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thesurfaceofthelight · 2 years

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The Cost of Compassion: IDW Sonic And His Principles

Sonic is a character who has seen numerous incarnations throughout the franchise’s history. From his impatient and snappy beginnings to his cartoony and non-hydrophobic AOSTH counterpart, as well as his free-spirited and self-defined hero from the storybook games and Sonic X all the way to his more casual and nonchalant ‘meta’ and Boom incarnations. Needless to say, he’s held numerous interpretations and each has had their own reception.

Today we’re going to be talking about bar none the most controversial Sonic interpretation to date; Sonic The Hedgehog in the IDW series. I do not know how far this stretches on given how I joined at the time Issue 42 was still in the works, but what I do know is how much of a splash his characterization in Issue 50 and even Issue 51 have caused.

I’m gonna be starting things off by getting this out of the way. I shouldn’t have to say it, but here we are; this is SEGA’s Sonic. What you’re seeing here has the ‘Official SEGA Seal of Approval’. This does NOT mean SEGA lurks over Ian and Evan’s backs, telling them exactly what to write. If I had to guess, I’d assume it’s more like they’re given a bunch of characters to work with and those characters have notes attached telling them what they can and can’t do with them.

This isn’t X or Black Knight Sonic, this isn’t Adventure Sonic either. This is IDW Sonic. We should not be holding one era of Sonic over the other purely because one is ‘worse’ than the other. What we have here is new and I’m willing to judge him. The question is; “Is the new that we have good? Is it bad? Or is it just average?” With that all out of the way, let’s get it on.

Sonic’s Principals

We’ll start off with Sonic’s morals and beliefs. In the IDW series, Sonic lives in the moment. He wants to explore the world to his heart's desire and enjoy everything he can. He wants everyone else to have the freedom to see what the world has to offer. As a result, he doesn’t kill because they wouldn’t have the chance to do that if he did.

However, people who use that freedom to hurt other people do not get a free pass. If they choose to cause problems, Sonic is gonna come over and give them an ass whooping. He’s become so confident in his abilities that he believes that he can come out on top in the end every time and people who actively attempt evil are wasting their time.

Ultimately, I do think these ideals and principals fit Sonic’s core character. Even in the games, he’s had numerous encounters where he has come out on top every single time in spite of the overwhelming odds. Characters like Gamma, Chaos and Shadow wouldn’t have the same stories if Sonic weren’t as kind-hearted and compassionate as he is.

Sonic vs Eggman / Tinker

The case of Sonic vs Eggman / Tinker is the most common you’ll see regarding Sonic’s characterization. This started way back in the IDW’s lifespan. All the way since Issue 5. Issue 5 tackles Sonic and The Chaotix figuring out how to handle Mr. Tinker. For those who don’t know, Eggman crash landed in Windmill Village and was promptly locked up after the events of Sonic Forces. It turns out he broke out quite easily, only to strengthen the door he was supposed to be locked behind.

It turns out Eggman had amnesia. They had thoroughly tested him and there was not a trace of his original character (aside from being good at fixing things). The village took him in and nurtured him as a result. In exchange, he fixed stuff like watches and even built windmills. Espio thinks that Eggman must pay for his crimes, but Sonic notes that the man before them… isn’t Eggman. Elder Scruffy comes in, and I firmly believe he put it best; “...But I’d rather he remain free to do some good rather than rot in a cell and do nothing.”

At the end of Issue 6, Sonic promises he’ll be coming around plenty to check up on Tinker… unfortunately however, he cannot keep true to this promise. And it’s not his fault, contrary to what other people may believe. This is something I really adore about the comic, actually; how it handles the return of Dr. Eggman. In the middle of Issue 7, it’s revealed that Neo Metal Sonic had been coordinating Badnik attacks and has been trying to find Eggman.

At the end of Issue 8, it’s shown that Neo Metal Sonic has taken over Angel Island. The Neo Metal Sonic event was so big that it required all hands on deck (at the time, Cream nor Gemerl were introduced). Because everyone was at Angel Island and no one could supervise Tinker, this gave Dr. Starline the perfect opportunity to capture Mr. Tinker and return him to form. Essentially, Neo Metal Sonic unknowingly paved the way to Starline’s success and Eggman’s return.

We’re gonna skip over numerous Issues (because none of them assist in the Sonic vs Eggman case) and land right on Issue 23 where it does pick up. Eggman and Starline are in an argument but before it can hit its climax, Sonic intervenes. He asks why Eggman returned to being a bad guy and asks what was wrong with being like Mr. Tinker. Eggman then recounts how peaceful the life he had was… and we can see a shred of regret in his expression with even Sonic and Starline acknowledging this.

This Issue is ultimately why Sonic is still holding out the hope that Eggman can turn his life around. To start, I wanna talk about Tinker and Eggman as characters and their ‘relationship’ with one another. It is very important to note that Eggman is aware of his life as Tinker. Though in Issue 12 he does not know why he is dressed up as him, he states in Issue 16 that he recalled the village’s kindness despite his jumbled memories and he recalls what he did for the village in Issue 23.

Eggman isn’t acting ‘OOC’ here either. I’ve seen some claims that Eggman is evil because he loves himself and is unapologetically evil. Ultimately I believe those are either headcanons that are held as actual canon or just poor reasoning. In the IDW, Eggman has a twisted view on reality. He’s the same type of guy to lump free will with famine and plague. He believes that if he were to rule the world, he would magically fix all of the problems.

At the same time, Eggman acknowledges the fact that his actions are evil and is not immune to indulging in them. Similar to Dr. Weil from the Megaman Zero games. Even with his warped ‘vision’, Eggman dislikes mindless violence and has a human side. As an example; Sonic Adventure 2. At the end of the game, he doesn’t run away telling Sonic he’s gonna get him one day. Instead, he has a genuine conversation with Tails about his grandfather and tells him that Gerald was his motivation to become a scientist.

Even after that, there are no tricks. He leaves with everyone else to fight another day. For a majority of his life, Eggman has spent his time fighting against everyone and has always come up short. For the first time in his life (SA2), Eggman works alongside the heroes to save the world and succeeds.

And that is why the Sonic vs Eggman / Tinker case is valid. From an out of universe perspective we know Eggman’s never gonna turn good again because he’s a part of the status quo, but it is justifiable in the universe these two characters are in because of how Eggman reacted to the request of being like Tinker.

Sonic vs Shadow

While Sonic vs Eggman / Tinker is the most common you’ll see, Sonic vs Shadow is what I consider to be the most volatile. The controversy only surrounds a single Issue, and said Issue is Issue 6. Sonic goads Shadow into running around Windmill Village with him to stall for time. He brings up how Eggman helped save the world from the ARK scenario and how he fought back against the Black Arms, though not necessarily alongside them.

When Sonic trips over a root, Shadow pins him to the wall and asks how Sonic can be so lenient on the good doctor after everything he’s done. Sonic then reminds him how during SA2, he wanted to destroy the world and it wasn’t fair if he made an exception for Shadow and not Eggman. I did my research with this scenario and even now, my opinion is not concrete. If anyone else has any say in the matter I will be happy to hear and take anything into account, but I will not automatically sway my opinion to their belief.

Prior to the events of SA2, Gerald altered Shadow’s memories and implanted his will for revenge into the ultimate lifeform. If he simply stopped at altering his memories, this would be fine. Shadow wakes up, remembers Maria and somehow thinks she wanted revenge. But because of the fact that Gerald somehow managed to implant his will for revenge into Shadow, this makes everything more confusing and controversial than it should be.

Shadow did at one point want to destroy the world, but it was not by his will. This is not my final answer (though the possibility is strong), but the way I register this; Sonic was okay with Shadow the moment he appeared during the Biolizard fight. He did not act petty and distrust Shadow before breaking out into a fight, he put his trust in Shadow and went to help Knuckles with the Emerald Altar.

After the ‘fight’, the two plan on looking into what this Eggman Land nonsense is about before Shadow realizes Sonic was distracting him.

Sonic vs Metal Sonic

Much like Sonic vs Shadow, these are likely not to be my final thoughts but this is the one case I do not like at the time of writing. After defeating Metal Sonic in Issue 11, Sonic decides to simply let him go after deweaponizing him in Issue 12. A seemingly viable idea given how Metal Sonic collapsed when trying to assault Sonic. You’d imagine that if he were to attack anyone, the same would apply. Only it did not.

First, Sonic’s reasoning in Issue 12 is stupid. “We gave him the choice to live how he wants to. We’ve got to honor his decision.” The question to begin with was if Metal Sonic wanted to give peace a chance. Not ‘how do you want to live’. Secondly, Tails points out in Issue 50 that Metal Sonic still had his jet engine and more importantly his metal claws. This meant Metal Sonic could go around impaling people as he pleased.

Issue 24 and 26 do try to clear this up with; “You made sure Metal Sonic was harmless. Eggman weaponized him.” and the; “You just had to be a one-note jerk.” but it doesn’t work. It’s okay for Sonic to see Metal Sonic as his own person and believe that he can make actions for himself, but Issue 50 simply demolishes any of these. Once more, this is my least favorite case at the time of writing.

Sonic vs Zavok

This argument, I straight up don’t understand. I don’t know why this is the case at all, but it’s my job to cover it. Short answer; Sonic ‘sparing’ Zavok is purely exaggerated. Long(ish) answer below.

The moment that Sonic learned the Deadly Six were attacking the Resotration’s HQ in Issue 42, he immediately started boosting towards the place with a look of angry determination. The first thing he does when he gets there is homing attack the group and calls them losers. He does battle with the Deadly Six in Issue 43 and calls them out for the fact that they had an entire world to explore, but they instead chose to cause trouble.

Alongside Tails, he beats the Deadly Six and sends them to the Lost Hex. He doesn’t back away from his principals just because Zavok made a threat. Though they aren’t slain, the six are sent back to the Lost Hex where they can’t hurt anyone. Sonic isn’t ‘sparing’ Zavok so he can become good one day, he’s mocked the Deadly Six for choosing the worst possible path and proceed to ‘banish’ them. That is all.

Sonic vs Surge

The most recent addition to Sonic’s cases. To understand this argument, we need to understand Surge as a character. Spoilers for Imposter Syndrome and Issue 50 ahead.

As revealed in Issue 3 of Imposter Syndrome, Surge the Tenrec was captured by Dr. Starline alongside Kit. He not only implanted cyborgs into their bodies, but hypnotized them and completely overhauled their lives going forwards. The hypnotism he used to change their personality had some unforeseen side effects, causing mental instability. He’s fucked them up so much that he now has to make them forget how much he’s screwed them over.

When Sonic and Surge finally get the chance to meet, Surge sweeps him off of his feet. He immediately asks who she is, to which she keeps herself surprisingly vague. She gets across that she has ties with the doctors and how she hates it. Surge also criticizes Sonic for not having this cycle to begin with. Again, Sonic tries to get a proper introduction only for Surge to make the first attack.

What ensues is a fight between the two before they take a breather after colliding with one another. Sonic says that he’s having fun and hopes that Surge is too. She’s upset over the fact that he is and how she’s labeled with a ‘shtick’. Sonic knocks her down and explains his beliefs and morals to her. He once again gives her a chance to pause, but she makes another attack and picks out the worst of Sonic’s speech.

The two continue to fight until Sonic sends her careening to a pit. She grabs onto a ledge and Sonic hastily rushes over to try and help her out. Unfortunately for him, Surge decides to pick the pettiest route possible and jolts him with a small shock claiming that she ‘got the last hit’ before being sent down the pit further by rubble.

Even with this, I’ve seen numerous exaggerations on how the fight went down. I think that these exaggerations are hilarious, but they are simply incorrect. People believe that Sonic mocked and beat down on a ‘helpless’ Surge while not caring at all for her death when he constantly gave her chances for a better path. At all times, Sonic only fought back when necessary. Just like every other time, he played defense.

Surge’s ‘death’ puts him into a sour mood for the short lived remainder of the Issue. He is visibly upset by her disappearance and decides to check up on Tails and Belle in case anything bad has happened to them. He doesn’t mourn her death, but he feels terrible that it happened nevertheless and I cannot wait to see how he reacts in Issue 54 because of it.

Conclusion

So there we have it. Every case of Sonic, his principles and how it works off of other characters. I wanna give a brief mention to Sonic vs Espio before we end. I love how there’s no definitive ‘right answer’ with that case. If Eggman was dealt with then the Metal Virus event wouldn’t have happened, but Tinker wasn’t Eggman and it wouldn’t have been right to kill someone who didn’t even know what they did wrong.

I feel it intertwines with Sonic vs Shadow, and I wouldn’t have enough to do a full on review of it. Regardless of which, I believe Sonic is not only one of the best characters in the IDW series but I also believe that his principles and morals are well-grounded and in-tune with his core character.

As always, thank you guys so much for reading if you made it this far and I will see you all another time.

#sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic idw

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mohhamedriaz · 1 year

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How Much Personal Data Does Facebook Have? Even If You Delete Your Account, Info Remains

Even if you haven’t created an account on a social media site, they might have a hidden profile with more details than you’d believe. Sneaky, right?

That’s why you should say no thanks when an app offers to take in your contacts to find all your friends. It’s not your info to give away.

If you use social media, it's worth clearing out all the things (and people) you've looked up. Here are easy steps to save yourself some potential embarrassment later.

Start the day smarter. Get all the news you need in your inbox each morning.

Perhaps you deleted Facebook years ago or never made one. Meta might still have your cell number, landline, or email address.

The shady side of social media Over the years, most of us have willingly overshared. Hopefully, you’ve removed your phone number and email address from your social media profiles.

Even if your account is private, anybody can take a screenshot. If you have any contact information in your profile, delete it now.

Those hidden accounts I mentioned are called Shadow Profiles. They exist thanks to all your contacts who passed along things like your full name, birthday, phone number, email address, and maybe even more.

If someone you know shared their address book with Facebook, Instagram, or Messenger, Meta probably has your details. Good news: You can remove them.

Get my 5-minute daily newsletter for more tech smarts.

How to fight fraud on Facebook

Click to expand

UP NEXT UP NEXT

Opt me out, please First, head to this help page for non-Meta users. There’s an important line buried under the heading, How Non-Users can exercise their rights:

“Click here if you have a question about the rights you may have.”

That links to a contact removal tool, where you can ask Meta to delete your information from its address book database. Yeah, they don’t make it super easy to find.

Here’s how to delete your contact information from Meta:

Go to facebook.Com/contacts/removal.

Select the type of information you want to remove. Choose from a mobile number, landline, or email address, then hit Next.

Enter your phone number and/or email address to get a confirmation code.

Select the platform you want it removed from (Facebook and Messenger or Instagram), or select All.

Click Next and enter the confirmation code on the next screen. Hit Next one last time.

If something is found, hit Confirm to delete the data.

Hit Close on the next screen, or use the link to search for another number or email.

You can still use the removal tool if you have a Facebook account, but there are more steps you should take to protect your privacy.

Tap or click here for 10 Facebook privacy and security settings you need to change.

Keep your tech-know going My popular podcast is called “Kim Komando Today.” It’s a solid 30 minutes of tech news, tips, and callers with tech questions like you from all over the country. Search for it wherever you get your podcasts. For your convenience, hit the link below for a recent episode.

TECH SMARTS ON THE GO: China's app threat beyond TikTok, AI's plan to take 300 mil jobs & the device most likely to hurt you

Plus, I talk to a man who needs a safe space to share photos of his lost loved ones. Also, a 500K vehicle recall for Hyundai and Kia – and I reveal why you should park your car on the street for now. Worried about your job post the big AI boom? There's some exciting news about a new high-paying job that's emerging. And some pro tips to protect your website with free online tests.

Check out my podcast “Kim Komando Today” on Apple, Google Podcasts, Spotify, or your favorite podcast player.

Listen to the podcast here or wherever you get your podcasts. Just search for my last name, “Komando.”

Learn about all the latest technology on the Kim Komando Show, the nation's largest weekend radio talk show. Kim takes calls and dispenses advice on today's digital lifestyle, from smartphones and tablets to online privacy and data hacks. For her daily tips, free newsletters and more, visit her website at Komando.Com.

This article originally appeared on USA TODAY: How much personal data does Facebook have? Even if you delete your account, info remains

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wicked-mind · 3 years

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Snips

Summary: You are assigned as Bucky’s partner. These are moments or as I like to call them, ‘snips,’ of moments together.

Word Count: 9.2k ( I got carried away )

Warnings: Swearing. Drinking. Some edibles in here. Pining. Serial Killer mentioned (you’re the daughter of one). Violence.

Note: This contains ‘snips’ of your and Bucky’s relationship/partnership throughout two years together. This contains an idea sparked from Criminal Minds concerning Rossi’s storyline. There will probably more of the Bucky and Snips adventures in the future (:

All Writing Masterlist

Any likes, comments, and/or reblogs are always appreciated (: I love that shit!

— The Beginning —

“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me.” Bucky grumbled with his arms crossed. The last thing he wanted was a partner that wasn’t Steve. Hell, he’d even take the birdbrain, Sam. But Steve had this whole idea that everybody needed a designated partner to go on missions with. He thought it would be good for moral and help create a more open group between the avengers and agents than just having the ‘super squad.’ Bucky followed Steve up to the window here they watched some agents train, glaring down at them. He watched one young blonde haired male agent slip on the obstacle course, causing him to scoff, “Really Steve? They can’t even make it to the end.” Steve chuckles and shakes his head slightly, his arms crossed against his chest, “Don’t worry. You partner isn’t one of these agents. They’re new.” He said, starting to walk further down the hallway until they were looking at the advance training corse. It was set up with androids Tony created to test agents in real life situations. The weapons the androids used weren’t lethal as they were only rubber but left nasty welts and bruises. Steve looked down at the woman pinned behind a concrete barrier as three androids approached, “That’s your partner.”

Bucky looked down at the woman as the androids got closer, watcher her quickly move to take cover behind a metal crate. She was playing too defensively and the androids were cornering her, “God, Steve. She might as well be over with the newbies.”

Steve looked at Bucky for a moment before back down to the woman, “Just watch, Buck.” He said. He knew Bucky had rolled his eyes but saw from the corner of his eyes that Bucky listened and was watching the woman. The woman peeked her head around the container for a split second before rubber bullets started to fire at her. She took a deep breath and readied her pistol. She looked up to Bucky and Steve for a split second a smirked before stepping out from behind the steel container, eyes closed, and firing three shots. All three bullets hit the three androids in their metal heads, causing them to fall. The woman opened one eye to look at them on the floor before shrugging to herself and walking off the course. Steve looked at Bucky, “Master marksman. Trained by Clint before he retired. She’s top of her class.”

Bucky rolls his eyes over to Steve, “She seems cocky.” He muttered out, arms still crossed against his chest as if to say he wasn’t budging on this partner thing.

Steve smiled slightly and patted Bucky on the shoulder, “Then you two already have something to bond over.” He said with one more pat before leaving Bucky to stand alone in his pout.

Bucky didn’t like very many people. He is not what you would classify as a ‘people person.’ But it’s understandable after all he has been through. So when the idea from Steve came around to set every avenger up with a partner, Bucky wasn’t thrilled about the idea. He didn’t need someone else around him all the time, especially on missions getting in the way. It was a hard first six months of Bucky and you getting to know each other after being partnered with you. You couldn’t even count the times that he called you annoying or a brat. He even called you close to useless one time before you took out a target sneaking up on him which he then apologized for, instead saying you’re just slightly useless. Eventually it seemed a tide had turned and the two of you began being friends. He even gave you a nickname, Snips, given to you due to all your snippy comments you made to him when you went on missions together and also due to you sniping targets at almost a record length.

What you didn’t know is that while you thought you two were becoming good friends, Bucky was developing feelings for you. He loved the way you snapped back to him, always having something to say. He liked having you always looking over his shoulder when on missions even though he spent the first months saying he didn’t need you. You two were like each other’s shadows. Something he loved most about his partnership with you was the trust. You two trusted each other with everything. Loyalty was a big thing to Bucky and the loyalty you gave off just made him like you that much more. Once reporter dared to say something about Bucky still being the Winter Soldier and he had to hold you back from her and drag you away as you yelled obscenities in his defense.

— The Cookie Situation —

There were aspects of the super serum that coursed through Bucky’s veins that he hated. One was that he could never get drunk to have a peaceful night without his nightmares no matter how much whiskey he drank. But he did find something to help take a little bit of the edge off. The super serum that ran through Bucky’s body was different than Steve’s. It was sort of a knock-off version which meant that with enough of the potent ingredient, edibles worked a little bit. He hadn’t really told anybody about this recent development and always had them hand delivered. They were custom baked for him meaning the nice lady who made them always just sent them in a clear container with no warning labels since Bucky was always the one to receive the package personally. His favorite were the peanut butter cookies and he hand an order to be hand delivered today but he had one problem. Bucky was stuck in a stupid meeting with the lead Avengers, going over the missions for the last month.

You just happened to be taking a walk through the front of the facility when the delivery guy showed up with Bucky’s package. You smiled and signed for it, seeing the cookies through the clear container. You headed back into the facility to set the cookies in Bucky’s room, snatching one for yourself for being such a good delivery girl.

Bucky looked down at his phone as it buzzed, seeing the message saying ‘My son delivered your cookies to a Ms. Y/L/N.’ Oh no. Oh god. There was no way you weren’t going to eat one of those cookies especially after Bucky had eaten the last slice of your peach pie a few days ago. He quickly sent you a message.

Thanks for picking up my package. Just leave them in my room. For the love of god don’t eat them.

He bit his lip and fiddled with his phone as he waited for you to text him back.

Don’t tell me what to do. You ate my pie.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Bucky had about another hour of this meeting left and meanwhile you probably ate one of his extremely potent cookies. He hoped to god that the cookies wouldn’t kick in for you until he was finished with his meeting. As soon as the meeting ended, Bucky quickly exited the briefing room and started his search for you. First place he looked was the kitchen for obvious reasons but you weren’t there. Instead, Peter Parker, Tony’s partner, was making a sandwich, “Parker! Have you seen Y/N around?”

Peter jumped slightly at the booming of Bucky’s voice, looking at him as he held his sandwich in his hands, “Uhm… Yeah.” He began, “She came in a little bit ago. Her eyeballs were huge, man. I asked her if she wanted a sandwich and she just backed out of the room. Weird right?”

Bucky let out a fake chuckle before swallowing hard, “Yeah, weird.” He muttered, “Well, if you see her come find me.” With that, Bucky turned and continued his search of the facility for you. He eventually gave up on trying to find you himself, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. where is Y/N at in the facility?”

“Ms. Y/L/N is currently in the south elevator.” The AI responded.

“Where is she headed?” Bucky asks.

“No where, Mr. Barnes. Ms. Y/L/N is just standing in the elevator on the second floor.”

Bucky let out a sigh before making his way to the south elevators, clicking the button from the fourth floor hoping you would sill be standing in the elevator. To his luck, there you were when the elevator doors opened standing in the corner with wide eyes looking at Bucky. He walks in and folds his arms, glaring down at you, “Snips. Did you eat one of my cookies?”

You open your mouth to talk but then shut it quickly. Everything was moving different around you like it was somewhere trapped between super slow motion and super speed. You couldn’t figure out which. You bit down on your bottom lip as you stared up at Bucky with blown pupils. When did he get so tall? You glance down to see if for some reason he was wearing high heels but only saw the same black combat boots he always wore perfectly tied.

“Snips!” Bucky said a little louder, snapping his fingers in front of your face to get you out of your trance. He already knew his answer from the way you were looking at him as if trying to discern if he was real or not. The cookies never made him even close to this but then again he was a super soldier.

“Noooo.” You said slowly, drawing out the vowel. You put your hands behind your back and pursed your lips together as you met his gaze.

Bucky ran his flesh hand over his face, trying to figure out what he should do with you when he heard the elevator doors open behind him to see Sam’s eyes flickering between the two.

“What’re you two doin’ just standing in the elevator?” Sam asks, stepping inside and pressing a button to the fifth floor. As the elevator started to move, he folded his arms as he looked between you and Bucky, who had moved to stand beside you, suspiciously. After a moment of silence, Sam turned his gaze on Bucky, “What did you do?”

Bucky shook his head slightly, “I didn’t…. do anything.” He said which was true. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t give you possibly one of the most potent edible peanut butter cookies in the country. You took it upon yourself to eat the cookie.

Sam raised his eyebrows at Bucky as if to say ‘I don’t believe you’ but before he could dig a little deeper, the elevator doors dinged open and he walked out leaving you and Bucky alone in the elevator again.

Bucky let out a sigh of relief when the elevator doors shut leaving you two alone again. He clicks the seventh floor button so he could take you back to your room where nobody would catch you all wide eyed and zonked out of your brain. He waited for the doors to open before looking at you, “C’mon, Snips.” He said and started walking out of the elevator but as soon as he did you pushed the close door button and the button to the main floor. Bucky turned around to see the doors close, “Snips!” He yelled before hearing the elevator going down. He threw his head back in defeat and frustration, “Holy shit.” He muttered out before heading to take the stairs to find you once again.

With the help of F.R.I.D.A.Y., Bucky figured out you were outside in the small garden area in the backyard. Bucky quickly made his way out there to find you staring at all the different colors of bloomed tulips like it was some sort of miracle or act of god. He walked up and gently put a hand on your shoulder, “Y/N. We should get back to your room.”

You jumped slightly at his hand on your shoulder suddenly, tearing your gaze away from the rainbow of flowers before looking up at Bucky with wide eyes again, “Bucky!” You said before looking back at the flowers, “Do you think the flowers, like, know what color they are? Or are they just as surprised as we are when they bloom?”

Bucky dropped his head at your words. You were completely stoned and not cooperating. He looked back at you, “Snips. Let’s go back to your room and I’ll make you my ma’s spaghetti.” He bargained.

