#for fear of being thrown into the dawn machine for stepping on his foot

[viric-dreams]

A quick little thing set off by all the dancing going around that got away from me. Lt Roberts absolutely loves to dance. It's one of those few times that he's able to let loose and blow off some energy, and one of the few times he can acceptably be physically close to people. In earlier days, before many of the promotions and before his dreaded reputation had fully set in, he'd loved going for a spin on the deck on a festive evening. This had largely tapered off over the years.

I'm not sure under what circumstances Nite rediscovered this skill, but the morning after was one of the few in which Roberts woke up still exhausted, but for once feeling better.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Could we pls get part 2 for ‘Weaponized Villain’? 👀👀

-whumpilicious

Thank you so much for this ask!

So I neglected rereading the other part. Villain's tongue is meant to be cut off, but he talks in this. Just let's pretend that he has like a voice speaking box or something, I apologize for this.

Weaponized Villain Part 2

Part 1

@whumpilicious @the-sky-writes @maracujatangerine @kim-poce @octopus-reactivated

Warnings: sedation/anesthesia mention, semiconsciousness, drugged character, past body surgey, body modifications, unconscious character, guilt, descriptions of procedure, conditioning, dehumanization, weaponizing, blood drawing, blood tests, syringes and needles, delirium, hospital setting

~

There were six doctors in that room, and ten nurses. All just stared; no effort was made to advance to help the barely conscious human on the gurney.

All their fingers twitched, curling around various surgical implements and syringes decked with needles. One even aimlessly dangled a stethoscope from their tensed fingers and with the deep metallic armor protecting the weakened body underneath, it would serve no purpose.

"Aren't you going to do something?" Hero rapsed, a slight squeak to the pitch in her voice as her emerald eyes rapidly glistened over the stunned faces of the medics.

"There are wires literally connected to the ends of his nerves. I don't even know how that's physically possible," one of the doctors informed the concerned hero with a faint knowing tone to his voice. He glanced at the lightly trembling hero before averting his eyes. "If we remove them," he continued, "we could give him permanent nerve damage."

Hero gaped, trotting over to the bed where the injured man laid upon. They were able to safely remove some of the metal mask, revealing tangles of wires and humming boxes. He was practically a humanoid machine.

But at least part of his eyes were visible. At least she could gauge the state of his consciousness.

They were dulled and very unfocused, rolling up underneath his lids. Hero sighed and ran a tentative hand over the smooth metal.

"We can however," the doctor interrupted the tender moment with a spark of nervous hope in his voice, "slowly take off the armor, starting with his feet to study how it was put on. If we are successful, we may be able to figure out a way to completely get rid of it. I would like to take some blood tests first though to see what's in his system. Even though he is hurt and weak and very tired, he also seems sorta loopy."

Hero nodded, a smile dawning on her face and stepped away from the villain who had just started to whimper and mumble incoherently.

"M-mission," he wheezed. "Kill."

Hero looked up with a pointed edge to her gaze. The doctors and nurses stiffened in anticipation, sharing glances with each other.

One of the mechanical arms raised weakly, before plummeting back onto the thin mattress. Villain groaned and coughed, barely audible, before slowly turning his head to look at Hero.

"I-i tried sir," he whispered before his eyes drifted shut.

The doctors all let out a loud sigh, letting out a caged breath they were all holding. Hero nervously crept over to Villain and laid her hand on his head. Unconsciously, he leaned into it. Hero pursed her lips, surprised that he could feel her touch.

The medics began to buzz around Villain's feet, lifting them and prodding at them. Hero pulled a nearby plastic chair up and sat next to Villain, swinging her hand underneath his helmet covered head.

She watched as some heavy-duty pair of scissors and pliers were brought to the operation. They fluidly removed the thick metal casing. Hero's felt her heartbeat rise at the sight of the intricate mass of colors from all the little wires, but then it settled again when she came to the realization that it wasn't too bad.

The doctors started to untangle the wires. Most of them seemed to be powering another function in the suit with only a couple imbedded into his foot.

Even with this hindrance, the doctors were still able to expose his pale, wrinkled foot. The veins stood out like a bodybuilder's bicep, blue and thick.

"I've never taken blood samples from a foot before, but," one of the nurses chuckled as she ran a thin needle into the most strong looking vein, "I'm sure this'll work."

The blood running into the little vial was sort of thin for being blood, Hero noticed with a frown. And it went in there slowly, much slower than all the times Hero had to take blood tests for her yearly physical.

Eventually, the nurse capped the vial and put it in a little tray that a much younger lady, probably a med student, took to where Hero assumed was a lab.

"So," the doctor spoke, his experienced fingers lightly touching the wires strung through Villain's foot. "These are attached to his nerves, so the wires get very thin. This is not medically possible unless the doctor had some sort of power which enabled this."

"Can you fix it?" Hero asked softly.

"Yes, but slowly. He will have to be put under anesthesia for the procedure, but I don't know if his body is strong enough to be sedated for long periods. To fully rid of this suit, he would have to be operated on for at least fifteen hours multiple times at that," the doctor explained. "All we have to do is get a high-tech camera and snip the wires from the nerves. For all I know, because as we have seen, he can feel still, the nerves aren't damaged."

Hero nodded, prompting him to continue.

"It'll be slow and very shocking to his body. He'll been given a constant drip of mild painkillers- just to take the edge off- and will have to be intubated to be fed."

Hero felt a tad quesy to her stomach. She brought her hand to carefully cradle her torso, the other still lying languidly under Villain's unconscious head.

"If it works, do it," Hero said, nodding to the doctor. He wavered a smile before ducking out of the room, a trail of chattering nurses following him.

Hero was left alone to comfort the sleeping boy. His eyelids quivered and twitched under the blazing LED illuminating his face.

