don’t somehow slip and fall.

“You good?” Namjoon trails after you, clearly concerned. “Do you need help?”

Mustering all the swagger you can manage, (which amounts to approximately two teaspoons, but you ignore that fact), you give Namjoon your best smirk over your shoulder. “Well, since you offered…”

He doesn’t even flinch, completely oblivious. “Here, I’ll turn on the shower so you don’t have to bend over.” Scooting around you, he fixes the shower curtain and turns on the water. You watch, dumbfounded as he turns around with a smile.

“Uh…”

“What else? I hung up another towel…” he looks around, checking everything. “There’s a really old bar of soap in there that you can use, too. Probably good idea to clean out your cuts.”

“Right.” You stare at each other, Namjoon completely comfortable while you try not to laugh. “Could you, uh, help me with my shoes?”

“Take a seat.”

You sit gingerly on the toilet while Namjoon kneels in front of you. He makes quick work of your shoes, even going so far as to peel your socks off as well. When he looks up to make sure you’re alright, you see someone else in his stead.

Judging from the way Namjoon looks at you, you know he’s seeing someone else, too.

“Thanks, Namjoon.” You mumble. You both rise, smiling awkwardly at each other before Namjoon heads out. Once he closes the door behind him, you’re left alone with your thoughts.

It takes far too long to get rid of the rest of your clothes, but you can’t help but sigh with relief once you’re in the shower. Finally feeling clean despite the ache, you allow yourself a moment to breathe before getting out again. There’s another t-shirt of Taehyung’s out here, a black one. It’s considerably easier to slip on and feels so nice against your skin that you can’t help but smile.

Heading back out into the apartment, Namjoon perks up from where he sits on the sofa. He was reading a magazine, one that you don’t recognize. “Whatcha reading?”

He shrugs, glancing at the cover. “Vanity Fair, September 2020.”

You pause, frowning. “2020?”

“Yeah.” Namjoon heads over to the kitchen, grabbing the ice and sticking it into a towel. “Here, for your ribs. Lay down for a bit, then we’ll head out.”

Knowing better than to refuse him, you take the makeshift icepack with a smile and do as you’re told. “That’s odd, I haven’t been here for a while, and I don’t remember bringing any magazines with me.”

“Did you have a subscription?” Namjoon asks, picking up the magazine again. “Oh, nope. It’s addressed to Taehyung.”

Lifting up your head, you fix Namjoon with a confused stare. “It’s Tae’s?”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’. “See? It says it right here?”

Sure enough, there’s the name and address for Kim Taehyung. Save for one thing. “That’s not our address.”

Namjoon looks at it again. “It isn’t? Oh, you’re right.” He tosses the magazine over to you once you motion for it. “Then who’s is it?”

You stare at the address for longer than necessary. You stare until it’s burned into your mind, until you’re burning with something you’ve never felt this strongly before.

Heartbreak.

“Hang on, I need to call Russo. Change of plans.”

You haven’t stolen a car in a while. It’s that detail, and the fact that unwinding the wire hanger you took from your closet at the apartment still feels as familiar as breathing, that causes you to worry.

“How often have you done this before?” Namjoon asks, eyeing the street while you work your magic. If he’s worried, it’s because he’s wondering how on earth the two of you would manage to fight someone off in the condition you’re both in.

“I don’t think it was too often…” you mumble, focusing while you stare at the lock of the car, wiggling the wire down a little further. “Although, I do remember that it was Tae’s idea the first time.”

Awkward silence follows as you swallow heavily. Namjoon eventually breaks it, right as you pop the lock. “Why would he have his name on it? Why not use a fake name?”

The door to the old Taurus squeaks as it opens, and you quickly set to work hotwiring it. “Don’t know,” you all but wheeze. “What if he always intended to get caught?” Your fingers shake while you work, betraying your anger.

“It’s a weird way to self-sabotage, if you ask me,” Namjoon says, watching you with obvious worry. “What were the odds that you’d come back and see the magazine? That you’d even make the connection?”

The car rumbles to life, and you waste no time hopping in. The action has you curling over, and Namjoon appears by your side with a disapproving expression. He holds out a hand, shaking his head and conveying the words easily enough. There’s no way I’m letting you drive after today.

Touché.

You’ve made it halfway around the hood of the car when a screech akin to a siren sounds off. It’s followed by a door slamming, and then a woman, perhaps twenty years your senior, appears outside of a neighboring apartment building.

“Sebastian!” She screams, already red in the face. “Sebastian! They’re taking the car again!”

Namjoon glares at you from his side of the car, standing at his full height. “Again?” He hisses.

“You!” The woman seethes, pointing one chubby finger your way. “I thought the Dragon Clan killed you off years ago!”

You hobble a little quicker even as the woman, who sports some short entirely too short for her and a t-shirt with a large tongue on it, bustles down the sidewalk toward you. “Hi, Mrs. Lang…”

“Stealing!” She shouts. “She’s stealing my car! Get away!”

Gesturing to Namjoon, you both dive in the car and slam the doors shut. “Drive!” You demand, watching in the side mirror as the woman is joined by a burly looking boy you assume is her son. He’s certainly hit puberty in the years you’ve been gone. As Namjoon hits the gas, you can spot the boy’s muscles under his wife beater the entire block until you turn out of view.

Namjoon doesn’t waste time, caught between sternness and laughter. “Again? You mean to tell me that not only are you some freak pro car stealer, but you used to target a middle-aged woman?”

“Taehyung did,” you explain, throwing your hands up in the air. “And besides, he’s probably the one that’s betrayed us, so direct your disappointment toward him, not me.”

Instinctively, you pull out your phone to distract you. There’s a couple of missed calls from everyone, and a handful of texts with varying levels of concern. You only open a couple of them, avoiding the ones from Yoongi as you know full well that he’s probably annoyed.

Jungkook: You’d better not be off doing stupid things without me.

You snort at the familiarity with which he speaks to you. Of course he knows you’re off doing something stupid. But would he have it any other way? No, probably not. Granted, you know that he’s using humor to cover up his worry. But you couldn’t bring him along for fear of him being in on this betrayal.

Seokjin: Call me if you need backup. Actually, call me regardless. If Yoongi says one more thing about sleuthing I’ll have no choice but to kill him.

The text manages to bring half a smile to your face as you can only imagine Seokjin’s joy at having to obey Yoongi’s every command. You read the text to Namjoon, who shakes his head in amusement.

“Speaking of which, what are we supposed to tell the others when we get back?” You’ve been gone all day, there’s no way you could show up now without an explanation.

“We’ll maintain the element of surprise for now. I don’t think he was intending to get caught.”

“Yet.”

Your jaw sets as you gaze out the window, and despite the ache in your chest, you feel as if your skin in hardening. Like a living diamond, you force yourself to become cold and unbreakable.

Untouchable.

“Right,” you say, staring at yourself in the sideview mirror. “Yet.”

That word, yet, seems to loom over your head as Namjoon parks the stolen car just outside the house. Your ears are buzzing as you look up at the house, noting just how still everything appears.

Like the sitting in the eye of the hurricane, you brace yourself for what might happen once you step out into the storm.

“You’re sure this is a good idea?” Namjoon asks, already unbuckling his seatbelt but waiting for your response before he opens the door. This beat up little Taurus like a bubble of safety, the last place you can speak without worrying about being overheard. From now on, you’ll be dealing in shadows and whispers.

“No, not really.”

There’s a half smile on Namjoon’s face as you both exit the car. “Good. I’d be worried if you were too confident in it.”

You’re tempted to throw something at him, but the thought of that kind of movement sends phantom pain through your ribs and lungs. Instead, you settle for rolling your eyes and trudge up the front steps. The front door seems to vibrate, barely withholding all of the secrets its keeping within the walls of the house.

“Right behind you,” Namjoon says encouragingly.

Mustering as deep a breath as you can bear, you open the door.

It’s like you released the entirety of the ocean on top of your head.

“Keep her name out of your mouth!” Jungkook roars from somewhere within the depths of the house. In an instant your legs are moving, drawing you closer toward the noise.

Seokjin can be heard amidst the din, ushering a low warning. “Back up, Jungkook. The last thing we need today is another murder.”

They’re in the kitchen. And by all, you mean everyone. Scattered throughout the room, Yoongi and Hoseok have taken it upon themselves to stand on either side of the island, blocking Taehyung between them.

Jungkook is shaking with barely restrained fury on the other side of the room, near the table. Jimin stays close to him, ready to intervene should Jungkook decide to try to clear the island to get his hands around Taehyung’s throat.

“You always were too sensitive to take the truth,” Taehyung sneers, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose. “Too soft to see that you’re nothing more than a pity case.”

“Let go of me!” Jungkook yells, and you notice that Jimin has a hold on him. He points an accusing finger across the room to Taehyung. “Touch her again, and I’ll-”

Taehyung’s soft laugh feels like ice, lodging itself into your skin. “And you’ll what, Kook? Kill me? How do you plan on explaining that to the capa? She needs me. Wants me.” Taehyung looks Jungkook over with a disapproving eye, as though he were nothing more than spoiled meat. “I don’t expect you to understand what that feels like.”

Hoseok finally sees you standing in the shadow of the doorway, and you notice now that he looks absolutely exhausted. “That’s enough, Taehyung. Go clean yourself up.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re in charge here. None of you are, and it’s driving you mad to live like a pack of dogs waiting for scraps from their master.”

You meet eyes with Namjoon over your shoulder, sharing a silent conversation. He’s trying to tear us all apart. It’s high time you intervene, but before you can speak, Jungkook lunges.

It’s been a while since you’ve seen him in action; you’d forgotten how quickly he can move. He springs into action, clearing the island in one easy move and connecting with Taehyung’s chest in a way that makes your own injury scream out.

“Look at me!” Jungkook furiously yells, pushing Taehyung up against the oven. The knobs dig into his lower back, but he doesn’t let the pain show. “Look at me and tell me that you’d never hurt her!”

You stumble into the room, propelled by your own anger at the events of the past twelve hours. The past few weeks.

The past twenty years.

“You’re nothing but a liar. A two-faced coward!” Jungkook holds fistfuls of Taehyung shirt, the fine silk wrinkled from the outburst.

“You want to talk to me about cowardice?” Taehyung murmurs, eyes roving Jungkook’s face with a level of intimacy that only someone who’s known someone through the darkest moments of their life can. “Talk to me about that night, Kook. The night when you allowed Yadiel to mark her forever.”

Taehyung’s taunting chuckle is cut short as he catches sight of you over Jungkook’s shoulder. The action makes everyone else notice you, except for Jungkook. Like a lion chasing a gazelle, he has his prey in sight and won’t turn away from it easily.

“Capa,” Taehyung whispers, fingers twitching.

And it’s there. There, in the way his eyes shutter, struggling to bring the Taehyung you know back to the surface. The mask, so familiar that you think you could craft it from memory alone, slips onto his face.

It’s as if you can hear a lock audibly turning by the way he shifts into character. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears as a conversation that feels decades old runs laps in your mind.

“I didn’t change, capa. You did.”

Kim Taehyung didn’t change, you realize as your feet propel you forward. All these years, he’s only ever worn a mask.

Your hands are outstretched as if you could pry it from his face, reveal the boy that’s hidden under there all along. A boy whose loyalties never changed.