Your eyes immediately dart back to his at the mention of food, “Oooooh…. Noodles.” You said as a smile creeped across your lips, “And sauce. Bucky’s sauce and Bucky’s noodles…” You stifle a laughter at your own words then just start bursting out in laughter, “Bucky’s noodle.”

Bucky stared at you for a moment, “Oh. My. God.” He hissed out at you. That’s it. He’s done trying to be reasonable with you right now. He picks you up and throws you over his shoulder as you’re still howling with laughter into his back and you didn’t stop laughing for a moment until he put you down in the safety of your own room, kicking the door shut behind him. Bucky watches you take a moment to catch your breath and your laughter turn into giggles until you stop laughing, “Snips, listen. That cookie you ate was a very potent edible, alright? You need to stay in here until your come down.”

You tilt your head at his words, narrowing your eyes onto his face to focus before they widened again, “Oh my god. You’re a secret stoner.” You said, pointing your finger at him.

Bucky rolls his eyes, “No I’m not. They barely do anything to me, just helps me sleep.” He defended, glaring at you, “Now sit your ass down and I’ll make the spaghetti.” He ordered, pointing over to the couch.

You salute him, “Yes, Sergeant.” You said with a smile before turning on your toes and plopping yourself down on your small couch and turning on the tv to some cartoon. You listened to Bucky go through the small kitchen in your apartment suite. Even though there was a full community kitchen downstairs, each room came with its own accommodations such as a full bathroom, a living room, a bedroom, and a kitchen as well. You could smell the marinara waft through the room and you made a small ‘mmmm’ noise at the smell before you were interrupted by your phone buzzing. You pulled it out and checked the message before your eyes widened. You launched yourself off the couch and went over to Bucky in the kitchen, “Bucky! Logan’s downstairs!” You whisper, pointing at your phone.

Bucky looked at you confused, “Who’s Logan?” He asks, “And why are you whispering?”

You ignored the second question, continuing in a whisper, “I was supposed to have a date with Logan tonight and he just texted me to say he’s here.” You tell him, still pointing at the phone.

Bucky couldn’t help but flinch as the word ‘date’ passed your lips. Date? You were going on a date with a stranger? He folded his arms, “Nope. No way you’re going out on a date tonight. Stark is still upset about the whole reporter thing, there is no way you’re going out stoned out of your mind. I’ll deal with it.” He said, snatching your phone from you so you couldn’t do anything stupid with it, “Stir the sauce, I’ll be back.”

You nod slowly to Bucky and pick up the wooden spoon, staring to stir the sauce and getting memorized in the act easily.

Bucky watched you for a moment and rolled his eyes at how easily amused you got stirring the red sauce. He walks out of your room and to the elevators, going to the main floor and out to the front of the facility where he saw a black car parked and a man sitting in the driver’s seat. Bucky tapped on the window until the man rolled the window down, “You Logan?” He asks, taking a good look at the man you were supposed to go on a date with. He looked tall, not very much muscle though and was pretty much the exact opposite of Bucky. He had blonde curly hair and big brown eyes.

Logan nods, “Yes, sir. I’m here to pick up Y/N?” He asks, fidgeting with the phone in his hands. He couldn’t lie, the six foot mass of muscle leaning over to peer at him through the window was intimidating. This must be Y/N’s partner she had told him about.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen tonight, kid.” Bucky muttered out, his lips drawn into a stern line as he looked around Logan’s car before back to Logan, “She’s sick. Sorry she didn’t tell you.” He said, turning to leave but then turned back at Logan, “And next time you ask a girl on a date, bring flowers and actually get out of the car.” He hissed out before making his way back into the facility. You deserved better in Bucky’s mind. You should be greeted with a smile and flowers at the doorstep before being walked to the car where the door would be opened for you. Stupid kids nowadays. Bucky made his way back up to your room where he found you still stirring the sauce, “All taken care of, Snips.”

You shook your head slightly as he came back inside and took the wooden spoon from you, “What’s taken care of?” You ask confused before remembering, “Ah right. Date night.” Bucky put the pasta into the boiling water, “He’s a punk anyway. You deserve better.” He grumbled out but you were already entranced back to the cartoon playing on the tv. He watched you for a moment, wondering what it would be like for him to be on your level. You were happy about anything and found everything interesting or funny. The cookies never did that to him. Once the pasta was done, he set up two servings and slumped on the couch with you, passing you your plate. He watched the dumb cartoon with you, smiling when you would laugh at things he didn’t really think were that funny. Bucky loved the way you laughed, especially right now. It was pure happiness that rang in your voice. When dinner was done, Bucky did the dishes and cleaned up everything before settling back on the couch beside you. You had changed the cartoon to some comedy movie and were snuggled up half asleep on the couch. You gravitated towards his natural warmth, leaning your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around his right muscular one. This was the moment Bucky decided he was unbelievably and unbearable in love with you. The way you curled up against him so easily. The way you looked sleeping comfortably against him like you knew he was there to help you, to keep you safe.

— Birthdays Are The Worst —

Today was special. It was your first birthday as part of the avengers and Wanda as well as Natasha had made a deal about throwing you a surprise breakfast followed by a party later that night. You didn’t like birthdays. It was always the worst day of the year. You used to love your birthday- the cake, gifts, surprises but that changed when you were fifteen. You groaned awake at the sound of your alarm, picking up the clock from the bedside table and yanking the cord out of the wall to shut it up before tossing it at the wall for good measure. You pulled yourself out of bed, already defeated by this day. You managed to stomp yourself into your bathroom without throwing anything else and showered, brushed your teeth, and got yourself ready for the day. You took one last look in the mirror at yourself before walking out of your bedroom and heading to the kitchen glaring at the floor. You almost jumped out of your skin when everybody yelled ‘SURPRISE! Happy birthday!’ You put your hand to your chest as if they gave you a heart attack before looking all of them over. Natasha, Wanda, Steve, Vision, Bucky, and Sam as well as the rest of their partners were there with party hats on and mimosas in their hands with big smiles on their faces. You looked all of them over for a moment standing in place before seeing an unopened champagne bottle on the table behind them. You took a deep breath and stomped over, grabbing the bottle by the neck before turning back to head to your room without a word to anybody.

Everybody watched you go until the door slammed behind you to your room. Natasha looked over at everybody else, “Okay… What just happened?” She asks confused.

Vision tilts his head slightly, “It seems she is not a fan of birthdays or surprises.”

Steve looked towards Bucky, “Maybe you should go talk with her.” He said, his brow pulled together to create a pinch in his forehead.

Bucky sighs, “Yeah… I got it.” He says, taking off his party hat and chucking it on the table before heading down the hallway and turning the corner to stand outside your bedroom door. He sighs and knocks softly, “Snips? Wanna talk ‘bout it?”

“Nope!”

Bucky sighs again, “Well, do you at least need help with the cork? You can never do it right and you don’t need to be losin' an eye.”

There was silence for a moment from you before you finally said, “That would be wise.”

Bucky opened your door slowly and walked in, seeing you sitting on the bed untwisting the metal that kept the cork in place in the bottle. He shuts the door behind him and approaches you to take the bottle, popping the cork without causing any foam and passing it back to you. He watched you take a bigger swallow than you probably should’ve and folds his arms, “So which is it? Hate birthdays or surprises? Because I know you like pancakes.”

You look up at Bucky for a moment then back to the champagne bottle, “I don’t hate birthdays or surprises. I just hate my birthday.” You said softly, “Doesn’t help that Logan dropped his phone in the ocean on his stupid vacation so all I got was a text from some random number that said ‘Happy Birthday! Heart, Logan.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. That stupid idiot boyfriend of yours being stupid again, not a surprise. He couldn’t count the times he’s been annoyed at Logan’s late night phone calls with you, the giggle you’d make when you got a message from him, or the way you’d scrunch your nose when he pissed you off. But the thing that annoyed him most was when Logan would scroll through his phone while you watched movies in the living room with everybody else as you curled up next to him as if trying to grasp his attention. Bucky always ended up watching your movements towards Logan more than the movies, he couldn’t even tell you the character’s names in half the movies from being so focused on you. This just added to the list of why he hated Logan, “Your boyfriend is an idiot.” He said, keeping his arms crossed as he watched you take another sip of the champagne, “Why do you hate your birthday?”

You sigh softly, biting your bottom lip. You didn’t want to answer that question.

“C’mon, Snips.” Bucky said, unfolding his arms and sitting next to you, “It’s me. We tell each other everything.” That was true. You two had a deeper trust than most partners did and you did tell him everything. It’s what made you two the most successful pair when it came to missions even if you two were just as equally reckless. You were always completely open and honest with each other about personal things as well as telling the other when they were being stupid.

You sigh and look up at him from the corner of your eyes, “I made a deal to do something every year on my birthday since I was fifteen. It’s difficult to explain. I’ll just bring you with me.”

Bucky simply nodded, knowing you didn’t want to speak about it and that you would show him the truth soon. He had learned quickly that pressing you wasn’t a good route to go down. You two sat in silence for a while as he watched you take a few more sips of champagne before standing up like you were ready to go. There was already a car with a driver in the front lot waiting to take you to your destination. The drive was just as quiet with Bucky observing the surroundings, trying to figure out where you two were going. But his brow pulled together in confusion when he saw the car pull into a federal maximum security prison, “Y/N, what are we doing here?”

You look over at him, “I’ll explain when we get inside.” You said simply, waiting for the car to pull to a stop to get out. Bucky was right on your heels as you entered, following you through all the security check points before they took you to a meeting room. You looked through the one way glass window as guards brought an older man in with his wrists cuffed as well as his ankles.

Bucky watched the man then looked down at you, “Alright, Snips. What’re we doin’ in a prison on your birthday?”

You keep your eyes on the man who took a seat on one side of the table, a grin on his lips and tapping his fingers on the table as if he was waiting, “Have you ever heard of The Domino Killer?” You ask looking up to Bucky who shook his head, “He was an active serial killer when you were with Hydra so that doesn’t surprise me. He was called the Domino Killer because he would leave hand crafted dominos in the pockets of his victims. He was charged with 32 counts of murder after his daughter turned him in. But he has way more than 32 victims.”

Bucky listened, confusion still written all across his features as he looked at you, “And what does that have to do with you?”

You took a deep breath, “Because he’s my dad. I’m the one that turned him in.” You said softly, “He was supposed to get the death penalty until he made a deal with the DA. He would confess another murder with the location of a body once a year and to one person. Nobody knows about any of this except you. Not even Logan.”

Bucky listened, putting the pieces together, “You’re telling me that asshole in there makes you come here on your birthday to confess a murder to you?” He asks shocked, then shook his head, “No, Y/N. You’re not doing that this year. Forget ‘bout him, he’s nothing.”

You look at Bucky and shook your head, “I have to, Buck. Who knows how many bodies are out there with families waiting to figure out what happened to them… I have to give some sort of peace and if that means sitting across from him while he writes his confession, I’ll do it.” You told him and walked out the door before he could respond. You knew he would watch from behind the glass. You entered the room with your father, swallowing hard and sitting across from him, “Hi, dad.”

Your father grinned, “My beautiful Y/N! Happy birthday, my sweet girl.” He said, moving his hands across the table to take yours but you lean back away. He narrows his eyes at you, “Can smell the alcohol on you, m’dear. Isn’t it a little early for that?”

You grimaced at him, “Yeah, well, it’s my birthday and I can drink when I want. Let’s get to it,” You say, sliding a pencil and the notebook over to him, “Write it down. Every detail.”

Your father sighs, picking up the pencil and starting to write as he spoke, “I ain’t sure why you gotta make this so difficult.” He said, keeping the pencil gliding across the notebook, “All I asked was to see ya once a year on your birthday and ya act like it’s torture.”

“It is.” You replied shortly, keeping your gaze on the notebook instead of meeting his face.

Your father stops writing and looks at you, pointing the pencil at you, “I never treated you badly, little girl.” He reminded, “You had everything your heart could desire ’til you turned me in.”

“What you did was wrong.” You said, meeting his gaze, “Keep writing.”

Bucky watched through the window, his arms crossed and nostrils flaring at your conversation with the man who was your father. He had no idea this was what your father was like, there was nothing about this in your file but it did happen when you were a minor. You must’ve taken your mother’s name after the whole ordeal. Bucky watched you two have short replies back and forth until your father was done writing. He left the room to meet you outside the room as you handed the notebook to the district attorney who thanked you. He walked up and looked down at you with soft eyes, “You alright, Snips?”

You look up at him and nod slightly, “Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s get outta here.”

The rest of your birthday was better. Bucky had made sure to cancel the party Natasha and Wanda had planned for you tonight and instead just had a movie night with everybody. Bucky couldn’t help but feel pity for you- for what you went through at such a young age being the daughter of a prolific serial killer. But he related to the pain of being connected to something you didn’t want to be apart of or had no choice in being apart of. He commended your bravery silently, wondering what it was like for you to have to turn your father in at such a young age.

— A Change in the Weather —

The current mission you were on together wasn’t exactly going to plan like you two thought it would. Sure, you got the information needed but you didn’t notice the missile that came and struck the quinjet before it was too late and all the flares were used. You and Bucky had to jump out of the back before the missile made contact. The terrain wasn’t the best to be stuck in with no supplies. It was freezing temperatures and snowing. It didn’t help that the two of you had to jump into a lake either. Bucky pulled you from the water, swimming to the shore and carrying you over the slippery rocks as you coughed up water that had been stuck in your lungs.

“You alright, Snips?” Bucky asks, gently setting you back on your feet but keeping an arm around your waist to keep you from falling. This wasn’t the first time you two had ended up crashing a jet and having to be in the middle of nowhere but the last time was in a nice warm forest area not in a blizzard.

You nod, coughing a little more before taking a deep breath, “Yeah, I’m good.” You said with a half smile and a thumbs up. The cold wind quickly nipped at your wet skin, making you shiver, “Tony’s gonna be pissed about the jet. We gotta get out of this storm or we are going to be popsicles.”

Bucky nods, narrowing his eyes as he looked around, “We should head towards the mountains. Maybe we can find a cave to sit tight in until the storm passes and someone comes to find us. The emergency alarm should’ve been alerted with the jet went down.” He said, removing his arm from your waist and starting a slow stride towards the mountains.

You nod and follow beside him, keeping up with his strides. It wasn’t long until your teeth were chattering, your wet clothes sticking to your cold skin like ice. You look up at the mountain through the blizzard, only about another mile to go. Your legs started to feel numb and you had no idea how you were still moving them at this point. You stopped, leaning yourself against a tree.

Bucky stopped and looked back at you, “You good?” He asks, not really affected by the cold. He ran hot even if the end of his hair had turned into small icicles. Concern was etched into his features at how cold and weak you looked.

You nod, blinking slowly, “Yeah…” You said softly, your breath shaking from how cold you were. You used your hand to push you away from the tree but your legs betrayed you- instead of putting one foot in front of the other you just collapsed face first into the snow with a groan.

Bucky would’ve laughed at you but he knew your body couldn’t take the cold like his could. He leans down beside you, pulling you up and onto his back with ease, “Hold on, Snips. Not that far now.” He said, pulling your legs around his waist as he piggybacked you the rest of the way to the mountain. He could hear your teeth chattering together in his ear and could feel you shaking violently from the cold, “You need to stay awake.”

“I’m trying…” You whisper towards him between your shivering, “Talk to me about something… How about your date with the girl from accounting? What was her name… Lydia?”

“Lindsey.” Bucky corrected with a small chuckle as he continued stomping through the deep snow, “Ah, I bailed last minute.”

You closed your eyes but listened to him, “What? No! Why? Lindsey seemed nice.” You say softly to him. You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around his shoulders a little tighter. Bucky was warm even with all the snow collecting on you two.

Bucky shrugs slightly, his eyes scanning the mountain for any openings for a cave, “She wasn’t really my type.” He replied.

“What is your type?” You ask, your voice getting softer and more shaky. You needed to get out of this cold. Your fingers and legs were numb and you could feel your suit practically turning to ice on your skin.

You. Everything that you are. That’s my type. That’s what Bucky wanted to say but instead he settled with, “I’m not sure. I’ll know when I see it though.” He stopped in front of the mountain, looking at the wall but seeing no openings, “Snips, I’m gonna put you down for a minute and run ahead to look around for a cave.” He said, kneeling down and letting you slide off his back onto a rock. He turned and looked at you, staying at your eye level as you seated yourself on the rock with your arms wrapped around your body for any type of warmth, “Hey, you stay awake.” He said, placing a finger under your chin and pulling your face upwards to meet his gaze with your drooping eyes, “I mean it, Snips. Stay. Awake. I won’t be gone long, stay here and wait for me.”

You nod, “Okay. Staying awake.” You said with a small smile to him before watching him run off along the mountain side to look for a cave. Once his figure disappeared into the white of the blizzard, you pulled your legs up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them, tucking your head onto your knees. So… Cold… You thought. You thought you couldn’t get any colder but each passing second proved you wrong, “Stay awake…” You whisper to yourself, lifting your head up. Your vision was blurry as you looked for Bucky through the snow. You blinked a few times, trying to keep the sleep from taking over but you fell over into the snow, looking up to the white sky before darkness surrounded you and you did that thing you weren’t supposed to do. You fell asleep.

Bucky eventually found a cave a little away from where he left you. He ran back to the rock he left you on, groaning when he saw you weren’t sitting there, “Dammit, Y/N.” He growled out, looking around. He paused for a moment and listened, hearing your faint heartbeat and breathing. At first he thought you had wandered off then he heard the soft sounds before seeing some of your fingers sticking out from under the snow beside the rock. He ran over and dropped to his knees, pulling on your arm until you were out of the snow. He swings you up into his arms, pulling you close, “C’mon, doll. Wake up.” He muttered as he quickly started a run to the cave he had found earlier. He had to get you out of this blizzard before you were past the point of waking up again. He walked into the cave, still holding you close as he sat down as far away from the entrance as he could. He held you tightly against his chest as he sat on the floor, rubbing your back as he listened to your shaky breath and soft heartbeat, “Snips, wake up for me.” He muttered over to you.

You adjusted slightly in his grasp, blinking yourself awake. Your icy eyelashes ripped apart from each other, then you huddled towards the warmth in front of you, pressing your face into Bucky’s chest, “I’m awake..”

“Thank god. You had me worried there.” Bucky breathed out, keeping his hands running along your back, “Gonna warm you up a little more. No more sleeping. As soon as this storm lets up, someone will come get us. As soon as the jet went down it sent a signal.”

“I’m tired, Buck…” You whisper out against his chest, closing your eyes again at his warmth.

Bucky leans his chin on the top of your head, pulling you impossibly closer, “I know. Just stay awake. Let’s talk about… Logan. How’d your vacation with him go last month?” He asks. Truth is, Bucky didn’t want to talk about that annoying boyfriend of yours that always made you laugh and left kisses on the side of your head, but he had to keep you awake.

You sigh softly, “It didn’t… I broke up with Logan in the airport. I went alone.” You mumble out, “Turns out New Orleans is a pretty good place to be stuck alone. Everybody was friendly and it’s easier to get free drinks when you’re single and sad looking.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped slightly at your words. How could you keep this from him? Here he was, pining over you everyday he had to watch you with that stupid boyfriend. The whole time you were supposed to be on vacation he couldn’t help but be jealous over the fact that you were probably having a romantic time tangled in the sheets with Logan but apparently that wasn’t the case. He wished he would’ve known, he would have taken you to New Orleans and enjoyed it with you, “Why didn’t you tell me, Snips?”

“I didn’t think it was that important.” You say, pulling your head away from his chest to look up at him, “Plus I didn’t want to talk about the reason we broke up in the first place.” Logan had always been jealous of how close you and Bucky were. Logan claimed that you spent too much time with the tin-man even though you explained to him every time you were partners, best friends and that it wasn’t anything he thought. He told you how he would always notice Bucky staring at you from across a room like he was just waiting to get a moment alone with you. The way Bucky would take any chance to make you smile even if Logan was standing right there. He hated the inside jokes you had with Bucky. Logan had said he hated how you were his ‘partner’ and would go off on missions for weeks at a time alone together.

Bucky frowned slightly at you. You didn’t tell him this. You told him everything- even the dark bits nobody knew about like your dad. But you couldn’t tell him something as simple as a break-up with that moron Logan? He keeps his eyes on you huddled into the warmth of his chest, “Let’s talk about it.” He said, “We don’t have anythin’ else to talk about and you need to stay awake.”

You sigh and look up to him, “We were at the airport and I was late because I saying goodbye to you. That started a fight with Logan and he went in saying he doesn’t trust you with me and hated that we spent so much time together. Then he said I should ask for a new partner instead of being with the Winter Soldier.” You sigh again, “I may have punched him and got locked in the airport jail for twenty four hours before driving myself to New Orleans.”

Bucky listened, his jaw dropping slightly again at the story, “You got arrested punching your boyfriend?” He asks, a slight bit of pride filling his chest at the fact you defended him and punched Logan.

“Ex-boyfriend.” You corrected quickly, “And yeah… That’s why Tony was scolding me when I got back from vacation. Apparently I’m already on thin ice because of the whole journalist thing still and getting arrested in a public airport was sort of a big deal.”

Bucky smiles slightly, “Well, I’m proud of ya’.” He said down to you, “It’s about time you got rid of that dumb boyfriend of yours.”

You chuckle slightly, “Yeah… I guess so.” You mutter out quietly.

Bucky eventually lost hope in keeping you awake. Every time you drifted to sleep and he woke you up, you were out in an instant afterwards shivering against his warm body. The only thing he could do was hold you as close to him as possible, trying to keep you warm. He watched your lips slowly turning blue as you let out shivering breathes. Eventually the storm did let up after a while and Bucky could hear a quinjet incoming towards their location. He stood up with you still wrapped in his arms, carrying you towards the noise where Steve and Natasha were waiting at the quinjet. Bucky carried you inside and watched as Natasha inserted an IV into your arm to pump warm fluids through your body as well as wrapping you in heating blankets. There isn’t a word to describe the relief Bucky felt at washing your skin pinked up as well as your lips from the warmth, listening to your breaths grow less ragged and your shivering slowly subside. He planned on giving you a few weeks to recover from almost freezing to death as well as your recent break up before he would take the chance of asking you out.

— I Hate Trains—

Bucky had finally built the courage up to at least ask you out for dinner, or maybe make you dinner and watch a movie together. He hadn’t felt this jittery in a long time. He had been nervous about this for the past week, trying to figure out the perfect way to ask you out but not make it sound like just a friend hang out type of thing. But before he could ask, you two were sent by Tony and Steve on a mission. So here you two were sitting on opposite ends of a train after a random tip came in that there were dangerous Hydra affiliates traveling on the same train. You sat in your seat, pretending to read a book but keeping an eye out around you. The train was pretty much empty besides a few travelers. You looked down and pulled the book up to your nose, speaking into your earpiece to Bucky, “You alright? I know you hate trains.”

Bucky was sitting a few train cars over at the bar, drinking a whiskey and keeping a look out for anybody suspicious. He hears your words in his earpiece and has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes, “Shut up, Snips. I’m fine.” He muttered out and looked around slowly, “Everything’s good over here.”

“Good here too.” You mutter out back into the earpiece.

Bucky looked up as a new bartender from the wait staff came and poured him another whiskey. Bucky grumbled out a thanks to the bartender before throwing back the liquid in a single swallow. It hit him like a boulder instantly, his stomach twisting and his vision becoming blurred. He stood up and stumbled out of his stool, looking at the bartender who had a gun pulled out pointing right at him, “Snips… Trouble.”

As soon you heard there was trouble, you threw your book down and started in a rush to get to Bucky a few train cars down. You were quickly blocked by passengers and staff that were Hydra agents undercover. You pulled out your knife and made quick work, knocking them each back as you progressed through the train cars to get to Bucky. Some of the agents landed some blows to your face and stomach but nothing you couldn’t handle. When you managed to get to the train car, you quickly locked the door behind you and slowly walked down the corridor until you saw Bucky slumped in a chair dazed looking. You quickly rush over to him, “Buck, you alright?”

Bucky looked at you, he was seeing three of you staring at him with a concerned look and your voice sounded like you were far away. Whatever the bartender had slipped into his drink was strong enough to garble his brain and make his body feel numb, “Look out.” He muttered out, seeing an agent coming up behind you.

You quickly turn, punch the approaching agent square in the jaw before kicking him back. But just as the Hydra motto went: cut off one head and it’ll be replaced with two more. More agents started advancing at you. You pulled out your knives and fought them the best you could, trying to keep them away from Bucky at all costs. One agent managed to land a good punch to your ribs, causing you to drop to the floor with a yelp.

“Snips!” Bucky yelled in a slur, seeing you get beaten. He still saw three of you but could make out the red bruises that were forming along your jaw as well as the split lip.

You stood slowly, glaring at the four Hydra agents that remained. You kept yourself standing in front of Bucky, knowing he was probably the target they came for. You rolled your shoulders, pulling out your two blades for each hand, “You want him? Gotta go through me…” You hissed out at them. Your ribs ached, knowing you probably had a few cracked and you had taken quite a beating with it being many of them against you. But your will is strong and you wouldn’t let them take Bucky away. He was your partner. Your best friend. Your person.

Bucky watched as you continued to try and fight the Hydra agents to defend him. He clicked his earpiece, “Sam.. Steve… Anybody we need immediate extraction… I’m down.” He said softly before pushing himself to his feet. He stabilized himself by holding onto the tops of the seats as he watched you take a knee to the same spot from before on your ribs followed by a hard punch to your jaw that made you fall to the ground. As much as it swelled him with pride to see you fight tooth and nail for him, it also caused him pain seeing you take the beatings that were probably meant for him. He stumbled over to the Hydra agent that floored you and landed a hard punch with his vibranium arm to the agent’s face, causing him to fly back and topple over some other agents. With still blurry vision and stumbled steps, he picks you up carefully, “I got you, sweetheart.” He murmured out to you before turning and looking at the emergency door for the train. He walks over to it, adjusting to hold you in his right arm while he pried the emergency door off the hinges, tossing it over at the Hydra agents that were still trying to get to their feet, “Hold on tight, Snips.” He said, holding you to his chest and tucking your head into his arms before taking a jump off the moving train, ducking and rolling as he hit the hard dirt ground.

