#i can’t wait to menace other bosses LMAO | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zhowongli · 3 years

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hello! i started a new thread because the other one (+ this one) got really long, so sorry! but i guess this is my love letters to you guys because you’ve made my tumblr experience so, so much better && i’m grateful for all of you guys + all of my mutuals and followers!!

first of all, @himawari-senpaii thank you so so much for your kind words! meggi, i love your sunflower motif because it suits you so well! sunflowers make me smile whenever i see them, and it really brings me so much joy to see you on my dash/notifs. your tags are always so fun and sweet. thank you for tagging me in this 🥺

@animoozies connie, where do i even start? you were my very, very first tumblr mutual on this account! i’m so thankful you reached out to me before, and you’re still checking up on me even now. words can’t describe how much i adore you + how appreciative of you! when i see you on my dash with your stories, i always end up cackling because you’re so fun. idk how you do it working all those hours + going to nursing school, but you is a mf boss ass queen!!

@hoekaashi ash, my queen!! my tag for you is my day is blessed because ash ✨exists✨ because that’s honestly how i feel about you. i am truly blessed with your kindness, your humor, your friendship, you. thank you for always keeping me company through our struggles in pharmacy school! you are one of the realest people i know, and i feel so honored that you always send me random kenma pics & fics you think i’d like 🥺

@kanao annette, the other half of my soul, my whole heart, my literal soul sister. you are one of the biggest blessings i’ve received this year, and i honestly don’t know where i would be without you listening to my dumb shit and supporting me through all my mess LOL. thank you for validating me all the time, even if it’s just stupid stuff like enabling me to buy all the random stuff that i’ve been thinking about LMAO. i love how we are always ✨speaking✨ and ✨manifesting✨ good things in our futures together. i literally feel like i can talk about any and everything with you, and i love that about us 🥺 i am manifesting that beach vacation 2021 for us, okay!!! 💖

@sapphitedreams leo, my cutest menace in the kitchen 💖 thank you for reaching out to me when i was too shy to reach out to you uuuu. you’re such a chaotic calm in my life, and i love your energy. i am constantly in awe with how adorable, supportive, and creative you are! even though you bully me sometimes and only make things for characters’ birthdays, you are so so talented and it floors me every time i see your creations because they are so amazing idk how they’re real. i hope you are able to get some rest even if you have to work during your break (& i hope you don’t accidentally fall during work anymore smh HAHAH)!

@onefortyninecm danielle!! my love!! i know i mention this before, but i am always so so inspired by you. you’re so tiny, but you have such a big heart and soul. you’re so beautiful inside and out + your humor is god tier. i’m so glad you were the very first person i’ve ever commissioned from (& spiraled me into comissioning indulgent kenma art HAHAHA), and i’m still amazed by your talent and kindness every time you post something new omg. i still can’t believe you DREW ON YOUR PHONE what the heck!! you’re so talented it’s crazy HAHA. i’m always thinking fondly of you + dandy wedding in a pumpkin patch 2021, okay thanks.

@p-irozhki rissa!! i am so blessed with all the gifs you create and all your content on my dash! whenever i think of you, i think about all the smol icons you use because to me, you = cuteness = i wanna hug you so much!!! i think i already said it, but i’m always so thankful when you read all my self-indulgent fanfics and leave kind comments on them 😭 thank you for culturing me about mangoes HAHAHA. there’s never a bad time with you, and i’m thankful we got to meet this year!

@hoshino-a lena lena! you actually have so much bde that i am in constant awe by you. you are such a baddie & i have this like clear imagine in my head of you with crisp and clean vibes + the skies from your pfp on discord, hehe. i love you and all your brain rots about your exes. at this point, every time i see semi, my first thought is “ah it’s lena’s ex” and whenever i hear some sad song, i would be like “omg it’s lena ab her ex semi eita” LMFAOIOAGJDLA. i love talking to you because your energy is just immaculate + i just love your presence 💖 also please get some sleep because do you even sleep 😭

@myelocin nic!! you’ve painted my world in so many iridescent shade so life, i can’t even begin to describe how much you mean to me. you works are just so beautiful so imagine how much i shrieked when i saw you followed me LMFAOOADIGDALJ i love that your blog is your safe space because it has become a place of comfort for me as well (and i’m going to miss you so much when you leave 😭😭). your makki brain rot is so strong, and sometimes i think about makki and you making dinner and teasing each other and throwing flour at each other or something idk. this is nic’s world now and we are all living in it tbh.

@tsu-kiss nina!! you are someone i find such comfort in. i’m not really sure if that even makes sense LOL. but your blog and you are a source of comfort for me. in my head, you have such an older sister vibe even though i’m older than you LMAOOADGHDAKJ. i hope life is treating you well because you deserve all the best!! seeing you thrive makes my heart so full 🥺 i love you so much!!

@souheii lisa!! i kid you not, the first time you dropped an ask in my ask box, my heart skipped a beat because you told me you love me and i love you and you are so cute and i cri!!!! i know we don’t talk often, but every time i see you on my dash or in my notifs or when we do talk, it’s like a little shot of serotonin every time :”) thank you for being such a lovely human being mrs. iwaizumi hajime, 27, althetic trainer😭

@ultkags cas!! my first child 💖 i know you’re on a hiatus right now because school really, really sucks BUT you are seriously one of my biggest blessings. you are literally my ray of sunshine because every time i talk to you, i gain so much warmth and energy from you. every time i see your edits, it absolutely AMAZES me because i literally don’t know how i am able to see all your edits FOR FREE?? all your thoughts behind the composition and symbolism for each piece is CRAZY. please remember that i’m always your biggest fan + i love you so so much. please take care and remember to drink water and get some rest!! your grandma is always here to send you love + forehead kisses because this grandma can’t bake :(

@u-make-my-heart-tsumtsum ree!! hi, i know we’ve only started talking recently but i love how open and warm you are. our love was so strong that even tumblr tried to stop us 😭 conversations with you are always so easy and lovely, and you are just such a cool person!? i love reading all your thoughts (& i can’t wait to dive into your masterlist after school ends because we live for fluffy tsumu content 😭). i’m not sure why you even follow me, but i adore you so much!!

@neonghxst el, where do i even begin!! you are such a lovely person, and i literally have no other words to say because you always leave me speechless. your writing is so so gorgeous, and you are so so beautiful. i love reading all your stories because they truly leave an everlasting impact on me, and i love reading your interactions + just seeing you on my dash. you are so thoughtful, and you take care of everyone around you so well. i hope that you are also giving yourself the same treatment because you deserve all the best as well! remember to drink water in between your coffees and get some rest as you go into your final 2 weeks of the semester!!

@und3lla maliha! hi love! i know we haven’t spoken much or in a while, but i really do always think of you randomly. you were one of the first mutuals i made && you are such a sweet soul. i love how every time we talk, it really fills me up with happiness. thank you for just being such a lovely person && you truly are one of the softest people i’ve met. thank you <3

@deadontheinsidebut angel, my dumb ham, my queen, my hoe (heaven on earth), my everything. i know you are also on a semi-hiatus right now because everything that’s going on, but i hope you are properly taking care of yourself >:( i’m always here to remind you to drink some water in between your coffees and teas and to GET SOME REST. you are so so driven, and i really admire how open and friendly you are. you truly are your namesake because you are literally an angel, and i always feel so blessed to be in your presence (even if you bully me sometimes for being a boomer 😔). words can’t describe how much i love you and care about you && i hope that you are able to find what you’re looking for during your break! 💖

@rumprich ananya! hello! i am so thankful to see you and all your content on my dash. you have so much creativity, and all your edits are so aesthetically pleasing to look at? like it’s so light + pretty!! i’m so so grateful that we are mutuals somehow because ahhh i really don’t deserve you. you are so adorable, and i truly am blessed to see your presence!

@yuki-souma vee! i know we only started talking very very recently, but you are so much fun to talk to! i love how diverse our conversations are, and i love that we have similar favorites, and even when we don’t, it’s always a fun conversation that i look forward to! i love how open and inviting you are, and i’m really grateful that we are mutuals + i love and appreciate you so so much!

@owlywrites owly! hello! you are seriously one of the most supportive souls i’ve met on this website. your kindness and drive to learn always leaves me speechless because you’re so amazing. thank you for being so kind to me, and i hope you extend that same kindness to yourself! don’t be so hard on yourself and remember to take breaks and take care too. you are such a beautiful soul, and i hope you’ll remember that i’m always here to support you!!

@graphicstills-in-motion hi arianne! thank you so so much for always being so kind to me. i don’t know what i did in life to deserve you, but i must have done something right to have someone so kind like you in my life! thank you for being such a sweet soul + always boosting everyone around you up. your kindness is definitely contagious! i love seeing your edits and reading our conversations because there are always so many thoughts put in. thank you <3

@applepienation justine! thank you so much for always checking in on me whenever i post random shit on my dash. i really do appreciate you and all that you do for not just me, but also for everyone around you. you are such a ray of sunshine, and i’m so thankful that you’re in my life! i know uni is crazy for you right now, but i hope you’re still taking time to take care of yourself! sending you lots of love and positive energy!!

@touyax drake! hi love. i absolutely LIVE for your tags LMAOOADJGALD. they are literally my thoughts but you just typed them out HAHAH. i’m so thankful that i get to see your beautiful content on my dash, and i’m always in awe by all your edits! thank you for always being such a fun person + never leaving me feeling like a fool whenever i post ask games LOL. i love and appreciate you so much! 💖

@kagehjna ilayda! my kagehina supplier 🥺🥺 i love seeing your presence on my dash because you truly post all the best things! you are such a lovely person + i love reading your tags HAHA. you are truly a joy and we will definitely have matching kagehina icons one day okay 😭😭 12/7 is finally here/coming SO I AM SO EXCITED FOR YOU!!! thank you for always blessing me <3

@sadaharus hi mei! you are literally the definition of softness to me. all your content and edits are just so soft and beautiful, and i love seeing everything you post. you are my main gintama supplier HAHA. i really appreciate how kind you are + how you’re always so sweet to me. 🥺 i know it’s kinda funny how i started following you because of a random ask game, but i’m so so glad i did because i always feel so thankful you’re here!

@fake-charliebrown charlie! my little sprout babie!! i have so much admiration for you because you have so so much talent! your style is so distinctive, and i love that!! it’s so soft + vibey, and i’m honestly so so amazed by it all. not to mention, you have the best haikyuu thoughts! thank you for sharing all of that with me! i’m thankful for you, thank you <3

@itachihaa ay! my froggy princess 🥺 thank you for always being so kind to me + having the patience to deal with how slow i am to responding!! i’m really appreciative of you always because you make/have so much beautiful content and you are so so sweet as well!? and the way you call me miss starlight 🥺 that makes me so soft like!! uuu i love you.

@stardust-make-a-wish star! you are so so adorable!! i LOVE reading your tags because they make me feel so fuzzy and soft but also relatable HAHA. your presence is such a joy + thank you for always interacting with me even though i just spam random stuff LMAO. i love how thoughtful your answers are + how much you love cake/sweets (very suiting because you are so sweet 🥺). thank you for being interested in me even though i am the one asking you questions!

@karasu-hoes daisy! hello! i have so much admiration for you because you have so much creativity and kindness! like your events are so cool and unique + your writing is so beautiful! i love reading your feral thoughts + all your work. i also really love reading your witching hours!!! thank you for blessing me with you 🥺 you are always so kind + i love how much you care about your friends and the people around you. i hope you’re taking care while renewing your teaching certifications! 💖

@frailuta nico! hello love! i know we haven’t really spoken before, but i just want to know i love you so much. you make the most beautiful gifs + i truly am in awe every time you post something. life is tough sometimes, but you are tougher! sending so so much love and positive energy to you + please remember to take care! <3

to all my mutuals and followers: thank you so so much for sticking with me and my mess of a blog. i honestly don’t really contribute much to anything, but i’m so thankful you guys are still here! thank you, thank you, thank you! i love and appreciate all of you guys + my ask box/messages are always open if you want/need someone to talk to 💖 thinking fondly of everyone today + so much love to you guys mwah mwah!

#text #this got really long but #i am really truly thankful for everyone of you #i have so so much love for you guys #sending all my love and positive energy to you guys #i'm so sorry sometimes i'm really slow at responding but #i really do think of you guys!!#love you all mwah mwah

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cerastes · 3 years

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Drimo, what IS the Centipede VTuber lore? Reveal it... Reveal it!

I was waiting to have an overlay and a few other things ready before dropping it, but you know what, Centipede VTuber lore, here it is.

The first step is posture.

The second step, strong eye contact.

And the third? You guessed it: A signature move that can annihilate them in a split second.

If you ask anybody, it is clear as morning dew that these are the building blocks to make a good first impression at a job interview. But see, a good and lasting first impression is not essential only to land that job or snatch that internship, it is fundamental for a variety of things, like marriage, seminars, and dungeon keeping.