A boy who was never yours in the first place.

In the single breath you take, you shove past Yoongi and collide into Jungkook, crying out in pain and heartbreak upon impact.

“Wha- wait!” Jungkook cries out as you bring an elbow down hard on his pressure point, staggering him. He raises his arms, not wanting to strike you.

You use his affection to your advantage, stepping in close. It’s all a blur, a matter of milliseconds as your nose grazes along his jaw in time with your heel colliding with the back of his knee.

Jungkook drops heavily to one knee, and before he can get back on his feet, you round on Taehyung.

The Italian regards you with a wary expression, but doesn’t flinch as you throw your arms around him. Practically collapsing against his sturdy form, you bite back a whimper as your chest seizes up with sharp pain.

For once, the pain helps as it makes summoning the tears so much easier.

“I thought you were dead,” you blubber into Taehyung’s neck, pushing aside the way his arms don’t instinctively wrap around you like they used to. The action feels forced, but he plays the part convincingly enough. “They s-said you were dead!”

The room is deathly still, although the air buzzes with tension. Jungkook is still panting, remaining kneeling as if stunned into paralysis. You struggle not to freeze up as Taehyung gently rubs your back, knowing that you’re in full view of everyone in the room.

“What’re you going on about now?” Taehyung murmurs lovingly, slowly pulling you out from the crook of his neck to get a good look at you. “Is everything alright?”

“I can’t stand to have you h-hurt – any of you,” you quickly add, forcing yourself to dive into the well of Taehyung’s eyes. The water there is poison, poison that you’ve been slowly drinking over the course of the years. “He said he killed you and-”

“Who?” Comes a sturdy voice, and you turn to see Seokjin. He’s looking at you while the others stare at Namjoon, trying to garner a response from him. True to his word, Namjoon remains stoic, offering nothing.

You’re looking at Seokjin, but you’re waiting for Taehyung. Waiting for any sort of unspoken cue that it’s alright to share this information, that you can trust them all.

It comes in the form of Taehyung pulling you tighter against him, offering the security of his arms. You return your wide-eyed gaze to him, accidentally flinching as he brushes a tear from your cheek.

“It’s ok, capa,” he whispers, the title nothing more than a mocking crown. For all the world, he looks as if he pities you and your fragile state. “Tell us.”

Us.

“Yadiel’s men. T-they ambushed us on the road, wrecked our car. I thought they were going to kill us, but…”

You look to Namjoon for help, and he picks it up flawlessly. “They were defects, like Ortega. Angry and afraid. Cowards,” he spits out. You quickly look around the room, pleased to see everyone drinking in every word.

Everyone, save for Seokjin. He leans up against the island, his fleeting glance catching your eye. You see the question there, the one that you can’t answer for fear of being found out. You drop his gaze just as quickly as you held it, returning your attention to Namjoon.

“They’re sick, trying to leave with a bang, I suppose,” Namjoon continues. “And they claimed that while we were out, they’d infiltrated the house.”

Yoongi frowns. “So they told you that they’d killed Taehyung?”

Namjoon looks sheepish as he answers, like he just connected the dots. “Well…now that I think about it, they were very obviously bluffing. Said they broke into the house, and, well…”

You groan, covering your face. “The first name out of my mouth was Taehyung.”

It works like magic. Taehyung lets out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief, one that you wouldn’t be able to pick up if you hadn’t been pushed up so close against him. He curls into you slightly, the tension in his shoulders disappearing as he grows comfortable.

You’re a hawk, trained to believe you’re a songbird. And now he has you, trapped in the cage of his arms, singing whichever tune he chooses.

“Naturally,” Jungkook hisses, finally rising to his feet.

“They used that against you,” Yoongi says, eying Jungkook to make sure he won’t launch another attack. Jimin edges closer, but you all know that Jungkook won’t make a move that could harm you.

You’re like a human shield for Taehyung.

“Yes,” you admit, looking down. Noticing Taehyung’s arms around you, you edge away, embarrassed by your obvious preference for the dark-haired boy. He lets go reluctantly, not wanting to see you go too far. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Are you alright?” Seokjin asks gingerly. “You were in a car crash. There’s no way you walked away without a scratch.”

The sigh of relief you let out isn’t an act. Leave it to Seokjin to offer you a perfect way out. Glancing at Namjoon, he offers you an imperceptible nod.

“Now that you mention it…” you shake your head, squinting at Seokjin. “But we need to discuss Ortega.”

To your heart’s demise, it’s Jungkook who speaks up. “That can wait. You come first. Go let Seokjin take a look at you.”

It’s hard to look back at Jungkook, but when you do, you see that he’s avoiding your stare. He looks down at your shoes, jaw set while the fire in his eyes has yet to subside. “Jungkook…” you start, regretting the way you’ve made him feel.

But he shakes his head, turning on his heel. You watch him leave, fighting the urge to call out to him and explain it all right this moment.

Soon.

“Go on,” Taehyung quietly urges, an adoring look in his eyes that glows with practiced ease. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

You nod, and the way you grimace as you step toward Seokjin. The two of you make slow progress out of the kitchen, and by the time you get near the doorway Jimin has already left to check on Jungkook. Yoongi and Hoseok remain behind with Taehyung, standing as stoic sentinels. Yoongi reeks of distrust as he eyes Taehyung, but the latter appears not to notice as he watches you with an absolute look in his eyes.

As you pass Namjoon, you hold onto his shoulder for support as you slide past. Just before you let go, you slide your hand down, tapping your finger twice against his shoulder blade.

He clears his throat twice in return, receiving the message.

Initiate phase two.

It takes an eternity to make it down the hallway to Seokjin’s room. He’s oddly reserved as he closes the door behind you, leading you to the bathroom with a hand to your elbow. And it’s that gentle touch, that welcomed hand, that has you fighting back the tears that threaten to break through to the surface.

The bathroom door closes behind you. Seokjin holds a hand up to his lips, and you remain silent as he reaches over and turns on the shower, effectively creating a shield in which the both of you can speak freely without being overheard. Then, he comes close, bringing his mouth to your ear.

“Brava,” the warmth of his breath curves over the shell of your ear, and you find yourself leaning closer. “Tell me, are you intending on keeping up the lie around me, too?”

You blink, and the weight that lifts off your shoulder upon realizing that someone else knows the truth leaves you lightheaded. “How did you know?”

Seokjin pulls back now, and he smiles softly at you. “When you live in a web of lies, you can’t help but watch for spiders. And Taehyung…” he shakes his head, “has always looked at you like you were his next meal.”

A shudder runs through you. “I see.”

“Why don’t you explain whatever plan it is that you’ve got stored up there,” Seokjin taps your forehead, making you smile softly. “While I check you out. No. While I look at you.” He winces, stepping back. “Just tell me where it hurts.”

You croak a laugh, placing a hand on your chest. “My ribs. I think I might have bruised them.” Again, you add in your mind.

Seokjin frowns, and you can’t tell if the pink in his cheeks is from the steam of the shower or embarrassment. “Ok. Take your shirt off.”

Coughing and immediately regretting it, you shake your head. “No way. You’re not even a real doctor!”

“Yeah, well, I’m the next best thing, so off it goes.”

“You just want to see my bra.”

Eyebrows shooting up, Seokjin fights against a grin. “I’ll have you know that I’ve seen plenty of bras; yours won’t phase me.”

“Should I feel offended by that? I feel offended.” You fiddle with the hem of your shirt – Taehyung’s old shirt – inching it up little by little. Seokjin, to his credit, keeps his eyes on your face. “How many bras are we talking here?”

It’s ridiculous, to be sitting here talking about bras and bruised ribs at a time like this. But you cling to this moment. It’s the only escape you have at the moment.

Seokjin inches closer, fingertips close enough to your exposed midriff that if feels like charged electricity as they hover just above the surface. His eyes drop to his hands, scoffing softly.

“Not as many as you probably think,” he quietly confesses. “Now hurry, before I lose my nerve.”

His words make you feel more comfortable, and you take a deep breath and pull the shirt off as quickly as your injury will allow. Seokjin inhales sharply, face turning an impressive shade of red before making quick work of checking your chest. He asks you where it hurts the worst and little more about the nature of the crash.

In hushed tones, you tell him everything. The meeting with Russo, the crash that you caused, how you stole Mrs. Lang’s car.

“It was an accident; I didn’t realize it was hers!” You protest when Seokjin rolls his eyes at you.

“Here, put some of this ointment on,” he instructs, handing you a small container. You do as you’re told, laughing to yourself when he turns away and begins carelessly looking through a cabinet for something you know he doesn’t need.

Once you’ve finished applying the ointment, you slide your shirt back on. Like some invisible timer has gone off, Seokjin turns around, looking infinitely more comfortable now that you’re fully clothed again.

“Keep the ointment,” he instructs, coming over and handing you a bottle of painkillers. “And take these, too. It’ll help if you take some after breakfast and again after dinner if you’re in pain.”

“Thank you.”

Seokjin opens his mouth as if he plans to say something else, his eyes suddenly serious, but stops when a knock sounds at the door. It’s quickly followed by someone clearing their throat twice.

“Duty calls,” you say, the words coming out a little choked. Seokjin nods, but his hand flies to your wrist when you move toward the door. “What?”

When he speaks, you see a piece of him that he’s only shown you once before, while you sobbed in his arms after your father’s murder. His brown eyes are impossibly warm, regarding you with a sense of wonder.

“Promise me that whatever happens…” the words fade out even as his entire being screams out the worry that he has for you. “…that you’ll stop stealing poor old lady’s cars.”

Your chest doesn’t hurt so bad when you laugh. “Ok. Whatever you say, Jin.”

He drops your wrist, turning off the shower as you go to the door. You hesitate, and in that moment he speaks up again.

His voice is low, but the words come easily. As if he’s been thinking it for a long time and they’re dying to be let out.

“Next time you cry, I want you to know that I keep a spare key to my room under the vase in the study.”

Turning, you see that he has his back to you, still facing the shower. “You lock your door at night?”

“…yes.”

Suddenly, the fact that he shared the location of his spare key with you seems infinitely more important. It makes the next words you say seem easy. “My door is always open. If you…need anything.”

Nodding more to yourself than anything, you turn back toward the door, anxious to open it and get out of this stifling heat. The steam from the shower has covered up the mirror, not allowing you a good look at your own face to check that you don’t look as dazed as you feel.

On second thought, maybe that’s a good thing.

Namjoon stands outside, one arm around a sullen-looking Jungkook. Jimin sifts through Seokjin’s bookcase, looking up at you with a solemn expression as you exit the bathroom.

“Hey,” you greet them weakly.

“How’re you holding up?” Jimin asks, shooting an anxious glance in Jungkook’s direction. “Feeling alright?”

“Much better, now.” He nods, satisfied with the answer. Jungkook doesn’t say a word on the bed, looking away even as he blushes. No doubt he’s hurt after what you did in the kitchen. Gingerly kneeling in front of where he sits on the bed, you keep a careful distance between the two of you.

“Jungkook,” you sound small as you say his name, the weight of it threatening to crush you. “I need your help.”

He slowly looks at you, exhaustion coloring his features. “Nobody asked you to pick a side.”