The next thing you remember after being floored by the enemy agent was staring at the ceiling of the quinjet and Sam trying to talk to you. He sounded like he was underwater and far away, you couldn’t make out his words very well. You look over to across the jet where you saw Steve talking to Bucky who was laying across the floor. When Bucky’s eyes met yours, he stopped mid sentence and tried to get up to go over to you but was held back down by Steve. You reached your arm a little to reach your hand out to him before passing out again.

Sam and Steve got you and Bucky back to the facility and to the med-bay where Dr. Cho was waiting. You were immediately given morphine while they waited for your x-rays to be done of your ribs. They worked on Bucky but whatever Hydra had slipped him was already wearing off and the wounds he sustained from jumping off the moving train were already healing. He was more concerned with how you were doing and the doctors informed him you were being well taken care of. After you were all patched up and weened off of the morphine, you woke up to see Bucky sitting beside you, glaring at you. You groaned slightly and lifted your hand to rub the side of your head, “What’s with the look, Sergeant?” You mumble out.

“You’re an idiot, Y/N.” Bucky hissed out at you much harsher than he originally wanted it to sound. He looked over your bruised face for a moment before his gaze softened, “Taking on all those agents alone was a stupid move. You could’ve been killed.”

“Okay first off, I didn’t die.” You said, looking over to him, “And two, you jumped off a moving train. Don’t talk to me about stupid.” You squirmed your way to sit up in the medical bed with a slight wince at the movement of your ribs, “What did you want me to do, Buck? Just let them kill you? Or worse, take you?” You shook your head at the thought. You couldn’t lose Bucky, “I’ll never let that happen.”

Bucky sighs as he listens to you. Your loyalty to him was unwavering, nothing could tear it down even if it meant you staring death in the eyes, “I’m sorry, Snips.” He said softly, meeting your gaze, “Just seeing you get hurt and not being able to do anything about it…” He flinched at the memories of you getting knocked down to the floor, getting up every time to defend him, “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost you.”

“Well, I’m still here. Didn’t die remember?” You say, reaching out and placing your hand on his gently, “You’re not losing me and I’m not losing you. Ever. You’re my person, Bucky.”

Bucky’s heart swelled as you called him your person. That’s all he ever wanted to be in every definition of the term. He wanted to be your best friend. Your safe place. Your only love. Your person. He intertwined his fingers with yours slowly and managed to give you a half smile, “And you’re my person, Y/N.” He said back to you before swallowing hard, “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you. I was actually going to ask you before then we got assigned on the mission…” He paused, watching you look at him curiously with an eyebrow raised, “I wanted to ask you out on a date.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words. Bucky wanted to go on a date… with you? I mean, yes, you’ve thought about it a few times but he was your partner and thought it would be unprofessional to date a coworker let alone your partner which is why you tried dating a civilian like Logan but that obviously didn’t go well. Bucky was a beautiful man, you’ve known that since the first time you laid eyes on him. He had a matching attitude to yours and he was so easy to be around. You watched Bucky stare at you with nervous eyes about what your reaction would be, “Bucky… I…” You began, trying to find your words.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky said, looking away from you in a defeated fashion but kept ahold of your hand tightly as if he never wanted to let you go. He just wanted you to be happy and if that meant just being your best friend and partner, that’s what he would do.

You bit your lip for a moment before speaking, “What I was going to say was that this is a really awkward moment to be asking me out.” You said softly with a small smile, “You just asking me out because you thought I was gonna die? Or you feel pity for me getting the shit beat outta myself for you?”

Bucky narrows his eyes at you as you spoke. You were smiling and that wasn’t a no. You were being snippy with him and it caused a small smile to appear on his face as he squeezed your hand, “Neither, doll.” He told you confidently, “Like I said, was going to ask you before the mission and before I felt pity for you.”

You laugh a little, wincing slightly at the pain your ribs from the action but keeping your smile on your lips, “Alright, Buck.” You told him once you stopped laughing, “I would love to go on a date with you. But I’m not going anywhere until my face is healed up.”

Bucky beams at your answer, grinning like a teenage boy who just had his first kiss. This was just as good as a first kiss. You were the first one he’s actually felt something for since the 40’s. You were his person as much as he was yours, “Don’t worry about that, you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He said, reaching up his free hand to sweep some hair from your face with his vibranium fingers, “Besides, I rather cook for you.”

You smile at him, “Oh that sounds good.” You reply before an obnoxious smile covered your features, “More of Bucky’s noodle.”

Bucky laughed slightly and shook his head, “Dammit, Snips.” He chuckled out, “You gotta stop saying that.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Permanent Taglist: @buckypops @stcrryslibrary@bibliophilewednesday @redhairedfeistynerd @princessnnylzays

#bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barns fanfiction

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dokifluffs · 4 years

Text

Falling Asleep on Him | Yamaguchi, Ushijima, Osamu

Pairings: Yamaguchi X Reader (gender neutral), Ushijima X Reader (gender neutral), and Osamu X Reader (female)

Genre: more sleep, more fluff

Author’s Note: im a ‘samu simp if you haven’t noticed

Warnings: Osamu has a kid! Also post time skip for Ushijima and Osamu!

Falling Asleep on Them | Oikawa, Atsumu // Falling Asleep on Them | Tsukishima, Akaashi, Iwaizumi // Falling Asleep on Them | Kenma, Kuroo

Yamaguchi: BB 1

The metro car whisked by all the busy streets of the city, everyone and everything moving by in a fast blur

The car was pretty empty with only a few people in their own worlds, some standing, some sitting whereas the two of you sat towards the back in a paired seating

Yamaguchi felt so light and free with you beside him as he spent the day with the one person he held to dear to him: you

No one spoke or made any disturbances, the only sound came from the sound of the speedy mode of transport whizzing by over the metal rails through the city

The two of you sat peacefully side by side each other, both feeling the exact same way for each other- heart racing whenever one was near the other, when you or he came into the room, things just felt brighter and lighter

His freckles, growing confidence

Your smile, the light shining in your eyes

Yet neither of you knew about the other’s feelings

The movement of the metro itself mixed with the few hours of sleep you missed in anticipation of today slowly began to make you feel lethargic, the warmth Yamaguchi’s body was radiating to yours was like the perfect icing on top

He could see just a tiny bit in his peripheral vision the way you would suddenly rapidly blink your eyes to stay awake, how you gradually raised your hand to cover your mouth as you yawned

His thoughts were zipping as fast as the metro, part of him pointing fingers at himself for not being able to confess his feelings for you for months now, how he wasn’t even able to do what he wanted to do all day

Yet it was as if someone had heard his pleas

His heart dropped in his chest when your head bumped into his shoulder as you slowly let yourself get pulled away by the currents of sleep, your vision going in and out before the last thing you could really see was his hand

Your hand rested beside his on your leg, laid on your side with your hand completely relaxed, open for him

He mustered up the courage, feeling like his heart was beating so loud, you could hear it or that it was going to beat out of his chest before reaching your stop

He tested the waters, sliding the pads of his index and middle finger, doing his best to keep himself from being shaky

You reacted to his touch, your own heart melting as you opened your hand, palm up, inviting him in

He slid his other fingers across your soft hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, happily taking it

The biggest weight lifted off Yamaguchi’s chest, his head suddenly light as he internally cheered

“I’ve always liked you, Tadashi,” you mumbled sleepily, nuzzling your ice into his shoulder, your voice as pleasant as always in his ears

It took him what felt like forever though it was only a few seconds to process your confession

“M-Me too,” he stammered, hesitantly resting his head barely on top of yours before you held his arm with your free hand, getting one of the best little naps in your life with someone you cared about and cared about you so tenderly

He wished this metro ride would never end if it meant he could stay like this here with you, his heart as full as could be

Ushi:

You watched in awe seeing the force of his swing, the loud boom of the ball making impact with the wooden floor of the gym

Ushijima landed briskly on the balls of his feet, watching where the ball had made impact, satisfied seeing it land right on the corner of the court where he had aimed

This was working

The next game, the Adlers were sure to win

As he approached where you sat beside his bag, it made you wonder as you eyes his structure, what it felt like to be so strong, knowing how hard one could hit something

Blockers always looked as if their arms were going to break, especially against Ushijima

His strength had been growing since high school and things were only going up

You handed him his towel and water bottle you had filled as he started his hitting practice using the ball hitter mechanism- a machine built that half a basket of volleyballs on top, letting a single ball go down into the little arms that held it in one place

This allowed the player to do their approach, hitting the ball at the most optimal height they deemed fit

“Thanks,” he sat down on the wooden floor beside you instead of the bleacher his bag sat on

He had been here since this morning for his personal practice which was mainly working out and hitting, and you had come in the afternoon, staying here since

“Toshi?”

“Hm?” He hummed as he swallowed mouthfuls of chilled water from the fountain, instantly cooling his body as he wiped the sweat off his brow, the ends of his hairs sticking to his face

“How was your day?” You asked, leaning your head on his shoulder, not giving a second thought to his sweaty stench

You asked out of genuine curiosity. Was he bored being alone for practice? Having no one else to pass with but himself, no one to set for him, using a machine that held the ball in a single place every time even though in games, it would never be the same

“Mm, I’d say it was pretty good.” He thought over his day, evaluating about what stood out to him, his mind leading to tomorrow and what else he could do

He did enough hitting practice for today

He thought of tomorrow’s workout regiments and what he could add on to it to prolong his workout time itself

“How was yours?”

He turned to look to you, your head resting on his arm until he noticed it- you were asleep on him, your heavy eyes after being here all day were to shut

The entire gym was silent until the air conditioning came on, though the place was still instead

He sat still, unsure of what really to do since you had only fallen asleep on him in bed at home, not a place like this

Your chest slowly rose and fell with every breath you took, eyelashes fluttering every now and then yet they were closed and you were asleep

Carefully without making too much movement to disturb you, he grabbed his phone from his bag behind him, astonished himself at the time seeing that it was almost midnight

He knew he had been here for a long time, but not as long as today

“Y/N,” he slowly moved his shoulder back and forth to shake you awake. “Y/N.” He repeated as he tapped your leg beside him. “Let’s go home,” he spoke, voice deep and silky smooth in your eats as he gathered his belongings in his bag when you stood, stretching your body out

After a quick clean up and clearing the court, the two of you were off, his hand holding yours securely to head home

Osamu:

He peeked his eyes open as he laid in bed sleepily, the blanket covering half of his body, releasing his bare upper body as you trudged into the bedroom, your feet dragging a bit over the carpet

You let out a big yawn that shook through your body, the tears instantly cascading down your cheeks that made it seem as if you were crying

Crickets chirped outside, cicadas buzzed, filling the atmosphere with their noise as the full moon was close to reaching its peak in the clear night sky

The mattress springs squeaked as they strained under the weight of your knee as you climbed into bed, sliding yourself beneath the covers to join Osamu

He opened his arms, welcoming you into his embrace to which you happily joined, instantly burying your face into his toned chest, his muscular arms enclosing you in

Now that you were here, there was nowhere you could go - though you didn’t want to regardless

“S/N finally fell asleep?” His voice was dipped deeper than normal from the exhaustion fro work coming to take over his body now that he was relaxed in bed

“Mmhm,” you hummed

You rest your head on his arm as your personal pillow as his hands rest on your lower back, circling under your shirt at your smooth skin

He smelled so clean, you melted being so close to him after being home all day, having little to no contact with him as he worked and you stayed home to take care of your son

He was the light of you guys’ life but never slept no matter what you did

Compared to what you’ve read and seen online, it took twice as long to get your son to sleep and he woke at the lightest sound

You drifted wordlessly into sleep in a matter of moments in Osamu’s hold, your legs intertwined beneath the blanket, his body blocking the dim lamp light on his night stand behind him, casting you in his shadow

He reached his hand close up to your face, caressing your cheek, taking in this time that you were asleep to make up for the hours upon hours he had missed today and recently as he worked at his restaurant

The first thing he noticed were the bags under your eyes that were clearly formed over these past weeks with your newborn son

Your breaths were short and light, tickling his chest and neck as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over your cheek, holding the face of the love of his life, soaking it all in that this was his reality with you beside him in sickness and in health, til death do you part

“I’ll do more,” he mouthed into your forehead as he leaned close, pressing gentle kisses repeatedly to solidify his vow to you as aching guilt bubbled like magma inside of him

The restaurant’s popularity was growing, making the days busier than ever

This meant the days started earlier and ended later. He would be gone by the time you woke and be back when you were fast asleep, most of the time in your sons nursery to hold him as he slept

How Osamu wished he could lift the two of you into his arms to bring to bed with him, to ignore the world and responsibilities on his shoulders if it meant he could spend just a day with you and your guys’ son

To hold the two of you so close, nothing could take either of you away from him

He carefully turned, reaching behind him to not wake you, and switched off the lamp with a click of the knob, letting the room be engulfed into darkness with the faint pale moonlight shining in behind closed curtains

“You are my everything…” the last thought that surfaced in his mind as the lethargic feeling swallowed him, his nose being filled with the scent of you, his hold never leaving you but only loosening

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!

Tags (let me know if you wanna be tagged for all my haikyuu posts): @yams046 @mazey-chan @sunboikyo00 @kara-grayson04 @fortheloveofbakugo @tsumtsumsemi @osamuonigiri @1-800-wholesome @yamagucci @realityisoftendisapointing@plantisnotplant @k-eijiakaashi @pink-panda-pancakes @differentballooncollection @osamusamusamu@therainroguefanfiction @euphorihan@turquoiselace @macaronnv @oxmaddy @mrkoala4prsdnt @curiouslilbeast @plantisnotplant@therestless101 @abcdaichi @oyasenpai @kaaidalupita

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panda-noosh · 3 years

Text

taste test {kaz brekker x reader}

there are guests today.

little information was given to you, but you don’t mind; you’re not here to entertain anyone. you’re here to do your job and move on. who the king associates with is honestly none of your concern.

you’ll leave the assassins to the royal guards.

you wake on the day to witness the palace in hysterics. chefs bustle around like headless chickens, maids and butlers ironing uniforms that have not had a crinkle in them since the war. the scent of food - a cacophany of it - rises to the surface, making you crinkle your nose at the onslaught of different options. all you want is a slice of toast to prepare you for the day, but the thought of walking into that kitchen has you cuddling up in bed for a few minutes longer.

you’ll have to eat that food pretty soon. just a small bite, just enough to get a taste. a hint.

you close your eyes.

the peace doesn’t last long, because it never does. a knock sounds at your door, startling you from your reverie. you roll over, not even bothering to cover yourself when you call out, “come in!”

a palace guard - rico - peaks his bald head round the door and raises a brow. “still sleeping?”

“clearly not.”

“good. you need to be up and at your post in thirty minutes; we have guests today.”

you pull the quilt over your head. “don’t remind me.” you peak an eye over the top, raising a brow. “who are the guests?”

rico narrows his eyes. “you haven’t been told?”

“well, no. i never really asked.”

“then i’ll leave it as a surprise.” he claps his hands, like you’re some kind of dog. “get ready. i don’t want to come back up here again.”

“then don’t,” you reply, but he’s already disappeared.

you drag yourself from bed to do as he ordered. there’s no point arguing with the palace guards - they seem to think they own the place, even though they live basically under the thumb of every other individual walking the grounds. even you, the lowest of the low, can manipulate them into doing what you want if you just try hard enough. a few sweet words and a confident tone, and they’re like putty in your hands.

but the truth is, you don’t care enough about todays events to put on that confident tone. you pull your clothes on, fiddle with your bow tie, and head downstairs to see what the day has in store for you.

breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

a risky day ahead.

you’re required to be at the kings side long before the guests arrive. you’ve never questioned it. the rules of the palace have never made any sense to you, but you go along with them, because you don’t want to get into any more trouble than you already have. that’s why you find yourself stood by the kings side in silence, hands clasped in front of you, trays of delicious breakfast foods being delivered by hasty, sweaty porters.

the dining room is swathed in beautiful decor. banners hang from the ceiling, red and gold colours matching the grand wallpaper all around. the fancy carpet has been rolled out, tucked beneath the long, mahogany dining table and stretching all the way to the double doors ready to greet the guests.

even the king is dressed well for the occasion, which is another surprise. though the king hardly looks like a peasant, he makes a point to put in as little effort with his appearance as possible, just to show people that he can get anyone to fear him from personality alone. his riches and fancy fabrics have nothing to do with his power.

but today he wears his finest silk coat, the buttons straining against his round stomach. his beard has been freshly trimmed, and you watch his hand rock back and forth amongst the hairs. a few stray ones float from his chin to the table, and you quickly swipe them away. the king doesn’t even notice; he continues staring at the doors, one dark skinned knuckle tight around the arms of his throne-like chair.

finally, after what feels like forever, the double doors up ahead are pushed open. two palace guards dressed in red hold them in place, and a man is ushered in.

a man you recognise immediately.

he’s got a cane now, which is different. there’s those gloves on his hands, the sides of his head still shaved, with that shaggy, dark mess still perched on top, a school boys haircut that looks most out of place on someone with blood on his hands. he’s frowning, because that’s what kaz brekker does - the king shows his power through his booming voice and cruel choices. kaz brekker shows his power through his expressions.

you don’t meet his eyes, though you don’t look away. kaz has his gaze on the king, not even noticing you standing at his side, and for that you are thankful; you don’t think you want to look into those blue eyes again. you promised yourself you wouldn’t, not before the nightmares disappear.

the king slowly stands. he rubs his beard one final time for good measure before saying, “you’re late, kaz.”

“call me mr brekker,” kaz replies, before gesturing to an empty seat at the end of the table - the seat farthest from the king. “shall we sit?”

you swallow; you’re familiar with this attitude from him, but you’ve been in the kings presence too long now to pretend kaz isn’t on thin ice.

the king, however, is clearly in a docile mood, as he nods and sits down. the food in the centre of the table goes unnoticed for a while as the two stare at each other, waiting for the other to crack and begin the conversation. you fiddle with your fingers, uncertain whether kaz has seen you, whether he recognises you, whether he’s just keeping a straight face because he’s kaz, and he’s a professional.

finally, the king clicks his fingers at you. “stack my plate. you know the drill.”

you burst into action, bustling round the table, scooping up different assortments of breakfast foods you know the king enjoys; he’s got his bacon, and his eggs, and the bread, pancakes on the side. you slather beans along the rim of his plate and place a single hash brown in the residue, just as he likes it.

and then you sit down, and pick apart the entire thing.

you can feel kaz’s eyes burning into you as you work, but you pay him no attention. you have to focus, because this is kind of a life or death situation. you sniff the food first, though this very rarely shows you anything you might need to worry about. it’s too fresh, still warm in your fingers when you lift it to your nose. you can smell only the warmth of it all, but you take the precaution anyway, just to show the king you know what you’re doing.

and then you nibble the edges, heart thumping with nerves rather than poison entering your body. that’s what you’re looking for - poison, an assassination attempt. even in his own palace, the king is paranoid. his own staff have turned against him before. you’re not entirely surprised.

you chew, swallow, pause, repeat.

“all clear.”

you hand the plate back, tuck your hands in your lap and look down at the table at kaz. he’s staring at you, an eyebrow raised, and you understand immediately that he recognises you, probably knew you worked here before he even entered the premise.

was he here for you?

you banish the thought and look away. you wait until the king has started digging in before excusing yourself and exiting, your job for the morning complete. at lunch, you will have to repeat the process, and again at dinner, but until then, you have the morning to yourself.

you walk through the gardens, because fresh air is all you need right now. your heart is hammering, and you curse yourself for it - kaz brekker has not been in your life for months. he shouldn’t have a grip on you. he shouldn’t even know you are here, and yet he does, because of course he does. kaz doesn’t step foot anywhere until he knows the ins-and-outs of the entire place. he keeps his ducks all in a neat row, and you were a fool to believe you had escaped it.

it’s not like kaz is a bad man. he’s evil, certainly, with horrible actions under his belt, but you can understand his reasoning. he kills a man, and maybe that’s an overexaggeration, but the man was also seconds away from traumatising a poor woman walking home from work. kaz takes a life, saving the day in the process. it’s how he works, how he’s always worked for as long as you’ve known him.

and you’ve known him for a while.

you haven’t been by his side in months, but someone like kaz brekker is someone you never forget. once you know kaz, you never stop knowing him, which is a curse more than anything else. oh, how you wish you could wipe the slate clean, pretend you never got involved with him and his gang in the first place. but that was your decision - your stupid, careless decision - and you need to face the consequences.

having him here, at your place of work, was a consequence.

you sit down by the stream just outside the palace grounds. a duckling struts past, paying you no attention whatsoever. a stray lilipad floats gently through the water, spurred on by the tiny breeze ketterdam has for you today.

you like to come here sometimes, just to clear your head a little bit. nobody else bothers with the nice scenery and the nature; they think it’s a waste of time. if it wasn’t for the gardener, this place would be a wasteland, left to shrivel and disappear into shadow. you’re thankful it’s been kept pleasant, though - it’s a good place for someone who wants to have no thoughts for a little while.

you lean down and run your fingertips along the water. it’s cold, and a weed gets tangled between your fingers. you lift it from the water with a wince, flicking your wrist to get it off-

a cane clamps down on your fingers, shoving your hand into the grass.

you inhale sharply, straightening up but not turning around.

“so easy to startle,” kaz hums. “you’re losing your touch, y/n.”

you twist your hand and catch the bottom of his cane, using it to pull yourself to your feet. kaz doesn’t stumble, but you never expected him to; kaz doesn’t stumble. he’s much too stubborn for that.

you whirl around, and there he is, that frown on his face, his head tilted like he’s analysing you even before you’ve said two words. a heat festers in your belly. you don’t know if you want to hug him or slam your fist into his nose.

“so this is where you ended up, is it?” he glances at the grand gardens, the glistening lake, the ducklings swimming past. “you’ve surprised me, i gotta say. i never thought you’d be into such grandeur.”

you fold your arms over your chest, cheeks heating up. you will admit, the palace is certainly not the place you thought to find yourself, either; after living in the barrel your entire life, you had grown used to dirt stained clothes, weeks without washing, hunger pains. this was different. this was a different type of hell, a hell in fancy clothes.

“cat got your tongue?” kaz continues, swinging that stupid cane back and forth. “shame. i think we have a lot to talk about.”

“why are you here?”

“ah, asking the right questions now!”

“just tell me, kaz. tell me, and then we can go our separate ways - just like you wanted.”

his expression falters for a moment, so quick that it’s clear he doesn’t want you noticing the power you still have over him, even just a little.

“fine,” he says. “let’s walk.”

you do just that, hands tucked into pockets, head tilted down. it’s easier to talk to him when you’re not subject to his facial expressions, too - handling both of them is too much.

“you want to know why i’m here,” he begins. “i’m here looking for you.”

your stomach drops, even though that was kind of what you were expecting.

he pauses, giving you a chance to fill in the silence with your own thoughts, but you don’t even look up.

he barrels on. “we had a tip-off from someone that you were working here now. no one else believed it, but me? i know you a little better than them. i was surprised, but i could picture it. you’ve always been irrational when you’re desperate.”

you wince. “you don’t know me at all, kaz.”

he smiled at the sky in response, like you had walked into his trap.

“i hope you didn’t come here thinking you can coax me back to the barrel,” you continue. “that’s not going to happen.”

his jaw clenches, head still tilted towards the sun. his skin is a little darker now, a little more tan. he’s probably been out and about, you think, causing havok in the sunshine, ruining people’s holidays because he can.

“i thought you would say that,” he says. “so i’m bringing the problem to you.”

you nearly stumble. “what?” freezing in the middle of the path, you grab his arm and whirl him around, forcing him to look at you. “what have you done, kaz? what problem?”

“she asked for you.”

“kaz-”

“inej is sick.”

your breath falters. those words, so simple, yet so . . . unexpected. inej ghafa - the wraith, your best friend, the girl designed to be indestructible. that’s why kaz picked her. that’s why she worked alongside you. that’s what made you the best damn crew in ketterdam.

“sick.”

kaz nods, shrugging his arm from your grip. “sick. ill. not well. poorly. whatever you want to call it. she’s not doing good, and the only person she’s asking for is you.”

“so where is she?” you whirl around. “is she here?”

“not walking alongside us, no.”

you scowl. “i mean at the palace, kaz. is she at the palace?”

“she will be.” kaz pulls a golden watch from his pocket. “in about three hours. that should give your employer plenty of time to set my room up and make some space in the hospital wing, don’t you think?”

you close your eyes, trying desperately to steady the thumping of your heart. he could be lying, and you know that, but what if he isn’t? what is inej really is on her death bed, and you never even got to say goodbye?

the thought terrifies you to the point your hands begin to tremble. when you open your eyes, kaz is staring at them, and you’re almost certain there is something close to pity sparking there.

you quickly snap your arms behind your back and nod. “fine. okay. i’ll see her. but once i’ve done what i can, you leave. both of you.”

kaz studies your face. the fire in your stomach burns even brighter, forcing you to look away and keep walking.

kaz follows, all soft footsteps. “i’m not here to bring up the past, y/n. i hope you know that.”

“you can understand why i find that hard to believe.”