And it is that solitary shining element in a bucket of otherwise drab boring everythings that matters here. But, ah, let us not get ahead of ourselves, yes? In media res is delightful, but today, this humble narrator wishes to relinquish unto you, without mirrors and smoke but definitely with bells and whistles, The Story of the Centipede of Want.

Once upon a time, within the ruined walls of a famously affluent cathedral’s brick and silver walls, there lived the Centipede, as he was known back then. As attentive ace detectives among readers might be able to discern, the Centipede was a centipede, long and eerie, body of man and beast alike everywhere it mattered, famished for as much sustenance as his forcipules could catch first, and as many things that he could get his numerous hands on a very close second. Warm in winter and cool in summer, the ruined cathedral was a comfortable place to live in, where a spring feast on autumn was common occurrence for the Centipede. Insects, such as scavengers and looters, from hereon morsels, habitually wandered in, looking for the old relics of silver and amethyst ripe for plundering in the ruins of the withered house of worship, becoming sustenance for its longest-lived predator, the four-armed, hundred-legged menace that prowled its once decadent halls, filled with the stagnant air of the hunt. Truth be told, the cathedral had long been looted for most of its relics and arcane implements, its silver goblets and amethyst utensils of all sizes and shapes, so the only ones that wandered in were fools and lesser beasts looking for refuge. It was a peaceful, easy life for the Centipede.

But at the same time, something like throbbing roots thrashed in the back of the Centipede’s head, something that tasted of cyan and grey and had no name, as far as the menace knew. Initially, it was merely a light jostle, but as time passed, the thrashing intensified like a landslide, eating away at his every thought, crunching harder and louder than his mandibles did the carapaces and cheap iron armor of the unfortunate interlopers caught in his granite and silver hunting grounds:

Complacence.

Cyan and grey and rancid and bitter. The Centipede’s mind was impregnated by throbbing unease, its quaking manic, its incisors sharp, its vice grip tight. During the day, it was common for the Centipede to mock the bishop and the priests of the once opulent church, begging day after day for tithe and tribute, only to feast behind closed doors of oak and silver. And yet, he himself was much the same: Preying on weak interlopers during the day, pretending to be a grandiose warlord among what little silver and amethyst decadence was left in the ruins during the night, devoid of any real strength and riches he could call his own.

In his ideal world, for each leg he had, he’d wear a different, uniquely etched and engraved silver band. In three hands, he’d hold silver goblets filled with the world’s finest wine, mead, and rum, aged in mahogany casks, with touches of juniper berries, and on his last hand, he’d hold an oversized goat leg, from which he’d munch on in between rounds of ambrosia. Ah, to be the Centipede! Or rather, the powerful entity in his wildest dreams!

Realization is the sharpest blade of them all. No matter how much you temper your carapace, that which is crafted from denial can’t ever hope to stop such a spearhead. Thus, the Centipede came upon an epiphany: He simply had to get that which he desired with his own hands, and that cyan and grey pulsating cluster of fangs would be gone! And so, he got to work: He’d go to one of the silver mines the town was famous for and become its biggest, meanest threat! The head honcho of harm! The throbbing titan of threat! The punishing pimple of pain! The alliterative administrator of annihilation! Oh, with mandible and might, he’d deliver the most poignant of Rectal Ragnaroks and Colon Crucifixions to any who’d dare wander into his domain!

He’d be the most feared Boss Fight of all!

The Centipede rushed out of the church, his two rows of endless legs clacking a demented tarantella as he headed right towards the hill, his putrid eyes fixed on the silver mine. It was time to begin his reign of rambunctious terror!

Or so was the plan. The plan that was supposed to work. Do you think the plan worked?

It didn’t. It really, really didn’t.

To say the Centipede feasted upon manure would be an understatement. Here’s some statements from adventurers that fought him:

“There’s definitely the intimidating factor of something with more legs than a ballroom, but his moveset was predictable. Kinda easy experience and silver, not gonna lie.” -- Anonymous Rogue, Adept Adventurer.

“Well, how to say this... His boss music could use some work, and only two life bars? I just got done fighting something with four phases, so this was... Well, anyways, at least he dropped a nice skill book.” -- Anonymous Mage, Adept Adventurer.

“I cheesed the dumbass with 100% physical damage resistance because he doesn’t have any elemental damage, lmao get bopped idiot, I kept using my overhead helmsplitter and he kept crouching and blocking in panic, you love to see it.” -- Anonymous Samurai, Adept Adventurer.

“He’s kind of a Stage 3 boss, nothing special, he’ll never make it big.” -- Anonymous White Mage, Adept Adventurer.

“mfer wont drop the damn skill book whats the drop rate on that shit i bet the skill sucks anyways, ive kicked his ass like 14 times now orz” -- Anonymous Warrior, Novice Adventurer.

Alas, it turns out that outside his domain of brick and silver, the Centipede wasn’t so big and mean, after all.

And that’s where most stories end: The monster gets conquered by adventurers, and everyone learns how to cheese it. A nice The End in fancy font then drops in front of you and you go to bed.

But you’re not going to bed today, shitlips.

Because this story is not over.

No.

He wasn’t going to take it.

He didn’t have to take it.

The Centipede rose back to its many feet and decided that he’d start from square one: He’d learn what makes a good boss fight no matter what! Then and there, the Centipede vowed to accrue a staggering amount of health bars, to have as many phases as he had legs, to have a moveset so diverse and foul that adventurers would get acid reflux merely by hearing about the shocking amount of tricky delays and annoying status effects his attacks entailed, to have the single most facemelting ultrabanger of a boss theme, and to never, ever again crouch against an overhead.

That day, the Centipede became The Centipede of Want, and what is it that he want? To be the biggest, meanest Final Boss ever!

...But that requires training! A lot of it! How did he decide to go at it? Why, by streaming a veritable variety of video games, of course! By learning from the boss fights of a deluge of games, he’d be able to craft new strategies most rancid and concoct novel attacks most putrid. Plus, what a better way to learn of the adventurers’ way of fighting than by being the adventurers in games? Not to mention that he could naturally engage with humans in conversation and have them unwittingly reveal their weaknesses to him! It was genius! The Centipede of Want headed to the cathedral’s ruins one last time, grabbed every last piece of silver and amethyst not yet plundered in there, and traded it for a streaming set-up in town. Using the last of the silver, he fashioned a mask for himself to signify that he was done being the complacent bully that roamed the walls of that decadent cathedral.

It was time to begin training.

He’d feast on weaklings no more.

He’d eat gods from now on. He’d seek adversity. He’d seek strength.

And the rest would naturally follow.

#dreamerwave #dreamlore #centipede

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stefciastark · 3 years

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MIT ~ Webpril Day 5

A/N: This one was particularly hard for me to write, just considering generic semi-plotless one-shots were never my strong suit. So here is some really generic pointless IronDad and SpiderSon that's set in a bit of an AU where Tony survives the snap and comes out of it unscathed (because I just need some generic fluff). Sorry if there are any writing and/or continuity mistakes. Wrote this one quite late and haven't been feeling 100% today, but wanted to take a crack nonetheless :) Also, I absolutely see Peter as the type that will bring his own pillow from home because he can't sleep as well on random pillows. Either that or I'm projecting again lmao

~Read it on AO3

~Read it on FFN

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Peter was glad the door opened automatically as F.R.I.D.A.Y. buzzed him through, arms full of enough duffel bags and pillows to make him look like he was going camping for a week. This was the first time he’d set foot in the new Avengers facility since Thanos levelled it almost two years prior. It’d taken almost that whole period to reconstruct everything from the ground up, and Peter was impressed at how nearly identical it looked to the last time he was there, pre-Snap.

Of course, leave it to Tony to want to build it back as it was. After all, it was one of his babies; practical and virtually perfection, the building just screamed ‘Tony Stark’.

Subtlety was the name of the game in the facility. Small lights soundlessly lit Peter’s path, quietly directing him to the part of the structure that Tony had territorially claimed as his. Tony had promised Peter his own bedroom, and Peter was more than excited to dump his numerous bags on the floor and just take a breather.

In the few months he’d had off since graduating from high school, he hadn’t had a single moment to himself. Not that he could really complain. Most of his time was occupied by Ned and MJ, whether that was both of them together or spending time one-on-one. He’d already told Ned that he’d gotten into MIT and would be moving interstate in a little over a month and a half, but there was one conversation he was absolutely dreading, and that was with MJ. Since Junior year, their relationship had been pretty perfect, if Peter said so himself, and he was loathe to see it end over him moving to Massachusetts. Sure, they could make it work – it wasn’t that far, and Peter really wanted it to work. After some deliberating, Peter decided he’d ask Mr Stark; he’d know the answer.

As he rounded the final corner, his eyes were met with a large glass cube-shaped room, windows tinted like charcoal that almost reminded Peter of the Tesseract. Not that he’d ever seen it in person, but he’d seen enough video footage courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D. to vaguely know what it looked like. Aside from not glowing, not being blue, and not having the menacing aura of the little Shining Cube of Death, the resemblance was uncanny.

Peter froze in the centre of the hall as F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice chimed overhead. “Welcome Peter, Boss is waiting for you in the lab when you are ready. You may drop your belongings in your room.”

Taking confident steps forward, Peter only then realised he had no idea where he was going. Pausing momentarily, he paused to ask the A.I, “Uh Fri, where -”

“It is the third door on your right.”

“Thanks!” Peter bounded down the hall, needing to gracelessly manoeuvre and shimmy the door handle down. There was no dignity in putting all his bags down only to pick them back up again while propping the door open with his foot, all the while looking as if he were developing a new yoga position. As the black door swung open, he marvelled for a moment at how despite it having been a high gloss lacquered finish, there wasn’t a single fingerprint from where he’d pushed it open along the lock stile.

Dropping his bags haphazardly at the foot of the queen bed (draped in the softest looking navy satin sheets Peter had ever seen and he had to stop himself right then and there from just passing out on top of them), he freshened up in the bathroom, changed from his T-shirt to a smart-casual button up, and made his way back to the Not Tesseract.

Once he found the entrance – after checking three out of its four sides – the door slid open, and he was greeted by a room that could aptly be described as every tech geek’s fantasy. Peter wasn’t quite sure if he was hallucinating, what with the numerous colourful and interactable holograms floating in various parts of the room, a few artificially intelligent robots doing their own thing because of course they were, and Tony Stark standing as enigmatic as ever bent over his latest project that looked an awful lot like a new Spider-suit upgrade. Peter only hoped that one day he would be able to exude the same confidence and charisma that Tony managed to accomplish just by breathing.

Tony looked up at the sound of the door sliding shut behind Peter and shot him a smile that bled with pride. “Congratulations on MIT, kid. You know,” Tony removed his reading glasses (since when did Tony wear reading glasses?), “I always knew you had it in you. Then again, I’m usually right about these things.” He paused in front of Peter, and Peter forced himself to smile in return.

Truth be told, Peter had been struggling with some Imposter syndrome after receiving his acceptance letter. It wasn’t that he felt he didn’t do well enough in school, he absolutely did. He didn’t want to say anything for being afraid of what the answer would be, but he had a nagging feeling that Tony may have pulled some strings on his behalf, what with being one of MIT’s greatest alumnus and all. Over the years it had come up in conversation, subtly woven in between how he was doing in school, how his relationship with MJ was faring, and who was definitively going to be named New York’s best pizzeria – it was a topic of conversation which had gotten quite unabashedly heated, and they still could not come to a conclusion.

All Peter ended up saying in response, quite pathetically in his opinion, was a half muttered, “Thanks, Mr Stark.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed, and Peter made as much effort as possible to look anywhere but straight into the eyes of his mentor.

“That didn’t sound happy. What’s going on?”

Peter was naïve to think that Tony wouldn’t notice his subdued response to getting admitted to the university of his dreams. He was following in the footsteps of his mentor, a man who became like his father, but Peter was torn between feeling honoured at being Tony Stark’s legacy, and between wanting to be his own man and achieve out of merit and not just affiliation. Maybe that made him sound ungrateful, but to almost everyone at school, he’d been Peter Parker: that kid doing the Stark internship. Peter Parker: that kid who hung out with Captain America a few times. Peter Parker: Anthony Stark’s prodigious ‘adopted’ son.

“N-nothing, I was just uh,” Peter decided any other dumb excuse would be better than ‘hey, so I feel like my acceptance into MIT is one big joke and so am I.’ He eventually settled on, “I was actually wanting to study Biophysics, if that’s okay with you.”

Tony looked unconvinced, but to Peter’s relief, he let it go. “Do whatever you want, it’s your life, kid. Have you picked your subjects yet?” Tony walked back towards the largest and most central computer station, summoned a large projection of Google on the far back wall that was surrounded by a mini bar setup and black leather couches, and handed Peter a tablet after he had shook his head ‘no’ in response.