His quiet words shoot straight through you, making you wince. “I know, Jungkook.” There’s a million questions rolling around his brain right now, you can see them. Hoping to answer at least one, you slowly reach out a hand until its resting upon his knee. He looks down at it sullenly. “Jungkook, I’ll never ask anything of you again, I swear. Just this one last thing. And then, I swear you’re free to leave.”

He looks at you as if you’ve struck him. “Leave?” His voice is heavy with emotion; Jungkook always was the worst at hiding his feelings. “How could I ever leave the only home I’ve ever had?”

“Jungkook, listen to me. I’m not picking a side, and I’m not forcing you to leave. I’m only asking you to do one more favor for me.”

Swallowing heavily, he nods. “What is it?”

Has he always looked so young? The way his hair tumbles into his eyes makes him appear as innocent as a child, looking at you with that same reserved devotion he’s only ever kept for you. It makes the knots in your stomach reappear with new enthusiasm, because for the first time, you realize that maybe something isn’t right here.

You realize that Jungkook deserves so much more than this.

“We need to pay a visit to an old friend.”

previous / next

support my dream of becoming a writer? | ko-fi

pls come chat with me about your thoughts lol

#bts #bts mafia au #htss #bts ot7 #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #mafia!bts x reader #bangtan sonyeondan

133 notes · View notes

strwbrryblues · 2 years

Text

Lowkey [1]

Pairings: Lee Minho | Lee Know x Fem!Reader

Genre: Exes to Lovers, Exes with Benefits (i think??), Angst, Fluff, Smut (???), College AU

Warnings: Alcohol, Reader is Bisexual—implied, Felix is also Bi in here (i think?), [No smut as of now]

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter Synopsis: You would think a harmless party would do you some good, and you can finally loosen up from holing yourself up with homeworks, until you met him.

I do not condone to having minors on my blog, I also do not wish for minors to even interact with any of my adult fics.

This is not a representation of the Stray Kids members, and is completely fictional. If you think it is, don’t even read at all. I don’t like it when people relate fiction to reality when those are completely different things.

Lowkey Masterlist | Lowkey Synopsis | Next Chapter

Senior year. High school.

You stood at the now, empty hallway, right in front of the dance club’s practice room. Minho was standing right in front of you, as he clutched on to the straps of his bag. You both waited until no one was around, for him to finally tell you something he’d been meaning to, since the start of the day.

Minho was a smart kid. He knew as much that if he talked to you about the matter, you’d likely pay less attention to classes, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be the reason that you’d be unable to reach your dreams.

“So,” you started. You were half-nervous, curious of what he’s about to tell you. Half-calm, because somehow, you kind of guessed where this was going.

The boy in front of you stood there. His hands that held on to his backpack straps, were shaking. His eyes darted anywhere but you.

“Y/n…” He called. Suddenly he felt shame rising within his body. “I—…We should break up…”

Nervousness left your body, calm remaining, but hurt was stinging every limbs of your body. Your insides churned, but you just gave him a calm look.

You were hurt, yes, but you already saw it coming. The ache is still there, but you’d hate to see it more when Minho looked as though he’s beating himself up over it. You saw the familiar vulnerability in his face—he was insecure—something he’d show only to you.

You took his hands. A gesture that subtly tells him to look at you. And he did.

He saw your face painted with calmness, yet there was pain hidden in your eyes.

Brushing over his knuckles, you finally spoke up. “I already saw this coming…So, don’t beat yourself up over it.” He was confused and hurt, but relieved at the same time. Before he can speak up however, you added, “we really didn’t work out…”

Minho sighed guiltily. He let go of your hands, opting to wrap his arms around you, pulling you close to him. He buried his head on your neck, inhaling the calming scent that once set his heart ablaze.

“I’m sorry we didn’t work out,” his tone was very sad. He sounded upset. With himself.

“It’s not your fault,” you rubbed his back up and down, to ease him. “We didn’t work out, because we were both busy. It wasn’t just you; it was you, me, and our own priorities. You had your worries, and I had mine.”

You swore you heard him sniffling, and it broke your heart. “I don’t deserve you…”

You pushed him off you, grabbing on his face and squishing it. “Don’t say that. Time just didn’t work out for us, and it made us fight a lot. We were both in the wrong, but doesn’t mean we don’t deserve each other…We’re just too young and yet to mature for something complicated like this.”

You wiped the tear that gathered on his eyes. He looked at you, with all his love for you, as if this is the last time, he’s gazing at your orbs like this—which is in fact, the last time he did.

“Would you mind if…I kiss you?” Minho pressed his forehead against yours, eyes pleading at you.

You closed your eyes and sighed, “I think that’s not fair for me…You do know that I’m hurt by all of this...” You opened your eyes and looked at him sadly.

The boy retracted from you, suddenly feeling shame rising once more in his system. “Right. I’m so sorry.” He looked down at his feet.

You pulled him into your arms, “No, don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry.”

A moment of silence enveloped you two, before he broke it, leaving your arms, he spoke, “I should walk you home.” He shrugged off your back pack, carrying it to his back like he always did when he walked you home.

Your heart felt warm, but it held the ache at the thought of him not spending anymore time with you. He won’t be doing this with you, anymore.

Clearing your throat, you gathered the courage to ask him out this last time—for selfish reasons, of keeping one last memory with him.

“Hey,” you caught his attention. You both were walking out of the school building. “I hope this isn’t too much of a request but…Would you mind if we have one last date?”

Minho paused in his steps, turning to you with an amused look. “You rejected my request for a kiss earlier, but you want to go on a date?” He raised a brow teasingly at you.

Heat rose up to your face, as you turned away from him, embarrassed. “That’s different.” Was all you could manage to say.

You continued your walk, but before you can go far, he grabbed on to your wrist. You turned to look at him, and he wore that familiar, soft gaze once more. “Of course, I’ll go out with you.”

“One last time…” You muttered, looking away sadly.

Minho felt the very depths in his heart, something breaking.

“Yeah…one last time.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his ears. The twinkle in his eyes lost its shimmer. There was sadness behind his tone and his orbs.

You both went to your usual hang out place for dates; it was a small cat café a few blocks from the school grounds. There you played with the cats you grew familiar with. Occasionally, you’d glance at Minho’s direction to see his face painting something you don’t usually see him wear. His emotions were all over the place you can sense it. But you chose not to touch the subject, as it can lead you to wanting him to stay with you longer.

Night was drawing near and Minho had insisted in walking you home. You two walked the pavements of your neighborhood in silence. Bordering between comfortable and uneasiness. It reached to the point where you never actually talked until you reached your house, only then did he break the silence.

“I guess I’ll see you on Monday then.” He clenched his fist, heels gently rocking back and forth. He then turned around, not waiting for you to speak.

You stood there, waiting for him to look back, but he didn’t. You entered your home, rushing up to your room with tears welling up in your eyes.

Upon entering the familiarity of your room, you slumped on your bed, quickly dialing Felix’s number.

“Hey,” you muttered, lips quivering sadly.

Felix was quick to hint the tone in your voice, so he opted to speak up. “Code blue?” He asked, worry lacing in his tone.

“Code blue,” you repeated what he said, smiling but it did not reach your eyes. On coming tears stinging away at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m on my way. I’ll sleep over at yours, mom already said yes.” The freckled boy said. You can hear from his side the rustles and shuffles of the boy; clearly he was getting his things ready.

“You really don’t have to,” you sadly whispered, hoping the boy did not hear, but he did.

“It’s the weekend, it’s fine.” You sighed, happy the your dear friend would be there to at least make you smile.

That night, Felix let you vent out the pain you felt from the break up. He took your mind off it for a while, with movies, and friendly café dates.

But when Monday came, it was like the heartache never left. And Minho saying you’ll meet again, it did not happen. It was like he was avoiding you at all cost; you haven’t seen him the whole day, nor the following day, nor the next day after that.

And just like that, three years passed without you two seeing each other. Like you two never met, nor happened. It was only in the second semester of your third year in college, did you two finally meet.

-----

“Y/n come on, I know you’ll enjoy it!” Felix whined. The boy had been bothering you about a party he was invited to by his crush.

“Lix, you were invited, not me. So I don’t see the point of me attending.” You sighed, not really up for partying on a weekend, with your deadline until tonight at exactly 11:59.

The boy grumbled beside you on your desk, “He said I can invite my closest friends. And it’s the weekend! You need to let loose!” He stood up from your bed, walking behind you to give your shoulders a very aggressive massage.

It was a good thing the work you were doing was not written, or else you would have strangled the boy from annoyance. But you won’t do it even so, as you have a very soft spot for your dearest sunshine friend.

“Lix, I have to pass this before midnight.” You grabbed his hands on your shoulder to stop the massage that was making you feel a bit dizzy.

The freckled boy peeked at you, his eyes lacing with mischief. “Does your prof allow late submissions?” He asked.

You remembered at the back of your head that the professor is kind enough to accept late submissions. You really didn’t want to tell him that, but it’s Felix, and you can’t lie to him. “Yes.” You sighed exasperatedly.

The younger boy jumped up and down in excitement. “I knew you’d say ‘yes’ eventually, so I had prepared your attire!” He went to your closet, to pull out a paper bag you noticed him bringing in earlier when he set foot in your apartment.

So that’s why he was hurrying to go to your room earlier, and that you caught him by your closet looking very suspicious

Naturally, this made you shock. “Lee Felix!” You were mad but not really. But then you weren’t happy as well.

“Come on, try it out! I bought this for you on my way here. I know you’ll love it.” You scanned the dress he bought for you. It did not have a provocative nor a conservative design. Equally showing skin, while also looking modest.

The style all in all, really did suit your taste. You can’t help but sigh at this. It was the least you can do before absolutely combusting into million pieces from all the stress weighing down on you. “You know what, I’ll humor you.” At this, Felix clapped very loudly with a childish grin as he zoomed around your room in search for his bag where he pulled out a make-up kit you didn’t know he was carrying around.

You sweat dropped at this. “Just this time Lix.” He nodded his head as he placed your dress on your bed. After setting up you dress for the night, he then grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you to your bathroom.

“A quick bath could do you good you stink girl.” He laughed jokingly. “You’ve been holed up in your room for days.”

You scowled at him. “I take baths, Felix.” He just waved you off, reminding you that the party is in two hours.

This prompted you to take your time as it was still 8 in the evening, until you heard him shouting, “don’t even think about taking your sweet time! I still have to do your hair and make-up.”

You groaned, but then sighed. It was really the least you can do for the boy, so you took your shower quite quickly, but still scrubbing your body very carefully.

When you got out of the bathroom, Felix was quick to push you in a seat in front of your full-body mirror. Placing a couple more chairs he took from your kitchen, he placed all the things he needed for your full make over.

“Literally, how did I not notice you brought all these with you.” You sweat dropped, picking up a cute yellow hair dryer, which he snatched from you.

He plugged the said device, looking at you mischievously, “I have my ways,” he wiggled his brows before turning on the hair dryer.

Felix worked with your hair in haste, but he was gentle; making sure that you were not uncomfortable during the whole process. After drying your hair, he styled it in loose curls—you were once more astonished when he pulled out a flat iron from his bag.

Once he was finished with styling your hair, he then moved to your make-up. Making sure to not make it heavy, he only did a natural look for you that’s fitting to go along with the dress he bought. Once he was done, he moved away from you to admire his work.