“well, yes. but i’m serious. what we had, it means nothing now. you’re a different person, and so am i. we can let it go.”

you swallow the lump in your throat, trying to pretend those words are exactly what you wanted to hear. but a knot twists in your heart, almost to the point of pain.

you take a deep breath and glance at him over your shoulder. he’s only a few steps behind, but his presence is so large, so there that you nearly trip.

and then you say, “we never had anything, kaz. remember that.”

----

it’s like you’re trying to hurt each other.

that’s how it’s always been between you and kaz, but at one point, it felt natural. it was a bit of fun. a few snide remarks here and there, followed by kaz confessing he thinks your eyes are a very pretty colour. a bit of sparring, followed by you telling kaz he’s the most important person in your life.

this time, however, the mere sight of him is a torment, one you don’t find fun in the slightest.

the king tasks you with leading kaz through the palace. this was a job you fully expected to be given, but it doesn’t make it any easier. kaz stops to examine every little thing, tracing his fingers along artefacts you would be murdered for touching.

you swat his hand away when he reaches for a bust of the kings father. “stop it. if you knock that over, he’ll have you hanged.”

kaz raises a brow before touching a gloved fingertip to the stone. you groan and march off, trying to ignore the butterflies at the sound of his soft, hidden chuckle echoing behind you.

you show him his room, a beautifully decorated space much grander than any room the king has ever given you. kaz whistles when he walks in, looking at the wine bucket on his chest of drawers, and the freshly made bed with the thick linens, and a view to die for.

“spoiled,” he says.

you roll your eyes. “i’ll leave you to get comfortable.”

“or.” he whirls, catching your arm. his fingers slot in the crook of your elbow, the leather of his gloves sparking unwanted familiarity within you. “you can stay, and we can talk some more.”

“i have things to do, kaz.” you rip your arm from his grip. “the king will be having lunch soon, and i need to be there.”

kaz scoffs, slowly sliding the knot out of his tie and slipping it from beneath his collar, like undressing in front of you is no big deal. “so you can do what? potentially die? you know, y/n, i once thought you were a tough son of a bitch, but the longer i’m here, the more i’m realising just how weak you are.”

ouch.

“we’ve all got to make a living somehow,” you reply. “you murder people, i keep the king safe.”

“the same king you wanted to assassinate a few months ago?” he tilts his head, pursing his lips. “what a drastic change of heart.”

“go to hell, kaz.”

he raises a hand. “wait for me outside; i’ll come to lunch with you and your king.”

you pause. “has he invited you?”

“i don’t need an invite.”

“you’re not permitted to be there-”

“i’ll be there.” he starts unbuttoning his shirt. “i want to watch you in action. you’ve always been very good in action.” he smirks, and you know he’s just teasing you, trying to get a reaction. your cheeks heat up, but you quickly turn on your heel and scurry out before he can notice.

you don’t wait on him outside. instead, you hurry to the dining hall, where the king is already seated. he looks up when you enter, fingers already tangled in his beard. his wife sits beside him, grand and tall and everything a queen should be. she scowls when you enter, but you ignore her, immediately taking your seat by the king and fanning a napkin over your lap.

“sorry,” you say. “kaz brekker kept me.”

“it’s mr brekker,” the queen snaps. “have some respect for our guests.”

“y/n can call me kaz.”

you close your eyes, listening to the thump of his feet and cane against the carpet.

“y/n can call me kaz,” he repeats, lowering himself in the chair at the head of the table. “mr brekker is a little too formal for them.”

“mr brekker,” the queen exclaims, fanning her reddening face. “i wasn’t aware you would be joining us for lunch!”

you nearly roll your eyes at her flustered state - okay, so kaz is attractive. he’s also half her age.

kaz leans back in his seat, tapping his fingertips together. “oh, no, i’m not eating. i’m just here to observe.” at the confused silence, he shrugs. “i have nothing better to do, and i’ve always been fascinated with the hobbies y/n takes on. such a talented soul they are.”

you’ve never heard kaz speak so formal before, and you have half a mind to laugh. instead, you glance over to see his own lips trembling in his attempts to keep a straight face - he finds this just as amusing as you do. messing with the royals, it’s all a game to him. they are the fools.

“do you two know each other?” the king asks, handing you his stacked plate.

“no,” you snap. kaz grins behind his glove, staring at you over his fingers as you hasten to add, “no, we don’t. i just met him today.”

the king nods slowly, not quite sure whether to believe you or not. you don’t give him a chance to doubt any further before picking up your knife and fork and cutting a small chunk from a slice of tofu. you go through the usual routine with everything on his plate, but all the while, kaz stares. you feel his eyes like a fire sinking into the side of your face, putting you off from paying proper attention. you pop the cut-off’s in your mouth and chew, turning to meet his gaze, as if making eye contact with him is some kind of power move. however, he actually looks a bit. . . worried? concerned? you’ve never seen that expression on his face before, and it makes your stomach flip as you swallow the food.

you give a final nod, handing the plate back to the king. you repeat the process with the queen before standing, straightening your trousers and excusing yourself.

kaz’s chair screeches as he stands.

“mr brekker, would you not care for some lunch?” the queen asks.

“no.” he turns and follows you out the dining room, catching your arm when you try and run. “what the hell?”

you spin, snatching your arm away. “can you stop grabbing me?”

“what happens if their food actually has been poisoned?”

“then i get poisoned.”

he raises a brow, skin paling. “and do they have someone on hand for if that happens?”

“on hand to do what?”

“don’t play stupid, y/n. on hand to save your fucking life.”

you scowl; it’s been a long time since you’ve heard kaz curse, and it shames you to feel the same thrill run over you.

“i get sent to the infirmary,” you reply. “but it’s never happened before.”

“never happened-” he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “this is the kind of life you want to live? you left the barrel for this?”

“no life is as bad as the barrel.”

kaz’s lips tighten, eyes fluttering closed for the briefest moment before he opens them again and says, “you left the place where people loved you, cared about you, and you came here. to this shit hole. you’re risking your life for them, and you have the nerve to tell me this life isn’t as bad as the barrel?”

even to you it sounds ridiculous, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“the barrel wasn’t a life,” you say. “the barrel was a beginning for me, but i’ve moved on.”

“you don’t move on from that.”

“maybe not mentally, but i can damn well get away physically.” you lean in, lowering your voice. “i just wish you’d let me.”

his eyes scan your face, drawing attention to just how close you are to him. his breath fans your cheeks. you can make out every line on his lips, every crease in his face. you could lean forward if you wanted to, close that distance.

you step back, once again straightening your trousers. “tell me when inej arrives and i’ll come meet her in the infirmary.”

kaz doesn’t say anything. he watches you leave, and part of you - a retched, traitorous part - is disappointed he doesn’t follow.

----

inej really is sick.

“so it’s true,” you say, sauntering into the infirmary. “the wraith has been beaten.”

you’re trying to jest, but there’s little humour to be felt when she looks like that. her dark skin is pale and sickly, warm drops of sweat clinging to her forehead and rolling down her neck. she’s dressed in only a thin night gown, revealing collar bones and stretched skin where her muscles once were.

she looks up, bloodshot eyes meeting your own, and even in sickness, she manages a smile when she sees you. that’s enough to have you breaking. you rush to her bedside and bundle her in your arms, nearly sobbing with relief at the feel of her pressed against you, her hands in your hair, her mouth inches from your ear.

she whispers, “it’s you.”

you pull away, nodding. “yes. it’s me.”

“what are you doing here?”

you pull a chair over and sit down. “that’s not important.”

“yes, it is.”

“i’ll explain later.” you lean forward, pushing a strand of hair away from her face. “you talk first; what’s going on?”

inej coughs into her elbow; something rattles in your throat, and you try desperately to hide your wince. “i just got sick. i fell in the brig a few days ago, and i don’t think the water was very healthy.”

“of course it wasn’t,” you grumble. “it’s the barrel, you stupid girl. what did you expect?”

“i cleaned myself pretty well afterwards,” she defends.

“clearly not well enough.” you place a hand to her cheek. “has anyone come to see you?”

“some man in a coat,” she replies, nuzzling down in the pillows. “he checked my temperature and my blood pressure and all that stuff. said he’d be back soon.”

“and he didn’t seem . . . concerned?”

inej shrugs. “i didn’t look him in the eye. men like him don’t sit right with me, y/n. i let him do his job, but i’m not looking at him. i’m not giving him ideas.”

you nod. there is a silence, but those are okay between you and inej.

finally, you reach over and take her hand. her palms are clammy, cold, but her grip is strong.

“i’m sorry i wasn’t there to help you.”

her head snaps around, eyes widening. “y/n-”

“i know you always say you understand why i left, but it’s just. . . i don’t know. i feel guilty about it. i feel selfish sometimes, and you’ve had to travel all the way here whilst you’re in this state all because i wasn’t there to-”

“has kaz been making you feel guilty?”

your mouth snaps closed. “i don’t. . . i don’t think so?”

inej sighs, head dropping back into the pillows. “don’t listen to him. i understand why you left; i always have. kaz just. . . i don’t think he ever got over it when you disappeared. it was like a part of him went with you.” she shrugs. “a part of him did go - you.”

silence again, because you have no idea how to respond to that. kaz was hurt when you left, and you know that, but he’s kaz. he’s tough. he’s been through everything a person should never have to go through. the thought of his final straw being you is almost laughable to think about.

“he loved you,” inej continues, even though you don’t want her to. “he really, really loved you.”

“past tense,” you whisper. “not any more.”

inej smiles sadly, and that’s all you need to see to understand you’re right - he’s moved on. he’s here with you now, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. he’s here on business. he doesn’t care about you, and he said it himself - whatever the two of you had is gone, non-existent. you thought you had come to terms with that, but seeing the confirmation on inej’s face makes you feel suddenly exhausted.

“well this isn’t about kaz and i,” you say, pulling your shoulders back. “come on. tell me what’s been going on since i left.”

---

you’re trying to sleep when you hear the bang.

trying being the key word. always. every night, you put your best efforts into drifting to sleep, but it never seems to work how you want it to. you toss and turn for hours on end, drifting in and out of your associative state, but not really falling asleep. time just passes, and then it’s day time, and you’re working again.

tonight is no different.

the bang is loud, just next door to your room. your ears immediately prick - the palace guards aren’t moving towards it. you’re already awake, so you may as well see to it yourself.

you swing your legs out of bed, grab your dressing gown and walk into the hallway. glancing back and forth, you see nothing out of the ordinary.

the bang sounds again.

you narrow your eyes, walking further down the hallway. turning a corner, the bang sounds one final time before a pair of shoes flies at the wall and crashes to the floor in a heap.

you rush forward, eyes wide. “what the-”

kaz spins, another pair of expensive shoes already in his hand. “oh. did i wake you?”

dazed, you snatch the shoes into your possession and toss them to the floor. “what the fuck are you doing, kaz? people are trying to sleep!”

“i was also trying to sleep,” kaz replies. “i am one of those people, so why are you yelling at me?”

you rub your eyes in frustration - sometimes talking to him is like pulling teeth.

“oh, come on,” kaz says. “i was just doing a bit of late night cleaning. this room is a fucking shit hole.”

you raise a brow, sighing. “what are you on about? this room was pristine when you came.”

“yeah, well, i thought so too. and then i found this.” he motions for you to enter the room, and though you know it’s a bad idea, you do so. he hooks his foot around something beneath his bed, and pulls out a box overflowing with expensive shoes.

you narrow your eyes. “what’s the problem?”

“rich men shoes,” he says, like that explains everything. after knowing kaz as deeply as you do, it kind of does make sense.

you sigh again, kicking the box back beneath the bed. “go to sleep, kaz.”

“i can’t.”

“try.”

“you know i can’t.”

you pause, overcome with a sudden chill. you wrap the dressing gown tighter around your body, trying to refrain from looking at him - he’s still dressed in the fancy clothes he wore this morning, but the top button is pulled loose, and his hair is a mess. his eyes droop a little, evidence that he really wants to sleep, but genuinely just can’t.

and you know why.

“i’m not asking you to stay with me,” he continues, grabbing a pair of socks from the floor. “i’m just saying - you have no right telling me to sleep when you know what it’s like.”

“are they bad again?”

kaz purses his lips. “they’ve been bad for a while.”

a while. that’s how he always phrases it. when he says it’s been a while, he means it’s been a while since you left the crows, left him.

you swallow, looking to the ceiling like the intricate design will give you clarity. “i can get you tea or something. a fresh blanket. whiskey.”

“trying to get me drunk?”

“kaz, i’m serious.” you meet his eyes. “you look terrible.”

he laughs, a sly sound that reeks more of danger than amusement. “thank you.”

“let me get you something.” you turn, but he catches your elbow. you glance back just as he drops his hand like your flesh has burned him, an uncharacteristic redness adorning his cheeks.

“didn’t mean to touch you,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “but i’m serious; i don’t need anything. it’s useless anyway.”

everything is useless. every remedy he’s ever been given has never worked. the only remedy for insomnia that has worked for kaz brekker is you.

but you can’t do that to him. you can’t do that to yourself.

“okay,” you mumble. “just. . . stop making so much noise, alright?”

“did i really wake you?”

“i couldn’t sleep either.”

you stare at each other. it’s like you’re waiting for the other to break. you hate that you kind of want him to break.

his adams apple bobs. “make yourself some tea, then. i’ll be a bit quieter.”

you nod. “thanks.”

“how’s inej, by the way? did you see her?”

“i did. she seems. . . okay.” you shrug. “the doctors are going to do everything they can to help her get back to normal. then you can go back to the barrel.”

kaz nods, though his movements are slower this time around, shoulders a little more slumped. neither of you say anything else as you walk out, tugging your dressing gown a little tighter around your body.

you don’t take his advice. you don’t need tea, or whiskey, or a fresh blanket; with kaz’s words and his expressions and him, you know there is no way you’re getting to sleep any time soon, no matter what remedy you use.

----

“good morning, royalty.”

the king looks up from his breakfast, the very breakfast you have just tested for poison. it sits weirdly in your stomach this morning; after a sleepless night, your appetite has deserted you, but you have no choice besides eating.

kaz strolls into the room, dressed in a suit. his white shirt sits against his chest, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal the crow tattoo on his arm. you awkwardly rub your own crow tattoo, suddenly very aware of how permanent it is.

“good morning, mr brekker,” the king says. “again, you surprise me with your presence. we weren’t expecting you for breakfast.”

“i am just full of surprises.” he sits down in his usual seat and meets your eyes. “how are you this morning, y/n?”

“y/n was just about to leave,” the king replies, as you knew he would; he likes hearing your voice as little as possible.

kaz, however, keeps his eyes on you. “i asked y/n. not you.”

you stare straight at him, a silent warning. “i’m good, mr brekker. well-rested.”

“you can call me kaz.” he leans back, grinning. “i’m glad to hear it. maybe you and i can take a walk amongst the duck pond again later on.”

there he goes, putting on that god awful formal accent that he thinks is so funny.

you scowl. “i’m a bit busy today, mr brekker.”

“kaz.”

“he asked you to call him kaz, y/n,” the king snaps.

kaz nods. “i asked you to call me kaz, y/n.”

you bite your lip, pushing back the retort that so desperately wants to rise. he’s just sat there, grinning with no shame. the king is looking straight at him, and he doesn’t even care.

“any duties you’ve been given today can be postponed until later,” the king says. “mr brekker is our guest, and if he wants your company, your company he shall receive.”

kaz’s grin gets wider, and oh, you want so desperately to punch him square in the face. instead, you force a smile, turning to the king to tell him just how honoured you would be to give kaz brekker your company on this fine morning.

and that’s how you find yourself strolling through the gardens with kaz, yet again.

“you’re unbelieable,” you mumble, arms folded over your chest like a school kid having a tantrum.

“i’m good,” he replies. “you know i’m good, y/n. i don’t know why you act surprised.”

“he’s the king, kaz,” you hiss. “can you not tone it down a little?”

“tone what down?”

“the-” you gesture vaguely, though the only word you can conjure is flirting, and there’s no way in hell you’re letting that slip into the conversation. “the shit. tone down the shit!”

“i’m not scared of him. i know you want me to be, but i’m not.”

“oh yes. how could i forget? kaz brekker isn’t scared of anything.”

kaz scoffs. “kaz brekker is scared of plenty of things - men aren’t one of them.”

such a kaz thing to say. the most frustrating bit about it was that he was telling the truth.

“i told inej what your job is here,” he continues after a moment of tense silence.

“oh?”

“she understands. says you’ve always been one to do anything to survive.”

you shrug. she’s right.

“that worries me, you know.”

“nothing worries you, kaz.”

“the thought of you in danger does.”

you shake your head. “don’t start this now. you said it yourself; what we had was nothing.”

“why can’t i worry about you without it having to mean something bigger?”

“because everything you say means something bigger.”

kaz falls silent. he knows it’s true, and so do you. kaz has never been able to speak his full extent, always letting people think less of him so he can take them by surprise when the time is right. you have learned first hand how frustrating that can be, but it was also a part of him you grew to love. it was what made him so intelligent, so cunning. it was what made him kaz.

“are you not ever worried you’re going to get unlucky one day?”

you glance over. he keeps his head ducked down, one hand curled around the head of his cane, the other tucked into his pocket. “i know what i signed up for. getting poisoned was kind of part of the risk.”

“since when did you even know how to identify poisons?”

your lips twitch. “jesper taught me.”

kaz rolls his eyes skyward, running a hand through his hair; the sun glows against his tan skin. “of course he did. honestly, the shit you two got up to when i wasn’t around-”

“we had fun,” you say. “we could only do that when you weren’t hovering over our shoulders.”

kaz glares.

you look to the floor, afraid to smile at him, afraid to open this conversation into something even mildly pleasant; if you can get through this entire visit without thinking of kaz fondly, maybe it will make all of it a bit easier. maybe you’ll be able to trick yourself into thinking you’ve moved on, grown stronger since your time in the barrel.

“how is jesper?” you ask, because you suddenly feel like you can’t help it.

kaz shrugs. “how jesper always is.”

“worse?”

“for a while. he didn’t take you leaving very well, but he straightened himself out.” kaz tugs on his lapels. “he always does.”

“yeah. he does.”

you wonder about jesper sometimes. it hurts to know he took your leave badly, though you should have known; jesper has never been one to handle his feelings well. that was your job on his behalf. you would often sit with him at night, just to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. you once handcuffed him to his bed post to stop him heading out into the gambling hall of the hotel you were staying in.

he was the only one you could ever really properly speak to about what was going on between you and kaz. inej understood kaz, but jesper was kaz’s right-hand man. he was the one kaz would go to about things like that.

“does jesper know how to make your brew?”

there is no moment of confusion, like he was expecting the question. “i’m sure he does. i never ask him to make it, though.”

your nostrils flare. “kaz-”

“listen, the nightmares aren’t going to disappear,” he says, raising a silencing hand that you swat away before he can think it works. “i don’t need some special brew helping me sleep.”

“no, you’ll just stay awake until you drop dead.”

kaz grins, sharp as knives. “that’ll be the way to go, won’t it?”

you shove his shoulder, suddenly furious. he looks over, still grinning, because kaz has always found your frustration amusing. he used to say you looked like a chipmunk who just got their nuts stolen.

“for someone so smart,” you hiss, “you’re pretty stupid.”

“because i won’t indulge in your famous sleep remedy?”

“because you’ll let yourself suffer before asking for help.”

his smile fades. “i only ask certain people for help, y/n. it’s not my fault those people keep leaving.”

your heart drops; there he goes again with the impersonal little jabs, knowing he’s cutting you so, so deep. you don’t even humour him with a response, instead quickening your pace until you begin to feel like he isn’t even there.

but that’s impossible, because he’s kaz brekker. he’s yours. even when he truly isn’t there, it’s like he’s walking right beside you, and you’re beginning to get very annoyed by the attachment. it’s not fair on you, and it’s not fair on kaz, but neither of you seem able to help it.

you continue walking until the cold gets a little too much. then you head back to the palace in silence.

----

final meal of the day. you will make sure it’s not poisoned, and then you will go to bed.

kaz is there, as per usual. the king and queen don’t even act shocked any more, simply welcoming him into the dining hall. oftentimes, he’ll stroll in by your side, his cane clicking against the marble and that smug little smile playing on his face. you always ignore him, even though the king says it’s disrespectful to do so.

tonight, you do just that. you take your seat beside the king, gather up his food and start the process. the beef is smothered in gravy, making the scent test a little difficult, but you give it a go anyway, because it’s protocol by now.

kaz watches from afar, one finger pressed to his lips. he’s lounging back like he’s comfortable, like sitting in a palace is what he does every day. his eyes are narrowed, focused.

you pop the beef into your mouth and chew; nothing.

you move onto the potatoes. nothing.

finally, you dip your fork into the sweetcorn and raise it to your lips.

kaz slaps the fork from your hand. he makes no noise. one minute he is sat at the head of the table, and the next he is by your side, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you from your seat.

the queen shrieks as the fork flies directly at her, sweetcorn and all. a glass of wine tips over when kaz pulls you to your feet, your knee slamming against the underside of the table. palace guards run inside, but none of them know what to do - nobody in the room shouldn’t be there, and so they stand by the door, glancing at each other.

your eyes, however, are trained on kaz.

“what. the. fuck?” you hiss under your breath as the king tends to his startled wife.

kaz meets your eyes dead on. “you really need to get better at your job.” he grabs your arm and starts for the door. the king hollers after him, demanding to know what is going on, but kaz pays him no attention, and you have no idea why you’re not fighting any of this. your heart is hammering in your chest at a million miles per hour, and you have so many questions, but it’s just reflex by now to trust kaz.

he drags you through the halls until reaching his room, where he pushes open the door and leads you inside. it is only then, when it is just the two of you, that you come to your senses, replaying that scene over and over in your head.

you whirl around, yanking your arm from his grip so harshly that you stumble back. “what the hell was that, kaz?”

“how much training did they actually give you before throwing you in to risk your life everyday?”

“why do you care?”

he starts pulling his tie loose, not even looking at you. “just tell me.”

you fold your arms over your chest, trying desperately to keep your attention away from the way his gloved fingers tug and pull at the knot on his tie. “i did a course at the start where i could identify all the different types of poisons.”

he quirks an eyebrow. “that all?”

“it was enough.”

“if it was enough, y/n, you would have noticed the soft spots in the sweetcorn.”

your head snaps up. soft spots?

he hums, despite you saying nothing in response. “wilde yolk makes food go soft in certain places. it also kills people in about ten seconds if consumed in even the tiniest amount.” he looks up, flicking his tie off completely. “did you not learn that in your course?”

you bite your lip and look away. you were so distracted at that dinner table these days, focusing mostly on kaz brekker at the end of the table. you had no idea he was examining your food just as much as you should have been. you had no idea he was keeping an eye out for you.

“so is this experience enough to get you to move back to the barrel?”

your eyes snap up. he’s staring right at you. he doesn’t even look fazed by his question.

and that makes you so, so angry. in seconds, you have gone from grateful to furious; only kaz can elicit that response from you.

you step back, glaring. “so that’s what this is then? you came all the way here to drag me back to the barrel?”

“well, no. i came here to get inej help, but she seems to be healing up pretty well with all the goods your people are giving her.” he shrugs, bottom lip protruding. “so i thought i’d try my hand at this.”

“you are unbelievable.”

kaz raises a brow. “are you getting mad at me?”

“you are unbelievable!” you want to throw something at him. you want to break down and cry. you kind of want to go with him. “it’s like you haven’t listened to a word i’ve said. are you that self-centred, kaz?”

“you know i am.”

you close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. maybe you’re overreacting. maybe you really are better off in the barrel, where you were born and raised, where you learned everything you ever knew. but here, with kaz being the one to drag you back - it reminds you so harshly that you’re his. you are his, and that is all anyone will ever see you as, and that thought. . . you don’t know how to feel about that thought.

“this isn’t the life for you, y/n,” he continues. “you know it isn’t. once the barrel has you, it doesn’t let you go. we’ve all learned that the hard way.”

“is that what you are?” you spit. “the hard way?”

he shrugs. “you should be grateful it’s me and not someone worse.”

“there is no one worse, kaz.”

his lips twitch, the only sign that your words have actually struck a nerve. “you mean that, do you?”

“don’t act like you’re the good guy. you know you’re evil. you’re proud of it! that’s why i had to leave. that’s why i’m in here risking my life every single fucking day! i wanted to get away from you!”

and oh, saints, this isn’t going how you wanted it to go. the words are spilling from your mouth before you can stop them, mind racing too quick for your mouth to catch up. his face continues falling with every word, but you don’t stop.

“saints, kaz, when are you ever going to grow the fuck up? you walk around pretending you have everything under control, that you own the place, but you’re nothing - nothing - without the rest of us. you would be dead twenty times over if it wasn’t for that little crew of yours, the people you have under your god damn thumb.” you step forward, teeth gritted. “kaz dirtyhands brekker can’t even take his own fucking gloves off.”

“is that what you want?” he steps closer, so close your chests are almost touching. his face is red, a line of sweat glittering upon his upper lip that only ever shows itself when he’s furious, out of his mind with anger. “you want the gloves to come off? fine.”

and then he plucks the gloves from his hands and throws them on the floor.

his hands. the hands you have seen only twice in the years you have known him, the hands that have never touched your bare skin. suddenly they are in full view, free reign to do whatever you want with them, but all you can do is step back, one hand covering your mouth as you try and process what you’ve said, what kaz has done, how the situation could have taken such a harsh, grim turn.

but kaz isn’t finished. kaz is never finished.

“is this what you want, y/n?” he demands. “you need me to bear myself completely for you to believe i’m in love with you? or is this not enough?”

“kaz-”

“what else is it going to take, huh? tell me.”