“C’mere,” Tony said, having made his way over to the kitchenette. He poured an ounce of liqueur the colour of butterscotch from a crystal decanter that looked as if it cost more than Peter’s whole apartment into one crystalline glass, and only put a smidgeon of the liquid caramel into the other. Peter took a crack and guessed that it was scotch. Gesturing for Peter to sit next to him on the couch, he handed Peter one of the glasses.

Peter took hold of it, setting the tablet on top of his thigh. At some point, the display must have changed over to MIT’s Biological Engineering ‘Courses Offered’ page, and Peter’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t realise how nervous he was about his future, how much weight he had put on himself to pick the right subjects and pursue the right major. It was the first time he’d really felt like a normal kid his age in a long, long time.

“I’m not promoting underage drinking, so you better not say anything to your Aunt May, okay?” Despite the stern look on Tony’s face, Peter knew Tony for long enough to detect the mischievous undertone to his words.

Despite his best attempts, Peter felt the prickle of tears behind his eyes. He had never known his father, and he hadn’t really entertained the thought that he would ever be able to share his first drink with someone who he considered to be his ‘dad’ in any sense of the word. Yet here he was.

“Congratulations.” Tony looked at Peter as their glasses clinked together. His dark eyes were warm with pride and a special type of second-hand excitement only a parental figure could experience, eager to be a part of the next chapter of life Peter was about to embark on.

“Thanks, but couldn’t’ve done it without you.” The liquid burned its way down Peter’s throat as he took his first and only sip from the glass, Tony having only put just enough to taste. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand not knowing how much Tony pulled strings for him at the MIT admissions.

Peter groaned internally when Tony didn’t correct him on his comment, hoping that he would have taken the bait and saved Peter the awkwardness of asking straight up whether his achievements were based on his own merit or his fortunate affiliations.

“Right, let’s have a look at your classes.”

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

The time displayed on the projection was now showing 12:48am. Peter’s eyes had begun burning about an hour prior. While his usual bedtime was usually the early hours of the morning, the exhaustion of having to manage his anxiety and responses while in the observant company of Tony Stark left him feeling withered and needing to enter the void that was the realm of sleep.

“Thanks so much for tonight Mr Stark,” he was cut off by a yawn as he made a move to head back to his welcoming satin sheets, “but I’m gonna head to bed and get some of those sweet -” and once more, “- sweet dreams.”

Tony just gave Peter a closed-lipped smile and nodded his head towards the door, the bags under his eyes telling Peter it wouldn’t be long before he went to bed too. Peter wondered with some concern how long it had been since Tony had a good night’s sleep, and if this was day two on what might end up being a three-day long passion-project fuelled bender. If the slowly rotating blueprints of what looked like a newly designed Spider-suit gauntlet were anything to go by, there was a higher chance than Peter initially thought that Tony would not be sleeping tonight.

Disappointed in himself that he couldn’t muster the courage to ask Tony if his Imposter syndrome regarding MIT was founded, he made his way to exit the room, fully prepared instead to pursue the subject tomorrow when he was far less tired. As the door automatically slid open as Peter approached it, he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his cheeks as he heard Tony call out from where he had just stood up from the settee. Maybe he didn’t have to get his answer tomorrow after all.

“In case you were wondering, it was all you, kid.”

#webpril day 5 #webpril 2021 #irondad fanfiction #marvel #mcu fanfiction #peter parker fanfiction #tony stark fanfiction #angst #fanfiction #writing prompt #writing challenge #imposter syndrome #mit #insecurity

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ahomeganeyatsu · 4 years

Text

Sunrise

NSFW-ish??? Anywaaaays. I have finally done it. This has been a long time coming. lmao

Read on AO3.

Inhyuk wakes up to the sun hitting his face. He groans, turning away from it. There’s a taste in his mouth he couldn’t quite put and a thrumming sting all over his body. The latter was something he was familiar with. You don’t get to be his age without getting into a few fights. What he didn’t quite understand was the underlying current of satisfaction.

That usually happened after the battle itself. Usually, hard fights just had him aching all over the morning after—awakened abilities or not. At least, he wasn’t in a hospital. The soft sheets against his skin told him exactly his state of dress. Or lack thereof. Which, turns into another question of why.

He can’t quite remember what he had been doing before now. He remembers going for drinks with Seongha and Giwook. Chairwoman Yoo had been there too, among them some of the more tolerable instructors in the Academy. His head throbs as he tries to recall what the celebration had been about.

A soft grumble sounded to his left and it took a second before Inhyuk found himself suddenly sitting up. Bad fucking idea, he berated himself as the throbbing turned into a jackhammer splitting his head open. He takes a steadying breath to quell the nausea. Once the pain became bearable, he looked to the source of the sound.

Long hair was the first thing he saw. It wasn’t anything special, really. It’s just hair. It didn’t stop him from sending himself into a panic.

This cannot be happening. Oh god, what in the world did I do. He tries to calm himself but it was increasingly difficult. Jisuk was going to kill him. Well, more like Subin will. Inhyuk wasn’t blind to the crush the teenager held for his boss. And fuck, this was his boss.

I just slept with my boss. I’m dead. So. dead.

Wait. shit. No. Calm down Inhyuk. You can’t jump to conclusions. You’re naked. Probably drank alcohol half your body weight that you can’t remember anything. You need to go about this rationally. You need irrefutable evidence!

He breathes. Practically, wrestling his heart to drop into a normal pace. He looks back at the sleeping figure. Long black hair spilled over his pillows. A flash of something in his memories and he knows they felt silky soft. Knows how they feel wrapped around his fingers.

Heat flushes throughout his body. Not now! He screams at the stir of arousal in his gut.

Dammit, he hasn’t even figured out who the person is! They’re curled into themself, sheets wrapped around their whole body. Only the top of their head and feet poked out. Honestly, Inhyuk shouldn’t have immediately gone to the conclusion that it was Chairwoman Yoo.

(He shouldn’t even have jumped to them sleeping with each other. Maybe we didn’t even get past the foreplay. Maybe we just passed out. Soft hair in his hand, a gasping moan, a frustrated whine, nails clawing onto his back)

Besides, she’s not the only person Inhyuk knows who has long black hair.

The thought of that other person nearly sends him into his grave.

He couldn’t even decide which was worse. Either ended with Inhyuk’s death. Whether figuratively or phyiscally.

There’s an easier way of figuring this out. He’s just prolonging his suffering by thinking about it. He just has to lean over and peak at their face. Maybe he’ll find out it was neither of them in the first place. He could have picked up some other person in that club. Maybe it wasn’t even someone he knew. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to one-night-stands.

Mind made up, Inhyuk carefully leans over the sleeping figure.

“You better not be thinking what I think you’re going to do.”

The voice dashes any hope of who his bed partner is. The figure shifts and the sheets reveal a glaring pair of dark eyes. Inhyuk spies the marks littering that pale elegant neck. I did that, a tiny part of him proudly purrs.

A larger part of him his screaming that he just slept with Kayden.

It’s not even fucking fair that he looks so good like this. Sleep-rumpled, Inhyuk’s marks decorating his skin, and the sun shining gently on him. Their’s a softness to him in this barely-awake state. Even the glare didn’t have the usual murderous fire in them.

“I’m not kissing you until you wash your damned mouth,” Kayden’s grumble interrupts his thoughts.

The words unfurl a scene in his mind’s eye, a bit hazy but his other senses vividly recall. Inhyuk feels a smirk tugging at his lips.

He lets himself fall a little closer. “That’s not what you said last night.”

He surprises himself at how quickly the panic is receding. The more he lets it go, the more the flashes of last night become clearer.

Remembers Kayden’s impatience. His demands and the way he had clung to him. The noises he made as Inhyuk drove himself into him.

Inhyuk drops his head onto that neck, and nips at the largest mark he left there. Kayden groans and strikes him hard with a pillow. It only just makes Inyuk laugh.

“You’re going to be a goodmann menace, aren’t you?” Kayden grouses.

Inhyuk snorts. He knows for a fact now that it hadn’t been him who had done the dragging. “Drunk you would argue about that.”

“Shut up and get off me. I feel disgusting.” He relents as Kayden pushes him off. Inhyuk can’t argue about that remark. Dried cum didn’t exactly feel pleasant on your skin. Seeing the stains on Kayden’s legs, he would be feeling worse.

Kayden looks at him and rolls his eyes. “Get up and show me where the bathroom is.”

Inhyuk obeys. They both forgo covering themselves. Getting shy was a bit too late now. When they reach the bathroom. Kayden pushes him into the shower. “Take responsibility,” he says. “You made this mess, you better clean it up.”

And it’s the most roundabout invitation Inhyuk has ever gotten for some early morning shower sex. Then again, he hadn’t been trying that hard to hide the growing interest from his little buddy.

“I thought you didn’t want to kiss me with my morning breath?” he asks instead.

It’s Kayden’s turn to smirk. His hand reaches for the back of Inhyuk’s neck. His fingers grip his hair and he leans to whisper in his ear. His breath is warm and his lips brush against the sensitive skin there. “Put your mouth to work somewhere else.”

Inhyuk may not remember everything last night but he remembers enough right now to know it had been good. The fact that Kayden’s hasn’t murdered him yet, he’s determined to make up for what he forgot. They may have enjoyed it while they were both drunk. Inhyuk’s going to make it better with both of them sober.

#eleceed fanfic #eleceed drabbles #fanfic #eleceed #goo inhyuk #kayden

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bucky-is-a-hero-fightme · 4 years

Text

Royals (6/8)

ROYALS MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Bucky/Reader

Universe: Mobsters!1940′s!AU

Word Count: 8000 approx. I’m so sorry.

Summary: Weeks after the storm settles and you and Bucky start working together, a visit to Printsessa will bring forth choices to make and past hurts to face.

Warnings: Alcohol mentions, my shitty writing, I think some mentions of physical assault and again, my rusty writing skills after being in a block for so long lol

A/N: I'm alive, surprise! Sorry it took me this long to post this chapter, I just couldn't get my writing motor running.

Hopefully I will continue cranking out updates from now on somewhat regularly. But I don't make any promises because I don't like breaking them.

Thank you so much for giving this story a chance and, if the case, for staying with me for so long lmao.

I could keep writing, but does anyone ever read these? Anyhow, hope you enjoy, sorry if it's shit I am so rusty

Taglist: (Lemme know if you wanna be removed or added, darlings!) @amandamartinez3568 @champagnejoker @lovemarvel101 @itsbuckysworld @mooniightbucky @whimsicalatbest @catvader1o1 @nickyl316h

Once again the thick but calming atmosphere of the bar embraces you as you walk in, and the Bratva eyes following your moves do not feel as constricting, as judging, as those waiting for you in Manhattan.

The cool drink is pressed to your hand as you rest your weight on the counter, looking over the dancing couples, the laughing groups, the quiet but persistent stories taking place before your eyes.

You catch sight of Sam sitting on the other side of the bar, and he greets you with a small nod. You return it, smile curving your lips upwards but it quickly disappears when his eyes focus on a spot over your shoulder, the Bratok standing to full attention and putting you off.

What’s going on?

“Miss Y/N.” A deep voice calls behind you, and you turn to see one of Brock’s trusted men waltz to stand at your side.

Leaning back and schooling your features, you protest, “It’s Captain to you, dear.”

His laugh is dismissive when he answers, but the tremble of his fingers as he orders a drink gives him away. He is very much aware he’s out of his depth, this city not his boss’.

“I am here with a message to relay, from your-…from the Avtoritat.” The ‘slip if the tongue’ is very much intended, and either alternative -calling Brock Rumlow anything of yours or the rightful Avtoritat- is buying him tickets to end up in a ditch, but you let it slide.

He doesn’t say anything else, and instead pulls out a small velvet-covered box from his suit jacket pocket. You know perfectly well the kind of ring that is inside, but you still smile up at the Captain in front of you.

“Brock should know by now to stop pretending this is a lover’s quarrel,” You sigh, shaking your head, before looking him in the eye and asking, even if you do not care for his answer, “Do you have orders to take me home, Captain?”

“I’m afraid so, miss.”

The laugh tastes like poison when it leaves your lips, the siren song guiding your steps as you rest your drink on the counter, looking sideways at Brock’s trusted man.

“Try.” You taunt, the smile on your lips feral even as a couple of men you should have identified as soon as you walked in take a few steps closer to you.

There’s fear in his eyes, you see it, even if he pretends his boss’ influence can keep him safe. You know with absolute certainty, or used to, that Brock would execute to the last of his most loyal men for a chance at putting that ring on your finger.

Despite that, the Captain and what you assume to be his Bratok step closer, menacing, in a stupid display that still unsettles you. If Manhattan Captains cause a scene in the heart of Brooklyn…war will follow not shortly after.