She felt somewhat guilty. All this time Supervillain's "indestructible drone" was actually a living, breathing human controlled by an android suit.

It was sickening. Especially since Hero didn't have the gumption to investigate when the seemingly nonliving machine limped away from battle, when it would sway and collapse in a bloody battlefield, when it would seem to react like a living body did when it was punched or thrown against a building.

Hero ran her thumb over the cracked paint of the helmet in small circles, deep in thought. Her fingertips followed the dents and edges, pressing against them. This poor guy suffered so much and all Hero did was aid in that suffering.

"Mm boss," Villain breathed, desperately trying to roll over to his side in his sleeping state. Hero put a hand on the busted metal of his shoulder and gently shushed him.

"Mmmnh no," he whimpered, pulling his body to himself. His eyes slited open, dancing over to Hero as an awaiting expression washed over them. "D-dont... hurt... me..."

"I won't honey," Hero whispered, smiling down at him. It was only then that Hero realized how young the semi-conscious man was. Barely twenty-two, even a tad younger than Hero herself.

Twenty-two years old, a whole life wasted away. A life feasted on rough hands, pain and experiments. Hero shuddered at the thought, brushing her fingers over the exposed skin on his forehead. Villain grunted and pushed into her hand like a cat, needing that close comfort.

He was just a kid.

Hero felt tears spiking at her eyes. She wiped them away with the cuff of her sleeve, sniffling quietly. The emotion in his glassy eyes quickly contorted into worry, then fear.

He jerked as hard as his fatigued body permitted him to do, trying his hardest to get away the possible threat.

"I tried," he screamed, squeezing his eyes shut. "I-i tried to kill... I did, please. Don't shock me." His screams rapidly ceased to muttered whimpers as his strength and energy ebbed away from him. He fell back into the gurney, eyes rolling to their whites.

Soon he passed out again, lost in the dark abyss of oblivion.

Hero looked down at the pitiful man on the bed with a sympathetic sigh before turning her face away, allowing the tears to come forth.

[aitarose]

SEVEN AM (T. OIKAWA) ⤷ pairing: oikawa tooru x fem!reader

synopsis: between wrinkled bedsheets and lost undergarments, the evening of your dreams is one of a living nightmare—you, alone in a simple bed without its king. 

word count: 1.2k

genre: fuck boi!tooru, best friend!reader, one night stand, one-sided pining, angsty angst

warnings: extremely suggestive content, swearing, slight obsession, brief mentions of intercourse :( but not fully descriptive bc i’m a minor haha ok

24 hours collab masterpost

notes: for bby ly’s (@kyotarou) collab that i already forgot the name of oopsie brb OK it’s called the 24 hours collab aha aha there we go. also half of this takes place at like midnight umm chile anyways

It’d been a spur-of-the-moment decision, something that you’d relived over and over again within the constructs of your own mind—but never believed would actually come true. It was the very thing that you’d wished for most in all of your months by his side, never realizing that it was right within your grasp.

The dream being just beneath your skin, hands laced together through gentle movements and breathless moans, all occurring in one single night of ecstasy. 

A night that had been, of course, proceeded by your typical evening of celebration. The excited haze of energy that followed a perfect win on the court—victory for Club Athletico San Juan, which was led by none other than their esteemed setter—your best friend, Oikawa Tooru. 

You’d walked out of the bar together after eleven PM, hand-in-hand, him swinging your palms back and forth whilst you strolled down the spaced pavements—avoiding crazed traffic and wandering strangers—heading towards your quaint apartment which sat peacefully atop the local cafe. 

One after the other, the two of you stepped inside—locking the door behind you as you dropped your abandoned shoes on the mat, having taken them off hours earlier in the midst of dancing. His hand had never left the small of your back, guiding your steps towards the cozy kitchen with a dream-like cloud floating through the air. 

You’d offered him a mug of decaffeinated coffee, turning on the machine with the muscle memory of countless similar nights, not noticing the hardness of his gaze. There had been a glint in his eyes—an expression you’d never quite seen before displayed on his features as you turned to face him, the only sound being the soft grinds of the water heater. 

There wasn’t any verbal discussion, no command that had signaled him to rush over and take your jaw between his calloused fingers. Only a split second of eye contact, both of you having the same wish in that moment—to finally know the feeling of your lips on his in an ever-seizing kiss. 

And it really had been everything you’d dreamed of. Soft and passionate, perfection in terms of intimacy—a seemingly life-changing kiss between you and your best friend. The very person you’d been falling for for years on years now. The man that you imagined yourself meeting at the end of a rose covered aisle in beautiful designer attire. 

The path from the kitchen to your bedroom hadn’t taken long to conquer, strewn clothing across the floor, like scattered treats in the woods on the way to the witches hut. A desirable sight, but also one that would inevitably lead to pain and heartbreak—and unfortunately for you, those outcomes had never crossed your mind, not even once. 

But now, as you lay awake—facing the bedroom wall in an attempt to ignore the rising sunlight—there was a physical pain in your chest. The bonds of your being snapping into two as you heard him roll out of bed, groaning at the bright rays whilst his regretful actions cycled through his mind. 

“Shit.” You heard him mumble as you turned slightly to see him run a hand through his disheveled locks. He was biting his lip, tapping his foot against the hard wood floor with his eyes on the window, staring out into the incoming horizon with reddened irises. “Shit.”

Oikawa stood, abandoning the bodily indent in the comforter and scrambling to find his clothing. It seemed as if he were more focused on the location of his belt than the status of your relationship—all the more confirming that you were nothing but another one of his flings. Another one of his famous one night stands. 

“Tooru?” You called out, sitting up with your elbows as support, a fully serious gaze falling upon his eyes of fear as his attention snapped around. “Tooru, where are you going? Do you have an early practice?”