“kaz, i’m-”

“what about this?”

he’s crazy. he’s crazy, and making mistakes, and you know this because he reaches forward and cups your face in his bare hands, flesh against flesh. shock ricochets through you, eyes widening as kaz lets out an anguished groan, his own eyes slipping closed. you feel his fingers trembling upon your skin.

you wrench away from him, gasping.

he immediately spins around, clutching his hands to his chest. he groans low in his throat, pressing his head against the wall. sweat trickles down the back of his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. you catch a single tear run down his cheek that he can’t wipe away because then his fingers will be touching his skin, and he hates that. it kills him. you know it does.

you rush forward, placing a hand safely on his jacket-covered shoulder. his breathing is ragged and shaky.

“kaz,” you pant. “oh god, kaz, i’m so sorry. i’m so, so sorry. why did you do that?” you whirl around frantically. “your gloves. where are your gloves?”

he doesn’t reply. you’re talking to yourself at this point. you spot his gloves on the floor and grab them, immediately handing them back without so much as a brush of your fingertips against his. he’s hurried and distressed when he tugs them back on, clenching his fist over and over again, as if to ensure his hands are safely hidden beneath the leather.

he doesn’t turn around. you stand behind him, one hand pressed to your chest, eyes swimming in tears you didn’t even feel rising to the surface.

“kaz,” you whisper. “i’m. . . i didn’t mean. . .”

“you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he mumbles, straightening up. “i’m not asking you to return to the barrel with me so you can serve me, or whatever you think this is. i’m asking you to return so i can have you there. so we can be together again.” he glances over his shoulder. “as it should be.”

you stare at him, wanting to respond, wanting to tell him to go to hell, but you can’t lie. never before have you been able to look kaz in the eye and lie, and maybe that’s why you say nothing. he’s right in every sense - you and him are meant to be by each other’s side, no matter what. barrel born and raised, nobody understands you quite like he does.

but admitting that, throwing away every barrier you have worked so hard to put up . . . you can’t do it.

kaz waits a moment longer before laughing half-heartedly, sounding more exhausted than anything else. he lowers his head, black hair falling in his face before he swipes it out of the way, looks at you and says, “get out.”

“kaz-”

“stop saying my name.” he turns, tossing his tie onto the bed. “get. out. inej and i will be gone tomorrow.”

you swallow thickly, pushing away the tears. and then you do as he said, because standing in his presence for much longer is going to send you into a spiral you don’t think you’ll be able to crawl out of again. you’ve been down that road before, and it took everything in you not to be consumed.

----

“why do you look like you’ve been crying?” inej asks. she’s sat up now, a tray of soup perched on her lap. the colouring has come back to her skin, and she stands up whenever she wants to. whatever the palace medics did for her is working wonders, which you suppose is one thing you should be grateful for.

you lean over and dip a slice of bread in her soup.

“are you checking if it’s been poisoned?” inej jokes, and when you don’t respond, she sighs. “you and kaz have a fight?”

you wince, which is answer enough.

“what about this time?”

“he wants me to go back to the barrel with you.”

inej pauses, eyes still cast to her soup. you look at her, stomach curling in sudden realisation.

“wait,” you say. “did you know that was his plan this entire time?”

“no,” she replies, though she looks sheepish. “i genuinely was sick. kaz just. . . came along for the ride when he heard you were here.” she looks up and groans. “you can’t act surprised, y/n. what were you expecting? for him to just walk out and leave you here?”

“that would have been the right thing to do, yes.”

“well, you know kaz better than that. use your brain.” she waves a hand in your direction. “pass me another slice of bread and tell me about this argument.”

you don’t want to. all day you have been thinking about the feel of his hands on your face, his flesh against your own, the anguished groan ripped from his throat. he put himself through that to prove - what? that he loves you? that’s what he said, but it was only a few days prior he was claiming what you and him had was nothing. it was forgotten, and you were happy about that for the briefest moment. if kaz moved on, you could too.

but then he took the gloves off, and it was just. . . messed up again. you were left confused and guilty and pining, and you hated yourself for it. it was as if all that hard work you had put in to forget about kaz had been thrown out the window - trust kaz to come in and ruin everything.

“i can see what you’re thinking, you know,” says inej suddenly.

“can you?”

“take it from me,” she says. “kaz is never going to get over you. he’s never going to let you go. he’s never going to stop trying for you. he’s a stubborn bastard, and a stubborn bastard is even worse when they’re in love - which kaz is. disastrously, madly in love.”

“he said we were nothing.”

“he’s a stubborn and prideful bastard.”

you close your eyes, heart thumping. “i don’t know what to do, inej.”

“well, do you love him back?”

your eyes fly open. “what kind of question is that?”

she shrugs. “an obvious one, but i want to know the answer.”

you know the answer. your brain screams it at you. you have felt the answer in your bones every day since you left the barrel, and yet speaking it aloud feels like a betrayal of yourself from yourself.

so you look away, and as inej always claims, she can see exactly what you’re thinking.

a soft chuckle slips past her lips. “the barrel never leaves a person, y/n. and apparently, neither does kaz brekker.”

“what are you suggesting?”

inej shrugs. “kaz and i are leaving for ketterdam in the morning. there’s definitely room for a third person.”

----

you don’t sleep that night. neither does kaz.

you can hear him pacing back and forth in his room, no doubt replaying the days events over and over in his mind in the same way you are. his hands against your skin, his eyes piercing your own, those words he spoke that left you tingling all over.

even now, laying in bed, you can’t get over what he said. i love you. that was the jidst of it, and though you had heard that confession from him a few times in the past, it was different this time around. it was kaz trying to prove himself, which he never did before. if someone didn’t take kaz at face value, he wouldn’t bother.

and you have to admit, hearing him say those words was like a shot to the chest. they are the very words that have been on the tip of your tongue for months now, spoken only in dreams when you finally allow yourself to sleep. you can say them to no one else - just kaz. always, always just kaz.

and maybe this realisation is the reason you find yourself getting dressed at six in the morning. maybe this realisation is the reason you pack all your things into the ruck sack you came to the palace with. maybe this realisation is the reason you tip-toe to the courtyard, avoiding the eyes of the staff who all look at you like you’re some kind of prisoner escaping your cell.

it’s still dark. the grass is wet beneath your thin shoes, the jacket you have pulled on doing little to protect you from the icy winds coming from the ocean just feet away from the palace’s front door. hovering on the banks is a boat, a boat you recognise as The Mast, one of the many boats kaz has won from different people around ketterdam.

you nearly cry at the sight of it.

you don’t waste time waiting on kaz and inej - you don’t want to have this discussion with either of them until you’re safely on the water, until you can’t change your mind.

you clamber onto the boat, giving a sheepish smile to the stunned crew member - Daryl, you think he’s called - as he stares at you approaching. he offers you a hand when you finally reach the deck, his eyes never leaving your own.

“morning,” you say. “i’m y/n.”

“i know,” daryl replies, before tipping his hat. “it’s wonderful to have you back on board.”

you smile awkwardly, unsure how to respond; how much do the crew actually know about what happened between you and the crows? how many people bore witness to that god awful aftermath?

you decide not to wait around to hear the answer. instead, you tell daryl you’re going down to the cabins, and he doesn’t argue. you disappear beneath the deck, finding the first room with a bed and immediately claiming it as your own; despite the lack of sleep, you are not tired in the slightest. you can’t get kaz out of your head, how he is going to react when the boat eventually docks and he sees you strolling off of it, greeted by that rancid ketterdam air. back in the barrel.

you lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. you will fall asleep eventually. you’ll trick yourself into it.

and then the door opens.

your eyes snap open with it; you must have fallen asleep eventually. groggily, you lift your head and look at the intruder - and your heart immediately falls.

“kaz.”

he looks crazed, hair stuck up, eyes wild. behind him stands inej, grinning from ear to ear, though the minute kaz steps into the room, she disappears into the shadows, leaving you and dirtyhands alone.

his eyes never leave yours as he approaches. he marches to your bedside, grabs your hand and pulls you up.

“kaz-”

he shoves you against the wall, gun pressed to your temple. you inhale sharply, though you can’t claim to be surprised or scared. you stare into his eyes, watching his own trace your features, looking for any sign that you are here in bad company.

“kaz,” you whisper, because it’s always his name that fights past your lips. “it’s me. i’m going home.”

his grip slackens. the gun crashes to the floor, and before you can say anything, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. you are careful to rest your head upon his shoulder, not touching his flesh, but feeling him nonetheless. tears spring to your eyes, dribbling down the bridge of your nose and soaking the shoulder of his fancy suede jacket - one he stole from the kings wardrobe, you notice.

but you don’t pull away, afraid to go without his touch for another second.

“is this what you want?” he asks, voice muffled by your hair. “is this really what you’ve decided?”

“yes.” you pull away, hands sliding down his arms. “you’re right, kaz. the barrel is . . . it’s a shit hole, but it’s where i belong. it’s all i know. and you and me. . . we have to do this thing together.”

he narrows his eyes. “what thing?”

“everything.”

the corners of his mouth twitch. you can imagine kissing those lips, drawing him close and embracing in that way lovers often do. however, you’re content, happy even, with the way things are. you hold his gloved hands, and he says he loves you. you confide in him, and he confides in you, and sometimes you fight like children, but in the end, he will have your back no matter what.

“everything,” he repeats. “yeah.” he slips his gloved hands into the sleeve of your jacket, tracing his fingers along your crow tattoo, the one he matched, the one everyone matched when they decided to let the barrel take them over. you shiver, biting your lower lip. “you still have it.”

“i could hardly get rid of it,” you reply. kaz looks up, and you sigh. “i would never get rid of it, kaz. no matter what.”

he nods, rolling your sleeve back down. he pulls it over your wrist, covering your fingers before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the soft, rain soaked fabric.

he looks up at you again. “yes. no matter what.”

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker fanfic #soc #soc fanfic #kaz brekker fic #kaz brekker fanfiction #soc fanfiction #soc fic #six of crows #six of crows fanfic #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows fic

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itsmoonpeaches · 3 years

Text

Rainy Days

Story summary: "Where's Aang?" asked Katara. She twisted the water out of her hair, letting out a satisfied breath when the last of it trickled to the tiled ground of the overly opulent mansion that she, Sokka, Toph, and Aang were forced to stay in for the next few days.

Or, Katara finds Aang in the rain.

Word count: 925

Written for @kataangisforlovers who loves rainy Kataang :) A ficlet part of the ficlet collection, Little Moments. Read on ao3.

"Where's Aang?" asked Katara. She twisted the water out of her hair, letting out a satisfied breath when the last of it trickled to the tiled ground of the overly opulent mansion that she, Sokka, Toph, and Aang were forced to stay in for the next few days.

The residents of Gaoling were used to luxury and living in the same town as the wealthy Beifong family, and their affluence only added to their baffling need to cater to the whims of the powerful.

Surrounded by the great mountains of the Southern Earth Kingdom, it was no wonder that it was difficult for the Fire Nation to touch them and their citizens while the war was still raging on. Though it did not remain unaffected by the conflict.

Hundreds of Gaoling's people were sent out to the front. The rich supplied their assets and remained behind, trying to keep their way of life alive by creating a bubble of safety around the town.

However, the war met its end. While that was a good thing for the world, its absence left a sense of a sudden loss of purpose. The soldiers returned home as war heroes, their people celebrating them.

In the town of Gaoling, this led to an economic surplus. Veterans built larger homes, hired more people. The town was booming. Except, the structures they built began to creep up the valley on slopes no one had bothered to test for over a hundred years.

The monsoons that hit them during the changing seasons caused landslide after landslide. The damage was too much for one town alone, and when Aang heard of the problem, they decided to help.

Katara was tired from a long day of waterbending and assisting with controlling the unbelievable amount of mud that had buried buildings. She had hoped to return to their apartments and find Aang. After a long day, she wanted nothing more than to sit on the couch with a cup of hot tea and spend time with him.

Sokka frowned and shrugged in reply. "He came back here with Toph thirty minutes ago," he said. "Toph went back to her room to pass out. Aang said he was going to go out with Appa."

Katara lifted an eyebrow. "In this rain?" she questioned, surprised. "Are you sure?"

Sokka nodded.

She turned to glance back at the windows that framed the walnut door behind her. It was pouring outside, and the sky was covered in clouds. A heavy feeling of dread sank to her stomach.

Without much thought she said, "I'm going out to look for him," and rushed back out the door.

She barely heard her brother yelling after her when the door slammed shut. She found herself sprinting through rain and splashing through mud. She lifted a hand above her head and bended the droplets away from her.

She called for Aang; her words drowned out by the downpour. She searched for what must have been over an hour when she heard a low roar.

"Appa!" she shouted, running toward a narrow cave entrance at the side of the valley. It was surrounded by upturned trees and a forest at the edge of developing properties.

The bison's black nose peeked out from behind a cave wall, and she made her way inside.

There in the far corner, his back to her, was Aang. He sat near a smoldering fire. The shadow of rain reflected on his clothes and skin.

Katara stopped just at the entrance. Her clothes were dripping wet. She made a small step forward.

"Aang?" she started, "What are you doing here? You should be inside."

He turned to her with a slow grace, eyes downcast. "Hi, Katara," he said. "You didn't have to come find me."

It was in that moment that she knew something was wrong. She came to him, crouching so that they were at eye level. He was so much taller than her now. She had to kneel.

"Yes, I did," she whispered. Her hands took ahold of his clammy ones. "What's wrong?"

Behind her, Appa groaned sadly. Aang sighed. He could not meet her eyes. "I just..." He took a shuddering breath and looked at her. His gray eyes sparkled. "It rained so hard today and then...It just reminded me. I was reminded that today is the anniversary of when I ran away in that storm."

Perhaps it was the resounding quiet with nothing other than the steady sound of the pitter-patter of rain. Their breaths were the heartbeat that kept the silence alive. Perhaps it was the way Aang looked so defeated after a day of helping people, even after a day that was full of so much joy.

Whatever it was brought Katara to her senses. She squeezed Aang's hands and said, "C'mon."

She tugged him to his feet.

"Wha—"

"We're going outside!" she laughed.

She pulled him, dragging him past the mouth of the cave, and soon they were both soaked. She held his hands and she spun them in a circle, all the while Aang blinked with confusion.

She stopped, grinning at him. "Let's make a good memory," she offered, "one that makes the rain something happy for you."

Aang's face brightened. "Okay," he said. He leaned forward to kiss her.

Katara beamed when they pulled away. "Dance with me," she insisted, the smile on her face widening.

He placed a hand on the crook of her waist and the curtains of rain fell around them, encircling them in strings of glimmering diamonds.

#itsmoonpeaches ficlets #ficlet #kataang #kataangtag #katara #aang #atla #atla fanfic #avatar #avatar the last airbender #sokka

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pleasantanathema · 4 years

Text

After Hours

Fandom: BNHA

Rating: Explicit

Characters: Endeavor/Enji Todoroki

Tags: size kink, daddy kink, fem!reader, rough sex, dirty talk, choking, biting, bruising, dominate Endeavor

Word Count: ~7k

The night sky was dark with an approaching storm, lightening shimmering in the distance, still too far away for thunder to be heard. Endeavor’s cold, expansive office was filled with shadows. Red lights from the streets below were cast up into the colossal windows. A fight had broken out just below the agency, and with the heroes gone for the day, the police had arrived, lights flashing from red to blue as they pieced together what happened. Your fingers pressed against the cold glass, watching the scenes in the distance as you pondered your own situations.

Endeavor was on the phone behind you, elbow on his desk as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. You gripped the report tucked into your arms that was waiting for his eyes only. His voice behind you was hushed like smoldering coals, breath husky and tired from a long day. You closed your eyes for a moment, imagining what his voice would sound like against your hair, whispered hotly against your neck.

You’d worked for Endeavor as a hero in his agency for well over a year now, and from the very beginning he made it evident that he valued you a little differently than his other heroes and sidekicks.

You noticed rather early in your career at the Endeavor Agency that the man in charge was very attentive to you. At first, you assumed it was because you were young and inexperienced, and that he was accompanying you on raids and missions in order to be a hand to hold. However, you learned rather quickly that he—the number one hero—was with you because he was impressed. He liked to watch you in action, to feel your power like he was experiencing an exhibition of a quirk that he hand-picked for his agency. Soon, you were his official sidekick, and he wanted you by his side on every mission. He desired to always have you within an arm’s reach, quite literally…because Endeavor loved to touch you.

His touches started out innocently enough. At first, it was a brush of his amazingly large fingers as he passed you, skimming across your upper arm and sending unexpected shivers down your body. Then it was a hand on your shoulder during press conferences, thumb circling over your skin. Soon, it was whenever he pleased: a hand on your lower back as you stood next to him, a tug on your hip when he wanted you closer, or to move you out of his way, a palm against your knee when he sat next to you. He even became tactile with you during missions. He would jerk you out of the way of a villain’s reach, hands lingering longer than they needed to, and he even pulled you behind him by your hand, becoming an actual hand to hold during hero work.

Lightening flashed closer in the sky, thunder finally booming and jolting you from your thoughts. You shook your head, trying to make sense of the feelings that were starting to bloom within your gut. You loved how he touched you, even to the point of reciprocating with a few well-placed hands of your own. You wanted morethan those simple touches, but Enji was a hard man to read. It was questionable as to what his touches meant; they could be innocuous, possessive, lusty, you had no fucking idea.

A gruff sigh sounded behind you as Endeavor ended his phone call, his gravelly words fading into the shadows of the office. You peered over your shoulder, catching the flaming gaze across the room.

“Come here.”

You complied, speaking as you strolled towards his desk, “These came for you earlier today from the Commission. Apparently they have a whole new villain case that they want you to take over.”

His fingers brushed over yours as you handed him the sealed envelope. The exceptionally large man leaned back in his office chair, eyeing you as you took a seat on the corner of his desk.

“Figures,” he scoffed, “I never get to have much fun anymore.”

He flipped through the pages of the document hastily, tossing the packet onto the desk with disdain after a few moments. He stretched his arms behind his head, muscles rolling underneath his simmering hero suit. The flames were low, barely noticeable, and the embers around his lips and chin extinguished. He kept the flames burning around his eyes. And those eyes were focused on you.

Endeavor had been examining you for months, testing to see if you’d run from him, from his touch. Only a few times had you shied away from him, perhaps just surprised that he was touching you at all, or maybe even scared. He was twice your size, he expected you to be a little afraid. But now he had a sense that you wanted him, wanted his touch, and he wanted to give it to you. For months he had been lusting over you, desperate to deepen his touch on your skin, to learn what you felt like underneath your hero costume.

And now he had you alone, after hours.

And his resolve was fading, instincts kicking in to finally claim you. No more lousy touches and stolen glances, he had waited long enough. He knew since the moment he hired you that he wanted you, you were perfect: powerful but obedient, clever but not quarrelsome, strong but small, oh so smallcompared to him. He loved small, delicate things, and you had become his favorite.

The flame hero stood from his chair, body dwarfing your own. You remained on his desk, legs crossed and neck craning to look at him as he leaned over you. His palms were flat on the wooden surface, muscular arms caging you in like prey. Your heart trembled in your chest.

“I think I deserve to have some fun, don’t you?”

He smirked wickedly, eyes of ice flashing with mischief behind their mask of flames.

“Of course.”

You smiled at him, tongue darting across your upper lip like an invitation.

He leaned closer, his flames dangerously close to your skin as he dipped his lips to your neck.

“Have any ideas?”

You closed your eyes, your fantasy of feeling his fiery breath on your skin coming to life. You had so many answers to his question, yet not a single one fell from your lips. What if they weren’t what he was looking for?

“I’m sure whatever you have in mind—” you gasped loudly as his mouth began to pepper your neck with calescent kisses, “—will be enjoyable.” You moaned the last word, head falling back to allow Endeavor more access to your skin.

His hands enveloped your waist, fingers overlapping behind your back.

You had never been more aware of how much larger he was than you. You were like a doll perched on his desk, being held upright only by his will. He was powerful, no, beyond that, he was the most powerful man, and he had you within the palms of his hands. You felt tiny, weak against the deeply corded muscle of the number one hero.

He pressed against your crossed your legs, urging them apart. You obeyed his silent command, spreading your legs and allowing an enormous thigh to press against your core.

“Would you like to hear what I have in mind?”

His breath felt like steam against your neck. One of his big hands snaked up your body, brushing over the curve of your breast.

“Yes,” you whimpered, mind clouding with lust.

“First, I want you out of this goddamn hero suit,” his fingers dug into the material of your costume, his underlying strength threatening to rip the threads, “then, I’m going to taste you, every last inch of you.”

His lips left your neck, heat licking at your cheeks as he came to catch your gaze once more. Your irises flickered across his face, tracing the line of his alluring battle scar. Your vision was nearly engulfed by the orange tinted flames around his eyes as his mouth came to hover over your own.

“Do you like the sound of that, little girl?”

Hot waves tingled across your body at his words.

“Yes…yes, please, Endeavor.”

A growl emitted from his chest at the sound of his hero name. His mouth consumed yours with a scorching kiss, lips moving with a ferocity that made your hands grip his arms just to keep from falling back. You unabashedly moaned against him, his kiss emboldening you to give in to your desires for him. He was unbearably hot, his bright flames dancing outside your closed eyelids like the sun. You parted your lips for him before he even asked. He grinned against your lips, tongue invading your mouth like it already belonged to him. His tongue was hot and heavy, languid against your own as he easily dominated the expanse of your mouth. You tightened your grip on his arms, nails biting into his costume as you attempted to pull him closer.

He indulged you, hands sliding back down your body to wrap firmly around your bottom. You moaned again when he pulled you flush against his thigh. His firm barrel chest now pressed against your own, his whole body engulfing you as he continued his heated assault upon your lips.

You became brave, tongue daring to lap against his lips as you both pulled away for a momentary breath. A small grunt left his throat as you slid your tongue into his mouth when your lips reconnected. He tasted like a foreign spice, like he was exotic but also off-limits. The flavor of him reminded you just who you were kissing. Endeavor was your boss, your superior, the most powerful man in the country, yet there you sat with your ass in his giant hands, tongues tangled as you soaked up the taste of one another.

“Up,” he muttered against your lips, not wanting to let go of your mouth just yet, “strip for me.”

He stepped back, leaving you neglected against the desk. You found yourself wanting to follow his heat, wanting more of him, but you knew better than to disobey a command from Endeavor.

You stepped to the side of the desk, pulling at the sewn-in zipper at the back of your hero costume. He cleared his throat, bringing your attention back to him as you began to peel off your suit. He was doing the same, hands following the same pattern as your own. When you released an arm from it confines, so did he, when you bent down to remove your boots, so did he. He shadowed every movement, flickering eyes never leaving your small frame. You couldn’t help but smirk in delight as he revealed the most beautifully trained muscles from underneath that indigo suit. You took your time, keeping your eyes on him as you began to uncover more of yourself. You took care to remove the bottom of your costume quite slowly, wanting to drink in the sight of his heavenly muscles thighs and calves; his legs were long and deliciously thick, muscles firm and swelling against his skin.

“You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?” His deep voice pulled you back to his face. He stood across from you in only his dark colored boxer briefs, eyes still flaming. He was like the titan Prometheus, cunning and clever and tempting you with the gift of fire.

You were now before him in only your underwear, your breasts and nearly entire body exposed for him to observe. But still, you were confident, hands coming to your hips as you evaluated his question.

“Of course I have. Haven’t you?”

The smirk that played upon your lips didn’t go unnoticed.

“Go lay on the rug, let me show you what I think about.”

Inquiries swirled within your brain, but you didn’t question his demand. You walked around his desk, attention now pulled to the plush carpet between your toes. How many times had you stood on this rug? How many times had you absentmindedly admired the pattern, tracing the muted colors with your eyes as your boss tittered at you from behind his desk? His figure cast an imposing shadow in the room as he followed behind you, like a vile of ink spread across the floor, ready to stain your skin as you laid upon it. A flash of lightening painted the room for an instant, light reflecting on your skin as you settled on your back in front of the couches in his office. Thunder rumbled and rain began to fall steadily against the floor to ceiling windows.

Enji wasted no time, immediately covering your petite body with his gigantic physique upon the floor. He kept himself propped on an elbow as he kissed you again, teeth nipping at your lower lip. The weight of his body was heavy between your spread hips. You moaned and arched your back as his other hand glided across your exposed skin. He cupped an enormous hand around your breast, fingers tugging at your hardening nipple. He rolled your soft flesh in his hand, bouncing your breast to feel the weight of it within his palm. He chuckled at how you responded to him, every touch earning him a delighted moan or gasp from your lips.

His fingers were spread so wide upon your chest that they were threading between your ribs. He daringly gripped you a little too tightly, fingers bruising into your skin. You gasped into his mouth, swooning at his underlying power.

“Fuck,” you hissed out against his lips, eyes opening only to see the flare of his flames dip down to your chest, mouth abandoning yours.

“You like that, huh?” He squeezed you again, this time lower on your waist, fingers bruising into your hips. The sinful sound that came from your mouth answered his question. He chuckled, “I knew you would.”

His words had you blushing, cheek turning to rest against the rug. He had been thinking about this, about you, about teasing you, about what you would like. The realization had you burning, and not just from his heat. A deep vein of your own inner heat was opening up within your lower stomach, wetness pooling between your thighs.

Endeavor enveloped your other breast within the warmth of his mouth. Your mouth fell open again as you whined for him, desperate for more. His tongue swirled around the peaked bud of your nipple, his hand returning to mimic the actions of his mouth upon your other breast. Your hips pressed up against his firm body, reacting wantonly to his touch. He groaned against the sensitive skin, gooseflesh trickling down your sides. His lips left your nipple, only to be placed on the top curve of your breast. He sucked at the soft flesh roughly, causing you to jump at the sudden influx of pain and pleasure. He growled, biting at your breast, littering it with dark red and purple bruises. It was like you could feel the blood vessels bursting one by one under his lips, dark colors blooming just for him.

