#at this point my brain makes up random ideas and the hardest part is to make them into a coherent post

[falling-apart-burrito]

A list of known jinxes, hexes and minor curses for the aspiring petty sorcerer by the burrito wizard

Pay it forward

5 minutes after every other voluntary step, the victim takes an involuntary step forward. This effect stacks.

Possible incantations (hand gestures not included):

Two small steps for man, another small step for man

A thousand miles and 500 more

You have arrived past your destination

[desultory-novice]

"Brighter Skies"

...Ended up drawing this while working on other sketches. Because my brain is just wired for wistful, emotional takes I guess XD

-

Arguably, White-Haired Noir, the Noir who lived, is the Noir who had the hardest journey learning to love not hate himself. Teenage Noir could have never imagined this kind of life for him, because his whole life, he'd just been waiting to die.

In Darkened Skies, when he makes a soft, restrained plea to Kirby for that blessed mercy kill, some part of him was relieved, calm even, that he'd finally survived to the point where he might at last be set free from the pain of living. An ironic wish...

It's a damn hard thing to learn: to live and live positively for yourself. To trust and move forward even though you're lost and confused and making constant dumb mistakes and there's no one around to reassure you, "Of course you're a good big brother!" (or whatever else one might be) when, hell, you don't FEEL good on the inside, but somehow you still NEED to hear it. And to hear it from someone else, because you've lost the ability to trust your own voice ages ago...

Kirby's "stop" is referring back to asking Dark Matter Swordsman to stop the invasion of Popstar (1) but in a general context can also be read as "I'm glad you learned to stop hurting yourself."

-

(1) Random Apologies AU AU Lore

As White-Haired Noir grew up, he became aware that he is only alive because he exists in a branch dimension. He was never supposed to survive. Adeleine was. His fate was always to become Dark Matter's Swordsman and be consumed, body and soul. You only have to live on Popstar for a while to pick up on the existence of alternate dimensions/timelines, and Adult Noir knows he is living in one. 

Kirby, through some mysterious power no one can explain, is also aware of this. Furthermore, on occasion, he expresses explicit, true knowledge of the main timeline, while Noir himself only has guesses about how a world without him would have played out.

(These sideways flashes mean that this Kirby does know about and misses playing with Adeleine, same as he would miss the absence of any of his friends, but Apologies AU AU Kirby cares equally about Noir. He could not trade one sibling/one friend for the other.) (2)

Even when he wasn't sure his existence was an anomaly, White-Haired Noir spent most of his later teenage years trying to find a way to "fix things," to either trade his life back for Adeleine's or to bring her back through some other means. It was following the Apologies AU Star Dream incident where Noir finally realized pursuing this path would only end up with him dead and no one happy. He began, at last, to accept his own reality not as an anomaly or a mistake but as something fragile, yes, something unprepared for, yes, but entirely and wholly for him and to start to cherish his own existence.

Now, if you were to wave a wish granting star or magic wand in front of Noir, he would solemnly decline it. And if you dropped a random AU Adeleine in his lap, he would do no more than give his alternate sister the warmest hug (she would be willing to accept XD) and tell her that, whether his words sound like utter nonsense or not, "Your older brother wishes you all the happiness in the world."

Then he'd send her back on her way.

-

(2)

This is ki~nd of meta-textual based on the fact that while Kirby isn't ever really like "Oh man, Meta Knight's not in this game!" we the players are aware of it and put our feelings into Kirby.

...Or something. I thought it was a fun idea at least?! ^^

[phantomofthehoepera]

I love your 2023 Repo the Genetic Opera art... Please... Please I'm desperate I need to know the lore... Please...

HAIIII SORRY I'M SO LATE TO THIS idk if you meant any lore in specific so I'm gonna take this as an opportunity to just dump all the shit I made up in my brain peace and love <333333

so like the main stuff I made up I guess would be the repomums which again was a cocreation with my darling precious @slydiddledeedee the lore is very basically they were all in an opera troupe with mag and marni and were cursed by god to die if they ever slept with an italian man. they also all left rotti for nathan, rotti kind of picked them off one by one like he'd marry one of them she'd leave him and die and he'd get a new one. no one present recognised the pattern of this. they're all colour coordinated which is a thing I like to do for the largo kids when I draw them so I guess it's genetic idk. important fun fact is that luigi personally killed his mum and was then lobotomised just a little bit which is why I keep drawing him with that big ole head scar.

other thing I made up was lore for the random zydrate lady as part of a larger effort to make shit up abt graverobber. most of my ideas for her are vague also not at all based in the movie I need to stress this is basically just an oc that I borrowed a character from the movie for. n ee way the story kind of goes she and graves start off in the drug dealer/drug addict business at the same time and they're roomies sometimes when they can afford it. she'll usually be more involved in whatever post movie ideas are floating around in my head at the moment bc I do feel like it's important to get a perspective that more like. on the ground if that makes sense?? bc like no one in the movie is super affected by the repossession system as much as I would like to see so she's my hero she's my class struggle queen.

speaking of graves I have so many ideas abt him in my head like the way I cope with the existence of scary scary evil wicked terrence is I just completely redesign him like moreseo than any of the other characters. to ME he's a freaky evil little dyke he probably was on whatever supercharged t repoworld has for a week or two but couldn't afford any more than that but like I said the t was supercharged so he can still sing his parts peace and love. I like to personally give him an actual concrete geneco debt bc like obv he has to have one but I would like it spelled out please just to have gramber relationship drama. think it would be funny if his heart gave out on him and he has a synthetic one, once again this is all for gramber relationship drama. in my brain he has been kind of fixated on her ever since he was a kid (see this piece). I also do like to give him and shilo kind of a sibling thing going on for literally no other reason than I like sibling dynamics I think they're delightful. I think post movie shilo should start an awful band and he should peddle her cds to his customers.

I have sooo many thoughts on the largo siblings like I said luigi straight up murdered his mother probably when he was very young. the way I picture it he's always been pretty unstable and wouldn't have been made as much of a public figure, unlike amber and pavi who I picture as having been like legit child stars at some point. like idk the way I picture it rotti would almost publicise them more after having to keep luigi that much out of the public eye since he's yknow. insane. I like to lean more into the opera vibes and give them little ballet shoes and shit like for some reason I always picture them as dancers. n ee way I think growing out of child stardom hit amber the hardest, not that would have coped super well either. pavi at least in the movie seems to have kind of a place at the table when they talk abt who's to inherent and like we usually see him at rotti's side while amber is usually out on her own and like idk it's kind of impossible not to read it as gendered to ME. also I always need to stress I don't make their backstories sad to make them sympathetic I do it bc I'm thoroughly successionpilled thank you and goodnight.

don't have that many thoughts on shilo and nathan, esp on nathan I moreso just have critiques of how he's written like icl I find the jekyll and hyde routine sooo uninspired. like idk I just think he becomes that much more horrifying of a character if you picture him as more calculated in his violence. I also just think it's kind of lame how little talk there seems to be abt the fact that he is like severely abusive to shilo like it's such a huge part of the movie I feel like it maybe becomes a bit too obvious to talk abt if that makes sense? like it's such a fact of life but whenever I start thinking about it for too long I want to scream like beyond the poison thing which like would be enough on its own the way he gaslights and hits her is literally scary and I just feel like a lot of that horror gets lost when he's depicted as like. sometimes not being in full control like it sort of takes away his agency and in turn a lot of the impact of his character, at least to me.

as for shilo like I said not many thoughts I'm mostly just interested in where she'd go post movie like I said I want her to start a shitty band I feel like that could heal her. also want her to lose the wig like idk could be symbolic maybe 👍

[jamesunderwater]

Thank you so much for the tag @thecasualauthor!

🍓 how did you get into writing fanfiction?

I've joked about this before, but on the forums of Neopets!

🍇How many fandoms have you written in?

HP, Supernatural, Dark Angel, Smallville, Twilight (regrettably), Sailor Moon, and BBC Merlin. Most of these were were RPs, though, not fanfic - for fanfic I think it's just HP & SPN.

🍈 How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

I think this year marks 20 years... Wow. Off and on, of course, but yeah. Since that first Neopets foray -- 20 years.

🍎 Do you read or write more fanfiction?

Definitely write more than I read, but I've been making a point to read more lately, so it's more balanced than last year.

🍌 What is one way you've improved as a writer?

I'm learning to not be so redundant in my writing, to be more intentional with how and where to use fluid prose, and to actually make sure my sentence structure is ordered correctly, lol.

🍑 Do you have any bad habits as a writer?

Getting too wrapped up in editing what I've already written instead of moving on to write the next bit; not sticking to a solid writing routine; getting stuck on making sure the scene is "right" instead of just writing it and working out the details later.

🍍 What's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

I still think researching the history of toast in Britain was pretty weird, especially given the fact I never even used it in the fic xD

🍉What's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

Ones that are play-by-play reactions to the story, and/or tell me specific parts of the story that they enjoyed and why. But really, ANY and all comments make me so, so happy. I feel touched any time someone takes the time to leave me a comment.

🍐What's the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

I am not aware of anyone else currently writing Trans Jily fics (though point me in their direction if you know of someone who is!)

🥭What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Strictly canon-compliant fics. It's too much to remember all the tiny details to make sure I've gotten everything just right. And enemies to lovers. I've discovered I really enjoy rivals to lovers, but enemies to lovers just doesn't make sense to my brain. I don't know how to get them from A to B.

🍏What is the easiest type?

Angst, angst, angst. xD Especially canon or canon-adjacent angst. And I know it's not a story type, but man, do I love a story with a lot of banter in it.

🍑Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

I use Google docs for the most part, but I will write ideas and random snippets of scenes in my Notes app when I'm not at a computer.

🍋What is something you've been too nervous/ intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

I'd love to write some Korrasami, as I've mentioned to Kelsey before. I'd also love to do a crossover Marauders fic with either PJO, THG, or ATLA, but I'm afraid it'd end up feeling kitschy or something. But my BIG magnum opus idea is a canon-compliant centered around Sirius, probably just through his Azkaban escape. Well, that or a multi-chap Prongsfoot fic, but that is something I'm actually pretty confident writing. The other one is a LOT more intimidating.

🍇What made you choose your username?

I wanted it to be something that had my name in it + one of my personal motifs, so I played around with James/Jamie and different terms for ocean, trees, and sunshine. Came up with a list, narrowed it down to 2-3 top choices, and ended up choosing this one because it just flows in my brain in a way I like. Plus, it goes well with my blog title, the Noah Kahan lyric, "my head is an ocean."

these were so fun!! tagging: @theresthesnitch @roalinda @missgryffin @thelighthousestale @annabtg

[ovaryacted]

For the get to know the writer thing!

Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic, i want to know ALL, i just LOOOOVE this things and the process of art/job, please don't be shy and share with us all you think before and if you're satisfied with every piece of your creative process.

—🎨 (the art anon)

Me getting an anon with an emoji makes me feel like I’m the leader of a country omg. It’s nice to meet you, and I’ve been meaning to answer this but I wanted to give you the best answer since mine would be more in depth lol.

So, my creative process can be very lengthy and hectic most of the time because I just have an active brain. It all starts with a thought, usually the tropes or ideas I get when it comes to writing come to me during the most mundane times. They’ll pop into my head when I’m listening to certain songs, or when I see something in particular outside I find for inspiration, but most of my ideas come to me in the shower or in my dreams crazy enough.

Afterwards, I come up with a vague idea branching off of that one thought I had, it’ll be a theme tied to a song maybe, like a regular bullet point that I add to my notes app and revisit later. When I have the energy or motivation to focus on that one singular thought, that’s when I brainstorm, which usually involves me chugging some coffee or wine to really get my brain working. I write random things about what I want to achieve, word count goal, keywords I want to add or pay attention to, and what I want the piece to show.

Once I’m happy with brainstorming, I outline to make up how I want the writing piece to flow or how I want readers to feel after they’re done reading it. I usually don’t do outlines even when I was back in school I didn’t use them. But with my own writing it just helps me keep my ideas organized so I don’t lose track of what I plan on putting down on the page.

Then really it’s just writing out my ideas as best as I can the first time around, which is always the hardest part for me. What I like to do is I like to finish writing everything in one go, no stress just write what first comes to my head. After I’m done, I’ll sleep on it for a day, and then come back to it to reread and edit it completely. I edit in 3 phases as crazy as that sounds but that’s what works for me and this is what it looks like:

1 - changes to the flow of the piece or additions to the idea/theme

2 - edit repeating words and phrases so I find synonyms or other ways to describe things

3 - grammatical errors and formatting of paragraphs, etc.

This was also the same way I’d do my big academic papers in college so it just carried over when I’m writing lol. I know it probably sounds a bit neurotic and crazy with how I’m describing it, but most of the time it takes me about a full week to write something I’m happy with. Then again, I don’t think I’ve ever been like super happy with my work. I always feel like I can do better or change things, and I have a bad habit of comparing myself because I take this seriously and only want to show ppl the best of my work. I know in the end I’ll only get better, but I’m glad I have a routine that works for me when it comes to creating. I will say, I’m getting more confident in my writing so I hope it sticks. :)

[wander-wren]

Ok, here goes! I wanna preface this by saying that I've been in a serious writing rut for like the past six months, to the point where I've pretty much given up on my WIPs. It's not that I don't want to write, or that I don't have ideas, but the actual work of sitting down and getting words on the page feels like pulling my own teeth out. So I'm conducting research on writers I admire to see if I can learn anything from their processes. And so, without further ado:

How long have you been writing?

Do you start out knowing what's gonna happen in the story, like with a plot chart and everything, or does the story take shape as you go along?

Do you write in big chunks or a little bit at a time?

How many drafts do you typically do? Is your first draft usually like word vomit or something a little more polished?

Do you have a beta reader?

What's your editing process like?

Is there a certain time or place where you prefer to write?

What do you consider the hardest part of writing?

Have you ever struggled with perfectionism in your writing? Do you have any tricks for bypassing that "EVERYTHING MUST BE PERFECT" wall in your brain and just get words on the page?

That was a lot lol. Of course you don't have to answer all of them, but any insight you're willing to give will be greatly appreciated!

Thank you very much <3

woo okay let’s tackle this!! under the cut bc Long. strap in folks

How Long Have You Been Writing?

in any shape or form: since maybe 6 years old? but i started writing fanfiction at 12, started getting serious about writing in general at 15, and threw myself full tilt into fanfic at 17, so currently i haven’t written original fiction Really since june. which is a complicated answer. you didn’t specify if this is about original stuff or fic, but i’ll try to answer from both perspectives bc my process for each is wildly different.

Plotter or Pantser?

for both original fiction and longfics, i’m solidly in the middle; i usually start with a list of things i want to happen, and i always need some idea of where i’m going to end, even if it changes later. from there, i start writing the first few chapters. when i feel like i have a more solid grasp of where i’m going, i outline chapter-by-chapter through one “section” of the story, however i define that. once im done that section, i outline again. this gives me a lot more freedom to change things as i go and adapt to new decisions i make. i also add random ideas to my masterlist of stuff that i might want to include further down the line as i go.

with oneshots i never, or almost never, have a plan beyond the premise/summary, so they frequently get away from me and do all kinds of random things.

Big Chunks or Little At a Time?

i’m gonna say big chunks? i have adhd so i frequently hyperfixate on my projects and can work on them for hours and hours on end, which i don’t exactly recommend, but it happens. at any given time i have a “main” wip or two that i work on pretty much daily, and then others scattered around that i might pick up for a few hours if i get bored. but i try to finish fics as fast as possible bc if i move on there’s a 50% chance i won’t come back, at least not for months.

How Many Drafts?

for fanfic? one. every once in a while if something is REALLY not working i’ll rewrite sections, so that’s like 1.5 drafts, but it’s free labor i do for fun so while i take pride in it and want it to be good, i’m not going to expend THAT much energy, yknow?

for original stuff, like if we’re talking novels…at least three drafts? i haven’t gotten that far with most of my projects so i’m still learning about myself, but my general process seems to be that the first draft is about getting the main story beats and the emotions down. my first draft is always very heavy on the angst and catharsis, sometimes overdramatically so, bc there’s less plot to hold it up. then my second draft is more about plot and realism and structure, but i tend to lose some emotions in trying to do that. my third draft is about combining the two and continuing to polish stories/characters. i haven’t written any fourth drafts, so i’m not sure whats beyond that.

and my first drafts tend to be very polished. i wrote a little rant explaining the history of that aspect of my writing not long ago, so i won’t get into it again. part of that is just how i’ve always been, part of it is practice. i do feel sometimes that i write pretty enough to cover up structural/realism/continuity issues, which can be frustrating when looking for critique from people who can’t see past it.

Beta Reader?

yes! i have a small group of writer friends that i share things with, but that is pretty much always for cheer-betaing and minor critiques unless i ask for actual criticism, which i only do with my original stuff when i get to the second/third draft, partly bc it’s not ready before then, and partly because it’s a lot of mental work for the other people. shoutout to my main bnha betas, @rangerlexi and @spacetime-enthusiast, who are, as i said, mainly cheer betas, tho mav is also my resident bakugo expert bc he’s very hard for me to write sometimes. getting better tho!

can’t recommend finding betas enough, even if just to cheer you on. hell, i can’t make promises about super long works or original fic, but i’m always down to read fanfiction. i don’t even bite, i swear. obligatory note that you do gotta trust ppl tho yada yada thieves exist and mean people exist etc etc

Editing Process?

for fanfic: typically i reread one or two times right away while all my thought processes are fresh in my head. i’ll make spot edits and add or delete things here and there. then depending on how impatient i am, i wait a day or a few to send it to my betas and/or reread and edit again myself. then i post and i’m done!

for original works: i don’t bother to edit first drafts, or even second drafts sometimes. when it’s time to prep for a second draft, i reread and make notes on what i want to keep and what i want to change, then use those notes to make my next skeletal outline. usually my stories change drastically from one draft to the next, but the last time i did a third draft, i wanted it to be pretty close to the structure of the second, so instead of outlining at all i just did splitscreen and wrote the whole third draft while looking at the second, sometimes basically retyping a page word for word, sometimes going “well, that chapter is pointless” and skipping it entirely. when it came to line editing, i used hemingway bc i don’t trust computers to do my editing, BUT the different colored highlights were helpful to break up the monotony. hemingway is a lot more focused on concise/readable sentences and cutting adverbs than anything else, which was good for me as an overwriter. i cut 22k words the last time i used it, from a 130k draft.

Best Time or Place?

not really? i write everywhere and constantly. the advice about finding your niche of productive time never seemed to work for me because, as long as i’m not blocked/stuck, i pretty much always kind of want to write.

Hardest Part?

