#Overhead Obstacles

[fogaminghub]

🚀🌈 Ready to uncover the mysteries in Infinity Nikki? Our latest guide walks you through every step, from jumping over obstacles to purifying Esselings and entering the mystical Temple Gate! 🌌✨ Perfect for both newcomers and seasoned players wanting to brush up on their skills. Dive into the adventure now! 🎮💖

[madaqueue]

CARVE ME UP AND EAT ME

there was almost no information on the mysterious cult nestled into the mountainside near your hometown, with even less knowledge about its leader. curiosity sets you on your path to investigate, but something else manages to keep you.

pairing: vampire!suguru geto x f!reader

themes/content: dark content (dubcon). smut. cult leader suguru, blood drinking/feeding, like mind control-ish? idk i was making up vampire rules here, pet names (little lamb), fingering (reader receiving), p in v (missionary). 18+, MDNI (wk: 7.6k)

a/n: HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!! thanks for getting freaky with me this month, it's been such a blast and i love you all!!!! hope you get to dress up and have lots of yummy candy tonight :) mwah!!!!!

quintober masterlist | main masterlist

People rarely came back from the mountains.

When they did, they were…different. Months, even years having passed from their disappearance, and suddenly returning with no memory of it. As though their time away suddenly ceased to exist. They couldn’t recall what they had done, who they were with, anything that could help the townspeople pin down the mysterious group making their home in the depths of the woods.

Any efforts to catch the so-called cult were obviously futile - the town lost enough soldiers that the leaders decided it was pointless to send anymore sacrifices.

So, there was a sort of peace. Well, less peace, and more a silent war, a battle of contempt, one that left everyone on edge. Whenever someone went missing, the entire village stood on edge, waiting but never searching.

But you were trained well, oh so well.

“Never go out at night.” “Never stray from us.” “Never get lost.”

“Never go into the mountains.”

They praised you for your obedience, feeding it to you from dirtied palms, making you kneel before them to drink from it. It felt good to be good.

Obedience is strength.

Their orders pulled at the strings of your muscles, dictating your actions, your movements, your very thoughts. They pulled and pulled and pulled until you were stretched taut, desperately tightening you into a form they deemed desirable.

It was only a matter of time before the strings snapped.

The fight was blurry now, nothing more than screams and tears and broken expectations so sharp you worried you may cut yourself. Your feet hit the ground outside your parents’ home faster than you could breathe in the burning air, cold in your lungs.

You had always obeyed.

So now, perhaps you could enact your final act of disobedience. The one thing that had been taught to you so deeply until it buried itself under your skin.

The path up the mountain wasn’t nearly as dangerous as others made it seem. Truthfully, it was shockingly well-maintained, the occasional branch snapping under your feet but no other obstacles.

What could even be so bad about this place, anyways?

The people who returned were never injured, always fed and clean and cared for. They always came back in a fresh set of robes draped over their skin, no signs of markings or damage painted across their bodies.

The options weighed heavy on your tongue. Either you’d reach the cult’s temple, or you’d die trying.

Either way, you’d be acting on your own. You’d be independent, free. With an exhale, you blew the remaining obedience into dust, joining the stars sparkling overhead.

The moon seemed pleased with your choice, at least, guiding your path clearly through the woods. Whenever the ground below your feet disappeared, you knew you had misstepped, returning easily to the worn-in gravel placed along the way. Eventually, the trees became sparse, no longer guarding you from whatever lays ahead.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust before focusing on the building before you, a gentle glow illuminating the temple through its exterior screens. It was certainly different than you imagined, expecting high stone barriers walling off a great fortress, leaving you to wonder: could masses of soldiers truly not pierce the paper screens protecting this deadly palace?

Yet, you couldn’t help but feel welcomed; it was unimposing, the warm lights flickering inside a definite sign of life. How many people call this their home? How many people serve here?

The wooden steps leading to the entrance creak slightly below your weight, palm hesitantly resting on the sliding door. Doubt flashes across your mind, the pull of your family threatening to tug you back home - should you turn around, forget this silly stunt and return to the life you had known?

Before you can move, the screen slides open in your grasp.

“Do come in,” a soft voice calls from inside as light floods your vision.

Your weight makes you stumble forward as your feet move on their own, carrying you into the room. It’s nice inside, the smell of sage lingering in the air as you make your way to the center. Before you is a man, his green and gold robes hanging loosely from his shoulders, the bare skin covered only by inky locks cascading down his back. His position looks almost leisurely as he kneels, his eyes scanning your figure.

“Sit.”

And you do - your knees buckle as you lower yourself to the ground.

A devilish grin spreads across his lips as he follows your motions. For a moment, his gaze locks on yours, deep purple eyes staring back.

“Quite an obedient little thing, aren’t you?” he purrs.

Air rushes into your lungs through a gasp, but you can’t stop the muscles in your neck from nodding.

What the fuck is happening? Why can’t you control your body?

As fear begins to course through your nerves, the stranger in front of you lets out a breathy giggle. “Good, that’s very good,” he muses.

When he rises to stand, your heart drops as you realize just how deeply you may have fucked up. He’s tall, easily towering over you. The bottom of his robes graze the floor as he circles you quietly - no, silently.

The sound of his humming vibrates in the air - you want to look at him, monitor him for any malicious intent, but you can’t bring yourself to turn your head.

When he’s completed his course around you, he returns to his seat on the floor. Perching himself on the balls of his feet, he leans forward. Cold fingers wrap around your face, pushing your cheeks together as he easily maneuvers you in his grasp. His eyes burn your skin as you realize:

He’s inspecting you.

With a pleased huff he releases your head, settling back across from you. That same smirk rests across his lips as he speaks. “Tell me, why did you come here, little lamb?”

The sound of your voice hits the air before you realize it’s yours. “I ran away.”

“Oh?” With a tilt of his head, his eyes crease. “Well then, I suppose you’ve found your new home. Welcome.”

Silently, he rises once more. This time, he extends a pale hand out to you. “I can show you to your room, if you’d like.”

At his words, the tendons within your body relax, more at ease. Finally under your own control, you raise a hesitant arm. Is this what you want?

Your palm rests lightly upon his.

He smiles.

“Good choice,” he whispers as you rise to your feet.

The temple’s grounds are beautiful, even in the dark. Flickering candlelight lines the stone paths as you walk through tended gardens, over wooden bridges and small streams. He guides you to a house near the back, tucked safely into the mountainside.

The paper slide shudders as it opens, revealing the outline of a bed covered in crisp white sheets.

“You can sleep here tonight. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to call for me,” he informs you, each syllable floating through the night air.

With one swift motion he turns, returning down the path you came from.

“Wait!” you call - as the command settles, you sheepishly cross your hands. Dark hair falls over his shoulder as he turns to face you. “How…how will I find you?”

His eyes close as he laughs. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll find you.” And with that, he disappears into the darkness.

–

The sun rises hesitantly here. It peeks its head through the translucent screens, barely illuminating your room enough to rouse you. When you finally wake, your thoughts swirl in confusion for a moment - where are you? what happened? - before you remember the previous night, the path beneath the watchful moon, the man who led you here.

Despite the unfamiliar environment, the warnings carved into your skin about the dangers of this place, you can’t bring yourself to feel afraid - after all, if he wanted to hurt you, he surely would have by now, right?

There’s an ache in your muscles as you stretch your arms overhead, bare feet resting upon the wooden floor, cool from the morning air. Idle hands begin searching the room as you open the hand-carved drawers, the scent of pine still lingering on them.

In the first, you find fresh sets of sheets. Below that, cleanly folded towels.

Moving to the next chest, your eyes widen as you scan its contents. Inside lie beautiful silks in every shade - your palms run over blues that mirror the sea, pinks the color of sunrise, greens brought from the forest floor. Each one feels more extravagant than the last, and as your awe clears, you suddenly feel ashamed to be holding them. They slip through your fingers as you shy away in embarrassment, your dirtied skin unworthy of touching them. They aren’t yours, after all - you’re nothing more than a guest here.

Turning to the closet nearby, you swing open the heavy doors, only to be met with even more luxury, this time robes hanging in neat rows.

You shouldn’t take them, but then again, the man did say anything you needed was yours…and you could use a new set of clothes after your travels last night…

Hesitantly, you pull one of the kimonos from the rack - in your hands, it catches the morning sun, small threads of gold reflecting across the room interwoven with the purple cloth. Sliding into it, you can’t help but notice the way it fits you perfectly, the length extending to just above your ankles, the sleeves resting gently along your wrists.

It feels foreign on your skin, surely you look like a fool, nothing more than a child trying on their parent’s work clothes. Glancing around the room, you search for a mirror to confirm your suspicions, but none seem to catch your eye. Oh well, you sigh, you’ll just have to face everyone looking like a stranger.

Stepping outside, a cool breeze brushes past your cheeks, your arms wrapping the robes tighter around your body as you fight off a shiver. It must be colder at this altitude, no longer afforded the protection of the very mountain you now reside on.

Small pebbles crunch beneath your feet as you make your way along the temple grounds. You try to retrace the path you took from the main house last night, but it quickly proves useless, your memory already foggy. Maybe it just looks different during the day?

Nevertheless, you don’t mind being lost here - the area is truly beautiful. Flowers fill the green spaces, ones you’d never seen before, shades of purple and red dotting the meadows. In the distance, tall trees poke against the horizon, leaves dancing in the wind.

As you wander, you pass identical buildings to the one you stayed in last night. Had you walked past all of these on your way there? Surely you would have remembered them, right?

This time, of course, the lights inside are off. There’s no use for them under the sun that’s now settling into the sky above. There are fewer clouds up here, you realize, perhaps another effect of the altitude.

By the time you find your way back to your new home (only able to identify it by the screen door left ajar), darkness has begun growing along the grounds, insects chirping their nighttime songs from nearby trees.

Sliding your shoes off, the smell of something tantalizing hits your senses.

You hadn’t even realized how hungry you were until you’re suddenly faced with the most delicious looking meal sitting upon the table. Steam rises from the bowl of salty broth, and for a moment you overlook the fact that someone must have been here to deliver it as you hurriedly shuffle to sit down, scooping noodles into your mouth with the chopsticks resting nearby. Finally, the ache in your stomach eases as you slurp the remaining liquid, allowing it to practically dribble down your chin.

A long shadow is suddenly cast along your room from behind you.

“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying dinner.”

Your spine shoots straight up as you turn, wiping your face with the back of a suddenly clammy palm.

“Y-yes,” you stutter, attempting to hide the utter lack of manners in how you had ravenously consumed the meal.

The man from last night stands in your doorway, leaning against the frame as he crosses his arms. That same smirk spreads across his features.

“Thank you!” you suddenly blurt, aware of your impoliteness. “It was…very good. Thank you.”

Another light chuckle dances across the air. “Please, no need for formalities. I’m simply glad you are enjoying the food. It’s been quite some time since I’ve had to make something for someone other than myself.”

Questions lie along the tip of your tongue, but before they can escape, he turns with a wave. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Wait!” You internally curse yourself again for the interruption, but one question in particular was burning its way through your throat. “I realized I never learned your name…”

“Oh,” he smiles through thin lips. “My name is Suguru, but most call me Master Geto. You can choose whatever name you like.”

Warmth floods your face at the title, and further at his informality. “O-okay.”

With another small flick of his wrist, he continues the path away from your room. “Anyways, goodnight,” he calls into the darkness ahead.

“Goodnight, Master Geto,” you murmur to yourself.

–

Your second day is all too similar.

You wake.

You dress.

You wander.

You eat.

This time, Master Geto does not stop by your room at all. You’re beginning to wonder what he does all day - hell, you’re beginning to wonder what anyone here does all day, not having seen a single other person.

All that free time leaves you to fester on your thoughts.

When you were a child, you heard the rumors of this place. At first, it was a sort of commune, a community where disillusioned and lost souls could go to find purpose. But when they stopped coming back, the stories twisted into more sinister adaptations. It was a religious group, who worshiped their leader as a false god. Then, it was a sex cult, who offered their bodies to him as a form of salvation. After that, it was a political power who strove to overtake all of society and enact his rules as law.

Time after time, story after story, it was always him at the forefront: some mysterious man who cornered and compelled his followers to obey.

And yet, you find yourself doubting it. How could he lead if he was never present? More than that, who could he lead if there were no loyal servants here to be led?

It didn’t add up.

The townsfolk were known for fear mongering - perhaps it was nothing more than a way to avoid losing any more citizens, to prevent them, too, from joining the strange man in the mountains.

But then again, you can’t quite shake the power you felt radiating from him when you were in that room, the way he so easily manipulated your body (and your thoughts) with nothing more than his words.

The thoughts string together in your mind as you pace the temple grounds during your walks, the only routine grounding you to the passage of time.

Today the sun struggles to shine through the clouds, a general greyness cast upon everything. It’s been almost two weeks, and you’ve barely seen him at all. Occasionally he’ll stop by your room, but only hover in the doorway, never entering. His voice always seems so calm when he speaks to you, offering simple observations about your meals, as though he was slowly investigating your preferences (not that he needed to - you were grateful simply to be fed - but he persisted nonetheless).

Tonight, you return to find the entrance to your room closed, the candlelight from inside casting a welcoming glow. As you slide the shoji open, a familiar scent fills the space. Your mouth waters as your feet carry you forward on instinct.

With the first bite from the bowl, you nearly moan in pleasure at the taste.

“Is it good?”

This time, you don’t jump at his silent approach. Glancing over your shoulder, you smile through a full mouth. “It’s incredible.”

“Good,” he laughs softly, “I’m glad. I was worried it wouldn’t be as good as you remembered.”

“Master Geto,” you swallow, “this is delicious.” Through another bite, your voice lowers, “It’s just like the oyakodon my parents used to make.”

“I know.”

The statement catches you momentarily off-guard, questions catching in your throat making you nearly choke.

He senses the change immediately as your shoulders close off, confusion building behind your eyes. “I apologize if I overstepped,” he begins, uncrossing his arms and allowing them to hang loosely by his sides in the slightly oversized robes, “I remembered that dish being popular in town, so I thought it might bring some comfort.”

“Oh,” you hum, tentatively chewing another bite. It’s a reasonable explanation, you suppose, even if it leaves more uncertainty swirling in your lungs.

After a moment of silence, his presence in your doorway begins to feel…awkward.

Normally by this point he’d have left with a wave, fading into the darkness outside. But not tonight. Tonight, he stays, swaying slightly within the entrance.

As your gaze covers him, the traditional robes remind you - perhaps you were being even more rude than you expected. You still knew very little about him, but maybe he abided by more traditional laws, one that forbade a man from entering a woman’s sleeping quarters without her permission.

(You always thought those rules were a bit silly, but now was not the time for debate - now was the time to learn more about the man lingering outside.)

“Would you like to come in?” You place the question into the air as you swallow the final piece of your dinner.

His grin threatens to tear across his cheeks as he nods politely. “Of course.”

As he approaches the table inside, his presence suddenly feels overwhelming. Even though he’s not physically much larger than you, something about him suffocates the space, his soul spreading out until there’s no room left. It’s stifling.

But when he sits across from you, it gets sucked back into himself. You can breathe again.

“How is the temple?” he asks easily.

“It’s beautiful,” you muse, “but…where is everyone?”

“Everyone?” He cocks his head to the side. “Oh! You mean the others. They aren’t particularly active during the day - you know how hot it gets here.”

In an instant, it feels right - the memories of the brisk mornings become hazy in your mind, replaced with the sun beaming overhead. Maybe you even returned to your room with sweat glistening along your skin after a particularly long walk.

Suguru notices the way your vision clouds over as the experiences rewrite themselves. If you were more present, perhaps you’d be able to decode the emotion flashing across his face as his nose scrunches and eyebrows furrow.

He stands suddenly, pulling you from your internal trance.

“Well, I suppose I should be going now,” he hums, gliding seamlessly to the doorway once again. “Goodnight.”

Before you can breathe a question, he’s gone, the rattling screen door the only proof of his existence.

–

You think you’re going insane here.

When you fled, you wanted to find something exciting, a new experience, an act of defiance. You wanted something to fill the emptiness in your soul and make you into something else, someone stronger, someone braver, someone more than the obedient little girl you left behind.

But now, with every repeated step through the temple grounds, you feel yourself collapsing inwards. The support beams inside you aren’t strong enough, cracking under the weight of loneliness.

Why wasn’t anyone here?

Why wasn’t anyone helping you?

Even Master Geto’s presence became desired, in spite of the slight unease that brewed within your stomach when he was around. It was like an addiction, as though he knew just how to feed you enough of him to keep you coming back, to keep you starving.

Ironic, isn’t it? That here, in a place with all your needs met, with delicious meals and extravagant clothes and plush beds, you find yourself destitute. Hunger pangs shoot up your chest as you eat alone, the robes begin stifling each breath, too hot even as the days grow colder. Every night you become increasingly acquainted with the wooden beams drawn above your bed.

You’re empty.

On your thirty-first night, after hours laying alone in the dark, you wonder if perhaps the moon would have any advice for you. She’s always watched over you, maybe she could guide you.

Outside, the gravel shifts beneath your feet. The candles are lit once again, lining the paths throughout the grounds. You’ve never seen anyone light them, and yet every night, their flames continue to burn (not that you need them, of course - you’ve grown accustomed to this place, steps tracing it like palm lines).

So you trust your legs when they carry you forward. Until you’re once again at the entrance of the main temple, the same warmth flickering from inside.

The door slides open easily, the hesitation that used to live in your muscles now replaced with tired indignation. You no longer have to wait for Master Geto’s command to enter (even though you want it, you want it so badly, to be told what to do and where to go and how to act and what to think until you’re nothing but his little puppet because then at least you could be something).

A part of you expected him to be in his chambers given the late hour. But a more possessive part hopes he’d be here, waiting for you.

Your lungs breathe a sigh of relief as you feel his gaze. He smiles as you stand in the doorway.

“What’s my little lamb doing up so late?” he coos, beckoning you inside.

Rubbing your eyes, you take your seat on the floor next to him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

It’s been some time since you’ve been here, you realize - perhaps since the first night you arrived - but it feels comfortable, the scent of smoke lingering in the air. And Master Geto is here, too - that surely helps.

“I see. Tell me, would you like me to make you some tea?”

Your head nods on its own, perhaps an effect of your recent insomnia.

Silently, he rises, moving easily through the room to collect his arsenal. Armed with a maroon teapot and a single cup, he returns to where you rest in the center of the room. Dark liquid pours into the mug before he places it in front of you.

The first sip burns your tongue slightly, but you avoid wincing - you wouldn’t want to seem ungrateful. You wouldn’t want to push him away.

Deep eyes watch your every move, drinking you in. That quiet discomfort is back, but you shove it down with a forceful swallow. After all, if you seem distrustful, it may make him unhappy, or worse, leave you. After so long without him, you’re content to sit under his blanket of silence.

“How are you enjoying your time here?”

Your throat catches for a moment. Should you tell him it’s killing you, eating you alive and breaking you down? Should you tell him how much you’ve missed him? No - surely he’d think you strange, you barely know each other despite the time you’ve spent here.

“It’s been…comfortable.”

He tilts his head through a thoughtful hum. He allows the quiet to choke you for a moment before he continues. “And yet, you’re here at this hour. Tell me, why?”

Your lips are moving on your own, fighting against your better interest. “I’ve missed you, Master Geto.”

“Oh?” He seems pleased with your response, letting out that tantalizing little chuckle. “What is it about me you’ve missed?”

This time, you’re able to stifle your voice before it betrays you. Through another sip, you let the words simmer on your tongue before he speaks again-

“Tell me.”

“I missed being told what to do,” you blurt, nearly spilling the tea that had been resting behind your lips.

Thin lips tug into a smirk as he eyes you, and you can’t help but feel you’ve answered correctly, even if it was against your will.

That fear bubbles inside your chest once again, but this time it’s tainted with something else, something hot. Something you would be tempted to call desire.

Adjusting his weight, muscled legs sprawl before him. “Come here, little lamb,” he purrs.

So easily he pulls your strings. In an instant you’re crawling towards him, until you’ve settled upon his lap, head resting on his shoulder. Perhaps a month ago you would have been scared at how easily he maneuvers you to his will, but after countless days left with only your own thoughts to drive you, it’s a welcome reprieve. A body is a heavy thing to carry alone; there’s no harm in letting someone else borrow it for a moment.

Slender fingers card through your hair, melting you beneath his touch. Until all that’s left is a fluid form in the outline of your flesh; it makes it all the more easy to shape that way.

“You must be tired, poor thing,” Suguru hums into the crown of your head.

“Mmm,” you hum in response, eyelids fluttering closed.

“Go on then, sleep.”

And your vision melts into his darkness.

–

When you wake, everything feels stiff. The room, your body, the blankets cocooned around you. Stale air sits in your lungs as you rise from the bed.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room, landing on wood floors and drawn shades. Everything is covered in a fine layer of dust except you, the only living thing here.

Nothing moves except for your breathing, no sounds besides the mattress creaking as you stand. Your thighs are tense, aching with each step forward. At least your robe is comfortable, even if it’s not the one you remember falling asleep in.

That memory itself feels fuzzy - how long had you been here?

But the slippers on your feet are warm, and you don’t feel that gnawing ache inside your stomach anymore. Maybe it doesn’t really matter.

Sliding the bedroom door open, you wander into the hallway. At the end, flickering candlelight casts a glow across the familiar carpet, the same as in the main building. Oranges and greens blur in your vision as you make your way to it, and your heart picks up its pace as you walk, drawing you in.

It lurches when you see him.

Master Geto.

“You’re finally awake, my little lamb.” His voice is smooth like silk, softer than the sheets that had cradled you as you slept. “Come in.”

The room is beautiful, dark reds and browns lining every surface, especially the bed he lays upon. The material is cool on your skin, flushed from sleep.

“You slept for quite a while,” he hums, beginning to slowly run his fingers over your hair. “Do you feel better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Why thank me?”

“I think…I think it was because of you.” The sentence trails up at the end, leaving it a question. One he does not decide to answer.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Master Geto.”

His lips spread into a smile as he rises, silently moving to the teapot resting in the corner. With his back momentarily to you, it’s easier to remember all the questions you ought to ask - how long was I asleep for? where is everyone? why am I here?

But they’re too overwhelming, too big. You aren’t sure he’d answer them, anyways - you aren’t sure you’d want an answer. It’s easier to not ask.

“I’m not sure I should stay here anymore.”

His shoulders stiffen, just enough that the tea nearly spills over the edge of the cup. He sets it down on the table beside you.

“And why is that?”

“I just…” you trail off, holding the mug in your hands. It’s warm, making your palms itch. “I’m not sure there’s anything for me to do here.”

“You keep me company. Is that not enough?”

“It is, but I just…I guess I don’t feel like I’m doing a good job.” It’s easier to speak when you only have to face the steaming liquid held in your lap. “I feel lost without you. I don’t know what to do with my time. I mostly just wander around and hope I see you, or hope you give me something to do. I like that, but I’m not even doing anything. You’re never around during the day anyways, so then I end up festering with my thoughts and just feel worse. I’m losing my mind here.”

A slender finger traces up your neck, tilting your chin so you’re forced to look at him. His eyes hold a dark ice behind them, the kind that would slice open ships and kill sailors in the middle of the night, the kind the sea only makes when it’s craving blood.

“You have a purpose here, little lamb, you just can’t see it.”

You can’t hold his gaze, so you allow it to fall to the pink and red of his lips. “Then tell me what it is! I want to do something, please Master Geto.” Nails leave crescent-shaped marks in your skin as you grip the teacup.

“I can’t tell you, not yet.”

“Either tell me, or I’m leaving.”

You aren’t sure where the words came from, but they shock you as they land. Perhaps some deep part of your soul, some part the moon uncovered on your walk to the temple, growing brighter under her protection.

Fire, then ice flares behind him. He forces his shoulders back, cooling his tone. “Why don’t you drink some tea and calm down a bit, then we can talk about this?”

“I don’t want your tea! I want to know what’s going on!”

“I said, drink.”

The muscles in your arms tighten to bring the cup to your mouth. Liquid is forced past your lips through a choke. It burns your throat.

Once it’s empty, you drop it, the mug clanging against the floor. Tears prick the corners of your eyes in pain, and Master Geto seems tense. Lowering himself to the ground, he gingerly picks up the cup, allowing his palm to graze yours as he rises. Silently, he glides to the corner of the room where steam rises from the still-full teapot.

With everything in you, you force your mouth to move. “How do you do that?” Your voice is hoarse.

“Do what?”

“That,” you stumble, trying to explain. “Make me…do things.”

Six seconds pass before he answers.

“Do you know what obedience means?”

You nod.

“Tell me, what does it mean to you?”

“It means to do as another person says, always.”

Glancing at you from over his shoulder, his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Exactly.” He pours more liquid into your cup, a silent apology in his own misshapen way. “Some must be trained into obedience through leashes and chains, but others are born for it, their souls a softer shape, one that’s easier to mold.”

The mug is warm in your hands as your fingers wrap around the ceramic, accepting it from his grasp.

“Someone like you, for example, was made to obey. You feel it, don’t you? That emptiness when you aren’t being commanded?”

As you nod, something inside you aches, a hole where your autonomy should be. And here is Master Geto, so kindly offering to fill it.

“That makes it all the more effortless to follow someone, you see. I can sense it, the way your body practically begs me to control it.” He explains it easily with a wave of his hand, as though a few sentences could make you understand.

And yet, you do. It feels right to be led by him, molded by him, controlled by him. It’s the comfort you’ve felt, the warmth that clouds your thoughts whenever you’re near him.

“Is that…is that what I’m doing here?” A large hand reaches over to rub slow circles into your back through the robe - his robe, you now realize. “I’m here to follow orders and do whatever you say?”

“No, no, not at all.” A sound close to a laugh brushes through his throat at the thought. “You’re here for something else.”

You finish the second cup of tea - it’s easier to drink now that your throat has already been burned. “Please, tell me why. I promise not to leave, please, Master Geto.”

Dark eyes fall to the empty cup in your hands, then back to you. So powerless in his grasp, the smell of him lingering on your clothes, on your skin, on your breath. An impossible scent to lose, even if you were to run.

“Do you know what a vampire is?”

Confusion swirls in your mind at the question. “Yes? I’ve heard of them, of course. Creatures who live forever and drink blood to survive, right?”

“Exactly,” he smiles, voice smooth like the silk wrapping around your body. “There are other components too, of course. Other powers. The commands, for example. And you’ve heard of those coming back from my temple, yes? How they return with no recollection of their time here?”

“Yes.”

“They were ones who ran - who I allowed to run, of course. They didn’t please me, or they were too weak to keep my company. But as you can imagine, I couldn’t allow them to tell others of what they had seen here, regardless of how stupid some of them may have been. So, they may survive, but the memories must go. And that’s just a fraction of what I’m capable of.” His words rise and fall in pitch, the most visible sign of excitement you’ve ever seen in him, before it flattens again. “Many think vampires are dangerous, but they aren’t, not if they’re able to control themselves. It’s a matter of obedience, you see.”

“Obedience,” you whisper into the empty space.

“If one can stay in control of their desires, it’s barely any different than how a human lives.”

Your hands fiddle with the hem of the robe, teeth chewing on your lip. “Why are you telling me this, Master Geto?”

The finger on your chin trails up until his hand rests upon your cheek. When your eyes finally meet his, he smiles, a gesture you don’t return. Your heart beats loud, pulling you into him.

“You know why.”

And you feel it, in the depths of your stomach. The true weight of his horror, his power, settles like obsidian in your chest. A cough stifles from your mouth from the coal-black dust inside you.

His thumb runs over your lips, pressing down on the plump flesh. You should run, you should scream and beg for help and go back to your parents and pretend this never happened. You aren’t safe here, you shouldn’t stay a moment longer.

All your body can do is quicken your pulse, thrumming up your neck.

Your lips part. His thumb slides past them.

When he smiles, he seems pleased, and you feel warm like the tea spreading through your muscles with each breath. Flickering candlelight casts a shadow across his eyes, and they seem to glow with hunger.

“Are you scared?”

His skin tastes sweet as it settles on your tongue. You slowly shake your head, humming a soft, “No.”

A twitch of a smirk plays across his lips. He didn’t even have to compel you. They spread wider, allowing sharp, whitened fangs to poke through. Your eyes widen and pupils dilate as they dig into his lower lip, red blooming beneath the skin.

“You should be.” He’s leaning forward, until he’s so close you block the light from cascading across his face. In the shadows of your body, he looks monstrous, all flashes of black and white. “And yet, you stay. Tell me, why? What could you possibly hope to achieve?”

Air rushes through your lungs, and the words tumble out in a single breath. “I want to obey you, Master Geto.”

Tilting his head to the side, dark bangs obscure his eyes.

“Ah, I understand now. You really were made for this, weren’t you?”

Sliding his thumb from your mouth, he closes the distance between you. A long finger tilts your chin upwards, locking your gaze on him.

“You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

You nod. You can’t help it - you want to do anything he tells you; you will do anything he tells you.

“Good.” Pink lips brush against yours. His breath is cool as he whispers, “Then lay down.”

The sheets are chilled against your burning skin as your back rests upon them. It’s easier, now, the way you’ve accepted your muscles enacting his will. It feels right to let him pull your strings, letting him shape you into whatever pose he sees fit.