There was a part of you that wanted to believe that he did have an excuse for trying to leave you. That there was a valid reason as to why he hadn’t held you through the morning haze, why he hadn’t pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head in an attempt to wake you softly—why he hadn’t confessed any true feelings for you in the night turned dawn?

But all of your worries were confirmed at his reaction. His usually charming cheeks were replaced with ones devoid of commitment or love, his stance being awkward and weary rather than comfortable and content in your presence. He was practically a different person. 

You didn’t know this Oikawa Tooru, you hadn’t ever known the man before you now—but all the women at the bar, the fans in the stands, girls at the beach who’d whistle in his way and send him flirty glances had always been familiar with this feeling of longing. 

It was the tone of rejection and regrets, stolen kisses that had been thrown into the bin—taken away to the sea and lost in the landfill of broken hearts and mixed emotions. He didn’t need to come up with a response to your wonders, knowing that you were smarter than his empty promises and lies. All that was needed was a pained shake of the head and the stale wake of his absence. 

Tears rained down your make-up smudged skin at the sound of the front door closing, the realization of reality setting in—the reality that he would likely never take a walk with you on your path of life again. Your streets were at one for what you wanted to be forever—but forever doesn’t always last, does it?

No, because if it did you wouldn’t be driving down the boulevard of broken dreams with an open hand—an open hand that was, for some reason, still waiting for him to come back. Still hoping with every part of your soul that he would come rushing into your arms and fall back into a peaceful slumber. 

Perhaps you could find that slumber yourself, snuggled in the cold cotton sheets of your king sized bed—which was ironically missing its king of the court. 

If there was any chance that you could find rest, lucid dream the reality that you oh-so-wished you were currently living, you’d take that opportunity. After all, what is life without the one you love? What is life if not missed connections and broken signals? What is the point of trying so hard, only to be beat down after finally getting what you wanted?

Maybe you just weren’t meant for the type of mind-blowing love you saw in the movies or on television. The lifestyle of happiness just wasn’t in your book—the dream of dancing through a fairytale was a phony pretense, as you weren’t the princess in the story, but rather the abandoned love interest instead. 

Turning the next page wouldn’t be easy for you, it would take all the mental strength in your bones—but at the sight of the parting clouds and shining sun, you knew you’d be okay. The next chapter of your story would be a good one, you were going to make sure of it—with or without him.

dedicated to my silly little beautiful baka @gellysticks​. you’re such a silly goose you silly little goose you

aitarose do not copy, claim, or mimic my writing, works, themes, copy and paste my words, or headers and tags as your own. do not use my blog as a template for your own, or base your theme on mine.

[gayvangeance]

hey koda! do you have any hcs of the golden dawn being protective of each other?

Of course >:)) This is more of them just being kind/caring for each other because I'm currently starved of it. I tried my best to include as much of the characters as possible. Enjoy!! 💞

Most of the Golden Dawn are either stuck up, awkward, shy, or somehow all the above. Half of them (Langris, for example) would care about them but wouldn’t outright admit it. The other half, like David is open about their feelings.

Speaking of Langris, he’s extremely protective of the squad. Not to the point of risking his own life or anything too special, but enough that makes some of the members to soften up a little. Maybe he’ll slide a bottle of water while hastily opening a portal to zap away or… If you’re lucky, a cherry tart! Although again, none of the members can expect much after that because it goes to “get better soon because you have a mission tomorrow.” or silence. But he really does try!

Ohh! Siren! Or is it Shiren? He seems like a tough guy that could catapult anyone to the ocean but he is actually just a big teddy bear that bakes nice cookies. He isn’t too good with words either and tends to stay silent, so he resorts to making little notecards with kind notes on them

There have been plenty of times where he would hear someone shriek because of a fly and he swats it in one try.

Or he captures the flying beast and sets it free… Who knows?

Referencing one of the light novels (with my own little twist), when the gd members are out on missions together that involves going to a ball or big social event that includes dancing… Oh dear god. They tried their best to help each other out and protect each other’s identities but they’re hopeless. It looked like a parade of awkward and confused cats

Pink haired gd member: Dude you have to help me I don’t know how to waltz

Alecdora, trying not to step on someone else’s foot: I cannot help you I have two left feet

Klaus is obvious. He shows his caring and protective personality by actively trying to figure out who hurt his friends. If anyone close to him gets hurt, it’s Max Caring Time and they’re getting extra soup tonight

If someone makes a mistake like losing the chicken for dinner or turning the clothes infant sized everyone has an alibi. Literally. Everyone. I’m not saying they’re good but for the life of them they all have a page ingrained on their brain with stuff like “I’m so sorry Captain, the washing machine blew up. I believe it’s because someone never cleaned it out” or “the monkeys stole the keys. They have no mercy.” Which is obviously one of David’s excuses.

During battle they all got each other’s backs. They’ve been doing this for a while and know that no matter what they’ll all keep going. David and Hamon take the front line while Letoile backs them up from above to avoid fatal blows. Mimosa is in the back watching after anyone that’s injured. Yuno and a few others taking charge of another area with no issues.

If someone is at a risk of getting severely injured because their defense is done or too many attacks, they’ll do anything they can to come up with a quick strategy. No matter what, they try their best to come up with a strategy. Or the other famous option that they all collectively decided not to mention: just jump in front of the attack and go crazy

William: How did the mission go? I heard there were difficulties

Klaus, having flashbacks to five of his comrades jumping in front of him blasting as much spells as they can and afterwards acting perfectly time: Uhh it happened, sir

As the best squad they naturally want to uphold their reputation. A member gets back talked by another squad? Nuh-uh, that will not do. Prepare for evil glances to be sent your way.

Anytime one of them are injured, they all leave get well cards and flowers at their nightstand. There are various times where someone takes a bullet for a comrade and that comrade feels guilty a few weeks afterwards.