You looked in the mirror to see yourself look more freshened than when you were an hour before—completely stressed, with bags underneath your eyes. “Lix, you really didn’t have to go all this way for me.” You gave him a somber look.

“I do what I want, and what I want is for you to let loose and be happy.” He said, giving you a gentle smile that made your heart ache at the visibility of his pure intentions.

“Okay, I promise I’ll have fun tonight.” You said, giving him a small smile.

Felix happily let out a squeal, zooming around your room. Next thing you know, he was all prepped up for the night. “I promise you won’t regret it.” He grinned happily at you, taking you hands in his, and giving it a light squeeze before letting go. “Yeji said she’ll pick us up. She’s on her way right now.”

You suddenly frowned at this. “Just how much did you plan this?” You were starting to get suspicious of Felix with how everything was going into place with his plans. Everything looked like it was prepared before hand that maybe, this party was even a plan of his.

“Oh, she’s actually still going to pick me up either you wanted to go or not.” He said, looking at you very innocently. But you still stared at him with suspicion. “Don’t give me that look. I didn’t plan all of this.” He pouted.

You chuckled at the cute reaction he gave. “Okay fine, I believe you.” Sometimes it scared you how much grip Felix’s cuteness has on you. You took note to try and resist him the next time.

A few more minutes and Felix received a message from Yeji, saying that she’s waiting in the parking lot and that she didn’t want to walk up to your apartment. You couldn’t blame her, as you felt like not moving a muscle for the night, if only the freckled boy hasn’t invited you out.

During the whole ride, Felix and Yeji talked about a lot of things, with the boy riding shotgun, it was smoother for their conversation to flow. You didn’t mind riding backseat. You were actually thankful to have it all for yourself.

Thinking the place was a lot farther, you were about to close your eyes for a short nap, when the car halted, with Yeji hollering a, “we’re here.”

You groaned inwardly. You really didn’t want to be here, but you just couldn’t resist your dear friend Felix. Slapping yourself mentally, you gave yourself a small cheer of, “what could possibly go wrong?” so as not to dampen your mood, that could easily be sponged by Felix, and then Yeji would have to pester both of you why you two are not so in the mood.

When the three of you got out of the car, the freckled boy was quick to latch his arms around you and Yeji. And upon entering the said place, he was just as quick to let go both of you, but not without a quick peck on both your cheeks as farewell, and then rushing off starry eyed at a boy, who you concluded as his crush.

Yeji sighed, “you know, if he wasn’t so cute asking me to go on this party, I would have stayed home and binge watched some series.”

You chuckled at her, feeling the very same way. “Come on, let’s just get something to drink.” You giggled, already feeling lighter than when you were working on your homework.

The girl agreed, dragging you around the house in search for a kitchen. When you arrived the said place, a girl was standing beside the fridge, handing out fresh drinks. At this, Yeji was quick to approach her, and quickly engaged a conversation.

From what you were witnessing, they were very close. Yeji noticing your stare, she introduced you. “Y/n! She is a childhood friend of mine, Shin Ryujin.”

Said girl, who was no doubt oozing with charisma, that you almost blushed from it, extended her hand. You shook it before saying, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Ryujin replied, all smiles, before handing you a small can of beer. You rejected politely the alcoholic drink, “I’ll have a soda instead.”

“You don’t drink?” She asked, a brow raising but she still wore her charismatic smile.

“I do. Just not in these kinds of parties. I wouldn’t want to make a decision I’d regret later.” You said, as she finally handed you a can of soda.

Opening the can, you sipped from it as you heard Ryujin praise, “smart girl.”

The statement making you flush lightly in embarrassment, before you hear Yeji scoff in pride, “of course! What do you expect from my girl?” You can almost see her nose pointing higher with her eyes closed.

You laughed lightly at her praise, but thank her deep inside for thinking highly of you when in truth insecurity and fear creeps up your very being.

And just like that you fell into a small conversation with them, before it completely shifted to a topic where you suddenly felt out of place. You didn’t mind, thinking that Yeji needed to catch up with her childhood friend, you left their vicinity, while still being in the kitchen—in search for food to nibble on.

You looked around the counter and kitchen island to see junk foods sprawled everywhere. You scowled at the sight of mixed up chips that were now barely touched. Opened ice cream tubs, and soggy, cold fries, and even cold pizza. You thought this place was a disaster.

In honestly, you could’ve gone with one of the foods available, but with all of it being left out in the open, you just grumbled and ignored the groans and moans of your stomach.

Taking another soda in the fridge beside Yeji and Ryujin, hoped there was at least a food inside. And bless the heavens, there was a clear container, and you can see the fresh salad inside, making your stomach rumble in rejoice.

But then you saw in bold markers, the name “Minho” was written. Something inside you made you stop your movements in hesitation. Until a voice inside you head reasoned out, “there are a lot of Minho in this place. It couldn’t be your Minho.”

Still with hesitation, but with determination to fill your stomach up with something, you grabbed the container, wishing on the heavens that this ‘Minho' guy was not your Minho, nor would he care that his salad was just eaten by some stranger.

Your hunger was sate the moment the leafy green entered your mouth, and in the middle of eating, you were sure you heard Yeji mutter something to you. But being to focused on savoring this “Minho’s” salad, you just nodded your head absentmindedly.

Half-way through finishing the salad, someone had made it’s present beside you, a smirk teasing in their tone. “Who eats salad in a party?” The person teased amidst the blaring noise of the music that played in the house. Until, “wait a minute...That’s my salad!”

This caught your attention, making you look up and apologize profusely at the owner of the said salad. “I’m sorry! I just got really hungry, and I didn’t want to eat anything else that was offered because it was exposed and who knows what kind of shit landed in there and—” you blabbered on and on, not meeting the person’s eyes, too ashamed of being caught.

The person held your shoulders however, and the contact felt awfully familiar until you finally met their gaze. “Y/n?”

“Minho?”

It was then your worst fears have been realized, and the salad owner really was your Minho.

[Next Chapter]

-----

Series Taglist: @endzii23 @dreamescapeswriting

A/N: lmao, after months i finally finished the first fckin chapter 💀 btw if you want to be added on the taglist, please let me know! 💗 Also your thoughts about the series are openly welcome! i accept constructive criticisms as well 💗

#stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz fluff #lee know x reader #skz lee know #skz lee minho #skz smut #skz minho #Lowkey Series #Lowkey

134 notes · View notes

father-time-and-baby-new-year · 3 years

Text

alphabet boy

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

PAIRING: Armin x FEM!Reader

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

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

WC: 1.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re behind.

The class is too much work for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These private sessions are going to be fun.

part I ---- complete

#attack on titan fanfiction #armin arlet x reader #yandere armin arlert #armin arlet x you #armin arlert fanfic #slight dubcon #tw manipulation #tw gaslighting #tw crybaby reader'

757 notes · View notes

aalissy · 2 years

Text

Buttercup

Day 9 is finallly here!! Sorry it’s kinda late. I was kinda busy helping my lil sister make a decision about college haha. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter! It has a lillllll bit of Marichat in it but I promise it gets to Adrienette! Also, be warned there is a LOT of Strikeback/s4 finale spoilers in this chapter! If you stilll haven’t seen that ep I strongly suggest doing so bc it’s so good :D

AO3

Marinette hummed lightly to herself as she worked on her latest design. Chat was lazily reclined on her chaise, tossing his baton up and down. Every so often she would shoot a fond glance over at him. He had started coming over more recently and Marinette found herself enjoying the quiet company. She had needed his presence after Hawkmoth had stolen every last miraculous from her lest she break down into another panic attack. Of course, Chat didn’t know that.

Not for the first time Marinette wished she could share her identity with the superhero. Unthinkingly, her eyes drifted to where the empty miracle box was still hidden away, fighting back against the wave of guilt and shame that hit her.

“So...,” Chat started and she dragged her gaze away from the hiding spot to blink over at him curiously. “Did you ever end up confessing to Buttercup?”

A bright blush lit up Marinette’s cheeks as she nibbled on her lower lip. Her thoughts drifted to Adrien for a brief moment before she tensed up, recalling just how badly she messed up when she mistook him for Felix. Shoving the panic away, she drew in a deep, calming breath. Slowly, Marinette shook her head. “N-no, I didn’t. I got so busy that I didn’t really have much time to.”

And when I thought I finally had the perfect moment to confess to him... both Lila and Chloé messed it up, she added to herself.

“But you came up with that purrfect speech and everything.” Chat frowned.

“It’s alright, Chat. It’s nothing new for me,” Marinette said with a small sigh before chuckling. “I’m just sorry I dragged you into this whole mess. My friend told me that practice would sharpen my sword so to speak.”

He threw his head back in a loud laugh at that. “What?”

She giggled too, her blue eyes sparkling with mirth. “I didn’t understand either. You’ll have to ask Kagami what she meant by that.”

“Wait... Kagami told you to practice a love confession on someone else?” Chat’s eyes practically bulged out of her head.

“Yes,” Marinette nodded her head while holding back snickers. “And believe it or not she got the idea from reading manga. Which is why I’m sorry for practicing on you. I thought she had read it from a Psychology book or something.”

“Wow... I didn’t know Kagami had it in her,” he muttered and she felt a brush of indignation on her friend’s behalf for a brief moment. She was about to open her mouth to scold him when Chat continued, “Regardless, I think she was right about the practice. Especially if you still haven’t confessed yet. So, I wanted to offer an idea...”

Marinette frowned suspiciously. This seemed strange. Crossing her arms against her chest, she said warily, “What idea?”

Chat bounced on the chaise eagerly, his green eyes gleaming at her mischievously. “Well, I know someone who I’m purrety certain can help with this purrticular mission.”

Rolling her eyes at the cat puns, she scoffed. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope, I’m pawsitively serious.”

Shooting Chat a fond smile, Marinette asked, “And what makes you think that this person would even want to help?”

“Trust me. They wouldn’t mind.” His lips twitched into a smirk as he gazed back at her mischievously.

Raising one eyebrow at him, she shook her head before turning back to her design. “Fine, Chat. If you can find someone who... for some reason doesn’t mind helping me with my love life then be my guest.”

“Alright,” he chirped back.

With another roll of her eyes, Marinette continued to sketch the rough outline of her work, enjoying the quiet, warmth that had settled back over the room. There was no way that Chat would be able to find someone who would even slightly want to talk about Adrien with her. Putting his promise to the back of her mind, Marinette’s tongue stuck out with concentration as she debated over adding ruffles or not.

After Chat had left and she had crawled into bed with a tired yawn, their entire discussion flew from her mind as she drifted to sleep. It wasn’t until the next day that she even remembered what they talked about.

For once Marinette was early as she slid into her desk seat. It had been hard for her to sleep lately. She swallowed a lump in her throat as the nightmare from last night flashed in her vision. Lately, Adrien’s gentle, smiling face had been turning into Felix’s cold, devilish one. Shivering slightly, Marinette slumped her head down onto her desk with a quiet groan.

She heard someone slide into the seat next to her and she quietly murmured, “Hey, Alya.”

A deep, familiar chuckle hit her ears causing her to pop her head up with alarm. Sat next to her was Adrien with a sheepish, almost nervous grin on his face. His hand came up to scratch the back of his neck as he said, “Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, no! T-that’s not... I-I mean, you’re not a disappointment... disappointing me!” Marinette gave him a wide, awkward smile, shifting slightly in her seat. She itched to smack her palm into her forehead. Just how many times did she have to stumble her words around Adrien before she was finally completely comfortable with him?