He doesn’t even need to command you to open your legs, large palms spreading your knees apart easily, allowing them to fall with the weight of his gravity. Your clothes are gone in an instant, laid bare before him, returned to your natural form before the god that granted it. It’s only natural.

Hot breath hits your core, cold eyes resting on your face. His thumb trails a path along your skin until it lands upon your clit, each slow circle another rotation around his orbit.

It’s almost too much, your body writhing under his touch, desperation making your hips rut uselessly into him. But he’s just…watching you.

“P-please,” you can’t help but whine, trying to grind into him for any additional ounce of friction. Master Geto simply continues his agonizingly slow pace.

Your gaze meets his for a moment, fire crackling beneath it as his lips tug into a sinister grin, a predator about to consume its prey.

Eat me, your body begs, I’m yours.

Oh, he knows.

His palm opens, sliding two fingers easily into your cunt. Just as he curls upwards, sharp teeth move from poking through his lip into the soft flesh of your inner thighs. For the violence crackling beneath his skin, he’s surprisingly gentle as his canines sink into you.

Because he doesn’t want it to hurt.

Not yet.

The prickling pain tingles your senses as he pulls your first orgasm from you, a faint moan humming in your throat.

When he rises from between your legs, red dribbles from his lips. He crackles with pride, completely unabashed; if anything, he’s proud.

Warmth blankets your body as he crawls on top of you, a wolf stalking a lamb. And you can’t bring yourself to run.

Muscled shoulders bare themselves under the flickering lights as he slowly sheds his robes, pale and morphing, too blurry to focus on. If you were more naive, you’d be tempted to call him an angel.

“You taste so sweet,” he purrs, his face now mere centimeters from yours.

When he kisses you, a mix of metal and cum tangles on your tongues, intoxicatingly you. Every ounce of his weight rests against you until you can’t pull in a breath anymore, your ribs unable to expand below him.

But like always, he grants you mercy.

He pulls back, just enough to let air rush in through your parted lips. Your skin burns where he places a gentle peck to the corner of your mouth.

Because now, you want it to hurt.

And oh, he knows.

That devilish smile curls upon his lips, no longer hiding the fangs behind it. Every beat of your heart makes you dizzy, your vision pulsing with each reverberating thrum. You wonder if he can feel it in your chest.

(He can.)

(He wants to claw it from your body and eat it.)

The remnants of blood lingering on his teeth are wiped away as his tongue swipes over them, an innocent white left in its wake. How perfect a sinner’s body can be.

He’s shifting his weight above you, but you barely notice, too enamored by him, too lost in his eyes, in his depravity. The moment your eyes flutter shut to protect your soul, he’s reaching out to you.

“Look at me, little lamb.”

And then, your gaze is locked on him.

And then, his cock is pressing into you.

Lips part, fire shoots up your spine, a cry dies in your throat. It’s burning and tearing and it’s death and everything is too hot and you’re staring into those eyes with flames behind them and you think you’d let him kill you if he asked.

Not that he needs to ask, of course.

Your back arches off the bed as your eyes nearly roll back into your head but they can’t - because it’s not what Master Geto commanded. Because you always do as he says.

Because you always obey.

Instead, tears prick at the corners and your entire body trembles and he’s staring down at you with pity.

“There, shh, that’s my girl,” he coos. He wipes away a tear with his thumb but he doesn’t stop, not until his pelvis is flush with yours and all you can feel is him inside you.

Ragged breaths rack your core, your walls clenching around him from his size alone.

“You’re being so obedient, so good,” he whispers into the shell of your ear. And the sun bursts through your chest.

A slack-jawed smile spreads across your features at his praise, cheeks warm and full of pride. You’ve done everything you were made for - you’ve made Master Geto happy. You’ve been good.

When he drags his hips from you, his tip catching and pulling and gouging any remaining shred of disloyalty from your consciousness, you know you’re his: your mind, your soul, your body. All his, in any way he wants it.

When he thrusts back into you, the emptiness inside you is filled with him.

Him.

Him. Him. Him. Him.

Master Geto.

All you have ever needed.

All you will ever need.

Master Geto.

Warmth blossoms in your chest as he fucks you into the silk sheets. You are his. You were always made to be his. There’s no pain in it, no uncertainty. It’s as things were always meant to be.

But there’s still something missing, something lingering in the droplet of red beading at the corner of his lips.

Eat me, your body pleads, I’m yours.

“Master Geto,” you whimper, “I…I want…”

As he gazes down at you, there’s a reverence behind it - not to you, no, but to your servitude.

“Yes, my little lamb,” he breathes through the sound of skin against skin. “Tell me what you want.”

“Bite me, Master Geto,” you cry, “please.”

And you feel him laugh, his breath hot against the skin of your neck. “Well, how could I deny my most devoted?”

First, it’s the searing pain of his fangs sinking into your skin. An instant later, it’s the burning pleasure of it.

A moan bubbles from your throat, allowing your head to fall back into his waiting palm, cradling you above the respite of feathered pillows. Because for now, he will hold you; you should be held by him.

Suguru is greedy as he drinks.

Grunts and groans echo from his chest, his body never stilling as he plunges in and out of you in pace with his tongue lapping at your pierced flesh. Just as his teeth pull away he strikes them into you again, and again, and again. Puncture wounds grow across your skin, blooming hues of maroon beneath them, stars decorating the sky, each one a burning supernova moments away from exploding.

They mark you for what you are: his.

“You taste,” he pants, “fucking devine.”

Nails claw at his back, your head lolled back into the sheets, limp beneath him. Of course, you’d move if he told you to - you’d die if he told you to.

Each racing heartbeat makes your vision pulse, head swimming as he drinks from you. Your body melts inside him, warm in his stomach.

The friction of his hips between your legs only grows, until it’s burning like the teeth in your neck. Red flames prick your skin, Suguru’s tongue chasing each one to put it out.

His grunts grow animalistic, a beast pulling muscles and tendons until it’s out of breath. Shoulders tense beneath your palms, and your stomach begins to tighten.

“Master Geto, I-”

“I know,” he growls into your neck. Arms tighten around your body, until they cage in your ribs, until you can’t breathe anything but him. “Cum for me, little lamb.”

Warmth floods your senses, numb save for his cock twitching. He bites down harder as his claim shoots into you, thick and hot.

For a moment, you wonder if he tore flesh from bone. When he removes his head from your collarbone, blood dripping down his chin in thick rivulets, it seems all the more possible.

Licking his lips, he groans at the sanguine flavor pouring down his throat, sweet like honey. When he kisses you, his tongue presses against yours until it lingers in the back of your mouth. Sweet like him.

Low eyes meet yours, a thumb stroking your cheek.

“Stay here, with me.”

And maybe, you will.

It’s easier like this, to be his.

It’s easier to obey.

[lunememes]

🌙 * ― 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐑 ( a collection of date locations and things to do with your date. feel free to adjust the prompts as needed! do not add to the list. )

a relaxing date

quiet night. our muses snuggle up together beneath a blanket on the couch or in bed and listens as the other muse reads a book to them. bookshop. our muses go to a bookshop and pick out books for each other to read once they get back home. console. our muses play a casual and fun game on a console together, requiring teamwork and strategy. park. our muses take a relaxing walk through the park together to talk and get to know each other better. spa. our muses go to a spa to treat themselves to a day of relaxation and pampering. movie. our muses go to the local cinema to watch a movie together, where they can snack on popcorn and be transported to another world. beach. our muses go to a warm sandy beach, where they can soak up the sun and dip their toes into the sea for a swim or a splash.

a fun date

pins. our muses go to a bowling alley together, where they can play a casual game or aim to have the highest score. wheels. our muses go roller skating together, where they can race one another or skate hand in hand for a more relaxed date. rink. our muses go ice skating together, where they can show off their moves or wobble on the ice and tumble in unison. swim. our muses go swimming together, where they can playfully splash one another, go down the slides or brave the wave pool. shopping. our muses go to the mall together, where they can shop to their hearts content and find a new thing to take home. ride. our muses go horse riding together, either separately or together, and enjoy the sights atop their horses. hole-in-one. our muses go to a crazy golf course, where they must overcome obstacles and get the ball to its end destination. laser. our muses go to a laser tag event and test out their stealth and aim as they try to hunt one another down to tag them. paintball. our muses go paintballing together and form up to be a formidable team or test their skills against each other. rodeo. our muses attempt the mechanical rodeo bull, where one muse must hang on for dear life or try to stay on together.

a delicious date

restaurant. our muses go to a nice restaurant, dressed up and treated to vintage wine and delicious food. fast food. our muses go to a fast food place, where there are no expectations and the company is all that matters. café. our muses go to a homely little café, where they can enjoy a warm drink and homemade cakes. truck. our muses go to a local food truck, where greasy but delicious food is served up right in front of them. homemade. our muses have a home-cooked meal, where one muse cooks the other a delicious and intimate meal. baking. our muses bake something together, sending flour everywhere and bringing out the playfulness of one another. picnic. our muses go on a little picnic together, a quiet patch of grass beneath the warm sun. cold treat. our muses find an ice cream truck and decide to treat themselves to a cold treat. sweet treat. our muses go to a desert place where they can get waffles, crêpes and brownies.

a nature date

zoo. our muses take a trip to the zoo where they can admire all the various walks of life and get the special privilege to feed an animal. wings. our muses visit a butterfly sanctuary, where the air is filled with colourful wings and life flutters all around them. feed. our muses visit a park with a bag of seed on hand to feed the local wildlife, getting to see them up close and personal. sea life. our muses visit and aquarium together, where they can stand beneath a tunnel of water and see sharks and fish swim overhead. sun. our muses find a clearing or a good vantage point to watch the sunrise or sunset together. stars. our muses lay beneath the stars together, where they can try to catch a glimpse of shooting star or point out the constellations. garden. our muses visit a botanical garden, where vibrant colours and fragrant flowers bloom.

an entertaining date

play. our muses attend a play at a theatre, where music fills the halls and actors perform on stage. opera. our muses attend an opera hall, where classical music takes people back to a different age. ballet. our muses attend a ballet showing, where elegance and grace captivates the audience. sport. our muses attend a sports event with the best seats in the house, where they can cheer on their favourite team and have a beer or two. concert. our muses visit a concert together, where the crowd raves to the music and joins in harmony. amusement park. our muses go to an amusement park, where they can relax on a log ride or risk it all with a daring ride. night out. our muses go to a bar where the drinks never end and the party goes well into the night. prize. our muses visit the arcades where they can try to win as many prizes as they can or jump into a stimulation game. old games. our muses have a fun and competitive go at old board games, where it could bring them together or test the strength of their relationship.

an educational date

pottery. our muses attending a pottery class where one muse helps the other to make a pot, hands on. paint. our muses attending a painting class, where they can gift one another their painting or paint one another. dance. our muses attend a dance class, where they can learn a few new moves and share an intimate moment. axe. our muses go to an axe throwing class, where a professional teaches them how to throw axes. museum. our muses go to the museum, where they can learn the earth's history, admire the artwork or venture into space. castle. our muses visit an old castle, where history lingers and people can peer into the past.

a medieval date

renfair. our muses attend a renfair event, dressed up for the occasion and enjoy the festivities. joust. our muses attend a medieval restaurant where they can dine, watch knights joust and have a medieval experience. ball. our muses attend a grand ball, where couples take to the dance floor and let the music flow through them. masquerade. our muses attend a masquerade ball, where masks shrouds faces and scandals thrive. feast. our muses attend a grand feast, where jolly laughter and mountains of food await.

an adventurous date

climb. our muses attend an indoor climbing place or brave the mountains, to put their strength and resilience to the test. camp. our muses take to the wild and set up camp in the woods, putting their survival skills to the test. sail. our muses go on a cruise together, where they can kick back and enjoy a nice cocktail on the ocean waves. lake. our muses brave the brisk waters and go skinny dipping together for some naughty fun. rapids. our muses go canoeing in the treacherous waters of a fast running river sky diving. our muses take to the skies and go sky diving, either together or side by side, and experience the world from above. slope. our muses go skiing or snowboarding together, soaring past the snow covered trees and gaining air with ramps.

an unconventional date

heist. our muses go on a more unconventional date and go on a heist together to bring home a new, shiny and expensive addition. fight. our muses attend a fighting match where adrenaline is high and cheers fill the room. rage. our muses go to a rage room and smash things together, letting out pent up rage and stress in union. graveyard. our muses visit a graveyard at night, where they can try to scare one another with a scary story or visit the dead. ghosts. our muses try to find the paranormal in an abandoned place, where spirits are said to linger. hunting. our muses go hunting together, but what exactly will they be hunting? escape. our muses go to an escape room, where they will need to work together if they ever stand a chance of getting out. sacrifice. our muses perform a ritual with the intention of summoning something, but is it for fun or is it something all the more sinister?

[shadow4-1]

I'm just imagining having a great track day with Ghost but getting so exhausted that the two of you fall asleep on the gym floor.

Like, you aced the hurdles and the dashes with no issue. The obstacle course wasn't even that with how you breezed through it. You had some issues with the rope climb, but Ghost had taught you the technique last session. And voila! You beat your last time and came out on top of the rookies once again.

Ghost was built for his brawn. While he also aced his turn, it was obvious he didn't have some of the dexterity you possessed and therefore had to put more energy into not knocking into things. He also came out on top of the rookies and over your time. You scoffed but offered him some water.

The summer was upon you, and with it, it's gentle heat that quickly turned to burning rage. You could feel a prickly tightness on the back of your shoulders and neck. Not sunburn quite yet, but probably close. The drier air wicked the moisture from your mouth as you panted.

"M' gonna head in." You huffed, gesturing to the gymnasium's open back door. "Do n' equipment check."

He nodded at you, the front of his mask rising and falling quickly. Something about seeing him pant in his mask tickled you. You headed towards the gym and the moment you stepped inside you couldn't help but sigh. The air conditioning was cool and refreshing. Instantly, you could feel the heat in your bones being drawn out towards your skin.

With a soft hum you began an equipment check. The longer you stood at the racks, check marking boxes and organizing the weights, you felt heavier and heavier. You checked the time, 12:45. No wonder you felt so drained.

It was the midday slump.

Well, as soon as you were done you could get a shower and probably get a nap before mess. The sound of the gym's back door closing made you jump. Oh no....

"Please tell me you didn't close that door." You whined at Ghost.

Just as you suspected, he still had his hand on the door handle. You facepalmed.

"Gaz has the keys. And he's not coming back till three."

"Wot 're you talkin' about?" Ghost huffed, trying the other set of gym doors. Just as you suspected, yeah, they were locked. He jiggled them firmly, eyes dark with annoyance.

"Thanks, Ghost. We're locked in here for awhile."

He went to try the locker room doors and those too were locked. You raised a brow at him but opted to sit against one of the bare walls. There was no point in getting upset.

Gaz would be back in a little while. Besides, the gym had the best air-conditioning out of all the buildings since it'd been first on the list for an upgrade last year. Even if you went back to your bunk, the the likelihood of getting a comfortable nap would be low.

You could hear Ghost messing with the door locks but you knew it was a lost cause. He didn't have the tools to open it, and if he brute forced it open Price would be on his ass for repairs. Just as you expected, it didn't take him long to give up.

"When's Gaz getting back?" He huffed, rolling up his longsleeve just enough to get a glance down at his sports watch.

"Three."

He set his watch's timer with a few beeps before crouching into a sitting position next to you. The next few minutes were spent in a cool silence. Occasionally the a/c units would hum to life, drone and puff cool air over your still hot body, and then click off.

"Didn't bring your phone?" He asked, voice more tired than usual.

"Nope. Left it in the locker room." You shrugged. "Didn't bring yours?"

"No." He muttered, glancing at the locker room with his eyes only.

More minutes ticked by. The cool linoleum leeched even more heat out of your skin. The overhead lights were motion activated, and so most of them had flicked off awhile ago. It was cool and dim and your body was tired from exertion.

You couldn't help but start nodding off.

"Falling asleep, Sergeant?" Ghost mused, looking down at you through the holes in his soft mask.

"Oh, don't act like you're not feeling it too." You huffed, curling up into your arms. "M' tired."

Ghost hummed. Whether in agreement, you couldn't tell. You didn't really care. How could you when sleep creeped in from the edge of your vision.

"Can I lean on you?"

"Wot?"

"Can I lean on you?" You asked him again. "I don't wanna lay on the floor but I wanna take a nap."

"Sure..."

You scooted closer to him and rested your head on the top of his arm. It was a bit uncomfortable with how firm it was at first but it was certainly softer than the floor. It didn't take long for you to feel your lids drooping again.

Right as you were pulled under, you felt Ghost shift. There was a warm presence against the crown of your head.

If you weren't half asleep you might've thought he'd kissed your forehead.

[notthecutesttrash]

Grey (Pt. 1)

Content: Miya Atsumu is a bully, and his fangirls are even worse. They make your life at school a hell.

Trigger Warnings: Verbal + physical bullying, language

Word count: 7.29k

PART 2, PART 3

The bell rings and you grab your books to sprint off. Frantically you open your locker, and as you do, a white crumpled-up paper falls at your feet. You open it and find angry scribbled words, all ranging from “Loser!” to “Get lost!” and “You're pathetic.” Exhaling a sigh, you place the books into the overhead space and grab the others. 

This all started a week and a half ago.

You had been in class and the exhaustion was creeping up into your mind. It was the last hour, the sun was lowering, it looked to be a moody day, and you could only hear the teacher every other time she spoke. This time she was chewing out Miya Atsumu over a wrong answer which then turned into a long lecture. 

All you could think at the time was huh, guess he only had one skill, and that was just wooing pathetic girls over. 

The class went silent for a bit, and you exhaled a sigh, turning to the main board, only to see Atsumu and what felt to be every woman in the class glaring at you so strongly it could pierce. 

You froze, sputtering a “s-sorry…” as you bowed your head. Ever since then, you could feel a heavy shadow looming at your back. 

It was just a fleeting thought, you didn’t mean it negatively. Well, maybe you did. You weren’t sure anymore, but you don’t think you deserved this sort of treatment for such a stupid comment. 

Every other girl you passed shot you a look like you were nothing but dirt beneath their feet, even a few men. 

Was the whole world on his side? 

You cradle your books to your chest as Atsumu begins to walk down the same hallway. Look down. Just look down and nothing will happen. He turns his head to look at you as you pass, and you can feel your breath stuck in your throat. Yet as you manage past him, nothing happens. Relief instantly follows. You were going to be all right, nothing big was going to happen. It was just a stupid little comment. Soon it will all be forgotten. 

Suddenly an obstacle blocks your foot as you absentmindedly walk. You stumble and almost fall face-first into the floor. The books in your hands drop, and luckily your free hands are there to brace you. You’re on your knees, nose nearly kissing the floor as you feel a crowd pause to get a good look at you. They were snickering, and when you look up, Atsumu’s down the hall giggling, a terrible grin on his face. There's a woman in front of you, the one who presumably tripped you, laughing. You sheepishly go to grab one of the books and she kicks it to the side. 

You can get through this, this was nothing. You were sure of it. 

It's even worse when you remember that Miya Atsumu is one of the best volleyball players ever. Of course, you on the other hand, on the girl's volleyball team, are the complete opposite. Although your team was nice, they didn't talk to you much. One of the middle blockers, Angie, was giving you side eyes and little glares whenever you missed a receive. When another spike came, you dove and missed by a few inches. 

"Sorry guys.." You exhale a disappointed sigh and the ones on the other side of the net are the only ones smiling at you. 

 "No worry Y/n! Maybe it's just not your day. That's okay, it happens!" Lucy shouts with a grin, giving you a quick thumbs up. You muster a begrudging nod. 

Angie harrumphs with her hands on her waist, scanning you. "And you have the nerve to judge an all-Japan camp candidate when you can't even get one receive as our libero." You frown and cast a glare on the floor. 

Lucy huffs on the flipside. "Stop it, Angie, we all know he's good, there's no need to shove it in our faces. The point is, he's not here, and he's definitely not going to be watching you, so move on." She gasps, and the other girls can't help but snicker. You're too exhausted to even pay attention to the conversation.

Your hands are on your knees while you desperately catch your breath. 

"Inarizaki has no place for weak players." A quiet but stern woman speaks. Miyu. Her palm is holding the ball you failed to receive. 

Lucy holds her hands up and waves them around anxiously, attempting to ease everyone. "Everyone has off days. let's not bully her about it."

Angie visibly rolls her eyes. "She's been having off days for like 2 weeks straight now." 

Lucy opens her mouth to probably defend you with another sentence you don't deserve, so you just speak.

"I'm sorry, I will do better." 

No one responds as you bow, but you can feel the irritation lingering in the atmosphere. 

After practice is finished and all the girls leave, Lucy meets you outside the entrance. She has this sort of pitiful look that sinks your stomach. 

"Hey.. listen, (Y/n).." she nervously trails. You had a feeling this was going a certain somewhere. 

"The other girls seem to be complaining a bit about your performance lately.. and you know… I don't want to do this but.. the coach thinks.." She's fidgeting, struggling to come up with the right words. 

You're pouting, tears pricking your eyes. "You're cutting me off..?" Your words leave in a choked whisper. 

"No! No.. well… you might be… but! You aren’t yet. You can still prove him wrong..” 

She sighs, and her hand gently holds your arm. 

"Listen… I know you're going through some things right now. So just take your time. "She pauses, then looks at you pitifully. "Hey.. maybe if it happens.. it won't be necessarily the worst thing right now. Maybe you might even need it." She is coming from a good place, but you're hurt. 

You fail to respond and that helpless look appears again. 

“I’m sorry (Y/n)..”

You're striving to keep your expression as blank as could be as you nod. “Thanks for letting me know.” You turn fast, hoping she won't continue anymore. You just wanted to go home now.

Though, when you leave the gymnasium, you hear the boy’s side practicing. They're always extremely intense, and many times their practice runs late. You had an urge, and you decided to follow it.

Mustering up all the courage, you go inside, up to the second floor as quietly as possible while they play. Two squealing girls are already watching, too captured by the scene to care about you. Atsumi’s twin brother Osamu was there. Admittedly, they were an impressive duo. You didn't have to be good at volleyball to see that. 

Osamu had a serene sort of confidence, while Atsumu.. well, he looked like the type to do a dump shot just to be petty because he knew he could.

You hated to say his sets were beautiful, perfect even. 

Michinari, the team’s libero, receives almost every volleyball that flows his way. Even if the serve was a floater, a jump spike, or a simple one. It was impressive, and you aim to study his movements.

The way he holds his arms, the way he moves, his focus, everything you didn't do. The whistle blows and they get back into position, and you meet eyes with none other than the blonde twin who is currently serving. He raises his brow, his cocky face almost disgustingly amused. You glimpse far away to avoid him. It’s not like you came for him anyway, god, you hope he didn’t think that. 

The whistle blows and he walks up 6 steps, jumps, and hits a powerful serve that Michinari almost wasn't able to bump.

“Nice receive!”

Michinari calls out, “Bit short, sorry!” 

Atsumi touches the ball, and you're confused. He can’t set it now. Why would he do that? 

Osamu is the one who jumps and sets the ball to Atsumi who runs to a side with no blockers and does an insane quick you've never seen before. The impact alone has the sound bouncing off the walls. 

“Ahhhh! God, they’re so cool!!!” The girls go crazy beside you. 

You hum to yourself.

You've seen enough. Besides you didn't want to be anywhere near one of the twins, so you left as quietly as you came. The gym was empty now, the girls were gone and you could practice without judgment. 

You bounce the volleyball on the wall and attempt to receive it. Still, even with it being much slower than the average serve or spike, you were slightly off. Huffing, you bounce it against the wall and it comes to you, you were sure you got it this time. Your arms attempt to tap it, but it awkwardly hits your neck and topples over. 

Maybe it was your position, either you were too close or too far. First, you try stepping a bit back and you serve into the wall. It comes at you fast, and you feel as if you could see it in slow motion. It was perfect, you were going to hit- it flies over your head and you're dumbfounded.

Okay, closer. Farther wasn't right. 

This time you run to where the ball is headed, and right when it's about to come to you, you position your arms perfectly just for it to hit your knee. The next time it hits you in your groin and you grumble beneath your breath. 

One more time. 

You serve to the wall and it powerfully bounces off. You were ready. You could do this. Just position. The anticipation rises, and you sidestep the way it moves. A large grin stretches, you got it! 

Your finger just barely graces the ball, but it sends it flying a few inches high and it hits your shoulder.

Michinari. Remember. 

Remember the way he stands, the way he moves, the way he reads its direction. 

Your arms attempt to replicate his, and your knees bend just a little. 

One of the volleyballs hits the side of your head, but you did touch it, so that was progress.

It makes you smile. 

Sure, you got knocked into the chest almost every other time, but all that mattered was after the 30th try, your arm made contact again.

The ball lifts only a few inches above your arms before it slaps you on the head and splats to the ground. It travels close to the other dozen that lay around the gym. You're groaning as another flies past you. 

Another serve, you could do it, just one more. You push it and it slams against the wall, rebounding your way. Perfect! Getting into position, your concentration narrows as it comes to you. A forceful impact meets your knee. 

You lift the ball and slam it with your palm. It was so fast you could barely keep up with it, and you were a second off from receiving it before it wacks your neck. Coughing out at the impact, you huff and try again. Just keep your arms down, don’t waver every time you see the ball coming towards you. 

It was slow, but it flew your way, and you remained patient. Just get the timing down, not too early, not too late. Now!

You bump the ball perfectly into the air and gasp at the contact. You could do it! You could finally do it! Your eyes remain on it, waiting for it to come back down, a massive grin on your face. 

"You're doing it wrong." A voice interrupts your concentration and the ball slams into your face. 

"Ow.." you rub your nose, whining. The ball thuds against the floor.

When you eventually look up to the cause of your lost focus, you instinctively step back. Atsumu is there, sweat dripping down his skin after a long practice, eyes judging you.

You don't speak, and you can't even meet his gaze for more than a second.

He steps to the bin and grabs a volleyball. He does a quick normal serve against the wall, and it bounces to him in a split second. He positions his arms and receives it perfectly. You glue onto the way it cascades so beautifully.  

He studies your look, amused at the ignorance.

"Bend your knees like this." He does the motion and you falter before hesitantly mirroring. 

"No. lower." You do it and glance at him for approval. "Arms like this. This side showing more than the back." 

He gets into a normal stance to throw the ball above your arms. You keep your arms together as you receive it, and although it wasn't very high, you couldn't help the happiness that befell on you. That was so much easier than all the other times. 

Atsumu humorlessly chuckles "To think you're on the volleyball team and you don't know this." Your view averts, arms cradling the ball you just bumped like a trophy. 

No matter the insult, you sucked up your pride.

You mumble a "thanks.." and he scoffs.  

“Yeah, I’m going.” He starts walking to the door and you nod.

“Okay.."

Today was a rough day, but tomorrow will be better, you repeat this continuously as a sort of mantra when you get home.  

Your parents greet you happily and there is a warm meal on the table. You slip your shoes off before stepping into the kitchen.  "We got one of your favorites!" Your mother chirps.

You can barely fake a smile. Most days this would make you happy enough to forget everything that occurred in the school day, but not this time. The happy grins fall and they become worried. 

Great, look what you did. 

"Is something wrong (Y/n)?"  

You swiftly shake your head at the tone. A smile spreads your lips wide, maybe a bit too forcefully. You sold that fake happiness by rushing to sit at the table.

"No, nothing serious. I was just a bit annoyed from practice today. I couldn't receive at all." Your dad raises a confused brow as he attempts to remember what receiving is.

"It's when you catch the ball, you know, like this-" you angle your arms down and put your hands together. He makes an o with his mouth and nods. 

"Everyone has their days." Your mother is as optimistic as Lucy. 

You share thanks and dig in. 

"Even candidates for that All Japan youth camp have their days you know, and they're the same age as you, so there's still a lot of growth there." You're silent, and you set your chopsticks down. There's a big inevitable frown plastered on your face. You knew it meant to cheer you but to think of Atsumu and how talented he was after you insulted him and him helping you learn basics you should already know.

"Yeah, you're right." 

Your mood drops significantly. They give each other a side-eye.

When you're done you clean your dishes and head to your room. Wrapping the blankets around you in a sort of burrito you sigh as a few tears slip down your cheeks. You wish you hadn't said that. 

Back to another miserable panic-inducing day. 

Before class, you open your locker to now see two notes falling to your feet. You stop and stare while some girls giggle maniacally behind you. Sighing, you pick them up, crumbling the paper beneath your fingertips. Grabbing your books, you head to class and ignore how it feels like all eyes are on you when you pace.

"Look, it's the  libero who can't even receive a ball." Someone starts the moment you walk in. Frowning, you hold your bag tighter as Atsumu's eyes glue to you, a smirk dawning on his expression. 

"She-"

His words are interrupted by a shy woman who is holding a cute pink-wrapped box in her hands. A blush dusts her cheeks, and she crosses her legs. "I-I.. made this for you Atsumu… I-" An eek leaves her as Atsumu scowls hard, an expression that could terrify just about anyone. Class starts and she nervously bolts to her seat.  

You never liked long lectures or busy classwork, yet now you've learned to appreciate it. This was the only peace you'd get until you had to traverse the hallways or go to practice. You should just feign sickness, it's not like they'd miss your presence anyway. 