“It will always be my family’s territory, the fact that you blackmailed your way into taking it is n-…” Your words and cut off when your back hits the wall, head slamming forcefully against it, prompting black spots to dance in your line of vision.

Your nails scratch at Brock’s arm as he presses into your throat, taking away your air and making panic flood you. He leans in closer, bourbon-stale breath fanning over you.

“You are loyal to me, little Siren. Aren’t you?”

The sharp thud of the ring box hitting the bar makes you flinch before you can school your features, bringing you out of the memory. And the Bratok notices, because of course he does.

“Please avoid making a scene, miss.” He drawls, as if he’s already won. A smarter man would know better, but then again, they know you through Brock’s eyes, and the brute still thinks a part of you wants to be at his side.

“I believe the correct term is ‘Captain’.” A voice you know too well interrupts, just as you feel the calming warmth of Bucky’s chest as he steps in behind you, guarding your back.

Not even your pride can let you ignore the way your body relaxes, the way you feel so much safer now than a second before, even if you were never truly afraid of the man in front of you.

The Bratok takes a step back instinctively, looking up and down at Brooklyn’s leading Captain. Even he oscillates between respect and ire. The men that accompanied him, you notice, also hesitate on whether to get closer or not.

You hide a smile behind the rim of your glass as you take a sip.

“You already delivered your message, didn’t ya’?” Bucky presses when the man remains quiet, and the underlining anger in his voice makes you realize you should probably step in.

But you want to have a little bit of fun beforehand. And if you manage to send Brock a message in the meantime…well, who can blame you?

You keep your eyes on the Bratok, daring him to react as you turn sideways into Bucky’s side, “Wait now, this gentleman here said he had orders.”

Of course that he knows you are playing him, taunting him to follow through with his boss’ orders in a territory far away from his reach. The Bratok squares his shoulders, looking back at you with a clenched jaw.

“To bring you home, miss.”

Bucky takes a step closer to the man, chest expanding on an angry breath against your back. You do not hesitate when you lean more of your weight on him though, keeping him from advancing on the Bratok without showing your hand.

Still, even as Bucky doesn’t move any closer to the Bratok, the men accompanying him see the threat, and step closer to the both of you.

Your eyes travel between the Bratok and the brutes at his side, to the ring sitting at the bar table.

You feel the residual burn of the alcohol in your throat, the beating of your heart in your ears. You feel Bucky’s hand find its place by your hip, a symbol of protection and support you know you do not deserve. Not after what happened eight years ago, not after the way you turned your back to him and so many others, not after the conditions to send information you agreed a few weeks ago to with Brock.

The conditions that apparently are no longer enough to Manhattan’s false Avtoritat, that sends his men to force your hand into declaring your loyalty to him.

Whispers of questions recent and ancient reach your ears.

“I can’t believe I’m even askin’ this,” Bucky mutters, back still to you as he runs a hand through his hair. When he turns to you, you see a confusing swirl between desperation, betrayal, and anger in his eyes. “Between him and me, doll, who’d it be?”

But you are shaking your head before he is even done speaking.

“This isn’t like that, Bucky. This is not a competition.”

His clenched jaw turns into a sneer quite quickly, though.

“Really? Then why does it feel like I’m tryin’ to convince my girl to stay with me?”

His words hit you harder than you anticipated, staggering the breath out of your lungs as you stumble to find the words you want to say.

But your silence bears more of an answer than anything, and your pride keeps you rooted in your place as he stalks to the door of your apartment.

“You made your choice, Princess. When you leave with him tomorrow-…” Your back is turned to the door, so he doesn’t see the tears trailing silently down your cheeks, but you can hear his words stumble, his breath catch. Finally, Bucky sentences, “You made your choice.”

You cannot take your eyes of the extravagant ring on the bar counter, feeling the eyes of so many people, past and present, set on you, on the choice you have to make.

A question earlier tonight, that you should have answered.

And would ya’? Betray him, I mean.

Your eyes travel up to the Bratok, and if your heart is as quick as a rabbit’s, if your hands tremble a little, you don’t think anyone could blame you.

Still, your smile is genuine when you answer,

“I am home.”

Yes, I would.

The Bratok hesitates, blinking past his stupor and looking back at you with widened eyes. If only Brock had taught him the Game, he wouldn’t have shown his Boss’ hand so easily.

They wanted to lure you back to Manhattan, hoping it would be incentive enough to start a war either by Bucky lashing out against your city or Brock claiming your betrayal of Brooklyn as enough.

That, or Rumlow truly believed you could stay with him out of anything but convenience.

The Bratok’s eyes remain on yours for a second too long, enough for your smile to start turning cold and threatening. He decides not to take the bait, nodding respectfully once before turning to leave.

Your eyes return to the ring, still on the bar table, for a few moments finding yourself stuck on the what ifs before you call out,

“You forgot something,” You say, noticing how your voice wavers a bit as the weight of what you have done settles upon you. Still, the Bratok says nothing, taking the box and pocketing it before walking out of the bar.

You can hear nothing past the beating of your own heart in your ears, but you keep your eyes trained on the back of those men’s heads until the doors close behind them, as if a part of you waits for them to strike back, to drag you to Manhattan kicking and screaming.

Made aware of Bucky’s presence still at your back when his hand squeezes your hip lightly; you turn around to face his grey-blue eyes.

“You okay, doll?”

You nod numbly in response, your mouth dry no matter how hard you swallow past the knot in your throat, and it is mostly muscle memory when you turn around in his arms, still leaning against his chest.

“He’s going to kill me.” You mumble.

“He can try.” He promises, but you shake your head, panic finally settling in.

“You don’t understand, Brock has the power to ruin me. Everything I have is in Manhattan, my contacts, my reputation,” A chocked sound leaves your lips, “Natasha was right.”

“About what?”

“She warned me I was pushing too much,” You mumble, jaw tight as you recall so many of the late-night encounters with the so called Widow. “I tried for too long to buy time, to stall him from moving into a full out war.”

“Why?”

The question is barely anything more than a whisper, his eyes intensely searching yours as a few breaths go by between his question and your answer.

“You know why.” You bite out, and you could swear something akin to regret shines behind Bucky’s grey-blue eyes.

“Y/N…” He starts, but you shake your head, angry and disappointed, as soon as the words leave your lips, taking you gaze away from his.

“But I was stupid, I was careless and I…” You stop yourself, swallowing your words. I would do it again. “I was taught better. My mother married off for the Bratva, why shouldn’t I accept that fucking ring?”

Your words are bitter, a rebellion against what you were told and shown all through your upbringing, but the meaning is not lost to either of you, for a second sending you back to tearstains on your face and a cracking voice around a sentence that so long ago sent you into a city of lies to become nothing more than Nayada, the Siren, the one forced to work in the shadows.

The mantle of the Captain falls over Bucky’s shoulders so fast a part of you doesn’t recognize the change for a moment. Shoulders straight, eyes cold again and already turning away from you, he signals for another drink that he is almost instantly served.

Downing it in one gulp, he smiles your way, but the gesture is nothing but another play in the Game.

“Already regrettin’ it, Princess?” He teases, the venom in his voice impossible to miss, and he knows it, because you both notice the distance between you being more than the step you take away from him.

Still, because you were taught to, because your pride doesn’t let you do otherwise, you hold his gaze, chin raised and eyes firmly on his own, even if the coldness in his grey-blue eyes hurts you more than you would want to admit.

Deserved, you ponder, that you have to stand in front of Brooklyn’s Captain, when so many times the Siren almost led him to the rocks. Still, you grit your teeth, and the words escape your lips before you can think twice about it.

“Don’t play the Captain with me.”

Bucky merely lifts his eyebrows, that damned mocking smile still on his lips. When he answers, he leans even closer to you, and you hate how he towers over you, you hate that you can still catch the faint scent that it’s just him, and above all else you hate how your heart quickens its pace in your chest.

He licks his lips before speaking, letting you for a second consider you may not be the only one not playing the Game, “Or what? You’ll put that ring on?”

The Game lets you put a smile of your own on your lips even if your throat feels dry and your pulse that of a teenage girl with too much hope. You force your eyes to stay on his as you return the mocking glare, “Why would you think me not going home has anything to do with you?”

A breathed laugh, and Bucky’s lips are grazing your ear, his breath with a hint of the smell of whiskey as it trails a hot path down the side of your neck, leaving goosebumps behind.

“Ya’ said it yourself, doll: you are home.”

You can hear the smile playing on his lips, and whether it is mocking or proud or something else, you do not care to know right now. Because at his words you realize how much of your hand you have shown, betraying that you never agreed to Brock’s terms because you couldn’t assure yourself of their safety, being stupidly naïve and light and agreeing to that dinner at the Barnes household almost a week ago, being so unguarded in all the meetings since then that Peggy, Steve, Bucky, Sam and you have been taking part on to get to know Brock’s true reach.

You have let go of the Siren without realizing, and it was the lack of her shield that made you make what probably was a horrible mistake: turning your back on Manhattan.

Either at your silence or the new tension in your body that leaves you as stiff as a board, Bucky takes a step back from you. Your eyes are narrowed and distant when they meet his, but you do not say a word.

“Let’s continue where there’s no audience, Captains.” Sam Wilson interrupts, a hand on your back as greeting and his voice and words reminding once again what’s expected of you. Bratva Captain, Heir to Brooklyn and Manhattan, Princess first, Y/N second.

With a deep breath, you agree, “You’re right. Brock never let me out of his sight, he definitely has people…around.”

You watch as Sam’s dark eyes scan the room quickly, before returning to yours. The method, the tenacity of a soldier shines through the civilian clothes, you think to yourself.

“You think they oughtta try somethin’?”

You shake your head, downing the rest of your drink. “No. But let’s not give them anything to report home about.”

Bucky interrupts with a side smile and that mocking shade in his grey-blue eyes you have learned to hate.

“’Fraid he’ll get jealous?” He teases, but you reply with nonchalance, refusing to give him another inch.

“Love, I let go a long time ago. Although clearly, I was the only one to.” You pointedly trace the letters on the napkin under your glass with a manicured finger. принцесса.

A small muscle jumps on his cheek, and you hold back a triumphant smile as you slide past both men and into Bucky’s office.

As you walk in, you catch Peggy hanging up the office phone, eyes wide and her red lipstick uncharacteristically smudged where she was biting her lip. With only Steve, Peggy, Sam, Bucky and you in the room, the silence that follows after the door closes and the line is dead is deafening.

“Doll?” Steve asks, reaching for her shoulder, but Peggy walks through his touch like he’s a ghost. Her eyes are on you.

“Peggy?” You try, gauging her reaction.

“That was an informant from Manhattan,” She explains, and even if her voice is even her eyes still look a little crazy, “Word is already running that you turned your back on Rumlow. With no games, this time.”

The words make something in your chest tighten both in apprehension and adrenaline, but you still bite out, “He wanted to put that damn ring on my finger, Peggy, there was-…”

She gives you no time to finish your sentence, her strong arms wrapped tightly around your back as she hugs you with what feels like the glee of forgiveness and the nostalgia of a reunion.

You return the hug without hesitation, closing your eyes.

The last of the bags is in the car, and the driver awaits your signal. For some reason, even if you feel your mother’s eyes on you, even if you know you have nothing to hold on to here anymore; you find yourself unable to say goodbye to this house, this city, just yet.

“Leaving without saying goodbye? The Firm kills for lesser offenses.” An accented voice you know well states, and when you turn around Peggy Carter stands before you, red hat and blue suit at the entrance of the manor.

“Peggy.” You breathe out, and even though it breaks your heart even more, you smile.

“A lifetime side by side deserves a proper farewell.” She promises swiftly, but years of friendship let you see the crack in her armor, the tremble in her voice, the smudge of her lipstick signaling she bit her lip too many times.

And it’s all those years, all those memories and all those secrets shared, that make you let go of the mask for a moment, that make you not hesitate as you cross the distance between you.

You wrap your arms around her tightly, trying to pretend you do not feel the wetness around your eyes, the tremble in your hands as they curl into fists.

“I’m sorry, Peggy.”

A moment of silence, and then,

“I wish things were different, Y/N.”

You pull back from the embrace, eyes wide, and face Peggy. She bears a similarly shell-shocked expression, but still a smile teases at her red lips.

The weight of what you have done settles on you like a deadweight on your chest, robbing you of air and making your pulse more frantic than ever before.

“What did I do, Peggy?”

She punches your shoulder lightly, the smile widening, “What you should have done eight years ago.”

Still, the fear will not let go of you.

“Peggy, he’s going to-…”

“We will handle it.” She promises, and something in her smile is a little too feral, but neither of you say anything.

“You have been waiting for this.” You state, lifting an eyebrow. Her expression sobers a little, and she nods once.

“We need to talk, you and I.” She promises, before stepping back and taking a hold of the papers she was scribbling on as she took the call.