DEVELOPING RELATIONSHIPS OH MY GOD IT’S THE WORST. sorry. i hate. doing that. becoming friends? becoming family? falling in love? god. kill me. i love all [thing] to lovers in reading but in writing i tend to drift toward best friends to lovers bc then it’s kind of close. i love writing about people in relationships, tension and banter and softness and fights, but getting there is so awful.

Are You a Perfectionist? Tips?

hm. gonna try to answer this honestly and in the least asshole-ish sounding way possible lmao.

i’m not really a perfectionist? not in writing, anyway, idk about other stuff. but also it’s just like…i know i’m good at what i do. not perfect—i can see flaws in things i wrote even a few months ago—but good. More Than Satisfactory. sometimes fics just don’t work and i abandon them, sometimes it takes me a while to figure out what i’m doing, but i’m not generally paralyzed by the need for anything to be perfect because i’m happy where i am?

that’s a hard mindset to get to, though. and you will for sure feel good about something and then dislike it in a few months or years. that’s just the nature of improving your craft. i think if i had any tips, though, i would say a few things.

watch this video essay, the whole thing but specifically 5:39-9:20. i love cj the x and i agree with many of his takes on art, so. some of his other essays might be helpful as well but that one i know talks specifically about perfectionism.

or if you don’t want to, just have this quote that melted my brain a little when i heard it. “perfectionism is not an inherently bad impulse. but you have to earn that. you don’t get to be a perfectionist if it is unproven up to this point if you can even make a thing.”

read bad stories. like genuinely i’m such a petty spiteful person oops so. i don’t really seek them out much but reading like, really really badly written work is like “well, if that’s the bar, at least i’ve cleared it.” obviously don’t go attacking creators or posting the work to make fun of it, but read it. maybe make notes of exactly why it’s bad for yourself, even, it might help you get better at identifying problems in your own work if you can figure out why things are bad beyond just “i don’t like it.” there, that sounds less mean, right?

just post your shit, tbh. put it out there. most people on the internet, in fandoms, they’re nice, if you curate your space properly. it’s a confidence boost! put something out there that’s less-than-perfect, get a couple of kudos and realize the world didn’t implode, and maybe, maybe it’ll be easier to start/finish next time.

you kinda just gotta accept that you need practice, my dude. like. you can’t closer to perfect without work!! we know this!! just do it. i know i just said to post things but also if you hate what you made no one!! else!! has!! to!! know!! it can be a secret. it’s okay. this coming from a chronic oversharer lol i have the worst time trying not to shove my stuff at people….which, actually, kinda worked better as motivation for me, bc i couldn’t share something unfinished, so i had to Do The Thing in order to get validation/feedback/critique like i wanted. so either way, whatever works better for you.

The End

so yeah, those are my answers, i guess? i hope that makes sense and helps and everything!! i’m really sorry you’re in a rut, that’s the worst. if you have any more questions or just wanna chat about what you’re writing feel free to come say hi again!

[kithtaehyung]

How did you get started with writing? I've always wanted to try but it's a bit intimidating. Do you have any advice for beginners?

Hi, love! Oh my gosh, I have been there. Frankly, it’s still intimidating😅 But! I’ll try my best to offer some advice that has worked for me💛

Note: if these don’t work for you, pls don’t stress🤍 As with any artistic medium, there’s no one-way ticket to success. Find your own style/what works for you, but use anything here as a guide/starting point.

1) The hardest part is starting. This is just a pretty general statement, but it’s true. You can think about writing all day, but in order to actually get into it, you gotta transfer those words and ideas from your brain onto paper—journals, Notes app on your phone, Google docs, anything. Once you start putting those ideas down, it gets easier and easier to keep going! My first story started as bullet points on my Notes app that I then transformed in Google Docs.

2) For now, don’t worry about making things perfect. Drafts are exactly that: drafts of works. Unedited, pure, raw forms of what you have in your head. So just write at your leisure and don’t stress about editing them until you’re close to posting. And even then: it’s okay if there are some errors! Fanfiction (if that’s what you’re wanting to write) is free so if you don’t care about your work being perfect, it doesn’t have to be!

3) Write because it’s fun / Write what makes you happy. The thing that kept me from writing the longest (after a years long hiatus) was the pressure of wondering if people would like what I wrote. Don’t be like me. Learn from me. If you just write what you want/what makes you happy first, I promise it releases so much pressure from your mental and allows you more creative space and freedom. And if you wanna write for fandoms, being yourself is even better. You will find similar creatives and foster your corner of the internet once you start getting your stuff out there in the world.

4) Read, read, read. I learned so much about writing from reading. Whether it’s poetry, fanfiction, fiction, or non-fiction, you’ll start to find styles that resonate with you and observe how people tinker with the language you want to write in!

5) Practice, practice, practice! One, this gets your juices flowing, and two, a whole story can sprout from a single sentence out of a writing exercise. Some things to look for here would be writing prompt lists (there’s a bunch if you search on tumblr/online!), random idea generators, or even writing challenges.

6) Not everything you write has to be posted / It’s okay to accept the fact that some ideas will just stay ideas. Once you start writing, I assure you that you will come up with ideas more than once per day (especially in the shower???) Write them down and follow the inspiration, of course, but don’t feel down if you lose spark for them down the road. I can tell you right now (because I recently checked) that I’ve posted 158,225 words, but have 261,880 words written in total with works still in progress/ideas that may never even make it out of draft format (and I’m a slow writer!!) It’s totally okay. You can always come back to them. And that brings me to my last piece of advice…

7) Write things down. Oh my gosh, I cannot stress this enough: if you have an idea, write it down!! A line of dialogue you wanna work around? Notate it. A whole scene or even a title? Please, put it down somewhere. Even if you have to write it on a napkin, do it and take the dang thing with you! Trust me, I tried the whole “I’ll remember it later” lie, and what happened? I regretted it because, of course, I did not remember it later lol. Better safe than sorry.

That’s what I have for you for now, but if any other writers out there wanna chime in, please do! Have fun starting your adventure and I’m always here to help if you need any other tidbits of advice💛 -Ryen

[glitchy-anime-fan]

Some of my Mello headcanons because why not

Most of these are just kinda random or stupid inside jokes between me and my friend. Also some of them are based on if Mello and Matt survived in the series. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

Feel free to take this as platonic or romantic!

Mello only eats milk chocolate. He tried dark chocolate once and said it was “too bitter”

He had tried one of those organic chocolate bars or whatever that’s only got like 75% chocolate in it, but it “ruined” dark chocolate for him

He also just hates white chocolate. The only way he’ll eat it is if it’s on something else like a bonbon or pretzels, but even then those treats won’t be the first on his snack list

Mello made Matt go on a chocolate run once b/c he was running low and they weren’t expecting a restock until a few days later

In a moment of sleep deprived confusion, Matt accidentally bought dark chocolate instead of milk chocolate

It wasn’t a lot, maybe only five or six bars, just enough to tide Mello over until the restock came in. Yet Mello was still upset that it wasn’t milk chocolate

Mello ate the chocolate anyway because he wasn’t going to waste it (or make the already tired Matt return to the store), but he made a point to complain about it the entire time

Mello says that Hershey’s special dark chocolate is okay. He wouldn’t eat a whole bar as a first choice, but the occasional little snack sized bar is okay

Mello is a big rock fan (if the leather wasn’t obvious enough), and while he doesn’t have a favorite sub genre, he does enjoy indie and 80’s rock

Some of his favourite bands are Mother Mother, AC/DC, and MCR

He has one Spotify playlist that he listens to religiously that’s just all his favourite songs and he adds to it constantly

Sometimes if he’s really focused on his work, he’ll listen through the entire playlist and end up in the “songs based off your playlist” playlist

Usually he doesn’t realize he’s listened through the whole list until he hits a song he doesn’t really like and goes to skip it (b/c he rarely skips songs)

Every now and again Matt will take Mello’s phone and just add really random songs to Mello’s playlist

I’m talking songs like the Pokémon rap, songs by the living tombstone, lofi music, etc.

He does it to both mess with Mello (he finds it funny when the blonde actually realizes what songs were added), and as a fun little way to give Mello a break from the rock music

Even though Mello acts annoyed, he never skips any of the songs Matt adds and never deletes them from the playlist

Mello isn’t a big cuddlier (blame the way he was raised at Wammy’s)

Though if you can get him to relax and cuddle with you, he can be pretty docile. He may whine, squirm, and curse at first, but eventually he’ll give in to his fate and relax.

Whenever Matt can tell Mello is having a really stressful day, he will grab Mello, turn on a cheesy movie and force Mello to cuddle with him

Of course Mello will scream, hit, and insult Matt, but the gamer’s heard it all and knows Mello doesn’t mean it. He also knows the blonde will eventually relax so Matt doesn’t take it to heart

Besides, Matt enjoys seeing his partner relax for once especially when Mello falls asleep with his head in Matt’s lap so a few empty insults is nothing

Despite being incredibly intelligent…Mello will occasionally do kinda stupid things

Like sometimes he is stuck in a situation where he brain just kinda doesn’t analyze it like it normally would, and Mello ends up doing really dumb shit

For example; Mello once broke one of prongs off his laptop charger and the little metal bit was stuck in the outlet

For whatever reason, may it be sleep deprivation, stress, or combination of the two, instead of turning off the electricity through the breaker box…Mello threw the tv remote at the outlet

Granted…it worked…the prong came out of the outlet…but it wasn’t the smartest idea

Matt was very confused when he came home to a broken outlet cover and remote, but then laughed for like two hours when Mello explained what happened

Matt has yet to let Mello live this fiasco down and will tease his partner about it whenever he can

Of course it’s not often that Mello has these “off” days, but when he does it’s usually attributed to a lack of sleep or too much stress

Matt is more likely to throw a remote at the outlet though ngl

As much as he hates to admit it, Mello gets flustered easily.

Once again, blame how he was raised in Wammy’s house, but Mello is not used to affection and becomes flustered when he’s shown any form of it.

Matt once called Mello “cute” when he walked in on the blonde actually looking relaxed. Mello’s face went 50 shades of tomato red and he nearly threw his laptop mouse at Matt.

Now Matt makes it his job to show Mello any form of affection, usually in the form of cute little terms of endearment or cuddling

To this day Mello will still blush any time he is shown affection, but he is slowly starting to get use to it

At least, he’s getting used to when Matt is showing him affection

Mello is ticklish as fuck. It’s mainly isolated to his sides and he’s so ticklish that just ghosting your hands by his sides will have him jumping.

Other then cuddles, tickling Mello is one of Matt’s ways to get the blonde to feel better when he’s upset.

Matt will usually only tickle Mello until he can tell the blonde is feeling better, but sometimes if they’re just messing around Matt may get hit

Matt also sometimes just forgets how ticklish Mello is and has gotten hit b/c the gamer ghosted his hands to close to Mello’s sides

Mello does apologise when he does hit Matt. Matt usually laughs it off and they go on with their day.

So we all know Mello and Matt grew up in London right? Well, when Mello left for America he tried his hardest to get rid of his accent

He did eventually succeed while he was with the mafia, but his accent will occasionally slip out when he gets really upset

Sometimes Matt teases Mello incessantly just so he can hear Mello’s accent return. Matt thinks the accent is cute. Mello hates it.

Mello and Matt’s favourite tv show is Victorious, change my mind! 😤

If you want to read more about this, check out this post

These are all the things I can think of at the moment. I may make a part two if my friend gives me any other funny ideas.

If anyone else has any wholesome Mello (or Matt) headcanons…uh let me know! I would love to hear them!

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

two can keep a secret

Character: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary: What is the difference between a secret and a lie? Jason Todd is in love. But will his relationship survive when Y/N realizes she doesn’t know him at all?

Word Count: 9,500+ [One Shot]

Warnings: Violence, mentions of rape, domestic violence, and murder

She is the first thing he thinks of when he slowly comes to.

Not her face, like some glowing angel that you always see in those stupid movie montages, where the protagonist’s wife or girlfriend tragically died and he’s thinking of her.

No, Jason is thinking about how pissed Y/N’s going to be when he misses date night.

Jason didn’t need to go out to a fancy restaurant or cocktail bar to be content. Doing absolutely nothing with Y/N was more than enough for him. But she deserved more than that – not that she ever said so. Jason was the one who insisted on taking her out every so often. So he sucked it up and did anything to make that woman smile. It didn’t hurt that Y/N was too talented at dolling herself up.

Y/N was probably sitting with her hair curled and her makeup done to perfection (after watching a YouTube tutorial for a look she had been wanting to try for weeks). Or, depending on how much time had passed, she had given up and bitterly changed into her pajamas.

The other unfortunate fact was that Y/N still didn’t know that Jason had a double life. She had zero idea that her boyfriend of a few months was also the infamous Red Hood.

So, yeah, Y/N was going to be pissed, thinking that Jason simply forgot about date night or just completely blew her off.

Just when Jason was fighting the migraine to open his eyes, someone kicked his shins roughly.

“I know you’re awake,” someone sang to him.

Jason blinked and squinted, realizing that his helmet was still intact.

Well, that’s one positive.

He looked at the man standing just a few feet away from him. Decked out in a fancy green suit, horned rimmed glasses, and that stupid little bowler hat.

The Riddler.

Jason always found him to be mostly an inconvenience. But clearly he’d done something to piss off the annoying genius, because this was a lot of effort on his part.

“What the fuck do you want?” Jason growled, knowing his voice sounded even more dangerous with his helmet distorting it.

Riddler smiled and put his arms behind his back. “You have become rather troublesome, Red Hood.”

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” Jason answered with sarcasm.

But Jason hadn’t been interfering with the Riddler for quite some time, so he was still rather confused what was going on.

“Our mutual friend is quite tired of you meddling with his business. Also, it’s not cheap to replace all of his goons you keep murdering.”

Jason tilted his head. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.”

Riddler narrowed his eyes with slight annoyance. “Why the Clown Prince of Crime, of course.” Jason’s body tensed at the name and the Riddler noticed immediately. “He figured if you came back from the dead once before, there’s a chance you could do it again.”

Then the Riddler stopped his pacing and did a dramatic gesture to himself. “Which is where I come in. You see, he thought it would save him some time and effort to simply hire me.” He moved closer to Jason. “He figured if he couldn’t kill you…maybe you deserve a different punishment.”

Jason audible sighed. “Am I supposed to be scared?”

While it sounded like a joke, there was a truth to the question. Jason stopped fearing death long ago. And once you’ve died and come back to life, there’s nothing really that scared Jason Todd anymore. Which was why he had become the ruthless and merciless antihero of Gotham.

Batman would hurt criminals enough to break them. Red Hood would simply kill them.

Though after fighting his family became too much, Jason finally agreed to stop his massacres. But the criminals of Gotham didn’t need to know that. And Jason would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy how much they shook at the mere sight of him.

“Oh, I’m sure we can figure out how to return some fear into that ice cold heart of yours,” Riddler whispered in Jason’s ear before pressing a button.

A swinging light bulb flashed on.

No, no, no, no. no.

Below the source of the light was Y/N, tied to a chair by her hands and feet. A rag was across her mouth and tied at the back of her head. She was only in her underwear and a baggy t-shirt – Jason’s t-shirt. Further proving that she had been ripped from her bed and brought here against her will.

Jason completely controlled his reaction to seeing his girlfriend being held captive just 20 feet across from him. But in reality, his heart was about explode out of his chest.

Not this. Not her. Anything but her.

“What is this?” Jason asked, trying to sound as devoid of emotion as possible. The less she seemed to mean to him, the less Riddler would want to use her against him.

“I think you know exactly what this is, Red Hood.” Then Riddler practically skipped to Y/N’s side, who looked confused and terrified, clearly having no idea why any of this was happening to her of all people.

“Your quarrel is with me, Riddler. There’s no need to involve an innocent civilian.” Jason’s voice was cool and even.

But he ignored Jason and pulled a pistol out from the back of the waist.

Jason couldn’t remain calm any longer. He started struggling against the ties.

“Don’t worry. The fun has just begun. You get these three riddles right and I won’t hurt her – at least…not yet.”

But Jason was looking at Y/N. She was looking back at him, which did little to reassure her. She didn’t know who he was and his helmet wasn’t designed to comfort people.

“Hey, it’s gonna be OK.” He tried to tell her as softly as he could.

For some reason, she nodded. But Jason knew her well enough to see his words had little impact on her. Tears started streaming down her face and her entire body was shaking as she felt the cold metal of a gun pressed to her head.

“Shall we begin?” Riddler asked with a creepily joyful smile.

Jason waited. But as the Riddler was distracted, he was able to maneuver his arms to press the panic button on his wrist to send out a distress signal to the right people. It was his first time using it, always too proud or stubborn to ask for help.

But if Y/N was involved, none of that mattered anymore.

The Riddler’s eerie tone brought him back, “When you have me, you feel like sharing me. But if you do share me, you don’t have me.” He took in a deep breath. “What am I?”

Jason’s chest was heaving with anger. He should’ve been more careful. He should’ve stayed away from Y/N. He was a curse, a disease. Anyone that got close to him just ended up in danger. And he should’ve known better than to think he could be happy without consequences.

“Clock’s ticking, Red Hood.” He cocked the gun. “What am I?”

“A secret,” Jason growled.

“Surprise, surprise. There does seem to be some semblance of a brain underneath that stupid helmet of yours.”

Y/N closed her eyes in relief, causing more tears to escape and slide down her cheeks.

“When you have me more, you can see only less. What am I?” The Riddler asked.

Jason thought on the next riddle as he tried to find one of his knives hidden in his sleeve. But even when he grabbed one, it would take far too long to cut through this thick rope that kept him tied down.

“Darkness,” Jason answered confidently.

The Riddler seemed annoyed now. “One more riddle and then we’ll move on to another game. Or maybe we won’t, if you get it wrong.” He shifted so he was directly behind Y/N and facing Jason as he pointed the gun at the back of her head.

“The person who built it, sold it. The person who bought it, never used it. The person who used it, never saw it.” He tilted his head. “What is it?”

Jason finally found the edge of a knife. He subtly started cutting at the ropes on the back of his chair, praying he could buy himself enough time to get him out.

The Riddler lifted the gun to the ceiling and shot it, causing Y/N to jump and let out a yelp.

“I’m waiting!” He snapped at Jason.

“A coffin!” Jason growled. “Put the gun down and let her go. You’ve had your fun.”

The Riddler laughed. “Oh, you think that this was the main attraction?” He put the gun down, but moved to grip Y/N’s chin roughly.

“Secrets, darkness, coffin,” Riddler listed the three answers aloud. Then he turned to Jason. “What do all of them have in common?”

Riddler moved back behind Y/N and leaned down to whisper in her ear. The feeling alone caused a chill to go down her spine. “You’ve been lied to, my dear. The decision to bring you here was not random at all. That I can promise you.”