For lunch, you typically sit outside on one of the benches in the shade. You liked being here lately. It was nice, and when the wind rustled the trees nearby, the sound would calm you.

You lean against the bench and sigh, placing your bento atop your lap. You undo the cute little cat wrap your mom gave you. It did cheer you up a bit. You open up the box to see your favorite. You smile sweetly.  

"Look who it is, little miss (Y/n)" A sudden catty voice alerts you. 

Panic rises, and you shift your view to the sound. A group of girls known as the cheering squad for the boy’s volleyball team are walking toward you.

They have angry expressions, and their hips jut to the side as they near.

"So, what do you have to say for yourself?" The "main" woman in front, named Kiyoko speaks to you like some dog. You tilt your head, anxious and confused. What was the right answer here? 

You shouldn't be scared, you wanted so desperately not to be, but instead, you're cowering under their scowls, holding your lunch tighter to you.

"For what..?" You genuinely ask.

They growl like mutts, and suddenly the open box in your hands is viciously yanked from you. Before you can register what was happening food began dripping down your hair, a weight on your scalp tumbling. 

"Did that jog your memory?" 

You're quiet, and your teeth grit against one another, hands bawled into fists. Don't say it. Don't say it. 

"I'm sorry." You whisper.

A thick sauce drips down your hair. 

Kiyoko leans down, cupping her ear. "What was that? I couldn't hear you." You suck in a sharp breath. 

"Aw look she's going to cry." A voice in the group erupts. 

"Whose pathetic now?"  

They giggle together, and your knuckles turn white. 

You speak louder. "I'm sorry." 

"That's what I thought." She pats your cheek condescendingly. "Have fun cleaning that up." 

They leave as quickly as they came, and you dissociate as they laugh horridly while walking. Food begins to fall onto your jacket. If you didn't clean it up now, you would just be more of a laughing stock later.

A gust of wind flows, and the tree sways. Yet not even that makes you feel at peace right now. 

Water runs down your neck as you're in the bathroom, attempting to scrub the smell of curry out of your hair. The stickiness is hard to get out, and your scalp looks like some mangled mess. You pool warm water into your hands and splash it over the grains of rice that are glued together. It takes pretty much the entire lunch period until you get it all out. 

Luckily you have your volleyball jacket in your locker that you can swap out for the other. Fortunately, because it's a little oversized, it falls at your sides, just enough to cover the splotches of stains on your skirt.  

The teacher furrows her brow at you when you walk into the deafened room. "(Y/n).. you're la-.. why are you wet?"  Your hair is drenched and tangled as you walk to your seat. The girls who know what happened are snorting to themselves. 

"I fell into the lake." It was a stupid excuse but it was enough for the teacher to awkwardly continue with the lesson. That was until a loud laugh cuts the tense atmosphere.

The teacher sighs, “Yes, Atsumu, do you have a question?" You turn to the sight. At the opposite end of the class, there he is, poorly stifling a laugh.

Atsumu is chortling as he talks. "I guess not even that can wash away your horrid smell." The girls in the class laugh a little too hard at that.

"Enough. I didn't want to start it now, but since you two have a problem, you will be assigned together for the new project coming up. You will work together and makeup, whether you like it or not. I will not tolerate unkindness in my classroom. I don't want to hear any ifs or buts." The teacher calms before continuing. "Now, make sure you all listen up, I will now say the rest of the assigned partners." 

You meet Atsumu's instant cold glare and your eyes widen in fear. A jolt of anxiety rushes to your stomach. You feel sick.

"Now, we will use the rest of this time today and tomorrow to come up with a plan. You should be about halfway done at that point. This is due next Tuesday. Do whatever you need to do outside of the time, go to the library, discuss outside of school, meet up, exchange emails, whatever, but you will only have these 2 days in class to work on this." Great, a worse sentence couldn't have been said when your partner was Atsumu of all people.

The teacher gives you and Atsumu a firm look. "Do I make myself clear?" He's annoyed, you're terrified, yet you both nod either way. 

"Good, now disperse." She flicks her hand and everyone begins moving. 

Most of the girls in the class, or all, including Kiyoko and her group, send you angry glances. It's not like you wanted to be paired with him either. 

You're anchored in your seat, too scared to move. Would he come to you? Would you have to come to him?

Will you just not at all talk for these 2 days and do the work independently? Will you-

"Let’s get this over with." Atsumu has his hands in his pockets, his eyes refusing to look at yours. You nervously clear your throat. 

"R-Right.." 

It's a bit begrudging, but he sits near you and starts to work in his notebook. You do the same, occasionally not aiding the way you're examining his hand move so efficiently. He even had pleasant handwriting.

He doesn't glimpse your way, but you can tell he's getting peeved. “Are you going to keep looking, or are you going to work?"  You swiftly avert, awkwardly beginning to mimic the speed at which he writes. Your hands are shaking but you become so adamant you can't even focus on the way there are stares and whispers behind you. 

"Does she even shower, why does she smell like that?"

"She's such a loser." 

"Did you hear she can barely even receive the ball?"

"As the libero too, it's literally her job. Talk about lame. The audience would probably cheer if she got switched out."

"Seriously, I don’t even know why she's the main one, the other one is so much better." 

Atsumu side-eyes you for a second, then goes back to his writing.

The bell rings, and your focus ultimately gets cut off when he begins packing. You mutter an oh and do the same.

You're getting dreary thinking about going to practice now. Your stomach grumbles and you hold it. Maybe you could go to the vending machine, the one with milk and protein drinks so you can get some energy.

Yeah, with what money? 

Rushing into the hallway, you ignore how Atsumu is still standing outside until he calls you.

“Hey (Y/n).” Atsumu sing songs eerily, and you halt, fear swarming inside you. 

He wouldn’t do anything to you like the girls would right? You could deal with a few prissy ladies shoving you to the side, tripping you, and grabbing your lunch, but him? 

You timidly rotate his way and he's holding that usual pompous sneer. 

His tone is sadistic and light. “I heard you might get kicked off the team, what a shame.” 

Small tears brew in your eyes at the mention, fingers bawling into a tight white-knuckled fist. 

“Oh? Did I strike a nerve? But really, I think it’s a relief, don’t you?” He continues, “I couldn’t imagine getting kicked off my own team." 

Atsumu snickers and his orbs quickly darken. "But that would never happen, because I’m more than just a guy who can swoon a few pathetic girls over you know. You though.." He fakes a pondering gesture. "I wonder. Are there any skills you possess?" 

There's a lump in your throat that you can't bear to swallow and he chuckles. "Right. That's what I thought." He turns to leave.

“Well, at least the female side won’t have to be ashamed anymore.” 

Tears meet your cheek. An inevitable sniffle escapes when the tightness in your throat closes. You wish you could scream out how much of a jerk he was, but all you did was whirl around and run away. 

A hand touches Atsumu's shoulder, pulling his focus away. “Don’t you think that was a little mean?” Osamu is gazing at him seriously. 

Atsumu scoffs. “Anyone who can’t take the truth doesn’t deserve to be playing a competitive sport, especially if they suck.” 

Osamu wacks his brother’s head, and the blonde-haired twin growls, raising his fist to do the same. 

The next day you smell like soy sauce.

Though, at least It was a lot easier to clean.

You rung your hair of water. Your hands press against the sides of the sink, and you gaze at yourself in the reflection. From staying up late crying, not eating breakfast in the morning because you had to rush out, to not being able to eat lunch, you're a mess. The bell rings and your expression darkens.  

Maybe if you pretend you didn't hear it... Maybe if you went to sleep in the stall you could just rest for a bit. 

The bell repeats its terrible tune.

You pat your face dry and force yourself to return. On this occasion, you're on time so no one would notice you. Or so you would've thought. 

"Did you enjoy your lunch (Y/n)?" A girl speaks, a snarky trail at the end of her words. There is laughter amongst another little side posse. You turn to her, quiet, and staring.

She zips her lips and you go to your seat.  

"What's her deal?" 

"It was just a joke." 

“You know the whole ordeal. Everyone, get with your partners. This is the last day in class to talk with each other." 

With that, everyone gets together and unfortunately, yours does too. 

Atsumu is sighing as if completely forgetting the day before. “Let’s get this done, the last thing I want to do is meet up.” 

You nod and open your notebook. It's silent for a couple of minutes until one of you ruins it. 

“Why is your hair wet again?" 

Atsumu raises a snide brow. "Go for another swim?" 

"Yes." 

He didn't expect that straightforward answer but still chuckles. 

It doesn’t get to you, and you keep writing. He appears amused that he wasn't managing to aggravate you. You’re not surprised. This is Inarizaki, the school that tries to make other teams cheaply mess up by booing or playing loud music when they serve.  

A moment passes and you tiredly declare, “I’m sure neither of us wants to talk to each other, so let’s just focus, then we won’t have to meet up later.”

He looks amused. “You’re a lot of how I expected you to be.” You turn to him, and he shrugs. 

“A teacher’s pet.” 

You frown, mumbling mainly to yourself, “I don’t see anything wrong with that.” Atsumu chuckles. 

“Of course, you don’t” 

You fixate on him, and his expression remains.

You just had to get this done, then he wouldn’t be at your side bothering you any longer. 

The time is ticking, and the last thing you want is to have to text him. You’d rather take a 0 then do that. 

Well, maybe not to that extreme, but you sure as hell didn’t want to be in contact with him, or worse, have him come to your house.

He would have that annoying smug gleam as he sits at the table and makes conversation with your parents. Your mom would be so charmed, and she’d be nice enough to make him dinner. Then he’d eat it and make dramatic gestures about how good it is, meanwhile, deep inside all he wants to do is probably throw it at you.

A shudder cascades just thinking of it. 

The more time passes, the less confidence you have in finishing this project today. There was maybe a quarter left, and that would’ve been fine if again… it wasn’t a team job.

Maybe if he was doing his side, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. 

You're writing faster, while the pompous ass turns in his seat and starts cracking jokes with the pair behind him. If you could just finish these parts.

You just need to do a few more. Your breath catches in your throat the more you glance at the clock. With a few minutes left, there was surely no way you could finish. Albeit, if you give up now then it'd only prove that. You just have to keep writing and hope.  

Anxiety is pacing your heart, and you're getting sloppier and sloppier the more you go. The laughs of the row behind you, the tick of the clock, the sound of your pulse expanding and expanding drags you to the edge. 

The bell rings, signaling the end. You slump in your chair, defeated. Atsumu grins and grabs his bag, considering he didn’t even take anything out, all he had to do was just get up and leave while you pack. 

What a jerk.  

Somehow, he still manages to take his sweet time, and he practically traps you in, making it irritatingly impossible to leave. You throw your bag around your shoulder and stuff your fingers in your pockets.

Your head hangs low as Osamu is at the door again, waiting for his obnoxious twin. You didn’t know who was a little older, but god you hoped it was the grey-haired one. 

"Hey." Atsumu starts, and your heart speeds up. This was going to be just like yesterday, wasn't it?

You nervously fixate on him. He's tall, much more than you remember, maybe around 180 cm. 

"Give me your phone number." 

You're taken aback, tilting your head confusedly.

"F-For.. what?" You blank and he impatiently glowers. 

His voice is deep when annoyed. "What else for? The project." 

You quickly nod. "R-Right.. sorry. It's um.." You nervously push your hands into your bag, struggling to find your phone. Most are already out of the classroom at this point and he's becoming more visibly impatient. 

You feel it and immediately pull it out. Opening your contacts list, he yanks it out of your hand and starts typing. Once finished, he throws it at your desk and you fail to catch it as it slams against the wood. He casually turns to leave. 

He suddenly rotates his head over his shoulder and gives you a sharp look.  "You should quit volleyball," he says.

"Everyone has a job on the court and you can't fill yours, because you suck." 

You're frowning again.

Osamu gives you a momentary glance before leaving. You're frozen in place, his words echoing in your head. 

On Thursday, you feign sickness to stay home.

You wrap yourself in a burrito of blankets while you watch TV. At least at home, you can eat freely. You also won't hear mean gossip behind you. You're never absent anyway, so one day was easy. Just one day to yourself. One day without seeing either of the twins’ faces. No fangirls, no volleyball team, no stress, just one peaceful weekday beneath the sheets.

You sleep until 10. 

Although a bath sounds wonderful, it's refreshing to just walk downstairs with pajamas and messy untouched hair. “Good morning.”

You yawn, grab a cup, pour yourself orange juice, then sit down at the table. It was a nice day to eat breakfast together without any rush to be somewhere on time. 

Rubbing your eyes, you set a plate down and stare at the empty chairs beside you. That's right. You're alone, your parents are off to work. 

Once done whisking together a lovely omelet, you eat peacefully savoring every bit of silence. This was nice. 

You can do anything today. Maybe even go to the market and get yourself a little desert. Milk bread, curry donut, strawberry shortcake, whatever. Your mouth waters at the thought. 

Though rest sounds nicer still. 

That project wasn’t due till Tuesday, and it should take you about 2 days to complete alone, maybe 1 if you were going to meet up with Atsumu, but that wasn’t going to happen. 

Faceplanting into bed, you moan at the feeling of the bedsheets. They surround you like a heavenly cloud. Yes, this is what you needed, an escape into bliss. 

You wake up again at 12. 

Stretching wide, you exhale a yawn. A bath would do good now. Your hair probably wasn’t completely free of food anyway. 

You take off your shirt in front of the mirror, revealing a few bruises on your back, knees, and thighs. These most likely occurred when you fell to the floor a few times after being tripped. They're tender, but nothing too big. You didn’t want to think of it now anyway. 

The warm water envelops you and you draw out a whispered moan. You stay like that for who knows how long until you're aggressively scrubbing all the smells out of your hair. You lean against the rim, lids closing blissfully. 

The next time you open your eyes you feel groggy. You don't know what time it is. Your fingers and toes are all soggy, and the water isn’t hot anymore.

You drag yourself to bed after drying off, closing the door to seal the darkness in. A buzz vibrates your phone, and you pick it up, tiredly blinking at the brightness. It was probably your mom trying to see if you were okay. 

“When do you want to finish the project?” 

Why would your mom text that? 

You scroll to see the name Miya Atsumu, and you stare for what feels like a minute before finally gasping.

You didn't actually expect him to go for it and text.

What do you say? You begin typing, then stop, then start, then stop.

Tomorrow? The weekend? Monday? No day in reality makes a difference. You just don't want to work with him.

A part of you is relieved you wouldn't be doing the rest of the project alone, but another side is terrified at the idea.  

You bite your lip and write “Tomorrow..?" 

Maybe that was too direct, maybe you should’ve sent a "haha", or a "anytime that works for you."

What if he’s not available Friday? What if you just assumed? No no, it should be fine, he asked you, besides, it isn’t going to be a hangout, just a quick 1-2 hour session of working.

You groan, your brain going into circles. The anxiety that fled you today begins revisiting in vicious waves. You’re going to go to school tomorrow and he’d ask you the same question if you don't text back. You can’t avoid him, nor the deadline. The girls will pick on you again, you won’t be able to have lunch, you’ll be hungry, you’re about to be kicked off the volleyball team, everyone hates you, every-  a notification makes you blink to reality.

Miya Atsumu: “Sure. Time?” 

You let out a shaky exhale and type, “Whatever is fine with you.” 

Miya Atsumu: “6 pm, after practice.” 

6 pm?? That was a bit late.

You’re about to type a denial until you remember that you're the one who said whatever is okay. You can’t just complain now. 

“Sounds good.” 

He doesn’t respond. A few minutes pass and you’re still staring at the screen. Fretfully you type, “.. where.?” 

A bubble pops up, then disappears. You’re anxiously biting your lip, waiting. The bubble comes up again, jumping for a few seconds then going away. You hold your phone to your chest and groan, your other hand draping across your forehead. You hope it’s somewhere decent, really the scariest thing he can say is "My place."

A few tantalizing minutes pass and you hear a ding.

Miya Atsumu: "Wherever you want.” 

That response didn't settle your nerves at all. Why did you have to pick? 

Hovering over the letters on your phone, you think hard. 

Your place won't be as nerve-wracking as his, and besides it’d be weird if you text that anyway, like “Hey let’s go to your house.” Not only would you just be dealing with him but a duplicate as well. (Though you heard Osamu was a bit nicer.) Still, they probably live in some fancy house with a beautiful mom who makes amazing food. If he comes to yours he'd probably be judgemental as it was nothing lavish.

Where else could you pick? The library? It's a lot more peaceful and less scary than your house. Here, you imagine him, arms crossed, judging your stuffed animals and colorful sheets, saying, "What are you, a kid still?" 

A shiver runs down your spine. 

But in the library, Kiyoko and other girls are bound to be working on their projects as well.  

Nowhere was safe but your home, and besides you had your mother and father there if anything went wrong. Mustering up all the courage you write.

“You can come to my house..?” No that sounded too provocative. 

Holding the delete button, the sentence is wiped. 

“What about my house?” 

Too direct, what if it comes up rude or even flirty?

“We can go to the library?” No that sounds like you're avoiding the situation now. 

You hover over “Maybe-“ then delete. Too indecisive. “How about-“ too decisive. “What about-“ too shy.

It’s already been more than a few minutes and the phone buzzes impatiently.

Miya Atsumu: “Well?” 

The fear in your stomach is worse than when the girls would bully you. Which is ridiculous considering you're only sending a text. 

What if he shows it to all his friends and makes you a laughingstock? 

You ease your stammering. Relax (Y/n). No one can harm you here. You're not gonna hear his laughs directed at your face. You’re home in your safe space. It’s just you, and it’s just a text. 

"My house?" You press send and hold your breath. A minute passes and now the doubt explodes in you again.

God, why did you type that? That sounds way worse than the other ones, it's almost creepy even. You stuff your face into your pillow and groan loudly. 

A soft vibration takes you out of the self-loathing cycle, and it reads, Miya Atsumu: "Sure." 

Your heart pounds and anxiety floats into your stomach as you think of tomorrow.

You wish you used your sick day for then.

Although in the end, it wouldn't have made too much of a difference. It's bound to happen. At least you had until tomorrow to plan, to think what you were going to wear, and what spares you would bring for whatever was going to be dunked on your head. 

You hear the front door open and close. Your mom always gets home first. You're timidly stumbling down the stairs when she sees you. 

 "Hey, sweetie. Are you feeling better?" She hangs her jacket up and takes off her shoes. 

"Oh- Yeah.. um.. so.." your lips purse as she strides into the kitchen, already planning on dinner even if exhausted. You appreciate that. You just wish you had the guts to tell her what happened to those cooked meals at lunch. 

She grabs a pack of spaghetti and fills a large pot of water to boil. She raises an expectant brow.

"Yes?" 

You fidget, averting your gaze. "Um.. so I have a project due Tuesday… it's with a partner.. but our teacher is not allowing any more time in class. So-" 

"Oh okay, yeah, that's fine. When do you want her to come?" She grabs a few spices and herbs while talking, and you nervously clear your throat. 

"It's.. a guy.." She halts for a moment and you can see her mull over your words. 

You continue hesitantly, “So... he's coming tomorrow around 6, you know.. after practice usually ends." It's silent for a few seconds and you're pursing your lips, scared. 

There's a bright beam stretching her lips wide. 

Oh no, it was either this reaction or disgust. You didn't even know which you wanted. 

You start again, mainly to cut off whatever she was going to say. 

"By the way.. you don't have to pack lunch for these next few days." She raises a thoughtful look.

"Why? Have you been dropping it lately? Do you not like it? Is that you've been smelling like it when you come home?" 

Tensely giggling, you curl your hair behind your ear. "No Mom.. I just.." You trail off, unable to think of a perfect excuse. Nothing to resemble reality. Eventually, her lips curl again. 

"Ah.. so it's all to do with that boy."

What? 

You're surprised, rushing to stammer out a no, but she's set in her thoughts.

"I've been wondering why it's emptier than usual, you've been sharing it with him, hm?" She has that trail in her tone as if she caught you. 

"No! A friend has just been giving me some of there's so I haven't been able to eat mine." She laughs and your face is pink. 

"Ah I see, so you've been swapping lunches? How cute" You huff at this reasoning, giving up.

Maybe you should just let her believe this anyway. It'd make her happy.  

"Nothing’s happening with us Mom, we're just school partners. He's not even all that nice, you know," you mutter that last part to yourself. 

She snickers. "Men struggle with their emotions a bit more than we do when it comes to love-" 

You shout, "It's not love!" 

She waves her hand, gesturing for you to calm down. "Right right, well maybe he's just struggling to convey it to you." Huffing again, you cross your arms. That's not it. She's not listening to you, and you sigh angrily. Seriously, if only she knew. 

"I promise you, Mom, that's not it, just believe me okay? We're going to do the project and that's it, he won't be here ever again.." You pause, then point accusingly toward her. "And no being weird!" 

"Fine fine, I’ll act normal don't worry, I would hate to embarrass you in front of your crush." 

"Ugh, just.. no lunch tomorrow please!" 

You squeak out an awkward "thank you!" and she hums, a grin still lingering. 

Stomping off to your room, you lightly slam the door and stuff your face into the pillow. You could hear the front door open again, and you're sure your mother is now going to start talking about this mystery "crush" to your father.

You let out a frustrated sigh. 

[water-to-drink]

Be a Gladiolus in a Field of Belladonnas pt12

Familiar Winds

(Summary): After reaching Mondstadt you run into an unexpected hurdle but a few familiar faces are here to help you

Part 1 Last Part Next Part

✧ Masterlist ✧

(Characters): traveler!Lumine, abyss prince!Aether, Paimon, Childe, ???, ???, ???, & ???

(Tags/Warnings): gn!reader, (y/n) used, reader knows some Spanish, cannon typical violence, & blood

(Word Count): 3.2 k

“Italics” = Non human speaking

The boat ride took days to reach Mondstadt from Inazuma, you can’t complain since luckily your boat hasn’t gotten struck by lightning. You haven’t experienced any storms on the trip, but you’ve been on edge since you remembered watching videos of random players trying to reach Inazuma with various methods and all end up getting striked by lightning back in your world. Perhaps Teyvat itself has decided to bless you with luck on your voyage, hopefully that luck continues

With that blessing a little obstacle presents itself. The large mountains that litter Dragonspine. It’s not as bad as it is in Liyue but with the snowy terrain it adds an extra level of danger

You turned towards your companions. “So, how are we going to scale this? I don’t exactly have the upper body strength like you all have.”

“I guess one of us is going to have to carry their Grac-” Childe was cut off

“I’ll do it.” Lumine said

You see the two men wanting to argue with the blonde but you shut it down. “Okay.” Said loud and clear

You get on Lumine’s back and spot the others hang their heads in defeat and start to climb up the side of the mountain

“I hope I’m not weighing you down too much.”

“It’s nothing, I stopped the hand of Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom.” Lumine reminded you of her fight with Scaramouche when he was still a Harbinger

The trek up the mountain wasn’t too eventful, besides you telling yourself to not look down

Eventually you and company make it up and begin to walk to the Frostbearing Tree. During the walk you were surprised to see that the weather wasn’t as harsh as you expected. The wind swirled around you almost as if it was caressing your face

Finally in front of the tree you took a deep breath you put your hands on the tree and felt nothing

Confused, you take your hand off the bark and place it on a different part of the tree. You closed your eyes and desperately tried to concentrate but it felt like some force is blocking you from connecting to the elemental energy.

“Am I doing something wrong?” You said as you pulled your hand away. “I can’t resonate with the tree.”

“Don’t be sad, it might be because you’re tired and haven’t had a proper meal.” Paimon tried to reassure you

“Maybe, hopefully tomorrow will be better.” You said and out of the corner of your eye you see a flash of teal fly overhead

“Your Grace.”A voice reverberated through your head

“D-did any of you hear that?” You asked but was met with confused looks

“Come here.”

“There it is again, you guys seriously don’t hear that?”

“Are you sure it isn’t just the wind?” Aether said

“I know it’s not the wind.” You told

“I have to see you.”

You glance over to your companions who are none the wiser of the disembodied voice you’re hearing. Fed up you slowly make your way towards where the voice is coming from, the twins and Childe hesitantly follow you. Rounding the corner your greeted by the sight of the dragon, Dvalin

“Eek!! What is he doing here?!” Paimon screamed as she flew behind you

The twins and Childe quickly drew their weapon ready to charge at the dragon

“Fear not, for I have no intention of harming their Grace.”

“Wait, guys.” You said as you pushed through your companions. “You know who I am?”

“Of course I do, I would be a disgrace to not recognize the mighty creator of this world. I do apologize for that fool Barbatos attacking you without any hesitation.”

“I don’t hold a grudge against him because my doppelganger uses the gnosis to control him, along with the other archons.” You explained and saw a look of anger and confusion fills the dragon’s eyes

“That insolent fraud! I should go to their floating palace and maul them!” The dragon roared causing your companions to cover their ears

“I get your frustration, but I beg you to not do anything rash. I’m currently in the middle of getting my old powers back and when I’m ready I will confront them and I will need all the help I can get.”

“If you are in need of powers I will lend you some of mine.”

“Are you sure? I just don’t want it to bite you later down the line.”

“Nonsense, it is the least I can do and you won’t get any power from it.” Dvalin gestured his head towards the direction of the Frostbearing tree. “That tree has been tainted long ago.”

You had an inkling that its corruption had something to do with the large pillar floating above it, but decided to leave that topic of discussion for a later date

“Okay, I’ll take some of your powers.”

You hesitatantly put your hand on Dvalin’s snout and you focused on concentrating your hand began to glow a bright teal color, you kept your hand on the dragon until the light stopped

You cup your hands together and started to imagine a small tornado. A little vortex formed in your palms and then quickly dissipated when you separated your hands

“I have a question, does Andrius know about my situation? Like does he know that I’m the creator?” You asked turning back to Dvalin

“Why would he not be knowledgeable about your predicament?”

“Just making sure, I don’t want to get my hopes up and for them to side with my doppelganger.”

“It’s such a sad situation for the divine creator to take such a precaution for fear of death in a world that is supposed to worthship them.”

“Don’t feel bad, some people know the situation, and I have another request, but I don’t want to seem like I’m asking for too much.”

“Nonsense, your request do not bother me in the slightest.”

“If you say so, then can you give me and my friends here a ride to Wolvendom?”

“Of course, your Grace.”

“Thank you so much!” You said and turned towards the others. “I don’t know how much of that you caught, but we’re going to Wolvendom to meet Andrius.”

The twins, Childe, and Paimon shared confused glances at each other but eventually hopped on Dvalin. With flaps of his wings the dragon was off the ground and took flight

Soaring through the skies of Mondstadt, the lights of Mondstadt city could be seen in the distance. You turn your head to see Dawn Winery and remember the servants and Diluc. Especially the kindness and respect they showed you, gossiping with Moco and Hillie, the motherly care from Adeline, and the kindness the master of the house, Diluc. You wish you could go and see what’s happening with them after you were labeled as an imposter, or at least thank them for their hospitality

Before you know it you find yourself in Wolvendom, Lumine offered you her hand to help you off of the dragon

“Thank you Dvalin.”

“It was nothing your Grace.” Dvalin flapped his wings and flew off

“Are you okay? You seem like there’s something on your mind.” Lumine asked

“I’m okay, just thinking about Dawn Winery.”

Before the conversation could go any further a whirlwind of snow suddenly appears and instantly becomes intense, more intense than the winds in Dragonspine. The snowy wind concentrates into one spot to reveal the Great Wolf King of the North, Andrius. The wolf looked majestic in front of you and towered over you and your friends. The air around him dropped several degrees to the point where ice formed around the arena, shivers wracked through your body despite the thick coat you have on

“Greetings, your Grace.”

“Uh, hello Andrius.” You nervously waved at the wolf

“There is no need to be fearful of me, your Grace.”

“Oh, sorry. It’s just very different seeing you face to face, than to how I would usually see you. But I digress, I need to ask you something.” Your expression turned stern and Andrius’ ears perked at the change in your once shy tone. “Can I borrow some of your powers. If you can’t then I’ll understand.”

“The divine creator reborn into a human body was something I did not expect to happen, otherwise if me parting with a portion of my powers means their Grace returns to their former glory then it is a sacrifice I am willing to make.”

Andrius puts his head down for you to put your hand on, once you do your hand glows in a manner it did when you took some of Dvalin’s powers. Your hand stopped glowing you take it away from the wolf

“Thank you, I promise you once this is all over I will give you your powers back.”

“Anything for you, your Grace. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be able to speak to you like this. I owe you my life.” Andrius said and the wind began to pick up and before you could get a word in a gust of icy wind blinds you. “It was good to see you again.”, when the wind drops he’s gone

“He disappeared.” Paimon said

“Maybe he couldn’t keep his physical form since he gave me some of his powers.” You reasoned

“Anyway, see if you got some cryo powers, Paimon’s curious!” The fairy said as she kicked her feet

You look around to your eyes landed on a Flaming Flower Stamen. Raising your hand, you focused into concentrating your new powers until the side of your face felt the cold emitting from your hand. You flicked your hand towards the flower, the blast of cryo quickly dissipate before it can reach the flower. Confused you tried it again but the same thing happened, disappearing as soon as the energy leaves your hand

“Maybe I’m doing something wrong?” You said dishearted

“Try summoning electro.” Lumine said as she studied you intensely

You summon a spark of electro that was much larger than what you originally intended it to be

“Okay now summon some anemo.”