“Great!” His grin quickly grew happier as he stared into her eyes.

Clearing her throat, Marinette began to fidget with her hands. “I, uh... d-did you need something, Adrien?”

His gaze grew determined as he nodded his head. “Mhm. I’m here as a favor to a mutual friend of ours.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. Mutual friend? What mutual friend? It couldn’t be Alya or Nino... could it? With a small blink, she hesitantly asked, “Alya didn’t put you up to this, did she?”

“Nope. It’s not Alya or Nino.” Adrien stared at her pointedly, almost like she was forgetting something vitally important.

But what could she possibly be forgetting? She couldn’t imagine one of the girls putting him up to this... at least, not without calling a meeting first. Her frown deepened as she thought back. A sudden thought struck her and panic shot straight through to her heart. No... it couldn’t be... could it?

Quietly, she choked out. “You don’t mean...”

“Yep!” Adrien practically cheered even as her heart sank with dread. “I’m on Mission Buttercup now.”

Oh, Marinette was screwed. Giving him a wide, frightened smile, she shook her head quickly. “Oh no no! D-don’t worry about cat. I mean that. I didn’t think Chat was being serious a-and besides I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your time.”

“You’re not taking up any of my time. Don’t even think about that,” he waved her words off. “Besides I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long. Ever since my father canceled my trip around the world it seems like you’ve been so busy with other things. Maybe this way we’ll be able to spend more time together. I’ve missed being with you.”

Marinette gulped, wishing she could just shut her eyes and forget this whole day was even happening. Yes, she had been avoiding Adrien after the train incident. Every time she saw his face it was like all she could see was her failure.

Gnawing on her lower lip, she gazed back into his eager green eyes. There was such a happy, boyish grin on his face that she couldn’t find the will to say no. Berating herself already, Marinette’s voice cracked as she said, “A-alright.”

Adrien practically whooped with excitement. “Great! So, what do I do?”

How on earth was she supposed to tell him that just being himself was enough? Practically gasping for air, she shook her head at him. “Don’t worry about anything for now, Adrien. Project Buttercup’s been put on hold for the foreseeable future. B-but I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

There! That made enough sense... right?

Ugh, just how on earth had Chat managed to get Buttercup himself in Project Buttercup? Groaning internally, Marinette reached up to rub her temples.

Adrien’s lower lip jutted out in a small pout and she had to fight back the urge to lean in and kiss it away. “Are you sure? Chat said that you two had practiced your confession. I mean... I could always help with that too.”

Marinette’s lips parted at the idea. Her... practicing her confession on Adrien... to Adrien. Just the thought of it was enough to cause her heart to thump wildly in her chest.

Maybe you could get him to practice kissing too. A dark, mischievous voice rang out through her mind. Shaking her head roughly at the idea, she shoved aside her daydreams to give Adrien another awkward grin. “T-then you should also know that we pretty much figured that part out! Thanks for the offer though!”

His brow furrowed as he pursed his mouth, tapping his chin in thought. “There has to be something I can help with.”

“Listen, Adrien, I...,” Marinette started before she got cut off by Adrien snapping his fingers.

“I got it! What if we go around Paris and try to find the best place for you to confess to Buttercup?!” Adrien practically squirmed in his seat with excitement, gazing at her like her approval meant everything to him.

Swallowing roughly, she opened her mouth to tell him thank you, but that wouldn’t be necessary. Instead, all that came out was a strained, “Ok.”

“Great!” He scrambled up out of his seat. “I’ve already thought of some ideas. I’ll go write them down.”

Marinette simply hummed back at him, a grimace on her face as she clenched her eyes shut tightly. What had she gotten herself into? Scrubbing a hand down her face, she hoped that she hadn’t just made a stupid mistake.

#adrinetteapril2022 #adrienetteapril2022 #adrinette #adrienette #marichat #strikeback spoilers #ml s4 finale spoilers #miraculous spoilers #strikeback #ml #mlb #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #fic #fanfic

80 notes · View notes

sukirichi · 3 years

Text

dutifully yours. [01]

Attached to the could’ve been’s of a promised happily ever after with the Crown Prince disguised under a scheme for power and greed, you are torn between choosing your happiness — or abandoning it to fulfill your duty as the future Queen.

→ unedited bcos i’m brave lazy. implied patriarchy. angst in future chapters. pure romance and fluff for now. royalty au. eventual smut. prince naoya !! i love him sm i could cry. this fic will break me, okay. naoya is close to canon but with my twist if that makes sense. drama in future chapters. oh and listen to this while reading <3

→ massive shoutout to my besties for always hyping me and helping me uwu, i present this token of prince naoya being an ideal husband okay cry cry i love him sm im crying. anyways pls enjoy bcos i poured my heart out to this and bcos i want more people in the naoya fucker club :>

one | next (to be posted)

Ever since the day your mother taught you how to read, you’ve had your nose buried in a book. Losing yourself in different worlds, swooning over fictional princes, and fantasizing for a love story ripped out of fairytale itself with such burning, passionate romance – you’d been through it all, dreamt of it all. And yet, you struggled to stop yourself from tugging at your dress.

The tight corset hadn’t even been the main focus of your worries, and neither was the heavy rivière resting on your collarbones.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” Beside you, your mother pursed her lips, fingers decorated with jewels stopping in their movements of fanning herself. The temperature hadn’t been particularly high inside the limousine that evening. You supposed it was the mere sight of you tugging and gulping audibly every now and then, gloved hands running over the hems of your collar.

You ducked your head down. “Sorry, Mother. I can’t help it.”

“Dear, your anxiety is written all over your face,” she sighed, turning your face to her as she cupped your cheeks. Smiling tenderly like a mother always did, your heart felt soothed even by the slightest bit. You wished she could keep holding you like this – like you were a fragile flower she was afraid of breaking; a fragile flower that needed more care handled than most. Tonight, however, you felt a hundred years older. Like you’d accidentally clicked on fast forward and got launched to the future. A future that seemed so unclear yet so...perfect. So right.

“How would the Prince fancy you if you’re sweating bullets like that? It’s not a good look for a marquess’ daughter.”

At the mention of the Crown Prince, your heart sank again. “My apologies, Mother. I’m just rather nervous. It’s the Crown Prince we’re talking about here.”

“He is quite the looker, isn’t he?” she giggled behind her fan, “Strong and handsome, as well.”

“My ladies. You are not fantasizing over the Crown Prince in my presence, are you?”

Crossing her leg over the other, your mother leaned forwards, elbows on her knees as she winked at your father. The marquess had his torso half twisted from the passenger seat, glaring playfully at your mother’s unabashed features. “It is of no seriousness, My Lord. I’m simply easing your daughter’s nerves.”

Your father sighed in worry. “What’s got you so worked up, child? You are beautiful. The Prince would be blind to not notice you.”

Each fibre in your body screamed in desperation for your father to be right. Tonight was not just any other night – the entire Kingdom, including noblewomen, foreign royals, and unwed daughters from honourable families had been invited to the Zen’in Castle for one purpose only: to find his Crown Prince a suitable wife, one that would be fit to be the next Queen as well. As the daughter of the marquess, you’d naturally received the invitation. It felt just like yesterday when the mail arrived and you’d cheered so much in joy the chickens went flying out of their coops, your horses galloping and whinnying at surprise, and now you here – minutes away from the palace where you were soon to be deemed worthy or unworthy to be beside His Highness.

With a shaky smile, you dug your nails into your thighs. “Well, we’ve only met once, Father. I doubt the Prince would remember me.”

“Just smile, darling. You will do great.”

To no one’s surprise, the Zen’in Castle brimmed with people and esteemed guests. Men and women danced with one another as muted chatters and chuckles blended in with the grand royal orchestra, everyone dressed to the nines and making you feel completely out of place.

The moment you’d been welcomed by the knights and led to the palace doors, your dress began to feel tighter than usual, your ribs clenching uncomfortably from the pressure. Your hands had not stopped trembling either, not even when you hid it behind your back and nodded at the people passing by. There were governor-generals, dukes, earls, professors and royal advisors and even families of the royal family’s inner circle of knights. Everyone looked like they belonged here. Chatting amongst one another over the finest of wines or discussing conspiracies on where the Kingdom of Zen’in would be in the next sixty years of the future King’s reign, no one here seemed to be out of place.

Everyone except you.

A warm hand was suddenly placed on the small of your back, making you gasp. Your mother’s smile was nothing short of warm as she held you close to her one last time, leaving a kiss on your forehead. You didn’t even realize how much you shook until she clasped her hands with yours. “Calm down, dear,” she reminded, “You’ll be on your own now. This is where we leave you since we’re not supposed to mingle with potential princesses.”

“Mother!” Your eyes widened in embarrassment. Looking around frantically, you bit your lip in fear someone must’ve heard.

Of course, while it would be no surprise most guests – if not all – hoped that their daughter would be the Crown Prince’s chosen fiancée, it still felt wrong to boldly assume such when you could barely keep up with the events of tonight.

However, your mother merely laughed. “I am proud of you, dear. Never forget that. It doesn’t matter whether you are chosen or not. We’re only here for formality and respect to the King and Queen’s demands.”

“You say that as if the Crown Prince really would not bother with me.”

“We didn’t mean that,” your father cut in, a flute of champagne already nested between his calloused fingers. Ever since you arrived, he’d been snatched away by fellow earls and barons, disappearing into the crowd for a ‘hearty conversation over one’s lands.’ You knew better than that, though. That statement always translated to which leader got to have more chances to wine and dine with the King, to which your family was ridiculously reminded of that you’d been stationed to the most faraway land where even hearing news from the royal papers was but a privilege.

“Just be yourself, alright? And enjoy the party. It’s about time you met with girls your own age and made some friends.”

“I – Father, wait!”

A slender young woman slithered to your side out of nowhere, her golden brown eyes following the silhouettes of your parents. It wasn’t long before they completely disappeared. Left alone with the stunning woman that was – for some reason – dressed in a plain black curve hugging dress too modest for tonight’s appropriateness, you took three steps away in caution. “You must be from way up North,” she noted, her head to the tipped to the side. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

God, was she beautiful. Long, thick eyelashes and short hair chopped in messy yet elegant curves, you struggled to hold her gaze. “Oh, yes, I come from the Terratian Borders. My family is stationed there under His Majesty’s orders.”

She hummed to herself. “The Terratian Borders are mostly forests and fields, no? The last time my family and I visited there, I came across the loveliest dandelions I’ve ever laid eyes on. Shame they died on the way back,” offering her hand – again, bare and empty with decorations yet still littered with faint scars and cuts – she beamed at you. “I’m Mai, by the way. Mai Zen’in.”

Zen’in?

Hands cupping your mouth, you bowed deep until your back ached. “Lady Mai!” you shut your eyes closed, unable to live with the shame. Mai Zen’in; one of the iconic twin pair from the extended Zen’in royal family, both a fashion icon and a legend for being a rumoured female knight. To have her in your presence was an honour. “My apologies for not recognizing you any sooner, Lady Mai!”

“Stand up, I’m not a royal,” she sniggered, “We’re just relatives of the actual monarch, but don’t let the family name fool you. The Crown Prince barely even acknowledges us being of the same blood.”