“Secrets, secrets are no fun. Secrets, secrets hurt someone,” he sang loudly, his voice echoing in the warehouse. Then he danced back to Y/N and pulled down the rag around her mouth, finally allowing her to speak.

“Red Hood, question for you. How many people have you killed?”

Don’t do this, Jason begged in his mind. 

He didn’t answer.

The Riddler didn’t appreciate this and quickly walked to Y/N, smacking her across the face with the back of his hand.

Jason struggled against his restraints.

Riddler whipped back to him. “Answer the question!”

“I don’t know,” he barked back.

“You don’t know because there’s so many?” Riddler challenged.

“I don’t keep track,” Jason answered quickly, knowing his silence would only cause Y/N more pain.

“More then 10?”

“Yes.”

“More then 50?” Riddler asked with an evil grin.

“Yes.”

Riddler turned to Y/N. “It’s actually 83.”

It was the first Jason had heard the number. But he knew better than to question it.

“You call yourself a hero. But looks to me like you’re just a murderer,” the Riddler cooed with a sneer. 

Jason hung his head in shame. “I’ve never called myself a hero.”

Riddler ignored his comment and turned his attention fully to Y/N now. “Now this next one is for you, dear. And it’s a tricky one.” The Riddler took in a deep breath. “I hurt the most when lost, yet also when not had at all. I’m sometimes the hardest to express, but the easiest to ignore. I can be given to many…or only just one.”

Y/N swallowed, repeating the words over and over again in her head.

“L-Love,” she finally stuttered out, but seemed sure of her answer.

The Riddler smiled at her response. He turned to Jason. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Red Hood.” Then he shifted his weight. “Or should I say Jason?”

Jason saw the confusion on Y/N’s face from the comment.

“Tell me dear, did you know you were in love with a murderer?”

Y/N was discombobulated by such a question.

But before she could figure it out, the Riddler rushed to Jason and ripped off his helmet. When he saw that Jason was wearing a domino mask underneath, he rolled his eyes. “All you bats and birds are so paranoid!” Then he ripped that off, too.

Y/N’s eyes widened at the sight of her boyfriend.

But Jason didn’t catch it. He was too busy hanging his head, scared to meet her gaze.

“Surprised?” The Riddler asked her with glee.

Her tears started again. But they weren’t just from being scared now. They were tears of betrayal.

“Oh, sweetheart. Don’t cry,” the Riddler mocked.

“You did what you wanted. Now let her go,” Jason growled.

He tugged at his ropes, but his knife wasn’t cutting fast enough.

“Let her go?” The Riddler was baffled. “Who said anything about letting her go? I said I wasn’t going to hurt her if you cooperated. But killing her is the only way I can hurt you, Red Hood. Don’t worry, I shall make it quick!”

With that he raised his gun to her head once again. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, truly believing this is how she was going to die.

“NO!” Jason screamed.

But right before pulling the trigger, Riddler’s grip was knocked away by a batarang.

Jason felt sick with relief when he turned to see Batman and Robin making their way to the Riddler.

Riddler was not a fighter. He always made a run for it.

But when he turned to do so, he was met with Nightwing blocking his path.

Jason felt someone drop behind him and realized that Red Robin was getting rid of his restraints.

Riddler looked around him with crazed eyes, realizing he was about to be outnumbered five to one. “This is too many vigilantes for my liking. Time for backup.” He pulled out a button and pressed it before Dick could rip the unknown device from his hands.

An explosion erupted in the warehouse, catching everyone off guard.

Tim had just finally released Jason from his restraints when the impact hit.

Jason saw as Y/N’s chair was knocked off its legs, taking her to the floor with it. Her head slammed against the hard concrete floor.  

As soon as the explosion settled, Jason sprinted to her.

When he reached her, she was knocked unconscious. “Y/N! Come on, beautiful. You’re OK. You’re OK.” 

But the words were to convince himself. He felt for a pulse and let out a sigh of relief when it was still strong.

Ever so carefully, he untied the ropes that held her to the chair. He ripped his jacket off his body and wrapped it around her shoulders. She seemed so small like this – so vulnerable. He’d tried so hard to keep her away from this darkness. And seeing her like this was the horrid reminder for why he’d lied to her about who he was.

His family watched with concern as Jason stood with her limp body in his arms. By some miracle, the blast missed all of them. It was used as more of a distraction than as an attempt to take any of them out.

Jason slowly walked to Bruce.

“Take her. Please.” His eyes desperate at first, but then they darkened. “There’s something I have to do.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “We had a deal.”

But he still gently took Y/N out of his arms.

“That was before her,” Jason answered as he took a final glance at Y/N.  

“Jason, don’t do it,” Dick urged.

“Keep her safe,” was all Jason said before turning from them and running after the man that had put his love in danger.

“What shall we do with her?” Damian asked coldly as he eyed the young woman he was seeing for the first time.

“We’re taking her back to the manor,” Bruce told his sons.

“Is that wise?” Damian countered.

“He’ll need her. And she’ll need to know everything,” was all Bruce said as he started carrying Y/N to the batmobile.

————————

Y/N wasn’t awoken by people screaming from the streets below or the garbage truck coming too early to throw every neighbor’s trash can around at 5AM. She couldn’t hear the blasting of her window unit air conditioning.

No, instead she heard birds chirping outside and the wind rustling countless trees.

Did she even have a single tree on her block?

She squinted her eyes open and the night came rushing back to her.

Goons storming into her apartment, ripping her from her bed and throwing a bag over her head. Y/N just remembered thinking, “I’m just glad Jason wasn’t here. At least he’s safe.”

But Jason was far from safe. He was Red Hood: the infamous anti-hero that half of Gotham thought was a murderer and the other half swore he was just as much of a hero as the the other masked vigilantes.

How did she not see it sooner?

The random cuts and bruises. Constantly missing dates. Late-night texts when she had already fallen asleep. Always being exhausted when he was present.

But it was easy to ignore all of this because when they were together, things were good – no, things were amazing.

No man had ever made Y/N feel more seen and loved and appreciated. In fact, before him, Y/N had come to terms with being alone for the rest of her life. She made peace with it, had no problem with it.

But then Jason came stumbling into her life. And he didn’t accept Y/N being unloved the way she did. It was the thing that made him get over his own self-hatred and constant need to punish himself. If he wasn’t going to love Y/N for him, then he’d love Y/N because that’s what she deserved.

And Y/N felt that.

But he wasn’t who she thought he was. He had lied to her over and over again. When she was concerned over his injuries, he made up story after story. When she asked where he’d been after skipping a date, he used work as an excuse.

Did Y/N actually know Jason Todd at all?

Or had she only seen what she wanted to see?

Did the man she love even exist?

These were the questions racing through Y/N’s mind as she awoke in a bedroom that she didn’t recognize. Bedroom – if that’s even what she could call it. It felt more like a palace. She’d never slept on softer sheets or a comfier mattress. The room was bigger than her entire apartment. And from what she could see in the ensuite bathroom, it looked like it belonged in a five-star hotel.

Y/N’s observations paused when she saw Red Hood’s leather jacket tossed on top of the fancy chaise lounge on the other side of the room. No, not Red Hood’s leather jacket. Jason’s. It was the only indication that he had been there.

Am I in Wayne Manor? Y/N asked herself.

At least Jason hadn’t lied about that, explaining his afflicted relationship with his family casually a few times. But in a way that always told Y/N he didn’t want to talk about it in depth.

The leather jacket then caused Y/N to look down at herself. She was wearing a white t-shirt and grey cotton sleep shorts. Clearly they were mens. Someone had changed her while she had been asleep – or…unconscious.

Fuck, her head really hurt.

Having enough of being confused, Y/N slipped out of the bed and decided she was going to hunt down an explanation.

The bedroom was placed in a long hallway. Taking a 50/50 chance, Y/N decided to go right instead of left.

She walked as quietly as possible, still feeling uncomfortable in such surroundings.

After she stepped down the most extravagant staircase she’d ever seen, she heard sounds come from around the corner. It sounded like movement in a kitchen.

When she reached a doorway, she saw an elderly man dressed as a butler. As he was cooking, he caught Y/N’s presence from the corner of his eye. He quickly turned and gave her a comforting smile.

“Ah! Ms. Y/L/N, your timing is impeccable. I was just finishing up breakfast.”

But she remained unsure of the situation.

“Oh, I do apologize. Where are my manners? I am Alfred Pennyworth.” He quickly stepped to her and offered his hand. “I am the butler for the Wayne family.”

“So…this is Wayne Manor?” Y/N asked after awkwardly shaking his hand in the doorway, completely forgetting to share her own name. But he cleary already knew it.

He smiled at her. “Yes, Master Wayne brought you here after last nights…theatrics.” Before either of them could discuss the “theatrics” he slyly mentioned, he pulled out a chair at the table in the kitchen. “Please, sit. You must be famished.”

This man hardly looked threatening, so she decided to follow his instructions.

Alfred quickly placed a large plate with a full English breakfast on it, a mug of steaming coffee, and a glass of water. Then he offered her a bottle of advil.

Y/N looked up at him with a curious glance.

“I can only assume your head is aching quite a bit. From what I was told, you took quite the fall from the explosion.”

At least Y/N knew she hadn’t imagined the nightmare. It was real. She quickly took two of the pills and chugged the glass of water.

Alfred didn’t hover, instead continuing to work on more breakfast.

But Y/N’s breakfast was quickly interrupted when Bruce Wayne walked into the kitchen.

He eyed her carefully, hiding his surprise at her being awake. Casually, he went to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked her.

Y/N was surprised how genuine his concern sounded.

“Confused,” she blustered out without meaning to.

Bruce smirked. “I meant your head.”

She cleared her throat. “Right. Ummm…just a terrible headache. But I think I’ll live.”

“Good.”

To her shock, Bruce sat across from her. He drank his coffee as his eyes raced across the tablet in his hand.

Y/N took a few bites of food before she had the courage to ask one of the many questions that were racing around her head.

“Where is Jason?” She asked slowly and carefully.

Alfred seemed to tense at the question and hesitated before saying, “Master Jason thought it best to give you some space.”

Y/N didn’t know what to make of his answer.

Bruce seemed to be studying her.

Y/N wanted to shrink under his scrutiny, but fought the feeling and met his gaze head on, as if challenging him.

“He’s in the cave,” Bruce told her evenly.

It seemed no one was trying to hide their family secrets from Y/N.

“I’d like to see him.”

Bruce and Alfred shared a look and what seemed to be a silent conversation.

After a moment, Bruce stood up. “I’ll take you.”

Y/N jumped out of her seat to follow him.

Next thing she knew, Bruce was taking her through a secret passage and there was a dark and dreary staircase in front of her.

Bruce gestured for her to go forward, silently telling her he wasn’t coming with.

As soon as Y/N started down the cold staircase, a shiver went down her spin. The temperature immediately dropped.

When she reached the bottom, she looked around and found Jason sparring with a man she recognized as Dick Grayson.

Jason did a double take as soon as Y/N took a step away from the staircase.

Dick followed his gaze and his face dropped.

The two men shared a look and their sparring ended.

Dick walked to her and gave Y/N a charming smile as he held out his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’m Dick.”

Y/N forced a shy smirk and shook his hand, but said nothing.

Now it was just Jason and Y/N.

Y/N’s arms tightly held herself because of the freezing temperature of the batcave, and because she didn’t know how this conversation was about to end.

“Hi,” Jason said awkwardly.

“Hi.”

“How’d you get down here?”

Y/N shrugged. “Bruce.”

Jason looked her up and down before quickly turning and grabbing the sweatshirt he had discarded before working out and sparring.

He handed it to her, making sure not to get too close. “Here. It gets fucking frigid in this stupid cave.”

Y/N quickly put it on. But she didn’t miss how Jason tried to keep his distance.

“I’m not scared of you,” she muttered.

He cocked an eyebrow, but she could still see the hurt in his face. “Really? Because you’re not looking at me like I’m the same person.”

“Because you’re not,” Y/N snapped.

Y/N imagined this conversation would be filled with rage. She thought she’d start yelling at Jason and then she wouldn’t be able to stop. She’d tell him how disappointed she was in him, how he was just like every other man who had hurt her. Her hands would be quivering in fists at her side. The anger…it would consume her.

So imagine her surprise when her bottom lip started trembling and tears started streaming down her face. And she could do nothing to stop it.

Little did she know that watching this hurt Jason more than her anger ever could.

He took a step toward her. It was his instinct – an instinct that was so hard to fight in this moment.

“You know…it’s really hard for me to let people in – no, it’s hard for me to let men in. I don’t trust them. I stop doing that a long time ago. But you – fuck – I don’t even know why now. But I did let you in. I really did. I told you things I’ve never told anyone. I trusted you. I…I loved you, Jason.”

Jason looked in more pain than ever before. His eyes watered from seeing the woman he loved breaking down like this. And it was no one else’s fault, but his own.

“But you hid this whole part of yourself. You lied to me. Every excuse you made for your bruises and cuts, you were lying. Every time you canceled a date, you were lying. And I’m realizing that you lied to me about your life more than you ever told me the truth.”

She tried to wipe away the tears, but they were coming down too fast.

“Was the Riddler serious?” She accused. “Have you killed all those people?”

“I have.”

Y/N studied him for a second. A part of her hadn’t expected him to admit it. She was waiting for him to give her another lie. After all, it came so naturally to him.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” She practically whimpered.

“Yes,” he answered quickly. “I just…I didn’t know how. I was scared.”

Was there even anything he could say that would make her hate him less?

Jason ran a hand through his hair. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you. And I should’ve kept you safe. You almost–” He felt sick. “You were almost killed last night. And it was because of me.”

Y/N’s eyes went dark. “Did you kill him? Did you kill the Riddler?”

Jason’s jaw clenched and his hands turned into fists at the mentioning of the criminal’s name. “No, but I should’ve.”

In truth, he almost had. It hadn’t been hard to catch up to the bastard. Jason beat him to in an inch of his death. But not before he confirmed that no one else knew of Y/N’s existence. No, he didn’t kill the Riddler. But he beat him so badly that he would be in the coma for the rest of his days – unable to speak, meaning no one else would ever know about Y/N.

“I don’t do that anymore. Bruce and I…we have a deal.”

“He’s Batman,” she wasn’t asking. “And your brothers…” she didn’t need to finish.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” His head hung low. “I don’t deserve it. And I never deserved you in the first place. I always knew that. It’s probably why it was so hard to tell you. Because I knew the moment I did… you’d see me for the monster I really am.”

Y/N’s eyes were red now and her nose congested.

“You don’t owe me anything. But I just…I need to tell you this before I never see you again,” Jason quickly said, sensing this was their final goodbye. “I love you. I didn’t even think I could love someone the way I love you, Y/N. You…you’ve made me better. And you’re probably the only reason I was able to stop myself from killing that son of a bitch last night.”

It was Y/N’s face Jason saw when he was beating the Riddler. And then he realized, in some twisted way, that such a death would also be on her hands. He could handle having blood on his hands forever. But would never do that to Y/N.

Then Jason’s word turned so, so quiet. “But I also know I can’t ask you to stay after everything I’ve done to you.”

And for a moment, the two of them just stared at one another.

Y/N tried to wipe the last of her tears away once again. “I think I should go,” she mumbled.

“You can’t go back to your apartment. It’s not safe there anymore. Bruce offered to let you stay here for as long as necessary. I’ll leave,” he quickly added. “So you don’t have to worry about being around me.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not staying here,” she said with a surprising amount of conviction. “I’ll stay with friends or something. But I don’t want to be here.”

What Y/N meant was that she didn’t want to be surrounded by the secrets Jason had kept from her. She didn’t want to be reminded of how little she actually knew him.

Somehow Jason seemed to realize that.

He took a cautious step toward her. “For what it’s worth, you do know me. I know you think that’s a lie. But no one sees me like you see me, Y/N. No one.” He pointed up. “Not even the fucked up people that call me their family.”

His words struck in a way she wasn’t expecting. But she made sure he didn’t know that and controlled her expression, staying as emotionless as possible.

Jason sighed, knowing this was their end. “Alfred will take you anywhere you want to go.”

He wanted to tell her more. He wanted to ask – no, to beg – to hold her. Just one last time. But he would never ask that of her. How could he?

So he just watched as Y/N slowly turned and made her way back of the stairs.

Jason wanted to memorize her face as if this was the last time he’d lay eyes on her. But he knew himself better than that. He’d make sure she was safe, add her to his patrol as if it was normal addition to his vigilante life. Y/N didn’t deserve to be at risk for the rest of her life because she made the mistake of loving a man like him.

————————

1 MONTH LATER.

————————

Y/N didn’t realize how hard it would be. She thought she could just go back to the life she had before Jason ever fought his way into her heart. But it took her a month to understand that was never going to happen. She’d never be able to just forget him.

She thought anger would take over and make her hate Jason. Hate was always easier than love. And Y/N was banking on that.

But after everything Jason did, Y/N still couldn’t find it in her heart to hate him.

Because, at the end of the day, they still loved each other.

Despite his secrets and his lies, Y/N knew that Jason had been telling the truth about his feelings for her. He really did love her. She had felt it every day. Even at the beginning of their relationship – before they realized what they were feeling was love – Y/N always felt how much Jason cared for her.

That was why all of this was so hard for her.

Take away the lies, the secret vigilante life, the killing. Take it all away. And Y/N knew she had never met another man that made her feel the way Jason did – or…had.

That was really what Y/N had finally realized over the past weeks. She had thought it was betrayal and fear. 

No. 

She now understood that what she was feeling was a broken heart. 

It was a first for her. One had to be in love in order to get their heart broken. And the only man Y/N ever loved was Jason Todd.

As the understanding washed over Y/N, she was staring out the window. She’d made herself a cup of coffee, but had been so lost in her thoughts that she’d let it grow cold. Then she felt a tickling down her cheek and realized that she had started crying. 

Suddenly there was a quick knock at the front door of her apartment.

Y/N squinted in suspicion at the sound and sloppily rubbed the tears off her face.

She slowly walked to door, but stopped a few feet away, and just stared at it as her heart rate increased.

After Riddler’s men broke into her home and ripped her from bed, she had been anxious and cautious about any and all unexpected visitors. She hadn’t been sleeping. Either she couldn’t fall asleep or if she did, her night was infested with nightmares.

“Y/N? It’s Dick Grayson,” a voice called from the other side of the door.

She let out a small sigh of relief. How long had she been holding her breath?

There was a part of her that was screaming to still ignore the uninvited guest, despite it being someone she knew. But how well did she actually know Dick Grayson?

Except the other part – the part that could admit she missed Jason – wanted to speak to anyone that was from the part of her life she was trying so hard to forget.

Ever so slowly, she opened the door.