You do what she told you. “What are you getting at?”

“When you use either anemo or cryo the elemental energy flow is slower than when you use the other elements.” Lumine explained

“So what your saying is the powers their Grace got from Dvalin and Andrius is weaker than the elements they go from resonating with the trees?” Aether concludes

“Well it has to suffice since I don’t know long it takes until I can step foot in Snezhnaya.” You said as you put your hands in your pockets. “We’ll decide what to do in the morning, it’s getting late we should retire for the night.” Aether said

“Yeah, he’s right. We should get out of here, ‘cause I don’t want to run into any wolves. The last thing I want is to get woken up by some wolves.” You agreed

After some walk and climbing (well you were on Lumine’s back) you all find a spot that was perfect, it was on the cliff right next to the arena and no knights were stationed there. Best part it gave a beautiful view of Mondstadt city

“Stay here, we’ll gather some firewood.” Lumine said as she and Aether begin to walk away

“I’ll stay here to protect their Grace!” Childe said as he sat next to you

The twins rolled their eyes and walked towards some trees with Paimon following behind them

Once the twins were quite a distance away from the camp site

“So, how are you liking Teyvat?” The ginger asked

“It’s nice, besides everyone trying to hunt me down.”

“Yeah…”

“But I have notice some weird things.”

“Hmm, like what?”

“Mainly the moon.” You said was you leaned back with your hands propped up behind you.

“It’s so weird that the moon is constantly full here.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Back in my world it doesn’t produce light, the sun provides it. It even has stages called ‘phases’, a full moon happens every once a month or so.” You explained as you looked up at the moon. “But I find myself becoming mesmerized by it. The moon was beautiful back home but here, it fills me with a feeling of nostalgia.” You sighed blissfully as you rest your head in your hands. “It’s silly I-”

Suddenly your pulled towards Childe as a ball of fire is hurled at the seat you were once sitting in

You turn to see smoke coming from a giant claymore, wielded by a man with his long firy red hair tied in a low ponytail and some of his hair framing his face to show he’s wearing a domino mask

“Stay behind me.” Was all the ginger said before he charges at the masked redhead

Summoning his blades he makes swings towards his opponent which were expertly dodged by the Dark Knight Hero despite him hauling a giant sword

“Die Fatui scum!” He yelled as he swung his heavy claymore as flames bursts from the great sword

Childe uses his sword to block the attack, but the heat from the claymore quickly evaporated the hydro blade and thus sliced into the Harbinger, drawing blood

This is bad. With Childe’s bloodlust and the other’s hatred for Fatui, you know this will end in one or both of them dead. You got to think of something!

You could use cryo? No, it’s too weak to stop the flames

You could use either electro or pyro, but you can’t fight fire with fire and the electro might hurt Childe

So against your better judgement you take deep breath and yelled. “Diluc!” This caught the redhead’s attention

Shocked and mortified he swung his claymore at you, aiming for your face. You put your arms up to at least block a good portion of the attack. You hear the sleeves of your coat get cut. Blue beams shot past your head

“Your fight is with me!” Childe said as he shot hydro infused arrows at Diluc

Blood still gushing from his arm he draws another arrow and shoots. The redhead uses his great sword to shield himself from the arrows

“Take this!” Two voices yelled out in unison and a large sized tornado hits the masked hero

The redhead was pulled into the vortex and swirled around until the whirlwind stopped, disoriented Diluc tries to pick himself up but his arms fail him. He looked up at the direction the vortex came from and saw the iconic platinum blonde hair and white dress

“Traveler? Then does that mean…?” Diluc turned his attention towards you. “Me- Mentir?!” Diluc gasped, his eyes widen in shock as his eyes trailed down to see the golden liquid flowing from your arms. “Oh my Archons… Y-your Grace.”

You looked at your arms to see a decently sized cut on your right forearm, the left one was lucky cut not too deep. Upon seeing the blood staining your jacket Diluc instantly took a handkerchief and walked towards you but Aether and Childe step into front of you

“It’s alright you two, he means well.” You said as you pushed your way towards Diluc

“It’s not much, but when we get back to the manor, it’ll be treated properly.” He wrapped the cloth around your forearm. “I’m so sorry for harming you, your Grace.”

“You don’t have to call me that, we knew each other before things went sideways.”

“Of course, your- I mean Mentir.”

“Actually (y/n), is fine. Mentir is a fake name a gave you, sorrry…”

“Then what does ‘Mentir’ mean?”

“Funnily enough, Mentir means ‘to lie’ in another language from my world. I freaked out and gave you an obviously fake name, sorry again…” You explained fiddling with the fur on your borrowed coat

“We’ll talk about this more once we’re in the manor.” The redhead said as he gently took your hand and lead you to his home

Your face instantly heated up once you saw his features up close. Fluffy red hair framing his handsome face, sharp eyes with a chiseled nose and jawline

So focused on not drooling all over yourself you all made it to Dawn Winery

“It will be okay, most of the staff has retired for the night.” Diluc reassured as he slowly opened his front door. “Make yourself comfortable while I retrieve the medical supplies. Traveler can you help me with closing the curtains.”

You sit down at the table and watch Lumine and Aether close the drapes, soon Diluc comes back out with a small box that looked well used in his hands

You take off your jacket and the redhead kneeled down in front of you, Diluc makes quick work of your injury. Taking his gloves off he proceeds to remove the handkerchief that was a crude attempt to stop the bleeding. Once in his hands he tucked the rag into his pocket and turned his attention to you. Cleaning the wound with a gentleness that contrasts his scarred and callous hands, then wrapping your arm in gauze with a precision that came from years of practice, careful to not make it too tight on you

“There, that should be good.” Diluc stood up and took your jacket. “I’ll have this fixed and washed for you by the afternoon.”

“Thank you so much.” You smiled at the redhead

“Oh! It’s nothing, it’s the least I can do since attacking you without a second thought.” Diluc reasoned as a small blush crept up on his face

“It’s fine, I should have known, with your situation with the Fatui.”

“Anyway, what about sleeping arrangements?” Lumine said trying to steer the conversation away from the topic

“You can room with me, Your Grace! I can protect you better that way!” Childe smiled. And tonight’s is the perfect opportunity to showcase my stamina I told you about!”

The twin looked the ginger with disgusted looks that mirrored each other’s all the while Paimon looking clueless

“Ugh, can’t you show more respect instead of this degeneracy.” Diluc scolded

“If you didn’t run around playing ‘hero’ you would know a thing or two about bedding anybody, but you don’t.”

“Listen you Fatui scum-” Diluc stormed towards Childe but stopped when you stepped in between them

“Look! I will tell you what I told this one.” You hissed out while gesturing to Aether. “I am not in the mood to play referee between the two of y’all, you’re grown ass men, act like it!” Your eyes catch a glimpse of a wine bottle on the table. “Wait have you been drinking since I’ve been gone?” You walked towards it noticing it hasn’t been opened yet

Diluc turned his gaze towards where you’re standing. “I brought this down to the cellar, I do not know how this got up here.”

“Maybe you accidentally left it up here without realizing?”

“Maybe, but if that’s the case then why hasn’t any of the servants brought it down to the cellar.”

A sudden floorboard creaking catches all of your attention. Slowly creeping your heads towards the source of the noise and your all greeted with the sight of long navy blue hair, an azure eye with a four pointed star as its pupil. Holding an extra bottle of wine in his hand

“Hi…”

“Kaeya?!”

Taglist:

@chuuya-brainrot @creation-magician @tartarsaucechi1de @vvyeislazzy @aludicpoet @undecidingfate @annoying-mary @randomnatics @bore2808 @nickey-diano @transbirbboi @dxprived4-starboys @angstylittleb1tch @esthelily @yurivision @angelamelamela @chocolatekuns @ghost-mint @mmmhyperfixation @legendaryexperthideout @lapinaenmicoche @sinsdumbdrabble @rebeccawinters @imyme20 @nymphsdomain @sun7lowxr @blackcoffex @itz-luna @flowerypesky @land-of-eternity @deathcvltcivilofficial @d4y-dr3am3r @yuriclouds @artwitchh @mercy-not-merci @xyaxyn

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Serendipity

Hii I hope you guys enjoy this one-shot about Lando finding love in the most unexpected way :)

The sun was blazing high in the cloudless sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the sparkling turquoise waters of Ibiza. Fresh off a grueling F1 season, Lando Norris was soaking in every bit of the sun-drenched paradise. He had been looking forward to this break for weeks—no race tracks, no high-pressure environments, just a week of pure relaxation and fun with a few of his closest friends. Among them was Max Fewtrell.

Lando and Max had spent the morning lounging on the deck of their rented yacht, joking around and catching up. But now, the sea was calling them, and Lando was particularly excited about taking the water bikes out for a spin.

"Come on, mate, let's see if you can keep up!" Lando teased, already mounting his sleek, black water bike, the engine humming in anticipation. Max smirked, accepting the challenge, and soon both of them were zooming across the water, the wind whipping through their hair as they carved through the waves.

The feeling of freedom was intoxicating. Lando pushed the bike faster, relishing the spray of the sea against his face. He could hear Max's laughter behind him, egging him on. But the further they sped away from the yacht, the more Lando felt like he was in his element—completely in control and free from the confines of the track.

As they navigated the waters, Lando decided to push his bike even harder, zigzagging around imaginary obstacles and attempting a few jumps over the waves. The adrenaline rush was unmatched, a thrill that rivaled the high-speed corners of any circuit. He was having the time of his life, barely noticing the narrow rocks jutting out in the distance.

"Lando! Watch out!" Max's voice rang out, but it was lost in the roar of the wind and the engine. Lando didn't hear the warning until it was too late.

In a split second, everything changed. His front wheel hit something solid, throwing the bike off balance. Lando felt the sharp jolt of impact before he was tossed into the air. Time seemed to slow as he tumbled through the sky, the world a blur of blue and white before his vision went dark.

Voices, faint and distant, began to penetrate the darkness. Someone was calling his name, it seemed like a female voice but he couldn't respond. The pain grew worse, and as much as he tried to stay awake, consciousness slipped away from him like sand through his fingers.

"Lando, hey, can you hear me?" It was the voice he heard before, filled with concern.

Lando's eyes fluttered open, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings of the hospital room. The bright overhead lights and the sterile scent of antiseptic made it clear he was far from the sun-soaked shores of Ibiza. His head throbbed slightly, and his body ached, but the gentle sound of a soft voice pulled him from the fog of his thoughts.

"Wha—what happened, am I in heaven?" Lando's voice was hoarse, his throat dry as he tried to make sense of where he was.

A warm chuckle filled the room, and he turned his head slightly to see a figure standing beside him—a young doctor, her eyes bright with amusement. "No, you're not in heaven," she said, a smile tugging at her lips. "You're in a hospital. You were brought in by your friend, who's waiting outside."

Lando squinted at her, trying to focus as she continued. "You crashed into some rocks. You hit your head pretty bad, but luckily, there's nothing internal. With some rest, you should be able to go back to racing in no time."

Lando felt a rush of relief as her words sank in, followed by a pang of embarrassment. "Guess I won't be getting back on that water bike anytime soon," he said, attempting a weak smile.

She chuckled again, the sound light and comforting. "Maybe stick to the track for a while, yeah? We don't need any more scares like that."

Lando couldn't help but notice the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, or how her smile seemed to brighten the room. Despite the situation, he found himself feeling surprisingly at ease. He decided to lean into his usual charm, hoping to make the most of an otherwise unfortunate situation.

"So, doc," Lando started, his tone playful, "does this mean you're my guardian angel? You know, saving my life and all that?"

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his attempt at flirting. "I’m just doing my job, Mr. Norris," she replied, though there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Lando, please," he corrected her with a grin. "And you know, since you’re the one who’s patched me up, I think it’s only fair that I at least get to know your name."

She hesitated for a moment, but then relented, "It's Dr. Y/N. But you can call me Y/N, if you'd like."

"Y/N," Lando repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue. "That’s a beautiful name. Matches the beautiful face, I’d say."

You rolled your eyes, though the smile on your face told him you weren’t entirely annoyed. "You must be feeling better if you’re already trying out your lines on me."

Lando laughed, then winced slightly as the movement caused a sharp pain in his side. "You caught me. But hey, flirting is the best way to speed up recovery, right?"

You shook your head, clearly trying to maintain your professional demeanour, but Lando could see the corners of your mouth twitching upwards. "Is that what they teach you in F1? Flirting as a form of therapy?"

"Absolutely," Lando said, settling back into his pillows. "It’s a proven method. But seriously, I think you’ve got some kind of magic touch. I feel better already."

"That’s probably the pain medication," You replied with a laugh, but there was a softness in your eyes now.

Lando decided to push his luck just a little further. "Well, since you’re so good at making me feel better, maybe we could continue this magic touch over dinner once I’m out of here?"

You paused, your expression thoughtful. "You don’t give up easily, do you?"

"Never," Lando said, his smile widening. "Especially when there’s something—or someone—worth chasing after."

You studied him for a moment, clearly weighing her options. Finally, you let out a sigh, though it was more of a resigned laugh. "Alright, Lando. I’ll tell you what—if you promise to take it easy and follow the doctor’s orders, maybe I’ll consider that dinner."

Lando’s eyes lit up, the pain in his body temporarily forgotten. "You’ve got yourself a deal, Dr. Y/N."

You shook your head, still smiling as you stepped back towards the door. "Rest up, Lando. I’ll check in on you later."

As she left the room, Lando couldn’t help but feel a small surge of victory. Despite the pain and the accident, things were definitely looking up. Maybe Ibiza wasn’t quite over for him yet.

[brokenpieces-72]

Recover-

CoD Hybrid AU | Navigation

Note: This is a continuation from Sick Day and a spin-off, so none of this actually happens, but it does include @diejager ‘s reader character Hunter and is inspired by the AU created by @bluegiragi

You eventually do recover, your hunger returning to normal. Johnny is relieved and hugs you when you come shuffling out of your room.

However you’re still tired and weak. Hunter had given you your flu shot which basically put you out of commission for almost a whole day. The rest of the team is leaving for a mission, and finishing with gearing up. Hunter would stay behind to help keep watch over you. They aren’t taking any chances with your safety. You find Johnny in his tact gear. You’re wearing one of his hoodies so it’s oversized, but warm.

“Johnny?” You say, your voice returned somewhat. He turns and big brother mode kicks in again.

“Aye, back to bed.” He orders.

“Are you leaving soon?” You ask, not obeying. Not the first time he’s gone on a mission without you. You try to occupy your mind with helping on base or doing your hobbies. This time is different and you don’t know why. Seeing your big brother off feels important. Johnny sighs and picks you up in a bear hug making you giggle before setting you back down.

“Yeah I am.” He says.

“Do you want help with your collar?” You say before yawning. The collar he uses for coms. Usually he lets Simon do it but if it puts you at ease he doesn’t mind. You do your best and make sure it isn’t too tight. Once you finish you wrap your arms around him tightly. You make a small noise

“Aye… I’ll come back I always do.” He says trying to soothe you.

“I love you.” You say.

“I love you too. Keep the hoodie on, it’ll help.” He says. He gives you a tight hug, before carrying you back to your room. “Be back soon.”

Your door shuts and you wait, text Macho a bit, and continue to wait. The mission is going to be a few days or so. Hunter keeps you company, and you keep them company as well. You're patient. You don't have a choice.

Hunter does some training of their own with you, providing you with more insights into each of the hybrids. You’re feeling plenty better by now, just tired. You’re eating much better too. Hunter gives you some free time, running time to go to explore the wilds around base. It’s freeing, and seeing the spirits of other animals roaming around brought an odd sense of peace.

One day you go out and find a few rabbits hopping around each other. You giggle as they hop over each other, and chase around trees. You start to sketch them when you hear something overhead. Your head flicks up at the sound of propellers, and you saw two choppers overhead. You don’t hesitate to take off running as fast as you can, startling the rabbit spirits. You’re in full tilt, vaulting and leaping over any obstacle in the way.

Once you get close to the landing pad your excitement changes to something else. There are medics moving quickly and stretchers being laid out. No. No it can’t be. You run harder, crying out for your team, seeing damaged wings, and roughly bandaged limbs. Ghost hears you crying out, and acts fast. He’s quick to catch you, moving through the other soldiers and reaching you first.

As you reach out Ghost catches you, getting to your level. You can smell the blood on him, hear him trying to give you orders but you don’t listen. You’re fighting him as much as possible, desperate to reach your team. What the hell happened?! You’re calling for Johnny and König, but Ghost is just trying to keep you from running in. You’re tough, and you don’t make it easy, as you try to shove him away. It’s useless though as he just puts his arms around you, and holds tightly as you start crying. You keep calling their names, waiting for someone to respond with something, anything. Your fight weakens as emotions take over. You can’t lose them now. You just can’t.

Ghost doesn’t let go until everyone is back inside, and even then he lets you cry it out. Your face buries into his shoulder. He’s worried about Johnny too, and everyone else. Crying and running in isn’t gonna solve anything. He doesn’t need to be with them if you’re out here sobbing and fretting over what you have no control over.

“It’s gonna be okay.” He says. “They’ll pull through.”

You continue to soak the fabric of his uniform with your tears. Simon isn’t the most tender of people. Never has been really. But you’re hurting and afraid. He lets you settle down for a bit before letting you go.

“Deep breaths.” He reminds you, holding your head to focus on him. You sniffle and nod, taking deep unsteady breaths.

“They’ll be in post op soon. Price’ll tell you what happened when he can.”

“Yes sir.” You said, swallowing the lump in your throat. Ghost gives a half smile under his mask. He stands and walks with you inside. Your tears are still visible, and he thinks for a moment.

“Hey. You ever try to catch fog?” He asks.

“N…no.” You reply, confused.

“I tried to but I mist.” He says. It takes you a second but you smile at him.

The mission had fucked up in many ways. Price nearly got his tail torn off. Rudy would have been a thrall himself if Alejandro hadn’t taken most of the bites. König had to fight a blood rage, with Horangi getting caught in the crossfire. Gaz got tangled up with some sirens which didn’t go nice with the number of feathers that had been ripped out. Soap wasn’t fairing much good himself, having plenty of injuries from silver bullets. Plenty of bite marks amongst them. You watch from the doorway with Ghost behind you, hands on your shoulders.

Ghost feels a sense of guilt. He was there, and should’ve done more. Right now he knows you feel the same sort of guilt, wishing you had been there.

Hunter is tending to Rudy when a couple other medics shout for them. You hear growls from both Johnny and Alejandro. Ghost holds your shoulders a little tighter, as you try to take a step forward. You can’t see much, but there’s definitely some struggling, you can hear the bed rattling and creaking from the two men trying to fight something. The noises you hear shift and change from human to beast, mixed with panicked and commanding shouts.

“Come on kid.” Ghost says, having to pull you away from the scene. You don’t fight this time, only lean forward to see as much as you can before more soldiers file in to help. You finally look away once Ghost starts leading you down the hall. The noise is muffled as you walk away. It gets quieter and quieter an until you can only hear the sound of boots on the floor.

You sit in the locker room while Ghost gets out of his tactical gear. You sit on the bench where you can’t see him, and thankfully no other soldiers were walking around. Once Ghost finishes his shower and gets changed he comes out with the balaclava on. You’re quiet, more quiet than usual. He sits down next to you.

“Don’t fault yourself for not being there.” Ghost reminds you.

“I’m not… but… what happened?” You ask.

“Shit hit the ceiling. We thought it was only supposed to be thralls and instead we were faced with far more than we could account for. There were creatures in blood rages, which threw us off. König got out of hand as well, I think someone stuck him with something. Thankfully he calmed, but keeping him from destroying everything and everyone wasn’t fun. Honestly kid, if you were there it would have been more difficult.”

“I could’ve helped König.” You argue. Ghost sighs.

“Yeah you could’ve… or you could’ve passed out from sickness.” Ghost says. You know he’s right. You don’t want him to be but he is. Without asking you lean against his arm.

“Do you like him?” You ask, not looking at Ghost. Ghost takes a moment to process the question.

“Yes. I do.” He says. You look at him, and you can see he’s struggling as well. It’s not as obvious.

“You did everything you could.” You tell him. The way you say it almost sounds like a question, even if you don’t mean it to be. He doesn’t have anything to say in response.

“You hungry?” He asks instead. You nod and he takes you to get something.

“Is it quiet?” You ask from the counter, looking around the kitchen. Ghost hadn’t taken much notice, focused on making you some food. Simple sandwich would do fine. Now that you mention it, it was strangely quiet. He was aware of some leave from other soldier but not that many. Surely not all of them were needed at the infirmary.

He offers you the plate, saying it was probably nothing.

Ghost joins you on the counter knowing the cooks would give him a hard time later on about it. You see his scarred face under the balaclava, and stare until he turns his head towards you.

“You can look I don’t mind. The mask is just a comfort thing.” He says.

You eat your food, trying to focus on Ghost than what was going on. It would be okay. You suspect Ghost is trying to distract himself the same way. The two of you sit at the counter and you kick your legs a little. You hear a message over the PA system.

“Attention! We have an emergency in the medical wing. Rouge Hybrids! Repeat! Emergency in the medical wing! Rouge Hybri-fuck!” You and Ghost share a single look before getting up and rushing to medical wing. You half expect it to be Soap or König, but you are soon proven wrong. At least partially.

After shoving through doors with Ghost close behind you, you come across the bodies of two soldiers. You rush to them checking for a pulse, asking if they can hear you. No pulse, and even worse, there were blades stuck in their vest. Ghost approaches the other body, which looks like it’s been clawed into and torn apart. He suspects König or Horangi, until you speak up.

“Ghost… are these…” you hold up one of the blades and something drops in Ghost’s stomach. They weren’t blades, they were feathers. Kyle’s feathers.

“Take their vests.” He orders. You don’t question it, and work quickly to remove the soldier’s vest. Ghost keeps watch, but doesn’t for long, when he sees what cut off the announcer. Price stood at the end of the hall, eyes vacant, and body slouched. In his hand was a charred corpse, or rather his claws were inside of it. Ghost’s eyes widen as he steps back in shock. You freeze in place your focus on your captain’s bizarre state. His head turns towards the two of you, as he lets go of the body. When it doesn’t fall from his hand being so deep he slams it down on the ground. The sound is enough to make you snap back into focus. You had to go, and now. You get up and grab for Ghost’s arm, tugging.

Simon steps back, taking a quick glance at you. He makes sure you’re behind him as Price moves closer towards you. His eyes once vacant were now very focused, and on you and Simon.

“Price? Price!” Simon yells at the captain. Price doesn’t say anything, just keeps moving closer. His wing stretches out, still ragged from the mission. It’s a threat, a warning. You start to smell smoke.

“Ghost!” You shout, and Ghost is moving quicker, turning and shielding you, shadows forming around you and his as fire is blasted at the both of you. Ghost looks towards the door, ready to pick you up and run. He notices something in the small window, that makes him look for another way.

“Close your eyes.” He orders, and you obey. You feel yourself being picked up and rushed out of the room. You feel something sharp drag across your arm and Ghost grunt in some pain as he keeps running. You don’t let go, and you keep your eyes squeezed shut. You hear Ghost muttering names, and you even hear some familiar noises. You hear voices you should recognize but something is wrong. Something that makes your blood freeze and your body stiff. You hear some sounds of a struggle from Ghost, keeping you close with one arm, and fighting with the other. You hear some squelching noises before he continues, having to stop a few times.

It feels like an hour of the horrible noises and sounds, concealed by the darkness of your own eyelids. He finally reaches a room where he shuts the door tight and is able to lock it. You recognize the scent of tobacco and smoke as he sets you down on the desk. He checks the door again, ensuring it was locked tight. You’re trembling when Simon looks back at you.

His clothes are torn in places, and you look down to see your arm was scratched. He checks it thoroughly, unbothered by his own state. Nothing serious, a simple cut, with some blood. Blood.

Something pounds on the door to Price’s office. Fucking hell, there’s no other exit. You look at Ghost awaiting orders but he honestly doesn’t know what to tell you. Ghost points to you and then points under the desk. You know what to do. Ghost makes his way slowly to the door, before he opens it. He’s ready for anything, but relieved it’s Rudy falling through. Ghost tenses shutting the door and summoning shadows, ready if Rudy tries something. Rudy is coughing and panting, looking exhausted. He still has bandages on. Slowly he turns and moves backwards seeing Ghost ready to strike.

“What did you say about my mask in Las Almas?” He asks. Rudy takes a minute to steady himself, and Ghost is nice enough to give him a chance to breathe.

“You would fit in well.” He answers, and Ghost offers his hand to help him up. “I came to help when the announcement came on. When I saw the damage…”

“What happened?” Ghost asks.

“I’m not entirely sure. Alejandro started having these seizures, and then Soap started having them too. They got me out of there so they could focus on them. As for the rest… as soon as I saw Gaz on my way back there, I made a run for it. The cadejos have taken a lot out of me already, seemed the safest option.”

“Whats wrong with Gaz?” You ask popping up from your hiding spot, making Rodolfo nearly have a heart attack.

“We’re not sure. I have a feeling those bullets were more than just silver.” Rudy explained, once he steadied his heart rate.

“I got shot, and I’m fine though.” Ghost comments.

“Maybe cause you’re not alive?” You suggest. Simon considers it as a possibility. Then you look at Rudy. “But why doesn’t it bother you?”

“Still mostly human. The cadejos are ghosts.” Rudy tells you. That makes some sense. Your mind then goes to the rest of the team.

“What about Johnny?” You ask. Rudy’s face looks unsure and grim.

“I don’t know Mija.” Rudy admits. The room is eerily quiet, and there’s no sound outside. Even you can't pick up much.

“What of the human soldiers?” Ghost asks. Rudy shakes his head. That’s all Ghost needs. If there were any still around they were either fighting for their lives or hunkering down the same as the three of you. You come out from behind the desk, and sit on top of it while Rudy and Ghost wander and pace around the room. The burning question among the three of you.

Now what?

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving @cutiecusp

[hd-junglebook]

Neutral

Part 2

word count - 3,446

The five of you stood at the side of the cliff, your hearts pounding with anticipation as Finn gripped the rope tightly in his hand, ready to swing across the gap. Finn prepared to make his leap, Jasper piped up, his voice filled with determination. "Wait, guys. Let me do it. I've got this."

There was a moment of stunned silence as his words sunk in. Clarke glanced at him, concern etched across her features. "Jasper, are you sure? It's a long way across." But Jasper was already stepping forward, a defiant gleam in his eyes. "Clarke. Trust me, I can do this."

The rest of you exchanged uncertain glances, but Finn nodded in agreement. "Let him try. We don't have much time."

With a collective cheer, you urged Jasper on as he gripped the rope and launched himself into the air. For a moment, he sailed across the gap with grace, his movements fluid and confident. As Jasper neared the other side, a spear soared through the air straight into his chest, sending him careening off course.

With a sickening thud, he collided with the rock behind him, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

"Jasper!" Clarke cried out in horror, rushing forward to help him. The rest of you watched in shock, the reality of the situation sinking in. You were not alone in these woods.

Finn took charge, his voice urgent as he scanned the surrounding area. "We need to move. Now. Whatever hit Jasper could still be out there."

You stood in stunned silence by yourself, gears turning in your head at the lack of choices you seemed to have in this moment. Clarkes voice waking you back up from your daze. You crouch down out of sight of whatever was out there.

The woods seemed darker and more foreboding now, every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs sending shivers down your spine. You looked back at Jaspers figure once more pinned to the rock, catching sight of Monty out in the open.

"Well, this is just fantastic. I always wanted to be stuck in a survival situation with a bunch of amateurs." You whisper to yourself, scanning the woods around you before lunging towards Monty, dragging him by his ear back to the group.

"We are so screwed," Octavia insisted, her eyes darting from tree to tree as if searching for any sign of their missing friend.

Out of nowhere, Jasper's chilling scream pierced through the stillness of the forest, sending a shiver down your spine and causing your blood to run cold. Panic surged through you, your mind racing with fear and uncertainty.

"Clarke, Jasper. He's alive," you gasped out, your voice trembling with a mix of relief and dread.

But Clarke was already moving, her determination unwavering as she raced ahead, heedless of Finn's warning. "Clarke, wait. Wait! Wait," Finn called out desperately, but she didn't stop.

Monty's voice trembled with fear as he scanned the surrounding trees, removing himself from you side to stand at the cliffs edge once more. "No. Where is he?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes wide with horror.

"They took him," Clarke replied, her tone heavy with sorrow and rage. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, feeling paralyzed as you crouched in the depths of the forest, knowing that Jasper was now in the hands of whatever lurked in the woods.

---

The four of you sprinted through the dense undergrowth, the branches seemed to claw at your skin, leaving scratches in their wake. You reached out, grabbing Octavia's arm with clammy hands, pulling her along with you as you dodged and weaved through the obstacles in your path.

Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed Monty and Clarke lagging behind, their breath coming in ragged gasps. "Come on, guys! We're almost there!" you shouted back, urging them to pick up the pace. The forest around you seemed to darken, the sunlight filtering through the canopy overhead seems to diminish with each passing step.

light struggled to penetrate the thick trees behind you, casting long shadows that stretch across the forest floor like fingers reaching out to pull you deeper into the gloom with every step you took towards the safety of the camp.