I’m not sure how many of these can be classified of them being protective of each other but they have squad dinners and their captain always tries to get their favorite meals down for it. One time he misheard somebody but Alecdora calmly intervened to clarify. It can get nerve wracking being asked questions by your captain and they all understand.

gd member 1: there’s a SPIDER

gd member 2: guys we've talked about this

gd member 3: it's 3 am please go to bed

gd member: 2

gd member 1: CRUEL man!!! just take it outside!!!

One time David was exhausted from a mission and Langris (pre reincarnation arc) stepped in and made sure he gets some food and sleep. Even if it meant he had to drag his body to his room as the rest of the squad wonders if Langris snapped or if he’s just trying to be nice.

Langris constantly sends an evil glare to some members he has seen not taking care of their health. Yes, he will absolutely give the stinky eye towards anyone, even his captain if he decides to neglect his health.

William was on thin ice once. Never again

When William first took off his mask, he was shy about it and feared the worst. To his surprise, the members reacted kindly and instead tried their best to boost his confidence when seeing him walking down the halls every morning. If they even see a dirty eye towards him, rude glances, or whispers they are getting thrown to the next continent.

They’re all very protective and express their emotions in their own ways. At the end of the day, they know they’re not only a squad, but a family.

[rayraywrites]

Title: Maybe things happen.

Chapter 6: Who holds Atlas up? (Day 6 - Faith/Doubt)

Characters: Sawamura Eijun, Kuramochi Youichi

Relationship: Sawamura Eijun x Kuramochi Youichi

Rating: General Audiences

Total Word Count: 2044

AO3

Event: @daiyarpwk2020​

He remembered hearing about how ostriches, when they felt scared, wouldn't run away but would stick their heads into the ground. As silly as that sounded it stuck with him. He had laughed then at the idea of being so detached from reality that the bird would rather pretend it was safe than face its fears or even run. At the time it had been a funny fact but the older he got, the more he felt for the ostrich, and the more he wanted to hide his head every day. To just imagine that the world was a better place and he was a better fit for the world. 

The weight on his shoulders grew.

He was accustomed to loss. To failure. It hurt each time, but it wasn’t new. The first time it meant more was the last time he played with his friends. The way they had fought so hard and yet he couldn’t bring them any higher than before. He had failed. The second time he had failed himself, watching as his pitch had curved just as it should have remained a straight pitch. Kataoka’s dismissal had felt like a sharp sting. And each time he would grow in some way it was always shadowed by how far he had to go. He got onto the second string, Furuya made it to first with ease. He made it to the first string, he had to watch his senpai fail. He tried to pitch a successful game, his use was only as the closer. He acknowledged how important the game was to his senpai, a dead ball. Then yips. 

It had ached when he watched Furuya receiving the ace number, but it had felt like knives had stabbed through his heart when he himself was given the ace number. The team still thought he was unreliable, otherwise their continued surprise when he succeeded wouldn’t have been there. Coach wouldn’t think to put him in only when Furuya began to fail. But he kept pushing, trying harder and harder to earn the title they’d bestowed upon his shaking shoulders. And the deeper he wanted to shove his head into the ground. His first game said it all, showing them the truth. He just kept trying and yet, it was Miyuki who accepted his failure when any time before he wouldn’t have been forgiven. Kataoka pulled him out, but there was understanding on his face. The pity hurt more. 

He pulled himself back together, forcing any lingering pain back until all he could see was the determination to succeed and to make his team proud. He had already failed two teams, he wouldn’t fail another.

He stood with shaking shoulders and pushed from the ground up until he was stable. But shaking shoulders still remained.

And still, there were days where he just wanted to hide himself. To tuck his head back under his pillow and pretend he was nothing but an average highschooler. Not an ace. Not a team player. Not even an athlete. Just a boy who was growing up. On those days he had to pull himself up to go for his run, slogging his way off his bed and out the door at the crack of dawn. Glancing back at Youichi, still fast asleep, would give him a burst of energy. At least enough to begin. 

On those days getting to practice was even harder because watching Miyuki finally agree to his demands to catch, all because he was the ace now and not because it was him, killed him. He managed to make his run because of habit and self-discipline but practice involved loudness and smiling. It meant he had to laugh at unfunny events, and to hold everything inside. 

Baseball meant he got to be in the bullpen pitching his heart out but it wasn’t free like it used to be in middle school. 

Now it was, “watch your foot Sawamura.” Or, “that would have been a ball, maybe a foul if you’re lucky.” A laugh and then, “strike. Such a strike. Are you even trying?” And it wasn’t like the comments were meant to hurt, rather to light his competitive spirit. But the compliments were so far and few that instead of help they only built up until he felt crushed. 

He was holding the world on his shoulders.

His team wasn’t malicious but the disregard for his happiness off the field, that hurt. Harucchi and him had been close, but his own mistakes had seemingly pushed the baseman away. Though they were teammates and friends, Furuya and he were rivals at their core; their relationship was jilted. His senpai would rather watch him mess around and say stupid things than genuinely talk to him. 

There was some respite though, and that came in the form of Kuramochi Youichi. Youichi had gone from roommate and reliable senpai to so much more within a short time. He didn’t know how much more he could handle without being able to escape to his room and hide in Youichi’s bed until his senpai returned. They played up the relationship they were supposed to have in front of their roommate but when alone, Youichi hugged him close, would card fingers through his hair and press gentle kisses to his wrinkled forehead. They still messed with each other and on the field they were the epitome of professionalism. Because this was baseball.

But he would have crumbled without Youichi. 