“Hi,” Dick beamed at seeing her appear. His smile and eyes were warm and friendly in a way that none of the other boys were.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N asked with a bit of rudeness.

She didn’t appreciate him giving her a scare. Especially because her two best friends that she now lived with were out of town for the weekend.

“I was hoping I could talk to you,” he gave her a shy but hopeful grin. Then he held up a tray of coffee and a paper baggie. “I brought you a latte and some doughnuts.”

Y/N eyed him. Her first thought was that maybe something had happened to Jason. But Dick’s delivery proved that wasn’t the case.

Her only invitation to Dick was a widening of the door and making room for him to walk past her.

This seemed to make him happy though.

Y/N directed them to the little breakfast nook that was flooded in the morning light.

She didn’t waste any time. “Did Jason send you here?” 

“No, Jason doesn’t know that I’m here,” Dick clarified as he slid one of the lattes to her side of the table.

Her nerves were the only reason she picked it up and started sipping, just trying to give herself something physical to do while Dick stared at her from across the little table.

“Is he OK?” She mumbled without looking at him.

Her pride wanted to her to shut up and not ask. But she couldn’t stop the question from spilling out, even though all evidence pointed to Dick having no bad news to share.

“He’s fine,” Dick quickly assured her. “Well…physically, at least.”

“What are you doing here, Dick?” She repeated her original question.

“It should be Bruce here, really. But he…” His words died out and then he cleared his throat. “Well, these types of things aren’t exactly his strong suit. Tim wanted to come, too. But I didn’t want to…overwhelm you.”  

“And what ‘type’ of thing is this exactly?”

Dick took in a deep breath and then leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table.

“You deserve to know the story – the whole story. I’m not here to get you to forgive Jason or to change your mind about leaving him.” He rubbed his face. “But I just want you to know the truth about him before you live with those decisions.”

Y/N’s heart was racing now. She felt sick.

Was she even ready for this conversation?

“So, is that OK?” Dick asked her carefully.

After a moment, Y/N finally nodded her head.

Dick took a deep breath.

He knew where he needed to start. And he wasn’t just about to share Jason’s secrets, he was about to tell Y/N all of their secrets. But it was what needed to be done.

Dick told her about Jason living on the streets, how his dad abused him, and his mother was a drug addict that couldn’t protect her son. Little Jason Todd turned to crime to take care of himself and get enough money to take care of himself and his mom.

Dick smiled as he told her how Jason tried to steel Bruce’s wheels on the batmobile. That was the moment that Bruce knew he couldn’t leave such a desperate child on the streets. Then everything happened so quickly. Next thing Dick knew, Jason had replaced him as Robin and Bruce had a new sidekick.

“I should’ve been there for him more,” Dick confessed. “Jason didn’t just need a home and a parent… he needed a brother, too. And I take responsibility for not really being there for him. If I’m being honest, I was bitter. It was hard for me to see how quickly Bruce could just…”

“Replace you?” Y/N offered softly.

Dick swallowed and nodded.

This was the hard part. Now he had to explain how Jason died, how the Joker tricked a child who was desperate to find the truth about his mother. How a dead boy became a resurrected man.

Dick knew he couldn’t gloss over the gory details. Jason deserved better. He didn’t need to have his secrets protected from the first woman who loved him. He needed to be seen and still loved.

Dick watched as Y/N shifted in her seat, trying her best to compose herself as Dick told her about Jason dying so horribly and then being resurrected. Joker’s maniacal laugh flashed in Y/N’s mind. As Dick spoke, she could almost feel the warmth of the explosion that he’d set for Jason. 

It was all so terrible.

How Jason was able to overcome it all left Y/N in awe of him.

“Jason has never really fully been himself since before…everything,” Dick said. “But it wasn’t fair that any of us ever expected that after what happened to him. I know there’s still so much that he’s never told any of us. And I’m not sure he ever will.”

Dick explained Jason’s rebellion from the family and his war with Bruce. Dick was the one that got emotional now, as his eyes glossed over, remembering how angry and ruthless Jason had been.

“Bruce has one rule: no killing.” Dick sighed and rubbed his face. “Jason thought he was being what Gotham needed. He was tired of watching criminal after criminal beat the system and repeatedly get set free. We eventually had to make a deal with him. We couldn’t stand by and let him continue on the way he was.”

Dick gave her a nervous look. “I can only assume that the hardest thing to wrap your mind around is the–”

“Killing,” Y/N quickly interrupted harshly.

Until now, she had remained quiet but engaged. Never interrupting or adding unnecessary responses.

“Yes,” Dick replied before tightening his jaw.

Y/N couldn’t look at him now. “I know–” She had to pause because her voice was shaking so much. “I know he did it to protect people. And I know – in his mind – that they deserved it, because they were bad people.”

“I might not agree with Jason’s views or his past actions. But one thing is for sure: Jason Todd has never killed an innocent.”

“I just don’t know if that’s enough,” Y/N said with teary eyes.

“I understand,” Dick nodded.

There had been a part of her that always knew Jason was fighting demons. But she could’ve never guessed how bad it had truly been for him.

How could he hide all of this from her?

Y/N couldn’t hold back her emotions any longer. After hearing Jason’s life story, how could she? Tears silently ran down her face. She wasn’t embarrassed to cry in front of Dick. He had such a calming presence about him.

Dick just let her consume everything he’d spent the past hour telling her. He just wanted to be there for her as she processed it.

So he sat there and let her cry. And eventually she got a hold of herself.

“You’re forgetting the most important part of this story,” Dick told her with a shy smile.

“I am?”

Dick nodded. “You.”

She scoffed at that.

“I’m being serious, Y/N.” Dick leaned forward again.

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that. She wasn’t one to share her emotions and feelings freely. So she wasn’t about to open up to her ex’s older brother, whom she hardly knew.

“He loves you, Y/N.” Dick insisted.

“None of you even knew about me,” Y/N tried to argue.

“That’s not true. Just because he didn’t tell us directly doesn’t mean we didn’t know about you.” Dick smirked. “We’re a nosey bunch. When we noticed a change in him – a good change – we did a little investigating.”

Y/N couldn’t find it in her to tell Dick that Jason made her change for the better too.

So she changed the subject to what was really stopping her from running back into Jason’s arms despite all the lies and secrets.

“How did you get over it?” Her voice was so quite that it was almost a whisper.

“Get over what?” Dick squinted.

“The killing.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Police Officers kill people every day.”

Y/N made a look of disgust. “Law enforcement in this country is corrupt. I figured a man who felt the need to wear a mask and become a vigilante was well aware of that.”

Dick winced. “Why do you think Gotham is so hard to clean up?”

She stayed quiet.

“Soldiers have killed more people on a single tour than Jason has,” Dick continued.

“Soldiers are following orders,” Y/N countered. “Orders from authority whose ethics and motives are often questionable.”

“Exactly.” Dick’s back straightened. “We’ve normalized both of those things. But I can assure you of one thing, Jason has no ulterior motives. There is no systemic prejudice that controls his actions. Just right and wrong, good and evil.”

Then he rubbed his face, wondering if he wanted to say the next part. “When things with Jason were bad – really bad – and I thought I would have to be the one that put him behind bars, the one thing that gave me hope was knowing that Jason had rid the world of evil. That doesn’t mean I condone his actions…but it helps me sleep at night.”

Silence filled the apartment. Y/N was still processing the information. And Dick didn’t want to force her to talk or speak just to fill the silence.

Slowly, Dick rose from his seat.

“I don’t want to intrude any more than I already have,” he told her gently.

There were those classic Wayne manners that both Bruce and Alfred had ingrained in him. It reminded Y/N of Jason. Even though Jason had a dark, sarcastic sense of humor and quite the temper, Y/N couldn’t remember a time when the man didn’t say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ – not to mention all the old-school gentlemanly gestures that always caught her off guard.

Y/N followed Dick to the door.

He hesitated. “Thank you for listening, Y/N.”

She just nodded.

“Like I said when I got here, I’m not telling you what to do. All I ask is that you consider everything you learned.”

She nodded again. “You’re a good brother, Dick.”

He chuckled darkly at that. “Jason would disagree with you on that. I’m lucky if he even calls me his brother most of the time.”

Y/N managed to force a shy smirk on her lips for his benefit.

Then Dick was reaching into his pocket for a piece of paper. He slowly handed it over.

She looked down to see what appeared to be an address. “What’s this?”

“The safe house Jason’s been hiding out in since you last talked.” Then he gave her one final nod. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

————————————— 3 WEEKS LATER. —————————————

Jason had been on autopilot these past couple of months. He let his work take over his life. To make matters worse, he barely added eating and sleeping to that mix. The only reason he managed to get himself to eat was to keep his strength up… so he could keep working.

Right now was the one of the few times his exhaustion was so heavy that he managed to get a couple hours of sleep.

That is until one of the alarms for his safe house went off.

Someone had triggered the sensor for the floor.

It could easily be a homeless person. It wouldn’t be the first time. But that assumption went on the window when Jason heard a polite knock at his front door.

Completely silent, Jason moved out of bed and grabbed the gun that sat on his nightstand.

Quickly he tiptoed to the door and waited, half expecting someone to start shooting. It wouldn’t have mattered, seeing as the door was made out of bulletproof steel.

Without making a sound, he made his way to the peephole.

When he spotted who was on the other side, his body moved on reflex alone. He instantly put the gun on safety and whipped open the door.

His guest jumped a little in surprise.

“Y/N,” Jason gasped.

Once she got over the scare, she seemed to take in his appearance.

Jason looked awful. There were shadows under his eyes. His hair looked greasy from the lack of washing. And because he was “working” so much, his body was littered in more injuries than usual. He stood completely shirtless in black boxer briefs.

But the only thing Jason was embarrassed about was his autopsy scar that was on full display for her.

Yes, Y/N had seen and felt it. But it was always in the cover of darkness. If they had sex in daylight, Jason always found a way to keep a shirt on. It was always effortless and subtle. Plus Y/N was so preoccupied with the passion between them that she never really considered how self-conscious he was about it.

Once again, Y/N was wondering why she normalized things like that instead of pushing Jason to open up about things he was obviously hiding.

She had assumed they were scars from his childhood. He had told her his dad was abusive and his mom did nothing to protect him. Y/N thought the scars were from an incident – an incident that was too traumatizing for him open up to her about.

But they were autopsy scars… Because Jason had died once.

“Did I wake you?” She asked him gently.

“No,” he quickly lied. Then he shook his head, still processing that she was standing in front of him. “Come in,” he hurriedly added.

She game him a grateful nod and walked past him.

Her eyes quickly took in the safe house. It looked like an industrial loft. But what she was really locking on to was the multiple tables covered in weapons and gear.

After all that time of Jason’s vigilante life being hidden, now it was all completely on display for her to see.

“Are you OK?” Jason quickly asked her.

She nodded.

“How is your new place?” He then asked.

“Fine,” she offered.

“Your roommates are OK?”

She nodded again.

“Are you sleeping alright?”

“Jason,” she said it sternly, in a tone that she knew would make him finally stop with the frantic questions. “I came to talk to you.”

This took him aback.

Then he looked around him. There was a fold out table a few feet away from them.

“Here,” he muttered before rushing forward and moving what appeared to be a dozen knives and multiple guns.

He pulled out one of the chairs and motioned for her to sit.

Then Jason seemed to finally realize his state of undress. “I’ll…just give me a second.”

Y/N would’ve laughed at his adorable franticness. But she was too busy feeling nauseous and anxious.

She turned her back to him changing since the loft style gave little privacy. 30 seconds later, Jason was moving back to the table and sitting across from her in a black hoodie and sweatpants.

Y/N gently cleared her throat. Her gaze couldn’t meet Jason’s as she said, “Dick came to see me.”

Jason’s face darkened. “I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have done that. I’ll ta–”

“No, it’s fine.” Then she shifted in her seat. “He came to…uhh…he came to talk to me about you, actually.”

That wasn’t what Jason was expecting.

“He told me everything,” she stated. “I mean, everything you never did.”

The true meaning of her words slowly washed over Jason.

He leaned back in his chair, his massive form making it squeak.

Y/N took in a shaky breath. “Jason…I’m-I’m so sorry.”

He shifted his weight.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Y/N.” He told her quietly.

Usually Jason’s death and resurrection was a joke. He loved making his family cringe, shrink, and become uncomfortable with his dark humor about it. That was just how he’d grown to deal with it all.

But he couldn’t do the same for Y/N.

A few beats of silence passed between them.

“I miss you,” Y/N finally told him.

Jason’s eyes widened at the confession. “I miss you, too.”

Silence again.

“Was I just part of a cover?” She quickly asked him.

“No,” he immediately answered.

“Was our relationship even real?”

“Yes, Y/N. I promise you that it was.”

Y/N bit her lip. She came here with no plan. And now it was starting to feel very real. She knew what she needed to know and she knew what she needed to say. But she wasn’t sure how to get there.

“Do you still love me?” She whispered.

Jason flinched at the question – not because of the answer, but because she felt the need to even ask it.

He nodded.

“After everything that’s happened,” she began, “what would a relationship between us even be, Jason?”

This was not the follow-up question he was expecting.

“What do you want it to be?”

But what he really wanted to say was it could be anything she wanted. He would do absolutely anything to get her back. Anything.

Still, he didn’t want to push her. So he let her take the lead.

“No more lies,” Y/N demanded. Jason opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “I know you can’t tell me the details of the nightly occurrences from your…other life.”

“It was to keep you safe,” he tried to explain. “The less you know, the safer you are. No one can try to use you for information.”

Y/N nodded in understanding. “I’m saying no more lies about where you are or why you can’t make something. And no more hiding injuries.”

Jason nodded firmly, trying to mask his eagerness.

“But more importantly…No more lies about your past. Dick may have told me everything he knew. But I know there’s missing parts and it’s only his perspective.” Then she hesitated, “And I’d…I’d like to hear it from you.”

Jason felt sick by the idea. He thought maybe he’d gotten out of such a request because of his nosey brother.

“You might not like what you find…” he warned her.

But Y/N was already shaking her head. “You know me inside and out.”

Jason did a weird half shrug, half nod. “I like to think so.”

“Don’t you think I deserve the same?”

Jason knew he had a point. But he loved everything about her. Y/N’s flaws weren’t even flaws to him. They were just what made her the woman she was. And that so happened to a woman he was deeply in love with.

But his sins? They were what convinced him that he was unlovable – a monster.

“You do,” Jason agreed with a mumble.

Y/N struggled to swallow with how dry her throat had suddenly become. “You had made a deal with your family – a deal you almost broke because of me.”

Jason knew what she was really asking. She didn’t even really know what she wanted.

“You want to know about the people I’ve killed,” he said low and even.

But she didn’t answer.

Jason leaned forward on the table and thought over her request. He rubbed the scruff on his jawline and chin.

“One was a man who was trying to rip down the pants of 5 year old girl in an alley of the Narrows.” His expression and tone was numb as he started listing them. “Another was an abusive husband that pushed his pregnant wife down a flight of stairs, causing her to have a miscarriage and almost die.”

Y/N felt sick as she listened.

“The last person I killed was Gotham’s number one human trafficker. When I asked him – with a gun to his head – how he had such a lack of remorse, he said, ‘These sickos are going to find their fun one place or another, I might as well make a buck off it.’”

Y/N could tell as Jason shared these stories that he felt no remorse for his executions.

“Bruce would tell you that every one deserves a chance to change. Or he’ll tell you that we’re not the law, we’re just enforcing it.” Jason shook his head. “But I’ve seen thousands of rapists, murderers, and – god knows what else – get freed time and time again. They may get locked up for a bit, but most of them find their way back on the streets. The system is broken. I know it. You know it. And Bruce knows it.”

Then his eyes darkened. “And before you ask, I wouldn’t take any of it back. Truthfully, I believe the world is a better place without those fuckers in it.”

As harsh as it sounded, Y/N appreciated the honesty. And perhaps there was a part of her that agreed with him. 

Jason was right: she did know the system was broken, just as much as he did. But she wasn’t in a position to execute the same justice as he could.

“Can I ask you something in return?” The softness in his voice surprised Y/N.

She nodded her head.

“That morning at the manor…you said you weren’t scared of me.” He paused. “Were you telling the truth?”

“I wasn’t scared of you – at least, not like you’re implying. I felt–” She searched for the right word. “Defenseless. Because you knew me, but I didn’t know you anymore. Does that make sense?”

Jason nodded. “And what about now? After knowing all I’ve done.”

To his surprise, Y/N reached across the table and gently grabbed one his hands. She held it in her grasp, tracing the lines in his palm. The skin was rough and scarred.

After so long without it, the feeling of her touch caused a shiver to go down Jason’s spine. 

Y/N knew these hands had killed dozens of people. But she also knew that they’d been nothing but gentle with her.

“You’ve never hurt me, Jason.”

“I never would,” he answered quietly, almost with a certain desperation.

She nodded, already knowing that.

“No matter what happens with us, I don’t ever want you to be scared of me, Y/N.”

Then she was crying and jumped from her seat. Without even thinking, she was on the other side of the table, throwing herself onto Jason’s lap, and wrapping her arms around him. Jason pulled her even tighter to him, cradling her face to his neck.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. I just…I just want you back. OK?”

Y/N pulled away and Jason wiped the tears from her cheeks. She nodded and gave him a teary smile, “OK.”

Their relationship wouldn’t mend itself just like that. They were going to have to work at it. But with all their secrets on the table, they knew what they were fighting. And from now on, they were going to face them together.

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

Yeesh. That one was a lot. 

Let me know what you think!

(If you have criticisms about how I wrote Jason, I’d love to hear them, just don’t be a fucking asshole about it. There’s a right way to give feedback and there’s definitely a wrong way.)

[hozierandco]

Sam Fender x Reader / smut / If Friday don’t come soon

A/N: Some good-old enemies to lovers. Unprotected sex.

Plot: When Dru's brother gets married, the stag do may become the most interesting part...

"No! I'm with Dru!"

"We've been at if for ten minutes now. I've already made my point that I know him for a longer time than you do" Sam trumpeted to an enraged Y/N.

"C'mon, be a gentleman for once. Let me go with him"

"You know what? He'll decide, how about that?"

"Sounds fair"

Who would have thought that for a common friend's stag, the hardest would be to pick the teams rather than to choose the actual activity.

Y/N had the priviledge to be the only woman amongst the boys at the stag, since she didn't know any guest on the side of women apart from the bride and since she was Dru's girl best friend, Dru being the groom's brother.

What it means however was that Samand Y/N would have to take on themselves not to ruin the night. It was a funny thing that Dru's closest friends were so different from one another. Ever since he had introduced them to one another, they fought like cat and dog.