The distant flicker of the campfire beckoned through the thick brush, you could almost feel the warmth of the flames against your skin, driving you forward despite the burning ache in your legs. Each step was a struggle, your muscles screaming in protest from the relentless exertion of running from Mount Weather.

You pushed Octavia forward through the trees, finally reaching the group, you were met with a scene that sent a chill down your spine. Murphy and Wells were engaged in a vicious knife fight, their faces contorted with anger and desperation.

Clarke stepped in front of you, her voice sharp with urgency. "Wells! Let him go!" she yelled, pushing herself through the crowd to intervene.

“Alright enough you two!” Bellamy growled as he pushed Murphy away from Wells. Meeting Clarkes angry glare before Octavia caught his attention.

He moved with determined strides, parting the sea of bodies like a ship cutting through choppy waters., his expression darkening with concern and anger. "Octavia, are you all right?" he demanded, his piercing gaze locked onto you, unwavering and intense. "You let her get hurt out there? Where's the food you were so spent on getting?”

You bristled at his accusatory tone, your sarcasm dripping like venom. "Oh, sorry, Bellamy, I was too busy dodging spears and saving Octavia to remember to pack you a picnic basket," you shot back, your frustration boiling over. "But you seem to have everything under control, as usual."

Bellamy's jaw clenched, his gaze hardening even further as he took a step closer to you. "Don't play games with me, y/n," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Finn stumbled forward, gasping for breath. "We... we didn't make it to Mount Weather," he managed to get out between labored breaths.

Clarke stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "We were attacked," she announced, her gaze sweeping over the assembled group of delinquents. "They were waiting for us, lying in ambush."Her words hung heavy in the air, a chilling reminder of the dangers that lurked in the woods beyond their camp. The group exchanged worried glances.

Clarke's gaze softened as she addressed her friends, her voice sincere. "Everything we thought we knew about the ground is wrong," she continued, her eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. "There are people here, survivors. The good news is, that means we can survive. Radiation won't kill us."

"Yeah, the bad news is the Grounders will," Finn admitted, his eyes reflecting the gravity of their situation.

Wells limped towards the group, grimacing in pain as his voice broke through the tension, his concern evident as he inquired about Jasper's whereabouts. "Where's the kid with the goggles?" he asked, his gaze darting around the group anxiously.

Clarke stepped forward, her expression grim as she delivered the devastating news. "Jasper was hit. They took him," she revealed anxiously. "Where is your wristband?" she demanded, turning her attention back to Wells, her eyes searching his face for answers.

Wells hesitated for a moment before responding, his voice heavy with regret. "Ask him," he replied, gesturing towards Murphy with a solemn expression.

Clarke's frustration was obvious as she processed the information. "How many?" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper as she awaited Murphy's response.

Murphy's reply was chilling in its simplicity. "Twenty-four and counting," he admitted, his tone sinister as he confirmed the number.

Clarke's frustration boiled over, her words laced with anger. "You idiots," she spat, her voice filled with bitter disappointment. "Life support on the Ark is failing. That's why they brought us down here," she scolded, her words a reminder of the harsh reality they faced.

"Don't listen to her. She's one of the privileged. If they come down, she'll have it good," Bellamy shouted, rallying the crowd with his impassioned words. "We can take care of ourselves. That wristband on your arm? It makes you a prisoner," he declared, his tone defiant as he challenged Clarke's authority as he faced her.

"I say you're not criminals! You're fighters, survivors! The Grounders should worry about us!" His words resonated with the crowd, drawing them back to his side as they echoed their agreement.

You shook your head in disappointment at the shortsightedness of it all, the frustration evident in your expression as you watched the crowd rally behind Bellamy's reckless rhetoric.

Monty pulled you and Clarke towards him, his faced scrunched in discomfort. "What do we do now?" he asked, his eyes darting between Clarke and Bellamy as he sought your guidance.

Clarke's response was firm and resolute, her gaze unwavering as she addressed him. "Now we go after Jasper," she declared.

---

You and Clarke worked quickly to patch up Wells, the urgency of the situation lending speed to your movements as you devised a plan to rescue Jasper. Clarke and Finn's heated exchange filled the air behind you, their voices clashing in disagreement.

Finn remained steadfast in his belief that venturing back into the woods would only lead to disaster. "I'm not going anywhere, and neither should any of you. That spear was thrown with pinpoint accuracy from 300 feet," he argued back.

Clarke's frustration bubbled to the surface as she refused to entertain the idea of leaving Jasper behind. "So what, we let Jasper die? That's not gonna happen, Spacewalker." she retorted, every word seasoned with accusation.

Finn stood his ground, his expression desperate as he countered Clarke's resolve. "It's not an adventure, Clarke, it's a suicide mission," he countered.

"Clarke, we could use Bellamy," you suggested, your voice tinged with reluctance. "He has a weapon. As annoying as he is, we need all the help we can get."

Walking over to Octavia, you handed her a bottle of water, offering her a small smile of reassurance before looking over her leg once more. Clarke approached Bellamy then, her voice commanding as she addressed him. "I hear you have a gun.” Bellamy reply came without hesitation, lifting his shirt slightly to reveal the weapon strapped to his waist.

As he did, you couldn't help but notice the defined contours of his abdomen, the muscles taut and well-defined. Caught momentarily in the act of admiring, you quickly averted your gaze, but not before Bellamy's eyes flicked up, catching you in the act.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he noticed your fleeting glance. "Like what you see?" he quipped, his tone teasing.

You rolled your eyes, unable to resist a sarcastic retort. "Please, Bellamy, don't flatter yourself. I was just wondering if that thing is even loaded," you shot back, your tone laced with playful sarcasm.

Clarke nodded in agreement. “That’s good. Follow me," she instructed, her words leaving no room for argument.

You fell into step beside her, Bellamy shot you both a questioning look, his brow furrowed in confusion. "And why would I do that?" he asked, his voice edged with skepticism. The two you halting in your walking.

You couldn't resist the urge to challenge him back, his self-righteous attitude grating your nerves for the second time today, "Oh, I don't know, Bellamy. Maybe because you're not as brave as you like to pretend," you retorted, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

Bellamy's expression hardened, and he stepped closer to you, mirroring your stance, his gaze intense. For a moment, you almost step back at his closeness, but you refused to back down. "Careful, sweetheart. You don't want to find out just how wrong you are," he warned.

You squared your shoulders, meeting his gaze with equal intensity. "Try me," you mocked, your voice steady despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You walked away with Clarke, leaving Bellamy behind. You could almost feel the weight of his gaze boring into your back as you moved further away. A silent challenge lingering in the air.

---

Your focus, alongside Clarke's, remained on locating Jasper, the urgency tangible in every stride as the group trudged through the dense undergrowth. Bellamy's voice, sharp and cutting, sliced through the otherwise oppressive silence.

"Hey, hold up. What's the rush? You don't survive a spear through the heart." His words halted the group in their tracks, prompting a momentary pause in the relentless pursuit. Wells attempted to interject, his voice a soft plea for reason, "We have to find him, Bellamy,” but Murphy's abrupt intrusion blocked his path.

"We heard him scream when they moved him. We have to find him now." You voiced, restraining yourself from punching Bellamy in the face.

The exchange between you and Clarke, a tense back-and-forth of explanations and rebuttals, seemed destined to continue until Bellamy interrupted, his tone brusque and impatient. "As soon as you take those wristbands off, we can go."

���Over my dead body, Blake,” you huffed, finding his insistence infuriating. Bellamy was quick to put on a self-satisfied expression at your remark. Suddenly, Finn materialized out of the shadows, his unexpected presence bringing an abrupt halt to the argument.

"Clarke's right. We need to keep moving. We're not leaving anyone behind."

Clarke spared you one last glance, mouthing a simple ‘sorry’ before walking away with Finn taking the lead of the group. Once they dispersed, you found yourself beside Wells, Bellamy, and Murphy not far behind. Seeking solace in conversation, you struck up a dialogue with him, hoping to find some semblance of normalcy. Every step felt heavy, the worry for Jasper gnawing at your insides.

The sound of a low groan reverberated through the trees, causing both you and Clarke to snap into action. Without a second thought, you both bolted towards the source of the noise. pushing through tangled foliage and dodging gnarled roots. You finally stumbled upon Jasper, his figure slumped against a rock.

Your heart twisted at the sight of him, “Jasper!” you screamed, looking over his battered and bloodied form. Jasper's wounds were covered, a makeshift bandage hastily applied by unknown hands. Jasper groaned aloud once more, relief flooded through you at the realization that he was alive.

Before you could reach him, the ground beneath your feet gave way, the earth crumbling beneath you in a sudden collapse. Clarke's scream pierced the air as she watched you disappear into the darkness below.

She stumbled backward, her eyes wide with fear, before collapsing to the ground herself. The rest of the group rushed to her side, their shouts of concern blending with the chaos of the moment.

In the midst of the commotion, Bellamy's strong grip closed around your arm, your heart leaped into your throat, you locked eyes with Bellamy just as you were about to plummet into the unknown depths below.

For a fleeting moment, there was something indecipherable in his expression, a hint of uncertainty perhaps, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Before you could dwell on it further, you realized his attention was drawn to the wristband on your arm, and Bellamy's gaze flickered down to it for just a moment. Anger flared within you at the implication, and you snapped, "Let go, Bellamy!"

He hesitated, his grip on your arm tightening as if contemplating his next move. Panic overwhelmed you as you teetered on the edge of the pit, "I know you want to let go, Bellamy. Just do it already!" you snapped.

Bellamy's expression remained inscrutable, his gaze flickering briefly to your wristband before meeting yours again. Then, as if coming to a decision, he released you, allowing you to slip further into the spiked pit below.

Just as you were about to plummet into the abyss, Murphy's strong hand closed around your arm. The rest of the group rushed to your aid, their shouts of concern mingling with the chaos of the moment as they worked together to pull you back to safety.

With a collective effort, they hoisted you up from the brink, your heart pounding in your chest as you collapsed onto solid ground once more. Relief washed over you in a dizzying wave, but as you shot a glare at Bellamy, his gaze still lingering on you with an intensity you couldn't quite decipher.

---

Murphy and Finn rushed forward to help Jasper, you stayed back, still trying to steady your breathing after the near fall. The others scrambled to their feet, scanning the forest for any signs of danger. your eyes landed on Bellamy's gun lying on the ground nearby.

Before you could think twice, a low growl echoed through the trees, sending shivers down your spine. Your gaze shot back to the source of the sound just in time to see a sleek panther emerge from the brush, its predatory eyes fixed on Bellamy.

“Bellamy!” Clarke shouted. “Get the gun now!”

Bellamy reached in his waistband, feeling around for his gun coming up short. A look of confusion passed over his face as the panther crept closer to him. For a split second, you hesitated, your anger and resentment towards Bellamy flashing through your mind. ‘he doesn’t deserve to live.’  You thought. But against your better judgment, you lunged forward, grabbing the gun and aiming at the panther.

You fired off a shot, the sound echoing through the forest as the bullet found its mark. The panther let out a fierce roar before getting ready to strike again. You straightened your aim, stepping closer before firing another round. The panther collapsing to the ground with a loud, its threat neutralized.

Breathless and shaken, Bellamy turned to face you with an eyebrow raised. "Guess I owe you one," he replied, his tone laced with sarcasm.

---

“They're back!”

The gates of the camp swung open, allowing everyone to stream back through the camp, you found yourself lingering behind, lost in the tumult of your own thoughts. Memories of your mother, her accusing words, and the weight of her disappointment flooded your mind.

You recalled the countless times she had blamed you for her circumstances, her voice echoing in your head like a haunting refrain. The sharp sting of her words, the relentless yelling, and the coldness in her eyes all played vividly in your memory.

"You coming?" Bellamy's voice broke through your reverie, pulling you back to the present.

You glanced up, meeting his gaze briefly before looking away. "Yeah, I'll catch up," you replied tersely, your tone betraying the turmoil within. Your legs guided you without a second though, taking your place on a log settled by the fire, surrounded by the other delinquents. You let the warmth of the flames ease the tension in your shoulders.

Harper and Miller's banter provided a welcome distraction, their jokes and laughter cutting through the heavy atmosphere that hung over the camp. You found yourself drawn into their playful exchange, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you listened to their witty repartee.

"So, did you hear about the guy who stole a calendar? He got twelve months!" Harper said, laughing to herself while Miller poked the fire next to you.

"Oh man, that's almost as bad as your last joke!" Miller responded, shaking his head at her bad attempts at jokes.

You chuckled along with them, appreciating the light-hearted moment amidst the chaos of your situation. You caught yourself watching Bellamy, your eyes hazily looking over at the line forming in front of him.

"Next!" Bellamy shouted, while Murphy continued to break off the wristbands of each delinquent in line. You watched as he worked efficiently, his movements brisk and purposeful as he conducted his trade.

"Food for wristbands. One at a time, let's keep it moving."

Despite your lingering resentment towards him, you couldn't help but admire his resourcefulness and determination to provide for the group.

But when Bellamy's gaze briefly met yours, you couldn't bring yourself to accept his offer of food, instead choosing to remain seated by the fire, surrounded by the company of your fellow delinquents.

Every now and then, a knowing glint danced in your eyes, a subtle acknowledgment of the secret you held close. While Bellamy spoke with confidence, there was a hint of unease in his demeanor, a flicker of uncertainty that betrayed his facade of bravado.

It was clear to you that he didn't realize you were privy to his secret, the truth behind his presence on the dropship, the lengths he went to in order to secure his spot among the delinquents.

[peaches2217]

Summer Rain

AO3 link!

~~~

There’s nothing quite like falling ten feet to the ground and landing flat on one’s back to bring a person back into reality. When he came to, Mario’s first reaction was relief. Rest, finally. Everything burned. His throat, his lungs, his muscles, his stomach. His ears rang and his head spun and his vision created doubles of every last block and obstacle overhead, and at long last, he was free to simply lay in the grass and observe passively.

As with all good things, it didn't last.

Get up.

The all-too-familiar voice, maybe his own and maybe some divine call from the universe, repeated these words in his head, but he couldn’t make his muscles obey. He could hardly breathe; air returned to him in unsteady gasps, and with each one, his short-lived relief melted further and further into frustration.

Get up. Something gurgled in his throat that was neither air nor bile, and the taste of copper coated his tongue. Get up. How had he slipped? He’d run this training gauntlet hundreds of times, if not thousands, in the past weeks. Had he grown complacent? Get up. This was no time for complacency. No time for failure. Get up, get up, get up.

“Mario!” He registered the cry of his name the same way he registered the pain in his spine or the ache in his limbs or the muted yet near-constant growling of his gut: with little more than passing acknowledgement. He knew he was hurt. He knew he was hungry. He knew someone was calling out to him. He didn’t care. His only concern was get up, get up, get up, sit up, stand up, get back to training.

Get back to her.

“Mario?”

Just as soon as he’d pulled himself to his knees, dizziness overtook Mario, and he barely caught himself on his hands, his arms shaking from the effort to support his weight. Her voice. All it took was the ghost of her voice to sap his fight, drain the furor that fueled him, until he was empty, empty, empty.

She wasn’t— he knew she wasn’t— and yet she— she sounded so near—

“Oh, Mario,” Peach sighed, pressing a gloved hand to her cheek, “what am I going to do? If I have to sit through one more unproductive commission on import tax rates, I think I’m going to scream.”

Mario chuckled sympathetically. “So I’m guessing third time wasn’t the charm after all?”

“I thought surely the senators would be just as sick of all the arguing as I am by now. Sadly, I’m fairly certain they enjoy it.” Another sigh. “So a fourth commission has been scheduled for Thursday.”

Thursday. Mario wracked his head for upcoming happenings, possible excuses, any circumstance he could twist in her favor, and he found it in short order.

“Hmm… it sure is a shame you won’t be there for that meeting, Princess.”

Peach halted in her tracks, and Mario stopped alongside her, meeting her confusion with pointed nonchalance.

“I… won’t be?”

“You didn’t forget, did you? That play in Mushroom City you were invited to? That’s Thursday night, yeah?”

Peach shook her head. “Mario, I’d hardly call a letter written in crayon by a child begging me to attend their Kindergarten theatre production an ‘invitation.’ More of a… um…” A pause. The realization clicked into place, her bright eyes glowing ever brighter in the twilight, and she graced Mario with a sly, cheerful smile. “Well, how many children have the courage to write to the castle directly? It would be rude to turn such a thoughtful invitation down.”

“My thoughts exactly!” He nudged her side, winking up at her. “Now, I know you’d rather sit and listen to grouchy old Toads shout over each other all day, but we all have to make sacrifices sometimes, yeah?”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.” A very un-regal giggle slipped her lips, juvenile in its conniving yet ethereal all the same, and Mario couldn’t help but feel especially proud of himself. “So we’ll meet at the carriage hold Thursday at dawn, then? Plenty enough time to escape before Toadsworth catches on.”

Her proposal didn’t surprise him; it had become customary, after all, to act as her guard any time she ventured beyond the palace walls. This made her invitation no less sacred to him. “You can count on me, Princess.”

Peach took a moment to breathe in the fresh spring evening, exhale her worries, and as their walk resumed, her hand found his, small and light but present and real and warm. “Oh, Mario,” she laughed, “you’re my hero!”

You’re my hero…

Another rush of oxygen hit his brain, and she was gone once more. Memories of golden hair in the waning light of sunset were washed out in smudges of green and brown and red — his fingers digging into the earth, damp from a recent summer rain, a trickle of blood dripping from his bottom lip onto the backs of his hands.

Some hero he was. 

A familiar pressure welled within his chest, and he huffed in relief. Anger. It made his heart pump harder and brought his surroundings back into focus and flooded him with unbearable energy, and he was finally able to clamor to his feet, spitting blood so he could breathe properly. Turning towards the gauntlet’s nearest springboard, he wiped his sleeve over his mouth and let that rage consume him once more, let himself believe again that it wasn’t rage at all, but hope. Hope in its rawest, most painful form.

She was counting on him. He would bring her home. He would have pleasant evening walks in the gardens with her again, he would laugh with her over tea and cakes, he would ensure no similar misfortune ever befell her again. Maybe he would even tell her that he loved her, just so he could say he no longer held any secrets from her. And until that day came, he would train and train and train until no force, earthly or cosmic, could stand in his way.

How could you let this happen?

That fragile illusion of hope burst into flames, its fire coursing through Mario’s veins, but now that he was on his feet again, he made no further effort to fool himself. With a final, sharp breath, he lunged forward—

“Basta così!”

Something caught his left wrist, and the unexpected intrusion snuffed Mario’s fire, like water tossed on a blazing bed of coals. He clenched his jaw and smoldered uselessly for a moment, quivering with unspent energy, giving his captor a chance to free him without provocation. The grasp ensnaring him only tightened.

“Lasciami andare, Lu.” He kept his voice as steady as possible, deathly quiet and low, because he knew it would shake if he raised it any louder, and he couldn’t afford to be perceived as weak.

“No.” Luigi’s voice was equally unwavering. “I’ve let this go on long enough. You’re coming home.”

Mario scoffed. Oh, now his timid little brother was choosing to stand his ground. Now, of all times, for all purposes—! He lurched forward to free himself. He didn’t have time for such games.

Luigi moved with him easily, and before Mario could reestablish his footing, he was yanked backwards by the arm so hard that his vision went blurry and his legs briefly gave out beneath him.

But he didn’t have time to collapse. Luigi powered ahead, and Mario was forced to twist his body in the same direction and stumble along behind him, and by the time his surroundings stopped shifting they were well past the athletic center’s gate and into the streets of Toad Town.

What in the Eight Realms was going on? His brother was strong, but he was stronger. It should have been easy to pull free or at least anchor himself and force an impasse, but he wouldn’t slow down.

“Let me go, Luigi,” he repeated in their mother tongue, half so the dozens of Toads craning their stubby necks as he was dragged past couldn’t eavesdrop and half because his grasp on the English language was one of the first things to go when he was upset. 

“You really think I’m that useless?” Luigi didn’t even look over his shoulder as he responded in the same tongue, yet his voice pierced through the ambiance of the streets. “I don’t need a missing friend and a dead brother.”

Another white-hot burst of fury flared within Mario, and he tried once again to break free (once again, to no avail). Useless? A “missing friend”? A princess — their Princess! — was abducted by a notoriously homicidal warlord who promised to kill her and seize her kingdom by force unless he was met with unconditional surrender, and all his brother cared about was how he was perceived? How these events affected him?

Mario was the only living person with any chance of bringing her home safely, or at least alive. He’d devoted himself to that cause wholeheartedly and without hesitation. Fought and trained and redefined himself over the past two months while waiting for royal spies to figure out where she was actually being held. He’d never thought Luigi to be so selfish, that he’d stand in his way. That he’d sooner trade Peach’s life for his. Did she really mean that little to him? The very thought nauseated him. Or maybe those were hunger pangs.

They arrived at their shared cottage in short order, and Mario spit one last mouthful of blood into the grass before he could be dragged onto the porch and through the door. This wasn’t just selfish. This was betrayal of the highest order. 

Luigi all but tossed him inside, and only then did he let go. Mario seethed at his green-and-blue-clad back as he shut and locked the door, rubbing his wrist absentmindedly, stimulating the once-restricted blood flow. Betrayed by the last person he would ever have suspected. The one person who should have been supporting him, who he’d thought already was supporting him before today. He held his internal fire close at bay, ready to make his disappointment and disapproval clear, and with a heavy sigh, Luigi turned to face him—

“This isn’t your fault, Mario.”

Mario’s belligerence fizzled out. Where there was once fire, there was now ice, still and cold.

“...What?”

“This isn’t your fault.” Luigi enunciated each word carefully as he approached his older brother. “N-no one blames you for this except for you. So you’re not proving anything to anyone by torturing yourself, bro, okay?”

For a long moment, all Mario could do was gape in bewilderment. Not once since the Princess’ abduction had a word been uttered about blame. There was no need, he'd just as quickly assumed: anyone with two functioning brain cells knew exactly who was to blame, and verbalizing accusations wouldn’t get her home any faster, so he bore his cross with a heavy heart and his head held high. 

Even Luigi had never spoken up on the matter. Mario just assumed that meant he agreed. Why bother kicking someone that’s already down?

“I-I…” Mario swallowed. No. No, he was lying. Reality was sinking in and he was lying in a last-ditch effort to defend what hadn’t already been lost. He knew just as well as Mario that… and yet he…

Selfish. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“I’m her guard, Luigi,” he finally answered, and unpleasant but ever-familiar heat rose once more within him, making his face and ears tingle. “It’s my job to protect her! Literally my job!”

“Yeah, during the day! But you’re acting like she was nabbed under your watch! You’re acting like everyone expects you to be on guard twenty-four-seven!” He drew closer to lay a hand on Mario’s left shoulder; what should have been comfortable and familiar instead felt foreign and cumbersome. “The truth is, you were exactly where you were supposed to be when it happened: in bed, conked out.”

A strike of lightning couldn’t have hit as hard as those words.

Mario jerked away from his brother’s touch, nostrils flared, breath coming to him far too quickly now. If he grit his teeth any tighter, he was certain they’d crack. Yes, he’d been asleep that night. He’d protected his Princess like always during the day and left her to fend for herself at sundown and he’d never forgive himself for it. So much for not kicking someone while they’re down.

“Thanks,” he huffed. “Very helpful reminder.”

“Mario, that’s not what—” Luigi sagged backwards, his eyes rolling to the ceiling in exasperation, as if he was the one who’d been slighted, and he cursed beneath his breath before refocusing. “She was never your sole responsibility. Everyone knows that but you. And no one wants to see you run yourself into the ground like this. Th-they trust you! They love you! Seeing how much guilt you're drowning in, seeing how badly you’re hurting, that hurts them, and—”

A deep, shaking breath. Mario tapped his foot impatiently, his fists clenched.

“A-and it hurts me too!" Luigi finally confessed. "Mario, you’re not the only victim here! How do you think I’ve been handling all of this?”

“Forget about that!” Mario fired back. “Just imagine what she’s going through! Can you think about something other than yourself for once and look at the bigger picture?!”

Alarms sounded deep in the recesses of his brain, warning signals, crying a mantra of Too far, too far, too far. He didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to care.

“She wouldn’t want this either! If she was here—”

That was the final straw. Putting words in the Princess’ mouth— what little patience or composure Mario still held, already stretched thin, snapped. 

“Well she’s not!” He stamped his foot like a child throwing a tantrum, grasping Luigi’s arm and forcing him to look directly into his eyes. “Don’t— don’t you dare tell me what she’d say or what she’d do! You don’t have that right! Because you’re not her, and she’s not…”

Mario blinked. Had… had Luigi always looked this tired? His eyes, normally so cheerful and blue, appeared dull and gray, wide with regret and brimming with unshed tears. And there were bags under those eyes too, and overgrown flyaways poking through his normally well-groomed mustache, and…

“...here.” All of his bravado, all of his energy, left him as he whispered that final word.

How long had it been since he’d fulfilled his role as the older brother? Peach was Luigi’s friend too. He was every bit as much Mario's responsibility as Peach was.

“I don’t need a missing friend and a dead brother.”

Only in the ensuing stillness did Mario realize how terribly he shook. He felt both weightless and impossibly leaden, cold and clammy, trembling not in outrage or determination, but something far meeker, far more pathetic: fear.

He was no hero. He was an idiot who’d failed someone he claimed to love and was desperate to make things right, no matter the personal cost. He was a useless brother that dealt with his own inadequacies by lashing out at those who cared for him most. He was nothing.

“Weegee…”

Luigi swallowed, taking a deep, slow breath before responding. “Martyring yourself isn’t the answer. I mean, think for a minute here. You can’t save her if you get yourself killed first.”

It overtook Mario again, a wave of unwelcome emotion, and his knees wobbled beneath him, threatening to buckle.

��Then… then what do you suggest I do? Huh? Clearly you have more answers than I do! So tell me what to do!”  He let go of Luigi’s arms to grasp his overall straps and pull him down, searching his face for those fabled answers. There was no spite in his words or his actions. He shouted at and jostled his brother not in anger, but in pure helplessness. “Tell me what to do!”

The uncertainty etched into Luigi’s face didn’t go away completely, but he buried it beneath something harder, more determined. He braced his gloved hands against Mario’s shoulders, grounding and steady.

“I’ll tell you exactly what you’re going to do,” he said, his voice low yet firm. “You’re going to sit right there on that couch, or on the floor, or wherever you feel like, and you’re gonna cry and scream and get all of this pent-up anger out of your system. And then — look at me, Mario, listen!” He jostled the elder brother back, shaking his shoulders. “Then you’re going to eat something. Okay?” He smiled then, the strain of it contorting his face into some pitiful mimicry of humor. “We can’t have you wasting away when the Princess sees you again, yeah? What would she say?”

Mario’s breath hitched in his throat, suddenly swollen shut.

What would she say? Maybe she would rush forward and cup his cheeks, demanding to know what happened and if he was alright, as if he was the one who had been swept away in the dead of night. Maybe she would be so exhausted and so weakened that she didn’t notice; maybe she would only have the strength to smile as he took her battered body into his arms, her face pale but her eyes vibrant. Maybe her gaze would be glassy and there would be nothing left to hold but an empty shell that had once been his best friend, her fate sealed the moment she’d chosen to place her trust in him.

Or maybe he would die long before he reached her. If only he could trust anyone else to save her, he would have been perfectly fine with that outcome. It was the least he deserved. But that would be far too easy, wouldn’t it? What would become of her then? What would become of Luigi?

He would be free of his suffering, and it would fall directly onto their shoulders instead.

How could you let this happen?

The breath trapped in his throat forced its way back out, some mix between a cough and a hiccup, and finally his knees gave out. He held on tighter and sunk his face into his twin’s shirt collar, and he tried to apologize, he tried to beg forgiveness, but the only sound he could produce was a breathless, almost primal whine.

“Ecco.” Luigi’s voice cracked yet remained soft as he sank to the ground with him, cradling his head close. “Sfogati. Ti sono vicino, fratello.”

Mario’s intended response came out once more as a whine. Ti voglio bene. Ho paura. Aiutami. Ti prego aiutami. Each effort to speak proved increasingly futile until he gave up entirely, surrendering to the wordless screams and sobs and tears his overworked, underfed body forced from him. And Luigi just held him, his fingers brushing through his hair as he fell apart.

Thunder rumbled distantly outside, heralding another summer rain.

~~~

“I’m sorry.”

By the time Mario was able to speak, he still didn’t have much to show for it; his voice was too hoarse to do anything but whisper, and the pounding ache in his head prevented him from doing even that very well.

Luigi shushed him, readjusting his head in his lap. “Just relax.”

“I don’t think you’re selfish,” he continued anyway, curling into himself tighter, soaking in as much of his brother’s body heat as he could. “Or useless.”

“I know you don’t.”

“I didn’t have any right to go off on you like that.”

“In your shoes, I doubt I’d be handling things much better.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And I forgive you. Now we’re even.”

This remark wasn’t quite enough to make Mario smile, but it did make him feel lighter, if only a bit. From his spot on the floor, he watched the rain patter against the living room window, dark and dreary and soothing. With the rain outside and Luigi’s fingers still combing through his curls, he felt properly sleepy for the first time in ages, a feeling far more pleasant than the exhaustion that had plagued him for eight, coming up on nine weeks.