The flames around his brow were dangerously close to the skin of your chest, the sweltering warmth making you feel like you were melting into the white and black design of his expensive rug.

Soon he abandoned your breasts, leaving one glistening with his too hot saliva. He trailed open mouthed kisses down your stomach and to your thighs. He sucked at the juncture of your thigh, leaving another dark bruise in your skin as he slipped your underwear down your legs. You kicked them off impatiently, too caught up in him to worry about where they landed. His arms now rested against the carpet, giant hands wrapping around your thighs, keeping you spread before him.

Hot breath licked between your wet folds and your head fell back listlessly, fingers gripping the fibers of the carpet. You felt his fingers press harder into the skin of your thighs, and you found yourself wanting to call out his name.

“En—”

You stopped short. Endeavor? Enji? Sir? You weren’t entirely sure what to call him, what would please him.

He could sense your trepidation, heated eyes flickering up your body from between your legs.

“What…” you trailed off breathlessly, “which name do you prefer?”

He chuckled darkly, sinfully against your flesh. He took a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating scent of your wet cunt before him.

“Daddy.”

He punctuated his statement by licking a long, hot stripe up your aching pussy.

“Yes, daddy!” You cried out, hands leaving the rug and instead threading through your hair in a vain effort to keep yourself from falling off the edge of the world and into oblivion.

Enji repeated the motion with his tongue, fulfilling his own fantasy of tasting you. He languidly stroked his tongue along your folds, flames flickering across your thighs. Your legs quivered in his hands, mostly from pleasure, but partially from fear of his hell flames hovering over your most sensitive skin. You knew that he had immaculate control over his quirk, but still the rippling heat had you trembling like a villain at the feel of Endeavor’s flames.

But your fear was nearly forgotten when his tongue began to toy with that familiar bundle of nerves. Your back arched once more, eyes opening at the rush of pleasure that sizzled down your spine. He rolled your clit with his tongue expertly, pace hastening only slightly. He was still taking his time, savoring the way your body reacted to him. A coil began to tighten within your lower stomach, that vein of heat beginning to fissure. Each stroke of his tongue was calculated and deliberate; he paid attention to the sounds you made for him, continuing motions that earned him moans or trembles. Fuck he was talented.

“You taste so good,” he rumbled against your pussy.

“Fuck,” your mind was reeling at his words, “thank you, daddy.”

“You’re always such a good girl…”

He slithered a hand from your one of your thighs, bringing it to skim along the outer lips of your pussy. You could feel your heart beating within your chest, sweat beginning to bead at the nape of your neck from a mixture of pleasure and heat. He spread your pussy with his thick fingers, admiring the view before him. He had imagined what your cunt looked like; he had even fantasized about this very moment, having you spread before him in his office, allowing him to touch you in any way he pleased. He groaned as he prodded a finger at your tight entrance, realizing that your pussy was far more perfect than he ever imagined.

His index finger slipped inside of you, and he marveled over the tightness of your inner muscles. A high-pitched sound came from your throat, stars clouding the edge of your vision at the immense bliss coursing from between your legs.

“How does that feel, baby?” His lips skated against your pussy with every word.

“Amazing…please, please, give me more.”

He chuckled at your pleading, pumping his heavy finger into you. He curled it just right, finding that fleshy spot within you that had delectable jolts signaling down your body.

A second finger soon accompanied the first, the wide digits spreading you delightfully. You felt his other hand clutch your thigh more tightly, settling it upon his broad shoulder. Once again, his pace was calculated, fingers pleasurably systematic within you. You moaned at every twist and plunge. Your gaze was caught within the prisms of the giant chandelier that hung above you. With every shudder of your body, you felt like the light caught within the glass moved with you. You were becoming lost in a sea of ecstasy. You were completely entranced by the colossal man between your legs, your mind so focused on him that it seemed like the stars within your vision had become real. Your senses were heightened to pick up on every move of his body, every hot breath against your core, every lick of his flames against your overly heated skin.

Enji had you teetering on the edge of euphoria.

“Daddy…” you panted out, the taboo of the name further igniting the blaze brewing within your stomach. He heard your cry, mouth returning to your clit. You felt like you were going to melt away at his touch, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable. His thick, long fingers were stroking your velvety walls just perfectly, each plunge feeling deeper and deeper than before. His tongue was swift, lapping dreamily against you, each swipe and swirl making you shiver.

But as soon as you felt like you were about to fall off the orgasmic edge, he slowed down, the raging hot sea ebbing away like the tides returning to the ocean. You were left squirming beneath him. The smirk you felt against your folds told you that he was purposely denying you your pleasure. But he didn’t disappoint for long, managing to slide a third finger into you. His actions had you panting again, body begging for release against his face. Your hips began to buck against his chin. He responded by using his other hand to press one of your hips down into the rug brutally, his grip making you hiss with pain.

It dawned on you that even now, as hewas pleasuring you, licking and stroking your cunt so expertly, he was reminding you of his control. Eating you out was for his pleasure first, yours second. It was an act of power. The realization had you withering in pleasure against the ornamental rug.

His three fingers were nearly idle within you now, his tongue so languid it felt like it was resting against your clit.

“Daddy, Enji, please, please, let me cum.”

Two of his fingers curled within you.

“Tell me, have you thought about cuming on my face before?”

His question had your ears burning in embarrassment, your own fingers knotting in your hair as you debated what to say.

He tempted you with another thrust of his fingers, the resounding pleasure making you whimper.

“Yes.”

Your admission had him chuckling again. In response, he set a rough pace with his fingers, shoving them into you and making you scream out for him. You were climbing up that orgasmic mountain again, even quicker than before. Still, his hold upon your hips kept you from doing anything to be able to reach the top yourself.

“Oh you naughty little girl…” the primal sound of his deep voice was like kindling to your euphoric fire. You just need a little more, just another strong push and you’d be there. It was like he could feel the coil tightening in your stomach again, ready to explode as soon as he pulled the trigger. He smirked, taking the time to look over you. He watched your delicious breasts bounce with every plunge of his fingers, noticed the beads of sweat dripping down your supple skin. He admired how pretty your pussy was and how it so perfectly stretched around his huge fingers.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” your cries came with every thrust. Fuck, you were the perfect picture, everything even more incredible than he had ever imagined it to be. The sound of that name spilling from your lips had his cock aching within its confines, his teeth clenching as he restrained himself from hammering his fingers into your pussy just to watch you break for him.

He finally complied with your wishes, bringing his tongue back to your forgotten clit. The feeling of being so stretched around his fingers, of his sweltering tongue swirling around your clit, of his flames dancing across your skin, it was all too much. But also just enough.

You absolutely shattered around him, thighs quivering and your pussy spasming, your orgasm flooding all of your senses. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like you were blissfully trapped within the flames that surrounded his person. He stopped his ministrations, electing to watch you unfold for him. He could see the muscles within your lower stomach contracting, could feel your orgasm upon his fingers, slick coating them in gentle waves. Your chest heaved as you came down from your high. He silently vowed to make you orgasm again, and so desperately he wanted to feel that heavenly explosion around his cock.

You opened your eyes, the tears within them making the chandelier above you look like a mass of twinkling fireworks. Rain splashed against the windows, and now, free from your haze, you could hear the raging storm that was happening outside of your body.

“Holy fuck,” you whispered to yourself.

He heard you and smirked, lifting himself from the floor.

Enji Todoroki stood above you like a colossal god, hand outstretched to help one of his faithful. You took the offering graciously, unsurprised to find your legs a little unsteady as you came to your feet.

He pulled you into his massive body, your chest dwarfed by his own. Everything about him was so divinely built. Just the sight of him had the pool of lust boiling within you again.

“Now come sit on daddy’s lap.”

He sat down before you, magnificent arms slung across the back of the one of the couches in his office. He looked wide and intimidating with his arms and legs spread, flames igniting higher as he laid his eyes back on you.

You steadied yourself by holding on to his massive shoulders as you straddled him. Your slick was sticky on your heated thighs, legs quivering slightly as you dared to stretch across the wide expanse of his lap. His heavy hands encircled your hips, the too warm skin of his chest pressing against your own. Your small hands slid to his neck, fingers tangling in the dark red hair at the nape.

Your eyes met and you were surprised to see the bright flames simmer away, puffs of smoke the only traces of their existence. Vivid blue eyes were soft against the harsh lines of his face. His scar was older now, more pinkish than red, but still a symbol of his heroism, still an outside representation of his inside scars. Curiosity mad you want to run your fingers along the jagged edge, but his hand seized your own in a tight grip as it neared his cheek. He watched your pretty eyes flicker across his face, looking to see if they held fear. Instead, within your expression, he found reverence and warmth. Lust coiled within him hotter than it ever had. He had truly found the perfect little submissive, one who could worship him.

“Tell me what you want.”

Such a simple, authoritative command.

He expected your momentary silence. He leaned forward, lips kissing and nipping at the column of your throat. You moaned, mind still fluttering in a post-orgasmic haze, trying to connect the right words.

“I want…”

Your head lulled back as he sucked at your neck, undoubtedly breaking flesh and leaving more bruises in his wake.

“I want to be yours,” you admitted.

“You’re already mine.”

His words were sharp, punctuated with another rough bite to your skin, this time on your shoulder. He peered down at the bruises he left on your breast, hand returning to the marred flesh. The sweet moan that spilled from your lips had him wishing he could brand his fucking name into your skin—maybe one day he would.

“I want you to fuck me,” one of his fingers was trailing around your nipple, diminutive flames spreading from his fingertip, “fuck, please fuck me, Enji.”

A deep growl erupted from his large chest. He almost liked hearing his given name fall from your mouth more than daddy…almost. Next time he’d let you call him Enji, but tonight was about claiming you, asserting control.

He wrapped a firm hand around your throat. You gasped at the ferocity of his fingers as they pressed in into the already bruising flesh. He tilted your head to catch his gaze again.

“That’s not my name, little girl.”

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

“You better be,” he hissed, “I don’t like a brat.”

You nodded your head the best you could, feeling his strong fingers flex against your neck.

His other hand slipped between your bodies, fist curling around his boxer briefs as he quickly set them aflame to get them out of the way. The look in his eyes told you that he was done being patient; what was coming next wouldn’t be as gentle as how he treated you in the floor, not that you would necessarily call that gentle. You shivered at the blaze that came and went below your body, still somehow astounded by his intricate control of his quirk.

Now that the fabric holding him was burned away, ashes seeping into the cushions of the couch, you could feel his hot, throbbing cock against your belly. He was unbelievably hard, his vast length standing at full attention against the dark, red hair of his stomach. You were sure that no other cock could compare to his in size; you felt your inner muscles clench just at the sight of him. His girth was ample, with prominent veins protruding from the underside. You worried for a moment that you couldn’t take it all, but the dribbling slick between your thighs made you hopeful. No wonder he had been so diligent in making you cum; if you hadn’t, you feared that you wouldn’t have been able to fit all of that wide cock within you.

“Like what you see?” He quipped, making a blush creep across your cheeks as you returned your gaze to his.

“Holy fuck…will you fit?”

He chuckled, using his grip on your neck to bring your lips to his for a quick, searing kiss. He fisted his cock, pumping it as he groaned into your mouth. He released your lips, angling his head so he could see where to position your hips over his length.

“I promise, baby, I’ll fit.”

Enji kept a consistent pressure on your hip with his strong hand, guiding you. The thick head of his cock began to press against your tight slit, prodding your lips apart as the swollen flesh slipped into your heat. You gasped, attempting to look down as he continued to gradually spear you onto his cock, but the thumb nestled at the juncture of your jaw and neck flexed upwards, keeping your eyes on his face. His eyes were soft, lips pressed together as he kept his composure. He was battling to keep himself from slamming into you; your velvet walls were like the rapture taking him up into heaven. But you were so small, so fragile in comparison to his body, and it was best not to break you.

Your body was half way down his cock when you felt like you couldn’t take anymore. You were so full, your entire heat crowded by his own, your thighs quivering against his hold. You attempted to push your hips down, to suck his cock into you in one swift motion to get the discomfort over with, but his grip wouldn’t allow it. He kept you steady, your eyes locked onto his as he eased you down onto him.

But soon Endeavor wavered. He looked down between your bodies, watching his impressive cock spread you apart. A primal sound left his throat as the hand on your hip slid to your stomach, deft fingers tracing the visible outline of his cock. The sight had his eyes closing and his head dipping back at the overwhelming pleasure. He grumbled profanities, his thumb petting your throat tenderly when you whimpered. He couldn’t take any more waiting.

“Fuck…” your name was heavy against his tongue.

Aggressively, he lifted his hips and plunged the remaining length of him into you. You cried out, a tear falling down to the apple of your cheek as you stretched around such a thick, powerful cock. He shushed you, hand on your stomach moving to your lower back, encouraging you to rock within his lap. You followed his lead, swallowing against the anchor of his fist around your throat. You mewled softly, eyes closing, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth.

Pain soon dissipated into scorching pleasure, your mouth falling open at that indescribable feeling of being so fucking full. The head of his cock was fat and firm, and now nestled against your cervix. Every soft roll of your hips had the ridge of his cock sliding just a few inches inside of you, making you feel more stuffed every time you came back down to rest against his thighs. With every subtle movement you felt the entirety of his monstrous cock; the veins were hot and throbbing, skin heated and silken within you.

Rhythmic moans began to pour from your lips, the vibrations tingling against his massive hand around your neck. Your beautiful sounds were all the invitation that Enji needed to begin properly fucking you. He used the leverage of his hands on your body to move you up and down his length, pace quickening with every new thrust.

“Oh daddy,” you moaned lewdly, unable to control yourself as hot waves of bliss washed over your body. His fingertips dug into your hip forcibly, using you like a pretty little cocksleeve.

“You like this, little girl? Like being stuffed full with daddy’s cock?”

“Fuck, yes!” You cried out, body now bouncing vigorously against his own.

Your eyes fluttered open at all the sudden movements, head lulling up to catch the glorious sight of Enji Todoroki with his head still against the couch. His neck was the thickest you had ever seen, droplets of sweat swimming down the intense sinews of skin. His broad shoulders were rolling like a predator’s, the muscles in the arm bound to your neck were straining beautifully against his skin. Your fingers slipped from his shoulders to his chest, feeling the power of his hard pectoral muscles. He continued to pound into your pussy and you found your fingernails dragging against his thick skin. He growled in response to the sharp pain, picking his head up to look at you.

“I’m going to mark you up for everyone to see.”

His voice was cruel. He applied more pressure to your throat, making your head swim at the lack of oxygen. You gasped, feeling more slick gush from inside of you and onto his cock at the stinging sensation.

He began thrusting his hips up into you, the rhythm of your bodies intensifying more than you ever thought was possible. He was so powerful, so dominant with your body, all you could do was try to breath against the hand choking you as his massive hips slapped into you.

His mouth returned to your skin as he pulled you forwards, crushing you into his chest, thumb dangerously close to the center of your throat now. He suckled at your shoulder, biting and teasing your flesh with his tongue. He littered your skin with his marks, the purple and blue blooms matching the prominent bruises he left on your breasts earlier. Little high-pitched sounds were all you could make as he fucked you so mercilessly. Your nails dug deeper into his skin, drawing rivulets of blood to the surface. The crimson liquid blended into the downy red hairs of his chest.

“Daddy…” you attempted to apologize, but the lack of oxygen flow had your mind going numb. You gasped almost painfully against his chokehold. Immediately, he released you, hands smoothing down your sides and pulling you back so he could watch you breathe. His pace slowed, but his hips still continuously bucked into you. You took several deep breaths, fingers splaying against his broad chest.

“Look at you,” he groaned, hand returning to your neck to skim across the dark bruises forming below the surface in perfect alignment with his hand print, “now everyone will know who you belong to.”

His words lit a fire in your core. Even with his cock filling you to the brim, you wanted to feel more of him, you wanted everything that the most powerful man could give you.

With your neck released, you found more agency in your movements. You began to bounce on his cock, matching his thrusts. He groaned as your hands moved to his upper arms, fingers leaving small prints on his skin from the drying blood you had pulled from his chest. Though the smudges were not enduring, they were your still your own imprints upon him.

“You’re mine, baby, mine. You’ve been mine.” He growled.

A sense of possessiveness washed over you as he began to grunt in pattern with his thrusts. You squeezed your thighs against his, your cunt thumping with euphoria with every plunge of his cock. You pressed a hot kiss against his lips, catching his sounds with your mouth and echoing them back with your own moans of pleasure.

“I’m yours,” you resounded against his lips, “fuck yes I’m yours, yours, yours.”

Because being his implied that Enji was now yours.

Each word was punctuated with a heavy thrust of his cock into your pussy, continually stretching you far beyond your limits. Your palms skimmed up his massive arms, shoulders, and neck, resting against the handsome curve of his cheeks.

You could feel the marred skin of his scar underneath your palm, reminding of who you were fucking. Your intimate maneuver had him panting against your lips. He began to slam his cock into you harder than ever before, making you whine incessantly against him.

You were climbing the orgasmic ladder again, aided by the sublime feel of his crushing hands upon your waist, his vast chest against your own, rough lips pulling you into him, and his thick, repetitive cock drumming into you. The stars began to align behind your eyes as you kissed him more fervently, your small hands keeping him against your mouth.

“Cum in me, daddy,” you pleaded between kisses, “please, I need to feel you cum in me.”

The unholy sound that came from within his chest would’ve scared you, had you not been riding his enormous cock. He fisted a hand in your hair, tugging at the strands but not pulling you away from his ardent kiss. His other hand returned to your stomach, pressing into your bulging skin to better feel where his cock was pumping into you.

“Keep begging, little girl,” he directed.

“God, I need your cum, fucking cum in me so I can cum all over your big cock.”

Your mind was on sensory overload, your body uncontrollably bucking against him, begging for another release. You could feel your walls clenching around his delicious cock. The way the wide head was brushing against your walls, repeatedly stroking all the right spots, had your toes curling against the sofa in pure delight. His big fingers were sinking between your bruised ribs again, thrillingly squeezing you with every shove of his cock into your body. God you were so close, so fucking close, all you needed was for him to allow you to go over the edge.

“Say my name,” he commanded against your mouth, “my real name.”

The sound of his voice had you at the apex of your pleasure.

“Enji! Enji, Enji, Enji!”

At the first roll of his name from your tongue, you came undone, body spasming into euphoria as your eyes fluttered upwards. You stilled on his cock as you came, the waves hitting harder than before as your snug walls struggled to clench around the mass of his girth. Your high felt never-ending and immeasurably hot, like you were in the arms of a divine being that was unceasingly blessing you with the gift of his holy cock. The sensations were absolutely blinding, and the moment you thought you were returning from your haze, you were nearly sent over the edge again.

Your orgasm milked his cock within your silken heat so tightly that Enji couldn’t hold back any longer. Flames rippled across his skin as came, thick ropes of hot cum filling you. Being spread so securely across his cock, you could feel every spurt of nearly boiling hot cum that painted your walls. You screamed out against his mouth at the feeling, head falling back and his arms wrapped around your back to keep you from falling.

He watched in amazement as you came again from the feeling of his cum within you. Your chest heaved with shallow breaths, your nails digging crescent moons into the skin of his neck where they had fallen. You couldn’t believe the second high that washed over you; you felt like melting into his lap, or back into the floor, the pleasure almost like scorching pain as it was so sharp. You could feel every bead of sweat against your skin, every dull thump of his cock within your core. You felt like you had actually experienced a little death within his arms.

When you finally came down from the supreme high, you fell against his chest, head tucked underneath his chin. You stayed stretched around his colossal cock, warming it as he traced patterns across your naked back with his hands. Eventually you sat back against his thighs, your own fingers finally trailing across the scar along his face.

“I should take you home,” he mused, blue eyes dancing across the colored marks upon your skin.

“I’m going to need a long soak,” you hummed, feeling the burn in your thighs spreading across the entirety of your body.

The storm outside the building was still raging on, the world continuing while you felt like yours had stopped momentarily.

You finally pulled yourself from his cock, feeling terribly empty but wholly satisfied as you stood. Heavy streams of cum flowed down your thighs. You strolled to his desk, grabbing handfuls of tissues to clean yourself as he began to get dressed, pulling a t-shirt and dark jeans from a closet in the back of his office.

“Do you have your civilian clothes?” He asked.

“Yea, in a bag under my desk. Why?”

“Good, get dressed in those. And bring whatever extras you have and your hero costume, I’m taking you to my home tonight.”

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#enji todoroki #enji todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #bnha todoroki #todoroki #mha endeavor #bnha endeavor #endeavor #endeavor x reader #endeavor x you #enji #bnha imagines

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gazelonger · 3 years

Text

the volume of the universe

As much as Buck loves his job, some days are better than others. And this one—this one was plain bad.

Call after call, no food in his stomach, a literal drop of coffee that had scorched his tongue and didn’t give him even the slightest burst of energy he had hoped it would—Buck couldn’t wait for it to be over.

Even though Eddie has been unbearably righteous, Buck would have to agree with him; the last call was superbly boring compared to everything else.

And as much of a reprieve it had been, something about it left Buck thinking it was a bad sign. It didn’t help him feel any more settled than he was before—if anything the complete opposite—and he can’t sit still when they all clamber back into the cabin.

The jinx definitely had not gone away.

The universe does not scream, Eddie says, and there is a sudden, raw dryness in Buck’s throat and a deep chill in his bones. He doesn’t have long to think much about it beyond vaguely wondering if he’s developing a cold before the wind blows sparks from the live power pole leaning against the ladder truck, and Buck’s attention is drawn elsewhere.

It isn’t until later, until his eyes are scanning, unseeing, over some page in the book in his lap that his therapist assigned to him, that he’s replaying the conversation in his head and reminded of what Eddie said. Of how his body had reacted to it.

Out of everything that had been said in the cabin, that one bit of it affected Buck more than anything else, even more than the potentiality of almost being electrocuted to death. But it’d been hours since then and Buck can’t shake it.

It makes sense that it would elicit a reaction from him, he supposes.

For as long as Buck could remember, he had been keenly aware of the universe and its workings.

(Keep reading here or on AO3)

His mother’s shrill voice and his father’s misleadingly paternal one had reminded him time and again that the world is an uncertain place. He’d been told since he was young that he needed to look after himself because no other person could do it for him, let alone the universe.

Early on, the warning accompanied some form of coddling as the stern reminder that Buck probably could have stood to listen to. And it did work the trick for a little while; or it certainly used to scare the hell out of him, at least. Used to make him look both ways before crossing empty streets, made him scan people up and down in the halls at school for some imperceptible threat that was never there.

Eventually, though, Buck forced himself to swallow that fear. More than he needed to look after himself, he needed his parents to give him some kind of attention. Some kind of recognition that he existed. He needed it like he needed air to breathe, and all regard for his personal safety could come later.

Maddie was gone and there was no one to talk to, no one to get him out of his head when he got stuck there for too long, no one to even look at him. The house was too quiet without her. It was too empty. It was almost like he could feel himself disappearing.

And his parents were too occupied with themselves to appreciate Buck’s efforts to heed their advice, anyway, so there wasn’t really a point in continuing to do so.

Buck missed the attention that getting into trouble would guarantee him, missed the fond exasperation and the headshakes paired with tight-lipped smiles.

And so he started acting out again, and the warning came back as he expected it would. But the resigned expressions of worry and love didn’t. In their place was a convoluted, angry, wild type of hurt directed towards Buck that he could never wrap his head around.

The world is an uncertain place, they would yell. What used to be a reminder that he should be more careful steadily became a furious, desperate plea for Buck to stop putting himself in death’s way.

But Buck didn’t care. Or he pretended not to—it was hard to tell sometimes. Regardless, he continued to tempt the universe.

He was messing with things that were bigger than him, that could have gotten him killed, and he was adamantly reckless about it.

It got to him every once in a while, how dangerous he was being. He was just a kid, after all; and he didn’t like getting hurt, he didn’t like almost dying. It left him rattled each time, left him shaking for hours and hours like he was freezing. Left him wishing he’d listen to his parents because maybe this time they’d be proud of him for it.

Even if he actively sought out the trouble—like the time he couldn’t get over his parents missing another football game and he taunted the biggest looking guy on the opposing team who then tackled Buck so hard that he had to be carried off the field—he would still feel unsettled and frustrated with himself afterwards. And it wasn’t because of the grade two concussion or whatever injuries he’d sustained.

He knew he was on a messy path.

So he tried to be okay with the hand he was dealt, tried to be okay with the fact that there was something about him that must repel his parents—that must have repelled Maddie. He decided to just keep his head low.

But no matter how actively he tried to stop seeking out trouble, it seemed to follow him anyway. Like a shadow.

Buck would be in class taking a test and his eyes would wander for a moment before he would get in trouble for cheating.

Or he would be riding his motorbike and would crash hard into a car that had run a red light—or maybe that he was too angry to see—and end up needing stitches.

Or he would spot a few guys from his lecture hall the money for a couple kegs and get blamed for the whole party.

(Or he would be sitting shotgun in the ladder truck before there was an audible BOOM , and he would come to pinned beneath it.)

Despite the fairly harmless ways he still acted out, even years after he reached adulthood, it was like the universe was finally getting its payback for Buck’s lifelong insolence.

Buck’s parents were only partially correct, he’d figured out. The world was an uncertain place. But it could be a certain place—if you learned to pay attention to it. And at some point, paying attention to the ways of the universe was necessary to survive.

Learning to respect it came naturally.

Even when he wasn’t actively seeking out trouble, when he wasn’t toying with fate, anything that happened to him was just what he had coming to him for almost three decades of unruly, disobedient behavior. Every heart-stopping, bone-crushing blow he faced was inarguably the universe’s way of saying this much is squared away between us, but we are far from even.