“What else did your…informant tell you?” Sam asks, taking a seat in one of the sofas and with Steve following his lead.

You take a seat too, next to Sam and accept the drink he hands you silently with gratefulness. Peggy leans back on the desk, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Not much. The news are still fresh, but here in Brooklyn word of what she chose are outweighing what she left behind.”

Shit.

Even though the prospect of making Brock angry enough with the rumors of you choosing Brooklyn -or Bucky- over him terrifies you a little bit, the proud smile on both Peggy’s and Steve’s lips keep you from saying anything.

“How fast do you wanna bet this reaches your mother?” Steve teases, and you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees.

“How fast do you wanna bet Brock throws a tantrum and tells her?” You shoot back, feeling strangely and suddenly unbothered by what the unlawful Avtoritat of Manhattan chooses to say or do. “His men probably did some digging as to why I’m meeting with you lot, and when he hears about it…”

“He probably knows already.” Bucky promises, and before the words are past his lips you are already frowning, set on edge at the possible implication of you having planned this or having told Brock any of what has been happening these past weeks.

“If you are implying what I think y-…”

He interrupts you, shaking his head, “I’m not. But he has men in the city, doll, has for years.”

“Oh, I know,” You acquiesce, before recalling with a light chuckle, “Their men stumbled upon mine a couple of times.”

Peggy clears her throat, dark eyes still running over the words scribbled over the papers in her hands, “Actually, as far as Brock’s men know, those men are working for me, not you.”

“You tricked them?”

She finally lifts her gaze from the page, sharing a glance with Bucky you do not miss, to which he answers with a shrug. She turns back to you and offers an uncharacteristically sheepish smile, “Not exactly.”

You narrow your eyes at your friend, “Exactly how many of my men are working for you, Carter?”

She laughs, but doesn’t say anything, and that is answer enough. Rolling your eyes in response, you try thinking when was the last time you felt this safe.

After a few minutes of casual conversation with Steve and Sam while Bucky and Peggy study whatever her informant from Manhattan told her, you are all interrupted by a loud sigh.

“I want a drink.” Peggy exclaims, moving naturally to sit on Steve’s lap. He pats her head comfortingly and offers her his glass, but she shakes her head, turning her eyes to you.

“Want to go to the pier? For old times’ sake?”

The smile turning your lips upwards is instantaneous, and a mirror of it appears on your best friend’s lips, her dark eyes shining in excitement.

“Are you going to tell me now you can hold your liquor, Carter?” You tease back, already standing up from the couch and grabbing your coat, although it may not be enough to hold back the biting cold of Brooklyn’s pier, considering you are still on a skirt.

“She can’t,” Steve promises, brushing off Peggy’s glare with a breathed laugh of his own, his arm going around her shoulders with easy affection. Steve’s eyes turn to the figure hunched over the desk, the nonchalance in his voice so forced that it makes something within you flinch, “You coming with, Buck?”

When Bucky lifts his head from the documents before him, his eyes do not search for Steve’s, but instead focus on you with surprising speed, the hesitation, the accusation wrapped in a question clear in his gaze.

You try offering a smile, but you don’t think it looks half as confident as you want it to. For a second you ponder if you should resent those damned eyes for the way they make you feel as excited and light and hopeful as you did so many years ago.

After a few moments, he acquiesces, “Sure, can’t leave her to be third wheelin’ with you two saps.”

“Like you two did to us.” Peggy points out, eyebrow raised and a knowing smile on her face as her words make your cheeks grow hot.

Bucky and you share a glance before he argues, “We weren’t that bad.”

“Yes, you were, pal.”

“Oh, you so bloody were.”

Peggy and Steve answer at the same time, prompting a laugh out of you. After Sam declines the offer, looking very pointedly at Bucky probably relaying a message that goes secret between the two, judging by the way the brunet flips him off and rolls his eyes; the four of you start a leisurely walk towards the pier.

Unwilling to let the previous argument go, Bucky grumbles, “I wasn’t as doll dizzy as you are, though.”

Steve just laughs, “Try selling that lie to someone else, jerk.”

“He has a point,” You defend with a smile, feeling more at east with the group since maybe before you and Bucky even started going steady. “The only reason Bucky and I spent so much time together in the first place was to get you two to smooch.”

“Way to hit where it hurts, doll.”

Hearing him joke around with you, even if you don’t deserve nor his smile or his humor in the slightest, makes warmth spread through your chest. You turn to Bucky with a smile so big your teeth hurt, and it is with a laugh quite reminding of your teenage years that you bump your shoulder with his.

“Shut up.”

The moon is so up high you have to crane your head all the way back to see it by the time the topic of Brock Rumlow comes up, so you count your blessings and face the music.

A small frown forms between your brows, and you cock your head to the side, explaining slowly, “I have him under control, if that’s what you’re going at, Peg.”

She crosses her arms, red lips pursed, “What I’m going at, darling, is whether or not you were going to share with us how he stopped shy of strangling you a couple of days before you came back.”

“He what!?” Steve jumps up, lifting his head from Peggy’s shoulder with a scowl and shock written in his baby-blues.

You catch your name said in a voice you could never forget, and out of the corner of your eye you seen Bucky’s left hand lift and move towards you, before stopping midway and falling back into his lap, curled into a fist.

“I’m alright.” You promise, both to her and any who thinks a brute trying to beat you into submission is all it takes to shut you up.

Peggy shakes her head obstinately, eyes alight with a fury you have not seen many times in your life. You would be lying through your teeth if you said it doesn’t terrify you.

“Why did you hide that?”

“Because it was not important, Peggy!” Her eyes widen in disbelieving rage, a part of it directed at you, and you rush to explain, “He has been on very unstable ground for a few months now, he wanted to try and intimidate me into swearing loyalty to him.”

“Did you?”

You just smile back at her, cocking your head to the side, letting her know she is fully aware of the answer. After a few seconds, Peggy blows out a breath, leaning back against Steve’s chest and looking out at the sea, gathering her thoughts.

“You could’ve. Sworn loyalty, I mean. The whole of Manhattan knows he wants his ring on your finger. You could’ve had it all.” She argues, still not looking at you. You have a feeling she’s not talking just about what happened in Manhattan so many weeks ago.

You shrug in response, “I had my reasons.”

“Which were?”

Whispers of dreams, traces of a future you could never have had as you and Bucky lay side by side, the dead of night making it easier to pretend you could be free. You hide a nostalgic smile by looking down at the label in your bottle.

“Promises I made, promises I intend to keep.”

She knows, what she’s doing, of course she does, you realize as she pushes, “To your father.”

You keep your eyes on hers, defiant, because you know you want to face the grey-blue eyes that have been searching yours since this bizarre conversation started.

“Among others.”

Conversation flows into some business topics, and you cannot help but notice how uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn Bucky grew since Peggy’s admission. After a few minutes, he breaks the silence,

“He tried to kill you.”

“He didn’t.” You argue back, mechanically.

Pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he growls, “That’s not the point! You would still stay with that-…Ya’ know what? I’m done. Cheers.”

He downs the rest of the bottle in one gulp and stands up, walking tensely and briskly away from the small group. You cannot keep your eyes from following his figure though, even as silence stretches and his form disappears in the dark mantle of the night.

Steve stands up, always the best friend, always ready to have Bucky’s back, and you catch Peggy’s eyes as Steve shrugs on his jacket to follow Bucky down the dark street.

Peggy probably sees something in your face, and when you meet her gaze her smile is the same secret one you used to share when you helped her sneak out of your house so she could meet with Steve, or when she would pretend to know nothing when your mother asked her about what was going on between you and Bucky.

She takes a hold of Steve’s hand, and you take a second to admire with a happy smile how his focus completely shifts to her the moment she touches him, the adoration he holds for your best friend clear as day in his baby-blue eyes. She leads him away from you with whispered words, and one last glance towards you tells you she knows quite more than she lets on.

With a deep breath you gather your courage and start walking, quickly finding the man sitting alone by the pier, gaze on the ocean that now shows the same grey-blue murkiness as his eyes. You take a seat silently on the ground next to Bucky, keeping your eyes on the horizon as well, unsure what to say.

Either way, he breaks the silence first.

“You do regret it, don’t ya’.” His words are not even a question, and the bitterness in his tone is so heavily outweighed by hurt that you cannot bring yourself to be affronted by them.

You know he means refusing Brock’s offer earlier tonight, the thorn on his side ever since the confrontation in the bar earlier today. You wish you could tell him you are certain you did the right thing by your family, you wish you could be confident and stoic like your mother and stand by each and every choice you make.

“Can you blame me?” You answer instead with a sigh.

“What?”

“He may be…whatever he is, but at least I know what Brock wants out of me. I-I-…Bucky…” A frustrated breath leaves your lips, and too late you realize your hair will be a mess as you run your hands through it. “You used to tell me you didn’t care for the Bratva. Hell, I know the reason you got into working as a Bratok is because you needed help paying for Steve’s hospital bills. And now…now you want to wage war on the off chance you can take Manhattan from me?”

As the words leave your tongue you are faced for what feels like the first time with the reason you have been so angry with Bucky for so long now, and even if your voice cracks and your eyes sting you keep talking, your gaze stubbornly set on the horizon.

“I’m not tryin’ to take anything from ya’, doll.”

“What you have been doing for these last months, or even years; says otherwise, Barnes.”

Bucky sighs next to you, and only when his shoulders expand with a deep breath and brush against yours do you realize how close you are to each other.

He runs a hand through his hair, conflicted and frustrated, “I have my reasons, even if ya’ don’t believe me. Ya’ want me to trust you without you trustin’ me?”

“I trust you! I have been working with you for weeks, Bucky. If I had wanted you dead, hurt, or worse, you would be.”

You ignore the part of you that reminds of how, at least until earlier tonight, Brock was certain you were still working for him. You ignore the reminder that useless, pointless, and even false information was delivered to Manhattan with your name on the back.

He doesn’t answer right away, his jaw set tight and his left hand clenching and releasing multiple times in what looks like a nervous motion. After a few moments with only the sounds of the waves to accompany your loud thoughts, Bucky turns to you, grey-blue eyes almost soft, as soft as you have seen them since your return.

His voice is quiet, but it manages to silence the thoughts of having betrayed your cause, of still being too naïve.

“If I want to take Brooklyn is because I want it to belong to you again, Y/N.”

“Then level the playing field. Don’t play games, don’t put on masks.” You beseech, your eyes searching his with a hint of desperation, a hurt and pain you weren’t expecting. And you know you are pushing your luck, you know the right to demand equal honesty you lost a long time ago.

Any softness that could be in his eyes vanishes like sand between your fingers, and you know exactly why, already regretting the words after they leave your lips.

Bucky lets out a bitter chuckle, and a mix of anger and hurt curls at your insides.

“Like it was ever even, doll.”

He does not believe you. Not about the present, the past, or the future.

You let out a groan of frustration, angry and hurt and tired of this. You let your body fall backwards, laying down on the pier and looking up, trying to blink past the memories that try to resurface and make you soften.

The gentle murmur of the waves against the shore lull you into an almost slumber, your eyes closed but the stars still shining under your eyelids.

“Stark says we are goin’ to visit the moon soon.” You are startled awake at the rumble of Bucky’s voice in his chest, and you lift your head sluggishly from his shoulder to look at him. He offers you a sheepish smile, “Sorry, doll.”

“What are you talking about?” You mumble back, blinking awake and not bothering to resist pressing a soft kiss against his cheek when you see how adorable he looks with his eyes shining in wonder as he stares up into the stars.

“Howard Stark, I read on the ‘paper he said they will invent somethin’ to get us to the moon soon.” He explains, and you cannot help the giggle that builds up in your throat.

“You want to have another date on the science fair, don’t you?”

“If you insist, babydoll.” He teases, but the bright smile on his lips and the excited way he turns to face you tell you another story.

You kiss your own smile into his lips, and burrow back into the place where his neck meets his shoulder, closing your eyes and inhaling his scent as you let yourself be lulled to sleep again.

“Fine, but next time it’ll be Coney Island again.”

You keep your eyes on the sky and force your words out past the knot of memories clogging at your throat, “Then what am I doing here, Bucky? Why am I working with you, why do you say you want to trust me if you are not willing to believe a word I say?”

He turns sideways to face you, leaning back on his elbow so you are face to face. You try, you swear you do, not following with your eyes how the fabric of his shirt tightens around the muscles of his arm. You try, and fail.

Bucky gestures with his free hand as he accuses,

“You are the one that came back, and now you act all high and mighty expectin’ everything to go back to what it used to be-…”

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

But he shakes his head, insisting, and if his eyes show he is a little lost, a little fragile, you do not mention it.