The activity was set on paintball since Dru and his brother had played to it growing up. They were therefore reputed to be ruthless to the point that both Sam and Y/N wanted him on their team.

"Dru" Sam called for his drummer who was discussing with Joe.

Dru sighed, knowing that leaving Y/N and Sam together was not a good idea.

"We're facing a problem there. This diva here and myself both want to be on your team next Friday. We just need to fix it once and for all"

"Oh... I thought you knew that I'm teaming up with Eddie. Since you know, I'm his best man. And you know, his brother"

"Clearly, we stand zero chance to win if the Michaels team up" Y/N fainted pouting. She was eager to win to prove Sam she was good for something but now, she had no chance of that happening.

"Oh well then... Joe? Pairing with old Sam?"

"Thanks, Fender, always like to be the second choice! But I'm already with Emmett"

"Actually, I think you're the last two" Dru added with a grimace. It would be a blood bath.

"I better be alone in that case. Better than being with Fender"

"Yeah, thanks! As a matter of fact, I'm pretty good with it but you're right on one thing, I'll better be alone too"

"Yeah.. Not possible. Reservations are made for two"

"C'mon now!" Y/N sighed.

"That's bullocks" Sam grunted.

"You promised to behave!" Dru chided.

"Fine, I guess but you better be good!" Sam threatened.

"I'm a pro, Sam, who you take me for?"

Both Dru and Sam knew it was a lie and that the two of them together would fail miserably.

If it was not for the lack of brain cells they shared, it would be by lack of teamwork.

In an effort not to ruin the stag do and to stand a chance at paintball. They now knew they wouldn't be the first but there was no way they'd be last.

They agreed to see each other alone to discuss past disagreements and strategies.

"You're stubborn, Fender! I wasn't the first to be rude. You came up and pulled out that silly Aldo Maccione play at me"

"That's utter BS. I didn't do that! First, you're not my type at all and second, I don't fuck Dru's friends!"

"Yeah, I know the feeling. I care too much to do that too, I wouldn't risk losing him for a random bloke"

"I'm glad to hear you say"

"I'm sorry I misjudged you"

"Yeah, I'm sorry I sent you mixed messages. Let's start over, shall we?"

"Yeah, alright! So what's your type then?"

Sam scoffed "Easy now, you might be a part of the boys' club but I ain't talking about that with you"

***

The Friday arrived and all the guests had arrived by the paintball spot.

"Alright, ready to get slaughtered by the Michaels?", the groom-to-be asked while Dru began a haka of his own creation.

In spite of the rain that was softly falling down, the troops advanced and got their weapons of choice.

"Let's split here!" Y/N suggested as Sam and her reached a cabin that had been a collateral victim of many painters.

"Alright. It's 7.30. Let's meet here in an hour, okay?" Sam asked.

"Sure"

In the forest that was to be the battlefield, all of the groom's friends were shouting when approaching one another. The rain was getting thicker and Y/N hoped that her way back to the cabin wouldn't be sprinkled with a mishap like falling in the mud.

As she arrived by the cabin, earlier than expected as she was seeking for a shelter, she noticed Sam's shirt covered with large spots of green, purple and black on his jacket that was once white.

"Really? You got hurt how many times to end up like that?"

With the rain, the paint had started melting.

"Come under" Sam indicated so Y/N wouldn't get soaking wet "I might have overrestimated my talents"

"So have I" Y/N unveiled her shirt that was covered with the same range of colours.

"Making me feel bad for being lame when you're in the same state, really?"

Y/N's bra started showing off through the white blouse she had picked.

Sam couldn't help but to stare at what he was given to see. It was not his habit to stare but Y/N with the rain dripping off her and paint all over her clothes was simply irresistible.

He came closer to her, not believing his eyes when not only she didn't refuse the contact but she also moved closer.

They were now inside the cabin made of stone "Here, take that" Sam gave Y/N his jacket to protect her from the cold and as he put the jacket over her shoulders, he leaned for a kiss that Y/N gave back when their lips parted.

"You don't fuck with Dru's friends, huh?" Sam ironically asked.

"I'm not your type, huh?" Y/N replied tit for tat.

"You're clearly not my type" Sam continued as he pined Y/N to the cabin's entrance wall.

"Good, cause you're not mine" Y/N said as she attacked Sam's neck.

He got rid of enough clothes, on his side and on Y/N's to feel her around him. Y/N wrapped her legs around him, allowing her partner in crime to fall deeper inside her.

By fear of being caught, Sam sped up his moves. To help himself in the process, he had displayed his arms on the wall behind Y/N.

From afar, they could hear Dru rejoicing over yet another victim of his skills as a sniper. The noise got closer, which didn't work out well for Y/N and Sam's plans as they started a little concert of whimpers and moans.

They hushed each other down by uniting their lips. It was the perfect timing since a couple of seconds later, Sam unleashed the torrent that had built inside him.

Y/N was close too and prayed that Dru would go away since she knew she'd be unable to hold back her moans.

And indeed, Dru had set on running after Joe.

"Fuck, Sam. What would it be if I was your type?" Y/N asked as she was coming back from her orgasm.

"We should find the others" Sam said in a giggle.

As the two of them left, Sam ventured to take Y/N by the hand.

"Where were you?" As Dru asked, he noticed Sam's hand in Y/N's.

"Looks like you haven't lost everything tonight!" Dru winked at them.

[emitheduck]

So. We're Soulmates? (Bucky x Reader)

A/N: my first soulmate AU, and I figured it was finally time, and bucky deserved one lol. no spoilers whatsoever

Soulmate AU where you have your soulmate’s birthday tattooed on your arm ---

March 10th, 1917.

(Y/n) had always thought, there was no possible way that the universe had ever, ever gotten her soulmate’s birthday right. When everyone was celebrating that their soulmate was around the same age as them, she got to look down in horror as she could practically see her soulmate’s life fly by. There was legitimately no possible way that her soulmate would even still be alive.

The rules of the soulmate were strange, and no one ever understood them or questioned them. It was found out sometime in the 80s that the dates on peoples forearms weren’t random--but the birthday of their soulmate. Because the universe was a cosmic nightmare, when someone’s soulmate died, the numbers went with them.

That’s what made this so strange.

Either (Y/n)’s soulmate was hanging onto life support, or the universe had fucked up and decided it was going to trick her into thinking she could find happiness like everyone else.

She had these feelings up until she got the faithful call one day, that she had landed the job with SHIELD and found out that she would be working in the helicarrier during the attack on New York. And that’s how she met Steve Rogers.

“You know, it’s kind of funny.” Steve sighed with a chuckle, shaking his head as he followed (Y/n) who was leading him to where he would be staying.

“What is?” She asked as she typed in the access code for one of the doors as they walked.

“The number on your arm. That’s my friend’s birthday.” Steve was smirking as he walked into his room. “I mean, it was his birthday.”

(Y/n) looked down at the date on her arm and sighed, her hand instinctively covering the date. “You sure he’s dead? Not some hundred-year-old veteran in a nursing home that you haven’t checked in on or something?” She was trying her best to not sound horrible for joking about his friend's death, but he seemed almost amused by her banter.

“Last I checked, he’s dead. I watched him fall off the train and everything.” He told her as he sat down on the edge of his bed. “His name was Bucky.” He told her as she turned around to leave, watching her stop for a moment to listen before she left.

Steve’s words always lingered in the back of her mind ever since that day on the helicarrier. She had seen the Bucky memorial spot in the museum, and the day she found out that he was alive, she would never forget (mostly because when it happened, she had dropped the bottle of wine she was holding on the floor and spent hours picking up tiny shards of glass).

The year was now 2023. Five years after the blip, and (Y/n) now fully retired from SHIELD. She left on good terms, but the years of working were just exhausting. Especially now that she came back after vanishing for five years and had to rebuild her life all over again. At least they were respectful, and were happy to give her the pay that she had missed out on.

It was hard enough having to deal with knowing all your close friends sacrificed themselves for the whole world, and not being able to do anything about it. That was the reason that kept her up most nights. The guilt of feeling like she could have done something, but never got the chance to, was the hardest feeling.

That’s what led (Y/n) to walking aimlessly around the grocery store at almost 2am. When she couldn’t sleep, sometimes the best thing to do was walk around pushing the cart and praying that the LED lights would calm her down enough to go home and face the empty apartment.

What she didn’t expect was turning the corner of the frozen section and crashing her cart into someone elses. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry I wasn’t paying attention.” (Y/n) apologize as she looked at the man in front of her. “I should have been looking. I guess I’m just tired.”

“I’m probably just tired too.” He chuckled, pulling his cart away from hers. Both the carts were empty anway. “You come here to walk around at night too?”

“How could you tell?” (Y/n) laughed, running a hand through her hair as she looked him over. He looked familiar, and knowing her luck he was some assassin that was stalking her, and came here to finish the job.

He motioned to their empty carts with a bob of his head. “Something about just pushing the carts around and listening to the crappy music makes me feel better too.” He smirked as he never broke eye contact. “Also, people normally buy food when they’re shopping.”

(Y/n) sighed, nodding. “You caught me. I’m just here to wander.”

“It’s okay. I am too. Sometimes staring at the TV isn’t enough.” He mumbled, shaking his head as he broke eye contact to look where his hands were gripping the handle of the cart. “Sorry, I’m just rambling I guess.”

“No, I get it.” She laughed it off, knowing it was late and sometimes people just kept talking when they were tired. “My names (Y/n).” She smiled, holding out her hand for him to shake.

He seemed to hesitate, but reached out and shook her hand. “My name’s Bucky.”

She could feel her mouth go dry. “Bucky?” There was just no, possible way that this was the man who has been in the back of her mind for years on end.

“I’m guessing you know who I am.” He muttered, already preparing himself to turn around and forget this interaction never happened. “Sorry, I should go.”

“Wait! No, I didn’t mean it like that.” (Y/n) exclaimed as she held her hands out to stop him from leaving. “I just have heard so much about you--not the way you think, it sounds so weird. I talked to Steve about you once, way back before the battle of New York.”

She peaked his interest at the mention of Steve. “You knew Steve?”

(Y/n) nodded. “He told me all about you. Look, I even have your birthday on my arm.” She told him, lifting up her sleeve to show him the date on her arm, watching his eyes go wide out of shock. “Steve liked to always tease me that I had your birthday, and I always told him that I probably had some old man, sitting in some hospital bed, decaying before our eyes. Wow, I am rambling, I am so sorry. I should leave.” She was bright red as she decided to just leave her cart where it was and accept the humiliation and leave.

“No, you don’t have to go.” Bucky told her, gently grabbing her arm to stop her from leaving. “I guess now that you showed me yours, I’ll show you mine.” He grinned as he let go of her arm, using his left hand to pull up his long sleeve. There on his arm, in bold black numbers was (Y/n)’s birthday clear as day.

“Do you maybe want to go get coffee at that 24 hour place across the street? We might have a bit we need to talk about.” She was dumbfounded. Steve would always tease and joke, telling her that Bucky was her soulmate just because it was the same birthday on her arm. But due to the fact that he was presumed dead for so long, (Y/n) never thought anything of it.

“Are you going to come inside? I’ve been holding the door open for almost a minute.” Bucky asked, laughing a little uncomfortably as he watched the woman just stand at the door of the diner. She didn’t even remember the walk to get there.

(Y/n) blinked, rubbing her eyes as she nodded and walked inside. The sign said seat yourself, and she found a nice seat by the window for the two of them. “Sorry. I guess I’m just a little speechless.”

He chuckled as he shifted in the booth. “I’ll be honest. Me too.”

“So. We’re soulmates.” She shrugged, feeling uncertain of herself. Finding her soulmate was never the first thing on her mind, because she never actually thought that she would find him. Sure, the universe also had a way of making the two cross paths at some point, but because of the age, she never cared.

“When I used to see the date on my arm, I thought it was a joke.” He told her, mumbling that he wanted a coffee when the waiter walked over and asked what they wanted. “She wants a coffee. Two cream, one sugar.” He said as the other man nodded and walked away.

“How did you know my coffee order?” She asked with a raise of her eyebrow.

Bucky opened his mouth like he was about to speak but sighed. “I legit have no idea. My brain was working for me, and it just came out.”

(Y/n) laughed. “I mean, we’re cosmically linked so it does make sense.” The coffee was set down in front of them and she smiled as she held onto the mug. “Is this when I ask if you can tell me about yourself?”

“Where do I start?” He asked as he set his coffee down after taking a sip. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes, but I go by Bucky. James is only for when shit hits the fan I guess.”

“I think I prefer Bucky.” She smiled, watching as his cheeks turned red for a moment.

“What about you Doll? What fun thing do you have to tell me?” Bucky asked her with a smirk, making it her turn to blush.

“I worked for SHIELD, that’s where I met Steve. But then there was that time we found out that Hydra was inside of SHIELD, and technically you tried to kill me.” She pointed out, watching as he put his head down in shame. “But that’s all in the past now. I’m not that person anymore.”

He took a sip of his coffee before he spoke. “What changed?”

(Y/n) sighed, shaking her head as she held onto her coffee mug for warmth. “I was pretty close with Steve and Natasha. Tony helped me get the job at SHIELD, too. Three people that I looked up to more than anything, were gone before I ever got a chance to say goodbye.” She told him, knowing that there would be no more tears left to cry. Her tear-ducts seemed to stop working after she had cried for days straight that they were gone.

“I wasn’t very close to anyone but Steve, but I do understand how you feel.” He told her, leaning across the table to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Do you live in the city?”

“I live pretty close to Hell’s Kitchen.” She told him, watching as he nodded. “I’m guessing you live in Brooklyn?”

He looked a little surprised, but still smiled. “How could you tell?”

She smiled back, a little shy. “Some part of me just knew, but the other part of me heard Steve talk about Brooklyn all the time. He loved it there, and I guess I thought you did too.”

“It’s definitely still amazing, but a lot has changed. I’m still getting used to it all.” Bucky confessed, putting down some money for the coffee as they both finished and stood up from the table.

(Y/n) checked her phone and sighed at the time. 3:30 in the morning, and there was no way she was going to sleep now. Now, she was going to ride the train and hope that the rocking of the subway would be enough to turn her mind off for a while. “I should get going. It’s getting late, and I’m taking the train back.”

He nodded, seeming a little uneasy that she was about to leave. “Do you maybe want my number? We could meet up someday, maybe get to know eachother better?”

She grinned as she handed him her phone. “Put your number in.” She told him as they traded phones, smirking as she put in her contact. “I put my information as (Y/n)-Soulmate, just in case you seemed to forget.”

“Oh trust me, I don’t think I’ll ever forget.” Bucky chuckled as he looked at her contact. “Promise you’ll call?”

“Considering the fact I’ve known you for a few hours, and I’m already completely head-over-heels for you, I don’t think you have to worry.” (Y/n) told him, leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Bye for now, but not bye forever.”

Bucky was grinning like an idiot, and he knew it. “I like the sound of that. I still just can’t believe I found you after all these years.”

“You better believe it, because you’re going to be seeing a lot more of me from now on.”

MASTERLIST

[neocatharsis]

Ten on his new Represent capsule, grappling with creativity, and evading genre lines.

As Ten Lee - a vocalist and dancer in K-pop groups NCT (with whom he debuted in 2016) and Super M, and Chinese group WayV - is musing over his proclivity for partnering music or visual styles in a way that others deem strange, he veers off on a tangent. “Anything can be matched… except juice and coffee,” he says, suddenly. “Those two should never be.” Ten is infamously anti-fruit. It stems from a mistaken process of association in childhood where “I had the image of a spider and the image of fruit mixed up,” he laughs awkwardly, “so now whenever I put fruit in my mouth, I think there’s spiders in my mouth.”

Random abstractions such as this pepper his rapid-fire conversation, like small fireworks fizzing through the dark. Excitable, enthused and sharply alert, if Ten’s energy was visible it would be a shimmering mantle of gold and silver dust. As a dancer, he moves with a sinuous, controlled power that can shift from elegant to explosive on a single beat. As a visual artist, the Bangkok-born, multilingual 25-year-old recently added the title of designer to his growing list of achievements, launching an already sold out collaboration with the bespoke merch platform Represent.

Aptly, he named his collaboration “What is ??? THE ANSWERS”, for although being a chameleonic artist is one of Ten’s greatest strengths, the personality traits that enable this created within him question marks around how he saw himself fitting into the world. “People ask me, ‘What kind of music do you like?’ And I say, ‘I like R&B but hope it sounds rock’. And they’re like, ‘That doesn’t make sense’.” It was troubling to Ten that people began telling him who he was and how he should be, instead of accepting him as is.

In a recent Instagram Live, the myriad of Ten’s contrasts tumble forthwith. He’s the doting cat-dad. His inner emo, who loves rock music, shows off dried roses, with the stern, black, geometric lines of the large tattoo on his inner right arm sometimes visible. But he’s also delicate in a way, with his butterfly tattoo and hair lightly permed, who names daisies as his other favourite flower, and plays Fousheé’s breathy TikTok hit, 'Deep End'.

“Have you seen the image where I have my name in a cross in lots of different languages?” He pulls the image up on his phone. The design sits on his Represent long sleeve tee. “I was thinking [about this], like, what you’re saying... Ten has this luvvie flower side and a very ‘rawwrr!’ side. I’m always like, ‘Ten, what kind of person are you?’ I do ask myself that, too, because everything I like is so different [to the other].” He could have conceded, and reined himself in. He’s pushed back instead. “I thought, ‘I can be anything I want, I can be this in the morning and this at night. I can be any person I want to be’. And that’s what makes me comfortable and happy.”

On his Instagram, Polaroids feature scrawled messages, like “Don’t tell me what to do!” and “Whatever! I’ll do it my way”. The designs of his collaboration seek to challenge being boxed in by other people’s standards, thus limiting ourselves. The recurring symbol of a cross tipped with arrows is a nod to the Chinese letter for 10, but doubles as a plus sign. He’s added it to his Instagram, writing “TEN_+•10” in his bio. “A plus sign can mean that you’re adding on and growing.” He points to another version of the arrow-cross, one with short diagonal dashes between its points that symbolise light. It means, he says, “that I’m radiating. I’m burning, I’m active, I’m doubling myself.” He touches his forearm, where crowning his geometric tattoo is a blazing sun. “I have this, like, if you want to be the light, you have to burn. I relate to that.”

This isn’t to say Ten’s self-exploration is complete. While celebrating his strengths, the artwork also portrays parts of himself not yet conquered. He admits to being a chronic overthinker: “Even very small things that happen to me, I rethink a thousand times, and I get stressed out because of the things I do. Like, the main theme [here] is me overthinking but trying to find an answer even though it doesn’t have any answer.” Fittingly, spiral shapes dominate his designs, looming large amongst bright, bold shapes that evoke 80s Pop Art and graffiti, though Ten shies away from defining himself as “fully an artist, I’m not in the position to say things like that yet.”