So after the day the one-eighteen had had, when they were sitting in the cabin and avoiding electrocution, Buck was practically thrumming with how much attention he was giving to everything the universe was saying to them. To him.

He knew that he tripped while he was booking it up the ladder on the first call because he was the one who had asked the probie the question which had triggered the whole day. It was the same way that, three years ago, the fire suppression system had been triggered on him because he was the one who had said the q-word.

It was, exactly as Hen called it, divine retribution.

The universe had a sense of humor, and Buck wasn’t deaf to it.

Eddie was, though. Much to Buck’s dismay.

Buck couldn’t stand it. It left him frustrated, his hackles raising and his words coming quicker and more clipped each time he spoke. Without realizing it, he was leaning forward in his seat, his hands gesturing as widely as they could without accidentally bumping against the window or the metal of the cabin or Hen sitting pressed next to him.

It was rare that he was the one to take something seriously while Eddie was the one to make a joke out of it, and Buck didn’t like the change of pace. Especially when it came to the universe.

The same universe which had crushed his leg, which had caused his blood to clot, which had put him and Christopher in the middle of a tsunami, was the same one that was not letting up on this day.

Why couldn’t Eddie see that, too?

That was hours ago, and the loft was quiet now as he, Hen, and Chimney read while Bobby tinkered around in the kitchen. But Buck is still thinking about it.

Buck knows that the universe can scream, knows that it is capable of doing far worse than screaming; he knows it like he knows the back of his hand.

But he tries to think about it from Eddie’s perspective.

Buck knows that Eddie is at least a little superstitious. All the remotes in his house still being in a basket on top of the refrigerator are proof enough of that.

But aside from that, Eddie has that medallion on him at all times like it’s a lifeline. And even if it really is just the reminder of Christopher being what comforts Eddie, Buck remembers the frenzied way he had scoured the floor of the locker room that one time it fell out of his pocket and he couldn’t find it right away. Remembers the blind panic in his eyes when he realized it was missing. Remembers the way Eddie’s body had sagged in relief and he brought the medallion to his lips and held it there after he found it underneath his duffle.

Buck also knows that Eddie likes maintaining control over his surroundings. He is proud of the choices he makes, he stands by them—like his choice to move himself and Christopher to LA.

He even claimed today not to worry about those things that he just doesn’t have direct control over.

Those things, Buck knows—even though Eddie didn’t say it—include Shannon’s death. Which, almost two years later, Buck knows Eddie is still struggling to come to terms with. Probably exactly because he had no control over it and couldn’t stop it from happening no matter how much he wishes he could have been able to.

So maybe the idea that some things are out of his reach, that some things are beyond his own will and happen for a reason, is too hard to comprehend.

Maybe, to Eddie, the idea that the universe is an active entity is too overwhelming a thought.

Overwhelming in the same way that it was to Buck when he was ten years old and couldn’t meet anyone’s gaze because he didn’t know what the world would do to him if he tested it.

So maybe Buck could be a little more empathetic.

But it just—it bothers him.

Underestimating the universe never ends well, and there is a tight feeling in Buck’s chest when he thinks that Eddie might be forced to realize that at some point.

The universe does not scream, Eddie had said. He had outright refused to believe that Buck was right.

The dryness in Buck’s throat is back, catching him off guard. A shiver runs down his spine and his fingers twitch against the page he still hasn’t read.

For the second time that day, Buck worries that he might be catching a cold. It was autumn, sure, but Buck just didn’t get colds. Irrationally he thinks it might be the virus, but he knows it’s not that, knows that a sore throat isn’t one of the symptoms and he can breathe just fine and he tested negative yesterday .

(He’ll take another one tomorrow, anyway. Just to be safe.)

Buck doesn’t understand what it is about the statement that leaves him feeling this way, leaves him feeling like he’s caught in the rain—

The rain. Screaming.

Oh.

Buck is stricken with a sudden memory of a cold shift from the year before. Of when they’d almost lost Eddie.

The storm came from nowhere and was gone just as quick. Buck usually liked the rain since it was so rare in LA—he didn’t like how it made his clothes damp and how it made his hair stick to his skin, although there is something different and less bothersome about it while he’s working—but on this day he hated it.

Or, well—no—he didn’t hate the rain, even then. He hated what it did to the earth. It soaked the ground through with water and turned it into thick and gooey mud. It had slipped through his hands like squishable sand, and had become packed deep beneath the surface, closing in on the well that Eddie was suddenly, horrifyingly, utterly trapped in.

The panic Buck felt in that moment nearly swallowed him whole.

And—as awful as it sounds—Buck isn’t a stranger to thinking the people he loves are dying.

He remembers the plane crash from his fifth month on the job. His SEAL training was the only reason he managed to avoid drowning in the unruly waves of the Pacific as he watched the remainder of the plane sink with Bobby still inside of it.

He remembers the silence over the radio when Hen didn’t respond during the earthquake. His jaw had locked into place and he was wobbly on his feet in a way that had nothing to do with the unnatural angle of the building.

He remembers finding Chimney lying on the ground outside of Maddie’s apartment. Chimney’s blood had pooled beneath Buck’s knees, the warmth of it seeping through Buck’s pants and his fingers where he held his hands over Chim’s stomach, staining his skin and his clothes.

He remembers miles of white landscape stretching out in front of him. The snow soaked his clothes and the soles of his shoes as he sprinted, his lungs burning, searching for any sign of Maddie. The sight of her stumbling hundreds of yards away with wet, raggedy hair and dark red all over.

He remembers the dread in his gut at the sound of a loud splash, turning around to see Christopher gone, having fallen into the water when the second wave came. Buck never saw Christopher come above the surface.

This, though. This was different.

Buck might have reacted the same as he did in some of those other situations, his instincts taking hold immediately and controlling everything he did. But he barely remembers the split second where he realized Eddie was trapped. All he knew was that he needed to get to him and then his bare hands were in the mud and someone was screaming.

Eddie! Eddie! Eddie! Eddie! No! E-Eddie! Eddie, no! Eddie, no!

He didn’t realize it was him at first. Didn’t realize it until Bobby was pulling him back and he fell into his lap and started hyperventilating—sobbing, really—unable to breathe and the screaming had stopped.

(He wouldn’t have been able to stand if Bobby hadn’t grabbed him under his arms and hauled him up, all but dragging him towards the house to get his hands washed to give him something to do.)

But Buck had actually screamed himself hoarse. Woke up the next morning with a sore throat and everything.

Eddie never knew what happened after the well collapsed. Never watched the broadcast of it, not wanting to remember more than he had to. Buck couldn’t blame him; he never filled Eddie in on the details, either. It was too touchy a subject to broach, and, besides, Buck wasn’t too keen on wanting to relive the moment himself.

What happened to Eddie wasn’t fair. It shouldn’t have been him. The universe had no right to take him that day—and thankfully it knew as much, because Eddie had come back and was alive and made it home to Christopher and had spent the whole day today being a softcore bully.

The universe knew it wasn’t Eddie’s time. And while it might have been the one to send that lightning bolt down, triggering everything, it was just as responsible for spitting Eddie out of that lake.

Buck was sure of that.

So while Eddie might argue that the universe does not scream, he wouldn't know that Buck had screamed for it.

It’s at that point that Buck remembers that he is not, in fact, in the freezing rain. That Eddie is not buried thirty feet below him.

He is sitting in the loft in the firehouse. Eddie is in the bunks, probably sound asleep by now.

Buck swallows thickly, his throat still dry as his body recovers from getting lost in the memory. He shifts in the chair he’s sitting in and blinks rapidly, trying to clear the fog that has settled over his brain.

The loft is quiet. The only sounds to be heard are the occasional scrape of paper against skin as Chimney or Hen turn a page in the books they are reading, and the light tapping of metal as Bobby puts some leftovers from a dinner they finally had been given time to eat into tupperware.

It’s familiar, this, and it’s grounding in a way that Buck feels himself being steadily brought back to the present. Tension releases from his shoulders when he rolls them.

“You okay, Buck?” Bobby asks from where he’s busying himself behind the island.

Buck’s eyebrows lift, and he looks over to see Bobby watching him with mild curiosity.

“Yeah,” Buck says. He lifts his book off his lap slightly as if to say I’m just reading, and offers what he hopes looks like a reassuring smile.

Satisfied, Bobby nods, too, and then resumes whatever he was doing.

Buck takes a deep breath. He needs to actually read the book if he doesn’t want to be reprimanded by his therapist—which he doesn’t. He looks down at the page he was on, slightly regretting having zoned out. But he’ll be able to focus now, he figures.

The loft is quiet. Eddie is sleeping downstairs.

It’s almost a jarring juxtaposition from the rest of the day, where the universe hadn’t given any of them a single moment to catch their breaths. But maybe the jinx has worn off now—Buck can admit that he isn’t totally sure how it works.

Either way, something in his chest has been settled now.

The universe can be quiet, too.

#911 on fox #evan buckley #buck buckley #evan buck buckely #oneshot #buddie #(if u squint)#i posted this on ao3 last week-ish #but i wanted to post it here too #i just havent gotten around to it yet #but this is just an exploration of buck & his relationship w the universe #character analysis

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dear-yandere · 4 years

Text

hiraeth (ii).

hiraeth (n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

yandere! don! giorno giovanna x f! reader. collab with @ddarker-dreams. read part one here! do not re-upload or use our writing without permission.

› warnings: angst, blood and gore, poisoning, canon-typical violence, death. › word count: 9.3k. › art credit: spearthymint.

Intrusive, lifeless eyes watch on from afar with tangible disgust. Hatred being the driving point behind his entire existence, all positive emotions are but a long forgotten memory of the past. To see the devil incarnate rejoicing in the fine pleasures of life is sickening, enough to make his head spin in further abhorrence. Observing from a safe, undetectable distance has been a rough challenge. All for the sake of procuring revenge, to fill the hole in his heart Giorno Giovanna tore out all those years ago.

Fueled by malice, the Stand, Snake Oil, slithers in the shadows of false paradise. More akin to a hybrid between human and snake, Snake Oil is the size of a fully grown man when stretched out to his fullest. His appearance is similar to that of a cobra, clad in ebony scales that serve as armor and dull, ruby eyes. Despite his imposing physique, it is truly unfortunate; having seen Giorno up close, Snake Oil knows killing him is impossible. So he’ll go for the next best possibility, inflicting the same pain he felt all those years ago. Having what you love most in the world ripped from you, torn apart before your eyes until nothing but blood and flesh remain. This is the bleak world of gangsters. To take and be taken from. To maintain equilibrium, vacillating between the highest of triumphs and lowest of defeats. Snake Oil has known nothing but the latter, surrounded by loneliness and bitterness that festers like an open wound. The scars of that day remain, the corpses of his family attempting to defend one another a grim reminder. A reminder that he’ll grip until his last breath, his only anchor in this world.

An eye for an eye.

The two of you are a picture perfect scene; pity how such beauty is fleeting. All it’ll take is a single opening. Giorno’s guard is lowered considerably, but he clings to you like an insistent shadow. How irritating. If only he left your side for a few more moments, then you’d be within range to kill. To have revenge just within grasp feels surreal in the best of ways. It brings a rush that the Stand hasn’t felt in years. The pain that makes up his resolve has yet to fade, pulsing and growing stronger as he searches for an opening.

There’s a visible shift between you two.

Snake Oil’s uncertain of the nature of things from this distance, gathering clues to the greater picture through body language. You’re on edge, impulsive, as you separate from Giovanna’s clutches, however momentary it may be. Snake Oil realizes this is the best opportunity he’ll be afforded. It isn’t the ideal set of circumstances, with your insistent shadow nearby, but it’s enough to be out of Gold Experience’s range. The Stand possesses great speed, a skill that will be fully taken advantage of in this course of this plan; in this moment, it seems more like a blessing than a skill, given who he’s going up against.

Checking to make sure the Don doesn’t follow you and remains seated, fate finally seems to have smiled upon Snake Oil today. This is the best opportunity he’ll get.

Slithering from his hiding spot amongst thickets, he lunges at you from behind. A horrified shriek leaves your lips at the constricting sensation surrounding you, body feeling like it may explode at any second. The air is forcefully pushed from your lungs, breathing growing erratic. Out of instinct, you struggle in hopes of freeing yourself, to no avail.

Two, phantom-like apparitions phase through your neck. You cry out, but the sound is pitiful and choked, dying mid air. The skin of your neck is raw, the insides slightly turned out and exposed in order to accommodate the invisible fangs of your attacker. The area pulses, quickly numbing when a venom is injected into your veins. The change is immediate, your eyes widened to their brim and your screams choked into your throat like spit. Your vision darkens slowly, the grip you once had on your consciousness now gone; the last thing you remember is the shock on Giorno’s face.

Giorno rises in an instant, a flash by his side procuring Gold Experience Requiem to come to your defence. Before any more movements are made on either side, Snake Oil takes control of the situation by speaking in a booming voice. It commands authority, knowing that leverage is within his grasp. That this wicked man wouldn’t dare endanger your life.

“Make one, tiny move, and I snap her neck.”

This is the plan, for better or worse. For Snake Oil to utilize its ability, a fast acting venom that’ll kill you within minutes. The in-between time of injection and subsequent organs shutting down will take place. During this period, he’ll finally find satisfaction in Giovanna’s suffering, helpless to aid you in fear of making it worse. Changes in your skin should be taking place now, veins growing dark as it carries the lethal dosage to the rest of your body. It’s acting slow, Snake Oil realizes. Or maybe it’s a trick of the light, a false concern born from his anxiety about the situation.

It's a tricky situation, one which requires Giorno to act fast and tread carefully.

“I take it you won’t tell me who you are.” Giorno chooses his words with the utmost care despite the shock and anger rolling from his body. Gold Experience Requiem hovers closeby, the same rage thinly veiled beneath the Stand’s imposing and threatening presence. As Giorno’s Stand, GER has always been utterly taken with you, having no need to hide its affections like its user must. He is a pure amalgamation of Giorno’s love for you; the sight of your life endangered is no doubt a blow to its usual composure and restraint. Neither party wants nothing more than to destroy their enemy in an instant, but there’s no guarantee you wouldn't be caught up in the fray.

“You say that as if you remember the names of every person you’ve hurt,” Snake Oil does little to hide his animosity, keeping an eye out for any tricks Giorno may have. “It made no difference who I was before. Not until I threatened your little prisoner, that is.” The Stand sneers, its arm coiled around your neck. Its tail is strung around your lower half, restricting any flailing and movement should the poison’s effect be prolonged.

“What is it that you want?” Ignoring the Stand’s treatment of you, to the best of his ability, Giorno tests the waters. Every word the Stand speaks is funneled into his mind, searching for hints that can be taken advantage of, for any cracks that can be slipped through. The top priority is to get to you out of harm’s way, no matter the cost. Composure on either end is unfaltering, a duel of wits to secure a victor. This is a matter of life and death. And still, Giorno hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected to see your body, your skin pallid and your limbs motionless, cradled in the arms of a man who intends you harm. His composure falters at the mere sight. That Stand isn’t just holding you; he’s holding Giorno’s happiness, his future, his heart in a vice grip. He sees the way your eyebrows knit and your body winces, the Stand’s grip far too tight to insinuate any goal other than to kill.

Snake Oil only smiles in response, not yet wanting to ruin this moment of pure distress radiating from the Don and his Stand. The sight itself is rapturing; it’s not everyday that a lowly civilian such as himself gets to see one of the most influential men in the world come apart.

Unabashed, Giorno considers what information is presented to him. From how this Stand speaks, its user is older, if not a bit inexperienced. No slang or other terminologies from a younger generation are present in his words, it’s far more removed and bitter. As if the user has seen the worst the world has to offer, callous in his direct approach; as if the user is betting everything on the line for a small chance at attacking the Don of Passione.

He needs to get you out of the Stand’s range. Since the Stand didn’t attack him, the main source of his user’s ire no doubt, it’s likely a long-range Stand. Any suspicious movements will lead to your death. And, from a quick look around, there are no suspicious vessels within a 10 km radius of the island; he would have seen them approaching long before, had there been. Its user must be far, and the Stand must be operating at its maximum range. Engaging in close-range combat would be the best bet if you weren’t engulfed in the Stand’s arms, its poison already blackening the veins around the entrance wound. Killing it might prove to be the only antidote, but on the other hand, it’s a risky trade. Perhaps the Stand’s power doesn’t include producing an antivenom — killing it early would slash any chances of saving you before the poison spreads further into your system. The only option for Giorno now is to provoke him, upsetting the Stand to the point where a mistake is made. In that opening, Giorno will strike.

“It must’ve been a lot of work to make it here,” Giorno begins his plan with a cautious comment, searching for any outward reaction. Nothing. Assuming he’s safe to continue, he offers his observations. “If you have any demand, make them known now.”

It’s not so much stalling, but rather, testing the waters. To see how much resistance he can offer without you being placed in any more danger, igniting sparks that will only gain strength with time. Each word is selected with great care, not wanting to further upset the emotional user and trigger an undesirable outcome. Under the face of immense pressure, Giorno steels himself. It’ll do you no good otherwise.

The Stand lets out a distorted chuckle, its grip on you unwavering. “Demands? Of course, someone in your line of work would naturally come to that conclusion. You think I’d go this far for power? Money? Drugs?”

Giorno’s eyes narrow, and he mentally checks off one motive.

“There’s nothing then? No affiliation, no desire for material gain?” Giorno’s incessant line of questions come to a halt when the Stand tightens its grip around you. Sensing that Snake Oil’s growing irate, Giorno can only assume it’s because this encounter isn’t going as planned. Given how frail you are, the poison should have spread to major points in your nervous system, your death imminent. While Giorno has his theories, ones he can only hope to be true at this very moment, they’re placed on the back burner for the time being.

“How could I forget? That’s all that matters to people like you.” The Stand’s tone is low, prudent. Giorno’s interrogation is getting somewhere, it seems. The Stand’s grip on your shoulders have loosened slightly, only to retighten within a moment’s notice. Giorno’s heart tightens in response, the unpleasant feeling not showing on his face in the slightest. “Gain. How to make more at the expense of others, a greed that cannot be sated no matter whose life is taken in the process.”

Ah. Perhaps...

“You say that like nothing could satisfy you.” The tempest unfolding in Giorno’s mind begins to calm. His answers lie at the eye of the storm, waiting to be found. It’s an easy enough feat for someone of Giorno’s caliber, as his job requires quick-witted thinking and observation. So he presses forward, his words more daring, his answers more confident.

The Stand can’t help but grimly agree, darkness spreading over its inhuman face upon realizing how unaffected the don is. “Nothing can.”

It’s brief, but Giorno catches a glint of sadness cross the Stand’s features. A trick of the light, perhaps, as he’s yet to see any Stand capable of showing emotion; and yet, this one reeks of resentment and regret. He’s closer to his answer.

“Not even her death?”

“It’s a place to start.” The Stand hisses in a displeased tone. This isn’t how he envisioned this encounter in his mind, the countless outcomes that all ended with Giorno Giovanna in the pits of despair. He should have known better; the Don of Passione is cruel. A monster who wouldn’t be phased even by the loss of his beloved. Still… an element of unknown is always present in Stand battles. Your immediate death should’ve been carried out by now. That’s how it was meant to be; the venom is fast acting on normal people, only slightly less-so on stand users. He draws bated breath and lets his expectant gaze flicker toward you. The moment you breathed your last, Snake Oil would have true satisfaction, witnessing Giorno lose everything he holds dear, just as he had all those years ago. Ultimately, he’d be killed for his transgressions. But he’d come to terms with that long ago, the final chapter of his life ending in Giorno’s grief. The ultimate satisfaction, even if it sends him to Hell. Even if it keeps him from his family.

But your face is pristine, calm despite the painful wound on your neck and the quickly blackening vessels under your skin. You… you’ve stolen that opportunity from him. Why won’t you just die already, like you’re meant to? Why can’t you die as quickly as his own family died before him? It can’t be due to Giorno’s Stand. If you were within Gold Experience Requiem’s range, that meant Snake Oil would be as well. The battle would be hardly fought, the Stand’s sacrifices for nothing. If that were the case, Giorno wouldn’t be watching from afar, the great Don of Pasione helpless to save his own beloved.

Something is wrong.

He can’t let it be for naught. Not after all the sacrifice, after all the hellish years that plagued him. Even now, Giorno waits patiently, an air of dignitary grace and poise befitting someone of his position. His eyes never once stray from the Stand’s physique, not even to check on his beloved, presumably searching for an opening to end the Stand’s life. There’s no chance to give it more thought. The power the Stand wanted to hold in this moment is faltering, slipping between his fingers like fine sand.

“How long ago was it that I took something from you?”

He’s going out on a limb, an educated guess more than anything else. He almost feels pathetic, betting your life like this, as if you’re another bargaining chip in Passione’s plans, another expendable pawn. But there’s no other option in his sights, his thoughts filled with saving the light of his life from the darkness of his own past.

There’s no longer an immediate response from the Stand, nor a sarcastic quip full of loathing. It felt like the most logical explanation, revenge being the greatest motivator known to man. Giorno knows he made the correct assumption, or something close to it, considering Snake Oil’s change in attitude. Did the Stand think Giorno would remain in the dark until the end?

“What… what do you mean?”

Hesitation.

Giorno’s lips twitch into a small, satisfactory smile, his nerves having earned some rest upon guessing correctly. He continues, this time with a barrage of thinly-veiled accusations rather than questions. “It must’ve been longer than a few months, with how much planning this would’ve taken. So when was it? A year, two maybe?”

The most drastic changes were made within Passione during the first six months of Giorno taking over.

“Why does the time even matter?” He bites. “All the people you’ve killed, they’re nothing but faceless names on a list to you.”

Giorno wants to laugh; for someone so bent on killing him, he took the bait far too easily.

“While that holds some merit, you’re no better in that regard.” He begins, shaking his head and shifting his weight onto the other foot, looking awfully lax despite the context of this conversation. He takes note of the way Snake Oil’s fingers twitch with arrogant annoyance. “Wanting to involve an innocent life who has nothing to do with this, you don’t know the first thing about her.”

“You’re wrong. I know plenty about this girl who had the misfortune of meeting you,” Snake Oil’s blank eyes flicker towards your incapacitated form. You look more like a helpless pup than the wife to a mafia boss; perhaps… perhaps that’s why he chose you. For your vulnerability, for your innocence. “Not that you made it easy. Having virtually every aspect of her existence wiped from the planet, going so far as to pay off police to end their missing person search… scum never has hopes of growing, do they?”

Giorno has no reason to justify his thoughts to a stranger who intruded on your paradise and put your life in peril, no matter what injustices he might have caused the man in the past. Only for the motive of provoking him further does he respond. “For the sake of protecting her from those who’d do her harm.” He quips, his expression unchanging.

“Is that what helps you sleep at night, Giovanna? A pat on the back for kidnapping some girl from her life, taking away all her freedoms? Letting her family search and search, only to be fed lies that there are no leads, that the case has gone cold?” Snake Oil’s grip on you falters slightly, a wave of pity washing over him at your poor predicament. How unfortunate you are to have earned the attention of a demon… “You don’t know the first thing about losing someone precious to you, do you? What you’re doing to her isn’t protection. This is greed, meant only to benefit yourself,” the Stand accuses. “Considering how greedy you lot are, I’m surprised it hasn’t occurred to you that, if it weren’t for your manipulation, she would’ve slit your throat weeks ago.”

Giorno is wholly unfazed; he has been called worse, by you even. Nothing the Stand says or will say could come close to the unfiltered hatred he’s heard from you. “Believe what you want, Snake Oil. It makes no difference to me.”

“... So it doesn’t. I suppose labels hold no significance in your life — you’ve come to terms with what you really are. You're a fool, thinking someone like yourself is capable of love. A murderer can experience no such thing.”

“And that’s what I am to you,” Giorno deduces, scouring the Stand’s mannerisms for any clues that may be of use. “A murderer.”

“It’s not what you are to me. It’s an undeniable fact.”

Giorno doesn’t give him the luxury of a response nor the slightest change in his own expression. His stare is blank, even with your life on the line, even when you hang uselessly from the enemy’s arms. The venom is spreading, creating a thick, void-like trail along the paths of each vein it reaches. Starting from the entrance wound in your neck, your blackening veins look like tendrils, crawling up your face and down your chest — toward your brain, your heart. So that is his Stand power...

“Does she know, Giovanna?” Snake Oil hisses, handling your unconscious body harshly. Giorno bites down on his bottom lip at the mere sight, composing himself; now is not the time to strike, not over something so trivial. If that were the case, he would have used Gold Experience Requiem the moment this enemy laid a single finger on your person. Snake Oil barks out more questions, clarifying himself. “Does she know who you truly are beneath that mask?”

Giorno returns his gaze to his enemy, the look in his eyes hardening considerably as he chews on the question. Is that his motive? To use you as a bargaining chip, a means to lower his guard far enough to strike? It’s clever, if nothing else, but Giorno is poised in the art of manipulation. The chaos unraveling in his head, jumping from conclusion to conclusion over your current state — even that is pushed to the far reaches of his consciousness. Lashing out will do the Don no good. It’s a strength right now more than anything, the ability to stuff his own emotions and humanity into the recesses of his mind. Considering how emotional this Stand and its user must be to find a remote, isolated island and its sole inhabitant — regardless of Passione’s extensive influence over the territory — this man has a personal vendetta against Giorno himself.

But he should have never involved you.

Occupied with their back and forth, the pair of men fail to take notice of how your finger twitches by your side. The movement is subtle, easy to miss; even Giorno is too caught up in the situation to pay you any mind for once. The slightest movements of your incapacitated body are the least of his concerns, right now, his mind filled with one thought: you haven’t awoken. You are dying, and that is far more than Giorno can take.

“She doesn’t need to know.”