“Yes, you are! Th-the outings with Peg, jokin’ with Stevie, getting along with my fuckin’ sister; you…you left, things cannot- just-” He groans, frustrated at himself and dropping to lay on his back as well, his eyes on the stars. You wonder if he too sees the memories of so many nights spent in this very same pier in what feels like a lifetime ago. “I don’t know what the hell ya’ are playin’ at, Princess, but I’m not gonna be stupid enough to fall for it a second time.”

“I’m not ‘playing’ at anything, Bucky. I’m trying to keep the people I care about alive and safe.”

“Too little too late, Princess. Shoulda thought about that when you left us.”

The words feel like a knife in your chest, and for a moment you feel your air lacking as if truly were embedded there, between your ribs. The girl you were before would’ve listened to her aching throat, her burning eyes; but you were taught to be the Siren first, Y/N second.

After all, that’s what Bucky sees too, isn’t it? He doesn’t trust you, he doesn’t believe a word you say; because what you are to him is the Siren. The girl that loved him died eight years ago, and he acts like it.

The thought shouldn’t hurt you like it does.

Clearing your throat, you nod firmly, standing up and keeping your jaw set tight and your hands curved into fists to keep them from shaking, “I’m going home.”

For a moment Bucky looks like he wants to say something, maybe apologize, maybe explain, maybe keep you there for a while longer. But he doesn’t, answering instead with a sigh and standing up too, “I’ll walk ya’.”

“Aren’t you afraid I will take my chance and stab you in the back?” You spit out in response, eyes narrowed, “I’ll pass, Barnes.”

But he doesn’t let you walk far, falling into s quick stride with you with no problem, with those damn long legs of his. You refuse to look at him, even if you feel his eyes on your face and his itch to say something.

With a huff, he admits, “You ain’t the only one with people you-…you want to keep safe, okay? I’ll walk ya’ home.”

___

The walk is quiet, but the silence is not as angry anymore as it is tired, hurt, yearning. There’s this wound you yourself created, and yet for so long haven’t been able to stop from bleeding.

Being back in Brooklyn made all this mistakes and old pains and memories and…and this old you come back, or at least try to, like a song you hear from a faraway radio, that gets louder and louder, harder to ignore, the closer you get.

The streets leading to your apartment and the façade of the building have never looked so cold and ominous before. You stand there in silence, looking up at the place you bought after being made Captain, the porch where you spent all those late nights whispering promises and dreams and hopes, the windows that became witnesses to the times you felt the most loved, the most worshiped, the most wanted.

When Bucky murmurs a goodbye, you cannot bring yourself to let him go.

The words are leaving your lips before you are even done turning back to face him,

“You let me go.”

His shoes as he stops in his tracks make a sound in the gravel that seems to echo through the streets.

“What?”

“You keep saying I’m the one that left, and yes, I did, but you let me.” You explain, standing your ground in the stairs even as he gets closer, even as your legs beg to walk closer to. You stand your ground, because you were taught to.

“You chose Manhattan, Y/N.” Bucky grits out, jaw set tight.

Looking up at his stormy eyes, you cannot find it in yourself to hold yourself back when you explain, “I chose what I was taught to choose! I wanted to…”

The words die at your throat though, the courage and the freedom short-lived, as the Siren’s teachings reach for your conscious mind, reminding you of how wants are not of importance when it comes to the Bratva, if how love is not of value in the Game.

Bucky doesn’t let you keep that particular thought to yourself though, walking even closer to you, so close you can feel the warmth of his body in this cold Brooklyn night.

Even if his breath is quickened, even if his eyes are dark, his voice is merely a whisper, “What? What did ya’ want?”

You shake your head, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it matters a hell of a lot, doll.”

There’s something in his expression, something both hopeful and broken, something both angry and hurt. Something that reminds you of the man you love.

So, you take a deep breath, and force the truth to leave your lips.

“I wanted to stay. I wanted you.” You breathe out, not giving your heart to dwell on Bucky’s soft gasp before you bite out, spite and hurt in equal proportions clear in your tone, “But you let me go.”

When you walk up a couple of steps to set distance between you, Bucky lets you, taking a step back himself and facing you with wide eyes.

“Let you go!? I didn’t have a choice, Y/N!”

Your eyes narrow and your voice rises to match his before you can remind yourself of what is proper, “What are you talking about? I asked you to come with me, I asked you, begged you, to join my family so we could stay together, and you said no! I deserve my answers too!”

The brunet runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it, and he turns his back to you as he paces, letting you see the tension in his muscles through the dress shirt.

“I said no because I knew I couldn’t keep you, Y/N!” He exclaims, and the pain in his voice alone could forever sentence you into silence. “Why do ya’ think I was never made Captain while your father was alive, huh? Why do ya’ think I never joined a family? Why do ya’ think I never joined yours?”

“Bucky…”

This time he walks closer, eyes set on yours, jaw set and lips tight, the face of determination, “Do ya’ really believe I wanted to see the woman I love go off to Manhattan and marry Brock fuckin’ Rumlow? No, but I had to sit back and watch it happen because it was the only choice I got.”

The pieces fall into place, the questions that have been running through your head way before the dinner at Winnie’s where you learned Bucky knew of your parents arranged marriage even before you did finally have an answer, and like a doll whose strings have been cut off, you let yourself fall to the steps underneath you, sitting numbly on the stairs.

“That’s why Father told you about his arrangement with my mother. He was counting on my marrying…who? Fucking Rumlow?”

You wonder if you should sound more hurt, more betrayed. You wonder if you shouldn’t feel like you have known of what your father was capable of, and willing to do, since before you even left Brooklyn.

Bucky sighs, but you can’t look at him, you just do your best to look ahead without letting tears flood your eyes, as the realization of what your family did to you sets in your stomach like a dead weight.

You feel his warmth next to you before you can understand he took a seat in the stairs by your side, “He was tryin’ to protect you, in his own way.”

“I kn-…” You stop yourself. You don’t want to give the answer you were taught to give, you don’t want to accept it because that’s what the Bratva is supposed to do, because that’s what the rules are. You may have been taught the rules, but you were raised to push past them. May the Queen overthrow the Game. You stand up, fists clenched tight and expression firm even if your eyes still shine a little too much, “It doesn’t matter, it…it shouldn’t matter. That’s not how things ought to be done, I cannot make a choice if I don’t know what I’m choosing.”

The man before you shrugs, still sitting in the stairs, “You did choose, though.”

It’s just then that pain lacers through you like a knife, leaving you bleeding with whispers of could have been’s and wonders of what if’s. The first sob leaves your lips before you can think of holding it back, tears overflowing your eyes and racing a burning path down your cheeks.

Bucky’s arms wrap around you and you cannot bring yourself to pretend anything anymore, hiding your face in his chest and somehow feeling the ache deepen, the wound blister and burn at the reminder of what you lost, at the warmth you missed and left behind.

“I’m sorry.” You gasp through a shaky voice, but his only answer is to bring you in closer, chin resting over your head and his hands soothing as they travel up and down your back.

Your toes lost sensation by the time you bring yourself to pull back, and you wipe your hands across messy cheeks and stare up at him.

The smile Bucky offers you is a little sad, a little encouraging and it somehow makes you all the more courageous.

“Come upstairs with me? We have a lot to talk about.”

___

After washing your face and tying back yourself in your bathroom, you walk out with a new determination in your step. This time, past the hurt, past the bleeding heart, you promise yourself to find healing.

And it starts by admitting to all wounds. So, with a deep breath, you start,

“What my father did, how he handled business and…family, I don’t want that,” Bucky doesn’t say anything, sitting in your couch, hands clasped together and forearms resting on his thighs. You try telling yourself it’s the best choice when you admit, “Just when I had gotten back to Brooklyn a month or so ago, the day I ran into Becca…I…Brock called me, he knew too many things about what had been happening. And to ‘prove’ my loyalty, he wanted information, whatever I could get you to tell me. Well, whatever the Siren could.”

If the man before you is surprised, he doesn’t show it.

His voice is gravely when he states, his question not even truly one, “And ya’ did.”

“I did, dead trails and some other useless information to keep him off my back. I wanted you to know, because…I want to start over.”

Itching with uncomfortableness, you switch from one foot to the other as the silence stretches into awkwardness. After a few moments of watching you squirm, Bucky leans back on the couch, a hint of a smile playing at his lips and hand inviting you to sit.

You do, hoping your eagerness was not so noticeable.

“Fine. Why are ya’ here in Brooklyn, doll?” He asks, and thought the question has been asked before, you fear this is the first time the answer will be truly, undoubtably honest.

“To take it back, even if it has to be from you.”

The smile now fully tugs at his lips, both a promise and a secret as his hand closes over yours. The touch startles you,

“Ya’ won’t have to.” He whispers, and although the gentle hold of his calloused hand of your own startles you, you still return the gentle squeeze when you whisper back,

“I know.”

___

Did you like it? Please tell me what you think, I'm seriously squirming because it has been so long I fear to have lost my touch when it comes to these character's voices and this story I wanna tell.

Btw, in case you caught it, in neither of those times were Bucky or the Reader character supposed to speak in past tense, it wasn't a typo ;)

Please tell me what you think!

Love, Luce.

#bucky x reader #mobster!bucky #mobster!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mobster au

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flydotnet · 5 years

Text

Nemesis In Cerberus's Jaws

VRAINS Rarepair Weeks 2018 - Day 9: Favorite Card/Win or Lose

Summary: Ghost Girl goes to Queen's palace-like headquarters for two reasons: stop SOL from interfering in the Ignis Warfare and to avenge a fallen comrade now caught inside the monarch's claws. She knows this may very well be a trap, but may as well try saving the situation and stop a sociopath while she's at it.

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS Ships: Hireshipping (Ema/Akira)

Wordcount: 3.6K words

Notes: Happy New Year, I wish you get nice things in life for 2019 while I beg for VRAINS to give us an Akira VS Queen duel. Or just Akira winning a duel with his "Eldritch abominations meet geometry" deck. Please.

This is the last fic of 2019, a year as such filled with way too many sickfics and a lot of fandoms suffering because of your truly's! Can't say I expcted to finish the year on a VRAINS fanfiction of all things, but I'm actually proud of this one. I took a weird approach at this prompt, because I'm a dumbass who doesn't know how words work, but I hope this stays in the theme enough. Anyway, Ema VS Queen would be very nice in canon with actual duel wriitng skills instead of this pathetic excuse of that lmao. I also hope Queen fans don't kill me for this lmao.

Y'all know tomorrow is gonna be Hanahaki AU, don't you? I am, in fact, very predictable.

Event hosted by @vrainsrarepairweeks

AO3 version available here.

Link VRAINS’s SOL Headquarters, approximately time-has-stopped-ticking past I-forgot-what-time-it-was-anyway in the after-morning-noon. There is nobody around, footsteps resonating inside the empty white buildings filled with data diamonds and other unknown fancy digital effects. While the Ignis Warfare is taking place outside, Ema, or rather Ghost Girl, has her own side-mission to accomplish. This is why she is here and not by Aoi, or rather, Blue Maiden’s side. She trusts this girl and her partners, the ever-so-victorious Playmaker and Soulburner along with their pro-humanity Ignes, to win against the hardships waiting for them. She cannot really help them win against Lighting anyway.

She may not be able to do that, but she can do other things to shift the balance around. She has to do something to reverse the tide in the right direction.

Ghost Girl finds herself anxiously walking around the premise, the echo of her footsteps being the only noise around her, white walls and ceiling almost blinding her by their sheer purity that just hides how shady SOL Technologies truly are. There is exactly one sane man in that building and she’s here to prevent his conversion to data by some lunatics with too much incompetence and free time on their hands. Converting him into data won’t be useful for any of them: is she throwing herself into the jaws of that company? Most certainly.

The question would rather be: why does she throw herself into said jaws? She knows they’re a trap waiting to vanquish her. On that the question changes: is it worth knowingly risking herself in an obvious trap? To that she would usually hesitate to answer, but there she was with a bold and confident “yes” to throw at it.

Ghost Girl eventually meets a regal corridor leading to what she can only assume to be a throne room. The fancy palace aspects are quickly wearing down on her: the person waiting at the end, the one who caught her main hirer and ex-teammate, has to have an ego bigger than hers. In a way, that’s better: she’s always preferred crushing pretentious people than winning against fellas with a low self-esteem.

Instead of knocking on the wooden door with golden decorations she eventually finds herself meeting, the huntress kicks it wide open, emergency programs ready to be used against the eventual menace in case it’d get too dangerous. She, however, doesn’t plan on backing down until she has won: if she leaves, it’s to get backup, technical or human.

Plus, Akira would have preferred her to have these with her.

The quite literal queen is sitting in her throne with a smug look Ghost Girl has an unforgettable need to remove from her face. Dressed like a business woman in a regal palace, she matches what little about his boss Akira would tell her: short blue-and-green hair, proud, cunning, fierce and merciless. If she wasn’t meant to smash Queen’s face onto the floor for being a terrible human being, she would have commented on her beauty. Instead, she gets mentally ready to duel her.