Albeit hesitant, you followed her gestures of making you stand up. You straightened your back and cleared your throat, fighting the urge to go haywire the moment his name was brought into the conversation. Not only would you be seeing Prince Naoya again in real life for the first time in years, but you’d also made acquaintances with his distant niece. However, his name was spoken with malice.

Frowning, you faced Lady Mai in all seriousness. “Prince Naoya? Why so?” Lady Mai looked at you like you’d grown two heads.

“He’s an ass, that’s why.”

“I-I don’t think he is,” you defended, “The Prince has been nothing but kind to me.”

“I didn’t know he was capable of kindness,” she muttered more so under her breath, low enough you were unsure whether you were supposed to hear it in the first place. Lady Mai then shook her head to herself before stealing a flute from a waiter passing by. Chucking it your way, her face turned dark and grim. “Take it as free advice: stay as far away from his as possible. The Crown Prince is nothing but good news.”

“Is it because he has lots of lovers?” you inquired with a small voice, “Uhm – well – It was an assumption. With a title and handsomeness like that, it would make sense everyone would want to be the Crown Prince’s lover.”

Lady Mai’s lip curled upwards. “Prince Naoya won’t bother with lovers. He is too occupied for that.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Heard from whom?”

“The Royal Declaration from His Majesty himself,” you said, “Was it not the purpose of this ball? To find worthy candidates to be the Crown Prince’s betrothed? His coronation is coming soon.”

“Right. I forgot today was technically a bridal market,” she scratched the edge of her brow, falling silent for a moment. Her eyes scanned the lively crowd for a brief moment – watching with you as everyone laughed and danced to their heart’s content – the grand final event of the routine personal dance with the Crown Prince himself slowly approaching to reality. “You are joining in the festivities, are you not? Later, when he arrives, he shall meet you.”

“I am obligated to as a noble bachelorette, though I doubt His Highness would even look my way. There are far richer noblewomen here and even daughters of duke that would be perfect as his wife. ”

“You may have a point for that,” she hummed to herself, unaware that her agreement to the Crown Prince not paying attention to you left a sting both in your ego and heart. Not that it lasted long, for Lady Mai was already tugged on the arm by another equally fiercely beautiful woman – her older twin, Maki Zen’in. Soon to be governon-general of the Kingdom.

Lady Mai smiled in apology. “I need to go now since I’m not a part of this event. But hey, if ever I come around to visit the Borders again, perhaps you could entertain me?”

“I would be honoured to, Lady Mai.”

“You are sweet and innocent,” it was her sister who spoke this time, glasses perched high on her nose that concealed the wariness of her gaze. “I hope the Crown Prince never gets to your routine.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s nothing; she was talking to herself. Maki does that a lot,” Lady Mai’s forced chuckles were barely heard from the music. “You enjoy the party now. Don’t drink too much lest you want to embarrass yourself in everyone’s eyes and be talk of the Kingdom. Prince Naoya would hate it if you took the attention away from him.”

“Oh, uhm...”

“It’s a joke, Lady Y/N. Relax.”

You bowed once more. “My apologies.”

“The dance is about to begin,” Maki tapped on your shoulder, making you look up right where her eyes zeroed in. And exactly in the middle of the grandiose hall, under the sparkling golden chandeliers where he made all the gold in the world look incomparable next to him, the Crown Prince stood in his fully glory. Blond hair with the ends stained of midnight gelled back to reveal his forehead, the Crown Prince’s beauty never failed to shine. Whether it be in the papers, in the tabloids, in the billboards that you passed on the way to the city, or from way back when you met him for the first time as a naive, innocent teen – Crown Prince Naoya came straight out of a magazine cover.

In the back of your head, you could hear either of the twins murmuring good luck. Maybe both of them had said it – you had no idea. All of your attention, all the sensibility and coherence of your state had been switched the next instant, as if your heart and soul was born for the sole purpose of being bewitched by your Crown Prince.

And as if feeling someone’s gaze on him, the Crown Prince’s eyes trailed over the crowd. Almost boredly, his sharp eyes bounced from one giggling woman to another, the ends of his lips smirking upwards for just the tiniest bit. It must’ve stroked his ego. Until his eyes connected with yours. The Crown Prince’s eyebrows knitted together. You had no idea how you looked in that moment, and quite frankly, you didn’t care. Because the Crown Prince was looking at you, and you were looking at him with hearts in your eyes along with your heart pulsing at the tip of your tongue.

“Let us begin,” his lips moved from the distance, “Play the music. I shall dance with my bride.”

The air shifted in a split second. Murmurs were thrown over the room, women and men alike turning pale. Even the orchestra was stunned from the Crown Prince’s entrance – and it hadn’t even been dramatic to his standards – yet the whole castle fell mum from just a few of his words. A few seconds later, the crowd recomposed itself, and the strings began to dance along with its bows.

You are pushed into the crowd. Nearly colliding into the arms of another, you quietly thank the masked man who was to be your first partner of the night.

All the men joining the dance floor dressed with the intention of making the Crown Prince shine. Prince Naoya stood out from the throng of white as per the colour code, his blood red uniform as both Prince with the golden crest of the military leader pinned to his right breast. The other men meant to be filler partners until all the potential brides got to their designated three minutes with the Prince were all dressed in black, faces covered behind a plain black mask. None were allowed to talk. None were allowed to utter even a word, and so your partner pursed his lips in displeasure at your apology.

Whatever. You just had to wait a few more rounds before the song finished and transitioned into a new one; the song where you’d been informed would be your time alone with the Prince.

You’d been so lost in your head you barely breathed the entire dance. From partner to partner, you blanked. Your heart drummed so wildly in its cage it begged to come out, and strings of apologies were let out each time your masked partners grimaced for a brief second when their hands came in contact with your sweaty ones. Around you, all the lovely women smiled and danced graciously, mouths moving in unreadable conversations shared with the Crown Prince. Not once did you look at the six partners you’ve danced with. Not once did you worry about tripping on your own feet. Not once did you care that some of the masked men held you a little too roughly for your comfort. Your entire reason for existing in that moment was to witness the Crown Prince himself, mirroring his frown that got deeper and deeper with each woman retreating to the sea of people he’d rejected.

Not once did you even think about being one of them – the girls who’ve ducked their heads down as their parents comforted them over not being the chosen one, of bringing ‘dishonour’ to their families that the mighty Crown Prince had deemed them unworthy. Tears streamed down their faces until black ink followed afterwards, lips trembling from silent sobs.

Despite their broken prides – although there was that minority who simply sighed in relief after returning to their own families – no one would dare interrupt the Crown Prince’s dances.

All of these thoughts crossed your mind too late and at the exact time your masked partner pulled away from you, body half bent in a bow with his arm outstretched to the side. Following where he was gesturing at, your eyes met the Crown Prince’s tall and lean stature, a few blond fringes now fallen from his movements.

Even though a thin layer of sweat shone from his face, Prince Naoya remained ethereal.

And like a snake charmed by the musician’s seductive tone, your feet moved on its own. Fingers stretching until it met with the Crown Prince’s large and warm ones, you were now in front of him. With him. Holding him, touching him, meeting him eye for eye and realizing – gold. His eyes burned a deep shade of gold, elegantly rich and heartbreakingly stunning your heart ached.

Before you knew it, your hands began to tremble, feeling as if your body had been corded into a corset three sizes smaller. You could not breathe, and the Crown Prince took notice.

“You are stiff. Do I make you uncomfortable?” Good Saint. If only possible, you would’ve closed your eyes and basked in the deep warmth of his voice. It reverberated from deep within, breathed out with an air of natural authority and profound confidence it made your knees weak. As if sensing his effect on you (though for the wrong reasons, it seemed), Prince Naoya hummed to himself. “This routine shall last for a few minutes before I can let you go, I’m afraid.”

You instantly realized the implications of your silence. “N-not at all, Your Highness! I am honoured to be dancing with you.”

“There is no honour in a choreographed dance. Everyone will dance with me. It’s nothing special.”

Your heart fell. Prince Naoya not only sounded dejected, but detached as well. As if he found no pleasure or specialty in this event, at a time where he had every opportunity to meet his lover, and that this ball was merely a task to be checked off in his already long list of responsibilities. It wasn’t disappointment, per se, but rather melancholy that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Not because Prince Naoya held little to no regards for something you treasured, but because he sounded terribly alone. Like he was simply waiting for it to end out of discomfort.

“It’s special to me, Your Highness,” you blurted out faster than you could stop yourself. For a moment, you feared you may have offended him, but the Crown Prince only laughs.

And when he did – saint, when he laughed – his eyes crinkled into half moons, pearly whites flashing against the bright lights and his whole chest shook with amusement.

You’d never seen him smile this way before.

Prince Naoya’s laughter didn’t cease. Around you, your gut instincts told that people were now beginning to look; the Crown Prince’s deep rumbles of laughter sounded exquisitely like music as well, after all. “ Is it special to you because you are now dancing and within the Crown Prince’s proximity? As much as I presume how exhilarating it might be for those who mostly see me in the papers and in the tabloids, I assure you, dancing with your Prince is not an honour. Especially when you are all sent the invitations based on your status and not your worthy traits.”

“It’s special to me,” you mumbled, growing shy all of a sudden when the Crown Prince nodded at you to continue. “Because...because it reminds me of the first time we met.”

The Crown Prince hummed in amusement.

“We have met before?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I’m from the Terratian Borders – my father is a loyal servant of His Majesty. You visited the borders when you were eighteen and I was sixteen. Do you remember it, Your Highness? You stormed in my private library.”

Indeed, the young barely-out-of-his-teens Crown Prince barged into your home’s library years ago. You were not previously informed he and his parents would be visiting since they arrived wordlessly, so you were stuck in your chambers as usual, killing time if not for sleeping and tending to the animals. Perched on a ladder, you attempted to reach for a book on the upper shelf when your foot slipped beneath you. At the age of sixteen, you were dramatic enough to say your life flashed before your eyes. You would’ve screamed then had strong arms not appeared out of nowhere, the Crown Prince staring at you with wide, golden eyes as they were now, his breathy rasped as he asked, are you okay, my lady?

The mere recollection of that fateful memory had your cheeks warming in delight. “You were so charming and heroic back then. Even when I had no idea you were a royal, I would have still believed you to be princely,” you said rather absentmindedly, blinking once then twice at your words. “Of course, it’s understandable if you do not remember, Your Highness!”

“My apologies. I do not remember, though Terratia is a wonderful place. Such a shame I was not informed beforehand they had a lovely daughter.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” you cheered back, cheeks and jaw beginning to ache from how wide you were smiling. But could anyone blame you? You felt absolutely silly that you were a breath away from passing out minutes ago, and now here you were, dancing with the Crown Prince and sharing memories with him like it was a daily occurrence. The words it’s true love when you feel at peace with them suddenly rang back at your head from that latest romance novel you read, and you turned away, hoping the Crown Prince would not read your thoughts to your face. However, Prince Naoya’s lips pursed into a thin line, all traces of humour now disappeared. “I’m sorry – should I not have laughed?”

“No, I don’t mind,” he mused with his jaw locked tight, “I just haven’t seen anyone react that way before.”

“Like what?”

“Like my words meant the entire universe to them. I may dare even say you look terribly in love, though I cannot blame you on that one, can I?”