Come to think of it, when was the last time he’d slept in his own bed? Most nights he’d find the nearest wall to slump against or a decent patch of grass to crash in when he couldn’t make his body cooperate any longer. And when was the last time he’d had a proper meal? Luigi had forced him to sit down and eat a packet of crackers a day or two ago, Toad brought him soup sometime last week and refused to leave until he downed at least half of it, but…

“Weegee?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry.”

The hand in his hair stilled, and the response came after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

“Well duh. Of course you are.” His voice wavered, yet Mario could tell he was smiling. “What’d’ya want? We’ve got plenty enough to make anything. Don’t hold back.”

Mario hummed, closing his eyes. Making that choice on his own was a mental process he didn’t have the resources for. “Surprise me.”

Luigi vocalized his approval, but he didn’t move to stand quite yet. Instead, the hand in Mario’s hair found his own hand, and he gladly took it, permitting himself that comfort at least.

“Hey Mario? Can you… promise me something first?”

Mario nodded, a small and rapid movement of his head. He knew what was coming: Promise me you’ll eat everything I put in front of you. Promise me you’ll take a bath. Promise me you’ll get into clean clothes and sleep on a bed tonight. He was all too ready to agree. It was the least he owed his long-suffering brother.

“When you save the Princess… promise me you’ll come home too. Okay?”

Mario’s eyes snapped back open. The rain still fell against the window before him, steady and unending.

Easy enough to promise, at least in theory. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to make more pleasant memories with his friends, with his love, with his brother especially. There were so many adventures he still wanted to go on. So many things he wanted to see and do. But if worst came to worst, and he had to lay his life down to save Peach’s… he’d already made up his mind.

“This isn’t your fault.”

He took in a deep breath through his nostrils, exhaled it slowly through his lips. Luigi was strong and selfless. He’d had the strength to lie just so he could ease Mario’s woes. The least Mario could do was offer up a comforting lie of his own.

“Yeah.” He nodded again, and if maybe he held Luigi’s hand a bit too tightly, that was okay. “Yeah, I think I can promise that.”

[madaqueue]

sugar and sea glass

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au. fluff (and a very brief whisper of angst). language, pet names (sugar, baby). 18+, MDNI.

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this is my contribution for @storiesoflilies summer event ! inspired by the song "sweet / i thought you wanted to dance" x tyler, the creator

Hot wind rushes through your hair, each breath filling your lungs with sticky air. The sun glares overhead, music blaring through the crackling speakers of your car. Even the flowers along the side of the road wilt under the heat of summer, starved and sweltering.

Zipping through the empty streets, the trees cast a welcome shade as you make your way home, before a sudden obstacle appears along your path: a man walking along the side of the road, thumb held out. As you move to swerve around him, white hair catches your attention, the screeching of car brakes splintering the thick silence as you pull off to meet him.

“Gojo?!”

Turning to you, bright blue eyes catch yours through the dark shade of his sunglasses, a smile spreading across his face in recognition. “No way,” he smirks.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Walking towards your car, he leans his arms through the open window, elbows spilling into the interior. “Would you believe me if I told you my rental car ran out of gas?”

Rolling your eyes, you can’t help but laugh. “Well, did you fill it?”

His smile widens, perfectly white teeth catching the light. “No, but in my defense I thought the ‘empty’ light was more of a suggestion.”

“Oh my god, you are insufferable.” A dramatic pout forms across his lips as he stares at you, tilting his head. “Get in,” you scoff.

He practically beams back the summer sun as he tugs open the car door, slamming it shut as he settles into the warm leather seat. “Thank youuuu,” he hums, batting his eyelashes appreciatively.

Even after all these years, it feels like no time has passed, easily falling back into the same banter, the same butterflies in your stomach when he smiles at you. He looks shockingly similar to when you last saw him, the same boyish charm, the same cocky arrogance. Yet, it always worked for him, his dimples making you weak in the knees, unable to deny the way he made your cheeks flush and body run hot. There was always this silent back and forth, one neither of you dared to address, simmering just under the surface. When you parted ways after graduation you thought that was it, maybe he just wasn’t that interested in you after all, maybe your feelings were simply a result of your shared proximity.

Now, with the heat radiating off his bare arms, a faint floral scent lingering on his skin, it seems he’s pulled you back under his spell once again.

“You never answered my question, you know,” you pause coyly. “What are you doing here, in this city?”

“Oh!” He tosses his hands up - always a visual talker, always captivating in the way he moves. “I was here for a shoot - we finished up yesterday, but I really wanted to see the beach, so I extended my trip by a day. But obviously the fates decided I didn’t deserve it, maybe someone out there really hates me or something,” he laughs.

“A shoot?” you ask, confusing brimming.

Mischief twinkles behind his gaze. “I’m sure you can tell by looking at me, but I’m kind of a big deal now. I’m actually the main model for this new fragrance coming out, so we had to get some videos of me for advertising.”

A groan vibrates against your throat as you involuntarily roll your eyes. “There is absolutely no way you’re a model.”

“What?! You don’t think I’m pretty enough?” Leaning towards you, the cool scent of his cologne hits your nose as he sticks out his bottom lip.

Smacking his chest, you put the car back into drive, averting your gaze before you can react to his sudden closeness. “You’re plenty pretty, Gojo, but I just didn’t think you’d be pretentious enough to make a career out of it.”

Before he can respond to the backhanded compliment, your foot presses against the gas, accelerating your car down the barren roads.

Placing his elbow against the door, he rests his head in his open palm. “Am I pretty enough to kidnap?” he teases. “I’m not complaining, but where are you taking me, exactly?”

“To the beach, idiot. That’s what you came all this way for, isn’t it?”

A wide grin spreads across his features. “Even after all this time, you’re still too good to me, sugar.”

Briefly turning your head, you shoot him a glare. The nickname brings up too many memories, too many late nights spent with your limbs intertwined, too many lingering touches, too many brushes of your lips against his, too many please’s and I need you’s. Too many almost’s.

“Why do you always call me that?”

Turning to you, he placed a quick peck to your cheek. “Obviously because you’re so sweet, sugar. C’mon, I thought you were smarter than that,” he smirked.

“And here I thought it was just because you have the diet of a toddler and wanted an excuse to think about when you’re getting your next piece of candy,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes.

A toothy grin spread across his lips. “You know I’m not thinking of anything but you when we’re together, sugar.”

“Don’t call me that.” Your voice comes out icier than you intended, cutting through the warm air.

“Aww, don’t be like that, baby,” he whines, tossing his head towards you, his pale hair threatening to cloud your vision before you shove him off.

“Okay, ‘baby’ is definitely worse,” you complain, unable to hide the slight chuckle coming out concurrently. “You look ridiculous, by the way,” you tease, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes.

An annoyingly thin linen shirt clings to his body, the top few buttons undone revealing his perfectly sculpted chest. Light blue shorts adorn his lower half, his muscled thighs peeking out from the tauntingly short cloth.

Crossing his arms, he obscures your view, forcing your gaze back to the road. “Well, my personal stylist thinks I look quite handsome in this outfit,” he huffs.

A giggle erupts from your throat at his theatrics, the absurdity of seeing him like this - he’s still the same Satoru you knew. Maybe some things really don’t change.

Leaning back, he stretches his arms behind his head, biceps flexing through the nearly transparent material of his top. Even though his personality may be the same, his body certainly isn’t, having filled out beautifully since you last saw him. “Is it always this hot in here?” he sighs, fanning his hand against his face.

“Are you always this whiney?” you taunt, rolling the windows down further. “The air conditioning is broken, so unless you’re throwing the cash at me to get it fixed, you’ll take what you can get.”

Wind blows through his fluffy locks as he melts further into the seat, running his fingers through his hair to reveal the slightly sweat-slicked skin of his forehead. “Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.”

“And need I remind you, you were literally begging by the side of the road a few minutes ago until I picked you up.”

Smirking, he catches your lingering gaze from his periphery. “You’re my savior, sugar.”

Another groan echoes through the car as you navigate through backroads, cranking up the music and letting the warm summer air fill the space between you.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

Aqua waves lap at the sand, small pebbles shifting beneath your feet as you make your way along the beach. Satoru immediately finds himself preoccupied, head turned downward as he scans the ocean floor. Reaching into the water, he pulls out a small blue orb, its edges cloudy and dull, proudly holding it out to you.

“Look! It matches my eyes!”

Stepping closer to him, your fingers gingerly wrap around his wrist, bringing his hand with the object in it closer to his face. “Hmm…it’s close, but not quite,” you observe softly. Turning your attention to the sand beneath you, you pull out another piece of sea glass, a slightly more vibrant hue. “See, now this matches your eyes.”

Gently setting it into his palm, you swear you see his cheeks blush, quickly brushing it off as a consequence of the summer sun. When his hand lingers on yours, slightly damp from the cool sea, your heart flutters in your chest.

The same damn Satoru.

Continuing your path down the shore, he makes a point to stop occasionally, collecting wedges of sea glass before shoving them into his pocket.

“Wait!” he suddenly exclaims, splashing slightly deeper into the water, now up to his bare calves. Rummaging in the sand, he finally tugs out another piece, holding it up to the sky and inspecting it. A proud grunt leaves his lips as he marches towards you, his fingers softly prying your hand open to place it in your palm. “For you,” he grins.

Glancing down, your mind processes the gift: the opaque shard perfectly matches your irises, nearly glowing against the skin of your hand. “Satoru…” you trail off, warmth flooding your face and up to your ears, burning hot.

His own heart flutters hearing you use his first name, a familiarity he had not often been afforded since you parted, one he didn’t fully appreciate how much he missed. Not only simply hearing his name, but hearing you say it - even in your bashful annoyance, the lilt of the vowels along the air makes him feel light, carried away in the soundwaves.

When his fingers hold yours a moment too long, you find yourself frozen, unable to move despite the gentleness of his grasp. Waves gently brush against your ankles, cool against the humid, stale air, a static crackling in the space between you. As his eyes meet yours, lightning shoots through your body, grounded only in the muddy sand beneath you.

“I missed you a lot, you know,” he murmurs, his voice soft, bare. Gone is the teasing sarcasm, the honeyed compliments, leaving only the raw truth behind.

Unable to hold his gaze, you turn your focus to the bubbling water beneath you. “I, um, I missed you too.”

Fingers grace your chin, tilting your head up. Finally forced to look at him, a new determination lies behind his movements, his jaw tensed and eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “I’m sorry for leaving things how I did.”

Memories come flooding back - the empty bed, the handwritten note, the unread messages. Sighing, you desperately attempt to hide the tremor in your voice. “It’s fine, Gojo.”

Something flashes across his face, a momentary sorrow? guilt? before he continues. “It’s not fine. I should have called, I should have given you some form of closure.”

“I got closure in the years since then, after you didn’t even bother to text me. I don’t need anything else now.” Your tone is firm, steady.

Yet, the softness of his skin as his thumb lazily traces along your palm threatens to collapse the walls you’ve painstakingly built during his absence. “I know you don’t need anything else, but…” he trails off, stepping closer until you can feel the warmth radiating off his body, “what about what you want?”

You don’t miss the way your heart picks up, beating like the wings of a butterfly as it carries itself to the newest, brightest flower. When he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, your body reacts on its own, melting into him, the firmness of his chest pressing against yours. “And what do you know about what I want, hm?”

“Maybe less about what you want, and more what I do,” he smiles, attempting to cover his nervousness with smugness. Kneeling down, he holds the piece of sea glass in his hand, the ocean waves dampening the cloth of his shorts. Shock spreads across your face as you watch him take a proposal stance. “Sugar, will you please, please, forgive me?”

After the initial stun passes, a bright laugh erupts from your throat, tears welling in your eyes at the surplus of emotions surging through you, some mix of reluctance and relief. “You are insane, Satoru,” you giggle.

He just grins below you, allowing the waves to ripple against his skin. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Reaching out your arms you shove against his shoulders, sending him toppling into the shallow waters. His hands shoot up and grab you, tugging you down with him as you scream in surprise. Cold water covers your body as you both drag yourselves from the sea, sufficiently damp with your clothes hanging loosely off your bodies.

Walking back along the shore, sand crunching beneath you, he hesitantly intertwines his fingers in yours; when you fail to push him off, he squeezes your hand, a bright smile plastered on his face. Upon returning to the warmth of your car, he rests his head against your shoulder, his hair leaking small droplets of water onto your neck. With the windows rolled down, the summer breeze tickles your skin as he contentedly sighs.

“I think I’ll extend my trip a few more days, if that’s alright with you,” he muses.

Leaning your head against his, you chuckle, the sound light against the heavy humidity. Squeezing his hand, a smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. “I think I'd like that, sugar.”

[cosmos-coma]

Winter Mountain Soldier Spy - Part 1

A/N: I'M BACK. I've been stewing on and writing this idea out for an entire year now and I'm finally ready to put out the first chapter! I'm REALLY excited for this piece because I really wanted to make it self indulgent and more applicable to who I am and what I do. I am a naturalist and I live in lonely wooded mountains and I wanted to really reflect that. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Pairing: Winter Soldier x F!Reader

Words: 3747

Summary: The Winter Soldier, armed with only a knife and his fragmented memories finally flees HYDRA's grasp. Bloody and fading, he stumbled through the woods and countryside to find safe refuge.

You think yourself a simple woman. You live in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by deep woods and farm fields and you're happy. It's a sleepy little place, hardly any excitement to go around, but you're happy to call it home. When driving home on the empty country road you encounter the last thing you expect: a man stumbling from the woods, bleeding out and wary of anything that moves. You try to take the soldier home, but will he accept your help?

And even If he does… Will he stay?

Bucky Masterlist | AO3

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________

Flecks of snow danced along the wind, dusting the forest floor in a pristine blanket of white that perfectly blended his dark figure into the rocks and surrounding woods. Cold, biting air settled around him like an old friend, his breath puffing out like chimney smoke, but he did not feel it. 

A raven cawed its passing overhead- a grim reminder of exactly what he was here for. He watched his target move through the scope; male, average height, middle-aged, unremarkable in just about every way- save for the fact that he happened to be in HYDRA’s way. 

‘A man… not just a target.’ The Winter Soldier reminded himself in an odd thought, but he knew better than to say it out loud. The last time he did, it didn’t end well. 

‘There are civilians-‘ he paused, wincing instinctively at the pain that used to follow, he corrected himself, ‘There are obstacles on the premises.’ His target was with their family, surrounded by bodies who had been getting in the way all evening- all evening until now. 

 ‘Proceed as intended,’ his handler replied, their voice void of any remorse for their hand in this bloodshed.

His finger ran over the trigger, but remained hesitating, ‘They’re children….’ 

They had him wiped mere seconds after that mission’s debriefing, but- whether fortunately or unfortunately- they did not wipe him well enough. Fragments of thoughts and memories of the waking weeks before remained like scattered puzzle pieces. Now all he had left was to put them back together. 

He’d been discovering more and more of these fragments as of late- remembering pieces of missions here and there, things he’d done…. And blood he’s spilled. Yet these memories never go very far back, a few months at most, and he was beginning to wonder just how much was still locked away. 

“I said: Soldier, do you copy?” The voice in his earpiece interrupted, slicing through his thoughts and bringing him back to the task at hand. “Prepare the machines, we may need a wipe upon debrief...” he heard his handler continue in the background.

“I copy.” He was quick to reply, his tone even and cold just as it always was. He couldn’t risk another wipe; he had been quiet and obedient to a T to keep his changes under the radar. He just needed to hold out until the time was right.

“Finish your job and get back here for debriefing.” 

His finger twitched on the trigger.

“Yes, Sir.”

——- 

The world was painted in various shades of black, white, and muted browns, all blending together as you drove through the winding country road. The sky was a blanket of low gray clouds, tiny droplets of rain making their slow descent like dust from a shaken-out quilt. Fog crept down the mountainsides like an ancient creature scouring the earth, its breath leaving ghostly wisps that lasted long after the creature had moved on. 

You hummed, half-singing the lyrics to a song you didn’t even realize was stuck in your head. You tried to listen for the patter of rain against your windshield, but even that was muted, too soft to even leave an audible mark.

This was one of your favorite types of weather- a midwinter rain. Perhaps it was something about the way it melted the snow back into what it once was, making the cycle whole again. Or perhaps you just liked the dreary weather, and there wasn’t any more to it than that.

Wide open fields expanded to the right of you, sectioned off by old stacked-stone walls and whatever old trees had taken root there decades before. To the left of you lay steep forested mountain, the ground littered with rotting leaves and brightened only by the still green ferns that poked out of the melting snow. Mossy rocks of all sizes covered the mountainside, providing texture and support for the fallen trees as well as giving credence to the local phrase that there were ‘two rocks for every dirt’.

Nodding along to the quiet music now knowingly stuck in your head, you took the last sharp turn toward home when- 

SCREECH

You slammed on your brakes, nearly standing straight up on the pedal as you came to a screaming halt, your bumper coming just shy of the large dark figure that stumbled wildly into the road. At first, you’d thought it was a massive black bear- albeit out of season- until the figure slowly clambered up onto its two legs and turned to face you.

This was no bear. 

His cold, distant blue eyes seemed to bore right through you, leaving nothing hidden as he scanned you through the windshield. Long strands of dark, shoulder-length hair framed what you could see of his face, the rest hidden behind a rigid, muzzle-like mask. Even then you still found him… oddly handsome-for a man who had just stumbled from the woods.

Broad yet slumped shoulders drew your eyes next- the way they stretched and pulled his leather jacket with each labored breath. His right side had a full sleeve, sitting snuggly around a muscular arm while the other side was completely bare, showing off a silvery, plated prosthetic the likes of which you’d never seen before. He looked like a soldier, a man on a mission - but as his hand pulled away from his side you began to guess that was not quite the case- not anymore. His hand came away a blazing crimson as blood coated every inch of his palm and began to steam against the cool air. It looked like he had been trying to apply pressure as he ran- and from the looks of it, it was not working.

“Fuck…,” you whispered, quickly putting on your hazard lights and jumping out of the car. Thank god this road was always empty. “Are you okay? What-What happened? Did you-“ Your words faltered as you spotted other wet streaks running down his jacket, fitted with bullet holes above each one. Glancing briefly into the woods you spotted the scant red trail left in his wake, following it with your eyes until it ran out of sight. Blood continued to pour out of him even now as his pulse hammered on. How on earth had he still been running like this…? 

“You’re hurt-“ you said, stepping toward him with your hand outstretched.

Blue eyes widened in a flash of momentary fear as he took a staggering step back, trying to keep his distance and biting back a grunt of pain as it jolted up his side. “I’m fine,” he spoke firmly through the mask, his voice far rougher than you had imagined, or was it just the exertion? Fingertips hovered over the knife hidden in his belt as his feet steadied into a defensive stance, repeating, “I’m fine….” 

“You’re not fine...! You’re bleeding out!” You exclaimed, “I’m not here to hurt you, okay? Please, just let me drive you to a hospital or-“

“No-“ he rushed, a slight panic hidden in his tone that he was quick to extinguish before continuing, “No hospitals….” 

Slowly you nodded and held your hands up, glancing down at your feet as you risked another small step toward him, “Okay… Alright, that’s fine. No hospitals then-“

His fingers glided over the handle of his knife, but for some reason, his instinct refused to draw it. Perhaps it was the disarming softness in your expression…  or…. Or was it the loud breath echoing in his ears? Unaware at first that they were his own they now became something overwhelming, taking over his senses as they ebbed and flowed shallowly. When did he start breathing so hard? Has he always been moving this slow…? And Why… Why were his thoughts… lagging…?

“-Let me take you to my place instead.” You suddenly offered, surprising even yourself as you took another slow step forward, yet you couldn’t seem to help yourself as you continued, “It’s just up the road here.” You pointed beyond him, “I can patch you up and then you can leave whenever you want, okay? No hospitals. No doctors. Just please let me help you try to survive this….” 

The Soldier’s jaw clenched as you finally came within arm’s reach, his eyes searching and scanning for any semblance of a threat in you. But there was none. All he saw were your big eyes; Soft, round, and… earnest. It wasn’t an emotion he was familiar with- seeing or feeling- But between the blood still weeping from his wounds and the way his vision was beginning to swim in his eyes he wasn’t sure he had a choice anymore.

Slowly he nodded, pulling his hand away from the knife and bringing it back to its place on his side, “Your place…” he breathed heavily between his words, “No hospitals….”

“No hospitals,” you agreed with a short nod, moving even slower this time as you reached out again and laid your hand on his cool metallic shoulder. Like nervous prey, his wide eyes watched your every move as you came up beside him, your hands carefully placed between the bullet holes to support him.

He stepped forward on his own at first, his movements seeming to insist that he could do it himself, that he was still fine, but as his feet began to stumble toward the next step his cold metal hand shot out for your support. His movement still felt stiff and distanced now under your supportive touch, yet you found him leaning into you more and more as you helped him towards the car.

Once the stranger sat securely in the passenger seat you hopped into your still-idling car and sped off through the rest of the empty winding roads. 

You tried hard not to let yourself get distracted as you drove, yet you still found yourself stealing glances at the handsome stranger. He had finally relaxed into the seat, his head falling back against the headrest as he took in heavy breaths. Though blood still seeped from his open wounds, you grew hopeful as his breath began to even out; with any luck, it’ll keep him from bleeding out in your care.

You lived along a quiet semi-dead-end road, with only a few houses here and there that sat occupied by older couples you had yet to actually see. You were fortunate to be where you were, with no neighbors close enough to bother you and town a good 30 minutes away, you could live in relative peace and solitude.

Pulling to a stop in front of your old farmhouse you quickly hopped out to help him in, finding his rather dense weight leaning heavier on you now than before. His adrenaline must’ve finally passed and now he was beginning to fade. You weren’t sure how many waking minutes he had left- let alone if you could continue carrying him.

You needed to work fast.

“Come on, big guy- we’re almost there…” You urged as you tucked yourself under his thick metal arm. He didn’t fight this time as you slipped your arm around his torso, half-walking and half-dragging his heavy feet inside. He grunted half-heartedly as you entered the house, looking around through slow-blinking eyes.

“Okay, we’re almost- It’s right over there- fuck… !” You felt his knees begin to buckle beneath him, tugging the both of you down. Thankfully the coffee table was already nearby and, though it was a struggle, you managed to pivot and slowly lower him onto the table, leaving him in an upright slump.

Tired blue eyes looked up at you- your relentless efforts and your heavy breaths as you took a second to recover. His lips parted beneath his mask; he wanted to say something, but even he wasn’t sure what it was. But before any noise had the chance to spill from his lips you were off again, the sounds of you rummaging through drawers and cabinets evident as you went throughout the house.

“Aha!” you exclaimed in victory as you ran back to your patient, the first aid kit held proudly in hand.

 You approached the stranger once more, kneeling down, “We need to get this mask off first, okay? You need to breathe properly…” You explained as you reached toward his face. With a flash of silver, you felt cool metal wrapped around your wrist; impossibly strong fingers held you with surprising delicacy. Though fear dwelled in his exhausted eyes, his touch held no malice, only that of caution. 

For a brief moment, the two of you stood in silence, fixed in place by each other's unyielding gaze until your hand finally continued on its path. Though his grip loosened, his touch remained steady on your skin as you disconnected the mask with a click, and slowly pulled it away. 

You prayed he didn’t hear your quiet gasp as you finally gazed upon him. Soft blushed lips, protected from the winter’s harsh cold, lie parted as he breathed through the radiating pain. His sharp jaw and shallow cleft chin were roughened with days-old stubble, perfectly suiting his disheveled look. 

Trying to focus your attention back on the fading man in your care, you carefully peeled away the blood-soaked jacket and shirt, unleashing a strong whiff of iron along with it. You chewed the inside of your cheek as you looked over the man stranger below you, trying not to let your mind dwell on his state of undress. ‘NO! No, getting distracted now! Focus..!’’ You yelled at yourself internally, reining your thoughts back into place as you went about patching up the gruesome wounds.

He had been hit 3 times; once in his shoulder, once in the side, and once right above his hip. Thankfully the one on his hip seemed to go straight through, but the other two were not as lucky. You’d have to go in through his back and dig each and every piece out. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in concentration as your tweezers dug through his flesh for every fragment you could find. It took all your composure to ignore the way each sickening squelch turned your stomach, but somehow you managed to prevail. “You were shot in the back…? ” You prodded, trying to keep him awake as you pulled out the last of the pieces. “You must’ve pissed someone off real bad….” 

His head bobbed shallowly, “Something like that…,” his brows drew together in pain, but otherwise kept his practiced expression. Ever observant eyes and craning neck tried to watch you as best he could over his shoulder, but to little avail. 

It’s your touch that concerned him now; like a taser, each brush of your fingers sent lightning across his skin. Its warm, crackling sensation ran throughout his body like a storm cloud charging up for its final strike. It was a new sensation for him, the way his skin grew warm and his heart stirred- it had never happened before, and yet still felt so deeply familiar- as if in another life he’d known it by name. 

Did you feel it too? The thrum of energy deep in your bones? The kind that both put you at ease and made your heart bounce off its walls? The kind that soothed your inner storm yet still left the waves running passionately for the shore?

He grunted, digging the heel of his palm into his forehead as he attempted to wrangle his thoughts. ‘It’s the blood loss talking. Nothing more…’ he assured himself, his metal hand moving to clamp tighter over the still-seeping wound of his hip. The pain would ground him, force him to think clearly again, of that much he was sure.

“You okay?” You asked, your worry evident as you smoothed the medical tape over his skin “I’m almost done with your back and then I can move on to your hip….”

It felt like his mind was being torn in two, warring with itself as it tried to determine whether or not he could really trust you. “ Fine… I’m fine,” he barely assured.

He couldn’t afford to trust anyone- not yet. He was on the run now and who knows how far HYDRA’s claws reached or who they had already sunk them into… but as you moved to settle before him, a small smile on your lips as you brushed his metal hand aside- he wanted to.

 He’s never wanted anything more.

You simply nodded, not wanting to press him any further, and gently pushed his hand out of the way, revealing the last of his wounds. Eyes followed your every movement as you secured the last bandage, each accidental brush of your fingers against his skin, each firm press of the gauze against the staunched wound.

 He wanted to trust you.

“There… that should be the last bandage,” You said with a grateful sigh, wiping the blood from your hands, “but I’m no doctor, so you might need to take it easy for a while.” You said as you stood once again and motioned to the couch behind him, a small, yet resigned frown passing over your expression, “However…I  did promise that you could leave whenever you were ready….”

By God, he wanted to trust you.

You wished beyond anything for him to stay. Not only for the pleasant curve of his lips, the smooth skin that stretched perfectly across toned muscle, nor for the interesting company he would no doubt be. No… it was his eyes that really captured you, that made your heart beg for him to stay. Cold, calm, and vibrant blue- the kind eyes that wrapped around you and held you under. It reminded you of a frozen lake and part of you craved to find out what made him so. 

But you knew better than to try and hold him. 

“I’ll gather the rest of the bandages and antibiotics for now, but there's no rush.” You offered with a tight smile, hoping he couldn’t read your expression as easily as you felt it was painted on your face. You carried the littering of packaging and the now significantly emptier first aid kit back to the bathroom, pausing just inside the cracked door to listen for leaving footsteps.

But the Soldier hesitated.

His eyes moved to the front door. It was left ajar in the rush to get him inside,  the cold of winter still pouring in. He could leave. Leave and never look back, ever moving toward a fate unknown. But a part of him- a part that had been wiped clean so many times- urged him to stay and find fate here.

For once in his life he could choose to listen to this part of him, no matter how small or repressed…

And he would not waste the opportunity. 

———- 

Craning your neck to look beyond the pile of blankets, pillows, and clothes overflowing in your arms, you padded your way up the creaky wooden stairs, “Hopefully, the spare room will be okay for you tonight. And I found some old clothes in the basement that should be about your size.” You offered as you blindly opened up the door before you. 

The man followed only a few steps behind, his trained footsteps eliciting barely a squeak on the usually talkative staircase. He watched on in confusion as you made up the modest queen-sized bed for him, and stashed a few extra blankets and pillows to the side just in case.

You smiled gently as you finished, and finally turned to hand him the clean change of clothes.

Like a sheet of ice in the ever-warming sun he felt his once-piercing gaze now grow soft as he took the small bundle with the utmost care.

It was such a quick and subtle change you weren’t sure you really saw it, but you sincerely hoped you did.

“I know it’s not much right now, but I hope you’ll still be comfortable for the night.” You said as you looked over the room, hoping you didn’t forget anything. 

He blinked, tilting his head to the side a bit as he lingered on your words.

Why would it matter if he was comfortable? What purpose would it serve you? And why were you just giving him these things…? Did you want something in return? “I…” He paused, a small frown coming to his lips before he managed to speak again- the most emotion you’d seen from him yet. “Why?” he questioned.

“Why? Oh, well…“ You thought for a moment, surprised by the unorthodox question, and eventually shrugged, “You deserve to be comfortable…It seems like you’ve been through a lot recently and you deserve to finally rest…” you said with a hint of a smile. And you meant it. Between the bullet wounds and the near-bleeding out- not to mention, whatever must have come before- you figured he probably deserved a few years rest if nothing else. But for now, you were happy to help him take it day by day.