“If it isn’t Ghost Girl, Zaizen’s favourite bounty huntress…” Her voice resonates in the empty room as an eerie smile makes her onto her face.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you why I’m here,” she simply and drily replies. She doesn’t wait to ask her main question. “What did you do to Zaizen?”

“Perhaps I should tell you would you win over me in a Master Duel, Ms Bessho.”

Goddammit. She still prepares out her Duel Disk and her spirit. This a duel she cannot lose.

“Then Duel it is.”

This may just be the duel of her life.

Queen has a royal-themed deck, because of course she would have one. The issue is to judge what level she is at Duel Monsters: it’s safe to assume she isn’t the first newbie one ca come across in Link VRAINS. It relies on Spell and Trap cards to summon monsters, only to Link Summon what Ema assumes to be her aces. There doesn’t seem to be another summoning method to her deck, but that’s to be seen. Skills are out of the question: this is already something she can put on the side and not worry about. She is willing to trade not being able to use Secret Cure for taking off one factor to take in account.

Ema has to keep it at least a bit safe. Her Altergeists aren’t known for being the safest monsters to play on the field despite how easy her Hexstia and Dragvirion combo feels like to pull off. She needs to be careful and not waste a single opportunity. This may be a Duel with vital stakes at play: she cannot let herself get panicked or else it’ll end terribly for everyone involved, not just her. SOL needs to be slowed down if not stopped if they’re as unreasonable as that woman’s ends and ways to get there: there is always a point where one needs to stop throwing everyone under the bus.

They don’t speak to each other during the duel. Queen seems to do so out of spite and a want not to leak anything out. Ema is doing so as to keep her focus: if she can win this, then she will have a chance at getting her answers and freeing Akira from wherever he’s kept in their real world. If he’s trapped here, then that’s even more of an opportunity not to mess up.

She doesn’t let the questions she could wonder about prevent her from summoning the right monsters and playing the right cards at the right time against the right targets. The situation is too risky and too narrow between them to allow her to do so, to taunt or to show too much pride. She sets her own ego on the side for once: if she wins this Duel, then she will pride herself in it and tease Akira about it for about forever.

Ema gains a momentum by bypassing Queen’s ace Monster, a Link-4 luminous queen thing (doesn’t have the luxury to compliment that one either) and inflecting direct damage to her opponent. Queen herself is a mighty force to reckon with, of course, but she has watched Akira lose to her with all the frustration she could have felt from it. She has, technically, seen how her deck worked, but every duel is different for everyone, thus why she prefers to make sure she doesn’t forget about the cards she could have changed or the optional strategies she may have in store.

Altergeists have to win where Tindangles have lost.

The sudden eerie smile on Queen’s face doesn’t reassure her in the slightest. There is a cold sweat running down her back as she waits in anticipation what is to come. A Flip card gets turned on by her own gestures, as an attempt to destroy it with Hexstia when the monstrous queen on the field can’t be attacked, and there comes the worst. Ema cannot decide herself whether or not this is humiliating or sadistic towards Akira, but in all cases, she doesn’t want to face that monster now.

She doesn’t want to be facing Tindangle Hound here and now.

It’s like fighting against Akira when he isn’t here to control the beast. How much has this “queen” stole from him, to use one of his cards like that?!

“Is… Is this a sick joke of some sort…?” her voice is hesitant but asks anyway.

“I simply took the spolia opima that were to come back to me after my previous victory.”

“You have to know this monster is… This is twisted!”

Ema feels rage boiling in her entire body. This isn’t like her to get upset over a monster in a deck, but this can’t be all there is to it. The smile on Queen’s face, Akira’s unknown whereabouts after his defeat against her and the use of that stupid Latin term all make her rage beyond reason.

Okay, she has to admit, Akira may be more than an ex-teammate for dirty jobs online and her main employer. There is quite obviously something more to it, more to her determination to win than to punish some asshole who put in so much danger someone as young and mentally fragile as Go Onizuka for fucking money, who vivisected and put inside a chip a living being made out of data but with a digital soul, who now uses a card of one of her subordinates to play a duel against someone who came here to, theoretically, save said subordinate.

What it is, she doesn’t have many words to put on, but these feelings are here, they are intense, and she isn’t backing down to determine what they are exactly. She owes him salary, potential blackmail material and maybe other stuff. She came too far to lose, she has her own side-mission and it’s just become uncomfortably personal between that pseudo-monarch corrupted by money and her.

Ema switches perspectives for this duel. There isn’t time to screw around and try to predict what is going to happen next. She has to be careful about Tindangle Hound’s effect to lower her own Monsters’ ATK if they’re Link. A good thing Dragvirion isn’t affected, she thinks, because her methods are about to become stomp-down when her deck isn’t even made for that. She has to destroy that hellish dog before Queen can summon Tindangle Angel and rub salt into the wound on-top of enforcing these two’s lines of defense.

These feelings are very personal, and she won’t let them spill onto the floor for that very reason. She will win against that Queen without a shred of mercy, extract all the information from her even if she has to use her own non-log-out virus against her and then reunite with her fallen partner in crime. She won’t back down. She presses a button on her Duel Disk, hoping its stealthy sides will allow it to go unnoticed, and resumes her turn.

This ends now.

Her plan somewhat works. Queen’s deck has never been made for the Tindangle archetype: her pride will be the loss of her, what an ironic turn of events she cannot not love witnessing. Bypassing a Trap card through Monster effects, using a Spell to break through another barrier, she manages to beat Tindangle Hound without meaning to. She quickly consoles herself by thinking Akira wouldn’t have wanted to see his Monster that way, in that deck, before finishing the duel off by destroying the light monarch on the field.

The palace starts to worsen as the holograms disappear and Ema walks to the fallen queen on the floor, her throne having been destroyed by Hexstia’s final strike. Her virus hasn’t worked, sadly, since all she gets from Queen is a glare and an instant logging-out. Oh well. There is, however, an ironically stereotypical character to how her prison seems to be the room whose door was hidden by the throne. Ema’s instincts never mistake her, but before she goes through the door, she must pick up the Tindangle Hound card which fell to the ground. There are Monsters who don’t deserve to be left behind in a graveyard, and this palace is already becoming one.

Strangely enough, she doesn’t find Acute Cerberus or Tindangle Angel near the Hound. This was, indeed, a twisted joke: separating the siblings figuratively was also rubbing salt into the wound.

The prison part of the palace is as dark as one would expect it to be: the sharp change from overwhelming white to almost complete darkness with neon blue lines hurts her eyes, maybe in a last attempt to blind her and make her go back home, but Ghost Girl doesn’t back down. She never does. She’s so close to freeing her fallen partner in crime, if she was to walk back, she would hold a grudge against herself for the next eternity to come.

All the other “cages”, which look more like cocoons composed of geometrical pieces of metal, are empty. She would have at least expected there to be fallen bounty hunters or previous lovers with dirty on Queen to reveal to the world to be there, but there seems to only be one person and she exactly knows who because, as it stands, he is right in front of her, on the other side of the drawn-out corridor, stuck in a transparent cage. Humiliation really seems to be something Queen is into.

As she arrives in front of it, she brushes her hand against the shell. There has to be a way to open it up, she thinks as she goes past it. It has to be remote-controlled just like everything else in Link VRAINS, probably by a program in Queen’s possession. Nothing she cannot hack: it seems to be less complex than Hanoi’s programming, so she proceeds to open a control panel on her own disk and checks the beast out.

The programming of this thing is far weaker than she could have expected: in minutes, she finds a fatal flaw in the code that allows her to break it from the inside by causing a fatal error, making it vanish in digital fairy powder and its prisoner fall to the ground with a noticeable lack of grace. If they weren’t in a virtual world, he’d have surely scratched his knees on the floor.

Before she knows it Ema has knelt right next to him, deciding whether or not it’s time to truly be earnest and honest or if she should just be smug and mischievous as usual. Her heart, whom she always trusts, tells her not to be such a jackass. Her hands around his shoulders, he feels strangely fragile: he always been slender, perhaps because he has been used to eating little to survive before, but never has she had the feeling he was fragile, as though he was made of glass, before. Maybe it’s not about his frame, then, but if that’s the case, why does it feel that way?

He’s unconscious at first, when she picks him in her arms. She is at first tempted to get him out of that pseudo-palace, hack her avatar some strength to carry him like a bride (and then tease him about it), but she doesn’t have the time to do that: the building threatens to fall on them, breaking a breach at a time, and they need to get out of here fast. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, an arm of hers around his torso right under the armpits and her other hand sustaining his arm in place where it should be. He’s a deadweight, but she’s not going to lose now.

Walking Akira around on her shoulders when he isn’t able to walk is terribly slowing her down and she truly wishes she would have had the time to make herself stronger. On another hand, she can still wish for him to wake up and help himself up. If she isn’t wrong, his own avatar hasn’t been injured in any way: he’ll be fine when he’s going to log off too.

Remind her again why their relationship is “professional”?

The blinding white of the ceilings and walls is slowly fading into an ugly brown, mud covering the walls, moss climbing in every corner, rotting starting to infect the premise. They needed to make it out fast, before anything could break and block their way. Quick, Ghost Girl, run at the speed of sound and don’t look back!

It’s breathless but immensely relieved for herself that Ema eventually makes it out of that place one room at a time, the one she just exited never failing to break right after she’s through with it. When the light of outside virtual sky finally appears in front of her eyes, through a door which isn’t technically far but feel too distant to her own tastes and pace, she secretly hopes very much to make it out alive at that point.

And she actually does: she wins against the clock, manages to get them both out of here with no scratch on their limbs and goes back on her D-Board, sitting on it still out of breath with a man on her lap, trying to recover from the sudden anxiety and pressure to find a safe spot. In theory, she would better off log out and try finding Akira in Den City instead, but she has no idea if he’s even able to log out. She hasn’t detected any external program that could make it so he couldn’t, but with an unconscious avatar, she can’t tell for sure.

They eventually arrive in what she knows to be an empty, desert and hidden spot in New Link VRAINS. That’s only then than Akira chooses to wake up (hah, took him long enough), groggily sitting back up correctly even if his back was already sat against the wall courtesy of his saviour herself. He seems lost for a few minutes as she goes to sit next to him. She doesn’t feel like staying up and he looks too tired to do that. Maybe she can ask him a few questions while they’re here, alone together and sitting on the same level.

“Ema…? Where are we…?” He starts the interrogation station by looking around.

“In a discreet spot in Link VRAINS.”

“Ah, I… I think I see. I don’t remember much from before waking up, but I know I was in SOL’s headquarters and lost a duel against Queen. Wait,” he looks to her with astonishment all over his features but a slight smile nearing, “that means you’ve won against her, right?”

“You called it! I had to escape that crumbling place with your deadweight on my shoulders. You owe me a lot, Akira Zaizen!”

“Oh… I’m sorry for that, then. I’m not sure of what happened, but I’ll make sure to pay you back for this.”

“I trust you on that.”

She then remembers something, and another cheeky smile appears on her lips as she gets it out of her Extra Deck space.

“Ah, right, I almost forgot about that,” she tells him as she gets it out of her disk.

His eyes land on the card in her hands.

“Tindangle Hound?” he wonders out loud as he picks it up again. “What was it doing in your deck?”

“Queen had stolen it from you after your defeat against her, I simply took it back when winning.” She never mentions how Queen also happened to have summoned it against her, maybe another day. “Thought I’d give it back to its rightful owner!”

“Why did she have it in her deck, though? That doesn’t make sense with the archetype and deck type she plays…”

“Well, huh… It really didn’t match her deck to begin with. That’s what caused her defeat against me in a duel where either could have won. I think it was to… intimidate me, or to remind everyone that you had lost against her. That’s pretty messed up if you ask me.”

“I owe you this too now… Thank you very much, Ema.”

Usually, she’d have prided herself in her victory, teased him further, but they’re both tired of fighting for today. Maybe she can allow herself to be honest, just this once…

“I’m sure Aoi and the other two are fighting well as we’re speaking. You don’t have to worry for them.”

“You’re right.”

“By the way… would you happen to be free at some point in the following weeks? I know how you could repay me, and I need to tell you in person.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll make sure to have a free spot for this in my schedule.”

“You’re usually too busy to even tell me that, aren’t you?”

“Well, to be exact… With how damaging this will be to SOL, I don’t expect it to be for a few weeks. I can, however, promise you I’ll think it out, if this is any better.”

“I appreciate the consideration, Akira.”

This doesn’t prevent her from muttering under her breath, “that’s why we never have dates…”; which in turn leads him to abruptly turn his head to her with zero subtlety and an awkward red flashing on his face.

“You said what I heard, right?”

“Yes…” Well, there goes her complete win over today.

“I… suppose we should consider that one day, if you think this is how I can repay you. You’ve done a lot for me these past months. I do, however, not really understand how this could be retribution…”

“…You owe me a date then.”