Prince Naoya shook his head the minute the words left his mouth. Forcing himself to believe it couldn’t be real, perhaps, you truly did not know anymore. Your only plan for tonight was to see the Crown Prince and get to live out your dream of seeing him once more even for just a brief moment before you travelled back home while he married another, and yet – “Your Highness, I’m in love with you. I have always been since the day we met.”

You could no longer stop the words. The voice at the back of your head begged you to shut up and not cause a scene, that your time had passed up and people were staring, yet you remained in his arms no matter how much you wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole.

“Please do not misunderstand me, Your Highness. I did not come here to attempt to steal your heart and be your wife, though I will admit I have dreamt of meeting you again for so many moons. I...I only want to tell you this. That I love you and even though it was a brief moment, I think the love I’ve always read about felt real and possible for the first time in my life,” chuckling nervously, you gather to courage to face him, adoration shining for the Crown Prince stood shock still before you, however stunned he may be. “I love you, Your Highness. I love you. And to whoever lucky woman you choose to be your betrothed, I hope she takes care of you and showers you with all the affection you are deserving of. You would make a great King. So God help his Crown Prince, and may you lead us all into a better world.”

Prince Naoya did not budge a muscle. His eyes remained hard on yours, breath warm as his nostrils fumed. With each passing second that he did not speak, you grew restless and tugged your arm away from his hold with a disgraceful smile.

You’d truly crossed your line. The repercussions to be faced for this impoliteness would destroy your family’s honour. You had to leave. “Your Highness? The song has changed. It’s time to let go—”

The Crown Prince inched close enough until his hair tickled your cheeks, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine as he pulled you close, close enough that your lower bodies touched. Skin ablaze with heat, you dared not move an inch. “Do you mean it?” he demanded lowly, his fingers ghosting over your wrist to hold you in place. “Do you truly love me? Not for what I have, not for who I was born to be, but me as a person itself?”

Closing your eyes to shudder in a deep breath, you exhaled. “Of course, Your Highness. Even if you were not born as a Prince, I’m sure I would’ve still loved you in a different universe.”

“But I do not know you.”

“We don’t have to know each other, Your Highness, and we never will. Once you let me go, I’ll return to the shadows where I belong, and I will continue supporting you until the day of your coronation.”

“And if I refuse to let you go?” he clicked his tongue, “What will you do then?”

The Crown Prince’s spicy perfume must be an aphrodisiac or hypnotizer of sorts. Everything he did messed with your mind that it was too late – the music had stopped and people were no longer drinking or chatting. Everyone’s eyes were on you and the Crown Prince. You could only imagine how controversial this position must be; with his lips trailing dangerously close to that sensitive spot in your neck where you nearly moaned. You really needed to leave.

“P-people are looking, Your Highness. You do not want this affair with someone you won’t choose—”

“Who said I won’t choose you?” Finally, he pulled away. But Prince Naoya never once tore his gaze away from yours, nor did he allow you to look at anyone but him as he caresses your jaw so light and feathery you wondered if he was truly there.“Who said I haven’t laid my eyes on you the moment you walked in here? This ball is for naught because of you, Lady Y/N. I’ve already made my choice, and you helped me confirm it as soon as you danced with me.”

“Your Highness...”

“Look at me,” he ordered, your eyes flitting from his pinkish lips to his sharp nose and then to his fox-like gaze. Only this time, Prince Naoya was no longer harsh. “Don’t be scared.”

“But they’re looking.”

“You are with me, of course they’ll look,” he teased, “They wish to be you right now. But ignore them and dance one more time with me.”

It wasn’t like you had a choice, but did it matter? One nod from him was all it took before the orchestra fumbled back to their spots and a new song played, Ode of Moonlight Lovers, and the Crown Prince was guiding you back to where he had originally danced with you.

From the corners of your eyes, you caught a glimpse of your parents with their mouths gaped open; your father looking like he was on the verge of passing out. However, you felt nothing but joy, nothing but the adrenaline pumping through your veins as he danced and twirled you in his arms. When the music stopped and you were both panting for air with silly smiles on your face, it dawned on you that you were with the Prince. No, rather, it was only you and the Prince alone. Even in the sea of people whose faces began to blur, he prevailed crystal clear.

You could recognize him anywhere, find him everywhere.

Prince Naoya stepped impossibly closer until your chests touched, hearts beating as one. Cupping your jaw, he was near enough that he swallowed all your shaky breaths with a small, teasing smile like you both shared a secret the entire world could not know.

“Do I still make you nervous?”

Laughing, you nodded. “Yes, Your Highness. I feel like I’m going to explode.”

“It’s beloved now,” he corrected, face inching closer and closer to a point you could count the number of his lower lashes. “And what do lovers do to seal their union?”

“M-Marriage?”

“Close, but this is much better.”

If anyone were to tell you that you would have a love story ripped out straight from a fairytale, you would’ve laughed at their faces. You were no Cinderella, nor were you a goddess of beauty that could’ve possibly caught the Crown Prince’s eye. Yet, his soft lips were on yours, kissing you with as much passion you could only dream of that you cried.

Strong hands guiding the back of your waist, Prince Naoya dipped you lower to the ground – the grand of finish of his dance. He had chosen his bride.

The crowd cheered and rejoiced all around you, making you smile into the kiss. Fisting his collar to bring him closer to yours, your mouth burst into metaphorical fireworks as soon as his tongue mingled with yours for an experimental taste. He was bitter yet sweet; expensive wine resting on his tongue, yet a delicate vanilla sat heavily on his soft lips that molded with yours. It was a taste you could spend forever being addicted on. And you were crying, crying so much your chest ached and the Prince’s cheeks grew damp from yours. You’d dreamt of this for so long, too long now.

Prince Naoya slowly pulled you away, his thumb wiping the tears away from the pads of your cheeks with tenderness in his touch. However, the Prince was not satisfied. The crowd whooped as he leant down to kiss your forehead. “You are mine now, my princess.”

Looping his hands with yours, the Crown Prince led you out of the castle. The crowd parted naturally to make way for the new couple, and you were left staring at his broad back and the tuft of blond hair where you’d soon find out how soft it would be. Sending one last glance to your crying parents, you waved goodbye. You had no idea where the Crown Prince would take you but you were already bunching your dress up, heart completely filled with trust you did not question it. What mattered tonight and for the rest of your life was that it felt right. That it was him – your beloved Prince Naoya Zen’in and soon to be husband – that you’d follow through the moon and back.

418 notes · View notes

makeste · 3 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 306: the beginning of the WHAT

Previously on BnHA: Nana and the Gang were all, “hey Deku, we can read your thoughts and feelings so we should already know the answer to this, but for some reason we want to quiz you on whether or not you’d be down to kill Shigaraki Tomura.” Deku was all, “um okay, well tbh, probably not seeing as Saving People has been my entire thing since literally the start of the series.” The Vestiges were all, “yes that makes perfect sense and again we already knew that, but well, good for you buddy and I’m glad we had this talk. Anyway I guess we should ask these two cryptic fuckers in the corner to finally turn around now before we run out of -- ” and then the chapter ended. Because OF COURSE IT DID.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT, WOULDN’T IT BE SO MUCH BETTER IF I GAVE YOU A CONFUSING CHAPTER WHERE EVERYONE FINALLY LEARNS ABOUT OFA, AND GOES BACK TO THE DORMS, AND THEN THE CHAPTER ENDS WITH DEPRESSED NOMAD DEKU STANDING ON A PRECIPICE WITH GRAN TORINO’S TATTERED CAPE FLOWING IN THE WIND.” Everyone is all, “???????????” Horikoshi is all, “also the parents are moving to the U.A. campus, and Jeanist’s neck is two and a half feet long, for everyone that was wondering.” Everyone is all, “WHERE ARE KACCHAN AND TODOROKI AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHO ARE THE SECOND AND THIRD USERS”, and Horikoshi is all, “:)” and fades away into nothingness like the fucking fae he is. Like a fucking imp who’s kept his end of the cursed bargain. What, the, fuck.

okay guys, so after the longest Thursday of my fucking life, during which I was secretly hoping that my spoiler containment net would be somehow be breached, inadvertently exposing me to theta spoiler radiation, so that I could be all “oh no... spoilers... there’s nothing I can do... I have no choice but to look” (which sadly did not happen), it is finally Friday and the chapter is finally out. so I’ve got my clown kit at the ready and other self-deprecating memes on standby, and I’m ready to go. and I should note that I’m also ready for Horikoshi to pull some absolute bullshit and be like, “oh you know what, we haven’t checked in with Rat Principal in a while have we” and spend the entire chapter on nonsense like that. I’M READY FOR FUCKING ANYTHING so bring it

(ETA: it would be nice if this man wouldn’t call my bluff every now and again.)

oh, right, we were due a color page! wow look at this

isn’t this supposed to be the future?? what’s with all of these staticky CRT TVs

anyway, so! is this the first time we’ve seen Tomura’s stylish finger prosthetic glove thingy in color?? because I didn’t expect it to be red. also, at some point you just have to give in and change your pants into cutoffs or something, Tomura. start a new trend of stylish villain capris

meanwhile Deku is dressed like he’s going on a journey into the desert to find a mystical oasis. actually this cape looks a lot like Gran Torino’s. I have to go back and see if Gran’s is all raggedy like this

(ETA: it wasn’t before but APPARENTLY IT IS NOW. I also forgot that Horikoshi had showed it sitting on a side table in the hospital a few chapters ago.)

lastly, AFO looks like someone’s thumb after they’ve been washing dishes for twenty minutes. you are just the ugliest dude in history, and as always, fuck you

HAHAHA SOB I KNEW IT

oh, Twowy McTwoface is finally starting to turn around? better CUT BACK TO DEKU’S HOSPITAL ROOM THEN. wouldn’t want to accidentally ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS or SOLVE ANY MYSTERIES, god forbid

well, whatever. whatever!! anyway so now someone’s knocking at the door. I say “someone” but we all know it’s Hawks

yep

they were actually standing outside the door for a while hoping they’d overhear another juicy plot conversation, but no such luck this time

lmaooo Jeanist wtf

acting all embarrassed, but you’re really just as curious as Hawks is. making him do all the dirty work for you huh

ARE YOU SERIOUS THIS IS AN INJUSTICE

so like two seconds after Katsuki gets dragged away you open the door for the rest of them!! well, fine!! I really want it to be a more private/personal moment between the two of them anyway so let the other kids check in on Deku first then

and in the meantime, time to see Hawks put the thumbscrews to All Might’s resolve lol

I wonder how much of it Hawks has already put together in the last five minutes. One for All is something connected to All for One that Tomura seems to want. Tomura was apparently targeting Deku. that’s more than enough to make a few deductions right there. I wonder how much Hawks knows about Deku’s quirk. he did watch the sports festival, and he ran into the kids interning under Endeavor that one time

okay well maybe he hasn’t put the rest of it together just yet, but Hawks is making a pretty reasonable pitch here to All Might

also this is a pretty spectacular view. is this a hospital or a hotel??

AHLKJLKJLKJ ARE YOU SERIOUSLY GOING TO TELL THEM

OH MY GOD HE IS?!?!