He didn't return your smile- though you didn’t really expect him to- but still, a softness lingered in his eyes. However, this softness did not dwell alone; beyond that, it laid an inkling of fear- an inkling of impermanence. How long could all of this really last? And what would it be like when his time finally ran out?

But for now, he would allow himself the rare unguarded moment as he repeated your words, his voice scant above a whisper, “I deserve to rest….”

His eyes cast down to the soft fabric in his hand, his calloused thumb running over its well-loved structure. They smelled old, but it didn’t bother him. These were the first clothes- the first gift- that he had received in… well, he wasn’t sure how long.

With a soft and reassuring smile, you nodded and slipped past him as you stepped out the door, “I’ll let you get settled, okay? I’ll be downstairs if you need anything-“ You paused “Ah… Hm, I guess I never really got your name in all the rush earlier…” 

The Soldier shook his head, his voice rough and low with its minimal use, “Don’t have one.”

Your brows furrowed, “You don't have a name…? Hasn’t anybody ever called you anything...?”

His weight shifted from side to side as he thought about his next words, his eyes flicking up to yours; they looked like they carried the weight of lifetimes.

 “They used to call me the Soldier… the Winter Soldier.” 

_________

General Bucky Taglist:

@writingmysanity @simpxinnie @goldylions @yeehawbrothers

My apologies if i missed anyone! Its been a while writing for the winter soldier! If you wanted to be added to the general or WMSS Taglist please ask and let me know!

[itacats]

2 Lines Means Positive (mini-series)

FT: Gaz x reader

Warnings: pregnancy, worries about the future/not being good enough, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

A/N: And that’s a wrap on this mini-series! I can’t thank you enough for joining me on this journey. From the first part to the very last, your support and excitement have meant the world to me. It’s been a joy to share these stories with you. Here’s to new adventures and more stories ahead—see you in the next one!

SUM: Gaz finds himself at a turning point, far from the chaos of his soldier’s life, in the quiet of his London apartment. When you reveal you’re expecting, his world shifts, leaving him facing an unexpected, profound mission: fatherhood.

Simon Riley Soap MacTavish John Price

A New Mission

In the peaceful quiet of their small London apartment, Gaz found a rare sense of calm that had taken years to create. Remnants of a shared takeaway sat on the coffee table, your favorite curry half-finished, and the steady drizzle of rain tapped against the window. Gaz leaned back on the couch, his heavy boots propped up, his gaze lingering over the familiar scene. The domestic tranquility stood in stark contrast to his life on the battlefield, and it was something he held close, a safe space built with his partner—you.

You emerged from the kitchen, drying your hands, framed by the soft overhead light. Gaz watched you, charmed by your ease and the way you lit up the room with a single smile. The walls, simple yet warm, were decorated with memories—each photo, each trinket telling stories of laughter, intimacy, and all the quiet moments he had come to cherish. But tonight, there was something different in your eyes, a depth he couldn’t quite place, and it made him instinctively sit up.

“Gaz,” you started, your voice calm but carrying an unusual weight. “I need to tell you something.”

His heart quickened, a reflex honed by years of bracing for the unexpected. Was this another emergency? A complication? His mind sharpened, instincts ready for any crisis.

“What’s up, love?” he replied, watching you closely as you approached, sitting beside him on the couch armrest.

“I’m… I’m pregnant.” The words fell softly, yet they filled the room, resonating in the silence that followed. Gaz felt his heart stall, and time seemed to freeze around him. Pregnant.

It was a word that held worlds within it, worlds he hadn’t prepared for. There was no strategy or tactical playbook to guide him through the uncertainty. His lips tugged into a smile, but beneath it, an array of emotions churned—excitement, disbelief, even fear. His mind, so accustomed to split-second decisions, grappled with this new reality and the unfamiliar stakes.

“Are you okay?” you asked gently, your hand covering his as you felt the tension in his grip.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just…” He turned to face you fully, searching your expression for the certainty he often felt from you in even the most challenging moments. “I didn’t see this coming.”

“Neither did I,” you admitted, a nervous but genuine smile lighting your face. “But we can do this.”

For Gaz, it was a revelation—an image of a life he had always wanted but never dared imagine. Visions of late-night feedings, tiny socks scattered around the house, and laughter echoing off the walls swam through his mind. Life on deployment had always been an excuse, an obstacle to this kind of future. Yet here it was, right in front of him, a promise of something deeper, something he had never truly known.

“What if I’m not ready? What if I’m not good enough?” he whispered, his voice edged with vulnerability he rarely revealed.

“Good enough doesn’t mean we won’t have our struggles,” you replied, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It means learning together, being there for each other. We’re a team, Gaz. Always.”

Your faith planted a seed within him, a quiet, growing hope. Gaz had spent years in conflict zones, bearing the scars and stories of war, but as he sat beside you, he realized that love was a different kind of battlefield. One he was ready to fight for, one that felt like home.

He looked at you, a gentle smile forming as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You really think we can?”

“I believe in us. Just like I have from the beginning.”

Gaz exhaled, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and felt the room expand, as though it had opened to a new future. He settled back with you on the couch, fingers entwined, listening to the rain’s gentle rhythm. Gaz stared ahead, his mind now alive with possibilities, with dreams of a child who would fill their home with joy and innocence.

Together, he realized, you were ready for this next chapter—this new mission. And with your love as his guide, Gaz, once hardened by the weight of the world, felt a different kind of strength grow within him, one fueled by hope and the promise of a life together.

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

[dmitriene]

ᴜɴꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ʟᴇꜱꜱᴏɴ.

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝: 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚡 𝚐𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛. 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: 𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆, 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃, 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚓𝚘𝚋, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚓𝚘𝚋, 𝚌𝚞𝚖 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚜𝚖 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚕, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢. 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙶𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝.

ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ)

(18+ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ)

The training room was dimly lit, its cold metal surfaces reflecting the scant light.

The atmosphere was tense, filled with anticipation as Ghost stood confidently in the center of the room, his balaclava hiding his identity.

The room was silent except for the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

You were sitting on a chair, your wrists and ankles tied securely in knots, the same knots that Ghost himself had taught you to tie.

He was adamant in his teachings, emphasizing the importance of being able to escape any restrictions, no matter how safe they may seem.

Ghost's voice broke the silence as he began his training, his words sharp and authoritative, carrying a sense of urgency — «Remember, in a real interrogation, every second counts, you need to be able to free yourself quickly and efficiently»

You nodded, focusing on him, trying to follow his instructions despite the anxiety from the bound ones, Ghost's teachings were always effective and you trusted his expertise.

But then suddenly the situation changed.

Ghost found himself in the same predicament he had tried to prepare you for, the knots binding his wrists were just as tight as the ones on his ankles and he couldn't help but be impressed by your ability to follow his lessons.

His legs were spread wide apart, the legs of the chair did not allow him to move, he looked at you through the fabric of his balaclava, head tilted slightly to the side, a silent question in his eyes, he was going to ask what you were going to do and why you were so pleased with yourself.

Your smile was undoubtedly smug as you approached him, your steps slow and deliberate, the room seeming to close in around Ghost as he felt a rush of anticipation.

It was a situation he hadn't expected, and it left him both intrigued and vulnerable.

Without warning, your hands slid down his tense inner thighs, causing him to growl quietly, his head falling back slightly, eyes narrowed as he tried to maintain his composure.

But the touch of your fingers was electrifying, and he couldn’t help but react.

You continued to tease him, tracing the contours of his muscular body through the thick fabric of his black t-shirt with your fingers, Ghost's breathing quickened and his chest heaved as he tried to control the desire growing inside him.

Your touch moved lower, now exploring his muscular thighs under the fabric of his cargo pants.

Ghost's breathing became heavier, his restraint slipped away, he never expected to be in this position, and the unpredictability of the situation was undoubtedly exciting.

A quiet, unexpected howl escaped Ghost's lips and his gaze remained glued to you, it was a side of him that was rarely seen — vulnerable and open.

The situation has changed and now you have the upper hand.

You leaned closer, touched his ear with your lips and whispered — «Is this what you had in mind, Ghost? Did you ever imagine you'd be the one at my mercy?»

Ghost's response was a low, guttural growl, his eyes looking at you with an intensity that left no room for doubt, you were playing with fire and he was more than ready to get burned.

With a sultry smile, you reached out and tugged his balaclava towards his nose, his eyes meeting yours through the fabric, the desire in them burning stronger than ever.

It was a challenge, a test of his endurance.

As you continued to tease him, his restrictions became less of a physical obstacle and more of an exhilarating constraint, the tension in the room changing from a training exercise to a sizzling dance of desire.

— «You're enjoying this, aren't you, Ghost?» you whispered, and your voice was full of temptation — «You like being teased, just as much as you like doing the teasing»

His response was a passionate kiss, a greedy exploration of each other's desires.

The room seemed to disappear as the two of you were lost in the electrifying connection that suddenly erupted between you.

At this point the training turned into something much more intimate and intense, the Phantom's shackles may have held him physically but there was no force in the world that could contain the fiery chemistry between you.

The kiss deepened, Ghost's muscles tensed, silently begging for more, you broke the kiss with a teasing smile.

— «I guess it's time for you to put your lessons to the test» you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire.

The air in the dimly lit training room grew increasingly tense as you continued to tease him.

Ghost, still tied to the chair, was now clearly touched by your seductive touches, the room seemed to shrink, the air filled with anticipation.

You couldn't help but notice the telltale signs of his arousal, the bulge in his pants becoming noticeable and a slight blush adorning his face at the edge of his balaclava where it hid his features.

His desire was exposed, although the rest of it remained hidden.

Your smile widened as you watched his reaction, enjoying the power you had over him, and you leaned closer, your fingers continuing their torturous exploration of his body as Ghost's breathing became heavier and his chest rose and fell with each ragged breath.

— «Seems like you're enjoying this, Ghost» you purred, your voice dripping with desire — «I always knew there was more beneath that stoic exterior of yours»

Ghost's response was a low, guttural growl, a mixture of frustration and anguish as he found himself trapped, both physically and emotionally, in a situation that tested his limits.

Your fingers slid lower, brushing the fabric of his cargo pants, and you felt the warmth emanating from him, the lurch was arousing and you couldn’t resist pushing him further.

With a deft, teasing touch, your fingers began to unbuckle his belt, Ghost's eyes widened slightly behind his balaclava, his gaze settling on yours as you slowly freed him of the excess fabric, the tension in the room palpable as the belt slipped through the loops with a soft, seductive sound.

The room seemed to hold its breath as you continued your deliberate, seductive movements, his chest heaving, his body straining against the restraints, a silent plea for more.

The desire in his eyes grew even stronger, and the anticipation was almost unbearable.

Finally the belt came free and you tossed it aside, Ghost was now exposed, his desire undeniable, the fabric of his pants strained against his erect member and the room filled with an intoxicating mixture of tension and longing.

You leaned closer, your lips touched his ear again — «You wanted a test, Ghost, consider this the ultimate test of your restraint»

At the same time, you continued to tease him, your fingers dancing along his clothes, lighting a fire inside him that he could not extinguish, his inhibitions weakened and he was now completely at your mercy.

Ghost's limitations were no longer physical — they were invisible bonds that kept him captive to the irresistible allure of your touch and the undeniable chemistry that sparked between you.

The atmosphere in the dimly lit training room became even more tense as you continued to tease.

Ghost, securely tied to the chair, was now a writhing and frustrated mess, the room seemed to throb with anticipation and the air was filled with the heady aroma of desire.

Your fingers continued their maddening dance, stroking his clothed bulge with deliberate precision.

His arousal was palpable, the fabric of his pants straining against the growing hardness of his cock beneath them, he couldn't help but arch his hips, wanting more from your touch.

Ghost's breathing was ragged, each exhalation a mixture of disappointment and longing, the redness on his face at the edge of his balaclava intensified, and his eyes burned with a fiery desire that could not be hidden.

— «Such a strong and stoic soldier» you cooed, and your voice was full of temptation — «But even the strongest have their breaking points, don't they, Ghost?»

Ghost's response was a low guttural moan, his clenched jaw unable to hide the pleasure you were giving him, he really tried to maintain his composure but the relentless teasing was pushing him over the edge.

Your fingers continued to torment him, pushing him closer to the edge of his sweet release, but never letting him reach it.

It was a cruel game of pleasure and denial, and Ghost was caught in its seductive web.

But you're not done yet.

With a slow, deliberate movement, your hand slid under the waistband of his boxers, Ghost's body tensed as your fingers brushed against his bare skin, and a strangled moan escaped his lips.

You could feel his heartbeat quicken under your touch, his arousal pulsing through your fingertips and wetting them with his precum.

He was a whining, trembling mess, his attempts to snap back reduced to muffled groans that only increased the tension in the room.

— «Tell me to stop, Ghost» you whispered in a voice hoarse with desire — «Tell me you can't take it anymore»

His response was a strangled sound, a mixture of pleasure and disappointment, he was caught in a whirlpool of sensations, his body on the verge of ecstasy, but not receiving the release it craved.

You continued to stroke him, your movements deliberate and agonizing, his hips jerked involuntarily, desperately begging for more, his muscles tensed and he gripped the arms of the chair harder, trying to hold on.

— «I can't…» he squeezed out, his voice hoarse with desire — «Please… stop…»

But you weren't going to stop at all.

You reveled in the power you had over him and the exquisite torture you inflicted on him.

Ghost's pleas only made you more eager to push him further, to see how far he could go.

The room seemed to close in around you both as the tension reached its peak, Ghost a trembling, moaning mess, unable to escape the pleasure and torment you were subjecting him to.

And as you continued your merciless attack, his resistance crumbled further, his body and desires were completely under your control, the training hall became a battlefield of pleasure and denial, and Ghost found himself helplessly in your seductive embrace.

Ghost, still tied to the chair, was now writhing and moaning, his body yearning for release, the room throbbing with anticipation, the air filled with the intoxicating aroma of lust.

Your teasing continued, merciless and tormenting, you knew exactly how to push Ghost over the edge without allowing him to break free.

His sighs and moans filled the room, a symphony of desire echoing off the cold metal walls.

— «Such a good soldier» you purred, your voice laced with seduction — «But you're at my mercy now, Ghost, there's no escaping this»

Ghost's response was a desperate whimper, his hips bucking involuntarily as he sought more of your touch, he was on a fine line, balancing between ecstasy and frustration, and it was you who held the reins.

Your fingers continued to torture, stroking, teasing, denying, completely coating your fingers in sticky precum.

Ghost's moans became louder, almost calling for release, he could no longer hold back, his restraint was crumbling with each passing moment.

— «Please» he exhaled, his voice was a plea — «I can't take it anymore…»

But you were far from done, so with an evil smile you finally decided to give him what he craved.

You leaned down, your mouth moving down to his reddened and swollen tip with a hunger that matched his own.

Ghost's body trembled as your lips and tongue worked their magic, the sensation was overwhelming, a wave of pleasure washed over him.

When you take him into your mouth, he can feel the wet warmth of your mouth as you suck him hungrily, your tongue swirling around him, his swollen tip, teasing and pleasuring him in equal measure, a sensation so intense it leaves him breathless as you masterfully you move along its length.

You can taste the precum pooling on the tip of his cock, the mix of saltiness and arousal that only heightens his pleasure, the way you suck eagerly and bob your head, the wet sounds filling the air pushing him to the edge of control.

Ghost's moans turned into incoherent cries of ecstasy as he gave in to the intensity of the moment, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair, his body arching and he shuddered in pleasure as he finally reached his peak, spilling his cum deep into your throat as you swallowed every drop without embarrassment.

It was a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss as Ghost's orgasm washed over him, leaving him drained and breathless.

He lay limp in the chair, his body trembling with the intensity of his orgasm, the space filled with the sounds of heavy breathing and the lingering echo of his moans.

You pulled away with a satisfied smile on your lips, watching the consequences of your teasing, his balaclava clad face turning red, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, his cock throbbing, glistening with the remnants of your saliva on it.

He was the embodiment of vulnerability, completely destroyed by your touch.

Ghost's body shook as he let out his last shaky breath, you could feel the tension leaving him as he slowly relaxed, his muscles no longer tense under the restraints, it was time to release him from the ropes.

You carefully began to untie the knots, your fingers deft and gentle, Phantom's pants and boxers were adjusted to make him look comfortable.

As you worked, you noticed the red, slightly bloody marks on his wrists, they were evidence of his resistance, the physical toll he had endured, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him even as you continued to complete your task.

Once the ropes were removed you leaned closer to Ghost, your hands carefully sliding under his arms as he slid slightly in his chair and you wanted to make sure he was being supported properly.

With a gentle but firm touch, you lifted him by the shoulders, pressing his head to your chest, his breathing still ragged, his body exhausted from the intense encounter, you held him close, your heartbeat soothing against his ear.

Ghost's eyes were closed, his features relaxed, and he allowed himself to fall into unconsciousness, he had reached his limits, both physical and emotional, and now fell into the peaceful oblivion of sleep.

Your hand gently stroked his head, a gesture of comfort and reassurance, the room was silent except for the soft sound of your breathing and the steady beating of your heart.

As Ghost pressed himself against your chest, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of closeness and satisfaction.

It was a moment of quiet vulnerability, a precious space where the weight of the world was lifted for a moment and all that was left was the connection between you, sharing something truly extraordinary.

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[apteryxparvus]

taste you on my lips

Pairing — Diluc Ragnvindr / Female Reader

Word count — 4,109

Content warning — drinking • making out • tequila body shots • suggestive themes

Summary — In the midst of a raging storm — lightning crackling and rain pouring down — you find yourself trapped at Angel's Share. As the drinks flow, your inhibitions begin to fade, and your not-so-secret crush on your boss becomes harder to contain.

“I’ll be going now,” Charles declares, his voice carrying a hint of weariness as he finishes tidying his bar area. With a practiced finesse, he meticulously wipes down the counter, the soft fabric of the cloth gliding over the smooth surface. The bottles of syrups and liquors stand in perfect order.

Angel’s Share basks in the warm embrace of the overhead lights. The dive bar is barely occupied on the chilly Wednesday night, with only a handful of regular patrons indulging in their favorite vices, leisurely sipping on their drinks.

“Bye! Take care,” you respond, a bright smile gracing your lips as you bid farewell to your colleague. However, beneath the façade of your cheerfulness, a gnawing anxiety creeps its way into your thoughts at the prospect of being left along with your boss.

The initial nervousness of being the newest employee  (with no previous experience in the industry, at that) has slowly dissolved. You’ve managed to overcome the discomfort of serving customers, even in their inebriated state, and you’ve learned to assert yourself in the face of rowdiness.

But one insurmountable obstacle remains — the watchful gaze of Diluc Ragnvindr.

Not only is he the owner of Angel’s Share, but he holds the title of the most seasoned bartender. His discerning eyes catch even the tiniest of errors, and he is swift to deliver admonishments to whoever is responsible — which, more often than not, happens to be you. The weight of his scrutiny lingers in the air, a constant reminder of your inexperience and the need to prove yourself in his eyes.

And the undeniable truth of your crush on Diluc, so painfully obvious to everyone, only further complicates your already precarious situation. Your colleagues, as well as certain regulars, take great pleasure in teasing you about it. Kaeya, Diluc's charismatic adoptive brother, playfully pokes fun at you whenever he gets the chance. Jean, the childhood best friend of the brothers, and her girlfriend Lisa, constantly offer unsolicited advice on how to break through Diluc's icy demeanor. And while their intentions are well-meaning, these conversations leave you feeling mortified, unable to meet Diluc's gaze without the vivid memories of those embarrassing discussions flooding your mind.

"Relax, don't get too wound up," Charles teases, words laced with amusement as he makes his way towards the staff room.

You shoot him a withering glare. “I won’t.”

Contrary to your attempts to remain composed, your body betrays you as soon Diluc steps behind the bar, his towering figure casting a shadow over you. Every nerve in your body tenses, heart pounding in your chest, as his presence engulfs you entirely.

"Is everything running fine here?" he inquires, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

"Su—sure, everything's going great, sir," you stammer, words faltering.

"No need to call me sir," he replies, his voice gruff. His calculating gaze sweeps across the dimly lit bar, taking note of the patrons still sipping on their drinks. "I'll go ask for the last round, and after that, you can start cleaning up and closing the bar."

Relief floods through you, grateful that tonight's workday will come to an end earlier than expected. You set about tidying the bar, washing and polishing the glasses scattered haphazardly.

But as you lose yourself in the rhythm of your tasks, Diluc interrupts your little reverie with his deep voice. "Here, let me help," he offers. Yet again, you become acutely aware of his imposing presence.

Startled, you nearly jump when his warm breath grazes your neck, igniting a trail of goosebumps across your skin. Your heart races as his body presses against your back, the firmness of his muscles evident even through the fabric of his tight shirt. The tension in the air is almost tangible as you struggle to maintain your composure in the face of this unexpected closeness.

"No—no, it's al—alright," you manage to squeak out, but Diluc pays no heed to your protest. He gently takes the wine glass from your hand, and you feel a slight jealousy surge within you as you watch him effortlessly reach the high shelves.

"Thanks," you mumble, your gaze fixated on the remaining glasses. Heat rises in your body, a mix of embarrassment and desire mingling together.

"I'll go restock the fridges," Diluc announces, moving away from you. A wave of relief washes over you, almost causing a sigh to escape your lips, but deep down, you secretly yearn for the warmth his closeness provided. "If you need any help, just come and ask."

You nod, your teeth grazing the tender flesh of your lower lip. There's absolutely no way you'll be asking for assistance. In fact, you're determined to finish the remaining tasks as quickly as possible, hoping to avoid any prolonged interaction with your boss.

You focus back on your tasks, diligently polishing the few remaining glasses. You wonder if he had noticed your nervousness, if he could sense the pull between you, or if it was all a figment of your overactive imagination.

Cleaning the rest of the bar becomes a welcome distraction from your swirling thoughts. You sanitize the beer taps and soda dispenser nozzles, making sure to leave no speck of dirt or residue behind. A sigh of relief escapes your lips when you are finally satisfied that every tool and glass gleams under the warm glow of the lights.

Your nimble fingers deftly untangle the stubborn knot of your apron, the fabric slipping free from your body. You place  it in a small basket alongside the other soiled rags and towels.

The idea of helping Diluc refill the basement fridges passes through your mind, but the nerves and unease that have plagued you since the start of your shift intensify and make the prospect feel daunting and potentially awkward.

Lost in your thoughts, you're taken by surprise when Diluc's tall figure emerges from the basement stairs, carrying three crates filled with drinks. His commanding presence accentuates the powerful contours of his physique, leaving you breathless. You move to assist him, but he grunts in response and dismissively waves you away.

"I can manage," he grumbles, his voice slightly strained. "Go get changed. The weather report says there'll be a storm tonight."

You’re grateful for his concern, as the realization that you hadn't been aware of the impending storm, and you had arrived at work dressed in nothing more than a light hoodie and a shirt, dawns upon you. The late hour means the buses have most likely stopped running. And as much as you adore the rain and the cloudy weather, the idea of getting drenched is not appealing at all.

"Oh, thank you," you reply.

By the time you emerge from the changing room, clad in your comfortable clothes and with your backpack slung over your shoulders, Diluc has already finished refilling the bar fridges. 

"Is that all for tonight, si— I mean, Diluc," you stumble over your words at the accidental slip of almost calling him "sir" again. "It’s going to be a long walk home if it does start raining."

Diluc's gaze meets yours, his eyes darkening. "You're walking home? Alone?"

"A—ah! Don't worry," you stammer, your words coming out awkwardly. "I'm used to it."

Your attempt at reassurance falls flat. "I can take you home. Mondstadt might be quiet at night, but it's still not safe for you."

You shake your head, silently protesting against the idea. The thought of being confined in a car with Diluc sends your mind into a frenzy; you’re sure your brain will short circuit with the close proximity.

"I'll go grab my keys, and then we can head out."

When Diluc returns, he's changed out of his uniform, now dressed in dark pants and a leather jacket that clings to his form. A pair of keys dangle from his hand, and he cradles a shiny, dark helmet in the other.

It takes a moment for the implications to sink in, and you immediately recoil from the idea. "No—no! Absolutely not!"

The thought of riding on a motorcycle with Diluc is too much to bear. The closeness, the need to hold him tightly, the inevitable contact between your bodies, it's all too overwhelming. The mere idea of him feeling your racing heartbeat threatens to consume you.

Diluc raises an eyebrow, his gaze piercing. "Do you not trust my skills?"

You realize the unintended implication of your outburst, and quickly backtrack. "I—I do, but I've never ridden a motorcycle, and I intend to keep it that way!"

He remains silent, his lips pressed into a thin line, as he leads the way towards the exit. Reluctantly, you follow him, steps cautious as you make your way to the staircase that leads to the front entrance of the bar.

Tonight luck is not on your side — as as soon as you swing open the large oak door, you are greeted by the most vicious storm you've witnessed in years.

The wind roars and branches to sway violently. Rain falls from the cloudy sky in fat droplets, drenching everything in its path. The streets are submerged in deep, murky water, as the sewers struggle to cope with the downpour. In the distance, a lightning strike illuminates the night, followed by a deafening thunder.

There’s no way you can navigate through his weather on foot. You bite down on your cheek, a mix of frustration and resignation flooding your senses. Turning towards Diluc, you shyly meet his gaze.

"It would be extremely unsafe to ride or walk in this weather," he comments, his voice laced with concern. "I would recommend either calling a taxi or waiting out the rain inside the bar."

"Highly doubt any taxis would be running in this weather," you respond.

He lets out a weary sigh. "Let's go inside then. We can share a drink or two while we wait for the rain to stop." He glances for a split second at the downpour. "Or at least until it slows down and it's safe to drive you back."

"I thought you didn't drink?" you question, trailing behind him as he leads you back to the underground bar.

"I don't," he answers curtly. "I'll be drinking non-alcoholic cider."

"Oh, right," you mumble.

As you make your way towards the bar counter, Diluc skillfully retrieves a bottle of cider, pouring it into a glass.

"What would you like to drink?" he asks, taking a sip of his fizzy cider. You ponder for a moment, unsure of how professional it would be to drink alcohol in front of your boss. But then again, you’re not sure you can mentally survive this encounter by being completely sober.

"Just make me a cocktail," you murmur, your voice shy and uncertain. "Whichever you prefer."

You watch attentively as Diluc prepares your cocktail. His strong hands deftly grab a bottle of whiskey from the top shelves, pouring a generous amount into a shaker. The rich aroma of the distilled spirit fills the air, mingling with the citrusy smell of lemon juice. He carefully breaks an egg, pouring only the egg white into the shaker.

Diluc vigorously shakes the mixture, his muscles flexing and straining with each movement. He adds a generous amount of ice and continues shaking. The ice clatters against the metal and fills the room with noise.

"Can you pass me a rocks glass?" Diluc's voice breaks through your mesmerized state, and you scramble to grab a glass, handing out a tall one.

"A rocks glass," he corrects you, and you can't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment at your mistake. Quickly, you put back the tall glass and retrieve a shorter one. He nods in acknowledgement, pouring the cocktail into the glass. As a finishing touch, he adds a few drops of Angostura bitters, a maraschino cherry, and a thin slice of dried orange as a garnish.

He hands you the drink, and you take a careful sip, feeling the explosion of flavors on your tongue. A moan of pleasure almost escapes your lips as the tangy embrace of the whiskey caresses your senses, the citrus juice dancing across your taste buds.

"It's freaking delicious," you announce. You take another greedy sip, savoring the taste. "What's it called?"

"Whiskey sour," Diluc answers, his lips forming a subtle smirk.

"It's not on the menu?" you inquire. Despite your extensive knowledge of the bar's menu, ranging from the tap beers and the special selections, to Dandelion wine types and the multitude of sweet and sour cocktails, you’re sure you’ve never come across this one specific drink.

"Some things are best kept as hidden gems," he muses.

As you take yet another long sip of the whiskey sour, you can’t help but wonder what other secrets lie within the depths of the man who stands behind the bar.

Diluc leads you to a booth, and you silently follow. He settles onto the plush red leather cushion, taking a sip from his own drink, his eyes never leaving you. Awkwardly, you take a seat opposite him, attempting to smile but feeling the unnaturalness of it.

The tension between you is palpable, the electricity between you both exciting and unnerving. You already feel the intoxicating effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins. Your glass is nearly empty, while Diluc's remains only halfway finished.

In a few swift gulps,  you down the last remnants of your cocktail, tilting the glass to capture every drop of foam.

Diluc raises an eyebrow. “Another one?”

You answer with a timid nod, accompanied by a shy smile. “Do you think you can teach me?”

He nods, finishing his own  drink in one swift motion, his crimson locks cascading around his face as he rises from his seat. You follow him, the alcohol already making you giddy as you stumble slightly.

The bar becomes your stage. Diluc’s instructions, whispered softly, guide you through the process. You follow them, carefully separating the egg white, and pouring the right amounts of juices and syrups.

You begin to shake the cocktail, feeling your muscles strain. In an attempt to steady yourself, you bite down on the inside of your cheek. Shaking cocktails has always been a challenging task for you — the amount of times you’ve forgotten to secure the lid and witnessed the mixture cascade over yourself and the bar counter serves as a haunting reminder.

A soft, almost inaudible sigh escapes Diluc's lips as he delicately takes hold of your arm. "Here, shake it like this," he instructs. His hands guide yours, his touch electrifying.