The Don smiles sardonically. Gone is the ray of light that usually graces his features when he sets foot on this island, when his gaze lands on you. This man keeps speaking of you as if he knows you. If you were awake right now, you’d be easily swayed, your thoughts a mess and your mind easily malleable. This could ruin everything, everything he’s built here, everything he’s built for you, with you. You won’t look at him the same. Not like this morning. Not even like the weeks before, spent in harrowing isolation, flinching at his very presence. You’ll look at him like you would a monster; horrified.

But you aren’t awake. You are on the brink of death and he’s made next to no progress in your rescue. What a pitiful excuse he is. For all his power and influence, he can’t even protect you. He can’t even protect the very thing keeping him alive, the only person that showed a semblance of genuine love for him, even if it was hidden behind a hesitant and doubtful countenance. He was making progress. You were making progress.

“I am a murderer, as all gangsters are, but my reasons are just. I don’t need to explain them to someone such as yourself.” He laughs blithely. “Who did I kill that was so important to you?” He asks the same way one would ask for the time.

Snake Oil doesn’t answer.

“For you to come here, you must believe their death to be unjust. Who was it?” Giorno dwells on the thought for a second, deducing that these unknown variables must be closely related to this Stand’s user. “I can hardly recall their names, much less their faces. That begs the question: what did they do?” His smile grows, one-sided, as if knowing something his enemy does not. “I wonder… was it human trafficking? Narcotics?”

His only response is a glare, the Stand’s arm tightening around your neck like a noose. But, the Don head only cants to the side, testing the waters further.

“No matter. If I wasted time doing so myself, they must have deserved to die.”

It’s spoken like an irrefutable fact. An ultimate dismissal of human life, of their own autonomy. An insult to the memory of those Snake Oil held dearest. The words aren’t only indifferent, but spoken with implicit confidence. In the recesses of his mind, he knows what it is Giorno is trying to do. Rationale is snuffed out, replaced with righteous fury.

“You… you don’t deserve to speak of them. You know nothing.”

“Do I now?” The Don’s body relaxes, now knowing what the Stand is after. The investigation falls; the interrogation begins. “Ah, I remember.” His lips twitch into a cruel smile, enjoying the act of playing with this enemy’s feelings. To be ruled by one’s feelings, to the point of enacting revenge on a man you haven’t a chance of winning against — this Stand and its user wouldn’t make it in the world of gangsters for much longer. “A wife, and a….son was it? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? For revenge.” He tests the waters with a contemplative tone despite already knowing the answer, the Stand’s body language holding a tension and enmity it hadn’t moments before. “I don’t recall their faces or names, really, but I remember their screams. Your wife was groveling at my feet, begging for mercy. She had this look in her eyes — betrayal. You didn’t tell her your true profession, did you?” The Don’s lips twitch when Snake Oil falters, the latter’s eyes wide. “And your son… a prominent member in the very drug routes Passione aims to quell. I remember he tried to bargain with me, sell you out in exchange for my mercy.” Giorno laughs at the irony. To not even be trusted by your own family… “Like father, like son. He deserved to die.”

Snake Oil draws a sharp breath.

“And your daughter… such a sweet little thing. She didn’t understand what was happening.” He recalls with faint disinterest. “The look on her face was so tragic. I almost felt sorry for her. But she is related to you by blood, and scum can only breed scum.” An idea formulates, the words pressed past his lips as easily as breathing. “It’s a pity, though. She got away before I could…” He trails off, relishing in the way Snake Oil chokes pathetically on this information; his daughter… his only family is alive, somewhere, and... “I suppose I'll have to find her, take care of what I started." Giorno finishes.

“Shut up!” In his anger, Snake Oil’s grip tightens around your neck, squeezing at your already-suffocated veins. Giorno’s eyes flicker, taking note of the blackening nerves beneath your skin. “Don’t forget who’s in control here, Giovanna…!”

It’s all talk meant to rile him up, create an exploitable opening. Snake Oil refuses to fall into the trap, a ploy meant to keep him from enacting revenge. The words are heavy, a weight over his shoulders, but the Stand has you. While you should be dead by now from his ability, there are other ways to kill. Messier methods that he didn’t wish to stoop to, not until now. Giorno Giovanna, in all his sadistic glory, has dug a grave for his own beloved; an end truly befitting a monster such as himself.

“The pain I felt that day… you get to experience it now. You’ll pay for your sins in blood,” the Stand sneers, its expression full of countless years of pain. His gaze turns toward your unconscious body, his mind already concocting plans of a painful death. “Her blood.”

"You view me as a demon, but do you have the resolve to stoop to my level?" Giorno quips, his resolve quickly running thin. The air is tense, suffocating, but he can’t let his mask falter. It would mean the end to this. An end to you. An end to this paradise, this false Eden.

He’s not ready for that. Not yet. Not when you were finally...

“So sure of yourself, so confident…” Every word drips with malice, forced out from a dark place. Every syllable is a shot to Giorno’s heart, to his willpower, Snake Oil feels his goals shift, wanting nothing more than to prove Giorno wrong. That not everything can fall into place as he sees fit, that he isn’t as omnipresent as he believes himself to be. To see those calculating eyes widen in horror, knowing that he made a grave error.

It’s wishful thinking. Nothing in this world is that simple. If it were, Snake Oil’s family would still be by his side,and he wouldn’t be here, threatening an innocent girl with the displeasure of being involved with the worst scum society has to offer. He wouldn’t have had to stoop to the levels he did, likely disappointing those he cared for in the distant past. He wouldn’t have to stoop to Giovanna’s level and kill a blameless soul.

Monsters can only breed monsters.

Should the poison fail, so be it. It’s a messier death, a far less merciful one, but Snake Oil no longer has the capacity to care. How could he, after being taunted, when it was Giorno who was meant to be cowering away in anguish? The Stand’s grip around your limp body strengthens, intent on strangling out all signs of life. This is it, the final act of dishonor to end it all. Within a few seconds, you should be reduced to nothing but a corpse, a shadow of your former self, that sadistic light in Giovanna’s eyes long gone.

Time is at a standstill. It all happens in the blink of an eye.

At his torso, there’s a forceful shove that sends him sprawling backwards, air knocked from his lungs. Snake Oil lets out a shocked gasp, noticing the surprise on Giovanna’s own face; it’s clear he wasn’t expecting this turn of events, either. This attack… it couldn’t have been him. So that means you’re…

Before Snake Oil can dwell on his revelation, Gold Experience Requiem phases into the Stand’s field of vision, its speed unmatched and its strength beyond anything he’d prepared himself for. He knew death was coming should he mess up, should he let that monster creep under his skin. And yet, it still ends like this, a hole driven into his chest, just as it was meant to be. The pain is nothing new. The loss of everyone he’d ever cared about hurt far worse, but this… this is comforting. A release, a mercy. A promise that he will soon see his family, again.

The gentle wave that washes over him is short lived; the blow had sent him flying, his back pierced by a nearby rock. There’s pain, briefly, before it washes away all the same. Washes away into nothing. Death, he’s come to realize, feels like nothing, and yet everything all at once. Even death has a heart, it seems, a vague sense of clemency and calm that life lacks. All the memories of a time long past, all the regret and the pleasure that comes with living. Sweet memories, bitter memories… memories of his family, killed at the hands of a man who acts like a God dictating who should live and who should die. A God who slaughters innocents, under a false moral code. A God who locks away his own lover, as if her life means nothing; a God who looks at her the same way the stars admire the sun.

And yet, in Snake Oil’s last moments, that same God looks down at him the same way one would a fly before you kill it. The same insignificance, the same detachment. Like he meant never meant anything of value. And he realizes...

Death does not discriminate; life does.

Giorno gazes at the dying man with a look of vague disinterest, a sight he’s grown accustomed to. There’s no anger, no pity, no emotion. Those were stolen the moment your eyes snapped shut and your blood started rotting. Snake Oil will find no satisfaction in this squandered death, his life squelched out and amounting to nothing.

“Go to Hell. They’re waiting.”

The words fall from his lips so easily, so listlessly, without a shred of remorse. Snake Oil’s last moments are far from peaceful, those precious moments prior having lulled him into a false sense of security. They? Who are they? The Devil? His enemies? Or….

Realization hits. His blood has started to clot, and yet it boils with anger with indignant realization: he will go to Hell for his sins. He will go to Hell, and his family won’t be there. A sinner has no right of choice, only a punishment and its executioner. Even in these last moments, he’d hoped Giovanna would grant him the mercy of solace, the sympathy of a human rather than the malevolence of a monster. But that hope was misplaced from the start.

“Y...y-you’re a…. dem—”

But it’s too late. Snake Oil worked with diligence, but the devil works faster.

The storm has passed. The corpse, in its final moments, is gagging on thin air and it occurs to Giorno that its user is dying. Gagging on his own bile and vomit someplace far off, someplace Giorno can’t reach in his current state. If your life wasn’t in immediate danger, he’d hunt for the bastard himself, ensuring that his life has come to a permanent end. But you are more important. You will always be more important.

When he turns, he expects the worst. He expects to see your skin sallowed and your face sunken. He expects to see a lifeless husk, a goddess without the glow he’s come to admire. But that light is still there. You are still there, just as radiant as you were before your Eden was corrupted. The rise and fall of your chest is unmistakable, no matter how shallow your breathing may be. You’re alive. You’re alive, and Giorno’s legs nearly give out at the thought. Seeing you this close again, even as you cling to life, feels too good to be true. Giorno’s not sure who to thank, be it fate or having the devil’s own luck, but you’re still here. Still with him. This was too close to the chest. Pesky little details will be examined later, to ensure nothing like this ever has the chance to repeat. Security being tightened, loose ends removed… there’s an abundance of work to be done. For now, he allows himself to think only of you.

He’s by your side in an instant, checking your pulse and breathing. Gold Experience takes note of the movement beneath your wrist, pulsing as it should be, yet rapidly dimming. Any flesh wounds he can spot are immediately healed with a featherlight touch, fearing the unattended wounds may harm you further. He holds your limp body to his chest, gently trying to shake you back into consciousness. To bring you back to him.

“Let me see those gorgeous eyes of yours, amore.” His voice is so quiet and weak, it’s drowned out by the ocean waves. “I’ll be here as long as you need me. We need to finish our date, right? There’s still so much we have to do. I’ll clear my schedule, so just open your eyes and...”

He chokes, eyes wide with bitter tears. Your color is paling at an alarming pace, lips becoming a sickly blue. The flower he made earlier now looks out of place against your skin, its vibrant yellow petals so vivid in comparison — mocking you. Giorno chokes on his own spit; there’s no escaping it: you are dying, and he may as well be too. Giorno’s grip on you falters due to his own trembling, forcing him to steady you entirely against his chest. Every breath he takes is laboured, the weight of the world dragging him down. He’s seen this sight too many times before, and in his heart, he knows what this means. Without full knowledge of Snake Oil’s ability, there’s no way to treat whatever wounds were inflicted on you; he can only grasp at ideas from the previous encounter. It’d take hours to find and deliver the proper antivenom, and by then, it’d be too late. He knows this, and he hates himself for it. He hates his knowledge, his experience that allows him to come to this horrific conclusion. Giorno wishes he were a fool so he could delude himself into believing you’ll continue to live with him.

“You said you wanted a frog for a pet, didn’t you…? I’ll make as many as your heart desires, I swear it. So, please…” The words die at the back of his clenching throat. His entire life, he’s told himself that crying is useless. That it achieves nothing, a waste of time and effort. Action is always the best course, the only path that amounts to overcoming grief. It’s been the philosophy of his life, and yet; he kneels here on the verge of tears all the same. “Please, please, please…”

Another shake, more urgent than the last.

“I wanted—” he gulps back a telling lump forming in his throat, “I wanted to do so much with you. Cooking together is just the start, there’s so much more...” His voice is a low whine, like a child begging his parents for their time and affection. It’s a battle against time, a battle that he’s losing. “So much more…” His words are incomprehensible at this point, slipping from his mouth before he can gather himself. “I love you, [First]… I love you, I love you. Please, God…” The words are unschooled, said without thought — genuine. There has never been a moment in his life where he believed God to be real, not after everything he’s seen, not after everyone he’s lost. You can’t be another causality — he can't lose you too.

For the first time since he was a child, Giorno cries.

He cries for everything he put you through, for everything he took from you. Every wish you had, every dream he never got to hear. He stole them like his family stole his own. He promised to be better, a better man — someone who could change the world, someone with a good heart. Growing up, he wanted nothing more than to prove his parents wrong. His step-father, cynical and drunk and good-for-nothing. His mother, neglectful, always chasing a high, as if her own family was the lowest of the low. And his real father, his origins and identity unknown; a man who no doubt would not want to be part of Giorno’s life, his own son’s life. Giorno didn’t want to be like any of them, didn’t want to grow up to become a monster in the shape of a human. That sentiment feels hypocritical right now, having just lost his composure and temper. The remnants of a man’s own soul is not too far off, mangled and destroyed beyond recognition, its user dead on the shores of a monster who stole his family.

Giorno Giovanna is not a good man. His tears are more for you than anyone else; you truly did have the misfortune of meeting him. The Devil could drag him to Hell right now and his last thoughts would still be: “Let her go to Heaven.”

There’s a gradual change.

To the untrained eye, it might be too subtle to pick up on. Almost like a transparent sheen hovering just above your skin, a low hum of energy resonating alongside it. Giorno’s lip twitches as your complexion practically shines, eyes squinting to combat the light's growing strength. Too much is unfolding before him, a complex mystery where he remains in the dark. Snake Oil… he’s certain that Stand is no more. That’s when a chilling realization hits, like a bucket of ice being poured over him.

Gold Experience Requiem remains by his side, the Stand at the ready to attack as Giorno constructs a plan. Could Snake Oil have had a Stand that stays active upon death, like Notorious B.I.G? Giorno freezes at the thought, knowing full well the power a Stand like that would have. Hunting down its target for eternity. Did Snake Oil place an ability on you that triggered after death? In that case, precautions need to be taken to ensure you’re not placed under any further harm. There’s still a chance to save you; even Notorious B.I.G. had its flaws, no matter how terrifyingly powerful the Stand at first seemed.

But… something about it is off. The energy convulsing from you feels different, almost familiar. Warm and enveloping, unlike Snake Oil who conveyed nothing but bitterness and lost hope. What is this…?

The luxury of thinking is replaced by a raw desire to act, to salvage what little remains, not willing to patiently assess the situation any longer. Not after that’s what led to your possible death sentence in the first place. Divine light radiates around your limp body, and Giorno reaches out, prepared to fend off the perceived threat. His trembling hand inches closer to your iridescent skin, tingling at the sensation rolling from your person like a barrier, and then—

He’s flung back against the ground, as Snake Oil was before him. Gold Experience Requiem releases a fierce battle cry, lashing towards the presumed threat that envelopes you. Your person lets out a disgruntled noise at the attack, eyebrows twitching and body regaining itself. Cheeks flushing with color again, long eyelashes fluttering against your face. Rest is a coaxing concept, though something deep inside you commands that you wake.

Your eyes open.

Blood. Your vision is filled with a thick red, the beautiful blues and golds of the beach but a distant memory. The scene before you is a battlefield, its only remnants thick puddles of fresh blood. The liquid mars the beautiful beach sands, crimson revealing a story you weren’t meant to witness. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, dulling various areas that should be screaming out in pain. There’s too much to chew on, your thoughts in complete disarray. Your body feels prickly, vitality making a swift reappearance. And yet, there’s an unfamiliar pain at your chest, where Gold Experience Requiem’s hit landed. It’s dull, as if there is a layer of protection between your skin and the place the Stand’s fist had landed, but the very thought of Giorno hurting you, no matter the circumstance, has your mind reeling.

It doesn’t take long to piece together scattered pieces of the puzzle. In your delirium, you’d heard everything. It evokes disgust and shame, knowing you willingly went along with Giorno’s qualms. You had lost yourself, giving into him for frivolous comforts. He’s harmed too many, you’re not the only person to be on the receiving end of endless pain; you were just lucky enough to be on his good side. Morality and running a worldwide crime syndicate do not go hand and hand, no matter how many times Giorno tries to humanize himself to you. It’s all a facade.

This was all a mistake. You shouldn’t have come here, not so willingly, not with him.

“You’re a monster.”

A fact you’ve known for months now, and yet the words struggle past your teeth. A week ago, you wouldn’t have hesitated to say that and much worse to his face, relishing in the hurt that would momentarily cross his features. You had some semblance of power over him during those moments, using his twisted sense of love against him. You felt powerful, in control for once, having one of the most powerful men in the world grovel in wait for your affection. Before you, he wasn’t Don Giorno Giovanna, boss of Passione. He was just a boy, a psychopath, a man who had taken the world from you and expected your love in return.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t last. He will always have the upper hand, some sort of control or advantage over you. You were a fool to think whatever you two possibly had — a relationship, if you could call it that — could work. Humans aren’t meant to be with monsters, and monsters aren’t meant to fall in love.

You realize that now.

“[First]...” For once, he’s speechless. Even saying that much is difficult. Gradually, he stands from the spot he’d been flung to, wearily making his way toward your crumpled body. His hand reaches out, shaking; were you slipping in and out of consciousness the entire time…? How much did you overhear? How much did you see?

“Don’t come closer!” You blink back tears, your vision focusing and unfocusing in the midst of it all. Your fingers, your hands, your… your body is glowing. The light is faint, weak, like the remnants of a flame before its wick gives out. “I-I… W-what happened? What happened to me?”

The puzzle pieces fall into place in his head. Giorno draws a sharp breath, his thoughts reeling to provide an explanation that won’t frighten you any further. In this state, you’re running on a high, coming down from the power your body has just awakened to. Having just defended yourself against a deadly venom, your body is running on pure adrenaline just to keep yourself upright. Your mind is reeling to rationalize what’s happening. Every nerve in your body felt like they were on fire, burning you up from the inside out. It’s as if you’re being overclocked, forced to work at full capacity, threatening to crash at any moment. Power rolls off your body in waves, as if it was meant to be there, as if it was there all along. And there’s an energy in your veins that feels wholly foreign, simultaneously yours and someone else’s at the same time. The ringing in your head is disorienting beyond compare; it feels as if your mind has been invaded, as if there is something else, someone else in your consciousness.

“What did you do?!” You don’t want to look at him, not in this moment, but the situation leaves you no choice. Your eyes flicker, briefly glowing with unadulterated rage when your gaze meets his. It couldn’t be possible, he couldn’t have… “You… you made me a monster just like you.”

“[First], I can explain everything, but you need to rest or—”

“No. God, I’m such a fool.” Your gut wrenches when you accidentally turn your gaze upon the battered corpse, its body mangled and face unrecognizable. Its heart hangs from its chest; you shudder to think what his human counterpart looks like. His death must have been painful, agonizingly slow — an end befitting a monster more so than a human. And he… he’s surrounded by a sea of blood — your husband is surrounded by a sea of blood.

“How could I forget? W-what you are…” Your eyes are fully glowing, pulsating with a holy energy when they meet his, but the sight is far from terrifying. You’re trembling. You’re crying. You’re pleading with him, just as you had when you first arrived on this island. You’re scared. “W-Will you do the same to me?”

His heart shatters.

Even now, as broken as you may feel, you cannot let yourself fall apart. If you break now, you won’t escape. He won’t let you escape. It will just be worse this time. You’ll always know the truth, the fact that countless lives have bloodied his hands — that he killed in cold blood then looked at you like your life is the only one worth keeping.

“You’ve already taken everything from me. You took my family from me. My friends. My life. My future. How am I any different from them? From any of the people you’ve hurt?” His expression wavers at your endless accusations, but he doesn’t defend himself and you take that as a confession to his sins. “That man was right. Do you remember all of them? All of your victims? All their faces? Their dreams and ambitions?” Air catches in your throat, realizing something the enemy had divulged; your family. They’d been… they’d been lied to, and that revelation does nothing to quell your anger.“What about their families? Are they still looking for them, too?” Your voice cracks, coinciding with your crumbling heart.

That’s right, your family looked for you. They searched for you; they mourned, they were betrayed. They think you’re dead, that you left without saying goodbye — without saying “I love you”. And you were deluded into thinking that everything was going so well, that you could forget, that you could start anew. You were happy, for once, for the first time in what felt like years. As close as you could get to happiness. Finally having set out on a path of healing, recovering pieces of yourself and putting them back together where no one else could. This illusion you allowed yourself to believe dissipates, the fog over your eyes lifting to reveal barren reality. A reality Giorno himself designed and held full control over, like a God, and you his sole obsession. If he is a God, he is cruel. To think otherwise is to be seduced by the enemy.

“You lied to me. You said I was safe here, that I could trust you.” Your voice breaks at that word — trust. What a pretty word, for such awful lies. “You didn’t have to kill him.”

Giorno gathers his senses, his head ringing with your hurtful words, his heart tired. He is losing you all over again; this is the only thing he can defend, as all your other accusations are more or less true. “[First], I had to. He was going to—”

“No. There’s never a good reason to murder, not when you have the power to stop them instead.” Your eyes flicker to Gold Experience Requiem, knowing full well of its powers. Giorno holds his tongue, realizing you’re right. He didn’t have to kill the enemy, not… not in front of you at least. Your eyes are not meant to see bloodshed or pain, and yet, he let his feelings get the better of him — and this is his price. “You didn’t have to, but you did. You killed him, Giorno. You killed him.” You can’t bring yourself to look at the corpse any longer. “That’s what monsters do.”

Each word stings more than the last.

He’s analyzing you. Mentally reciting and testing dozens of different explanations that might serve to placate you, even if it’s a temporary fix. Anything to get that stinging look of repulsion off your beautiful face, anything to make you look at him the way you did earlier. This is far more detrimental than the times you spoke down to him before now that a third party had been involved. The damage is already done, nature of himself that he tried to hide from you now out in the open.

There may be no coming back from this.

“You’ve been through a lot.” Giorno takes one step closer to you, stomach dropping when you flinch at the tentative action. All the progress has been undone, though he can’t mourn that now. He has to keep a straight face, lull you down this high filled with fear and adrenaline. Get under your skin again… make you trust him. “Come, let’s go inside. You must feel tired.”

“No. No, no, no, you liar. You’ve put me through a lot,” you correct with a weak glare, holding your hand to your chest. The same hand that had finally come to accept him just minutes prior. Recalling his touch makes you want to scrub the skin raw, knowing how bloodied they were. “Just… stay away from me, p-please.” Your demands sound more like pleads, the shock of your new abilities still paralyzing your system. Your wings encircle you still, their transparent silhouette coursing with a power you know not what to do with. Their presence alone makes you feel safe, a much needed barrier between you and him. It even withstood a direct attack from Giorno’s own Stand…

The possibility of escaping is becoming frighteningly real.

Giorno withdraws his outstretched hand, not wanting to scare you any further. It’s clear you don’t want to listen to him right now, and he’s not sure he wants to continue persuading you; the trembling of your body, the look on your face, like a frightened doe — you’re scared of him. The same girl that had looked at him with hesitant admiration, that had played with him, that had gotten to know him, that had kissed him — she’s gone, and some deep, hateful part of him knows she won’t ever come back. He’s walking on eggshells again and he knows it. In the terrified state that you’re in, there won’t be any deescalation. You’ve seen too much, know too much. It’s troublesome, too many factors at play to safely talk this out. There’s still the problem of your safety, and monitoring your body for any further repercussions from the earlier Stand attack. Giorno considers all of this, and with a silent sigh, makes a swift decision on how to best fix this. More roadblocks are set in the path of recovery, but he’s determined to see this through. That’s how he’s always been, and how he’ll always be until the day he draws his final breath. You are no exception; you never will be. Not when everything he does is wholly for you.

You realize something is amiss when he doesn’t respond any further to your pointed accusations. Normally, you’d see a flicker of hurt flit across his features — the only time he ever lets his guard down, even slightly, is with you. That’s not the case now, not after everything you’ve heard, everything you’ve seen. Lips parting, you’re about to inquire what it is he’s plotting, but by then it’s far too late. From the blood by your feet, roots start to form at the base, coming to life by Gold Experience Requiem’s ability. An unidentifiable substance leaks from them, sapping away at the remnants of your consciousness like parasites. It acts as a salve, soothing the snake bite on your neck and the skin covering your blackened veins, but its true purpose is far from that, meant to constrain you, to confine you. It’s a terrifying sight, being restrained by vines tainted in the blood of a dead man, being restrained by an entity that had made you gifts and brought you joy only minutes prior.

He’s using his ability on you.

Gold Experience Requiem, an entity that had excitedly made you a crown to place atop your head, looks almost distraught as he covers you from head to toe, confines you like his user has for as long as you can remember. They are one and the same, you realize; how foolish it was to believe this man was capable of anything but tragedy. You had been charmed by pretty lies fashioned to ensnare you for eternity. His words, his actions, everything about him was a lie — a forbidden fruit.

Standing becomes too arduous a task, your body crumpling to the ground in a pathetic show of weakness. The world around you grows blurry, your eyelids fighting to remain open only to lose and sink into the sweet call of sleep. Everything feels so far away. The call of the birds, the crashing of the ocean… even the sand that rubs against your skin doesn’t register. The only thing that does is the look on his face, so unlike the monstrous, dissociated expression he had when he took a man’s life before your eyes. Even that, all the pain, dread, betrayal, it’s all slipping away, to some place you cannot reach. Not anymore. The light that stems from your back flickers, the remnants of your holy wings shattering like fragments of glass. Giorno approaches you as the disorientation continues and your Stand deactivates, having protected you long enough. He wants nothing more than to take its place as your savior, your protector, his arms reaching out to catch and prevent your body from further harm. You’ve been through enough. You were right; he’s put you through enough.

As consciousness fades, you hear the Devil whisper one final promise.

“I’ll fix everything, just give me time.”

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