JUST LIKE WE ALL EXPECTED, THE NEXT TWO PEOPLE TO LEARN THE TRUTH ABOUT OFA ARE GOING TO BE HAWKS, AND BEST FUCKING JEANIST

-- LFKLKKLDK ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS. ARE YOU --

( •̀_•́ )

[sitting cross-legged on the ground pulling up little clumps of grass and letting them fall from my fingers one by one] yeah. sure. okay. fine. sure

-- OKAY, NO. NUH-UH. NO

everybody better hold tight cuz I’m about to pick up this whole chapter and yeet it into the ocean like a fucking frisbee lol

HORIKOSHI I DON’T CARE ABOUT THESE PEOPLE SITTING HERE WATCHING TV WTF

-- OH

well okay then. proceed. though lord help me if they’re about to reveal the secret of OFA to the whole fucking world skdkj

oh snap

well, there it is. pretty much what I expected, but it’s good to actually get to see this moment with him taking responsibility

though at the same time, thank you Horikoshi for not forcing us to sit through the rest of that

their fucking faces omg. okay but seriously, what nation doesn’t secretly love a good scandal

the Endeavor Pamphlets, part two. thank you for giving the country something to opine about on twitter in these trying times, Enji

so now they’re asking about Hawks and Jeanist but I cannot even focus on anything all of a sudden because what?!

is Jeanist even a real actual human being you guys?! are we sure he’s not three kids sitting on each other’s shoulders?? are you related to that one guy with the really long neck from the Jedi Council?? are you Orochimaru, bro??

so now Hawks is apologizing for the murder of Twice, and for hiding the connection with his dad

the fact that he has to give this serious formal apology and beg forgiveness for the shameful crime of Having An Abusive Father is really something else, though. just. it’s realistic, but I still hate it

moving on now to the one thing he actually does owe the public an explanation for

not to go all “Hawks did nothing wrong” on you guys yet again, but seriously. 100% facts. fandom can (and no doubt will) debate this until the end of time, but if Twice had gotten away they wouldn’t be having this press conference right now because there wouldn’t be any heroes left to give one. anyways though, I’ve already said more than enough about that in previous posts

so now some severe-looking lady with the weirdest fingers I’ve ever seen is saying that her mother was injured during Machia’s rampage

and she’s basically all “a fuck lot of good ‘I’m sorry’ does us all about now.” true true

wow she’s really getting fired up

and now Enji is basically saying that he understands that an apology isn’t enough, and what they really need now are solutions. okay, well! SO THEN WHAT IS THE PLAN THEN

hmmfsdgh

this eloquent PEZ dispenser makes a good point you guys

wait, hold up

CERTAIN citizens?? um excuse me, what??

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh shit

holy shit. well, this will go over well

okay! so this tells me a number of things, though

basically the minute that Hawks learned about One for All, he realized that anyone connected to Deku (e.g. Inko) would be a target for AFO. AFO wants OFA, meaning AFO wants Deku, and one of the easiest ways to get to Deku would be to target his family

Hawks therefore realized that Inko needed to be placed into protective custody

but the fact that ALL of the hero course students’ families (and is it only the U.A. hero course, or all of the hero course students across the country?) are being given protection tells me that Hawks and co. don’t want to single Deku out as being important. so then it looks like they’re not going to tell everyone about OFA (or at least not the public. which, good). so rather than drawing suspicion by saying “we’ve got to protect everyone connected with this one kid”, they’re making it seem like all the U.A. kids’ families are getting this treatment

but since the heroes are now spread so thin, they can’t just send a protective detail to each and every family, so they’re bringing all of the families to the same place instead to better keep an eye on them

so that’s all well and good, and a very smart move. except that idk how all of this is going to go over with the general public, all of whom are probably feeling unsafe at the moment, and who will probably see this as preferential treatment -- basically just the heroes looking after their own and leaving everyone else to fend for themselves

(ETA: okay so @hanashimas’ translation clarifies that U.A. is offering their services as an evacuation shelter for everyone who wants it, not just the families of the U.A. students. that’s much more appropriate so I withdraw my previous “wtf” reaction lol.)

anyway though here’s Mitsuki and Inko

can we take this as confirmation that the two of them really are friends? that’s one piece of fanon that I’ve always hoped was true, so I’m gonna go ahead and say it’s confirmed

(ETA: also this means that Hagakure’s parents (or maybe “parents” in quotation marks) will supposedly be moving in as well. sure am curious as to how that’s going to go.)

now someone in the press crowd is asking whether U.A. can provide adequate security, which is honestly the LAST thing I expected these people would be outraged about lol. shows what I know I guess

(ETA: again though, this makes sense if the “certain civilians” thing was just a translation error.)

LMAO DAMMIT ENJI

YOU CAN’T JUST ALWAYS PULL THE “JUST WATCH ME” TRICK AND EXPECT IT TO SHUT DOWN THE CONVERSATION EVERY DAMN TIME YOU ASSHOLE

-- OH MY GOD RED ALERT

TIME TO ANALYZE THIS BECAUSE OMG

WASH CAN’T BELIEVE HIS FAMILY GROUP CHAT IS STILL SENDING HIM FUCKING MEMES AT A TIME LIKE THIS. HE DOESN’T GIVE A FUCK IF THE DABI DANCE IS TRENDING ON TIKTOK, MOM!!

FOR A MINUTE I THOUGHT MT. LADY WAS HOLDING MIDNIGHT’S TORN-UP MASK, AND BY THE TIME I REALIZED THAT’S ACTUALLY HER MASK AND NOT MIDNIGHT’S, I HAD ALREADY CONSTRUCTED AN ELABORATE HEADCANON IN WHICH MT. LADY AND MIDNIGHT WERE SECRETLY DATING BUT HADN’T COME OUT TO ANYONE YET, AND THEN TRAGEDY STRUCK, AND NOW MT. LADY IS GETTING READY TO SET OUT TO SEEK VENGEANCE. AND WELL, NOW THAT THIS HEADCANON EXISTS IN THE WORLD, I’M NOT SURE IF I’M READY TO GET RID OF IT

MIRKO HAS GOTTEN HERSELF A PROSTHETIC (ROBOT??!) ARM, NOTHING ELSE THAT’S HAPPENING IN THIS CHAPTER IS EVEN SLIGHTLY IMPORTANT!!! HELLO!!!!!

AIZAWA WITH THE EYEPATCH GOOD LORD. THE WORLD ISN’T READY. HE LOOKS LIKE HE HASN’T SLEPT IN NINETY-EIGHT YEARS, BUT SOMEHOW HE MAKES IT INTO THE HOTTEST THING EVER AS PER USUAL

WHO THE FUCK IS THIS FUCKING GUY. ARE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW HIM? IS THIS KAMUI?? WAS THAT THING WHICH I ALWAYS ASSUMED WAS HIS HAIR ACTUALLY A HELMET OR SOMETHING WHAT

LOL AND MEANWHILE

you tell me, Dabi! weren’t you the one who said that wouldn’t be enough to kill him? what even is your endgame here. I’m starting to worry about the villain brain cell supply you guys. I feel like Compress took most of them with him when he left

OH??

“when asked about One for All, Endeavor fucking lied through his teeth.” well, well, well

SLKDFJLSKGDJLKLKGJL THE DORMS

( ⁰ ⌂ ⁰ )

SLDKJFLKJWLKJLK

WLKDJSLKJFWKELKSDJLKHGLK

HDSMFLKGKL:GDSELK

OCHAKO’S HAND IS SHAKING OH MY GOD

THERE’S YOUR KAMINARI, EVERYONE!!

RHA’S SCANLATION TEAM REALLY THREW DEKU’S HANDWRITING UNDER THE BUS HERE HUH

HE TOLD EVERYONE!?

WHY THE FUCK IS HE WRITING IT AS A LETTER

(ETA: 9. also if he really wrote every kid in his class then that means the U.A. traitor -- or Hagakure as we like to call her around these parts -- also knows about OFA, and knows that Deku has run the fuck off and isn’t at U.A. anymore. so that’s just great!)

OH HELL NO

the hell does that mean, you must leave. leave to go where. son you are not up and leaving to go power up and lead us all into a timeskip. and I swear to GOD, if you left Kacchan too...!!

MY GOD I CAN’T PROPERLY ABSORB ALL OF THESE OCHAKO FEELS RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I’M TOO TERRIFIED TO SCROLL TO THE LAST FUCKING PAGE, FUCK

I JUST GOTTA DO IT. I JUST GOTTA SUCK IT UP AND DO IT. FUCK

FUCK

WHAT. THE. FUCK

y’all I’m not even gonna waste your time with more keysmashing, JUST ASSUME THAT I AM DOING IT NONSTOP, FOREVER. and let’s just jump RIGHT IN HERE

okay so here I thought that All Might and co. had taken him away somewhere to train, but that is CLEARLY not what’s going on here. this kid is standing here in his Apocalypse Aesthetic hero costume which has CLEARLY seen better days, with Gran Torino’s cloak (GUESS THAT EXPLAINS THAT, THEN?? SO DID GRAN FUCKING DIE EXCUSE ME WTF), and a fucking backpack. this little green idiot has RUN AWAY FROM HOME. this is the absolute LAST THING ON EARTH I ever expected to happen so PARDON ME WHILE I SCREAM CONFUSEDLY INTO THE VOID

he does not look okay. you guys he doesn’t look okay at ALL. he has NEVER looked like this. this isn’t just a “I’m sad because I’m leaving all my friends behind” kind of look on his face, or even just a “Gran Torino died maybe and I’m still having emotions over it” look. this is an EXHAUSTED, dead look in his eyes. something terrible has happened

WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR ARMS DEKU. THE PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING DOWN WITH YOUR ARMS GODDAMMIT

love how this random building is just straight up collapsing, like that’s just a normal thing that happens every day now. lovely

APRIL MEANS IT’S NOW FULL ON SCHEDULED ALL-MIGHT-DYING-HOURS, BUT LET’S COMPLETELY IGNORE THAT THOUGH BECAUSE FUCK THAT NOISE

“THE SECOND USER? WHO KNOWS? CERTAINLY NOT ME” HORIKOSHI I SWEAR TO GOD

“BAKUGOU? NEVER HEARD OF HIM!” HORIKOSHI PLEASE

WHERE. IS. KACCHAN

did he go with Deku?? did he get a chance to talk to him before he left?? did he get his own private letter which he read and then promptly blew up in a fit of panicked rage?? is he going to go after him?? DOES HORIKOSHI KNOW WHAT HE’S DOING TO ME RIGHT NOW?? OF COURSE HE DOES, DON’T BOTHER ANSWERING THAT

omg. though actually the fact that we’ve already jumped a few weeks forward makes me hopeful that there won’t actually be another timeskip, or at least not much of one. I’m sure that’ll be the big debate of the week, but I don’t think we can jump too far forward here. for starters because of that All Might prophecy I mentioned. and also because TomurAFO isn’t just going to wait around for months. and also because I’m 100% sure that Deku’s running-away backpack is just filled ENTIRELY WITH NOTEBOOKS and this asshole cannot possibly survive more than 3 days on his own. UNLESS SOMEONE COMES TO HELP HIM THAT IS. OR SOMEONES, EVEN. OMG. omg omg omg. fuck this chapter lmao

#bnha 306 #midoriya izuku #hawks (bnha)#takami keigo #endeavor #todoroki enji #best jeanist #all might #uraraka ochako #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

751 notes · View notes