She cannot tell if he’s either too embarrassed to tell her this is a stupid idea (and it, frankly, would be to her if she hadn’t realized that during her duel) or if he is too awkward to tell her he’s on board. All she’s basing herself from is the timid smile she sees creeping on his face and his suddenly very nervous gestures towards her. It’s as it he forgot he could look at her directly.

“Then so be it…” he eventually spits out, looking in the distance, both of them slipping into a silence which progressively becomes comfortable.

After all, as opposed to him, he has always been more of a thinker than a rusher (except when his sister is involved: in which case, he becomes a furious beast). He needs his time to think this through, to cool down, when she’s always on her feet. Oh wait, so be it. The Blue Oni he represents to her Red is a nice combination too.

As such, she can consider this timid “and so be it” a win, right? This ends in a complete victory for the bounty huntress Ghost Girl, of course: it, however, goes far past this and duels. This is a personal win and nobody can take that back from her.

#vrains #hireshipping #vrainsrarepairweeks #my writing

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goldenchildkatsuki · 6 years

Note

i dont read a lot of fanfiction and idek if its a fanfiction trope but. i dare u to turn one of them into a yandere

boom, done my friend!

Summary: Bakugou and Uraraka have been invited to have lunch with Bakugou’s dad, his boss and his kid. Uraraka was not very fond of Bakugou’s clothing choice.

Writers Note: I asked on Tumblr to send a cliché fanfiction trope in my ask box and I would make a decent Kacchako drabble out of it. This is for the first ask I received, someone DARED me to turn one of them into a yandere which is a trope I had been thinking about writing for a long time. I chose to not write anything too extreme, like abuse or gorey murder but chose to go with my (softer) take of a yandere. And of course it was too cliché to turn Bakugou into a yandere so….

I hope this wasn’t too OOC lmao

Word count: 2.426

AO3 link: (x)

UNDER THE WHITE COLLAR

From his bed she watched him move around the room, patiently waiting for him finish dressing up. His hair was still damp and sticking to his forehead and some strands met his eyelashes. With a groan he would wipe his sweat away whilst rummaging in drawers and piles of dirty laundry.

Uraraka could watch this for hours on end and never even feel the slightest hint of boredom. She would try not to blink for the longest time, to not miss anything of the film that was Bakugou Katsuki.

“Your belt is still unbuckled.”

“I know.”

“You only got one sleeve rolled up.”

“I’m working on it for fuck sakes!” he slightly raised his voice out of frustration, not being able to find a particular clothing item he had been looking for this entire time.

Bakugou walked back to a drawer he had opened at least three times before and opened it again. He kneeled down and swiped his hair back in a smooth motion. Uraraka watched him dig to the back of the drawer and then take out a navy blue tie. He threw it over his shoulder as they dropped from relief and stood up. Uraraka held her breathe as he walked up the mirror above his desk and fixed his hair.

“Ochako, how long do we have left before we need to walk to the station?” Bakugou asked as he ruffled his hair.

The question was not reciprocated, his voice being blocked out by her heartbeat that was echoing in her ears. Feeling the drum throughout her whole body, almost feeling sick as her body temperature started rising with every second that passed. Anxiously she peered at the tie, almost falling from Bakugou’s shoulder.

“Uraraka?”

“What do you need a tie for darling?”

She placed her feet on the cold floor, wiggling her toes impatiently. Uraraka tried to make eye contact with him in the mirror but the boy kept averting his gaze, looking upwards at the strands of hair that weren’t in place. He was thinking, picking out the right words to say. He audibly swallowed, making the tension weigh even heavier in the room.

“My old man suggested I should wear one. Look, I don’t like dressing up for 2 hours of unnecessary chit chat alright but it’s his boss and his kid that are joining us. So, I get why that nervous wreck wants me to look all nice.” His words came out rather smoothly for someone that had to wipe his palms on the back of his pants.

Bakugou gave his hair one more ruffle before giving up on it and facing Uraraka, who stayed silent. Still wiggling her toes she looked at his tie. Slowly a look of distaste clouded her face, with a wrinkled nose stuck up in the air and furrowed brows she watched Bakugou wrap one end of the tie around his neck.

“It’s just a tie Ochako, fuck! Aren’t girl supposed to like dressed up boys?”

Uraraka’s face clouded even more. She couldn’t handle the tone of his voice. Why did push her feelings aside? He knew exactly how she felt. It wasn’t just a tie. And she did like seeing him all dressed up. But only when it’s all for her. Bakugou was a film only she was allowed to watch. A private showcasing only she could get tickets to. Where she can shamelessly pin him till her eyes go dry and her version goes hazy.

Bakugou propped the collar of his white dress shirt and adjusted his tie. “Can you get over it and help me for a second? I haven’t done this in a while.”

Uraraka stood up from the bed and walked over to him as he buttoned up his white dress shirt to the top. She could feel her blood boiling and her sweat get cold. She tried to soften the muscles in her face, but couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from twitching slightly and her nostrils from flaring. At this point her heart was going to give in, it was skipping beats as if it could give out at any moment. She felt so sick. ‘Lovesick’ she called this feeling. Uraraka didn’t mind it feeling this way. It was a sign of true love after all. If your partner didn’t make you come close to feeling like your heart is about to give out then do you really care about them? Do you truly love them?

She held on to both ends of the tie and gripped them tightly. “I like it when you leave a few buttons open, like you always do.” She pulled him closer with every word.

Bakugou chuckled at her. “You know I can’t do that.” His gaze traveled down from her eyes, to her lips, to her hands. He quickly met her eyes again, noticing how white her knuckles were from the strong grip.

“Your dad only suggested it. Don’t you want to show each other off? Don’t you want to show off the fact that your mine?” Uraraka laughed, trying to relieve some of the tension that was still in the air. There was no need for him to tip toe around. They were on one line. He knew exactly what she wanted from him and what he needed to do. It couldn’t be that he was shy could it? Prideful, overconfident and arrogant Bakugou wouldn’t even have the word ‘shy’ in his dictionary. But then why were all nine of his button still up? Maybe her laughter wasn’t enough to relieve the tension and sway him. Maybe she wasn’t enough. To make her stop herself from entering a dark part of her mind Uraraka repeated her question.

“Don’t you want to show off the fact that your mine?”

Bakugou put his hands on hers and looked her in the eye, the look of sternness in his face threw her off. “Look Ochako. Of fucking course I want to do that. But it’s my dad’s boss we’re meeting. Good impressions aside, my dad will abso-fucking-lutely loose his mind when he sees that shit.” His hands slid down to her wrists. “Besides, having such a knock-out of a girl with me isn’t hard to show off, showing each other off is the least of our worries.” He tried to reassure her.

Uraraka pushed their bodies closer together and pouted. “I bought a new dress, I curled my hair, I did my make-up, I tried to look as pretty as I can for you. So you would be proud to have me next to you, hold my hand and show me off. Now, how am I going to show you off?”

Bakugou smirked. “I dressed up too you know. And you can always hold my hand.”

She let an end of the tie slip out of her hand as she pulled at the other end, right from under his collar. “I could do that yes, but would that be enough? I mean, you have a menacing face that can tell other people: ‘don’t touch her, she’s mine.’ I’m nearly not that intimidating…”

She paused and stared at the veins in Bakugou’s neck. “…So how can I say ‘don’t touch him.’?” Bakugou hands slid down to her forearms as she raised her hands to the top button of the dress shirt, fingers hovering above it as she looked up at the gallant boy.

“Ochako.”

“Darling.”

With a single finger she traced the edge of the button and waited for him to continue speaking. But the small distance between them and the hypnotizing movement of her finger left him speechless and flustered.

“Don’t be shy. You’re breaking my heart when you’re like this.” Uraraka said in a low voice. “But don’t worry,” she said as she started to undo the first button. “I’ll make it so you can’t shy away from me, leave a mark or two, so you and others know who you belong to.”

Bakugou’s pupils dilated as her fingers brushed his skin. “We can’t-“

Uraraka continued to pop two more buttons open as she watched him give into her subtle demands. After opening the third button she placed her lips right under his collar bone and started sucking on his skin. She felt his unsteady breathe under her lips and couldn’t help but smile. After making sure she left a mark she lifted her head and wiped the now bruised patch of skin clean with her thumb.

“You love me right?” Uraraka let the tie fall to the floor and placed her hand on the back of his neck.

“You know I do.” He breathed next to her ear.

“Since when have you become so scared of showing it?”

Uraraka moved towards his shoulder, only having moved inches away from the first bruise and left another one on Bakugou’s skin, this time she was satisfied with the color the bruise had started to take. A deep shade of fuchsia. Passion made Bakugou jerk under her lips, a deep sigh leaving his body as she cleaned off the love bite again. She watched Bakugou adjust himself, keeping himself from shaking as his fingers struggled to unbutton the rest of his shirt.

“Listen. Back of the neck. Not above the collar. Got it?”

“You’ve lost your say in this moments ago.” a malicious smiled appeared on her face as she watched Bakugou undress himself. He turned around and revealed her canvas to her. His back was filled with bruises and scratch marks she had left on him. Most of the bruises had started to fade or had turned into an interesting mix of colors. She loved the bites that had turned yellow, it made her feel proud of her work because it lasted on his body for so long. The scratch marks from morning were still visible, his skin still being swollen and slightly irritated. She traced the long red lines coming from right in between his shoulders blades to right in between his back dimples, which was one of her favorite places to mark him. It left him begging for more of her and completely weak at the knees.

She loved the reaction of others when Bakugou’s shirt lifts when he yawns or when he forgets to button up properly. First a look of confusion on their faces, followed with wide eyes and an unhinged jaw from surprise and an uneasy crooked smile on a red face to end it with. If she ever caught a different reaction from people, if they didn’t have that reaction and seemed to have gained the slightest bit more interest in him, her whole mood would turn sour. She wished to hurt those people. Whilst still knowing it was morally wrong she hadn’t dare hurt or even confront anyone for possibly lusting over someone that was out their reach. Instead she projected the frustration out on Bakugou, leaving more and more marks on him to show people how impossible it was to take away her canvas, it was full and there was no room for others. He was hers and hers alone. Her film, her canvas, her love.

Uraraka chose a spot in the curve going from his neck to his shoulder and decided to revive the color in an old bruise. She placed her nails on his tough and muscled back and moved upwards and to the front, right below his ear and continued working on her masterpiece. Now making her tongue slide over his skin as she sucked, making him shudder and throw his head back.

“Fuck Ochako, I said not above the god damn collar didn’t I? He groaned towards the ceiling.

Uraraka pressed down her nails and moved her lips to under his jaw. A growl escaped Bakugou’s mouth as she started sucking harder than she did before, intending to make the bruise large and dark color. She felt a tingling sensation on her tongue, it slightly hurt but she kept going. Bakugou let out a small wince and put a hand on the back of her head.

“Shit, that one kinda hurt.”

“Now you know how I felt.” Her voice sounded intense, feelings of lust battling with the anger and the slight heartache that was still inside her body. ‘

Uraraka’s nails traveled down his back, not digging in too hard so she wouldn’t open up the scars from the morning. Her lips brushing along her jaw as she kept choosing new places to create dark bites. Leaving a small kiss after every new addition to her masterpiece.

Eventually she faced Bakugou again. The sweat on his forehead had reappeared and she could read hunger of his lips. He looked so beautiful when he was trying to contain himself like that. She couldn’t decide what was more interesting; having him in the palm of her hand or letting him take over. Both ideas left her feeling impure and bothered. Making sure he wouldn’t combust right there and then she took her time to wipe the saliva of the trail of purple supernova like bruises.

He looked so beautiful it hurt.

So beautiful that she didn’t want to go out, that she didn’t want to share his looks. She wanted him all for herself and keep on painting her canvas. Carve her initials into his skin, suck every blood cell to the surface, make him her own piece of art.

“I think this says more than ‘don’t touch him.’” Bakugou breathed, frustration still hanging of his lips.

“That was the point.”

“So, are you happy now?”

“Very.” Uraraka smiled at him.

She stepped away and let Bakugou pick his shirt and tie up from the floor started to dress himself again. She watched his muscles relax as he had accepted that this was not the time for him to shudder below him. It was about him. Uraraka wasn’t the one who needed love and affection at that point, she didn’t need a reminder. She never really did either way. The mutual understanding they created around this was more than satisfactory.

Bakugou grumbled when he couldn’t fix his tie, Uraraka lifted his chin and did it for him, smiling proudly as she saw what she had done. Bakugou turned to the mirror and lifted his chin.

“Somehow I thought it wasn’t thát bad, but fucking hell was I wrong.”

He pressed on the love bites and squinted as they still hurt.

“My old man can never look at me the same way again after this stupid lunch.”

“At least he knows that you’re loved.”

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