The Youichi who would wake up early to watch over his runs because the day would be hard on him. The Youichi who would buy an extra Pocari Sweat when he went to the vending machine without asking because he knew it was needed. The Youichi who made sure their room was empty on days before his tests so that he wouldn’t get distracted. And it was Youichi who kissed him goodnight every single day without avail, even if it was a distracted-by-video games kiss, it was never forgotten. 

He would have crumbled without Youichi.

––

The heavy sigh that left his mouth encapsulated every emotion he had gone through that day. Lying down on the bed, he wrapped his arms around a pillow, resisting the urge to press his face into it and scream. It had been a long day and he knew it still wasn’t over just yet. Practice had started well, in fact he’d woken up with a bounce to his step that hadn’t been there for quite some time. Pressing a swift kiss to Youichi’s forehead he’d bounded out the door for an exhilarating morning run. The smile Youichi had thrown at him during breakfast, quickly smothered under the usual morning tiredness had made him grin wide enough for Harucchi to comment. Practice began with him pitching to Miyuki in the bullpen, and even with all caustic comments, he had kept his head high and managed to even wrangle a compliment from the catcher. He continued on his high, head in the clouds as he walked over to the field for situationals. 

His shoulders began to shake then. The weight of the team’s expectations nestled safely in the gap between his shoulder blades began to press down with one simple mistake. One missed ball for a pick-off and the opposing runner got on base, and then the 3rd-base runner made it home because he was distracted and sent a meatball. Normal things that happened occasionally in practice. His teammates didn’t comment, even Kataoka only told him to focus and move on. And yet the derisive comments of the alumni sitting in the stands and the second-stringers who were vying for every chance to progress managed to get under his skin. 

“This is the Ace pitcher? Pretty shoddy results really.” A smothered snort, “Sawamura has always been loud but it seems that volume doesn’t equate to results.” Another, “I can’t believe coach decided he was the one who deserves to be Ace. I just don’t get it.”

He heard the scoffs of his teammates who clearly disagreed with their words, and the way Kataoka’s glare at the stands managed to get even more frigid. And yet it shook him. He managed a shaky breath and continued practice. He pushed all the anxiety down into the well inside his chest until he could no longer feel it. 

But he had felt Youichi’s gaze on the side of his head. 

At the end of practice he managed to escape the offers of hanging out with excuses of homework and a headache from lack of sleep. He forced laughter out when Zono’s motherly chiding began and smiled weakly as Harucchi shot a concerned look at him. He managed to muster enough strength to laugh loudly, hands on his hips as he called out to Miyuki. “Miyuki, catch for me later!” Luckily the demand worked as the distraction he needed with Miyuki vehemently refusing, as he had already pitched close to his limit during practice. He still complained, trying to draw out five or ten extra pitches, but the catcher held strong. The team, seeing that he was behaving normally was satisfied and let him be. Making his way to his room, he had grabbed his shower kit and quickly headed to the baths. Luckily he was alone for the moment, so washing quickly he went back to his room. 

Now he was back to the present, eyes locked firmly with the slats of the upper bunk as he sighed to himself again. He only vaguely registered the door opening, but when the end of the bed sank from additional weight he glanced over. Youichi sat at the end with a steely glare on his face. Sighing again, he went to turn away but a hand on his calf stopped him. 

“Eijun, I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.” Youichi’s voice was a whisper but it carried well in the small room. Groaning, he sat up and leaned in towards Youichi. Pressing his face into the other’s shoulder, his reply came out muffled.

“I didn’t mean for their words to...” he struggled to come up with a word that explained all the feelings that had rushed through his chest when he heard them.

“Sink so deep into your chest that it feels like your heart is being ripped apart by sharp nails?” Youichi’s words were dry and amused even though his body was tense. But the words themselves were surprising so he pulled back to stare, eyebrows pulled up questioningly.

“So I read sometimes, sue me!” 

The joking words and wicked grin on Youichi’s face made him break, and he began laughing, pressing in even closer and resting his head on the other’s shoulder. The laughter eventually led to painful sobs that wracked his tired body. And through it all Youichi only held him close, arms wrapping around his body and kisses pressed to his forehead. As his sobs began to slowly stem he began to hear the soothing words Youichi was muttering into his hair.

“None of what they said was true Eijun. I’m so incredibly proud of you, and I know the team is as well. These are just bumps on the road, the road you’re following all the way to victory.”

Eventually he caught his breath and the sobs stopped. Pulling back, he scrubbed at his face rapidly before resting his hands in his lap. Looking at Youichi between soaked eyelashes he spoke softly. “Hi.” Youichi cupped his cheeks, leaning in close to press their foreheads together. He blushed brightly as he felt the breath on his lips. He waited, unsure what Youichi would say or do next. But all that happened was Youichi dropping his hands, pulling away and flicking a finger at his forehead.

“Moron. You honestly think any of us would put up with you if we didn’t want you? You. Are. Wanted.” The words were punctuated with a poke on the cheek, pulling a soft smile to his face. He nodded and kissed Youichi’s cheek. Now they were both blushing.

Success!

–– 

It was okay if he broke down, if the weight on his shoulders got too much, if he wanted to run away. He wasn’t alone. There was someone to hold him up.

[hewassortapunkroque]

CRYPTIC: Part I (ongoing series)

Summary: A woman named Onyx surfaces, gaining the Avengers’ attention. She is known to be a HYDRA operative but little do the Avengers know that she is the best HYDRA operative who ever lived. And she only has one mission: take down the Avengers.

Pairings: eventual Bucky x Reader, Bucky x Natasha (not romantic)

Warnings: violence, fights, mentions of blood, angst.