You finish shaking the cocktail, but his fingers linger over yours, and a warmth spreads through your body. He tenses, quickly withdrawing.

Snatching another rocks glass, its cool surface meeting your warm fingers, and with practiced grace, you pour the drink, watching as the foam gently touches the rim. You add the finishing touches, placing two cherries atop the foam — their vibrant hue contrasts against the pale yellow backdrop of the drink. You snatch a third cherry, savoring its succulent sweetness as you take a bite.

The whiskey sour stands before you like a work of art. With a mixture of pride and anticipation, you take a sip.

But as the liquid touches your tongue, a harsh burn fills your throat, the sourness causing you to grimace in distaste. You sputter, coughing. Desperate to mask the unpleasant taste, you reach for another cherry, but even its sweetness fails to save your tastebuds.

“Let me see,” Diluc says. The moment the cocktail touches his tongue, a fleeting wince betrays his thoughts. “It's… it’s something,” he manages to say.

You feel yourself wilt in embarrassment.

 "It's alright. You don't have to drink this. I'll finish it, and I'll make you a new one," he offers.

"No—no, you don't have to," you wave your hands frantically in protest.

He remains resolute, his gaze unwavering. "I insist."

"But you said you aren't drinking any alcohol tonight," you counter.

A mischievous glint flashes in Diluc’s eyes. "I can make an exception or two."

With that, he sets to work, his movement swift and practiced — in less than a minute, he combines the ingredients, and pours the mixture. The glass is adorned with three cherries — a thoughtful gesture that does not go unnoticed by you.

He hands you the drink, and with a soft-spoken "thank you," you accept the glass, unable to muster the courage to meet his piercing gaze.

One drink blends into two, then three.

The rich amber liquid courses through your veins, as the expensive bottle of whiskey lies empty.

Diluc — his eyes glazed with a mix of intoxication and what you interpret as desire — uncapts another bottle. His nose and ears are tinged with a telltale of redness.

“How about some shots?” you ask, speech slightly slurred.

"Vodka?" he suggests, as he grabs the nearest bottle from the shelf. "Or Fireball?" he continues, presenting another bottle.

Your eyes fixate on the captivating sight of the cinnamon-infused whiskey, its intricate red dragon design beckoning you closer. You point to the Fireball bottle, and Diluc, understanding your choice, nods in agreement. He expertly pours two shots, the glasses clinking together.

Without any hesitation, you raise the glass to your lips, the fiery liquid cascading down your throat, igniting a burning sensation that travels from your core to the depths of your stomach. The intense heat warms your already flushed body.

"Another!" you exclaim, slamming down the glass. A sheepish apology escapes your lips as Diluc's gaze meets yours, a light glare mingling with a hint of amusement.

"Tequila?"

Your eyes light up at the proposition. "You know, the best way to drink tequila is through a body shot," you blurt out, your words escaping before your brain can catch up. Mortification washes over you, causing you to gasp and hastily cover your face with trembling hands.

"Or—or so I've heard from friends," you stammer, your eyes hidden behind your palms. Diluc’s soft chuckle echoes in the room, and curiosity prompts you to part your fingers slightly, stealing a glance at him through the gaps.

He runs a hand through his high ponytail. A blush spreads across his cheeks, but you're uncertain whether it’s a result of your words or the alcohol that courses through your veins.

"Perhaps we can test your friend's intel," his voice low, drips with seduction.

You freeze, your eyes widening in surprise.

“Of course, if you’re not comfortable please ignore what I’ve said.” Diluc crosses his arms, gaze fixed upon you. Silence hangs around the air, your mind racing. "But let's not pretend you haven't been staring at me and drooling since the moment you stepped into the establishment."

Diluc's hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb tracing the contours of your bottom lip. Unconsciously, you part your mouth in response, face inching closer to his.

"Please tell me to stop if I've misread the situation," he murmurs.

As an answer, you rise onto your tiptoes, sealing the unspoken agreement with a passionate kiss. Fingers curling tightly around the lapels of his leather jacket, you pull him closer, craving the press of his chiseled abs against your stomach. His calloused hands snake around your back, drawing you into an embrace.

A soft bite of your lip sends sparks of pleasure coursing through your body, encouraging you to surrender further. Your mouth opens, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Your fingertips glide across his hair, causing his perfectly styled ponytail to unravel.

Panting heavily, the two of you part from each other, lips slightly swollen and glistening under the seductive glow of the low-light lamps.

"F-fuck," Diluc breathes, his voice laden with a mix of longing and urgency. In an instant, his lips crash against yours again.

With a surge of boldness, your hand finds its way beneath his shirt, causing a shiver to run across his body.

“So, about those tequila shots,” you manage to whisper between kisses, voice laced with mischievousness.

“The tequila shots… yes.” the redhead murmurs. “Stay here,” he commands, voice deep. You comply, body rooted in place as you watch him with cautious anticipation. He strides to the bar, and returns with a bottle of tequila, salt packets, and lime slices.

“You first,” you say, reaching out and gripping the lapels of his jacket. You assist him in removing the jacket, relishing in the sensation of his warmth against your fingertips. Your gaze remains fixed on him as he tugs off his shirt, relieving the firm planes of his stomach. A tantalizing happy trail of red hair draws your attention.

With a newfound boldness you command him to lay down on the leather cushion, voice dripping with anticipation. He complies, body sprawling across the surface as you prepare the tequila shot. The enticing aroma of the liquor fills the air.

Carefully, you place the shot on his stomach, the cool glass making contact with his heated skin. Your fingers trail along his abdomen, and a shiver ripples through his body. Tearing open the salt packet, you pour a small amount near his navel, teasingly close to the zipper of his pants.

Diluc’s gaze is locked with yours, burning hot desire dancing within his eyes. He places the lime slice on his mouth, beckoning you closer. Like a moth to a flame, you lean in, lips hovering close to his navel. Tongue darting out, you capture the salt and lick the area clean.

You move towards the shot resting on his stomach, lips parting as you swiftly shoot back the burning liquid in one quick motion. Without hesitation, you shift your focus to Diluc’s waiting lips. Your mouths meet in a passionate collision, and the taste of tequila lingers.

As you remove the lime slice from your mouth, your lips reconnect, meeting in a passionate kiss. Tongues intertwine, dancing together. You reposition yourself on his lap, feeling his heat and hardness beneath you. The friction between you intensifies the pleasure, and you’re aching to seek more.

Your hands roam freely, exploring the contours of his body, tracing every curve and dip. The kiss becomes more desperate.

Diluc pulls away from the scorching kiss, his hands gripping your lower back possessively. A smirk plays upon his lips, eyes burning with raw desire.

“Your turn,” he murmurs huskily, voice laced with a seductive undertone.

A wicked smile graces his lips, as he takes charge in one swift and fluid motion — you find yourself laying on your back, the smooth leather surface pressing against you.

His hands begin to roam across the planes of your stomach, his touch alternating between gentle caresses and teasing pinches. His lips descend upon your neck, leaving a bite mark that marks you as his.

A moment later, he rises from his position, eyes gleaming with a predatory glint. He prepares another tequila shot, and grabs a packet of salt, along with a lime slice. With a gentle touch, he places the lime between your parted lips. He skilfully pushes up your shirt over your breasts, exposing your heated skin. Diluc pours the salt onto your exposed lower stomach, and places the shot glass near it.

The redhead positions himself between your legs, one knee brushing dangerously close to your womanhood. He sets his sight on the trial of salt adorning your lower stomach, and with a deliberate and slow movement, he leans in, tongue darting out to lick it.

The sensation of his warm, wet tongue against your skin sends shivers of pleasure through your whole body.

Diluc’s focus shifts to the shot glass, mouth hovering over the tequila. His mouth envelops the rim, lips forming a seal around the edge. He tilts his head back, and the fiery liquid cascades into his mouth, igniting his throat and stomach.

As he finishes the shot, he encloses your body with his, pressing against you possessively. His lips find yours once more, capturing the lime slice from your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.

His desire grows even more intense, touch becoming bolder and more explicit. He presses a hand against your burning core, fingers applying just enough pressure to elicit a moan of pleasure from you.

“I need you,” Diluc murmurs, voice thick with desire. “Right now.”

You hesitate for a moment. “Here?” you question, seeking his affirmation, wanting to ensure that he is comfortable with continuing with your intimate escapade inside the empty bar.

“Yes,” he breathes. “I want you here , I want you now .”

Any lingering doubts are erased, and with a renewed sense of urgency, you succumb to the pleasure that awaits.

SMUT CONTINUATION ON AO3

Author's note: welp, diluc brainrot has taken over

[selfcestmovies]

Fun in the Framework Daisy Johnson x Daisy Johnson Wordcount: ~4500 Warnings: smut, virtual reality sex, selfcest, fighting then fucking, daisy is hungry, SELFCEST Read and share on Ao3!

~ * ~ * ~

Daisy Johnson stared at the Framework headset in her hands, the sleek, futuristic device reflecting the soft overhead lights. It looked like something straight out of Stark Industries, all smooth curves and sleek, matte black, with subtle blue lines tracing along its surface. The tech felt almost alien, but that’s what made it so exciting. This was S.H.I.E.L.D.’s latest innovation in training—a virtual reality system that could simulate any environment with near-perfect realism. It was like stepping into another world.

“Fitz, you really outdid yourself this time.” Daisy huffed and turned the headset over in her hands for the dozenth time.

Her orders were simple, but Coulson had made sure they were official: support the Framework development by any means necessary. Fitz had tried to meet Daisy half-way and suggested she use the tech’s new sparring simulator, since she had taken such a liking to her physical regiment lately. But she wasn’t in the gym, she was in her dorm—and Daisy was putting her trust in this new, pseudo-futuristic device to simply bring the gym to her.

Or, a “psycho-virtual simulacrum of the gym” as Fitz had explained earlier. Whatever.

Taking a deep breath, Daisy slid the headset over her eyes. The cool material settled against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine, and the world around her began to dissolve, replaced by a black void filled with faint, glowing grids. She could feel a slight hum in the air, like the device was alive and pulsing with energy.

The simulation loaded in an instant, and Daisy found herself standing in the S.H.I.E.L.D. training gym—recreated to every tiny, minute detail. The floor was lined with deep red mats that felt springy underfoot, the walls a soothing combination of dark wood and brick, with soft light flickering in the fluorescent lights above. Everything was rendered in perfect detail, right down to the faint scuffs on the mats from countless prior training sessions. The air was crisp and cool.

Daisy glanced around, catching sight of herself in a long wall mirror. Even the reflection looked flawless. “Impressive, Fitz,” she hummed. Daisy couldn’t help but admire the way she looked—her reflection showed a woman who had been putting in the work. Her body was becoming toned and powerful, the tight black tank top hugging her torso and showing off the early hints of muscle definition in her arms and shoulders. The black leggings she wore emphasized her long legs and the strength in them. She’d been on a new training regime for weeks now, and it was definitely paying off.

“Not bad, Daisy Johnson,” she murmured to herself, a small smile playing on her lips as she turned slightly to catch different angles. “You’re looking good.”

It wasn’t just the physical changes. She felt stronger, more confident, more in control of herself and her abilities as a rookie field agent. She knew she’d come a long way from the hacker-turned-recruit who stumbled her way through her early missions. 

“Alright,” she said aloud, shaking herself out of her self-admiration. “Time to see what this bad boy can really do.”

She flicked her wrist, and the Framework’s interface responded immediately, pulling up a menu of options to populate the training simulation. She could go the traditional route—programmed enemies, obstacle courses, simulated missions—but that felt a little too… easy. Predictable. Then she considered the alternative: simulating a sparring match against May, or Agent Romanoff, or Captain America? 

She winced at the thought of getting her ass kicked in virtual reality. “Maybe something simpler, but still challenging,” she mused. What Daisy really needed was an opponent that would really test her, push her to her limits in new ways. Equally matched but still a true challenge. And that’s when the idea hit her.

“What if…” she mused, her eyes narrowing as she navigated through the options, steeling a quick glance back at the wall of mirrors across the gym. “What if I could fight someone who knows me better than anyone else?”

A smirk curled her lips as she began customizing the scenario. This was going to be interesting. After a few quick adjustments, she set the Framework to create a perfect duplicate of herself. Another Daisy Johnson. She wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but that was half the fun. Besides, how often do you get to spar against yourself?

The room shimmered for a moment, and the air in front of her seemed to ripple like a heatwave. Then, just as quickly, the distortion solidified, and there she was. Another Daisy, standing just a few feet away, with the same sharp eyes, the same confident stance, the same tight black tank top and leggings. It was like looking into a mirror, except this mirror blinked on its own. Her lips curled into a small, knowing smirk.

“Well, this is weird,” the other Daisy said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Daisy couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but you’re definitely… me.”

They both stood there for a moment, sizing each other up. It was surreal, facing herself like this. She knew her own strengths and weaknesses better than anyone, so she knew this was going to be one hell of a fight. And yet, there was something thrilling about it, too. The idea of going toe-to-toe with someone who could match her move for move was exactly the challenge she needed.

Daisy watched her mirror image tighten her fists in anticipation of what was to come.

“Alright, clone-me. Enough stalling” she said, rolling her shoulders and getting into a fighting stance. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The double mirrored her movements perfectly, a gleam of anticipation in her eyes. “I was about to say the same thing. Think you can keep up with me?”

“Oh, honey,” Daisy replied with a grin, “I’m not the one who needs to worry about keeping up.”

They both moved at the same time, launching into a series of attacks and counters that echoed through the gym. Daisy was used to sparring with some of the best fighters S.H.I.E.L.D. had to offer, but this was something else entirely. Every punch she threw was blocked, every kick dodged with precision. It was like fighting a mirror that anticipated her every move.

But at the same time, Daisy trusted in her instincts and found herself effortlessly blocking, parrying, and sidestepping past everything the double threw at her, too. From the onset, it was a stalemate—but uncanny, and fun, as the Daisies found themselves in a mutual flowstate that felt more like a choreographed dance than a brutal beatdown.

They circled each other, trading blows that came faster and harder with each exchange. Sweat began to bead on Daisy’s forehead, her muscles burning with the effort, but she relished the challenge. The double was just as relentless, not giving an inch.

“This is actually kinda cool,” Daisy panted, ducking under a high kick and sweeping low to try and trip the double. “I mean, I always knew I was a badass, but seeing it like this? Next level.”

The double grinned, jumping back to avoid the sweep and launching into a counterattack. “Yeah, I gotta admit, I’m impressed with myself too. But don’t think I’m going easy on you just because we share a face.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Daisy shot back, her voice tinged with a playful edge. She wasn’t sure when the sparring had started to feel more like a game, but she was enjoying it. There was something liberating about fighting someone who wasn’t trying to kill her, someone who could match her wit as well as her strength. Daisy had faced formidable opponents before—seasoned agents, powered individuals, and everything in between—but this was on another level. It was like trying to fight her own shadow, every strike blocked, every grapple met with an escape, every throw countered with a brutal reversal.

Daisy feinted left, then darted right, aiming a sharp elbow strike at her double’s ribs. The double anticipated it, pivoting smoothly out of the way and grabbing Daisy’s arm mid-motion, using her momentum to flip her onto the mat. The impact jolted through Daisy’s body, but she rolled with it, springing back to her feet almost instantly. “Nice try,” the double said, her voice laced with amusement. “But you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

“Don’t worry,” Daisy shot back, breathing heavily but grinning despite herself. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

They closed the distance again, this time both of them opting for a more brutal style of close-quarters brawling. It was a dance of grapples and throws, each of them trying to gain the upper hand. Daisy managed to get her double into a headlock, only for the double to twist out of it, using Daisy’s own leverage against her to slam her down to the mat again. But Daisy wasn’t down for long. She rolled onto her back, using her legs to scissor around the double’s waist, pulling her down and flipping them over so that she was on top.

Their breaths mingled as they struggled for dominance, each trying to pin the other. Daisy could feel the strength in her double’s muscles, the heat radiating from her body as they grappled. Every time one of them gained an advantage, the other would slip free.

“Damn,” Daisy grunted as she tried to force her double’s shoulders down, her muscles straining with the effort. “You’re tougher than you look.”

The double chuckled, even as she bucked her hips and twisted to throw Daisy off balance. “You’re just mad because I’m as good as you.”

Their bodies collided again, a tangle of limbs and grunts as they fought for control. Daisy managed to get a knee between them, pushing the double back just enough to land a solid punch to her gut. The double doubled over, but only for a second before retaliating with a vicious uppercut that nearly sent Daisy sprawling. But Daisy caught herself, dropping into a low stance and sweeping her leg out in a wide arc, knocking the double’s feet out from under her.

The double hit the mat hard but rolled with the fall, grabbing Daisy’s leg and yanking her down as well. They both scrambled for position, neither willing to give the other the satisfaction of a clean victory. Daisy’s heart pounded in her chest, the adrenaline surging through her veins as she fought with everything she had. This wasn’t just a fight—it was becoming a test of everything she’d become. Each time their bodies clashed, there was a split second of electric connection, and a recognition of their unspoken understanding: the way they moved in perfect synchronicity, and the uncanny rhythm that Daisy couldn’t quite break no matter how hard she tried.

In an act of desperation—or maybe it was luck, at this point, or a glitch in the Framework’s system—Daisy spun behind her double, wrapping an arm around her neck in a chokehold and finally breaking the stalemate to gain an upper hand. The double struggled, clawing at Daisy’s arm, but Daisy held firm, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tightened her grip.

“I’ve got you,” Daisy whispered, her voice hoarse with exertion.

The double’s response was a low, breathless laugh. “Maybe… but I’m not… giving up…”

With a final burst of strength, the double twisted in Daisy’s grasp, throwing her off balance just enough to break free. Daisy stumbled back, but before she could recover, the double lunged at her, tackling her to the ground. They rolled across the mat in a tangle of limbs, each trying to gain the upper hand, until finally, Daisy found herself pinned beneath the other woman, their identical faces just inches apart.

The gym was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing, the heat of their twinned, exhausted bodies radiating between them. Daisy’s hands were pinned above her head, the double’s weight pressing her down into the mat. For a moment, neither of them moved, the world narrowing to the space between them, to the feel of the double’s body against hers, to the intensity in her double’s eyes.

Daisy’s heart raced, but it wasn’t just from the exertion. There was something else, something deeper, that she was only now beginning to understand. The realization hit her like a freight train—this wasn’t just about winning a fight. It was about something far more primal, far more intimate.

“You’re… good,” Daisy managed to say, her voice breathless and tinged with a tone in her voice that she didn’t quite recognize.

The double’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. “So are you.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them thick with tension. Daisy could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, her body still humming with the adrenaline of the fight, but now there was something else too—an electric charge that seemed to radiate from every point where their bodies touched.

She tried to shift, to move her arms, but the double held her down, their faces so close that Daisy could feel the warmth of her breath on her lips. “I… I think we’re evenly matched,” Daisy finally whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

“Maybe,” the double replied, her voice too just as low and laced with a teasing edge. “But I think we’re enjoying ourselves.”

Before Daisy could respond, the double leaned in slowly, the tip of her nose brushing against Daisy’s, and the world seemed to narrow down to that single point of contact. Daisy’s breath hitched, and she felt a shiver run down her spine as their bodies pressed together, the heat between them almost unbearable.

For a split second, the world seemed to stand still, and all Daisy could think about was the way their bodies fit together, the way the double’s breath mingled with hers, the way her heart pounded in her chest. This was her own body that she found herself drawn too, in a twisted, taboo, narcissistic and eternally fucked up attraction. She stared deeply into the eyes of her mirror image, and when her lips curled into a smile, she saw her twin to the same. 

It was an accidental, awkward grind at first, just the natural consequence of their tangled limbs and the adrenaline still pumping through their veins. But the friction, the pressure, it was unmistakable—and suddenly, it wasn’t so accidental anymore. Daisy could feel the double’s body shifting against hers, the movement slow, deliberate, as if testing the waters. There was a moment of hesitation, of uncertainty, and then something clicked into place. The awkwardness melted away, replaced by a mutual understanding, a recognition that this was just another way they were perfectly matched.

The grinding became more purposeful, the double’s hips moving in slow, deliberate circles, and Daisy’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t meant for this to happen—hadn’t even considered it—but now that it was, she couldn’t deny how good it felt, how right it felt.

“Hm,” Daisy breathed, her voice trembling as the realization hit her. She wasn’t just enjoying this—she was turned on. Her body responded to the friction, the heat, the way their movements synchronized so perfectly. She was losing control, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to get it back.

The double’s eyes gleamed with mischief as she noticed the change in Daisy’s expression. “What’s on your mind, Daisy?”

Daisy opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat as the double shifted the weight of her hips again, pressing harder against her. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through Daisy’s body, and she gasped, her hands instinctively jolting free of her double’s grasp in order to find purchase on the other Daisy’s hips. She could feel the tight muscles beneath her fingers, the way the double’s body responded to every movement, and it only made her want more.

But then, in the midst of the movement, Daisy’s hand slipped lower, brushing against the curve of the double’s ass. The touch was accidental, but the reaction was immediate. Daisy froze, her eyes widening as she realized what she’d done, but the double only grinned, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“Hmm,” the double murmured, her voice teasing. “Seems like someone’s getting a little handsy.”

Daisy’s face flushed, but she didn’t move her hand. The warmth of the double’s skin beneath her fingers was intoxicating, and she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

“Sure you didn’t,” the double interrupted, her tone playful, but there was an edge of challenge in her voice. “But you know what? I think we like it.”

Daisy’s breath hitched as the double’s hips ground against hers, harder this time, more insistent. Daisy found herself guiding the movement, too, with her hand adjusting to a firmer position on the double’s ass and ensuring that her encouragement was made clear. The pleasure was intense, almost overwhelming, and Daisy could feel herself spiraling, her thoughts scattering in every direction. She could feel the heat swelling between her legs. She knew she should stop, that this was crossing a line she hadn’t even known existed, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to.

“Go on,” the double urged, her voice low and husky, a seductive purr that sent shivers down Daisy’s spine. “You’ve already come this far. Don’t hold back now.”

Daisy’s grip tightened as she gave in to the magnetic pull between them, her fingers digging into the double’s firm flesh. “Fuck—our ass,” the thought spat from her lips without filter: the relishing in the fact that feeling up her own body from this new perspective was driving her wild at her core. She brought her second hand to join the first, splaying all ten fingers wide against her clone’s backside and gripping tight. “—Feels so perfect…”

The double didn’t just respond; she thrived on it, her body arching back into Daisy’s touch, the grinding of their hips becoming almost desperate, each movement pushing them closer to the edge. The air around them was thick with heat, their breaths mingling in quick, ragged gasps as the tension between them reached a fever pitch.

“You fucking love this, don’t you?” the double hissed, her voice low and dripping with sinful delight. “You love feeling your own body pressed against you, every fucking inch of it. I can feel you getting wet for me.”

Daisy couldn’t find the words to respond, her thoughts tangled in a haze of raw pleasure and disbelief. The double wasn’t wrong—she did love it, more than she ever thought possible. Every curve, every muscle, every shiver that ran through her own body was reflected in her double, amplifying the intensity until it was almost unbearable. The realization that she was turned on by her own form—by the sheer power and beauty of it—was electrifying.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Daisy finally managed to choke out, her voice rough with desire. Her hands roamed the double’s body, exploring every inch she could reach. Her fingers trailed up the double’s spine, tracing the line of muscle that flexed beneath her touch, feeling the strength there, the familiar power that she knew so well. “Every fucking part of you—of me—so fucking perfect.”

The double’s breath hitched at the praise, her eyes darkening with lust as she pressed harder against Daisy, their bodies moving in sync, the friction driving them both wild. “Yeah? You like that? You like knowing how fucking hot you are?”

Daisy nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, her mind spinning as she lost herself in the sensation. She’d never thought of herself this way, but now, with her double grinding into her, their bodies so perfectly matched, it was impossible to ignore. She was hot—fucking hot—and it felt incredible to finally acknowledge it, to revel in it. Daisy let her gaze finally break from her double’s eyes and drift down her torso and towards their chests, like mirror images pressed together, their identical tank tops clinging firm to their curves glistening with sweat and heaving up and down with each synchronous, labored breath.

The double’s grin was wicked as she leaned in closer, her breath hot against Daisy’s ear. “I’m gonna make you come so hard you’ll be begging for more,” she whispered, her voice a promise, a challenge.

Daisy’s heart pounded in her chest, the anticipation almost too much to bear. She could feel the double’s breath on her skin, could feel the heat radiating off her body, the way their sweat-slicked skin slid together. And then, without warning, the double’s tongue darted out, licking a slow, deliberate line up Daisy’s neck, tracing the curve of her jaw, and up to her cheek. The sensation was a shock to Daisy’s system—messy, wet, and impossibly hot. She gasped, her body arching into the touch, every nerve ending on fire as the double’s tongue left a trail of heat and spit in its wake. The wetness of it, the way it smeared across her skin, was filthy, primal, and it only made Daisy want more.

“Fuck,” Daisy moaned, her eyes fluttering shut as she surrendered to the sensation. “That’s so fucking hot, Daisy… do it again.”

The double didn’t need to be told twice. She leaned in again, this time slower, more deliberate, her tongue sliding up Daisy’s neck with a slow, teasing intensity that made Daisy’s knees weak. She could feel the double’s breath against her skin, could feel the heat of it mingling with her own, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

“You like that?” the double murmured wet against her ear, her voice low and full of dark satisfaction. “We taste so sweet, Daisy.”

“Yeah,” Daisy gasped, her voice hollow, barely more than a breath. “Fuck, Daisy…” The words came out choked, whispered. Speaking her own name in the throes of passion still felt almost perverse and alien, but she had come to embrace it. “Daisy,” again, she breathed the word and locked eyes again with her twin. 

Their bodies moved together, the grinding becoming more frantic, more desperate, as they neared the edge. The heat between them was unbearable, every touch, every movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through Daisy’s body. She could feel the double’s muscles tensing on top of her, could feel the way their bodies fit together so perfectly, every curve and line and angle aligned in a way that felt almost too good to be true.

“Come on, Daisy,” the double urged, her voice hoarse with need. “Let go. I know you want to. I can feel how close you are—how fucking good this feels.”

Daisy was right there, teetering on the edge of oblivion, her body trembling with the intensity of it all. She could feel the double’s breath on her skin, could feel the way their bodies ground together, her legs locking even tighter into Daisy’s lap. The friction was almost too much to bear. And then, with a final, desperate pulse, the world exploded around her.

“Fuck!” Daisy cried out, her voice raw as the orgasm ripped through her, every muscle in her body tensing as she came hard, her hips bucking against the double’s in a frenzy of motion. The double followed right behind her, their bodies shaking, quaking, as they climaxed together, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful.

They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies locked together in the aftermath, panting heavily as they tried to catch their breath. The double’s weight was comforting against Daisy’s, her body warm and solid and so fucking perfect, and Daisy couldn’t help but smile, a lazy, satisfied grin that spread across her face as she lay there, basking in the afterglow.

“Fuck,” Daisy finally managed to say, her voice breathless and full of awe. “That was… holy shit.”

The double chuckled, the sound low and full of satisfaction, as she rolled off Daisy, collapsing beside her on the mat. “Yeah… it was.”

They lay there in silence for a while, just breathing, their bodies still tingling from the intensity of their shared climax. Daisy’s mind was still spinning, trying to process everything that had just happened, but all she could focus on was the warmth of the double beside her, the way their bodies had fit together so perfectly, the way they had moved in sync, as if they were two halves of the same whole.

“That was… unexpected,” the other Daisy said after a while, her voice quiet and thoughtful.

Daisy couldn’t argue with that. It had been perfect in its own twisted way. “Yeah,” Daisy agreed, her voice soft, almost reverent. “Yeah, it was.”

They stayed like that for a while longer, just lying there, their bodies spent, their minds still buzzing with the aftermath. Daisy couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this was exactly what she had needed all along.

- - - - -

Daisy Johnson slid the headset off, blinking as the cool air of the lab replaced the heated atmosphere of the Framework’s simulated gym. Her heart was still pounding, the memory of what had just happened lingering in her mind. It had felt so absolutely, undeniably real to her. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, before leaving her dorm and making the slow trek back to Fitz’s lab. 

She avoided all semblance of eye-contact as she neared Fitz’s desk with a casual ease that belied the storm of emotions swirling inside her. With a gentle thud, she placed the Framework prototype back on his workbench.

Fitz looked up, a curious eyebrow raised. “So, how was it? Any glitches? Unexpected bugs?”

Daisy gave him a sly grin, leaning against the desk with a relaxed confidence. “Let’s just say your Framework is… very realistic. No bugs that I could find, but it definitely pushed all the right buttons.”

Fitz’s brow furrowed slightly, clearly puzzled by her cryptic answer. “Pushed the right buttons? What does that mean?”

“It means I approve, Fitz,” she said flatly. “This tech is going to make training a whole lot more… interesting.”

Fitz chuckled, though he still looked a bit bewildered. “I’ll take that as a good sign, then.”

“Trust me,” Daisy said, patting the headset affectionately before turning to leave the lab. “You’ve outdone yourself with this one.”

As she walked away, she could feel Fitz’s eyes on her, still trying to figure out what exactly she meant. But Daisy just smiled to herself, the memory of her time in the Framework still fresh, knowing full well that this was one secret she’d keep to herself. For now.