“I’m still learning and trying new things. You learn by getting different elements from different people and I’m in that stage now.” He enjoys wandering the infinite halls of Instagram and Pinterest where he screenshots art that he likes, lost in the images, often for hours. He explains that he’s mostly influenced by whatever his current visual obsession is. “I’m interested in tattoos lately so my paintings look like tattoo designs. I’m that person who, when they see stuff, it goes into my brain and instantly comes out from my hands,” he laughs.

Ten’s introduction to art and design was through his mother, who believed music, art and sport were more important in a child’s development than traditional academia. “She didn’t care if I got an A* or not, just don’t get an F or a D,” he grins. Like any kid forced to do something, Ten railed against spending his weekends at art school. He attended but he didn’t draw. He befriended his teacher and other pupils and, as they worked, he chatted. “I was a very talkative kid! When I came to SM Entertainment (in 2013), I had a lot of my own time because my parents were in Thailand and I was alone. I had to absorb all the new culture and adapt to a new environment.’” When he felt surrounded by “negative energy”, he began drawing, enamoured with the space and freedom it offered because in art, as he often says, “there’s no right answer.”

There is, however, sometimes a middle ground. His goal was to make the Represent collection accessible to his diverse fanbase. “I wanted to make things that people can easily wear because it was my first project to make something with clothes and it’s a collab. If you go too far out, no one will get it. If you go too far back, people won’t reach for it. So finding the middle ground is important but that’s the hardest thing to do. If it’s my own project, I’ll be like, ‘I’m the president of this brand, I’m gonna make all the weird clothes that I can imagine!’”

He sought second opinions to ensure his designs landed the way he hoped. “I have a lot of good friends around me - my choreographer, (SHINee and Super M member) Taemin hyung, my manager. I randomly ask people I’m comfortable with and have known for a long time, like Mark (Lee, of NCT and Super M). Mark has the same kind of perspective as me, but I’m a person who is arrghhh!” He waves his hands in the air. “And he’s very calm. I need a person who is opposite of me because when I’m in a mood, I talk nonsense - ‘I wanna do this, I wanna do that, I wanna make this!’ - and Mark’s like,’Bro, calm down’,” he says in a rather uncanny impression of the Canadian-Korean.

Ten works fast when he’s drawing. He has to. He describes his personality as someone who can't wait until the next day to do something. “I’m very impatient,” he smiles. “If I’m going to paint or draw, I’m going to finish it in, like, two hours. I can’t sit down for three hours.” When inspiration hits him, it’s off the back of deep contemplation, sometimes about the mundane - “Like, why do the cats come to me when they’re hungry only? Is it selfish or instinct? - at other times, something affecting him emotionally.

But whereas his job as a singer and dancer sees him project his energy outwards, art offers the opposite. He’s often alone in his room when he works. As is for many artists, the right mood is fundamental. “When I’m in a good mood, I can’t draw,” he half-sighs. It’s also a multi-sensory process. “Smell or the temperature of the room, that really helps me draw. I light three or four candles. And when I draw, it’s kind of heavy, the feeling,” he explains. “It feels like you’re sinking into something, into yourself, and everything seems so small. Everything narrows down into me, my pencil, the paper.”

The more work he does in different creative mediums, the less Ten’s desire is to keep them separate. His art, dance and music influence each other, whether it’s customising his own collaboration pieces, a choreography video in an art gallery or dancing underwater with a film crew. When someone tells him that something won’t work or match up well, he refuses to let the idea go until he’s attempted it.

“I’ve had that since I was young. I think everything is possible. If you don’t try, you don’t know. When people say it’s impossible, like dancing in water for three minutes, I’m like, then let’s make it possible. You don’t need to walk a straight line [in life], you can walk this way,” Ten says, pointing along an invisible line before switching sharply in direction. “Then go back on track, go that way, come back. No one should tell you to walk in a line, I don’t see the point of that.”

© Clash Magazine

[silverechosandblankmasks]

Did a little thing for @hermitcraftheadcanons thing called the Scattered au, its honestly so amazing and cool! 

Its Grian centric and very much inspired by this ask here. I also added a few of my own twists on it ;) The characters might be occ, I tried my hardest!!  Its not exactly my best work but I had fun with it and had so many ideas

Words:  3905

CW: Talks of nongraphic death and dying, respawns, non graphic mentions of altered body parts, panic, and talks of giving up/hopelessness.

Starts off a bit heavy but don't worry though, it gets better! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grian is cold. He’s so cold he no longer feels it, even after his body long stops shaking and he sinks into blissful nothingness. He likes it when that happens, he shouldn't but dying is the only relief he gets from this… trap, this hell hole of a situation even if  the nothingness scares him. He doesn't know how long he's been here, it feels like both years and seconds have passed. 

There’s a noise and something new and solid pressed into Grian’s side and his body twitches, the only reaction it was capable of anymore. 

It's hard to think. Grian thinks he used to try and get free from this place but he can't remember it happening, if it even did? The only thing he knows for certain is that trying to leave was pointless, he would never be free of the cold.

Grian sometimes gets up, just once more, but there’s no point so all he does is drag himself a few feet in a random direction. His body technically resets every time he dies, as does the hunger and pain and need for warmth but it seems that now he doesn't have that anymore. He’s so tired, tired of trying and moving and so he lays there in the snow. 

He blinks his eyes open, vision swimming with the mass of white in another snowstorm. The blackness around his vision has increased significantly from when he last bothered to open his eyes, and his brain unblurs a bit as he starts. He blinks again, the darkness doesn't disappear but movement from just in his vision makes him oh so slowly swivel his stiff, freezing body to trace it. 

It's blurry, but after a second he realizes that the moving snow is in fact not snow at all, but a pure white, furry body. A white fox stares at him, small and curious, and gets closer. Grian watches it back, unable to really do anything but stare back at it, and he can't bring himself to care about it. Death by fox would be a new one for sure but the fog in his brain is already creeping back.

Grian closes his eyes again, acceptance seeping into his bones as he recognizes that he’s about to die via freezing if the fox doesn't try to eat him, and death is about to take hold once again. Soon, soon he’ll get a small, brief relief from this place. Something moves into his side, pressing against him and staying there, and he lets out a soft sigh, exhaling a final breath.

Grian dies, and all too soon he’s ripped from the embrace of sweet nothingness and thrust back into the world of cold and pain, again. The wind bites at him, and he forces himself to take a deep breath as he can now breathe again. The weight from his side is gone, but now he has a small bit of energy and makes himself look around again, brain now clear for a while once more as the wisp of the frigid air whips around him. 

There, right next to him is the fox, who looks quite annoyed and tense at his death. Grian knows the disappearance and reappearance of his body must have startled it, but Grain likes to think that maybe something in this lonely place was worried and cared about him.

He brings his hands from under him and pushes up from the powdery snow, flakes calling off as he sits up. The fox just continues to watch as Grain holds out a hand to it hesitantly. It was small, bigger then a baby but as far as he could tell definitely not a full grown adult, young enough to still be a bit bold but old enough to be alone. 

The fox leans out and sniffs at him, it's warm breaths hit his naked hand and he has to stop himself from crying at the sensation he hasn't felt in what seems like forever. Then, it nudges his hand and he strokes along it's long fur and it gets closer. The thing curiously sniffs around his body and lays hesitant paws on his lap. He carefully moves so he’s sitting cross legend and it wastes no time climbing into his lap. His shaking hands start petting the fox again as it worms down and gets comfortable. 

A real, genuine laugh bubbles softly from his throat and horse words spill out without him trying.

“Y-your a bra-a-v-ve one, h-hu-h?” Grain asks, burying his hands into the fur of the fox, his fingers just barely getting relief from the cold. He hummed as the fox made a small chitter noise back at him, and he continued to pet. 

“W-w-why are  yo-u  all-l  the wa-ay up  he-re  litt-tle  frie-end-d? The-ere’s not e-even tree-e-es  or  aa-a-anyt-t-hing  tasty  to-o  ea-at.” Grian teeth chattered as he looked around once again, knowing there was literally nothing in his graveyard of a spawn, and started wondering if maybe he just missed something. Maybe, maybe he would go look again. 

The fox, of course, did not respond but it was nice to have something else out here. His friends where gone and his communicator had long broken due to the harsh temperatures, but he had a fox and that would be okay for now, until… until he either managed to be found or something happened. He tried not to think what that ‘other’ thing could be, he’d already slipped down that dark path many times and for now he would avoid it.

A noise broke him from his thoughts and he felt the fox nudging his hands intently, as he had stopped petting. He laughed again, carefully and slowly scooping his hands up under the fox and used all his remaining willpower to push up with his legs.

He stood and cradled the fox in his hands, looking around. Said fox made another noise but seemed content in his arms for now. Surely, surely there had been something he hadn't tried yet right? Grian picked a direction and started walking, feeling hollow of determination but still willing to try once more.

And more times.

He looks down at the white fox in his arms and hums again, a small smile creeping up onto his face. “I-I thin-n-k  i'll-l  ca-all  you-u… Kit. No-ot  ve-ery  crea-a-t-tiv-ve  I  kno-o-ow” his teeth chattered thoghther and continued on.

~

Sadly it didn't work and Grian died again.

And again.

And again. 

Thankfully he managed to save his fox friend from sharing his untimely deaths, either tossing him to avoid them both from slipping into a ravine, managing to keep him from stray mobs, or just straight up leaving him behind when he started to get farther down, knowing the Ice pillagers waited below. 

Sometimes the little bugger would even bring food, dragging a chicken or a chuck of scavenged meat to Grain’s prone form and sometimes he would give in and eat the thing raw despite how sick it could make him. It helped, even a bit. 

But no matter how many times he died and how far he got only to return to his spawn, he would find Kit would find his way back. Grian doesn't know what he did to earn the foxes loyalty, but even when he once again gave up and stopped moving, stopped giving into the foxes nudges for pets and annoyed noises, the fox still always returned.

Sometimes Kit would disappear for long periods and it scared Grian to think his only friend in the world right now had left forever, maybe he died or just found better food, but he always, always came back to Grian.

It was Kit who alerted him to the fact something was wrong, his frantic yips and barks made him force his eyes open, black dots seemingly permanently etched into his vision and took him a second to register forms moving in his direction. He hears nothing but the howling wind and Kit’s noises, and he closes his eyes, accepting his fate of another death due to a mob of some kind.

He barely feels it when something drops beside him, something heavier then Kit presses into him and he hears a low murmuring, it's almost oddly familiar. He’s about to open his eyes again when the thing touches him and shifts him to the side, and cold, shooting pain and agony rips and races up through his back.

He lets out a strangled scream, unconsciousness reaching up and taking hold before he does anything but flinch and sags into the weight of one warm hand, and one cold, stiff metal one.  He doesn't hear Docs frantic whispers or feel’s the creeper man struggle to lift him up, nor the fox body that desperately climbed up and settles into Grian’s frame, snarling when the other man tries to shake it off before giving up and half carrying, half dragging his unconscious friend down the mountain through the snow.

~

Grian however does feel it when genuine, real warmth breaks through the blackness of sleep and lulls him back into the world of the living. He opened his eyes to a bright, warm fire and a wooden wall, and he’s still so cold but it's not the chill of before, and god it's not just white as far as he can see. 

He lets out a sob and pushes up into a sitting position to see he’s in a cabin, a real genuine house and Kit is curled beside him, there’s a fire and he can smell food, and… voices, familiar voices.

Around him the world is fuzzy and dark but at the same time far to bright, black spots in his vision and darkness clings around the edges. He can see far less then he knows he should and he wants to close his eyes again but he doesn't care because it's over, and he’s safe. 

Tears of relief are still streaming down his face when he lets out a particularly loud sob, throat too sore to try and call out but the voices freeze and loud, frantic steps start up, racing closer. The door bangs open and two blurry forms race in and while it takes a second to be able to recognize them, he can hear their voices all too clearly and he reaches out as Ren flies at him.

The hug is gentler then he expected from the relived wolf man, who just manages to stop from actually launching himself at Grian, but he clings on nonetheless and cries into his friends shoulder despite the slight shooting pain. Doc walks to his side and also presses into the hug, both of them whispering and talking to him and Grain manages to piece together some of the story but his brain is still honestly muggy so he has to force himself to let go and clear his throat painfully after they start to ask questions.

Doc hands him a glass of water and Grian drinks before he starts to tell his side of the story. He… well he’s missing a bunch and leaves out even more, he also knows he hasn't fooled them but they leave him alone for now so he just continues.  When he stops, Kit climbs into his lab and he pets his fox friends as his friends tell their sides of the story. It's equally as terrifying and upsetting as he thought it would be and the reminder that their friends are out there, and many have been dying a lot as told by Ren’s loosely working communicator, makes him want to cry again but he holds back, tired from everything.

Doc reaches out and gives Kit a few soft pats as his story peters out.

“Your little fox friend was very insistent on following us down as I carried you, even tried to bite me when I kept trying to wake you up.” Doc almost coos fondly at the canine and Grian lets out a semi-startled laugh. They didn't often get to see Doc like this, but it was sweet to see the teddy bear side of his fellow hermit despite the circumstances.

“Y-yeah. I call h-him Kit.” Grian responded, pulling the blanket tighter as the reminding chill tried to cling to his body. As he moves, something catches his eye and he freezes, looking down.

A startled noise breaks from his throat as his eyes widen and he looks at his hand. Dark, long ice blue marks race from his fingertips, and up his hands and arms, he moves to see they go all the way up to his elbow. He noticed his nails were also oddly long and sharp as well. That, that was for sure not natural at all. Bile burns in his throat and he wants to puke but he resists the urge as another hand hesitantly reaches out and takes his hand in theirs.

He follows their hand up to see Ren’s face, face soft and a gentle expression there. His glasses are gone and his brown fluffy ears are turned and pressed back, showing his emotions. 

“It's okay Grian my dude, it's fine. It's, you have these marks on your arms and legs and some on your back and chest too as far as we can tell. They don't seem to be anything but cosmetic right now, but… whatever happens, it’ll be okay.” Ren’s voice is smooth, but sounds almost practiced, like him and Doc have talked about this. Grian wonders how long he’s been asleep for, for him to be able to tell that he’s just repeating something but he nods along, swallowing roughly and moves his hands out of view shakily.

Doc and Ren watch the movement but don't say anything as Grian takes a few deep, calming breaths. He does, however, catch the look Doc shoots at Ren, a questing but insistent one and Grian is filled with dread. What now?

Ren gives Doc a pleading one right back, ears still flat and Grian can see his tails is still and tucked tight behind the man. “Doc, not now, just, give him a few minutes, maybe he can take a nap and we can talk more when he wakes up?” Doc looks back to Grian and meets his eyes before breaking away.

“Ren he’s gonna find out anyways.” Doc said, voice heavy but gentle. Slight irritation builds, at this world, at everything that keeps happening, at them despite knowing it wasn't their fault, and he speaks up.

“He is right here you know. I, tell me please, what else?” Grian almost begs bitterly. He’s so tired but he wants to know. Ren crouches down, closer and he can now spy the new, faint scars that are on the skin he can see.

“Grian, I…” He trailed off before gesturing off to the side and Doc moves, handing him a small revive metal piece from somewhere. He places it and Grian’s hand. “I guess we kinda match now huh?” Ren finishes weakly, gesturing up and grabbing one of his furry wolf ears lightly.

Confusion laces through his mind as Ren’s other hand reaches up by his head, going up and grabbing Grian’s own ear except Ren’s reaching higher then he should and it feels weird under Ren’s fingers. Something is horribly wrong and he jerks away, startled and lifts the metal piece up to look in it's reflection. It takes a second but he spies dark fluffy ears sitting on the top of his head where there should be none.

The thing slips from his grasp and clattered to the floor, but he doesn't care as he instead reaches up to feel them and Grian can definitely feel them up there. He pinches them and pain races though them, signifying this was real, not a dream. A confused ache pings through his chest and he lets go, hands dropping as he curled in on himself slightly. His voice is shaky as he speaks up, meeting the concerned and sympathetic looks of his friends.

“What, what the hell?” He asks, desperate to understand and confused. Ren sits on his knees in front of him, Doc in the only chair beside him.

“We don't know, Doc said you had them when he found you.” Ren answered, Grian turned to look at Doc who nodded. Ren continued, taking his blue streaked hand. “You… you also have a tail Grian, I think its Fox parts.” Grian took a shaky breath, trying to keep calm and panic started to hit him. He refused to look back, suddenly realizing that the weird heavy sensation at his back wasn't just pins and needles or a fluffy blanket he could feel pressed against his left hip and thigh under the covers.  

Doc reached out and started petting Kit again, looking Grian in the eyes. His cybernetic eye was dark and dim Grian distantly registered. “When I got there I didn't realize and when I rolled you, I turned you directly onto your tail and I think you passed out from the pain.”

Grian nodded again, familiar numbness starting to creep back within him. The pain, his tail. He was… This was all too much Grian decided.

“I'm- I don't want to deal with this right now.” He said roughly, pleading. Gran had to fight tears from pricking in his eyes. “I'm tired and hungry.” His voice was shaky, he was very much on the edge of panic, and thankfully his friends recognized it.

“That's okay, we have food, we found some mushrooms for stew and iv planted wheat seeds a bit ago so I made bread as well. Do you want to eat now or later?” Ren asked, already getting up. Doc reached out and rubbed his back softly. Grian leaned into the touch and the tiredness made him want to close his spotty vision, which was actually better then it was when he first woke up, but he resisted the urge to fall asleep now.

“Food please, I don't think I've had real food since… since I spawned.” Grian told them. Doc nodded, understanding in his tone and Ren just looked upset at the thought before he spun around and started walking out.

“Okay, I'll be right back with some grub, give me a second okay?” He said, and disappeared through the door.

Beside him, Doc continued to half hold him as they waited. There was silence, it was almost too loud and Grian opened his mouth to speak before Doc interrupts him.

“Are you okay?” Doc asked, accented voice heavy and a bit hard due to the emotion. Grian could see that Doc also had some new scars, not as many as Ren did but he looked… off, tired, so unlike his normal self it made Grian just sad.

Grian shrugged lightly, ignoring the very slight pain at the movement. “I don't, not really. It could have been so much worse but it was so hard up there. As for the,” He trailed off, looking down. “Things that are here now, I don't know. I'm- it's scary and it's new and I don't like it but I don't know how to react.” He finished plainly and Doc just nodded.

The door opened again and Ren came back with a bowl of mushroom soup and bread and it was the best thing Grian had seen in awhile despite his friends. As the food was handed to him, he let himself dig in, just barley listening to the others telling him to take it slow. Talking rose around him as he ate and he listened as they bantered and talked plans. 