[A/N]: Hey! Here is Part I! I know it may seem a little confusing but I promise everything will unravel itself in the upcoming chapters! Once again, I used Google translate. Also, I realize that some of the events I write about contradict the movies so we’re just gonna pretend that only certain  things from the movies happened. Please leave feedback! If you want to be a part of my permanent tag list or the series tag list, let me know! Don’t forget to reblog! Thank you so much! -J

Prologue

“Okay, Barnes, look, I’m not going to lie to you,” Tony sighed before continuing, “I’m having a hard time believing you. You said it yourself. How could she resurface if she died?” Bucky continued staring at the floor, still shocked at the revelation. His eyes hadn’t been blue ever since her saw the surveillance video of her in D. C.

“I have no reason to lie to you. You and I both know that people coming back from the dead isn’t uncommon.” Bucky inhaled sharply and scoffed before looking up at Tony. “Her name is Onyx. At least that’s what we were told. She started off as one of the weaker soldiers. They usually killed the weaker ones but she was intellectually advanced so they used her brain for a lot of tests. Eventually, they noticed changes in her.”

“Like…” said Tony as he put his hand on his chin and began slowly pacing back and forth.

“Like her body. It was as if overnight she grew a foot and gained 100 pounds of muscle. She was faster than any of us. She was stronger. She learned how to use 100% of her brain at once. She stood out.” Bucky hesitated before continuing. “But she was- is - evil. Her heart...there’s no good. She could kill a child without hesitating or thinking twice. She...she was- is - feared.” Bucky went back to looking at the floor. “She climbed the ladder to become a head HYDRA operative fairly quickly. She was better than me.”

“My God…” Tony didn’t fear her, yet, but he sure as hell wanted to study her. He wanted to know how she went from a typical human being to a telepathic super soldier who just so happens to be among one of the most wanted leaders of HYDRA. “Now, you met her, what was it, 50 years ago? So….you met her after you were already under HYDRA’s control for two decades?” Bucky gave a quick nod as Tony took the seat across from Bucky. “Barnes...do you have any idea on how to track her?”

Bucky looked up at Tony one last time before standing up from his chair. “It doesn’t matter. She’ll kill us before we even try to find her.” With his last word, Bucky left the meeting room and left Tony alone. Bucky made his way to the hangar where he found Steve, Natasha, and Wanda unboarding a quinjet. They looked tired and worn out, seeing as they had returned from a lengthy mission. “Agent Romanoff, I need to speak with you.” All three of them shot Bucky a confused look. Natasha stepped toward him as she spoke.

“Agent Barnes, it better be urgent. I don’t like having my time wasted.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Spit it out.”

Bucky gulped. “Not here.”

Natasha scoffed. “What’s so important that you can’t even bo-”

“Оникс живет.” Natasha’s eyes widened and her knees began to feel weak. “Onyx lives.”

Natasha looked back at Steve and Wanda, both staring at Bucky and Natasha with confusion and curiosity. “Captain, assemble the team. Now.” She looked back up at Bucky and took a deep breath. Bucky looked down at the floor, avoiding Natasha’s eyes. They both knew how dangerous she was. They knew she would find them soon. The worst part: they didn’t know how soon.

*27 Years Ago*

Two guards dragged away the corpse as Onyx cleaned the blade, wiping the blood on her suit. She placed the knife back onto the tray and walked out of the dungeon-like room, making her way to her office. She quickly sat down and began writing notes. She spoke into a recorder. “Assignment complete. The subject is dead. Information regarding S.H.I.E.L.D. operations obtained. Speculation regarding Howard Stark as a threat to HYDRA confirmed. Operation Torpedo ago. Winter Soldier assigned to eliminate threat.” She stopped recording and made her way to the cryonics lab. She made her way to the Winter Soldier’s pod and stood in front if it, ordering a guard to warm him up and awaken him.

Once he had been strapped to the electroshock machine, for safety measure, Onyx slowly opened a notebook wrapped in red leather and a single star on the front and began reading off of the pages.

“Longing.”

“Rusted.”

“Seventeen.”

“Dawn.”

“Stove.”

“Nine.”

“Kind-hearted.”

“Homecoming.”

“One.”

“Freight car.”

Onyx looked up at the Winter Soldier, as he had stopped resisting and finally went into a trance. “Soldat?”

“Готов к выполнению.” replied the Soldier. “Ready to comply.”

*Present Day*

The picture of Onyx from her HYDRA file was projected above the table. Bucky and Natasha were the only ones standing whilst everyone sat silently, digesting the information being fed to them.

“There’s only so much we know about her past. We know that she was kidnapped by HYDRA. At first, they wanted to use her for her fertility, but they saw potential in her. They tested her brain, finding out that her brain was advanced. Hence, she became the first to be injected with a stronger super-soldier serum. HYDRA tried to use her blood to recreate the serum but she put up a fight and always won.” Natasha sat down with her last word. She paused for a second before continuing. “I know her from the academy. She knew the headmaster and would help train us once in a while. But she was my mission once, too. When I was still an agent for the KGB, I was sent with a squad to take her operations down in Sokovia. As far as I know, only three people came back alive, including her and myself.”

“And who was the third?” Steve looked at Natasha intently, waiting for an answer.

“Zemo.” Bucky blurted out. “He lead the squad.”

“But what are we dealing with? I mean, yeah I’m pretty worried about who this lady is but why do we care?” said Banner. It was obvious that he didn’t want anything to do with a mission. He didn’t want to be there.

“She was under mind control. She never snapped out of the trance. But we don’t know if she still is under someone else’s control. That’s what makes her dangerous. She could have come to years ago but it’s hard to know. She’s looking for me. And she’ll do anything she can to find me. Everything HYDRA put in me is still there. All she has to do-”

“Is say the words,” interjected Steve. “I say we try to find her first.” Suddenly. Fury popped up on the screen through a video call.