Grian would have to deal with… what happened, both on the mountain and what had changed with him, and he would have to let the others know about the vision he could acknowledge was very much not supposed to be that way, and he would have to soon start worrying about other things like his other lost friends and finding their way to them.

But for now he just drank in the fact he wasn't alone anymore, he wasn't dead again, and he was warm. That, just those facts made just a smidge of the heavy weight lift from his chest. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that's it! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope ya enjoyed the twist and my take on it! 

Yup, I turned him into part fox. Why? No clue tbh ha! I mostly just saw the opportunity and I think Grian is very fox like. How it happened? Also no clue, maybe a glitch when he died with Kit next to him or something? Either way it happened lol.

Other things I didn't really write (mostly due to length) but wanted to mention and other ideas;

Grian’s nails are sharper, like claws, his teeth as well though he hasn't noticed in story, he notices as he’s eating when he bites his tongue and one of the others mentions their sharpness. His sense are all heighted as well. 

I mentioned pain serval times despite nothing actually causing him pain other then the cold, that was actually the pain of the new limbs and changes to his body, thought it happened fully once he laid down for the ‘final’ time so he never noticed due to the cold. It would of been a lot worse if he wasn't freezing. 

The whole ‘blindness’ and darkness in his vision is snow blindness due to to the bright light reflecting off the snow and hutting his eyes. Thankfully this is temporary and once the Doc and Ren find out, they help him and he gets better with no lasting effects after a few days in darker light. 

I specifically didn't mention his fur color so people could chose what they want, but personally I see him as a red fox, just fits him better, though I could see a white/arctic fox like Kit too lol. Again feel free to see it how you want!

Ren is a wolf Hybrid and he too wasn't born with his features but gained them later on, so he kinda understands how Grian feeling and thats gonna help alot.

It took roughly 4 days for Grian to wake up and Doc hasn't slept since he found Grian and and Ren’s place. 

The talk about the Blue snow/cold/Ice marks actually was rehearsed and Grian picked up on it correctly. Ren and Doc have been planning on how they where going to talk to him ever since they noticed. 

His hands will permanently shake after this. Physically therapy might help in the future but there’s always going to be a slight tremor. Idk if its psychosomatic or nerve issues due to repeated frostbite, take your pick!  honestly the only reason he didn't lose anything was becuase dying and respawns reset your body physically. 

Said marks swirl up from his finger tips all the way up to his elbows, same on his feet, from his shoulders down his back and chest and down the shoulders a bit as well, and a bit up the back of his neck. 

The marks will eventually fade from bright light blue to a icy blue and more until they almost look like pure white scars with just a tinge of blue to them

Kit is Grian’s new protective friend and while he’s small, he’s viscous and loves Grian. He also only likes Grian, Doc (hence why Ren didn't pet him, Kit doesn't like the wolf man much), also Mumbo, Etho, and Tango for some reason when they finally meet up way later. Why them? who knows!

Grian was stuck on the mountain for at least a few weeks. The longest he went without dying was a week, the shortest a few minuets when he fell right off the mountain. 

The mountain was ridiculously tall and had no resources, no wood or food or grass, nothing cept snow, ice, and mobs.

He never made it father then half way down. 

I actually almost made Grian a wolf dude too but changed my mind to fox, fits him alot better no?

Okay thats it! <333333

[chuuyasnumber1simp]

Warm Touches Melt Cold Stares  Akutagawa x fem reader

A/N- because it’s me, and I love writing it, you better bet this gonna be hurt/comfort, and angsty at that. This what I write when I have no requests lol so get ready for the pain train. This is gonna be an ongoing fic btw.

This time, reader is going to have anxiety and bipolar depression, two things I can write well because I have them. If you want to see something else from me feel free to drop a request!

(Reader is 19)

Warnings: Mentions of Self Harm, Attempted Sexual Assault

Word Count: 2706

You were cold. 

But then again, you always were. 

Not towards people, not physically-  that which surprised people based on your ability. 

You hugged your arms closer to your body, feeling the telltale pinpricks of frost letting you know your ability activated. 

It was comforting, in a way. The coldness that surrounded your body, it was the only thing letting you know that you were here, and not still asleep, floating in the inky black of your dreams. You preferred the endless ocean of black to your current waking world, marred by emptiness and fear.       

You liked to pretend that the numbness that filled you somedays could merely be explained by being a result of your ability. Like your brain was slowly becoming frostbitten. On the days you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror, you often wondered why the temperature of your skin didn't match how you felt.    

Some days you woke up and felt as if something had melted the ice encasing your insides, your brain. That maybe, you would get better. Then, sometimes on the same day,    

You didn’t want to die, yet you couldn’t find  reason to continue this life that you lead. That was the reason you kept waking up, day after day, always reaching out to find maybe just a glimpse of purpose. You had believed your ability was a gift, when you were a child. A stupid, naïve child you were, to believe it was anything but a curse. That’s what you parents thought, when you manifested your ability. At first, all had gone well.  When you were little, you didn’t know that frost and ice can burn someone if it’s cold enough. 

You didn’t know that being too cold would cause hypothermia, and death. 

You were just a stupid, naïve child, who froze her parents to death, completely unaware of what she’d done. You didn’t know how or why, the memory's becoming more foggy with time. Your grandparents had taken you in after that, and they were kind. But even they could overcome your hesitance, your fear of being close enough to anyone to bring harm.

Prior to arriving in Yokohama, you had let your guard down, just for a moment. No one at work knew of your ability, you had kept it a secret for fear of peoples reactions. 

Another stupid mistake. 

You had a boyfriend, and you were happy. That was one of the longest times the coldness went away. 

But one day, you had gotten into an argument, over something stupid. You couldn’t even remember what now. He tried to leave, walk away from the argument, and in your anger, you reached out and grabbed his wrist. 

You’ll never forget the scream that ripped through the house. 

It was like your parents all over again. 

Around his wrist, there was a massive blister, red and swelling, about the size of your hand. He had fallen to to the ground, clutching his arm and screaming. 

So you ran. 

Ran out of his house, left your grandparents, left behind everything you knew. You took the bus as far away as you could, leaving you in Yokohama. 

You vowed to never use your ability again. At least, not on anyone else. You wondered if there had been a police investigation back in your hometown, or if anyone even tried to find you. 

You doubted it. 

So here you were, looking for an apartment in Yokohama, having arrived three days ago. 

You still had access to your bank account, and have been paying for a hotel room. It was cheap and crappy, but at least it was somewhere to sleep. People there didn’t ask why you wore a mask, and they didn’t ask why you had gloves on in spring. But it was, unfortunately for, where certain unsavory characters liked to be. 

You were trying to walk back to your hotel room, after a rather unfulfilling day, when a group of four men whistled and shouted as you walked by. As a woman, you were used to this. You ignored them and continued, but when you heard their footsteps after you, you walked a little faster, subconsciously allowing frost to cover your fingers. Your heart beat quickened as you walked past your room, hoping that someone would notice your current predicament. 

This was the downfall of everyone turning the other cheek. Situations like these were commonplace, and even the staff did not get involved. At this point, you were flat out running, almost tripping down the stairs in your haste to escape them. They followed after, relentless. 

You felt your heart sink as the stairs you had gone to had not lead to the lobby, but the laundry room and staff exit. 

The staff exit was locked, and the laundry room was empty. 

No one would come to your aid here. 

“Well well well, what do we have here. Someone’s a little feisty. But I think this going to have to be the end of the road for you,”

The men boxed you in against the wall the one speaking before trying to grab your arms. You squirmed and wiggled, trying your hardest to wrench yourself free from his grasp. Someone from the back  pressed a blade against your throat, instantly halting all motion. 

“That’s better pretty lady. Now hold still for me,”

You tried to scream, but the second you opened your mouth someone roughly shoved a wadded up shirt in it, muffling all noises. 

The man pinning your arms shoved his knee in between your legs, forcing them apart. On instinct, you let your ability -and fear- take over, and watched as the frost from your arms spread to his. He yelled and dropped his arms, giving you the moment to knock the knife from the other mans hand, and made a break for the stairs. 

“Not so fast,”

Someone kicked your ankle just as you had made it to the stairs, causing you to fall and slam your face into them. Despite the tears flowing down your cheeks and the blood that dripped from your nose, you attempted to crawl upwards, only to be yanked backwards and throw back to the wall. 

You lay there dazed, your vision swimming as the men surrounded you once more. You closed your eyes and felt a small, cold tear slide out of your eye, resigning yourself to your fate. 

“Excuse me gentlemen, but that’ll be enough now. Didn’t your parents ever teach you to respect women?”

You heard a voice from the staircase, and watched as a man with orange hair and a fedora descended the steps, a red aura glowing around him. 

“And who do you think you are?” the man who held the knife at you spoke. 

“Chuuya Nakahara, executive to the Port Mafia,”

The men seemed to flinch at his name, though you had no idea who he, or the Port Mafia were. 

“Listen, I don’t care if you run the Port Mafia, mind your own business,” 

“I really wish you hadn’t said that. Akutagawa, over here!”

Another man came down the stairs, covering his mouth with his hand. They both looked intimidating, and you curled in on yourself, as if that would do anything to protect yourself. 

“Rashomon,” 

When the man with the black jacket spoke, something black and red, almost like cloth, or elastic, pierced the man who spoke against Chuuya, and was flung across the room. After that, the rest of them scattered, obviously not willing to die at the hands of this cold ability user. 

Yanking the shirt out of your mouth, you crawled backwards, whimpering quietly as Chuuya approached you. Back pressed flat against the wall, you ice spread like wildfire, some of it even spreading across the carpet. Akutagawa’s eyes widened slightly with curiosity, and you subconsciously willed your ice to grow more, small icicles forming on your arms and the walls. Chuuya continued to advance on you, albeit more slowly than before, and your ice grew more in response, your breath materializing at the drop in temperature.

He stopped about five feet away from you, arms up in a show of good will. 

“Hey hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”

“Y/N,”

“Would you like to come with us? I don’t believe you’d be that safe here, and we can help you with your ability,”

“How do I know you aren’t going to kill me? Or try to do what those guys did?”

“If we were going to do that, wouldn’t we have already done that?”

You internally thought he was right, but you were skeptical about following two random men. One of which just killed someone right in front you. 

You narrowed your eyes. “Why do I have any reason to trust you?”

Chuuya sighed. “Listen. I can leave you here to these guys, who’ll probably be back, or you can come with us and have an actually safe place to sleep. Your choice,”

Standing up on shaky legs, you looked at the other man. He stood still, and showed no emotion on his face. He looked almost annoyed, as if he was really going out of his way to save you. 

“I-i’ll go. But on one condition,”

Akutagawa turned to you, annoyance flashing in his eyes. “I don’t think you understand. We’re helping you. You are not in a position to negotiate right now,”

You swayed on your feet a bit before speaking, you assumed your body was not taking your ordeal and the below freezing temperatures your ability was producing.

“It’s not anything big. I j-just need someone to accompany me to my room so I can get my stuff. I don’t want to be alone,”

Part of you laughed at your words, mocking the irony of always making sure you never got close to anyone, even now, with your ice spreading quickly, and yet here you were, practically begging for someone to be with you, so you wouldn’t be alone.

Pathetic. Look at you, you were always so good at hurting people, so why have you failed now? Maybe the Chuuya and Akutagawa shouldn’t have come, and just let them men have they’re way with you. You would have deserved it. You—

“Sure. Akutagawa can go with you,”

Chuuya’s voice snapped you from your thoughts, and he gave you a warm smile that made you trust him a little more.

Akutagawa still looked mildly annoyed, but he seemed to hold a lot of respect for Chuuya, so you figured he would not do anything to you if he was under Chuuya’s orders.

The walk up to your room was silent, and uncomfortably so. Your ability was still going all over the place, so every time your foot touched the floor little shards of ice would stick up. Your body temperature had to be freezing by now, your skin covered in goosebumps. Your ability made the effects of freezing temperatures easier to withstand, but it did not make you immune to them. While a normal person could survive in freezing temperatures for 15 to 45 minutes, you could withstand them for about 30 minutes to 2 hours, depending on just how freezing the temperatures were. But, if the temperature of your ice dropped lower than freezing, the rate of your survival dropped drastically, to about 20-40 minutes.

Stress made it hard to control your ability, thus the reason you had burned your boyfriend and why you were struggling to control it now.

You tried to control your breathing, to stabilize your mental state somehow, but the more you attempted to the harder it gave to inhale oxygen.

You were sweating despite the cold, and at this point you sounded like you were dying with all the wheezing and coughing. Panic was setting in as you tried to gulp in air, but it wasn’t working.

You bit back a scream when a pale hand made contact with your shoulder, and you looked up to see a rather uncomfortable looking Akutagawa, who seemed to be trying to offer comfort during your panic attack.

The look on his face was almost comical, how uneasy he looked touching another human being. Finally, you did start to calm down, and managed to make it into your dingy room.

Akutagawa opted to stand outside the room, and having him there did make you feel safer.

You could still feel the ghost of fingers lingering on your body, and your shoved your clothes into your backpack with more vigor than before, hoping to get out of this place as fast as humanly possible. You frost had calmed down for the time being, allowing you to love more freely, no longer being constricted by the binds of cold.

You realized that you must have looked near homeless, a pair of black jeans with a rip starting on the knee, and an oversized grey sweatshirt you had owned since sixteen. The letters had long since faded, and you could see where you had patched it back up time after time, but it was the warmest and most comfortable thing you owned.

You stepped out of the room, greeting Akutagawa with a nod. Sometime when you were changing, Chuuya had shown up, and he was explaining something to Akutagawa in a hushed tone. He greeted you with a dip of his hat when you closed the door, reminding you of a gentleman from an older era.

The feeling of your gloves back on your hands was comforting, though you still hung back slightly, always making sure there was a couple feet’s worth of distance between you and anyone else.

The lobby clerk practically kept out of his seat when he saw Akutagawa and Chuuya, and everyone waiting parted like the red sea, allowing the three of you to walk through with ease.

There was a sleek black car that you spotted immediately, it looked very out of place amongst every other car in the parking lot. Chuuya didn’t seem like the kind of person to be inconspicuous.

You felt awkward about climbing into the immaculately clean car with your dirty clothes. You had at least showered, although rather quickly, since for some reason the hot water didn’t work. 

You sat in the backseat alone, Akutagawa driving and Chuuya sitting in the passenger seat. 

The car was silent, and the tension was palpable. You still had no idea what the Port Mafia was besides the obvious, that they were a mafia. What they did, and how they could help you with your ability was what you didn’t understand. Why would they help you? It’s not like you had any money, and you absolutely no battle training whatsoever. It’s not like you had held a gun before either. You had some practice with knives, but that was so long ago you didn’t think you could recall how to hold a knife properly. This was the main reason for not completely trusting these men, because people who didn’t have use or purpose were disposed of. 

Not willing to push their patience, you didn’t question anything, and simply allowed them to drive you to wherever they were going. They could be kidnapping you, and it would probably be your fault. 

What am I even doing here? Following two random dudes i don’t know, to the MAFIA where they’re going to make me do GOD KNOWS what. I could be raped, murdered, or tortured! I was just almost raped for god’s sake, and the first thing i do is go with strangers? This is literally EXACTLY what grandpa told me not to do. I’m stupid, stupid, I’m going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere, oh god why do i have to be so stupid--

“Hey Y/N? we’re here,”

It was only then did you see Chuuya waving a hand in front of your face, and you flushed slightly hoping you hadn’t been sitting like that for too long. 

A very tall building stood before you, smack in the middle of Yokohama. You guessed that since it was so prominent, people would never believe that it was the headquarters for the Port Mafia. Or, the Port Mafia just didn’t care. 

Akutagawa beaconed you over, and you swallowed thickly, unsure of what would happen when you entered this building. 

A/N: Heyoo!! im really proud of this, im sorry of Akutagawa seemed a bit ooc, i tried hard to establish his feelings and personality without writing him off as a tsundere, or making him a cold jerk. Ah, the woes of writing. 

Anyway, sorry i posted this instead of the newest chapter for the Chuuya fic. I can’t get past one scene for it, I've legit re-wrote it like seven times. So, to get over my writers block, i decided to finally publish this! The moodboard and first chapter have been in my drafts for awhile, so i decided to finally post them. Hope ya’ll like it!

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Ninety-Three [PT. 1]

Words: 3k

Warning(s): explicit language, drug abuse

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NIKKI

1987

I throw another drink back not long after yelling obscurities at Viv as she stomped out of VIP to leave and go home, between more lines of blow, a trip to the bathroom to get a fix and some drinks, we decide to take the party to Steven's new place. 

"You guys just can't be too loud, though, got it?" He says as sternly as he can as we get inside and he fumbles for his key. 

"Alright, alright, alright," I mumble, stepping inside, grabbing his bottle of Jack off the counter before getting comfortable on the floor by the window. 

We all talk--as best we can--for a little while, Steven and the boys making some calls to get some dealers here, and the only thing on my mind is getting a potent fix, until I hear something...very faint, very familiar...very, very, familiar...I furrow my brows to focus more, ignoring the guys' laughter and voices, my eyes training on the wall opposite of me. 

My subconscious puts it together before my conscious does, like smelling a blanket from a childhood home and immediately being taken back before your brain can quite grasp the feeling. 

Multiple memories shrouding that sound of Vivian that only she can really pull off. 

It doesn't take rocket science equation solving skills to put together why I'm currently hearing her soft, pretty moans carry on next door. 

I'm pretty sure more members of Guns, aside from Steven, are staying here right now. 

Apparently Stevie hears it not long after and slips into the next suite, where the sound is coming from, that's connected to his suite. 

I don't hear it anymore after he gets back in here. 

"Dealer's coming or what?" I ask Steven, my high starting to get blowed from the fact that my wife is next door on her back for someone who isn't me. 

I'd be jealous if I weren't numb to it by now.

"They're all tied up, man." Steven tells me and I groan, thinking for a second. 

An idea comes to mind that makes me want to bang my head against the wall, but I'm desperate and left with no option at this point. 

"I know a guy," I mumble, dragging myself up to the phone in the little kitchen area, reluctantly dialing a number I never wanted to dial again. 

It rings once...twice...three times… 

"Hello?" He answers and I roll my eyes. 

"'Sup man, it's Nikki." I reply, trying to put on my best "friendly" voice, even though it's making my blood boil that the bastard I could see myself killing is ultimately the one that's gonna be able to save the day. 

"Hey, dude." He replies. 

"Me and a few buddies of mine are out here at the Franklin Plaza Suites and need a few things." I rub the back of my neck. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

It's quiet, and he reluctantly breathes out. 