“Captain, that might not be necessary. Gear up. She’s here in the city.” With that, the team stood up in sync and made their way to the armory. Soon, they were making their way to the center of town. Upon their arrival, they saw cars on fire, people screaming and running for cover, but no aliens. This time, it was her and a group, about 15 soldiers, in formation behind her. Her all white suit was made of stolen vibranium, with a utility belt strapped around her waist and a red star, which, for some odd reason, startled Natasha. Onyx didn’t bother covering her face. The wind blew her hair back, fully revealing her face to the team. Her bright, piercing [Y/E/C] eyes finally land on them.

She smirked and looked at Bucky. “Soldier, it is nice to see you again. It is time for you to come home.” Bucky winced at the word “home”.

“Never.” And with that, both sides began charging at each other, with Bucky and Onyx looking each other dead in the eyes. Bucky threw the first punch which she quickly deflected and countered. He stumbled back a step but blocked her next punches. He kicked her legs out from under her, making her land right on  her back and leaving dent in the pavement the size of her body. Bucky grabbed her by the neck and held her up. With this, she wrapped her legs around his waist and flipped them backwards, landing on top of him. She grabbed her knife and was about to stab Bucky when Steve’s shield collided with her head, making her fly off of Bucky into the nearest car.

Steve helped Bucky to his feet as he spoke. “We need to make her weak enough for Wanda to get into her head.” Bucky quickly nodded. As they were about to turn and face the car where Onyx had been thrown, Onyx got up.

“For super-soldiers, you are both weak.” She charged at them and Steve charged back. As the kinetic energy from her suit collided with the kinetic energy from Steve’s shield, they were both thrown back, releasing a force of energy that knocked almost everyone off their feet. Quickly, they both got up again. This time, Onyx pulled out two batons and charged at Bucky once more. He grabbed his knife as they began to spar. Bucky managed to grab one of her batons and hit the back of her leg with it, making her groan in  pain. He then grabbed the other and did the same to her other leg causing her to fall on her knees. Bucky punched her with his metal arm, knocking her into the ground, once again denting the pavement. He hovered over her and repeatedly punched her in the face until he felt a hand pulling him backwards.

“Enough! Stop!” They both looked down at her. She began to let out a weak laugh, her face bruised and cut. She was about to speak when her eyes began to glow red, signaling Wanda. Steve looked up and saw as Wanda stood above her. After a long period of silence, Wanda shook her head and almost fell backwards. Onyx was unconscious. Pietro ran up behind Wanda just in time to catch her. The rest of the team quickly followed and stopped behind Steve and Bucky.

Tears fell down Wanda’s cheeks as she looked deep into Bucky’s eyes. “She screams. She doesn’t stop screaming. She scratches the walls inside of her screaming for help. She doesn’t know w-who or what controls her.” Wanda glanced back at Onyx, her face relaxed, missing the evil within it. Wanda wipes her tears and stands up as she continues. “She...she told me to kill her. I made  sure there was no force controlling her mind. Her conscious is at rest. We need to bring her back to the tower before anyone finds her.”

Tony sighs and speaks into his suit. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., prepare an impenetrable cell in holding. Tell Dr. Banner to have tests set up, and tell Fury to meet us at the tower. We need all the help we can get.” With this, Bucky walks over to Onyx and picks her up, throwing her limp body over his shoulder. It’s in that moment that Bucky empathizes with her. He knows how it feels to feel trapped. He knows that it wasn’t it her fault. She had fallen victim to HYDRA like he had.

Masterlist

[justsomewhump]

Jail Cell + Noose

For @whumpreads‘ Whumptober 2017, Day 3 + 4. See the full list HERE. Read the rest of the prompts HERE.

@killian-whump [ if anyone else would like to be tagged in the rest Whumptober fanfics, let me know ;) ]

Wow! Belated, but well, I guess, who cares really :P

AO3

Killian startled awake, immediately feeling the kink in his neck from having slept upright. He groaned and leaned forward a little, twisting his sore shoulders and looking around the other cells. What few men were left of his crew were still sleeping, apparently as uneasily as he.

He looked at the empty cells and sighed. A small part of his crew had stayed behind, a smaller part had died in the invasion, and half of what was left had accepted the offered pardon, to live as poor farmers and work for the new crown instead of facing the gallows. The rest of them - a handful only, really - had stayed out of respect of their former Captain.

Killian couldn’t blame any of them. The ones who had accepted the pardon had families, children to help raise. He knew all too well how much it would mean for those children to keep their fathers, even if they were piss poor. But he had worked as a slave for too long in his own life and had hated the crown too much to accept their insulting offer.

The King had used them as expendable pawns and his machinations had led to Liam’s death. A quick slice of his throat was the least he deserved.

Killian leaned back to the wall of his cell, waiting, too upset to fall asleep again. He could barely see the dawn break through the tiny window, he knew that his time would come soon. No reason to walk towards the gallows and face the crowd with sleepy eyes. He wondered how the crowd would react. Naive as he had been before, he’d admired the former King, so he doubted the simple folk would know any better than he did. How would they react upon seeing his murderer walk the steps to his death?

He pondered wildly until three more guards entered the dungeons and walked towards a cell. They banged on the metal bars with their longswords, startling poor Ames awake. The young lad shivered slightly as the men walked in his cell and picked him up.

It was time. Killian swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched the guards strap the heavy handcuffs on Ames’ wrists. One by one, they had everyone tied behind the other until they went for Killian.

“Captain goes last,” a guard said with a smile. Killian spat at his feet, which prompted the guard to kick him right in the face. He groaned, falling to his side and protested wildly as all three guards dragged him to the last of the row - Farrell - and secured his wrists with the same kind of heavy handcuffs. Given time, Killian could perhaps break out of them, but as the guard in front pushed Ames forward two guards stayed close to Killian, watching his every move.

Bloody hell. This couldn’t be it…

Some of his men started shivering as they walked out in the open. Whether it was from the sudden cold or from the fear, Killian couldn’t tell. He would never know.