"I'll see what I can do." I can hear the satisfaction in his voice that I'm having to call him. 

Within the next forty minutes there's more people here than I'm comfortable with, groupies, and hangerson, and other drug adoring morons, and then my saving grace comes through the door once Steven lets him in. 

Slash is already slipping into a Jack induced stupor. Sally came in a few minutes ago screaming at all of us guys for leaving her at the Cat House. 

We didn't even realize we'd forgotten her. 

She's in the bathroom, probably keeping herself in there to keep from starting an argument with Slash in front of everyone. 

Robbin's on the phone with Laurie.

Apparently it's just in men's nature to get fucked up, call our wives, and profess our undying love for them despite the fact we cheat on them nearly every time we hangout with our friends. 

I wonder what would happen if I went in there on her and Duff right now. 

What would she say? 

Probably nothing. 

She'd just look at the floor and try not to cry, probably. 

What would I do? 

I know that I know what's going on between them, but if I actually walked in and saw them together, caught in the act…

I'd either be a pussy and cry over it, or kill them both--him first and make her watch, and then just slowly torture her or something. God, I'm fucked up. Even though I'm pretty sure being married to me is torture enough to her. 

I know it's torture to me, too. 

"Here dude," Sparkie hands me a syringe and a spoon, and I look at him, too out of focus to concentrate on getting it right. 

"Fix me." I say to him and he scoffs. 

"Okay, dude." He starts getting it ready and I look at that wall again. Staring at it, taking a sip of my drink. 

Fucking Vivian. 

Of course. Her. Of all the women I've hooked up with and dated in my life, she--the most harmless, at least in my dumbfuck mind when I first met her--is the one to screw me over like this. 

And I've let her. 

If I did what Vince does to Sharise and have that whole, "no hanging out with your boy friends without me" rule, this wouldn't even be an issue. 

That's the problem. Somewhere along the way I loosened her leash a little too much and now she's chewed her way through it entirely. 

"You look like you're in hell, you know," Sparkie tells me, fixing the tourniquet around my arm… "But that's okay, you're about to be in heaven in just a few seconds." He assures me. 

I know he's right. I just need to hang on to that. 

In just a few seconds, I'll be--

I hear Vivian, again, and I reach around my neck and grab onto her cross I've been wearing for weeks, now, squeezing it at the sting of the needle going into my skin. 

I feel him shoot me up, my mind waiting to chase and catch the high that I just know is about to come. 

My fingers slip from the crucifix, and I feel myself fall back before a weightless feeling washes over me.

Present

I keep rereading the damn paper, repeatedly, trying my hardest not to throw a fit...

Nikki Sixx and his wife, Vivian, recently confirmed that she is indeed pregnant issuing a simple and straightforward,"Yes, it's true," statement earlier this week through Nikki's manager, and--as speculated--her pregnancy is not with Nikki. Many fans and some friends of the couple are blown out of the water by this sudden turn of events, others who are familiar with the rockstar and his band but never really paid much attention to his personal relationships, are now curious as to who exactly Vivian Sixx is. Well, in an open letter, rumored to be intended for print in Rolling Stone, a few anonymous former roadies of Mötley Crüe--who partook on their Girls, Girls, Girls, tour in 1987--are here to introduce who they saw behind the scenes of flashing cameras and public sweet moments with husband Nikki. 

"This is a letter to Mötley Crüe fans, we're a mere handful of people out of the many who witnessed monstrosities behind the scenes while on tour with the Crüe since Summer of 1987, none of which were caused by the band or any members, themselves, but one woman in particular. We had no reason to really bring any of this up, but in light of recent news, we are disheartened and angered of the betrayal against one of the four men who gave us an opportunity to live several months in our lives that will forever impact us in the best way known, and provide heartwarming memories by the dozen. This is not an attack on Nikki Sixx, especially given his past struggles with opioid addiction, alcoholism, as well as his abusive wife. The first time we met Vivian, she was polite and friendly, but very assertive. It was obvious it would be her way or no way,  and often times she and Nikki would go back and forth with who was running things. It was obvious Nikki was unwell at times, whether it'd be hungover, sick from withdrawal or simply tired from a show the night before. Vivian would choose these times when he was at his most exhausted to pick fights with him. He'd tell her to go away or 'f**k off,' and she'd continue to verbally and mentally beat him down more than he clearly already was. When Rolling Stone came to interview the band shortly after the wild rumor Vanity started publicly, we were told Vivian had tried to physically attack the reporter working on the story, simply because he made the comment that Pepsi wasn't good for her. Small things like that would often set her off, leaving security, managers, and band members to try to dodge fists while pulling her off of her unsuspecting victim, who was typically Nikki. Many times we'd hear them arguing in the hotel rooms, dressing rooms, bathrooms, tour bus, etc., usually followed by sounds of what we can only describe as 'pitchy, hungry, pornstar moans' on her part--clearly using her body to get back in his good graces after wearing him down. After their fights, Nikki would always have a bottle of alcohol on hand, some kind of drug, and would keep to himself. Our comradery with him soon began to dwindle with each month because it was obvious she was beginning to suck the life out of him. He was more introverted overtime, and higher more often than he was at the beginning of the tour. It really got bad when Guns N' Roses came on tour for a month, because Vivian's attacks on him and the other members of Mötley Crüe, began to pop off as randomly and explosively as fireworks. We'd witness some foul exchange (brought on by Vivian)  between her and Nikki backstage, either verbal or physical, nearly every night. People can talk down on the Crüe for being bad boys, but they've shown everybody that's helped them on tour, gratitude. All the wives and girlfriends that would come on that we'd offer food and drinks to would always express gratitude with a smile and a warm heart, but Vivian would always stay silent and cold towards us. She's a trashy, bitchy, whiney, hateful, spiteful, conniving, plotting python that now has her cold-blooded grasp around not only Nikki's neck, but also Duff's. Her game is to find the most well rounded guys while maintaining under her guise that she's a kind, Christianly woman, and see how far she can push them until they work themselves to death, literally, with trying to please her. We aren't surprised that she's pregnant, she probably video taped herself conceiving the damn thing and sent it to Nikki. We hope she did so it can be practice  for her inevitable low-budget porn career when she runs out of rockstars to f**k and kill, as we've mentioned, she already sounds like one in the throws of passion. Anyway, Nikki, we're hoping you decide to kick her aside and start fresh. Duff, get a paternity test, dude. Crüe fans, don't let that red-headed bitch fool you."

"Who the hell is Page Six to give these bastards a platform in the first place, Doc?!" I snap.

"Nikki, I am handling it, I'm on it--"

"--You tell the L.A. Times and Rolling fucking Stone if they take this shit and run with it, too, I'm personally coming to their offices and fucking them up. Not the publications themselves, but the people trying to put this out there in print, individually." I hiss.

"Nikki, just--" 

"--And who the hell--what roadies did this?!" 

"I don't know, Nikki, but I'm trying my hardest to get it cleaned up." He assures me. 

"'She's a trashy, bitchy, whiney, hateful, spiteful, conniving, plotting python that now has her cold-blooded grasp around not only Nikki's neck, but also Duff's. Her game is to find the most well rounded guys while maintaining under her guise that she's a kind, Christianly woman, and see how far she can push them until they work themselves to death, literally, with trying to please her'?!" I read that snippet, just so he can be reminded how fucked this is, trying my hardest not to start pitching a fucking fit. 

"Fucking AJaxx isn't even cleaning this up! Press mongrels are gonna be humping these bastards legs for giving them sales for the next nine months!" I outburst. 

"Sixx, don't worry about it, alright? It won't go past this shitty Page Six story, okay?" 

"It's fucking horse shit." I ignore him, trying to keep my cool. "Fuck." I kick at the leg of the table, running a hand through my hair.

"I guess one decently positive thing is that Viv doesn't know about this," he says next and I shake my head a little, feeling a migraine starting to come on, strong. 

I was tempted then to check myself out of rehab and 'handle' it myself, but decided it wouldn't be worth it. I hoped it would go away and it would all blow over eventually.

"Vivian, don't listen to any of it, alright? Me and you and everyone on that tour know damn well it wasn't just you being a bitch and us being the innocent victims." I say through the phone as Viv tries to calm down, her breathing shaky and ragged from crying so much. 

"I know that but the fans and other people don't know that." She says to me, her voice quiet and tired. "I'm so embarrassed, Nikki." She adds. "I'm already embarrassed that everybody knows I cheated on you but now this whole thing…" she trails off and I feel guilt tug at my heart. 

I don't know what the fuck to say. 

I'm used to criticism from the press, but none of them have tore into me or any of the guys--except Vince after the Razzle accident--so personally and extensively as they're tearing at her. 

Calling me a devil worshipper and saying my music is shitty gets annoying and frustrating and even infuriating at times, but attacking my wife and calling her a low budget porn star and telling me to kick her aside? 

Fuck that. 

"I'm sorry, Viv. I really am." I assure her, honestly, closing my eyes when I hear her stifle a little sob out. "Where are you at right now?" I ask. 

"Duff wanted me to meet his family." She tells me. "I'll be back Saturday." 

I'm relieved she actually has a reason for not being here, but I'm also hurt that she didn't give me a heads up. But I don't want to talk about it right now. I think she's been punished enough today. 

"Okay...you didn't show yesterday and I was just worried." I admit. 

"I know, it was just a spur of the moment thing. He asked me last week and I didn't think it'd be an issue." 

"Oh." 

I glance around and let out a breath. 

"I, um, I'm gonna go. I got a group thing with the guys at 3:00." I tell her. 

"Okay." 

"Are you gonna be okay or do I need to break out and kick someone's ass?" I ask her, half-joking, and she laughs, making me smile. 

"I'll be okay." She tells me. 

"I'll see you next week, Sixx." 

I can practically hear the smile in her voice when she says, "see you next week." 

We hang up and I rub my lips together, taking a few deep breaths before heading to where me and the guys meet with Amber three times a week now. 

Tommy and Vince are waiting for me, and I plop down beside them, leaning forward, elbows on my knees, hands running over my face…

"Psst," Tommy nudges me and I look at him as Vince gets up to grab a cup of coffee. 

"What?" I ask him, and he puts his finger over his mouth. 

"You seen the shit they're on Vivian for?" He whispers and I furrow my brows, looking around. 

"The room is empty except us, dude, why are you--"

"--Shh," he says. 

"Why are you whispering?" I finish my sentence. 

"Because they probably have this motherfucker bugged out the ass." He replies, glancing around again. "I'm thinking of breaking outta here, man." He whispers very, very quietly. 

"You do know we're not being held here by legal obligation, right? They won't chase us down and have the cops on us if we just check ourselves out." I point out and he furrows his brows a little. 

"Oh." 

"Why do you wanna 'break out'?" I ask. 

"I miss Heather and my dogs and I wanna be able to be there Viv, dude. She fucking needs us right now and we're, like, over an hour away--disconnected from shit. I mean we wouldn't even know what the fuck was going on in the world if Doc wasn't keeping us in the loop, ya know?" 

I think about it for a second. 

"We're over a month into our three month stay, dude." I state. "We can't just throw in the towel, now." 

"I don't mean ditch it and stay gone. I just mean check out for a few days, go back home, see what all is going on and come back." He shrugs. 

It seems oddly appealing. 

Way too appealing, actually. 

"I don't know, Tommy…" I rub the back of my neck.

"I already talked to Vince about it and he's down."

"Of course he is." 

"And we wouldn't be doing it tomorrow or anything. I'm thinking next week." 

"Does Doc know?" I ask. 

"Fuck Doc." He scoffs. 

"Agreed." I nod, chuckling. 

"So, you in or not, man?" 

"Just for a few days?" 

"Just for a few days." 

"Then we're all coming back in?" 

"Like we never left to begin with." 

"No drugs, no parties, not even alcohol." 

"Just spending time with our families and then back to the grindstone." He states. 

"...I'm in."

 ...You know when you're on a shitty diet, eating boring, tasteless, "healthy" food, and then decide you've been stuck to your diet long enough that you can have one slice of cake because you're disciplined enough to control yourself? And now, two years later, you're still telling yourself you'll get back on your diet because after that slice of cake you just said, "fuck it," and never thought about forcing yourself to eat lettuce again? Let's just say leaving rehab prematurely works the same damn way.

[themilky-way]

under my skin {bucky barnes}

gif credit: friendzoned-by-avengers

pairing: bucky barnes x female! reader

summary: it was the little things about you that enamored him. no matter where he went, or what he did, his mind always wandered to the thought of you. how long until he acts on it? based on only human by robin loxley.

warnings: implied nsfw themes but nothing’s actually descriptive. uh the fucking delicious scent of vanilla because i’m obsessed with it lmao. ALSO if you squint, you’ll find a scene from my previous bucky fic ;)

author’s note: what da fawk 😃 i’m reposting this bc tumblr was  stupid and this wasn’t showing up in the tags??? uhh okay 🤡😃

-------

there were nights when the world around you was still. the streets below the compound were silent, no horns sounding or engines running. footsteps didn’t resonate against the cold concrete of the sidewalk, and no random chatter from pedestrians or local restaurants was heard. for a city like manhattan, you had learned to appreciate nights like these and to never take them for granted. when midnight would strike and send a cool breeze through the open crack of your window, you’d drape a blanket over your shoulders and walk to the large balcony in the living room. the doors remained open behind you, as you knew everyone else was peacefully sleeping, and watched the city in front of you fade into nothing more than the whistle of the wind.

sometimes, a guest would join you. the sound of slippers padding across the marbled tiles would reach your ears, and you allowed yourself to smile. the moments that came with this particular noise were something you treasured, engraving them deeply into your mind so you could be blessed with the opportunity to look upon them again. you’d make out the silhouette that was now next to you, and even though you already knew who it belonged to, you never missed out on the chance to look at him. every now and then you’d come to find out that he was already staring, not creepily, but more of a mesmerized glare. what followed became a routine: you’d smile, coil away as heat rose to your cheeks, and then he’d place a hand on them so you’d look at him. he’d profile every feature on your skin, remembering them so as to be able to touch you again when he closed his eyes later that night. he prepared himself for one of the sweetest moments his life could ever offer him, and in turn showed you just how powerful the movement of his lips on yours could be.

bucky eventually lost count of how many times he’d fall asleep to the sweet, addicting scent of your perfume that lingered on his nightwear. the luscious smell of vanilla would work its way up to his nose, and when he’d catch it, he permitted himself to reminisce the feeling of you. when he did, it almost drove him to the brink of insanity. the sudden recollection of your fragrance when he’d connect his mouth to your neck, or even the purest parts of your body, was enough for him to worship you better than the previous encounter.

but then his mind would change the film and a different image of you appeared. now, you were sitting in front of him, trying your hardest to cure his wounds. the tiny water droplets that ran down your cheek would be wiped by the softness of his thumb, and words of comfort would spill from your lips. as he recounted this scene, his fingers would trace his scars and imagined you were the one doing it. his emotions would depict themselves in the beating of his heart, and he was almost sure that all of new york could hear it. but most importantly, he wished you could hear it. he wanted nothing more than for you to realize the things you did to him; how easily you had bucky wrapped around your finger. if you were to ask him to bring you a star, the one that glowed almost as bright as you, he’d give you the entire galaxy if he could. and he needed you to know that.

so the next evening you stood together in the balcony, and his lips carved into your own, he reluctantly pulled away to reach your ear. warm breath fanned the skin of it before you felt bucky’s teeth graze your earlobe gently, the fingers you had tangled in his hair tugging at the sensation.

“do you know the things you do to me?”

“i think i have an idea,” you breathed out. it wasn’t meant to come out as needy as it did, but you had him so close to where you needed him that you were left with no other option. caught in the spur of the moment, your mouth attached to bucky’s neck, pressing light kisses to the area. it was an act of affection, a demonstration that proved you did reciprocate his feelings.

the minute you dipped your tongue to drag it along the marks you left behind, you knew you were done for. firm, strong hands gripped your sides, pulling you closer to him than humanly possible, and that’s when you caught the impression of him. it released a gasp from your lips, consequently earning a low growl from his. it awoke something in him: a hunger-a desire-whenever he’d swallow the whimpers you made. “sweetheart, if you keep doing that-”

“i know.” that night was the first of many.

it took bucky some time to come to terms with his emotions. it was by no means an easy process; a super soldier trained to assassinate without mercy isn’t exactly deserving of affection. the countless nights spent without rest involved bucky questioning every phrase and touch of admiration you gave him. the nights that you slept in his bed, soft breaths escaping the lips he caressed only moments before, meant the world to him. over the course of this journey, a warmth began to ignite in his chest. something suddenly tugged at the pit of his stomach when you turned the corner of a room he resided in. his heart nearly jumped out of his chest whenever you’d touch him, and one of the things he loved the most was how cool your skin was compared to his.

was this love? what bucky felt? he didn’t believe so at first, pushing the thought to the very back of his brain. but one night, as your bodies’ collided and the soft sounds escaping from you mingled with the air in the room, he let the words slip out. if he were any other person, you would’ve thought it was the pleasure talking, but he wasn’t. and so you muttered the phrase back, and you let him know how much you meant it.

in truth, bucky had unknowingly let you under his skin. he was a smart man-without a doubt. yet here he was, granting this ethereal individual permission to do everything they desired. oftentimes, the possibility of this ending badly kept him preoccupied during most of the day, but when night came around again, his fears ceased to exist.

the soldier noticed that time passed rather quickly when he was in love. days turned to weeks, which then looped into months. he longed for more; whenever tony organized a gala in his ballroom, he’d much rather have his hand pulling you tight against him than converse with sam. he yearned for the public to see you were his, and belonged to only him. thus, when sam and steve dared him to ask the girl he believed was the prettiest to dance, his eyes fell upon you instantly. he got up from his seat, the glass of whiskey he was holding hitting the table a little too harshly, and went over to you. he pardoned himself for interrupting your conversation, politely requested your hand, and excused himself again.

you didn’t hesitate to question his actions, nor to even be nervous of what the others might think, just enjoyed the fact you got to be near him. the interaction was gentle, loving in every reasonable sense as it always was. you swayed nice and slow against his rhythm, the melodies of the live symphony providing the perfect elements for you to catch on quickly.

“be mine,” bucky murmured. he was serious, perhaps more than he’s ever been in his life. the tender way in which he voiced it morphed a cheeky grin on your face.

“i’m already yours.”

“no, i mean actually mine. i don’t want to keep hiding you.” you had never seen him like this. yes, bucky had spoken sincerely with you before, but it was never to the point he might spontaneously combust if he didn’t spill his thoughts. regardless of anything, the man staring at you with great concern was waiting for a response, and you had to answer.

“bucky,” you replied, mocked innocence poking at his name. “kiss me. hard.”

and by god did he kiss you.