Instead he focused on the angry shouts from afar. He couldn’t distinguish any words. With a horrified shiver, he realized that the shouts were directed at them.

He then heard the men in front gasp in shock. The sun was now hitting him directly in the face, so he had to squint and move a little around to see what had shocked them. A similar gasp escaped him when he saw what they’d seen.

His men. The ones who were supposed to have been given pardons.

Three of them were hanging lifelessly as mud and stones were thrown at them, the rest of them had been dropped unceremoniously in a pile of bodies nearby.

“No…” he muttered. No! They were supposed to… “They were to be pardoned!” He turned towards the guards, anger flaring up in him. “They accepted your terms!”

Fake ignorance was what he was met with. The guards simply shrugged with a small smile.

It was then that something in him exploded. He tugged boldly at the handcuffs, half-dragging Farrell with him as he went for one of the guards. Before he could reach at him, he felt a sharp, extreme pain between his legs. He grunted softly and fell to his knees. The pain sustained, so bad that it took him a few seconds to realize he had just been kicked in the groin. Tears fell from his eyes, but he kept looking at the still smiling guard in front of him as Farrell picked him up.

“Come on, Captain,” he said bravely, even though his face was betraying his terror and despair.

Killian limped awkwardly as the men in front of him started walking up the stairs. There were three nooses, which meant that Killian would die last, alone.

Traitorous shivers started running down his spine. The bodies of the last three men were taken and thrown away like lifeless sacks before the first three men of the row were lead to the nooses.

Killian gasped when he saw the executioner put the ropes around the trembling necks of his men. The knot was put at the base of their necks - they would be strangled to death. He turned to look at the bodies of the rest of the men - could he really distinguish whether they had died of asphyxiation or from a broken neck at this point?

More furious voices were heard. Killian looked back at his doomed crew as the crowd angrily threw again mud and stones - even rotten lettuce - to them.

Too upset to listen to the Commander listing their crimes, Killian only stared in shock as the men were kicked forward. Tears ran down his face again as they struggled and choked and writhed. The crowd kept shouting at them. Before Killian knew, the guards were going for the next and last three of his men. Farrell looked back at him, breathing heavily. He managed to swallow hard and nod at his Captain before he turned to face his death.

Killian stared. The executioner put the ropes around their necks. The guards pushed them all at the same time. They struggled, they choked, they writhed.

And then it was his time. By now he had managed to ignore the agony in his groin. He looked at the crowd, not flinching away from the trash thrown at him. Whatever fear he had felt by that moment was replaced by searing fury. Clueless crowd, supporting a King who would gladly sent all of them to their deaths and commit genocide only to keep his riches.

Once again he ignored the Commander’s speech, but turned to him when he heard “Any last words?” He looked into his eyes. Cold, focused, determined.

Killian spat at his expensive boots, no doubt made by a poor worker who would never receive a fair payment.

Time mattered not right then. Killian looked forward and grunted only slightly when the executioner put the heavy, itchy rope over his head and tightened it more than necessary. He heard the man’s low snicker as he moved away.

Closing his eyes for only a moment, he opened them and looked one last time at the ocean in front of him, then at the still furious crowd. There must have been something in his eyes, for everywhere he looked almost everyone went quieter, an inkling of fear on their faces.

And then he heard the guard walk behind him.

“Fuck the King,” Killian said out loud.

He expected to hear wood and rope creaking, crowd cheering cruelly, men laughing, his own breath being stolen from him.

He certainly didn’t expect to hear loud bangs come from the harbor and behind him. A moment later the building in front of him crashed into pieces. He only got a moment to see more cannonballs hit the buildings around him and the crowd to scream in horror before someone pushed him forward.

He fell. The rope tugged at his neck, his breath caught, his feet hung aimlessly, trying to find a footing. His hands reached up to loosen the knot to no avail. He was slowly losing consciousness. He heard more screams, more bangs, more crushing sounds.

Then something wrapped tight around his legs. And lifted.

Killian gasped. He pulled slightly at the rope, this time managing to pull it away a little. He could breathe! He choked and coughed, but the spots around his eyes started going away. Weary as ever, he dropped his gaze a little. There was Starkey, hoisting him up with only one arm as he shot at the guards with his free hand.

Killian turned his head, trying to reach the knot at the base of his neck and loosen it. Weak and breathless as he was, he failed but kept trying, until he suddenly fell forward to the ground.

“Captain!”

“Is he breathing?”

“We have no time! Just pick him up and go!”

Rough but still somehow gentle hands picked him up. His arms were thrown around two sets of shoulders and then he was being taken away.

“The men…” he rasped weakly. “We need to bury them…” They deserved a proper sailor’s burial, given to the sea as their former Captain was, not to be left at those bastards’ mercy…

“I’m sorry, Captain. We can’t risk going back now. They’d understand.”

Killian tried to fight, to go back and at least do something, but the pain of all the abuse his body had suffered in the last few minutes caught up with him and he sagged on his men’s shoulders.

The half-cut rope was still around his neck when they reached the Jolly Roger. By that time he had come to. He walked to the starboard facing the town. The men snapped open the handcuffs for him and he swiftly took the rope off his neck.

“What shall we do, Captain?”

“The fort?”

“The sun’s just behind us, and we can run fast.”

“Good. Open fire to the city.”

He ignored the horror on the crew’s faces and instead focused on the few buildings they had managed to turn into ruins by then.

“Captain… are you sure?”

Was he? Was he willing to kill mercilessly and lay waste to a whole city, even if seemingly all of its inhabitants seemed pleased to see him and his whole crew - even the regretful ones - die a horrible death before them?

“The harbor. The rich houses, and what we can reach of the castle. Open fire. Leave nothing behind.”